#this vision feels like being slammed over the head with a bottle

[javiersprincess]

Jovier threesome might be old news by now, but it would be such an experience. I feel like it would just be the two of them fighting for your attention more. Like, both are trying to prove they can pleasure you better. Javier is more subtle about it being competition, his touch seems to be a bit more practiced, he knows how sensitive you can be to the smallest things when so worked up. John... his hands are almost always rough. He loses himself too easily and he's on you like a wild animal. But the two differences are a nice contrast.

JOVIER THREESOME WILL NEVER BE OLD NEWS TO ME WOAHHHHHHHH ANON THIS COOKED ME QUITE A BIT GOOD GODDDDDDDDDDD

[pucksandpower]

Royal Pardon

Charles Leclerc x Arthur’s best friend!Reader

Summary: Charles isn’t a violent man at heart, but when he saves you from being harassed while celebrating his Monaco win, he quickly realizes that there’s not a single line he wouldn’t cross if it means keeping you safe

Warnings: attempted sexual assault, violence, and injury

Note: a break from your regularly scheduled October programming because Charles just won the United States GP and that calls for a celebration

The music pulses through the club, a steady, hypnotic beat that thrums in Charles’ chest. He’s never felt like this — untouchable, invincible — as if tonight could stretch on forever, an endless loop of victory and laughter.

He’s just won Monaco.

Monaco. His Monaco.

The thought alone makes him smile, a small, private thing that he hides behind the rim of his champagne flute.

Around him, the crowd swirls in a blur of lights and shadows, everyone shouting their congratulations over the music, pulling him into hugs and clapping him on the back. Arthur is here somewhere, of course, dragging you along because where else would you be? The two of you are like shadows, inseparable since childhood.

Charles can still see you, just barely, out of the corner of his eye, chatting with a couple of Arthur’s friends near the bar. You’re laughing, a sound that somehow cuts through the noise and settles in the back of his mind. It’s a good sound, one that feels familiar, like home.

“Charles, mate!” A voice shouts, pulling him back. Max is there, leaning in with a grin that’s all teeth, like he’s just as buzzed on adrenaline as Charles is. “I swear, you’re going to be insufferable after this. Monaco, finally!”

Charles laughs, shaking his head, though the truth is he probably will be insufferable. But can anyone blame him? He’s worked so damn hard for this, pushing through every setback, every disappointment. And now, here he is, celebrating the win of his career in the only place that really matters.

He’s about to respond when someone else pulls him into a hug, a flurry of excitement and congratulations that Charles barely processes. He doesn’t mind, though. Tonight, it feels like nothing can touch him, like nothing could ever bring him down from this high.

But then, something shifts. It’s subtle at first, just an itch at the back of his mind, a sense that something isn’t right. He glances over to where you and Arthur were standing, but Arthur is gone, nowhere to be seen. And you … you’re not laughing anymore.

Charles’ stomach twists. You’re cornered against the bar now, a man leaning in too close, too aggressive. Charles can’t see your face clearly through the throng of people, but the way you’re holding yourself, tense and small, tells him everything he needs to know.

His blood turns to ice, freezing the euphoria in his veins. He can’t hear what the man is saying, but it doesn’t matter. The way the man’s hand snakes around your waist, the way you try to push him off with trembling hands — Charles’ vision goes red.

He’s moving before he can think, pushing through the crowd with a single-minded focus. The people congratulating him moments ago scatter as he brushes past them, their laughter and cheers fading into the background noise.

“Hey!” Charles’ voice cuts through the music, sharp and commanding. The man doesn’t even turn at first, but you do, your eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. Charles feels something break inside him at the sight, but he channels it into a fury that propels him forward.

When the man finally notices Charles, it’s too late. Charles is on him, grabbing the man’s shoulder and yanking him away from you with a force that sends the man stumbling backward. “Get the fuck away from her,” Charles snarls, every syllable dripping with venom.

The man barely has time to react before Charles slams him against the wall, the impact rattling the bottles on the shelves behind the bar. Charles’ forearm presses against the man’s throat, cutting off whatever protest he might have had.

“Charles, stop!” You gasp, your voice choked with a mix of fear and something else, something that twists the knife already lodged in Charles’ chest. He doesn’t stop, though. Can’t stop. The image of the man’s hands on you is burned into his mind, and all he can think about is making him pay, making him hurt.

The man struggles, clawing at Charles’ arm, but it’s useless. Charles is stronger, fueled by a rage that’s been simmering just beneath the surface for too long. The man’s face turns red, then purple, and still, Charles doesn’t let up. His grip tightens, and he leans in closer, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

“If you ever so much as look at her again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and deadly serious. The man’s eyes widen, a flash of genuine fear crossing his face, but Charles doesn’t care. He wants him to be scared. Wants him to know that there’s no escaping this, no escaping the consequences of what he’s done.

“Charles, please!” Your voice breaks through the haze of anger, and it’s only then that Charles realizes how close you’ve gotten. You’re right there, your hand on his arm, tugging gently, desperately trying to pull him away.

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and sees the tears streaming down your face, the fear etched into your features. It’s like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head, shocking him back to reality. The club, the music, the people — all of it comes rushing back in a disorienting wave.

Charles blinks, his grip on the man loosening just enough for the man to gasp for air. He’s still furious, the anger simmering beneath the surface, but he’s no longer blind with it. He takes a breath, then another, trying to regain some semblance of control.

“You’re lucky she’s here,” Charles says quietly, his voice barely more than a growl. He shoves the man away from him, watching with cold satisfaction as he stumbles and nearly falls to the floor.

The man doesn’t stick around. He scrambles to his feet and disappears into the crowd, no doubt eager to get as far away from Charles as possible. Good. Charles hopes he never sees the man again, because he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop himself if he does.

For a moment, Charles just stands there, his chest heaving with the effort of reining in his emotions. The crowd has started to notice the commotion, a few curious onlookers craning their necks to see what’s going on. But none of that matters. None of them matter.

All that matters is you.

Charles turns to you, his expression softening as he takes in your tear-streaked face. “Are you okay?” His voice is gentler now, full of concern that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You nod, but it’s a shaky, uncertain thing. “I-I’m fine,” you manage, though it’s clear you’re anything but. You look like you’re about to collapse, your legs barely holding you up.

Without thinking, Charles steps closer and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. You don’t resist, you just sink into him, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if he’s the only thing keeping you upright. And maybe he is.

“It’s okay,” Charles murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “You’re safe now. I’m here.” He holds you tighter, as if he can shield you from the world, from everything that just happened. And for a moment, it feels like he can. Like nothing bad can touch you as long as you’re in his arms.

You don’t say anything, just press your face into his chest, your breath hitching with the remnants of your tears. Charles presses his lips to the top of your head, a gesture that feels both instinctive and impossibly intimate. He’s never held you like this before, never been this close, but it feels right.

The music still pounds in the background, the lights still flash in a dizzying array of colors, but it’s all distant now, muted. The only thing that matters is you, and making sure you’re okay.

Charles pulls back just enough to look down at you, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Where’s Arthur?” He asks, his voice still soft but edged with a protective concern.

“I-I don’t know,” you admit, your voice small. “He was here a minute ago, and then …” Your words trail off, and Charles doesn’t need you to finish the sentence to know what happened next.

He clenches his jaw, trying to keep his anger in check. Arthur should have been here, should have been looking out for you, but he isn’t. Charles isn’t sure where his brother is right now, but he’ll deal with that later. For now, he needs to focus on you.

“It’s okay,” he says again, though the words feel inadequate. “You’re with me now. No one’s going to hurt you.”

You nod again, but this time it’s a little steadier, a little more certain. “Thank you,” you whisper, the words barely audible over the music.

Charles shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says, his voice rougher than he intends. “I’ll always protect you. Always.”

The weight of those words hangs between you, a promise that feels more real than anything else in this moment. Charles knows, without a doubt, that he means it. He’ll protect you, no matter what. Even if it means facing down every threat, every danger, with the same ferocity he showed tonight.

He takes a deep breath, trying to let go of the lingering anger. The night isn’t over yet, but he’s not sure how much longer he can stand to be here, in this place that suddenly feels too crowded, too loud, too full of people who didn’t notice, didn’t care. Charles’ grip tightens on your shoulders as he scans the room, trying to spot Arthur in the sea of faces. But it’s a lost cause — the club is packed, and he knows Arthur could be anywhere.

“Come on,” Charles says, his voice a bit steadier now. “Let’s get out of here.”

You don’t argue, just nod and let him guide you through the crowd. The bodies pressing in around you both feel suffocating, the music that once electrified the night now grating on Charles’ nerves. He keeps a firm hold on your hand, as if letting go might mean losing you to the chaos.

As you near the exit, the cool night air becomes a welcome relief, a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat inside. The streets of Monaco are quieter now, the party shifting indoors as the night grows late. Charles doesn’t stop moving until you’re both far enough from the club that the noise fades into a dull hum, barely audible over the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks.

He finally releases your hand, only to immediately wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You’re shivering, whether from the cold or the shock, Charles isn’t sure. Either way, he holds you tighter, wishing he could do more, say more.

But the words don’t come easily. They never have. So instead, he just walks with you, slowly, allowing the night air to calm the both of you. You lean into him, and he can feel the tension gradually leaving your body, though you still seem a little too fragile, too breakable.

Charles isn’t sure how long you walk like that, side by side in the near silence, before you finally speak.

“Charles, I …” Your voice is hesitant, unsure. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.”

He stops walking, turning to face you, his expression serious. “You don’t have to think about that,” he says, his voice firm. “I was there. And I always will be.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his face for something — reassurance, perhaps, or maybe just understanding. “But what if next time-”

“There won’t be a next time.” Charles cuts you off, his voice harder than he intends. He takes a breath, softening his tone. “I won’t let there be a next time.”

He can see the worry still etched on your face, the remnants of fear that haven’t quite faded. He wishes he could take it all away, erase the memory of that man and the way he made you feel. But he knows he can’t. All he can do is be there, to protect you, to make sure you know that you’re not alone.

“You’re safe,” he repeats, quieter now, but with no less conviction. “As long as I’m here, you’re safe.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment, and he wonders what you’re thinking, what’s going on behind those eyes that have always been so easy for him to read. Eventually, you nod, and some of the tension in your posture seems to melt away.

“Okay,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

Charles nods too, though a part of him still feels on edge, like the danger hasn’t completely passed. But he pushes that feeling down, focusing instead on you, on the fact that you’re here with him, and that’s all that matters right now.

“Let’s go,” he says again, but this time, his voice is softer, more gentle. He takes your hand again, lacing his fingers with yours, and starts walking, leading you away from the club, from the noise and the memories that he hopes you’ll never have to revisit.

As you walk, the tension between you both begins to ease. The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of the sea, and for the first time in what feels like hours, Charles allows himself to breathe.

He glances over at you, your profile illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. You look calmer now, more like yourself, though there’s still a shadow of what happened lingering in your eyes. Charles’ heart aches at the sight, at the knowledge that he couldn’t protect you from that, even if he was there to stop it from getting worse.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he just keeps walking, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your knuckles, a silent reassurance that he’s here, and he’s not going anywhere.

Eventually, you reach the familiar streets that lead back to your apartment. The night is quiet now, the revelry of earlier giving way to the peaceful stillness of a city that’s finally starting to sleep.

When you reach your building, you both stop, lingering on the sidewalk as if neither of you wants the night to end just yet. Charles knows he should say something, anything, but the words are stuck in his throat, too heavy and too complicated to untangle.

You’re the one who breaks the silence, your voice soft but clear. “Thank you. For everything.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says, echoing his earlier words. “I meant what I said — I’ll always protect you.”

There’s a pause, a beat of silence that stretches on just long enough to make Charles wonder if you’re going to say something more. But you don’t. Instead, you step closer and, without warning, wrap your arms around him in a tight hug.

Charles is momentarily stunned, his breath catching in his throat as he processes the warmth of your embrace, the way you cling to him like he’s your anchor in a storm. He hesitates for only a second before his arms come up around you, holding you just as tightly, if not more.

The hug lasts longer than it probably should, but neither of you seems to want to let go. When you finally do, you pull back just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his with a softness that makes his chest tighten.

“Goodnight, Charlie,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Goodnight,” he replies, his voice equally soft, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile moment between you.

You give him one last, lingering look before turning and heading into your building, the door closing softly behind you. Charles stands there for a moment, staring at the door, as if willing it to open again, as if hoping you might come back out and say something more.

But you don’t, and eventually, Charles turns and starts walking back the way you came, his thoughts a tangled mess of emotions he’s not sure how to deal with.

The night is still, the only sound the distant crash of the waves against the rocks. Charles lets the quiet seep into him, trying to find some semblance of calm, but it’s difficult. The image of you, scared and vulnerable, keeps flashing through his mind, a constant reminder of how close you came to being hurt.

He knows he should feel relief — that you’re safe, that the night ended without further incident. But instead, all he feels is a gnawing sense of guilt, of not having been there sooner, of not being able to protect you from everything.

Charles clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he walks. He doesn’t want to think about what could have happened if he hadn’t been there, doesn’t want to imagine the fear and pain you might have endured.

But he can’t stop the thoughts from coming, can’t shake the anger that simmers just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment.

As he rounds the corner to his own street, Charles makes a silent vow to himself. He’ll be more vigilant, more careful. He won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. He’ll be there, always, to protect you, no matter what.

And if anyone tries to come between you and your safety again, well … Charles isn’t sure he’ll be able to hold back next time.

He reaches his apartment, but he doesn’t go inside right away. Instead, he stands outside, staring up at the stars barely visible above the city lights, his mind still racing with thoughts of you.

Eventually, he takes a deep breath and turns to unlock his door, stepping inside and letting the door close behind him with a quiet click. The apartment is dark and silent, but it doesn’t feel like home tonight. It feels empty, hollow, as if something is missing.

And Charles knows exactly what that something is.

As he heads to bed, his thoughts are still on you — on the way you looked at him tonight, on the way you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. And somewhere, deep down, Charles knows that you’re more than just Arthur’s best friend to him.

But he’s not ready to confront that just yet. Not tonight.

So he pushes the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the promise he made to himself: to always be there for you, to protect you, no matter what.

It’s a promise he intends to keep.

***

The morning sun stretches over Monaco, its golden rays catching on the waves that lap against the harbor. The city is just beginning to stir, and for a moment, everything feels like it should: calm, peaceful, normal. But as Charles hits his stride on his morning run, his mind is anything but calm.

The events of last night replay in his head on a loop, the image of you — shaken, scared, fighting back tears — burned into his memory. Every step he takes feels heavier, weighted down by the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

He’s tried to push it down, to focus on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the sound of his shoes hitting the pavement, but it’s no use. The rage is still there, as fresh and raw as it was the moment he saw you in that club.

Charles turns a corner, heading down toward the harbor where the yachts bob gently in the water. The morning air is crisp, a stark contrast to the heat that still lingers in his chest. He needs to clear his head, to shake off the lingering sense of helplessness that clings to him like a shadow.

But then he sees him.

The man is walking casually along the harbor, hands in his pockets, his face a picture of smug indifference. He looks like any other tourist enjoying a morning stroll, not like someone who was grabbing you, hurting you, just hours ago.

Charles stops dead in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, he thinks he’s imagining it, that his mind is playing tricks on him. But no, it’s him. The same face, the same sneer that Charles wanted to wipe off with his fist last night.

Something snaps inside Charles. The anger he’s been trying to control, trying to bury, erupts like a dam breaking, flooding his veins with adrenaline. His vision narrows, locking onto the man who dared to touch you, who thought he could get away with it.

Without thinking, Charles changes direction, his strides long and purposeful as he closes the distance between them. The man doesn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in whatever thoughts a man like him could have. But then, as Charles gets closer, something makes the man glance over his shoulder.

His reaction is immediate. The smug look falters, replaced by a flicker of recognition, then quickly by a lazy grin that only fuels Charles’ rage.

“Well, well,” the man drawls, stopping to face Charles, clearly not sensing the danger. “If it isn’t the big hero himself. What’s the matter, Leclerc? Didn’t get enough attention last night?”

Charles doesn’t answer, his jaw clenched so tightly he can feel his teeth grind together. He’s close enough now to smell the lingering stench of alcohol on the man’s breath, the same breath that spewed vile words at you.

The man chuckles, a sound that grates on Charles’ nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “You know, she had it coming,” he says, his tone almost conversational. “The way she was dressed, the way she looked at me — what did she expect?”

That’s all it takes. The words cut through Charles like a knife, sharp and searing, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, shoving him back against the railing of the harbor.

“What did you say?” Charles’ voice is low, dangerous, barely more than a growl. His knuckles are white where they grip the man’s shirt, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

The man’s grin only widens, unfazed by the fury in Charles’ eyes. “You heard me,” he sneers. “And you know what? There’s nothing you can do about it. We’re in public, Leclerc. You’re a famous guy — can’t have your precious image tarnished, can you?”

Charles’ lips curl into a smile, but it’s not the kind that reaches his eyes. It’s cold, calculated, the kind of smile that sends a chill down the spine. “You think I care about that?” He asks, his voice dangerously calm.

The man’s bravado falters just a bit, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, but he doesn’t back down. “Yeah, I do. You’re not gonna do anything. Not here, not in front of all these people.”

Charles laughs, but there’s no humor in it, just a bitter edge that makes the man shift uncomfortably. “You really don’t get it, do you?” Charles says, his voice softening into something almost pitying. “This is Monaco. And I’m Charles Leclerc.”

The man’s face pales slightly, but he still tries to hold his ground. “So what? You think being a driver gives you a free pass to do whatever you want?”

Charles’ smile widens, though there’s nothing friendly about it. “Exactly.”

Before the man can react, Charles yanks him away from the railing, dragging him along the harbor. The man stumbles, trying to pull away, but Charles’ grip is ironclad, unyielding. The few people who are out this early watch with interest, some even clapping or calling out congratulations as they recognize Charles.

“Hey, what the hell?” The man protests, his voice rising in panic as he struggles against Charles’ hold. “Let go of me!”

Charles doesn’t respond, his eyes focused straight ahead as he forces the man to walk, his grip tightening whenever he feels him start to resist. The man’s attempts to free himself are pathetic, laughable even, compared to the strength Charles has built up over years of training, of pushing his body to the limits.

As they pass by a group of people, one of them cheers, “That’s the way, Charles! Show him who’s boss!”

The man tries to appeal to the onlookers, his voice frantic. “Someone stop him! He’s crazy!”

But no one moves to help. They just watch, some amused, others indifferent, as Charles continues to drag the man through the streets of Monaco like he’s nothing more than a piece of trash that needs to be disposed of.

“Where are you taking me?” The man demands, his voice trembling now as fear starts to seep in. “You can’t do this! I’ll-I’ll call the police!”

Charles’ laugh is cold and devoid of any warmth. “Go ahead,” he says, not slowing down for a second. “Tell them Charles Leclerc is dealing with a problem. See how far that gets you.”

The man’s protests grow weaker, his struggles more desperate, but it’s clear he knows there’s no escaping this. Charles is too strong, too determined, and the reality of his situation is starting to sink in.

The two of them reach a more secluded part of the harbor, where the buildings are fewer and the noise of the city fades into the background. There’s no one around to witness what’s about to happen, no one to hear the man’s cries for help.

Charles comes to a stop in a narrow alleyway, shoving the man against the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of him. He leans in close, his face inches from the man’s, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

“You made a mistake last night,” Charles says, his tone icy. “You thought you could get away with it because you were in a crowded club, because she was alone. You thought no one would stop you.”

The man’s eyes are wide with fear now, all traces of his earlier arrogance gone. “I-I didn’t mean-”

“But you did,” Charles cuts him off, his voice like steel. “You meant every word, every touch, every threat. And now, you’re going to pay for it.”

The man tries to push Charles away, his movements frantic, but Charles is relentless. He grabs the man by the throat, pinning him against the wall, his grip just tight enough to make him understand how serious this is.

“You think I can’t do anything to you because we’re in public?” Charles hisses, his breath hot against the man’s ear. “You’re wrong. In Monaco, I can do whatever I want. And no one will stop me.”

The man’s hands claw at Charles’ arm, trying to pry his fingers away from his throat, but it’s useless. Charles is too strong, too focused, his anger giving him a surge of power that the man can’t hope to match.

Charles leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You hurt someone I care about. Someone I’ve known my whole life. And for that, I’m going to make sure you never forget what happens when you cross me.”

The man’s breath comes in short, panicked gasps as he realizes the gravity of his situation. He tries to speak, to beg for mercy, but Charles isn’t interested in hearing his excuses.

“Please …” the man finally manages to choke out, his voice barely a whisper. “I-I’m sorry …”

Charles’ eyes narrow, his grip tightening for a moment before he abruptly lets go, letting the man collapse to the ground in a heap. The man gasps for air, his hands trembling as he scrambles to his feet, his eyes wide with fear.

But Charles isn’t done. He grabs the man by the collar, dragging him deeper into the alley, where the shadows swallow them both. The man’s struggles are weak now, more out of instinct than any real hope of escape.

“People like you,” Charles says, his voice low and menacing, “think you can do whatever you want. But here’s the truth: you’re nothing. Just another coward who preys on the vulnerable. And cowards like you don’t get to walk away.”

The alley is cold and dark, the early morning light barely reaching the grimy corners where Charles drags the man like a lifeless doll. The sounds of Monaco are distant now, just a low hum that fades into the background. The only noise that matters is the ragged breathing of the man at Charles’ mercy, and the echo of their footsteps on the uneven pavement.

Charles stops abruptly, his grip still tight on the man’s collar. He looks around, taking in the silence, the isolation. This place, this forgotten corner of the city, is perfect. No one will find them here. No one will hear what happens next.

He shoves the man against the wall again, harder this time, the force of it knocking the breath out of him. The man lets out a choked gasp, his eyes wide with fear, the bravado from earlier completely gone.

“Please,” he stammers, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean-”

Charles cuts him off with a sharp punch to the gut, and the man doubles over, wheezing. “Don’t bother,” Charles says coldly. “You’re not sorry. You’re just scared. There’s a difference.”

The man tries to straighten up, but Charles doesn’t give him the chance. He lands another punch, this time to the man’s jaw, the crack of bone echoing in the alley. The man’s head snaps to the side, blood already beginning to trickle from his split lip.

“You like hurting people, don’t you?” Charles asks, his voice calm, almost conversational as he paces in front of the man. “That’s what you were doing last night, right? You saw her and you thought you could do whatever you wanted.”

The man groans, trying to push himself up from the ground where he’s fallen, but Charles is on him in an instant, his knee pressing into the man’s chest, pinning him down.

“You thought she was alone,” Charles continues, his voice still eerily calm as he looks down at the man struggling beneath him. “You thought no one would stop you.”

He leans in closer, his knee digging into the man’s ribs, making it harder for him to breathe. “But she wasn’t alone. And now, you’re going to pay for what you did.”

The man tries to shake his head, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. “I’m sorry,” he gasps out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know-”

Another punch, this one to the side of the man’s face, silences him. Charles doesn’t care about his excuses, his lies. All he cares about is making sure this man understands the pain, the fear that you felt last night.

He grabs the man by the hair, forcing his head up so their eyes meet. The man’s face is already swelling, bruises blossoming under his skin like dark flowers. “You think this is bad?” Charles asks, his voice low, dangerous. “This is nothing compared to what you deserve.”

The man whimpers, his hands weakly trying to push Charles away, but it’s no use. Charles is relentless, his grip like iron as he drags the man up and slams him back against the wall.

“You like to take what you want, don’t you?” Charles says, his breath hot against the man’s ear. “Well, let’s see how you like it when someone takes something from you.”

Without waiting for a response, Charles delivers a brutal kick to the man’s knee, and the sickening sound of bone cracking echoes in the alley. The man screams, a high, desperate sound that only fuels Charles’ anger.

He watches dispassionately as the man crumples to the ground, clutching his leg, his face contorted in agony. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” Charles asks, his voice devoid of any sympathy. “Now imagine how she felt. Imagine how scared she was, how helpless.”

The man tries to crawl away, his movements sluggish, hindered by the pain, but Charles isn’t done. He grabs the man by the ankle, dragging him back, his face set in grim determination.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Charles says, his voice flat, emotionless. “Not until I’m finished.”

He pulls the man up, slamming him into the wall again, his grip never loosening. The man’s head lolls to the side, blood dripping from his nose, his mouth, but Charles doesn’t care. He won’t stop until the man feels every bit of the fear and pain he inflicted on you.

“You think you can just walk away from this?” Charles asks, his voice soft, almost a whisper, but there’s a dangerous edge to it that makes the man’s eyes widen in fear. “You think you can just go back to your life, like nothing happened?”

The man shakes his head weakly, but Charles doesn’t believe him. He knows men like this, cowards who prey on the vulnerable, who think they’re invincible because they’ve never had to face the consequences of their actions.

“Wrong,” Charles says, his voice hard, unyielding. “You’re not walking away from this. Not ever.”

He lands another punch, this one to the man’s ribs, and the man gasps, the air knocked out of him. Charles steps back for a moment, watching as the man collapses to the ground, coughing, wheezing, barely conscious.

“Look at you,” Charles says, his voice filled with contempt as he circles the man like a predator. “Pathetic. All that confidence, all that arrogance — gone. Now you’re just a scared little boy, begging for mercy.”

The man’s eyes flutter open, bloodshot and filled with pain. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a low, pitiful moan. Charles crouches down beside him, his eyes cold, calculating.

“Did you really think you could get away with it?” Charles asks, his voice soft, almost gentle, but there’s a cruel undertone that makes the man flinch. “Did you think no one would care? That no one would come for you?”

The man doesn’t answer, his body trembling, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Charles watches him for a moment, his anger still simmering, but there’s a part of him — a small part — that feels a twisted sense of satisfaction. This man, this coward, is finally paying for what he did.

But it’s not enough. Not yet.

Charles reaches down, grabbing the man by the throat, his fingers digging into the bruised flesh. The man’s eyes go wide, panic setting in as he struggles to breathe, his hands weakly clawing at Charles’ arm.

“You’re not going to forget this,” Charles says, his voice low, dangerous. “Every time you look in the mirror, every time you see those scars, you’re going to remember what happens when you cross me. When you hurt someone I care about.”

The man gurgles, his eyes rolling back in his head, his body going limp in Charles’ grasp. For a moment, Charles considers finishing it, squeezing the life out of the man until there’s nothing left. But then he releases his grip, letting the man collapse to the ground, gasping for air.

The man barely has the strength to lift his head, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desperation. “You … you can’t … do this,” he wheezes, his voice weak, barely audible. “I’ll … have you arrested … for attempted murder …”

Charles stares down at him, a cold, humorless smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down the man’s spine. “Go ahead,” he says, his voice dripping with contempt. “Try it. See how far you get.”

The man’s eyes flutter closed, his body trembling uncontrollably as the reality of his situation sets in. He’s helpless, broken, barely clinging to consciousness. And Charles knows that the man’s threats are empty, born out of desperation, a final attempt to grasp at some semblance of control.

“You’re nothing,” Charles says, his voice cold, final. “No one is going to believe you. Not after what you did. Not after what I’ve done to you.”

The man’s breath comes in short, shallow gasps, his body shuddering with pain and exhaustion. Charles watches him for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before he finally stands up, looking down at the broken, bloodied man at his feet.

“Consider this a warning,” Charles says, his voice low, menacing. “Stay away from her. Stay away from Monaco. If I ever see you again, I won’t stop next time. I won’t show mercy.”

The man doesn’t respond, barely clinging to consciousness, his body slumped against the wall like a discarded puppet. Charles takes one last look at him, his eyes cold, before he turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing in the silent alley.

As he steps out into the morning light, the anger that had consumed him begins to fade, replaced by a cold, detached calm. He knows what he’s done, knows that he’s crossed a line that most people wouldn’t dare to. But he doesn’t care. He did what he had to do, what you needed him to do.

And he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

***

The atmosphere in the police station is tense, a quiet hum of activity threading through the open space. Officers move about, their conversations muted, eyes occasionally flicking toward the door where Charles Leclerc is expected to enter any moment. There’s a palpable discomfort in the air, a mix of respect and unease. No one wants to be the one to arrest Charles Leclerc. And yet, protocol demands his presence.

When Charles finally walks in, the room seems to still. Heads turn, eyes widen slightly. He’s dressed casually — sweatpants, a loose-fitting t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. Despite the nonchalance of his appearance, there’s an unmistakable tension in his shoulders, a hardness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

The desk sergeant, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a lined face, stands up hastily. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he begins, his tone overly formal, almost reverent. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice. We’re, uh … we’re very sorry about this.”

Charles offers a curt nod, his expression unreadable. “What’s this about?” He asks, even though he already knows.

The sergeant hesitates, glancing around nervously. “We, uh, received a complaint this morning,” he explains, his voice wavering slightly. “From a … an individual who claims that you assaulted him.”

Charles’ lips twitch into something resembling a smile, though there’s no warmth in it. “He’s not wrong,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. “I did.”

The sergeant’s eyes widen slightly, and there’s a nervous shifting among the other officers in the room. This isn’t how these things usually go. “Monsieur Leclerc,” the sergeant begins again, more carefully this time, “we understand that this man may have … done something to provoke you. But we have to follow protocol. We need to ask you some questions.”

Charles crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back slightly as he regards the sergeant with a cold, detached stare. “Protocol,” he repeats, his voice dripping with disdain. “Fine. Ask your questions.”

The sergeant shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “Did you, uh, did you physically assault the complainant?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.”

There’s a collective intake of breath from the officers around them, as if they can’t quite believe what they’re hearing. The sergeant blinks, clearly taken aback by Charles’ bluntness. “And … do you regret it?”

Charles laughs then, a dark, humorless sound that sends a shiver down the spines of everyone in the room. “Regret?” He echoes, shaking his head. “No, I don’t regret it. In fact, I’d do it again.”

The sergeant’s face pales, and he looks around as if searching for some way out of this conversation. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he begins again, his voice trembling slightly, “I don’t think you understand the situation. You’ve just admitted to a serious crime. We … we can’t just let you go.”

Charles’ expression hardens, his jaw clenching. “Yes, you can,” he says, his voice cold, unyielding. “And you will.”

The sergeant opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get a word out, the door to the station bursts open, and the man from the alley stumbles in. His face is still bruised, his movements stiff and pained. But there’s a look of triumph in his eyes as he spots Charles standing there.

“There he is!” The man shouts, pointing a shaky finger at Charles. “That’s him! That’s the bastard who tried to kill me!”

Charles turns slowly to face the man, his expression unreadable. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with tension. The man, emboldened by the presence of the police, takes a step closer, his voice rising with every word. “You think you can just walk away from this, Leclerc? You think you’re untouchable? I’m going to see you rot in prison for what you did!”

Charles doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. The man falters slightly, confused by the lack of reaction. Charles taps the screen a few times, then puts it on speaker.

“What are you doing?” The man sneers, though there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Calling your lawyer? That’s not going to save you.”

Charles doesn’t bother to reply. The phone rings once, twice, before a familiar voice answers on the other end.

“Charles,” comes the smooth, authoritative voice of Prince Albert of Monaco. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Charles doesn’t take his eyes off the man as he responds. “Your Highness, I’m at the police station. There’s a man here trying to press charges against me for something I did last night.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line, and then Prince Albert’s voice, calm and steady, fills the room through the speakerphone. “I see. And what exactly did you do, Charles?”

Charles’ eyes narrow as he stares down the man, who is now looking increasingly nervous. “I made sure he understands that there are consequences for hurting people I care about,” Charles says, his voice low, menacing. “I made sure he knows that no one lays a hand on her without answering to me.”

The silence in the station is deafening. Every officer in the room is holding their breath, waiting to see what happens next. The man’s face drains of color as he realizes what’s happening, who Charles is talking to.

Prince Albert’s voice is measured, careful. “And you believe this was necessary?”

“Yes,” Charles replies without hesitation. “It was necessary.”

There’s another pause, and then Prince Albert speaks again, his tone decisive. “Then I trust your judgment. You did what you had to do. Consider this a royal pardon. I’ll have an official document delivered to the station within the hour.”

The man’s mouth falls open in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You … you can’t do this!” He sputters, his voice rising in desperation. “He assaulted me! He nearly killed me!”

Charles finally lowers the phone, ending the call. He slips it back into his pocket, his expression as cold and unyielding as ever. “You heard him,” Charles says quietly, his eyes locked on the man’s. “You’re done here.”

The man looks around wildly, as if searching for someone to back him up, but all he finds are the wary, sympathetic gazes of the officers. No one is going to help him. No one is going to defy Prince Albert.

The desk sergeant clears his throat, stepping forward. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he says, his voice carefully controlled, “it appears that you’re free to go.”

Charles doesn’t smile. He simply nods, his gaze never leaving the man who stands trembling before him. “Good,” he says softly. “Because I have more important things to do than waste my time here.”

The man opens his mouth to protest again, but the words die on his lips as Charles steps forward, his presence overwhelming, almost suffocating. “You should leave Monaco,” Charles says, his voice low and dangerous. “Before I change my mind about letting you live.”

The man stumbles back, his bravado crumbling as fear takes hold. He casts one last desperate glance at the officers, but they all turn away, unwilling to meet his eyes. He’s alone in this, and he knows it.

With a final, defeated whimper, the man turns and flees from the station, his steps hurried, unsteady. Charles watches him go, his expression unreadable, his heart pounding with a mixture of adrenaline and satisfaction.

The desk sergeant shifts awkwardly, unsure of what to say. “Uh, I … we’re sorry for the inconvenience,” he stammers. “It’s just … we had to follow procedure …”

Charles waves a hand dismissively, already heading for the door. “It’s fine,” he says, though there’s a hardness in his voice that suggests otherwise. “Just make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

The sergeant nods quickly, grateful for the reprieve. “Of course, Monsieur Leclerc. It won’t happen again.”

Charles doesn’t respond. He steps out into the sunlight, the tension slowly draining from his body as the warmth of the day washes over him. The streets of Monaco are as busy as ever, people going about their lives, oblivious to what just transpired inside the police station.

He takes a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs, grounding himself. The day is far from over, and there are still things he needs to do, but for now, the threat has been neutralized. The man who hurt you is gone, and Charles made sure he’ll never come back.

As he walks away from the station, Charles can’t help but think of you, your face, your voice, the way you smiled at him when you were just a little girl. He knows he’s crossed a line today, done things that most people wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t condone. But he doesn’t care. He did it for you.

And he’d do it all over again if he had to.

***

Charles stands outside your apartment, a paper bag of takeout in one hand, his other raised to knock on the door. He hesitates for a moment, nerves he didn’t expect twisting in his stomach. It’s strange, feeling nervous about seeing you. He’s known you for years — watched you grow up, shared countless family dinners with you, laughed at your jokes, teased you about your school crushes.

But this … this feels different. Everything feels different now.

He finally knocks, a light tap that he knows you’ll hear. A few seconds pass, and then the door swings open, revealing you standing there in a casual outfit, your hair pulled back, a soft smile on your face.

“Charles,” you greet him, your voice warm, familiar. “Come in.”

He steps inside, glancing around the cozy space. It’s a small apartment, but it’s yours, filled with little touches that scream your personality — bookshelves overflowing with novels, a blanket draped over the back of the couch, a half-finished puzzle on the coffee table. It’s homey, comfortable, and it smells like the vanilla candle you always seem to have burning.

“I brought lunch,” Charles says, holding up the bag. “Figured you might be hungry.”

You smile, your eyes brightening at the sight of the food. “You know me too well. What did you get?”

“Your favorite,” he replies, setting the bag down on the table and beginning to unpack it. “Pasta from that little place near the harbor.”

“Perfect,” you say, moving to grab plates from the cupboard. “You always know how to spoil me.”

Charles chuckles, though his mind is far from the light-hearted conversation. There’s something heavy sitting on his chest, something he knows he needs to tell you, but the words stick in his throat. Instead, he focuses on the food, dishing out generous portions onto each plate.

You both sit down at the small dining table, and for a few minutes, there’s nothing but the sound of forks scraping against plates and the occasional hum of satisfaction as you enjoy the meal. It’s comfortable, easy — just like it’s always been between you.

But then, as if sensing his unease, you break the silence. “So, I heard the craziest thing this morning,” you say, your tone light, almost teasing. “One of my friends told me that you were almost arrested yesterday. Can you believe that?”

Charles’ fork pauses midway to his mouth, his heart skipping a beat. He hadn’t expected you to bring it up so casually, hadn’t prepared himself for this moment. He forces a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh? What did she say?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “She said she heard you were involved in some kind of fight and that the police were called. I told her she was crazy. I mean, you wouldn’t hurt a fly, right?”

There’s a playful glint in your eyes, but Charles can’t bring himself to join in. Instead, he sets his fork down, the sound of metal against porcelain unnaturally loud in the quiet room. He looks at you, his expression serious, all traces of his earlier smile gone.

“Actually,” he begins, his voice low, steady, “it’s true.”

Your smile falters, confusion flickering across your face. “What do you mean?”

Charles leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he meets your gaze head-on. “I was at the police station yesterday,” he says, the words heavy, deliberate. “They called me in because that guy — the one who … hurt you — he tried to press charges against me.”

You stare at him, the shock evident in your wide eyes. “Wait, you’re serious? This isn’t some joke?”

“I’m serious,” Charles replies, his voice calm, almost too calm. “I’m not proud of what I did, but I’m not ashamed of it either. He deserved what he got.”

For a moment, you just sit there, trying to process what he’s telling you. You set your fork down, your appetite suddenly gone. “But … Charles, what did you do?”

Charles takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I made sure he understood that there are consequences for his actions. That he can’t just walk away after what he did to you.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for your glass of water, taking a sip to steady yourself. “You … you didn’t …”

“I didn’t kill him,” Charles says quickly, sensing your fear. “But I hurt him. Badly. And I don’t regret it.”

You’re silent for a long moment, your mind racing. The Charles you know — the Charles you grew up with, the one who used to give you piggyback rides when you were too tired to walk — wouldn’t do something like this. But then again, this isn’t just anyone we’re talking about. This is you. And for Charles, you’re different. You’ve always been different.

“I did it to protect you,” Charles continues, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I couldn’t just stand by and let him get away with what he did. I couldn’t …”

He trails off, his gaze dropping to the table, his shoulders slumping slightly. It’s as if all the fight has drained out of him, leaving behind only the raw, honest truth of his actions.

You swallow hard, trying to make sense of everything. “But … you could have been arrested. You could have gone to jail.”

Charles laughs, a bitter sound that holds no real amusement. “Not in Monaco,” he says, shaking his head. “Not for this.”

You furrow your brow, confusion evident in your expression. “What do you mean?”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I talked to Prince Albert. He gave me a royal pardon. The guy had no chance.”

You blink, stunned by the casual way he says it, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “A royal pardon? Charles, that’s … that’s not normal.”

“No, it’s not,” Charles agrees, his tone somber. “But I don’t care. I’d do it all over again if it meant keeping you safe.”

The weight of his words hangs between you, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. You’ve always known Charles was protective of you, but this … this is something else entirely. He’s crossed a line, and there’s no going back.

For a moment, you’re both silent, the tension in the room thick, suffocating. Charles watches you, his heart pounding in his chest, waiting for you to say something, anything. He’s prepared for you to be angry, to be horrified by what he’s done. But he wasn’t prepared for the look of sadness that crosses your face, the way your shoulders slump as if the weight of the world has suddenly fallen on you.

“I don’t know what to say,” you finally whisper, your voice shaky. “I never wanted you to do something like this for me.”

Charles leans forward, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. His touch is warm, steady, and for a moment, it grounds you, pulls you back from the edge of the panic that’s been rising in your chest.

“I know,” he says softly. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. But it’s what I needed to do. I couldn’t just stand by and let him hurt you.”

You squeeze his hand, your grip tightening as if you’re afraid to let go. “But what if you had been arrested? What if you couldn’t get out of it? I couldn’t bear the thought of you being locked up because of me.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Charles replies, his voice firm, resolute. “I told you, I’d do anything to protect you. And I mean it.”

You look up at him then, your eyes searching his, trying to find some sign that this is all just a bad dream, that you’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal. But all you see is the truth — the raw, unfiltered truth of what Charles has done, and why he did it.

“I don’t know if I should be angry or grateful,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “You’ve always been there for me. But this … this is something else.”

Charles smiles then, a small, sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t have to be anything,” he says softly. “Just know that I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

For a moment, you just sit there, holding his hand, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words. There’s so much you want to say, so much you want to ask, but you can’t seem to find the right words. Instead, you focus on the warmth of his hand in yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his eyes never leave yours.

And then, before you can second-guess yourself, you lean across the table and press your lips to his. The kiss is soft, tentative at first, but it quickly deepens, the tension that’s been building between you finally finding release.

Charles’ hand comes up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer. The kiss is everything you didn’t know you needed — desperate, passionate, full of all the emotions that have been bubbling beneath the surface.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you try to catch your breath. Charles’ eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide, and there’s a look in them that you’ve never seen before — something raw and vulnerable, something that makes your heart stutter in your chest.

For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence heavy with the weight of what just happened. Charles’ hand is still in your hair, his thumb gently stroking the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You can feel his breath on your lips, warm and steady, as if he’s trying to anchor himself in this moment, to hold onto it for as long as he can.

Eventually, you pull back just enough to look into his eyes, your own heart pounding so loudly in your ears that you’re sure he can hear it too. “Charles …” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, but the words catch in your throat. You’re not sure what you want to say, what you’re supposed to say. Everything feels too big, too overwhelming.

Charles doesn’t say anything, just watches you with that same intense gaze, his eyes searching yours for something — reassurance, maybe, or understanding. Slowly, he lowers his hand from your hair, his fingers trailing down the side of your face before he lets it fall to his lap. The loss of his touch leaves you feeling cold, and you almost want to reach out and pull him back to you, to kiss him again and forget everything else. But you don’t.

Instead, you take a shaky breath and try to gather your thoughts, your mind racing. “What … what does this mean?” You finally manage to ask, your voice trembling.

He looks down at his hands, his brows furrowing in thought. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “All I know is that I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve known you my whole life, but … this is different.”

You bite your lip, trying to make sense of it all. “I’ve always cared about you. You know that. But I never thought …” You trail off, unable to finish the sentence, but the implication hangs in the air between you.

Charles finally looks up at you again, his expression softening. “Neither did I,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “But now that it’s happened … I don’t think I can go back. I don’t want to.”

You’re silent for a moment, the weight of his words settling over you. There’s a part of you that wants to be cautious, to protect yourself from whatever this is, but there’s another part — one that’s stronger — that wants to take the leap, to see where this could go.

“I don’t want to either,” you whisper, the admission almost too much to say out loud. But it’s the truth, and once it’s out there, you feel a sense of relief, as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

Charles’ eyes soften even more, his smile widening slightly. He reaches out, taking your hand in his once more, his grip warm and steady. “Then let’s see where this goes,” he says, his voice low and full of promise.

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. “Okay.”

For a moment, you both just sit there, hands intertwined, the food on the table long forgotten as the reality of what just happened begins to sink in. There’s still so much you need to talk about, so many questions that need answers, but for now, this is enough. The kiss, the confession, the promise of something more — it’s all more than you ever expected.

Charles gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes never leaving yours. “Whatever happens next, I want you to know that I’m here for you.”

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “I know,” you say softly. “And I’m here for you too.”

He nods, his expression earnest. “Good.”

The silence between you is comfortable now, the tension from earlier finally dissipating. You feel a sense of peace settle over you, a feeling that everything will be okay, no matter what comes next.

Finally, Charles glances at the table, his smile turning sheepish. “We should probably finish our lunch,” he says, his tone light.

You laugh, the sound easing the last of your lingering nerves. “Yeah, we probably should.”

You both pick up your forks, and the conversation shifts back to lighter topics, the ease between you returning as if nothing has changed. But you both know that something has. There’s a new understanding between you, a new connection that wasn’t there before. And as you finish your meal, stealing glances at each other across the table, you can’t help but feel excited about what the future might hold.

***

Monaco at night is a different kind of magic. The streets are quieter, the buzz of the day replaced by the hum of luxury cars and the distant sound of waves crashing against the harbor. The city glows with a soft, golden light, the kind that makes everything look a little more romantic, a little more surreal. And tonight, with you tucked into Charles’ side as you walk home from dinner, it feels like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you.

You’ve been together for a few years now, and yet there’s still a thrill in the way he holds you close, his arm draped around your shoulders as if he’s claiming you all over again. There’s something comforting in the familiarity of it, the way your bodies just fit together, like two puzzle pieces that were always meant to be.

The conversation between you is light, filled with teasing banter about the dessert you shared at the restaurant — how he insists you ate most of it, and you argue that he’s the one with the sweet tooth. It’s the kind of easy back-and-forth that comes with knowing someone inside out, with having weathered storms together and come out stronger on the other side.

But as you turn down a quieter street, the atmosphere shifts. It’s subtle at first — a flicker of movement in the corner of Charles’ eye, the sense that you’re being watched. And then, out of nowhere, a voice cuts through the night, crude and jarring in its tone.

“Hey, baby, how about a smile?”

You freeze, your muscles tensing instinctively. The voice belongs to a man leaning against a lamppost, his eyes raking over you with a leer that makes your skin crawl. You feel Charles stiffen beside you, his arm tightening around your shoulders protectively. But before you can react, the man pushes off from the lamppost and approaches, his hand reaching out to touch you.

It all happens in a blur. The man’s fingers graze your arm, and you flinch back, your heart racing. But before you can fully process the disgust that courses through you, Charles is already moving.

The look in his eyes is one you recognize — a dark, dangerous glint that you’ve only seen a handful of times, but each one burned into your memory. It’s the same look he had that night at the club, the night he became more than just your protector, the night everything between you changed.

He’s about to lunge, his body coiled like a spring, ready to unleash all the anger simmering beneath the surface. But you place a hand on his chest, stopping him just in time.

“Charles,” you say softly, but there’s a knowing edge to your voice, a familiarity with the situation. “Should I call Prince Albert? Let him know you might need another pardon?”

Charles pauses, his gaze flickering to yours, and for a moment, the tension eases. The corners of his mouth twitch upward, a dark, almost feral smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice low and laced with a dangerous amusement. “This must be the fourth one this year.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound lightening the mood, if only for a second. “Actually,” you correct him, your eyes sparkling with mischief, “it’s the fifth.”

His smile widens at that, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. But the humor doesn’t last long. The reality of the situation pulls him back, and his expression hardens once more as he turns his attention to the man who dared to touch you.

“Stay here,” Charles says, his tone leaving no room for argument. It’s the voice of a man who’s about to do something he won’t regret — something he’s done before.

You nod, trusting him, knowing that whatever happens next, it’s out of your hands. And as Charles steps away from you, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction, a sense of justice in knowing that this man is about to face the consequences of his actions.

The man, oblivious to the danger he’s in, sneers at Charles, clearly unbothered by the presence of another man. “What are you gonna do, pretty boy?” He taunts, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You think you can scare me?”

Charles doesn’t respond immediately. He takes his time, closing the distance between them with a measured, almost predatory grace. And when he finally speaks, his voice is as cold as ice.

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Charles says quietly, the words laced with a threat that hangs heavy in the air.

The man laughs, the sound grating and unpleasant. “Oh, I know exactly who you are,” he sneers. “You’re that driver, right? Leclerc? Big deal. Doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”

Charles tilts his head slightly, as if considering the man’s words, and then, to your surprise, he laughs — a dark, cruel sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You think being in public will protect you?” Charles asks, his voice dripping with mockery. “You think because there are people around, I won’t make you regret ever laying a hand on her?”

The man falters, some of his bravado slipping as he realizes that Charles isn’t backing down. He glances around, perhaps expecting someone to come to his aid, but the street is empty, save for a few onlookers who are too far away to hear the exchange.

Charles doesn’t give him time to think. With a speed that takes the man by surprise, he grabs him by the collar, yanking him forward with a strength that belies his lean frame. The man stumbles, his cocky demeanor evaporating as he realizes he’s in over his head.

“You should have walked away,” Charles murmurs, his voice dangerously calm. “But now … now you’re going to pay.”

The man struggles, trying to push Charles away, but it’s futile. Charles is a professional athlete, his body honed for strength and endurance, and the man is no match for him. Within seconds, Charles has him pinned against the wall of a nearby building, his forearm pressed against the man’s throat.

“Get off me, you psycho!” The man chokes out, his voice panicked as he claws at Charles’ arm.

But Charles doesn’t budge. He leans in closer, his face inches from the man’s, his eyes filled with a cold, calculated fury. “You’re going to regret ever touching her,” he says quietly, his words laced with venom.

And then, without warning, he drags the man away from the wall, pulling him down the street with a force that makes it clear this isn’t just a warning — it’s a promise. The man tries to resist, tries to fight back, but it’s no use. Charles is stronger, faster, and more determined, his grip unyielding as he hauls the man toward a darker, more secluded part of the street.

You watch from a distance, your heart pounding in your chest. Part of you wants to stop him, to tell him it’s not worth it, but another part of you— the part that remembers the fear and helplessness you felt when that man touched you — wants Charles to follow through, to make sure this man never does this to anyone else again.

As they disappear around a corner, you take a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside you. You trust Charles, you know he’ll be careful, but you can’t help the worry that creeps in, the fear of what might happen next.

Minutes pass, each one feeling like an eternity, and then finally, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up, your breath catching in your throat as you see Charles emerging from the shadows, alone.

His expression is unreadable, his eyes dark and stormy as he walks back to you. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence heavy with unspoken words.

Then, without a word, Charles pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if he’s afraid to let go. You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your hair. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You shake your head, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “You don’t have to apologize,” you say softly, your hand cupping his cheek. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He smiles then, a small, tired smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m okay,” he says, though you can hear the weariness in his voice. “But he won’t be bothering you — or anyone else — again.”

You nod, knowing there’s more to the story than he’s telling you, but you don’t press him. Not now, not when he’s holding you so tightly, as if he’s afraid to let you go.

“Let’s go home,” you say gently, taking his hand in yours.

Charles nods, his grip on your hand firm as he leads you back down the street, away from the darkness and into the light. And as you walk together, side by side, you can’t help but feel a sense of relief, a sense of safety in knowing that no matter what happens, Charles will always be there to protect you.

[wonderlanddreamer]

Lean On Me.

[Tommy Shelby × Reader]

Summary - A cute little hurt/comfort one-shot based on this request. When you're hurt during an incident at the Garrison, it's Tommy who notices and takes care of you.

The Garrison was alive with the usual sound of laughter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of conversation. It was a typical evening, and you moved behind the bar with ease, offering your gentle smile and kind eyes to each patron who approached. Your sweet demeanor had made you a favorite among the regulars, and your presence was often a calming influence in the boisterous atmosphere.

As you refilled a customer's drink, you noticed the door swing open with a force that made it bang against the wall, causing a few heads to turn sharply. A group of men entered, their loud voices and aggressive postures immediately altering the mood of the room. You recognized a few of them as troublemakers who had been thrown out before. A knot of anxiety formed in your stomach, but you continued your work, hoping they would leave without causing any trouble.

Unfortunately, it was not going to be one of those nights. The arguments started almost immediately, escalating quickly into shouts and threats. One of the men grabbed a patron by the collar, slamming him against the bar and causing his drink to spill everywhere. A furious brawl erupted, with fists flying and chairs being overturned. Glasses shattered as they were knocked off tables, and the sound of breaking wood filled the air as a table was flipped over.

You moved behind the bar, your heart pounding in your chest, trying to stay out of the fray. The scene was a blur of violent motion: a man was thrown to the ground, another's face was bloodied by a brutal punch, and someone else wielded a broken bottle like a weapon. The shouts and grunts of pain were deafening, and the air was thick with tension and fear.

Then, you heard the unmistakable crack of a gunshot. The noise cut through the chaos like a knife, silencing the room for a brief, heart-stopping moment. 

A searing pain shot through your side, causing you to gasp. You pressed a hand against the pain, feeling the warmth of blood seep through your fingers. Panic surged through you, but you bit down on your lip to stifle a cry. You couldn't afford to let anyone see you falter, not when the pub was in such disarray. You told yourself it was just a graze, nothing serious. You didn't need to cause a fuss.

The tension in the room was palpable when, suddenly, the door to the side room burst open. Tommy Shelby, flanked by his brothers John and Arthur, strode in with an air of authority that immediately commanded attention. Tommy’s sharp blue eyes scanned the chaos, missing nothing. In his hand, he held a revolver, its presence a chilling promise of violence. John, with a snarl on his lips, grabbed one of the troublemakers and threw him against the wall with a force that made the entire room shake. Arthur, always the most volatile, swung a chair with a roar, smashing it over another man's back. The Peaky Blinders moved with the precision and efficiency of a well-oiled machine, their brutal swiftness clearing out the troublemakers in a matter of moments.

Tommy fired a shot into the ceiling, the deafening crack silencing any remaining resistance. The troublemakers froze, their eyes wide with fear. "Out," Tommy growled, his voice low and deadly. "And if I see any of you in here again, you'll regret it." The men scrambled for the door, tripping over each other in their haste to escape.

The Garrison was left in shambles, but the immediate threat was gone. Tommy turned to survey the room, his gaze hard and calculating. He didn’t notice as you quickly tied a makeshift bandage around your waist, gritting your teeth against the pain, and continued your work.

Time seemed to stretch on forever as you cleaned up the broken glass and righted the overturned furniture. Your vision wavered, and a cold sweat broke out on your forehead. You pressed your hand to your side again, feeling the blood still seeping through the fabric of your makeshift bandage. Each movement was agony, but you forced yourself to keep going, telling yourself it would all be okay once your shift was over and you could go home. You swept the shattered remnants of glasses into a dustpan, the sound of the shards tinkling like a cruel reminder of the night's violence.

Eventually, you faltered faster than you could catch yourself, the room spinning around you as you fought to regain your balance. A strong hand caught your arm, steadying you. You looked up to see Tommy Shelby's piercing blue eyes staring at you, concern etched into his usually stoic features.

"What the hell happened to you?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous, the edge of authority unmistakable.

"I-It's nothing, Mr. Shelby," you stammered, trying to muster a reassuring smile but failing. "Just a scratch."

Tommy's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing you with a penetrating gaze. Before you could protest, he had pulled your hand away from your side, revealing the blood-soaked bandage. His expression darkened, a storm of anger and worry playing across his features.

"You're bleeding and you didn't think to say anything?" he growled, though there was a softness in his eyes that belied his harsh tone. "Come with me."

He led you to a side room of the Garrison, his grip firm but gentle, ensuring you didn't stumble. The room was small and dimly lit, filled with the scent of whiskey and old wood, a hidden sanctuary from the chaos outside. You winced as he helped you sit down, the pain now impossible to ignore.

Tommy worked quickly, his hands surprisingly deft as he removed your makeshift bandage and examined the wound. His fingers were steady, the touch surprisingly tender for someone known for his ruthlessness. 

"This is more than a scratch," Tommy muttered, his jaw tight with restrained anger. "God damn it, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry," you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. "I didn't want to be a bother."

Tommy's expression softened, his steely exterior cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of concern. He sighed heavily, shaking his head. "You're lucky I pay attention."

He set to work with surprising tenderness, carefully cleaning the wound. The sting of the antiseptic made you flinch, but Tommy's steady presence was oddly comforting. His fingers traced the edges of the wound, ensuring it was free of debris before wrapping a proper bandage around your waist. Despite the sharp focus in his eyes, you could see the undercurrent of tension, the worry he tried to mask behind his composed demeanour.

The room seemed to shrink around the two of you, the dim light casting a warm glow over Tommy's concentrated face. His hands moved with practised ease, but the care in his touch spoke volumes. It was a side of him rarely seen, hidden beneath layers of calculated ruthlessness and unyielding authority.

"There," he said softly, his voice a low, soothing rumble. He met your gaze with those piercing blue eyes, now softened with concern. "You'll be alright. But next time, you come straight to me. Understood?"

You nodded, managing a weak smile. "Thank you, Mr. Shelby."

He tilted your chin up with a gentle hand, his thumb brushing away your tears. "Call me Tommy," he corrected, his voice tender. "And promise me, no more heroics, eh? Leave that to me."

"I promise, Tommy," you replied, your heart swelling with gratitude and something deeper, something you didn't dare to name. The pain in your side seemed to fade, replaced by a warmth that spread through your chest. 

Tommy helped you to your feet, his arm steady around your waist, providing support as you swayed slightly. Each step sent a jolt of pain through your body, but with his strong presence beside you, it felt a little more bearable. His grip was firm yet gentle, a silent promise of protection that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket.

As you walked back into the main room of the Garrison, the remnants of the earlier brawl were still visible. Broken glass glinted on the floor, and overturned chairs lay scattered about. The other Peaky Blinders were busy restoring order, their expressions a mix of annoyance and grim determination. 

Tommy guided you to a quieter corner, easing you into a chair before resting against the table beside you. He reached for a glass of water, handing it to you with a gentleness that seemed almost out of character for the hardened leader of the Peaky Blinders.

"Drink this," he instructed, his voice softer now, the rough edges smoothed out by genuine concern. "It'll help."

You took the glass, your hands trembling slightly as you sipped the cool water. The liquid soothed your parched throat, and you felt a bit of strength return to your limbs. 

"Why didn't you say anything when it happened?" Tommy asked after a moment, genuine curiosity and concern lacing his words. He leaned in slightly, eyes searching yours for an answer, his brow furrowed with worry.

You looked down at your hands, the glass of water clutched between them. "I didn't want to cause more trouble," you admitted quietly. "I thought it was just a graze, and everyone already had so much to deal with."

Tommy's expression softened, his stern demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable. He sighed, shaking his head gently. "You're anything but trouble, sweetheart," he told you, his tone firm yet kind.

Your eyes widened at his words, your heart skipping a beat. You searched his face, looking for any sign that he was merely being kind, but all you saw was sincerity. 

"Thank you, Tommy," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. The words felt inadequate, but they were all you could manage in the moment.

He reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, not from fear but from a profound sense of connection. "Don’t scare me like that again, alright?" he said softly, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

The room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that intimate moment. You felt a warmth spread through your chest, a sense of belonging that you hadn't realized you craved. Tommy's touch was tender, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. You leaned into his hand, finding solace in the simple, yet profound gesture.

"Rest here for a bit," he said after a moment, his hand reluctantly pulling away, though his eyes remained fixed on yours. "I'll have someone take you home when you're ready."

He stood up, but not before softly tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. His presence was a shield, a promise that he would protect you no matter what. 

[stargirlo]

somber fem!reader

i just can imagine how much ur boyfie misses you after u two break up :(

he'll go to a seedy bar and drink up until he feels numb on his body, his musky colgone is now replaced with a reeking scent of jack daniels whiskey as he looks completely wasted. holding the whole bottle lazily on his hand before he pours himself another cup of the brown liquid onto the well designed glass cup.

he even babbles about you to the bartender, showing him a picture of yourself that he keeps in his wallet everyday. "you see this- *hic* fine babe? yeah- *hic* i-i lost her two days ago..." he slurred out, eyes dropping low as he looks like he was about to throw up. the only response the bartender could make is either awkwardly chuckling or just saying a small "aw..." because really, he doesn't have the time to have a therapy session with a drunkard.

"s-she like uh-... broke up with me for i don't know what reason, uhmmm- ugh, i miss her s'much..." he whines, acting like he was about to cry. he misses you, he really does. numbing all his pain away from endless amount of shots from the whiskey cup and just slurring out incoherent words that clearly don't make sense. someone comfort this man :(

but as he tips over the barstool, he finally manages to leave the bar and head over his car. murmuring incoherent words and stumbling over the pavement flooring before he finally slams his body against the car door. he struggles a little bit, letting out a strained groan as he sits down at the drivers seat. poor man is tired, and he feels so lonely without your presence beside the passenger seat. you were his passenger princess, and he can't seem to get over you.

he's acting like a total loser right now.

he takes out his wallet again, flipping it open to reveal the picture of you. you were peacefully sleeping on his bed, hair tousled around the plush pillows, and a little puddle of drool seeping into the pillow covers. he chuckles at the picture before it was replaced with silent cries, tears dripping down his cheeks as a few droplets drip down to his jeans. he can't believe he lost you, over god knows what argument you two had both had.

he misses you so much that while he was crying he could feel his cock throbbing against his jeans. he was craving your touch, the way your hand palms his cock and stroke him so deliberately and deliciously with such delicate hands. god he misses it.

so without further ado his cock already sprung free from its confines, one hand holding the wallet while the other worked its way down to stroke his cock. he felt so desperate that he spits on his cock as a use of a lubricant, letting out a throaty groan and string of whispers, talking to himself and praising himself as if you were still there with him. pathetic whimpers fill in the spacious car, the windows slightly fogging up as his vision was already at haze.

all that his mind was clouded of was with images of you.

he still feels empty, even if he's bringing himself close to an orgasm. but he tried, he really tried to think that you're the one stroking his cock instead of he himself. "g-god i... ugh- i miss you s'much baby, holy fuck- please come back..." he murmurs under his breath, jaw clenching as his eyebrows pinch together, letting go of his orgasm. it wasn't particularly the best he could've had but... at least it was something he could do while thinking about you.

but honestly, he just wishes you were there with him. he wishes he could go back in time and fix things properly instead of being put up into this situation. but i guess time will tell, and it's how god had written its story between you and him.

💌: gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento (who would break up with him?), hiromi higuruma, toji fushiguro (hear me out...), dazai osamu, odasaku, chuuya nakahara, manjiro sano, draken, rafe cameron, jj maybank, shinichiro sano, ++ your favs!!

[nvuy]

tumblr did not let me post this as a proper answer because tumblr hates me. BUT the council says: BEHOLD. an excerpt from my potential extended hijacked spin off boothill fic that that may or may not be potentially finished and posted so........... take it..................... anon you might not ever see this post but the brainworms are so huge and genius and i think you cooked......................

“Tha’s the hardest part… still bein’ here.”

There’s smoke in the air, and it curls around the windshield of your car. He’s called shotgun, as per usual, but that’s because you refuse to let him drive. Especially at night. He makes you feel sick when he takes corners faster than he slams the brakes at red lights.

The car hasn’t moved for a while. The drive had been rocky; there was no destination. Just away from the city for now. You’ve managed to find a secluded area deep in a stretch of trees, and there hasn’t been a car that’s passed on the dingy highway for ages now.

Smoking does nothing for him. He doesn’t have lungs to fill anymore, and the taste never appealed to him, but it helped take his mind off of everything.

Boothill felt the tug of the cigarette between his lips, and he let it go from his mouth before he watched as you shakily held it to your lips.

It’s disgusting. He snickers slightly when you cough and scrunch your eyes shut. You hand the cigarette back to him slowly.

You fan at your face, careful not to spill the half full bottle of wine balancing between your legs and the car seat. It’s one of the fancy brands Boothill snatched off the shelf on the way out of the bar from earlier after the manager had ordered him out. Something about not serving crooks. Whatever.

Your car reeks of smoke.

As much as the smell clogged your lungs, you hope it stays this way. 

“‘Specially since, y’know, it woulda been better if one o’ my dads lived, or my sisters, or even–” He takes another drag of the cigarette. “But, nah. Fate’s finicky like that. Leaves the worst ones standin’. That’s why we’re still around.”

And he’s right.

You take a sip from the bottle. You’re tipsy now. Definitely. You feel lighter than usual, and you’d worry about driving back somewhere to stay for the night.

You can’t drive in this state.

Boothill could drive back. You're too drunk to panic over how badly he swerves over the road.

And if he can’t, you could just sleep in the car for the night. It wouldn’t be the first time.

And, with him, maybe you would be okay.

Your vision is blurry, and there's an incessant burning beneath your eyelids. You quickly wipe your eyes. “Yeah.” God, you wish it was you who had disappeared. It would’ve saved your parents the heartache. You can’t even look at your reflection anymore. “Yeah, I get it.”

Boothill doesn’t say anything at first. He repeats your reply in his head like a mantra.

Instead, he blows smoke from his nose slowly in a long exhale, and then says, “I know you do.”

Furiously, you wipe your eyes again and tear your eyes away from the rearview mirror. You can’t will yourself to look. Though you feel nothing on your shoulder, you know the past sits behind you, and her hand rests on your skin like a weight.

Sometimes, it’s hard to even look at him, for when the metal of his body is reflective enough, you don’t see yourself, but her staring back at you.

He’s not sure what to say. Instead, he thinks it wise to potentially fry your car battery. He steals your phone charger hooked into the car and finds the slot that fits it best on his hip. Good enough. Hopefully it gives him enough juice to get through the next couple days.

“Oh, give it here.” You grab the wire from him. “You’re gonna break my damn charger.”

You peer at his ports curiously as he takes another drag of the silhouette, before you mumble something about the shape being a ‘USB-C’ and plug it into the right slot on his hip.

A small red light flashes to life above the port.

Boothill hums. “Thanks, sugar.” He doesn’t have to look at you, but the telltale scent of wine on your lips is enough for him to know. “You drunk?”

After a moment, you nod slowly. “Yeah.” Then, you twist in the chair to face him, bringing the bottle to your lips again. Your seatbelt is still on, even if the car has been parked for an hour. There’s a pang in your chest, and it tightens. “I miss her.”

She’s still staring at you in the mirror, but it’s not really her. Whatever this thing is, it’s not her. But it’s there, and it makes your heart race.

Boothill nods. “I miss my family, too.” He leans over and punches your thigh playfully. “But, I know your parents want ya to live for as long as you can. I know she would, too.”

You exhale. You’re beginning to feel sick now. Your stomach can’t take another blow from the wine, but you raise it to your lips anyway.

It burns when you swallow, like fire.

“That’s rich coming from you.”

He stops. Then, he turns away and raises his eyebrows in exasperation. “Just tryin’ to lift ya spirits.” Still, as exhausted as he feels, his rests a hand on your thigh. It’s comforting, the weight of metal, and it takes your mind off the fingers on your shoulders.

“I don’t think you’re the worst,” you mumble. You actually think you’re worse. Then, you shrug lightly. “I don’t want to lose you when you go.” You hear him exhale, somewhat to rid the smoke from his mouth, and also in the form of a sigh. “I know you won’t believe me, but I think I care about you.”

After you admit it, you pull the rim of the bottle to your lips again.

And then again.

And again.

Three sips later, you’re on the verge of collapsing, and Boothill snatches the bottle from your hand and stands it up by his feet on the car floor.

Your lips are stained a dark red, as is your tongue, and there’s a dark flush on your neck.

Sweat gathers over your skin, even if it’s freezing outside. The smoke is warm, and your legs are shaking.

“I just don’t want to lose you.”

Boothill turns his head and stares out the window. The stars are bright out here away from the city. It reminds him of home. None of that awful light pollution back there in that boring old planet that he loved to death.

If he could’ve, he would’ve taken you there.

That place doesn’t exist anymore.

He feels you would’ve loved his daughter. He feels she would’ve loved you a lot more.

“You ain’t gon’ lose me,” he whispers. He’s still not looking at you. He’s not sure if he’s lying, but he knows he wouldn't lie on purpose. Not to you. Not now.

He squeezes your thigh reassuringly. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Boothill hears the sound of your seatbelt unbuckling, and a shaky exhale follows.

Maybe you’re drunk out of your mind, and his breath stinks of tobacco, and it’s awful on your tongue, but you leap over the centre console of the car as best you can and hurriedly press your lips to his.

It hurts, and it makes him dizzy, and you feel like you’re floating, but he reciprocates, pressing further against your mouth. Your teeth clink, it’s messy, it’s awful, but it satisfies a burning in your stomach.

You snatch his hat and toss it in the back seat. His nose is cold, and it smushes against your cheekbone.

It lasts too long, and not long enough, for after a moment, he pulls his hands off your hips grabs your chin gently to push you off him.

You try to fuse your skin with his. Your stomach presses to his. Boothill’s eye softens and a grin grows on his lips when you sigh in defeat.

He laughs gently. “Easy, beautiful. I know you’re drunk as fudge.” He instead moves your head to his chest and pulls you gently into him. “Just sleep it off. You’re g’nna have the worst hangover in the mornin’.”

You hum and shift in his lap.

It falls silent for a moment.

“You’re so uncomfortable,” you murmur.

Boothill chuckles louder and blows a teasing cloud of smoke on the top of your head that you frantically wave away. He stares out the window again, and all the while, his free hand gently pets the top of your hair. He’s mindful that his joints can very well tangle easily.

“I bet,” he answers.

You murmur something he doesn't hear. Despite your complaints, you still fall asleep on his chest before you feel him lean down and his lips press to your hair.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ ｗａｎｎａ ｂｅ ｙｏｕｒｓ♡

♡ Pairing: bouncer!bang chan x stripper!chubby!fem!reader

♡ Summary: You've had your eye on a bouncer who works at your club for the longest time. Tonight may just be the night that you get your chance with him

♡ Genre: smut/angst-ish

♡ Word Count: 1.5kish

♡ Warnings: light violence during fight scene, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, dick riding (in the fun sense)

If years of being a dancer have taught you anything it’s how to pretend to give a shit when you’d much rather be at home vegetating. It’s not that you hate your job. You simply aren’t always in the mood to socialize. But the club’s packed tonight and bills need to be paid.

At least the customers are generous, the music’s tolerable, and your best friend’s scheduled to work with you. Spinning around on the pole, you spot her over by the bar lighting a sparkler inside a bottle of champagne. She waves to you, blowing you a kiss. You blow one right back at her.

A sweet moment's swiftly interrupted by the thud of a body crashing onto your platform. With the music blaring overhead, you hadn’t noticed the fight breaking out behind you between bouncers and a few frat boys who’ve clearly had one too many vodka shots. The frat boy laid out at your feet has blood gushing from his nose, ruining his shirt and risking the safety of your brand new stilettos.

He sees the bouncer responsible for his broken nose headed in his direction and so do you. Both of your heart rates increase for opposing reasons. His because, despite his blurred vision, he’s ready to go another round. Yours because the bouncer in question is Bang Chan or Channie as he lets you call him.

You’ve had an embarrassingly heavy crush on the platinum blonde haired Aussie since your first night working here. Somehow you’ve managed to remain oblivious to the fact that the feeling’s mutual. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of the frat boy sneaking a knife from his pocket.

You stomp down on his wrist, applying your full weight, and you feel something crunch beneath your heel. He cries out in pain, the knife falling to the floor. Now his nose isn’t the only thing that’s broken.  Chan grabs him by the shirt, tossing him into the arms of two other bouncers waiting nearby.

You’ve never seen him this angry before but his rage is fleeting when he rises from retrieving the knife and lays eyes on you. He smiles up at you, basking in your beauty like you’re one of those goddess statues in a museum. Masterfully carved in marble and perfect in every sense of the word.

“My hero” he gasps, hand over his heart. You roll your eyes, “Dramatic much?” Chan takes your manicured hand, kissing it so gently that it sends a chill through your body. “Thank you. I mean it. I owe you one.” His thumb strokes the back of your hand, your gazes lingering on each other as the rest of the world fades away.

It returns with a roar as the fight erupts again. “I, uh…” he stutters, torn between the longing to stay with you and his obligation to fulfill his duties. “Go. Do your job. No slacking” you tease, shooing him away. Chan blushes, grateful that the darkness of the club conceals it, and disappears into the crowd.

Being the professional that you are, you immediately go back to dancing. Your mind’s even farther gone than before, floating somewhere in the clouds treasuring the tingle left behind by his kiss like it’s gold. 

“Absolutely not” you sing, slamming the door to your locker. In the dressing room girls crowd around a half dozen vanities, dashing between clothing racks, hurrying to put the finishing touches on their looks before they’re called to the floor. You, on the other hand, have already changed into a hoodie and a cozy pair of sweats.

The night’s over for you. At least it was before your best friend cornered you, begging to borrow your car. “Oh, come on. Please, please, please” she pouts, “It’s only until tomorrow and I’ll give it right back.” “And how exactly am I supposed to get home?” The grin that spreads across her glitter speckled face is adorable and concerning all at once.

Throwing her coat on, she takes your hand and drags you through one of the side doors where Chan leans against his car waiting for you. With the sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled up and a few buttons undone, you get a peek at the tattoos covering his muscular form. Whatever workout this man does has done sinfully good things to his body. 

Your best friend plucks the car keys from your hand, nudging you forward, “You look out for my girl, Bang Chan!” “I’ll take good care of her” he promises, opening the door for you. There’s something sensual about the way he says that. “I’ll take good care of her.” You throw the bag on your shoulder into the backseat, hesitating to get in yourself.

“You really don’t have to do this.” “I owe you, remember?” Unable to argue with him, you hop in and put your seatbelt on.  As sexy as he looks walking around to the driver’s side, you wouldn’t object to being taken care of by him.

You pinch yourself on the arm, shaking off the thought of anything happening between the two of you. He probably doesn’t want it to. Even if he did, you work together. Something like that would never happen. It can’t...

An hour’s passed and you’re thrown across your bed, knees pressed to your chest, breathing like a pregnant woman in a Lamaze class. You have no clue where your clothes went but honestly, who the hell cares? Chan’s face is buried between your legs, slurping at your pussy like it’s the only thing he’s eaten in 48 hours.

Though that may not technically be true, you definitely taste better than any meal he’s had in recent memory. Your bed’s soaked from how wet you are, a year’s worth of anticipation dripping from his chin. He sucks your clit between his lips, circling it with his tongue and pulling away.

He repeats this over and over again, edging you to the point that you’re a trembling, overstimulated wreck. “Channie…” you whine, your eyes falling close as your nails dig into the sheets below. Chan grabs onto your lush hips, lifting you away from him, “Keep them open.

I wanna see those pretty eyes when I make you cum.” You pry them open and catch him staring up at you with nearly the same look he had at the club. Only now there’s an insatiable hunger behind those eyes. Grinding you down against his face, his tongue plunges into the depths of your warmth.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” is all you can say when he has you coming apart at the seams. “Mmm” he hums, sensing how close you are by the way your walls clench around his tongue. He flexes it along your g-spot and you’re cumming harder than you ever have. Your body’s twisting, pitiful moans fill the air, fingers grasping at his hair.

This must be what it feels like to have a demon exorcized or to be possessed by one. Either way, there’s nothing in this world like it. Even as your body goes limp, your mind going cloudy, Chan’s still kitten licking your slit to gather every drop of your juices. When he finally stops, he straightens your legs out, massaging them as he trails wet kisses up your stomach.

He takes the hand previously responsible for breaking someone’s nose and delicately toys with your nipples. They perk up for him, making each graze of his fingertip twice as intense. He drags his tongue over your bud. Up your chest. Along your chin. You open your mouth to catch your breath and he’s pulling you into a decadent kiss, laced with the sweetness of your arousal. 

“I knew you’d taste amazing but that was…” he groans, using two fingers to stroke between your folds, “I could stay between those thighs all night.” “You’ll have to come up for air at some point” you tease. Chan wraps his arms around your waist, hooking an arm behind your knee, “Breathing is overrated.”

In one fluid motion, he’s rolled you over on top of him, his thick cock resting against your twitching clit. Your legs are as structurally solid as jello but you manage to prop yourself up on them, fingers running along his length. “Is this all cause of lil old me?” you ask, dipping your thumb in the precum leaking from his tip and licking it off. 

Chan cups your cheek into his palm and you nuzzle it, kissing his palm. “Can I keep you?” You giggle at the question, raising your hips and sinking down onto him. “You can'' you moan, rotating your hips in graceful figure eights that have him ready to implode. A mixture of pleasure and panic floods his system.

It’d be embarrassing to cum this quickly but you’re making it impossible. It takes everything he has to hold back watching you have this much fun using his dick to make yourself feel good. 

Chan gets it, how men can throw everything in their pockets at you when you’re on stage. He’d empty every bank account in his name to have you sit on his face. Just sit there. Not even move.

[lingeriae]

SESSION 32 BY SUMMERWALKER FT ONYANKOPON

synopsis - it's time to move on from ony. idea from this ask!

warnings- cursing, angst, no happy ending (for ony), reader does not end up with ony! insecurties, toxi relationships ig, reader is black and female! few gramar errors.

"i think it's better if we end it."

it's silent as the word leaves your lips, and it slowly kills you and wishes that you were back to screaming like you were a minute before those words left your lips. you don't look at him instead you look down at your feet, afraid to meet his eyes which causes you to miss the way his face shifts to one of panic before it goes blank, you didn't mean that. nah of course you didn't. his hands that were once clenched into fist at his sides relaxes.

"that what you want?" you slowly shift your gaze to look up at him, rubbing your lips together before nodding, your heart squeezing as he gazes at you with a blank look and an unreadable expression on his face.

he always did that, hide his emotions. and it always fustrated the fuck out of you. you could never tell how he was feeling, and he would never tell you either, there were brief moments he would be vunerable but as quickly as it came was as quickly it vanished. it always led to a lot of arguements, that were resolved with a simple appology and tender touches.

not this time though.

you could feel the atmosphere shift as he looked down at you, his jaw clenching and his breathing became faster and harsher before it slowed, and his jaw relaxed.

"ight." and with that four letter word he was brushing past you into the bedroom, your lips parting and your chest tightening. spinning on your heels you turned to watch him, vision getting blurry when you realized he had a bag in his hand, collecting all of his stuff and shoving it into his bag. your mouth suddenly felt dry, and you stopped breathing, the tears fell down your face as if it were a river with no ends.

"s-so that's just it? we done?" your voice cracks, and onyankopon doesn't even blink, muttering under his breath about where one of his socks with his back turned to you. when he finally turns to look at you, he shakes his head and snorts. "I don't know what to tell you, bruh."

he walks past you, being careful not to touch you and the gesture causes you to blink back more tears, your hand moves to hold on to him. to beg him to stay. but your body doesn't move as you watch him walk out the front door, slamming it behind him.

it takes you two minutes of silence, blinking at the door infront you, to realize that onyankopon, the love of your life was gone. gone with just a blink of an eye, not turning back and not even hestitating.

fuck, he didn't even try to stay.

multiple emotions take over you all at once. sadness, anger, hurt, remorse, regret. you couldn't even feel the tears running down your face or the sob that caused your body to shake, not even there when crys after crys left your swollen lips and your knees buckle under you, unknown to the fact that a certain male stood outside of your door rubbing his beard with his hands with his eyebrows drawn together. a nagging feeling in the back of his head telling him to run back inside and go comfort you, to go fix this. but with a shake of his head he quickly dismissed the thoughts.

you wanted this, if you wanted to change that you knew where to come find him, right? with these thoughts in mind, ony sniffs before walking away from the door. walking away from you.

it takes one month.

one month for you to finally try to get over him. three weeks to finally block him and stop stalking his shit, two weeks to stop sending him messages he never replies to, and a couple of days to stop calling him with tears in your eyes and a bottle of henessy in your hand.

packing his stuff into a box you unload it into your car with a huff, deciding that it's time you finally gave it back even though your heart screamed at you no to. you couldn't call him, seeing as how you blocked him on everything, and you doubt he hadn't done the same. if it was one thing ony was, it was defininetly petty.

hopping into your car, you encourage yourself that this was for the best and that you had moved on from the 7 month relationship you and ony had. of course you had. inhaling deeply, you turned on your car and put in ony's address, nibbling your bottom lip as you begin to drive praying that this would go exactly as you hoped it would.

as you pulled up at ony's house, you stood in the car for a moment, trying to calm down your heart which raced in anticipation and anxiety. your fingers gripped the stairing wheel of your car,and you slowly inhaled and exhaled while closing your eyes before pushing open your car door and taking the box out from the back. you walked up the steps that lead to ony's house, and your heart suddenly started racing again as you neared to the door, your legs also begining o feel a little weak.

with one last prayer, you placed the box down and rung the door bell. at the sounds of footsteps, you contemplated running back to your car, and pressing the brakes, but it was too late as the door opened. holding your breath, you prepared yourself to be greeted by the handsome face that belonged to your man--ehem ex-man, only to see a lightskinned female with blonde butterfly locs.

your heart sank as you stared at the woman, eyeing her pretty looks and curves, a nose ring handing prettily from her left nostril and--oh. aint that one of ony's shirts? your eyes suddenly stung, and your nibble on your bottom lips to try and ignore it. she blinked at you, tilting her head before speaking, smiley shinning in the sun as she spoke. "uh, can I help you?"

"n-nah, I just came to drop off somethings for ony." you curse yourself in your hea for stuttering, mustering up your best smile to which she just raised an eyebrow at, blinking at you again.

"mmm, well ony's asleep right now, and he aint tell me bout," she looked you up and down and smacked her lips together. "you."

your eye twitched at her, and your eyebrows drew together wondering if it would be alright if you bopped her in her mouth, before shaking your head with another smile. "he wasn't expecting me, he'll know who it's from." you don't say anything more before turning and walking away, making sure your ass jiggled with each step so she knew what an actual ass looked like, you feel her eyes boring holes into the back of your head all the way to your car, driving off you feel yourself let out a breath you didnt know you were holding.

ony moved on. you thought, a sudden emotion that you were very familiar with overcoming you.

it had just been a month, and he moved on, while you just barely managed to stop crying over him. did he even care? did he even love you? how long has he been talking to that girl? was it before or after? your overthinking only grew worse as you reached your house, the tears you were holding back before immediately came down as you closed your house door.

how could he? act as if your relationship meant nothing? how could he not feel anything?

you didn't even realize you had took out your phone, unblocking his contact and clicking the call icon. waiting with baited breaths as it rang, one, two, three--it never stopped ringing. you try again, biting your bottom lip and closing your eyes, only it goes straight to voice male. with a shaky exhale you try texting him, eyes lighting up when he reads it a minute later, waiting anxiously for his reply.

and you wait ten minutes, still no text from him.

as stupid as it was, that was the moment you realized that ony didn't care as much as you did. maybe he cared, maybe he didn't but not as much as you cared for him.

not as much as you loved him.

and that fact alone broke you. you should've known it would've been like this, why would he try to come back? why would he show you love when he had know fucking idea what love is? when it was so fucking clear he didn't hurt as much as you. when he showed no remorse or tried to change when you begged him to.

it takes you one month, to realize that as much as you loved onyankopon, you had to let go, and it takes you three more months to fully get over him.

and it takes him six months to realize that he's regrets everything, the break-up, the fights. everything. he regrets not fixing it, not listening to you, not trying hard enough.

he regrets it all, and that's why he kocks on your door. desperation in his heart, and a hopeful look on his face.

you love him, right? you'll listen. (?)

ony towers over you, chocolate eyes that now had small but visible bags resting under them looked down at you, and his lips that were usually moist and smooth were now a little dry and chapped, as if hearing your thoughts he licked them, thrusting his chin up in a quick motion. "can we talk?"

the grip you had on the door tightened, and you blinked at him wondering if this was real or if you were tripping. your eyes looked him up down, pausing on his head where you noticed that he needed to trim. which was something unusual when it came to ony, because he always makes sure his hair looks good. after a moment you nod your head, meeting his eyes. "yeah, ill text you."

you watch as ony lips part before you close the door in his face. sighing you walk back into your room, a smile appearing on your face at the sight of your girlfriend on your bed, her sharp silver eyes moving from her phone screen to you. "who was at the door?" mikasa asked, she hummed as you kissed her lips, settling against her chest.

"jus someone I used to know."

[hazelvrr]

Punished

Pairing: Hazel callahan x fem reader

Summary: You beat Hazel at practice, which she doesn't like, and then things get heated in the showers

Contains: fighting, smut- stripping, scissoring, strap on, top!hazel

Word count: 2.7k

___________________________________________

As hazel slams you into the ground and climbs ontop of you, you imagine what it would feel like to have her ontop of you for a different reason. The way she straddled you as she pinned you down made your heart race and your head spin out of control; although you didn't want to admit it, you could feel your pussy begin to throb, getting wetter by the second as she's pushing her body down onto you to keep you on the ground, her face getting awfully close to your neck. The sound of her heavy panting didn't help, all you could think of is what she would sound like if those weren't sounds of struggling but sounds of pleasure, writhing under your touch.

Unfortunately for you, you had decided to put on a thin pair of linen shorts this morning, and so it became very obvious what was happening when they started to become see-through from your arousal. You could feel it as your pussy soaked through your panties and you knew you had to do something, so before she punches you in the nose, you quickly grab her arms and flip her over, holding her to the ground face down with her arms in the air as your sitting ontop of her.

"1..2..3! Winner," pj says and you stand up as everyone claps. You look over at hazel who is standing up and brushing herself off. She looks over at you with an intense stare, almost piercing your skin with her deep sapphire eyes. You look back at her, still breathing heavily from the exercise and she reaches her arm out. You look down at her hand and reach to shake it, the cold sensation of her rings touching your palm as she shakes your hand vigorously, not taking her eyes away from you once. The handshake seems to go on for just a few seconds too long before the bell rings and everyone is packing up to leave. You are in a trance staring at her and only realise what is happening when you feel her large calloused hand attempt slide off yours as you loosen your grip.

You decide to head to the showers after that and you start washing your hair. You're rinsing the shampoo out of your hair when all of a sudden you're being slammed against the wall, hands against your shoulders. It takes you a minute to see because of the suds in your eyes but once your vision clears, you recognise that its hazel holding you against the wall, "what the hell are you-" you say but before you can finish hazel gets up close to your neck and say "i didn't like that stunt you pulled out there, embarrassing me like that, oh and by the way, nobody else may have noticed but I could feel you dripping through your shorts, you thought you would be able to get away with that and nobody would notice?"

"Hazel I'm so-" you reply, feeling extremely embarrassed, "I guess we will just have to finish what we started later tonight" She interrupts in a cocky tone, still holding you up against the wall. You look her up and down realising for the first time since she basically attacked you in the showers that you were naked. You were both naked, pressed up against eachother. You look at her standing there, taking her in as she watches you squirm. Thank god for the running shower because a tear dripped down your leg and you don't know what would have happened next if she had seen that.

"So tonight, my place, 8 o clock, got it?" She says firmly, looking you up and down once more before backing away and walking back over to her shower, leaning over, giving you a full view of her ass as she picks up her shampoo bottle and conditioner and walks out into the changing room.

You're still standing there, frozen, from the shock of hazel speaking to you like that, you barely even knew eachother and now you were going to her house tonight? You had always had a thing for her but she never seemed to notice you until now,so you definitely weren't complaining.

You spent the rest of the day thinking about your plans with hazel, wondering what she was going to do to you, imagining hundreds of scenarios. You started to get ready, putting on makeup, curling your hair and putting on a nice dress and by the time you were ready it was nearly 8 and you were going to be late.

You arrive at her house at 8.05 and ring the doorbell, she answers almost straight away and stares at you, looking at your dress for way too long. "Um im freezing my ass of out here can i come in?" You say shivering. She snaps out of it and moves out of the way, letting you in, "you look great, it's really a shame though," She said grinning. "Why? What's wrong with it?" Yoj ask confused. "I'm about to ruin it all," and before you can say anything she wraps her arms around your hips, lifting you up as you wrap your legs round her as she kisses you aggressively. "What about your mom?" you ask concerned, pulling away. "She's not here, on a trip with this random guy she met called Steve or Mark or something," She shrugs, "so are you going to stop talking or am I going to have to make you stop talking?"

Okay now you were dripping. You just nod to her as she carry you up the stairs and into her room slamming you down on the bed and crawling ontop of you, "now, do you remember why you're here?" She asks you looking down at the hem of your dress and running her finger along the bottom. "Because you asked me to?" You reply looking down at her finger starting to breathe heavier. "No. Because you embarrassed me and now you need to be taught a lesson," She says slowly beginning to touch your thighs. "Oh yeah? We'll see about that," you say as you pull her hand away and flip her onto her back, pinning her hands behind her head, straddling her.

You don't know what came over you but you were there holding her hands above her head with one hand and with the other you reach up your dress, pull your panties to the side and began to play with yourself, forcing her to do nothing but watch. You began by gently circling your clit. with your index finger, and then inserting a finger inside, sighing at the sensation. You felt her breaths quicken as you begin to make circles with your finger, throwing your head back and whimpering, you're slipping another finger in your pussy and curling them, feeling your walls clench around your fingers and push your juice out. Your poor whimpers soon turn into loud moans as the wet slapping sound fills the room.

You open your eyes to see what hazel is doing because she's suspiciously quiet and when you look at her, she's almost sobbing with her eyes closed. "What's the matter hmm? I thought you were going to teach me a lesson, all I've learnt is how wet I make you," you say as you run your fingers along her trousers, showing her the wetness that had completely soaked through. She whimpered looking away so you grab her by the chin and make her look at you. You continue to pump your fingers in and out of your pussy until you began to feel a familiar warmth growing in your stomach and then your whole body began to shake, you throw your head back once more, giving in to your orgasm and you moan hazels name as you reach your climax whilst sitting on hazel as you made her watch as her pussy ached.

You climb off her and lay down next to her trying to slow your breaths down after. Hazel took advantage of this and quickly climbed back on top of you, "guess fight club comes in handy sometimes," She smirks as her eyes light up, "my turn."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You ask, scared of the answer you were about to receive, but instead the only answer you got was, "strip." You look back up at her, "what?" You ask, she replies in a serious tone, "you heard me." That sentence sent a shiver down your spine as you began stripping, removing your dress and hazel snatches it off you and throws it into the corner of the room, "hey that's my favorite dress," you tell her, annoyed that she had just thrown it. "Shut the fuck up and strip," She said, completely unsympathetic.

You listen and remove your blue lace panties you had put on to match the dress, to seem put together for hazel, although you don't think hazel noticed at all, she was too focused on when she was getting to fuck you. Finally you remove your bra and drop it on the floor and look to hazel, who had just unzipped her jeans, pulled them off and removed her boxers.

"What are you doin-" before you could finish hazel pushes your back down on the bed so you're laying flat, completely naked. "After that little game you tried to play, you deserve a punishment, im going to ride your tits and use you as my toy and when I cum all over your tits, you are going to apologise for embarrassing me and tell me how much you need me."

You begin dripping on the bed sheets but don't even notice because hazel has just climbed ontop of you and rested her clit over your tit. She waited a second to make sure she was in the right spot teasing her own clit with your nipple and then began to grind downwards, using your hard nipple to get herself off. You watch as her hips move up and down right infront of your face, reaching out to wrap your arms around them. You slide your hands round to her ass and squeeze, "naughty girl, did I say you could do that?" She asks in a breathy moan as she is dripping in arousal on your chest. She grabs your hands and moves them towards her tits, signaling for you to play with them. You grab them and start moving them round in circles, watching hazels face as she is getting closer to her climax. You take her tit in your mouth, licking in circles round her nipple and sucking it gently, this brings hazel over the edge as she yells, "im gonna cum, im gonna" and spills out all over your tits, still moving up and down chasing her orgasm.

Her breathing slows and she shuffles backwards leaning her face down to your stomach, making eye contact as she licks you, cleaning you up, tasting her own juices on her tounge. She continues licking further up, licking around your nipples in circles, making you sigh as she makes her way up to your neck and starts marking you. "This is so everyone will know what a naughty little slut you are," She whispers into your ear, nibbling on it softly. She starts kissing you passionately and you can taste her cum on your tongue, "mmm you taste so sweet hazel," you moan into her mouth as she pushes her body further into you, searching for friction.

You move towards her and turn so that both of your pussys are touching and then you both begin to rub your clits together, at first it feels weird but once you find a rhythm, it's all pleasure. Both of you have your eyes squeezed shut from the sensation as it becomes easier to grind because you're both dripping wet now. You start to feel a trembling feeling in your thighs, as your whole legs begin to twitch, so hazel puts a slight amount more pressure which sends you over the edge cumming all over hazels pussy as you moan her name, your cum spilling over hazels clit brings her to her climax, as she cums all over you, the both of you still grinding at a slow pace until you have both finished.

You both lay down for a moment looking at eachother in awe of one another, "that felt so good," you say to her, still slightly out of breath. "Look at the absolute mess we've made of my sheets, such a good girl," her words swirling round inside you, turning you on even more if that was even possible.

Hazel takes a deep breath and gets up from the bed, crouching down to reach under her bed, you get a good view of her tits bounce as she does this and you lick your lips. She pulls out a box, opens it up and inside is a blue 6 inch strap on and it's belt. You look at her, shocked, "you just have one of those lying around?" You ask. "Nope bought it especially for you for tonight," she replies, "what do you think?" You look at it, your mouth watering imagining what she could do to you in that. "I like it. I like it a lot." You quickly say, almost too quickly. "Don't be so eager, don't you worry, I'm gonna fuck you so good you won't be able to walk tomorrow, nevermind beat me in a fight," She says, looking very pleased with herself, "now, be a good little slut and bend over."

You quickly stand up and lean forward so that your entrance is accessible from behind. "Now spread those legs for me and we will see just how much you need me," hazel says as she is strapping the blue strap to her. She lines it up with your entrance and circles it round, coating her strap in your arousal. She continues to rub around your clit but not going in. "Stop teasing hazel," you say annoyed as your pussy throbs in anticipation. "Tell me how much you want me, how much you need me and maybe I will consider it, she replies with a menacing grin on her face," you turn to look over your shoulder but she pushes you back to face towards the door. "Hazel please, I'm begging you, I need you," you say desperately.

Apparently that worked because 5 seconds later she was wrapping her hands around your hips and sliding into your entrance. You moan at the sudden sensation feeling it pump so far inside you. "I can't quite hear you, I'm gonna need you to moan as loud as you can for me," hazel moans into my neck before slamming into me once again, making me moan even louder. She continues to buck into me with her strap, stretching out my pussy as my walls tighten around her, getting closer to cumming.

Just as you were getting close, she stops her movements, "what are you doing I was so close," you try to say to her but it comes out more like this "what mm u I so close." She turns you back around, without removing herself from you and places you on the bed as she straddles you. She spreads your legs even further then starts to buck into you again, able to hit even further in this new position. She reaches your g spot and tries to move her strap round your pussy in a circle, "Wow you're so tight, such a pretty pussy," She says to you in admiration watching your whole body shut down, trembling then slowing down, then you release yourself all over her cock. She pulls it out allowing more of your juice to spill out all over the bed.

You look at her and move over to the strap, beginning to suck it, collecting every last drop of your juices before she removes the strap, flinging it on the floor from being so tired. You both lay down together, eyes meeting and kiss, tasting eachother on your tongues then lay there cuddling until you both fall asleep in the mess you made.

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@iloverubycruzz on wattpad

@hazelcallahansgirlfriend on a03

@sltfr on tiktok

[sunlightmurdock]

Katie!!! 💗💗

❛ you can kiss me, you know. ❜ SCREAMS dbf jake 👀👀 like i can just hear it in that smug, sexy voice of his 🫠

also the new theme is so cute, i love it!! 🧡

Krickett!! @sugarcoated-lame! Thank you! And yessssss I 100% see the vision. Like a lot of time with dbf!jake I talk about him resisting the urge a little bit, trying to be a good friend or whatever, but can you imagine that in this situation he’s the instigator?

He knows that reader has a crush on him, and he knows that her feelings are farrr from being sweet little girl next door feelings. He kept his distance for a while, and he really was just trying to be a nice guy by offering to let you hang out with him for the evening after your date bailed on you last minute.

But then, you’re in his place and you’re all dolled up for the date that you didn’t end up going on.

Somehow, you sweet talk him into teaching you his best poker skills. Looking at him through your lashes, all serious as you work on keeping a straight face over your cards. Each of you sipping on a couple of cold beers as the night goes on, him pretending like he doesn’t know you’re flirting with him.

“Alright, fine! — Let’s raise the stakes, if I win then…” You trail off, giddy and buzzed, “If I win then you have to pick me up from work for a week.”

There’s a different look in his eyes as he stares at you from across his coffee table, his poker face not only protecting his cards but also the fact that he can see right up that short skirt of yours.

“And if I win?” He murmurs, his voice deep and serious now.

Your eyes flash with excitement for just a second before you manage to compose yourself, shrugging like you’re innocent and oblivious.

“A— Well, anything that you want, I guess.” You answer him, flustered and suddenly veryyyy focused on your cards.

“Anything?” Jake asks, loving the way your eyes go wide when you steal another look at him. Loving, even more, the way you nod your head dumbly for him. He nods, silently accepting the terms and waiting for you to set your cards down. He already knows he’s got the better hand, you’ve got a tell.

You glance between him and the four of a kind that you had just set down. He knows, at this point, that you don’t even want to win. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head like he’s sorry as he sets down the straight flush on the table.

“Read ‘em and weep, princess.”

You press your teeth into your bottom lip, letting the silence settle between you for a second too long before you look up at him.

“So… what do you want?” You whisper, so quiet that he can practically hear your heart thudding.

His mouth twitches, his green eyes suddenly dark through the soft lighting of his dark wood accented living room. He studies you from across the table, taking his time in looking you over.

Then, he taps his finger against the empty beer bottle in front of him.

“Just another one of these. Thanks.”

Disappointment flashes instantly across your face. He just shot you down in flames. You close your mouth swiftly and mumble an embarrassed agreement, grabbing both of your empty bottles and rushing for his kitchen. Thinking so loudly that you don’t even hear him push himself up to follow you.

You slam the fridge door shut with a huff, almost dropping the two new beer bottles in your hands when you find him standing right there in front of you. He takes a step closer again, reaching up and curling his hands around the two bottles. You release them immediately into his grip, speechless as he sets them on the countertop behind you and lets his chest bump yours.

Silently, he lifts his hand and trails his knuckles across the apple of your cheek.

Your chest heaves, heartbeat thundering inside your ribcage.

“You can kiss me, you know.” He permits, dropping his hands and grabbing at your waist.

Your eyes widen. “Really?”

“Mhm,” Jake mumbles, letting his nose brush against your cheekbone. “You can have anything you want, honey.”

[beansricejc]

coworkers with benefits [jw x f!reader blurb]

cw: mentions of blood, implied v!olence, cursing, spice

john and you were accidentally assigned the same job, by the whoever the hell has the money to do so.

and unfortunately for John- you have a way better in since he isn’t a pretty woman in a bottle girl outfit. champagne in hand, tiny denim shorts that have everyone turning their heads. the cropped shirt that accentuate your pushed up tits.

when you walk past him you barely notice the predator in the flashing lights. his wolf like eyes planted on you, and only you. your history with John is complicated. too much to go into detail about.

let’s just say he’s memorized the taste of your cunt.

you curse to yourself when you see his outline on the dance floor, walking a bit quicker to the VIP lounge. you’ve planted a gun under the coffee table of the lounge, and everything is going to plan.

five minutes into you being behind those velvet curtains, you reach beneath the table. your small hand pats around quickly, eyes widening when the thought occurs to you. someone’s found and taken your gun.

but who?!

one of the men you’re contracted to kill shouts at you in some sort of language, probably European.

bang, bang, bang.

your body instinctively tucks and rolls, ducking behind the couch as all of the men in the lounge fall dead. one is fairly close to you as the pool of blood inches its way over to your feet.

“you can come out now.” john’s voice echoes out, you’re hating the fact that he stole this job from under you. grunting - you stand up, glaring across the room at the hitman in his freshly pressed black suit.

“seriously? did you take my gu-“

“yeah. i did. around 8 this morning.” he interrupts, flashing you a shit eating smirk while sauntering over to your scantily clad self. you huff out in annoyance, his hand grabbing your chin to force you to look up at his striking form. the face of death peering over you.

you’re good at your profession. you’ll just never be him.

“i think you owe me.”

“what?!”

-

your throat is sore while you blabber out his name. after being throat fucked for about ten minutes on the couch, you’re now filling yourself with john’s deliciously sized cock. thighs at work as you bounce, he groans and bites your shoulder as he watches his dick disappear in and out of your weeping cunt.

your bare legs chafe against his expensive dress pants, letting out a cry of pain and bliss from his love bite. john’s sharp teeth draws the smallest bit of blood, although he makes up for it by giving your soft flesh some suction with his chapped lips. that will definitely result in a hickey tomorrow.

no one has even come in to check on the lounge from the gunshots because of how damn loud it is, due to the DJ insistent on breaking the noise ordinance in the city. that’s perfectly fine with you two. neither of you know how to keep your damn mouths shut while you fuck like rabid animals.

his rough hands paw at your hips, assisting you in slamming down onto his length. ensuring your walls are able to swallow every damn inch of him. a string of curse words and whimpers fall from your mouth, along with some drool that dribbles onto his dress shirt. (which is now soaked in sweat).

his cock twitches, and your cunt squeezes it half to death. the burning in your core becomes unbearable. john’s right hand switches from your hip to your clit. much to your embarrassment, he knows your pussy like the back of his hand. 2 of his calloused fingers massage that needy nub of yours, sending you over the edge within seconds.

your climax hits you like a truck, your body overcome with a feeling of euphoria as he continues to thrust his cock up into you. your vision even goes dark as the overstimulation gets to you.

“that’s it, let it happen.” his grumbly voice praises you. “there you go. shit- i should jeopardize your missions more often.”

yeah don’t ask- i threw this together in 20 min

[8myass]

OH MY GOD HIIII ur blog looks supa cool it’s so nice to meet u lele 😁😁

can i be 🧺 anon and request haechan hate sex 🥴🥴🥴 god i’m obsessed w that man

hi hi! thank you so much! of course, you can be 🧺 anon! thank you for making the first-ever request on my page. it was super fun to write this! i, too, am very obsessed with this man, he's genuinely too fine. i hope you enjoy it!! pairing. lee donghyuck/haechan x female reader genre. angst, smut (w plot) pov. second person (you, yours, yourself, etc.) wc. 1.6k cw. enemy!haechan, slight bimbo!reader, mean dom!hae, bratty sub!reader tw. alcohol consumption, mentions infidelity and breakup, slight dubcon aspects (bc of the wording, it seems very noncon at first), cursing, mentions blood, name calling (‘bitch’, ‘whore’, ‘toy’), face-fucking, deepthroating, degradation, slight praise (typically only ever mixed with degradation), hate sex (obvi), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap your meat fellas), ass slapping, pet names (‘babe’, ‘baby’), hair pulling, breeding, haechan’s just mean idk??

“Can you at least pretend to love me? Just for tonight?” Haechan frowned, his vision blurred from an extensive amount of alcohol, hung over your shoulder as you dragged him to your car, somehow being left with the responsibility of taking him home after he was found passed out on your friend’s couch. Your friend claimed she had to clean the party that wiped through her house like a hurricane but fell asleep in the bathroom by the toilet, droplets of vomit littering the toilet seat, and more chunks in the bowl. 

You rolled your eyes, popping open the door of the passenger’s side to your vehicle, “You’re fucking ridiculous.” Throwing him in the car, you shut the door and dragged your feet to the driver’s side door, sitting down to instantly start the engine up. He didn’t buckle up, slouching down in the seat, eyes dazed. You looked over at him and sighed, shaking your head, “What happened to you, man? Why’d you drink so much?”

“My girl cheated on me,” he laughed, the amusement in his tone holding the deepest pain you remember hearing your entire life. “We’re not together anymore.”

You didn’t know how to reply, never feeling so much sympathy for someone who you despised so incredibly. “Do you miss her?”

“How could I not? She was my world all through high school, no one else meant as much to me as she did,” he exhaled deeply, his voice cracking, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. 

You sat in silence for a couple of minutes, the drive becoming awkward in the quietness. You still didn’t know what to say, unable to comprehend whether he wanted to find comfort in you at such an awful time. 

“It’s right here,” he pointed out the window as you pulled up his street, stepping on the brakes as soon as you heard his words. 

“This place?” you scoffed, looking at him with your typical disgusted expression, accidentally forgetting the deep emotional conversation you two just had. The place was old, moss growing up the sides of the former white-painted house that had now turned brown due to being behind on cleaning. The windows were clouded, blinds pale and stained, the wood of the door cracked. “It’s a dump.”

He sighed lowly, getting out of the car with a quick shove, turning on his heels to look at you, “Can you come in?”

“You want me to come into your house?” you raised an eyebrow, but something told you to accept his offer, “Fine, just until you sober up.”

You unbuckled and followed him into his garbage site that he claimed was his house, watching him chug water bottle after water bottle sitting at the small, two-person table across from him. 

“Don’t choke, I might laugh,” you chuckled as he continued to gulp down the remaining water in the bottle, eyes narrowing while looking at you. 

“You’re annoying,” he huffed, slamming the bottle down on the table. 

“Yeah, not the first time you’ve told me that,” you snorted, “Are you sobered up yet? Can I go now, Mr. I-need-you-to-come-help-make-sure-I-don’t-choke-on-my-own-vomit?”

“Screw you,” he groaned, standing up and throwing away the plastic bottle into the green recycling bin next to his dirtied fridge. You stood up as well, hurrying toward the door, taking that as a ‘get the hell out, bitch’. Typically, that’d be what that meant, you weren’t wrong for thinking that. 

“Where are you going?” you heard his voice right next to your ear as your body was pressed against the door before your hand could reach the doorknob.

“I’m leaving, you’re sober now,” you squirmed in his grip, his thumbs pressed to the back of your hips to hold your body against the chilled wood. “Don’t touch me, let go of me.”

“Why would I do that? I’m finally available, I can finally touch you how I please,” he hummed, one finger tracing down your spine, his opposing hand slipping up your skin-tight dress, pressing his palm against the delicate skin of your inner thigh. 

“Don’t touch me,” you growled, squirming more aggressively in his grasp. “You’re disgusting, I hate you. Let me go before I kick your dick in.”

“God, you’re so fucking annoying,” he managed to flip your fussy form around so he could look into your pleading eyes. In an instant, you were on your knees, cock down your throat, gagging you to the point of tears pouring down your cheeks, slobber coating your chin as his balls smacked the remnants of your filth off your face and down onto your thighs. 

“Fuck, bitch, that’s so good,” he moaned, smirk popping onto his face as his head fell back. Your tongue looped around his cock as he repeatedly fucked your face, your nails digging into the skin of his thighs so tightly that it nearly drew blood. His fingers were laced through your hair, keeping your head in place as he thrusts himself into your mouth. He scrunched his nose up a few times as he felt your teeth brush against his dick, “A little less teeth, okay?”

“What’s the matter? Don’t act like you haven’t done this before, I’m sure you’ve had a cock down your throat every night since we last saw each other,” he scoffed, looking down at the way your eyes gazed at him with a gentle glint in them. You had only just seen him a few days ago, but you have been with a man every night since then. It was a good time killer, how could you not let some random guy fuck the daylights outta you just for funsies? “You never had something so big down your throat, is that the problem?”

You gagged in response to his question, drool pooling out around the seams of your mouth. His cock was coated in your sticky saliva by now, his tip reaching down your throat, precum leaking out around it. 

“You sound so much better gagging on my dick,” he chuckled, forcing himself entirely into your mouth until your nose was pressed against his pelvis, choking on the cum pouring out of his tip as trails of moans came out of his hung open mouth. “Yeah, that’s so fucking good, babe.”

After pulling out of your weak mouth, you didn’t have much time to bitch at him before you were bent over the table, dress forced up and panties ripped off, already rehardened cock slipped inside your dripping cunt. 

“So wet? Is this for me?” he muttered against the skin of your neck, moans spilling from your parted lips, throat way too sore to reach the volumes you currently were. “Did you like sucking my cock? How about this? Do you like this, hm?”

You frantically nodded as you felt his hands slide up your dress to roughly play with your boobs, thumbs circling over your sensitive nipples, “Ye-yeah, feels good.”

“Fuck, you’re such a whore, you know that?” he growled, smacking your ass after pulling his hand from your boob, the other one still lingering. “Gonna let me fuck you like this after just claiming you hate me?”

“I do hate you,” you scoffed, trying to sound strong, but your voice came out more unstable than you had originally planned. You did hate him, you just might not have hated this moment. The sex was good, I mean, how could you say no?

“I hate you too, don’t worry,” he snarled, grabbing a fistful of your hair to pull your head toward him, your back pressed against his chest. “I’m using you, baby. Only to pass the time, only to get her off my mind. You are simply a toy, that’s all.”

“You think she’s ever gonna come back?” you mocked, head slightly turning so your eyes could meet his, which had soon turned into a glare directed at you, “I can’t be a placeholder for someone who’s not coming back.”

“Shut the fuck up, toy,” he growled, upper lip twitching as he pushed you back down onto the table, pressing his palm to the center of your back to hold you there as the other gripped your hip tightly, his thrusts becoming harder yet sloppier. 

He was beyond enraged by your comments, and the movements of his own hips against your poor body really showed that. You were a whimpering and crying mess as soon as he became angry with you, almost making you want to sob out an apology, but you wouldn’t degrade yourself so much as to actually apologize to him, it’s bad enough you were letting him fuck you.

“I think you’re gonna make a good cumdump from now on,” he moaned loudly, his moans echoing throughout the rest of the kitchen. “I’ll use you however I please.”

“Scr-screw y-you,” you whined, continuing to be a little bitch to him, not realizing where it gets you. 

He groaned as he continued thrusting himself into you, head falling back as he smacked your ass again at your words. You squealed and dipped your head down against the table, burying your forehead into your arms. Your bodies colliding rocked the entire table, the sound of its creaking spread through the room.

Soon enough, he had let loose strands of cum inside you, feeling his hot liquid fill your insides as loud moans flew out of his mouth, desperate and frantic cries falling out of you, your release also shaking your body, cum seeping out around his cock. 

“Shit, maybe we should do this more often,” he’d say only as he’s rebuttoning his pants and you’re fixing your dress, wiping your mouth of the drool that poured out of the corners of your lips, patting away the dried tears coating your flushed cheeks.

“Yeah, whatever,” you rolled your eyes and stormed out of his house, ‘hoping’ you’d never see him again, but knowing damn well you’d cave and show up to his place the following night, all for a round two…

[somber-sapphic]

hi!! how are you doing? is it ok to ask for a wandanat x reader with reader having a migraine and they basically help and take care of her? (i have a migraine it hurtsss :( )

Painful Whispers

〖Notes: Hey anon! I hope you're feeling better! It's been a while, huh? Well, I'm sorry for the delay. I did my best with this one but I've never actually had a migraine so it required a lot of googling. I hope it's up to par <3〗

〖Summary: You get a migraine for the first time.〗

〖Word Count: 1.3k〗

〖Pairing: WandaNat x Reader〗

☾Masterlists☽

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You whimpered softly and curled yourself into a ball, shivering even under the blankets. The pain was so intense that you could barely move, every twitch sending agony through your body. The pain you were experiencing was something you had never felt before, and it was the worst you had felt in a while.

The first few hours of your day had been okay; you ate your breakfast of strawberry yogurt hesitantly, noticing that something in your body was off yet unable to pinpoint it. The only difference you had managed to identify was the glimmer shining across your vision.

Your go-to solution was to drink water – it always was. Whenever you felt even the slightest bit off, you drank some water. In fact, you were constantly reminding the rest of your team to hydrate and had your water bottle with you almost everywhere. This had become a running joke that you happily went along with.

It was during your morning workout that the pain struck. It felt like someone had slammed you on the side of the head and was squeezing your skull in a vice. It was so bad that you had practically given up on your workout immediately and retreated to your bedroom, away from the bright lights and loud sounds.

You barely managed to change into comfortable clothes before collapsing into bed, pulling the covers over your head. The comforter blocked out the light, but it didn't stop the pain; it merely kept it from getting too much worse.

You had been in that state for roughly two hours now, ignoring the buzzing of your phone, which was most likely your concerned girlfriends. Eventually, you figured they would find you and fix it. You generally trusted that they could fix whatever was wrong.

It took about five minutes after that last thought for your girlfriends to burst into the room, both of them being far too loud.

"Y/n?" Natasha demanded, storming into your ensuite bathroom. "Are you in here?" She was yelling, and you had half a mind to start shouting back at her, but that would definitely hurt too much. All you could manage was a pathetic whine, hoping that Wanda, who hadn't started breaking things, heard you.

After a few seconds, you felt Wanda's hands on your back, probably sensing your pain.

"Natasha, quiet," she snapped, her voice quiet yet stern, successfully silencing the shorter woman. You could hear Natasha walking over to you and felt the bed dip as she sat down.

"Y/n, love, what are you doing under there?" The brunette murmured, gently pulling the covers down from your face. You didn't move, simply shut your eyes in case they turned the lights on and made a low sound in the back of your throat.

Wanda's brows furrowed, and she glanced at Natasha, who wore a similar concerned expression. The redhead reached over and touched your forehead, a bit surprised when she didn't feel a fever. Your face was pale, and your eyes were puffy from crying.

"Y/n?" The witch asked again, tucking a strand of damp hair behind your ear. You winced slightly, and Wanda made a decision. She didn't like using her magic, especially without permission, but you weren't speaking, and she needed to understand what had upset you so much.

She placed two fingers on your temple, and whisps of red magic surrounded your head. She didn't pry deeply into your mind, but it didn't take much.

Pain flared in Wanda’s head, and she pulled away, shock written on her face. This was only a fraction of what you were feeling, and it was enough to make her stomach churn.

"Migraine," the witch projected, not wanting to speak any further out loud so that you wouldn't have to deal with the sound. Natasha nodded, picking up on what she was doing. You heard her voice in your head, but it wasn't loud or painful; it was feather light and soothing.

"I'll go get her some meds. Cold compress too?"

"Please." Natasha pressed a kiss to your forehead and squeezed your shoulder in a show of support. Wanda also got up and secured the windows, ensuring that no light could get in.

After that, she turned on the AC, trying to remember what she had read about caring for someone with a migraine. It had come up with Tony once, but that hadn't really been her responsibility. Cool compresses, Excedrin (which thankfully they had), head and scalp massages, and quiet music.

That was all she could recall reading, and she was going to try everything. If none of that helped, then she would take on some of the pain herself.

"Okay, sweet girl, I'm going to put on some meditation music. If you want it off, squeeze my hand, alright?" You grunted quietly and allowed her to prop your head in her lap, the movement making the pain even worse. But Wanda had an idea.

She placed one hand on your forehead and let a bit of her magic flow into your skin, smiling a bit when you relaxed. All she had really done was make her skin a bit cooler, but it seemed to help. Unfortunately, the lowered body temperature wasn't something she could sustain for long; you would need the cool compress.

Natasha wasn't gone long, and based on the quick pace of her breathing, you guessed that she had run to get the supplies. Not only did she bring Excedrin and a damp cloth, but also a glass of your favorite juice and a lavender-scented sloth that had been warmed in the microwave.

"Alright, let's get these in you, yeah?" Natasha asked, with Wanda acting as a go-between so you could hear her voice. You blinked at her; even your eyelids hurt. With the help of your lovely witch, you managed to sit up, not really trusting your voice.

Nat crawled onto the bed beside you, balancing the juice carefully as she shifted so she was pressed up against you. She tapped two of the pills into your hand, and you swallowed them, followed by a large sip of juice. It wasn't until then that you realized how thirsty you were.

You ended up drinking the rest of the glass, and when you were finished, you gave the redhead a watery smile as you leaned against Wanda.

"Thanks," you whispered, your voice a weary rasp. Natasha leaned forward and kissed you softly, simultaneously pushing you back onto the pillows. She placed the cool cloth on your forehead and put the sloth on your stomach, giving your hand an extra pat.

"Lay with me?" You breathed, closing your eyes again. You knew it would be a while before the medicine kicked in, but for now, the combination of the pitch-black room, cloth on your head, and soft music was helping. The stuffed animal was a very nice touch.

"Where on earth would we go?" Wanda responded through the telepathic link, still not wanting to speak. You didn't need them to talk out loud; this was more than enough. The gesture would've made you tear up if not for the exhaustion caused by the pain.

Your girlfriends lay down on either side of you, Natasha sitting up a bit so your head rested on her chest. She began to run her short nails against your scalp, keeping her touch incredibly soft. Wanda had one arm wrapped around your waist, holding you in a protective gesture.

You let out a soft sigh and closed your eyes, deciding that though you probably couldn't sleep, just relaxing like that was enough. You had also come to one very distinct conclusion: migraines suck.

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[lilacsnid]

Don’t You Think It’s Time? — 𝙁𝙞𝙣𝙣 𝙎𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙗𝙮 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 (𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏 𝙊𝙉𝙀)

Part 2  ✘

warnings: mentions of violence, swearing & blood.

There was always something about Finn Shelby that made Y/N feel more alive than ever before.

The mere sight of him would make her heart swoon. The thought of him would make its way into her mind at almost every moment of the day, filled with his kind words and his gentle gaze.

She has had a yearning for him from the very first moment they had set eyes on each other.

Y/N L/N, the young 22 year old was fresh into her Nursing & Midwifery career. Riding around the streets of Small Heath on a bicycle, turning heads wherever she went. To begin with, she was utterly terrified. But she soon became more comfortable with every moment that passed and the streets of Small Heath soon became familiar to her.

She would never forget the night her path crossed with Finn Shelby’s. A wild turn of events that would soon lead to a beautiful friendship, and perhaps something more.

It was quite late into the evening, Y/N had just helped a mother to deliver another beautiful and healthy baby. The father had gifted her a small bottle of whiskey, followed by a chorus of kind and gracious words for her helping to bring his daughter safely into the world.

Even though she didn’t drink, she took the bottle, concealing it in her nursing bag that was strapped on the back of her bicycle.

She hopped on her bicycle, preparing herself for the long cycle home. The night was that cold that she could see her breath. She bid the family one final farewell before setting off into the night. She listened carefully to the sounds around her as she rode through Small Health. She could hear the sounds of rowdy men in the pubs, the occasional sounds of chatter and cars. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.

Much to her despise, it had started to rain not long after she had left. She began to pedal a little faster, wanting to get back to the Nurse’s home as soon as she could. She still had around 20 minutes left of her journey.

She became extra vigilant, as her vision became impaired due to how hard it was starting to rain. She rode past The Garrison, another pub filled with music and rowdy men. She came across a darker part of the street that wasn’t lit up quite as well as near the pub. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something. Or rather, someone. They seemed to be hunched over from what she could make out.

Out of pure instinct, she came to a complete stop. She hopped off her bicycle, mounting it against the brick wall. Remaining cautious, she decided to approach the person.

“Excuse me,” she announced herself, hoping whoever it was could hear her over the rain hitting the pavement, “Is everything alright?”  

As she came closer to them, the person started to stand up. She was now able to make out that it was a man, who turned to her with a smile that she could only describe as evil.

The man snickered, dropping the bottle of alcohol she had failed to see him holding in his hand. She flinched at the sound of the glass hitting the pavement quite loudly, smashing into a thousand pieces.  

“I reckon there is something you can help with, sweetheart.” The man spoke in a low voice, before grabbing her and slamming her against the wall before she even had time to run away.

“No!” she screamed, trying to fight her way out of his strong grip, “Stop! Leave me alone!”

She could smell the vile, strong scent of alcohol on his breath, turning her head away as his face kept coming closer to hers.

The man chuckled, tightening his grip around her wrists, “I’m going to have some fun with you, stop fucking moving you whore.”

Her knees felt weak, like she could topple to the ground in fear any second. She fought harder and more desperately as hercoat buttons were ripped from being pulled open so forcefully. Her tears were hot against her cheeks as the rain that kept hitting her skin.

She screamed. Wishing that someone, anyone at all, could hear her cries. The man kept clawing at the buttons of her uniform, trying to get them undone.

She had started preparing herself for the hell she thought she was going to face; but she soon heard someone yell out from behind them.

“Hey! Get the fuck off her!” she managed to glance up to see the man being pulled away from her. She had never been more grateful for being able to breathe properly now her attacker was no longer crushing her with his weight.

She was quick to wrap her ripped coat back around herself as best she could, watching with tired eyes as the scene unfolded before her. Whoever had saved her life was now above her attacker, throwing punches over and over again that she had lost count.

Her attacker was then slammed against the brick wall on the opposite side of the road to her, his face bleeding and broken. The other man, who she still couldn’t make out, took his hat off before turning it inside out. Even though it was dark, she couldn’t mistake the shine of razor blades hidden on the inside of his hat.

Whoever he was, he was a Peaky Blinder.

She knew who the Peaky Blinders were, and in any other case would be petrified. But in this moment, she felt somewhat safe. She knew she should probably make a run for it, but she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from him.

The man slashed her attackers face, and she cringed after hearing him yell out in pain.  

“If I ever see you again,” he then points in her general direction, making her breath hitch, “And if I ever see you near her again, I will cut your eyes out of your fucking skull and I’ll watch you bleed. Do you understand?!”  

He then proceeds to throw him to the ground, not waiting to hear for her attacker’s response. The two of them watch him scramble to his feet and flee from the scene.

Y/N was stiff and hadn’t dared to move a muscle from the moment she was saved. There was something about her saviour that drew her in. She watches him turn around to face her, quickly making sure that her attacker ran completely out of his sight. They were still a few feet away from one another, staring at each other, not daring to look away once.

Looking closer, she realized that he was a young man who didn’t look much older than herself. She could see his shoulders moving up and down from how hard he was trying to catch his breath. His hair was now damp, droplets of water running down his face. He held his bloodied cap in his hand with a tight grip, not daring to let go.

There was something about him that made her feel a particular type of way. 

“I’m sorry, please, don’t be scared.” The young man broke the silence, beginning to approach her slowly, “Are you alright, did he hurt you?”

As he approached her, she couldn’t seem take her eyes off him. Not only was she grateful, but she was also mentally scolding herself for thinking about how attractive the young Peaky Blinder standing before her was.

Blood covered his white shirt that he was wearing underneath his dark grey suit, but she ignored it.

“I’m okay,” she whispered.

She could see his face drop as he let out a small sigh, “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

For the first time since the encounter, she offered a small smile towards him, “You didn’t. Thank you for helping me.”

“I wasn’t going to let that prick hurt you.”

Despite him being a Peaky Blinder, she could see something in his eyes. It was kindness, she could see it as clear as day. It was this kindness that had saved her from something awful. Something everyone fears. 

She glances down at his side, and without thinking, reaches out for his hand. His knuckles were red and bruised, there was blood from the amount of punches he had been throwing.

“You’re bleeding,” She spoke, concerned no longer for herself but for the young man standing in front of her. 

Her touch sent shivers down his spine. He closed his eyes for only a quick second, wanting to etch this memory in his mind of how soft her skin against his was.

It surprised him that this girl, who was only seconds away from pure terror, was no longer concerned for herself. She was concerned for him. He stole a glance at the nursing uniform underneath her coat. 

“I can barely feel anything, don’t worry about me,” he shook his head as he spoke, gently placing that same hand on her arm. 

After seeing her involuntarily flinch, he instantly felt bad. It was out of instinct, but she couldn't help miss his touch after he had taken his hand away. 

He led her out from the rain, into a small eve that sheltered them both from the rain. Again, they stood opposite one another; there being not much room between the two of them. She could the warmth radiating off of him due to the close proximity. 

He looked down at her small frame, noticing she had started to shiver. Without a second thought, he started taking of his suit jacket.

As he took of his suit jacket, she spotted the signature pocket watch tucked into his vest, along with the gun holster that was sitting on his shoulders that had been concealed underneath his jacket until now. 

He looked into her eyes, not needing to speak as he silently asked for permission. The space between them was small, but he managed to wrap his jacket around her. 

She glanced up at him gratefully, meeting his gaze and holding onto the front of his jacket to stop it from falling from her shoulders. She was engulfed by the smell of his cologne and the faint smell of cigarettes, it made her heart beat all the faster. It was comforting. 

“I’m Finn Shelby,” he spoke, his hands not once leaving her waist.

“Y/N L/N,” she responded. 

Her eyes trailed his face, admiring him. 

Finn smiled down at her, wanting nothing more than to make her feel safe. He pulled her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her small frame until she stopped shaking. Resting his head on top of hers, the pair gently swayed in one another’s arms, listening to the rain as it began to fade away. 

“Would you let me walk you home?” he asked, pulling his head away to look down at her, suddenly becoming shy at the close proximity of their faces. 

She nodded, resting her forehead against his, “I’d like that.”

                                The pair soon set off into the night, Finn never once leaving her side. 

Y/N felt comfortable in his presence, knowing there was something special about him. It was like she had known him for her entire life, his eyes were so alive with promise. 

They had talked the whole way, both of them blushing when their arms would brush together. 

Their hearts fell just that little bit when they arrived underneath the bike shed at the Nurse’s home. 

Finn leaned against the wooden post as he watched Y/N put her bicycle away, unbuckling her nursing bag from the back. She held the bag by her side and glanced in his direction, smiling like she couldn’t help it. 

“Thank you for walking me home, and for being there for me. I can’t bear to imagine what would have happened to me if you didn’t show up.”

Finn smiled, leaning off of the post and standing up straight as she handed him back his suit jacket, “Anything to keep you safe.”

He could see that he had made the girl blush at his words, she’s so beautiful he thought. 

He shrugged his suit jacket back on, his gun holster now being concealed once again. The two of them stood in a comfortable silence for a few seconds, dreading the thought of having to leave one another. 

Y/N then rummaged through her nursing bag, Finn being confused once she pulled out a small bottle of whiskey. 

“Been drinking on the job?” Finn joked, looking back into her eyes.  

“No, uh..,” she chuckled, clearing her throat, “I was given this tonight from a grateful patient, I delivered her baby.”

Finn nodded, putting his hands in his pockets, “Boy or girl?”

“A little girl,” she smiled, “I don’t drink so I thought you could take this, consider it a thank you.” 

Finn laughed and took the small bottle she offered him, his fingers brushing against hers, “I’ll take it, but there really is no need to thank me.”

Y/N kept eye contact with him, unsure of what to say next. Finn managed to beat her to it, stepping closer so he was right in front of her. 

“Will I see you again?” he asks in a sort of hushed whisper. 

“You will,” she responded, a wave of confidence suddenly coming over her. 

She took one more step, her body now being pressed up against his. she slipped her hand through his jacket, placing her hand over his heart. She could feel it pounding through his chest as she reached up and placed a kiss on the corner of his lips, teasing him. 

“I’ll see you soon, Mr Shelby.”  

2272 words

© lilacsnid

[jaidens]

Young Maverick Mitchell x reader fic where it starts out super angsty and it ends really sweet between mav and the reader

then i think about summer, all the beautiful times watched you laughin' from the passenger side

pairing [s] : pete ‘ maverick ’ mitchell x feminine!reader

warning [s] : mentions of : goose, fighting, arguments. | it all gets better, swear.

a/n [s] : requests are open.

The night felt fresh on your mind, even months later. Pete storming into your small house, the sound of slamming doors and boots slapping the floor. You're in the small kitchen making dinner for you and your boyfriend. The radio playing the top hits of 1986, The Bangles filling the small house with a ‘Manic Monday’. Pete was still your Pete, but he was different. Ever since that fateful day of Nick Bradshaw’s death, he was different.

Sleeping in, coming home late. The smell of booze and cigarettes that ejected from him whenever he would get home before a shower. You had mentioned it, but the man would shrug it off as nothing. You decidedly chose not to press in hopes things would go back to the way they were. Pete’s eyes had bags of darkness underneath and his eyes were a blood-shot red that night.

“Pete,” You said. “I’m making your favorite. Alfredo with extra sauce.” Pete doesn't find your eyes at all, staring down at the ground as he opens the refrigerator and takes a bottle of beer from it. You take the pot over to the table and set it down on a towel. You scoop some onto his plate and there isn't a thankful word in any way from him.

“Pete, honey. We have to talk about this. This isn't healthy. The drinking is getting out of hand. I won't stand back and watch someone I love practically kill themselves.” As you press, Pete gets visibly more tight into himself. His shoulders are practically touching his ears as he clenches his fists into balls of rage. You're staring at him, waiting and anticipating a response from him. All you hear is silence, contradictory to how he usually was. “You need to stop. This isn't okay.”

“You don't control me. I'm a grown adult, and I can do whatever I please. Go and leave me the fuck alone!” Pete is enraged as he storms up and out of the house, and all you hear is the sound of his bike revving away and speeding down the road.

Pete left you sitting at the dinner table, eating your food you made it silence as his was losing its warmth into the air. You can't bear to stare at the picture on the wall of you and him. It was a simple photo that Goose had taken, but the memories and the emotional ties that held it to your soul entwined with laces of sadness.

You hadn't seen him for five months, seventeen days, and twenty-two hours. You're sitting in The Hard Deck with some of your close friends from college. You catch a glimpse of him. The short, dark-headed man in his flight suit grabbed two beers and walked away. “Isn’t that Pete? Oh hell no.” Your friend Katelyn says, grabbing her purse and wrapping the small jacket she brought into a ball.

The drink in your hand suddenly felt heavy as you set it down against the table. As soon as your eyes click together, you want to disappear and shrink away. He hurt you; but those soft green eyes drag you dangerously into the hole further in. The bubbly feeling in you starts to boil and you take back the drink you have and gain that liquid courage. Who said you would need it?

Here comes Pete Mitchell, walking over to you while holding that eye contact with you. He comes into your vision and he looks better, healthier and happier. His eyes are the color you fell in love with, and he looks much more normal that what he had originally looked like. “Pete.” Your voice wavers as you say that name.

The name burns your tongue. Your friends are still standing near you, one of them being encaptured with a random guy who complimented her. “Can we.. talk?” Pete asks you, gulping when Katelyn stares him down. With the extra feet she had on him, it wasn't hard for him to not be scared.

“Sure, we can talk. Do you wanna, go outside? Like old times.” You follow him out to the door, the sounds of the bar immediately quietening as the door shuts behind you two. Pete stops on his tracks, turns, and you're looking at him. The silence is uncomfortably long before either one of you speaks.

“Are you stationed here again?” You ask quietly as you sit down on one of the many benches. Pete nods and sits down next to you, twirling a pen around his fingers. “I’m stationed for the next couple of months. Made another admiral mad again.”

You and him hold a small and relaxed conversation. Somehow pushing through the uncomfortableness after months of estrangement. The quietness of the night looks over both of you. His knee touches yours, and you can't tell if it's purposely or not. However it enlightens those fireworks once again.

Your hand opens and sits against your leg, giving an opening to him. His hand almost unconsciously slides into yours and holds it softly. You turn your head and Pete is staring at you. The magnetic pull in-between you and him pulls you closer to him, head slightly turning.

His lips touch yours softly, baring sliding over them. His hand goes behind your neck and pulls you close in, as your lips play closely together. “Pete... I missed you.” You tell him as you stare into his eyes once more underneath the gorgeous moonlit night.

“Me too. I'm never leaving you again.” Pete tells you. Hugging you tightly into his arms. Whatever roads you took that led you back to him, you thank your lucky stars.

[bitterkarmaa]

Demonize

A short conversation between canon Eclipse and my own rendition, set after the most recent episode

“You know…this whole thing you have going? It won’t end the way you want it to.”

The table has already been marked with endless streaks of regression. Claws score the surface yet again, more as a distraction than a threat this time around. Clasped hands sit atop the other end, claws carefully tucked in on themselves, dented, worn knuckles on display in place of sharp, threatening talons. A singular amber eye gazes steadily at the trembling mass of orange and black metal across the room.

“Eventually, it’s bound to! Who do you think you are in the grand mass of this? You have no control over what happens in my dimension. You’re just another one of those goody-two-shoes copies that share none of my experiences, none of my thoughts, and none of my visions! Just like Solar! Is that what you are? Another Solar?” Twin white flames flash with fury, hands coming down to slam against the poor abused table in front of him.

No claws on him. Just hands. Just fingers.

“Another who?”

The other scoffs, pulling back from the table again with a hiss of frustration. “This is a waste of my time.”

Tattered rays shift, clicking as they retract and then push back out to their original positions. “You have all the time in the world. At least, until you’re brought back again. So…perhaps your pacing is pointless, hm?”

The more rabid of the two whirls around again, a snarl ripping itself from his throat. “You know nothing about me! Stop acting like you do!”

A slight smile, hidden by clasped hands. “I know you’re dead. Again. That’s all I need to know.”

Finally, that seems to hit something. He seems to wither, shrinking in on himself. His fingers curl into fists, as if he wishes to punch someone but knows there’s nothing around him that would give him the reaction he yearns for.

“And no one will mourn.”

A mad laugh rises, echoing around the room, seeming to soak into the very walls, filling the space with an uneasy tension. “And you? You would be mourned?! That’s a fucking jo-”

“I have been mourned.”

He falls silent, expression frozen in a sort of jealousy that some part of him must know he has no right to feel. The hand that he must’ve raised amidst his rant comes back down to rest on the table, this time more carefully. Carefully. Since when has he been careful? Is this alternative version of himself really getting to him this much? Surely not. Surely this is just a slip up of those pesky emotions he’s been feeling amongst his breakdowns.

“How?” He weakly lifts his head, white dotted gaze having dimmed with his fading vigor. His look-alike at the other end of the table unravels his hands from their place in front of him, leaning back in his chair.

“How was I mourned? Hm. Perhaps because my rampage was stopped before someone got killed.” His scarred face twists into a sneer, disgust crossing his expression before settling back into cool indifference.

“I wasn’t- I didn’t-” The other stutters, rays shrinking. He takes a step back, grimacing as if recounting all the things he’s done with a new outlook. Considering how much of it wasn’t required for him to succeed.

“But you did. You were. Was being abandoned worth all the pain you caused others, worth all the pain it caused you?” The faint glow of his single functioning eye is dimmed as he narrows it, stare turned to glare in a matter of seconds.

“You would know, wouldn’t you?! Wouldn’t you?! Or was it only me that was left behind? Was it only me that he cast out like a pesky bug? Only me that became the parasite?!” His shouts of anger quickly turn to anguish, hands coming up to pull on his rays, lost in the torrent of emotions that stir within him, bottled up for far too long.

A frown settles on the face of the more dapper of the two. “We’ve all been parasites. That seems to be the one common denominator between each dimension.”

The room is silent for a few moments after that, the agitated one finally taking a seat in the chair that was provided for him.

“You don’t get it.” He mutters, earning a sharp bark of laughter from across the table.

“No, I do. I understand more than you know. I just haven’t been forced to ‘understand’ as many times as you have.”

The other looks away, brilliant white eyes cast down to the floor. “I didn’t want to come back. Lunar killing me again was a bit of a blessing, honestly.”

He looks up again as the screech of the chair being pushed back echoes around the room, steady footsteps approaching him not long after. His eyes meet the half-gaze of his brutally scarred counterpart, slight horror crossing his face as he takes him in.

“Yet you continued to demonize yourself. Why is that?”

“I…don’t know.” The other answers honestly, face set in confusion.

“Do you wish to change?”

“Some part of me does. Some part of me doesn’t. I just…don’t know how, I suppose.”

“Would you like to try?”

He is silent for only a few moments before letting out a quiet admission. “Yes.”

Slight surprise alights within his chest as a single clawed hand is offered out to him, the other tucked neatly in one of his pants pockets.

“Then how about we get started?”

[enid-rhees]

heeey! how you doing? it’s been a long time since my last request, idk if you’re still up for rosita x reader, but if you are can I request a angst? Thank youuu 🫶🏻

hi !! i am doing good :D and i am ALWAYS up for a Rosita request. tysm for requesting anon and i hope you enjoy! 🫶🏻

warnings: angst, reader getting bit, amputation, description of blood.

“they’re coming from the left!” Rick yelled, motioning his hand for you, Rosita and Michonne to follow him. there was a small hoard of walkers coming for Alexandria, and it was up to you four to take them out.

Rosita grabbed your wrist and pulled you along with her, but you pulled away so you could turn around and shoot at the approaching walkers.

“lets go!” Rosita shouted, and you put your gun back in your pocket and ran with her. the groans of walkers started to fill your ears as they got closer and closer.

your heart was racing, but you tried to ignore it. you’ve done this before, too many times to even count, you shouldn’t be scared like this. and with Rosita by your side, you knew you would be okay.

the four of you stopped in your place when more walkers appeared from all directions. Rosita pulled you against you, keeping you safe in her arms.

“what now?” Michonne questioned Rick. “we need to fight them off.” he answered, pulling the assault rifle off his back and holding it in front of him. you pulled your gun out of your pocket once more and Rosita took hers out, while Michonne positioned her katana.

you all began to shoot them down one by one, and some multiple at once. yours and Rosita’s backs were pressed against each other as you shot in each direction, but she pulled away from you as more started to come your way.

“stick together!” Rick ordered in a loud, rasped voice. your head was spinning. everything around you was becoming mushed together.

suddenly, you felt your skin practically being ripped apart. an agonizing scream left your lips as you looked down at the walked who had just sunk it’s teeth into you. your vision became blurrier as you stared down at the bite, blood pouring from your arm.

Rosita’s eyes widened as a cry left her lips. she ran over to you and tried to stop the blood with her own hands, constant cries leaving her lips. Rick and Michonne noticed and Rick was quick to kill the walker.

you were losing conscious by the second due to how much blood was flowing out. but your blurry eyes followed Rick's movements as he reached for the belt around his jeans. Rosita sat you down on something as Rick started to tie his belt above the area where the walker bit you.

your body was so numb from the pain that you didn't feel him tighten it, but then another sharp pain hit your arm. you cried out, but Rosita's own cries filled your ears. she intertwined her hand with your other, but it started to slip out of her grip the weaker you grew.

your eyes met Rosita's and they started to close slowly. Rosita gently cupped your cheek right before they shut and everything went dark.

bright lights blinded you when you finally opened your eyes, and you immediately squeezed them shut. after a few minutes, you opened them once more, but still had them slightly closed so you could adjust to the light.

white walls surrounded you at every angle, you were in the Doctor's building of Hilltop. you planted your hand firmly on the mattress you laid on and pushed yourself up to the best of your ability. you looked to your left, and a half-full bottle of water sat next to you on a small bedside table.

you reached for it, and went to use your other hand to twist it open, but you couldn't. looking down, your mouth dropped open as a memory came back to you. a walker biting you, and Rick slamming his axe into your arm. you tried to twist the cap with your thumb and index finger, but had no luck.

"hello?" you called out. you were met with silence for a few moments, but then Enid came running into the room you were in. "you're awake," she said softly, grabbing a roll of bandages from a desk and walking over to sit next to you. "how long was i out?" you asked.

"only a day." she responded, "you lost a lot of blood, but Rosita got you here in time. you're strong." she responded, and started to unwrap the bloody bandage. "look away for a few. i don't want you to see this yet." Enid instructed, and you turned your head the other way. she took the bandage off and started to wrap the new and clean one around you, and you winced at the pressure.

"sorry," she mumbled, "i'll get you some pain meds after i finish. it won't take the pain away completely, but it'll make it bearable. and i'll call Rosita over, she's been going crazy." you laughed lightly, which made Enid smile.

Enid walked over back to the desk and grabbed a bottle of pills, she twisted the cap off and put two pills in your hands. you looked back over at the water, "can you... open that?" you asked, face burning in embarrassment. Enid went to the other side of the bed and opened the bottle for you.

you took the pills and washed them down with the water, and Enid walked off and left the building, going to find Rosita. you stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes, and then the door flew open and Rosita started to run towards you.

she didn't waste a second pulling you into a tight hug and you wrapped your one arm around her neck. "i was so worried." she cried quietly into your neck, she pulled away and cupped your cheeks with both hands. Rosita leaned forward, softly connecting your lips

"i'm okay,' you whispered when she pulled away. you wiped her tears away with your thumb, "i was so scared you wouldn't wake up, you lost so much blood." more tears spilled from her eyes as the memory replayed in her head. "i'm so sorry i didn't protect you."

you shook your head, "it's not your fault, Rosi. okay? this isn't your fault, there were way too many walkers for us." you reassured her, and she nodded slightly. "i love you, so much." Rosita whispered.

you leaned forward, capturing her lips in yours once more. "i love you too." you whispered against her lips before reconnecting them.