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yanderenightmare · 9 months ago

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TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, omegaverse, subjugation, some type of sexism, bad politics, chemically induced heat? institutionalized reader, doctors, wack rehabilitation program, ish brainwashing

fem reader

You’d been difficult to tame. Or, he just didn’t have the time to do it properly—too busy at work and too tired when coming home. He’d wanted a sweet Omega, one who did house chores when he was away and had dinner ready for him when he got off.

You’d looked real sweet at the auction—a perfectly beautiful Omega. You weren’t cheap either—everyone had made their bids, but he’d been the one to walk away with the prize in the end. He can’t say he regrets it—he still has a fondness for you even though you’re not what he’d thought he’d purchased.

You just need some behavioral correcting. And so, he put you in an Omega institution.

It had been recommended to him. It’s not so uncommon, he later found out while reading up on the place. Auctioned Omegas tend to end up a little rough around the edges—here, at the institution, they’ll smooth those edges right out.

Sadly, there’s been a rise in unstable Omegas as of late—he reads on their website. It’s a misguided revolution taking place in several auction homes that’s to blame for it—circling modern ideas of liberation, equality, andindependence. It all stems from a place of fear, the website explains in detail—Omegas seek to stand on their own in the world. Cooped up in auction homes, they fear they’ll never see the outside without a mate—and as the years dwindle on and their prospects become slimmer, they start fantasizing about doing it on their own.

He feels sorry for you while reading it. Your attitude makes more sense now, knowing you’ve been fed a bunch of deluded nonsense. He can’t blame you for getting swept up in it—you’re a little younger than him, after all. But the silly idea of a lone Omega isn’t just laughable but dangerous. It was best of him to make sure any such notions were quashed—for your own good—before you end up doing something you might regret.

And it seemed this place was the place to do it. In fact, many of his fellow Alphas had done the same, and they’d all sung this particular institution’s praises.

Oh, but it’s been hard. You wouldn’t talk to him much or even keep him in good company at home, but still, he misses your presence. The house seems so empty without your little everyday spats to keep him on his toes.

You’ve been away for a whole month now, and he hasn’t even been allowed to visit, not once. It would ruin the process, he was told. But he’s been assured that the caretakers there have been making great progress with you. He should be able to come pick you up as soon as the start of next week.

He remembers having been skeptical about leaving you here as he walks to announce himself at the help desk. The facility is pristine and sterile—very impersonal, just like any other hospital. He wonders if you’ve been scared. After all, it’s most likely your skittish nature that makes you so hostile, joined with misgivings making you confused. It can’t be easy. He hopes the doctors here have helped you sort things out. Maybe you won’t be so frustrated all the time.

He was led to a private room where he could complete some paperwork for your release while waiting for your discharge. He made quick work of it. A door opens, and your doctor comes through, and then, following right behind him, there’s you—his pretty little Omega.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you quite so subdued—not even when you’d been caged at the auction, there’d still been some fight to your spirit. Now, not so much—taking quiet and careful steps with your head hung, looking at your slipper-clad feet.

You pick your face up when you recognize the scent, and then you look at him like you’ve just seen a ghost. Wide-eyed and lock-jawed—your breathing picks up rapidly, and his name drops from your lips like a pained whimper, followed by a sudden burst of tears and a rush toward him. “You came back—”

You’re on him before he has the time to blink—pressed against him tightly, skin-to-skin and heart-to-heart, with your face buried in the grove of his neck. Your claws are slightly drawn, but in no effort to hurt him—rather, to cling to him. It’s not any normal hug—not that you’d ever given him one before—but even so, you’re swaddledaround his neck with your legs crossed at his back.

He’s taken aback by the behavior—it isn’t like you at all. He remembers your aversion to his touch, how you’d regard him like a plague, snarling each time he’d get too close. This was beyond new.

But you leave him no opening to comment either, too busy rambling in meek little whispers pressed into his skin, “Thank you, thank you, thank you—I knew you’d come back—knew you hadn’t forgotten about me. I’m sorry I was being difficult, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’ve forgiven me, right? You’ll take me home now, right? Please—”

He’d never been in a position to soothe you before—you’d never wanted it. He doesn’t know what else to do but smooth a hand over your hunched and shuddering back, shushing you like he’d seen mothers do with their sobbing children. You didn’t look much different right now.

“Yeah… we’re going home,” he assures you.

You hug him a little tighter as a sob wreaks through you.

This isn’t exactly what he prepared himself for. He thought you’d be... well, he doesn’t really know... nicer?Perhaps. Agreeable. Not so violent. But not this—this broken little ball of shivering sniffles holding onto him as if the world was about to end.

He swallows thickly, then looks at your doctor—he doesn’t seem surprised. In fact, he seems utterly unfazed.

It makes him wonder, a little warily, “What have you done with her?”

The doctor seems more than happy to explain—it’s only customary, after all. He’d paid a lot to have you rehabilitated here.

“Each omega requires special treatment suited to them,” the doctor explains. “Yours was particularly unruly.”

You flinch. He feels your claws dig deeper, but they’re too blunt to draw blood and too weak to hurt anyway. But even so, your sentiments are more than clear—you fear this doctor with your entire being.

“We’ve found that in the case of hostile Omegas, the most effective way to correct their behavior is to keep them isolated and let their own instincts remind them of what they need,” the doctor continues. “Of course, we’ve taken protective measures to ensure she wouldn’t harm herself in said isolation and have fed her accordingly at scheduled times every day.” He smiles. “We can assure you she’s been perfectly safe in the pillow room.”

He lifts the silver suitcase he’d been holding, props it up, and pops the lid, revealing a row of ten syringes—a hot pink fluid within.

“This is our recommended medicine.”

You shudder even more, unrelenting in your grip around him—hanging on so tightly as if you fear someone would come and pry you off him at any moment.

“Give one to her if and when she acts up. More instructions come with the case—please read through them carefully.”

He eyes the syringes with furrowed brows, picking one up to inspect it further. They don’t look like anything he’s read about in the brochure or on the website—perhaps a brand new method for treating Omegas? This is a cutting-edge institution, after all.

He can’t guess what they must do to make you cower like that. The spit-spire he left here a month ago wouldn’t cry over a tiny needle.

“What are they?” he asks.

The doctor’s smile stretches. “Nothing dangerous. All natural hormone components.”

He’s not sure what that entails, and so he quirks a brow while laying the syringe back in its designated mold. “And what does that mean?”

The doctor clasps the case shut and hands it over to him while explaining plainly, “They induce heat.”

He accepts the case before his ears have the chance to draw back at his words. Now that explains your sudden clinginess—why you’re so frigid.

The doctor adds, “Poor thing’s spent quite a few alone in the pillow room, so I’m sure she’ll be grateful to finally be by her mate’s side again.”

He’s speechless.

Spending heat alone, without any relief, is a form nothing short of torture. If he’d known that was what they were doing to you, he wouldn’t have sent you here in the first place. He very nearly chews the doctor out for using such barbaric methods but thinks better of it. If anything were to be done, it would be through a well-worded and filed complaint and a vow to never do business with them ever again.

Though, coming home with you by his side, still clinging to him… he can’t argue with the results.

So he doesn’t complain. He just enjoys your new and improved wellness and promises never to use those injections on you himself. Yes, they’d forego their expiration date soon enough, dusting away in the back of his closet. He’d never ever put you through something so horrid. That’s his pledge as your mate.

Oh, but then... the honeymoon phase dissolves. And you return to your old habits of teeth and claws.

It’s never-ending barking with you all over again—you want to leave, you want to be alone, you don’t want him to touch you, you blame him for what you went through at the institution, you hate him for it, and you’ll never ever forgive him.

He doesn’t want to—he swears while holding the syringe to your thigh where he’s strapped you down in bed with ropes and knots—he doesn’t want to, he really doesn’t, but you leave him no choice when you act like a wild animal.

The first time is always the hardest. But he doesn’t leave you alone in a room like they did at the institution—no, he helps you through it. It’s not torture this way. It’s just… well, what can he say? It’s just a little reminder to get you back on your good behavior.

You would rather stay here than get sent back to the pillow room, right?

It’s all too easy the second time around even though it shouldn’t have been. It was only a day of small uproars, nothing all that bad—refusing to greet him at the door, to make dinner, to fix his plate, to wash dishes, to come to bed. He’d allowed you days like that in the past, but this time, he’d felt himself gravitate towards his so-called last resort once again.

Still, he’d felt a little guilty about it.

It would be easier to refrain if it didn’t work like a charm.

Now, he goes and finds the briefcase at the drop of a hat. Say something snarky or look at him funny. Give him any opportunity, and he’ll abuse it—even things you don’t even mean to do, like burning the food, shrinking his clothes in the wash, or forgetting to make the bed in the morning. He’s on you with the syringe deep in your flesh before you can even mouth the words “I’m sorry—”

You’re limp and sweat-drenched after a few hours. He spoons you as the spasms continuously ricochet through you—his spent leaking down your thighs. Even after several rounds, the hormones are still brewing up a bad storm within your gut, thundering in your heart as its lightning zips along your limbs. Your head is a rainy cloud—heavy and full yet soft like cotton.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—it was an accident—” you mumble between labored breaths, not entirely sure what error you’d made this time, shivering against his warm chest as he cups your breast in one big hand and your swollen cunt in the other.

“I know, I know it was, baby,” he coos. “But you need to be more mindful—can’t be making so many mistakes all the time.” His lips brush your skin as he purrs, placing small pecks against your cheek and neck. “How can I trust you with my pups if you’re gonna be such a scatterbrain, hm?”

The mention of pups makes something roar more ferociously in your underbelly, and you whimper meekly in return. “I’m sorry—I’ll do better.”

“Good. I’m sure you’ll get there, sweetie.”

The storm within crackles, rumbling with a deepening hunger. Even though you feel battle-worn and ever ready for the sweet escape of sleep, there’s something even needier and heedless that makes your body feel all but set ablaze.

You’ve cum so many times already, but it’s still not enough—it’s never enough. It takes everything in you to make sense of his words—to act civil even when all you want is to jump his bones—make him fuck you until your fever breaks, then allow you rest.

But act in any way out of turn, and he’ll only drag this out. Be sweet, you remind yourself—sugar, syrup, honeycomb—sweet and soft like velvet—no teeth or claws or growling. No matter what, don’t let the animal out of the cage.

“No matter how many lessons it’ll take…” he murmurs. “I’m here to help.”

“Thank you—” you wince while rubbing your thighs together—grinding against his hand in desperation. “Can you… can we—”

He chuckles fondly, feeling you rub your ass back against his crotch wantingly. “Oh? Another round so soon?”

You bite your lip at his teasing. Far beyond proud to not be begging, “Yes, please—pretty, pretty please—”

The sweet warble in your voice is so pitiful and cute—he can’t help the smile it brings him. “Alright, honey,” he hums while shifting, getting up with a hearty sigh, then leaning over you to give your pleading little pout a kiss. He feeds you his next words with a grin on his face, “Let’s see about that needy pussy of yours.”

He spreads and shimmies himself between your aching thighs, nice and snug against the weeping little thing between them—looking down at you with heavy-lidded eyes and a smug smile that makes you feel like the most hopeless little Omega in the world.

He places another kiss upon your forehead—dwarfing your hand in his big one, braiding your fingers together while the other carries his meaty cock, holding it steady up to your fluttering and glossy slit.

The size never fails to make you squirm as you look down at it—wondering why you crave it so badly when it only serves to make your body twist and scream from the stretch it gives you.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” he soothes the tiny cry that cracks from your throat once he starts easing the length inside the snug comforts of your walls. “Your Alpha’s here to make it all better.”

♡ BNHA – old man Bakugou, Deku, Kirishima, Enji ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Kusakabe ♡ HQ – Daichi, Ushijima ♡ AOT – Erwin

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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solarmorrigan · 3 months ago

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Steve knows how to take care of himself. He's good at it. He's been doing it for years

Illnesses, sports injuries (other injuries) - he knows how to manage them so they'll go away as quickly as possible. He knows when he needs to rest, he knows when he needs to take medication, he knows how to care for pulled muscles and broken skin. Maybe he doesn't always have the opportunity to care for these things properly, but he knows how, because with no one else around, he'd had to learn

Eventually, he gets it down to a routine. A science, almost. An airtight series of steps for whatever is wrong with him so he can knock out whatever crud is keeping him down and move on with his life

There isn't really room for anyone else in it

"You want me to do that?" Eddie asks, watching as Steve stirs a pot of soup on the stove.

"'m good," Steve answers with an absent sniffle.

Eddie hums. "Well, do you need me to go out and get anything? More tissues, cough medicine, more soup...?"

Steve shakes his head, though he stops when it brings on a wave of dizziness. He braces himself against the counter, waving Eddie off when he steps forward to try to support Steve. It's really just a little cold, but the congestion is killing him.

"I've got everything I need," Steve finally says; he always makes sure the medicine cabinet is stocked for this sort of thing, replenishes anything in there as soon as he uses it up, just in case. "Thanks, though."

Eddie is quiet for a long moment. "So you, uh... don't need me for anything, then?"

"Nah, it's fine. Just gonna eat my soup and get some rest," Steve assures him. "You should go enjoy your day."

"Right," Eddie says, sounding weirdly flat. "I'll just. Go do that. I guess."

He disappears into the spare room (ostensibly a guest room, but it's also become a space for all of Eddie's D&D and music stuff, and Steve has jokingly taken to referring to it as Eddie's office), and Steve finishes heating his soup with a little puzzlement. Something is up with Eddie, but Steve is too worn out to figure out what.

He eats his soup and goes back to bed, but it isn't until he's been lying there, exhausted but restless, for almost an hour that it occurs to him what's wrong. He plays back over the conversation in the kitchen and feels a little stupid for not catching on sooner.

He can hear Eddie strumming absently at his acoustic when he goes to knock on the door of the spare room. The sound stops and Eddie opens the door, looking almost surprised to see Steve.

"Yeah?" he asks.

"Hey. I, uh - I'm trying to rest, but I just... can't, for some reason." Steve shrugs. "I think maybe I need some company?"

"Yeah?" Eddie asks again, his voice warming a little.

"Yeah. I mean, if you're not busy, or--"

"Free as a bird, baby," Eddie says quickly, reaching out to take Steve by the hand. "Let's get you back to bed."

Eddie takes to his task with gusto, making sure Steve has all the pillows and blankets that he needs, dimming the lights, even offering to read a book. And it's - it's nice, Steve realizes.

It's nice, having Eddie there, giving Steve the one thing he's never really had before.

It's nice to have support.

#Eddie just wants to help!#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #eddiesteve #solar wrote

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from-izzy · 2 months ago

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[00:35] | ateez choi san

“And if I do?”

pairing » ateez choi san x fem!reader

trope/au » established relationship au, non-idol au

genre » very fluffy, falling asleep during studying and boyfriend san who is worried for you because you don't take the greatest care of yourself, (it really was supposed to be fluff all through the end) turns suggestive towards the last quarter of the story, reader is a bit playful, san is very in love with you, of course you are super in love with him too

word count; estimated reading time » 1032; ~4 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » quite suggestive at the end, indeed...a suggestive sentence at the very end, san lifts the reader up, reader wears glasses, reader implied to be smaller than san, san restrains reader's hands, pet names (bubs, baby girl)

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist 🤍 the boyz lee juyeon ver.

my ateez debut! here it is @jaehunnyy !! i really wanted to post smth for your bday so please take this as a late bday present 😭 thanks for proofreading a bit of this one and finding the pictures for the banners 🥰 you saved me a bunch of tears fr 😀 have fun with the second one (even though it's the same...😭)

It’s not an unusual occurrence for you to be staying up late at night and for San to find you draped over your books and worksheets when he gets home. In fact, it’s becoming such a usual occurrence that San is making it a habit to open the front door with such gentleness that the click of the door opening would be too loud for his liking. In reality, your study desk at your shared apartment is quite a distance from the entrance of the apartment, so if San wanted to, he could enter in the same way as if you were awake.

But he didn’t want to.

In the rare case that you decide to snooze off on the couch, he doesn’t want to be the one to ruin your precious, peaceful sleeping time. Unfortunately for him, he would still be needing to do it one way or another if he ever finds you asleep on the couch or anywhere but your shared bed. The victorious smile from closing the front door quietly soon turns upside down, frowning at the sight of your head lying on your stack of handouts in the study room. The stack acted as your pillow, your arms around the rectangular pile. You look like you have been resting your body for some time now, given that San’s soft head pat didn’t faze you at all. With a slightly heavy sigh, San makes his way to the other side of the desk to get a better look at your face. He kneels on the floor, content with being more at eye level with you.

He’s surprised to see that you must’ve been so exhausted that taking your glasses off might have been too much effort for you. The side frame completely rests on the paper, the nose pad of the glasses no longer resting properly on your nose. San hisses at how the hard plastic pushes against your nose, already imagining the pain when you wake up and realise tomorrow.

“Bubs,” he tests your consciousness with a whisper. “Your whole body is going to hurt when you wake up, you know?” Your breathing is still as even as before, and the no response from you deepens his frown. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to move you, okay?”

San rises to his feet once again, grabbing the blanket drapped on your study desk that he has prepared. He’s told you multiple times to at least cover your body if you don’t plan to take a nap on the bed, but he should have known that when tiredness kicks in, all a person wants to do is to close their eyes. San spreads the light cotton across your back, kissing the side of your head and humming sweet melodies to avoid surprising you too much with his movement.

“San?” You slur sleepily, still unable to fully wake up. San clicks your desk light off and soon sees your content smile at his little gesture. “When did you get home?”

“Just a few seconds ago. When did you fall asleep?”

“Just a few minutes ago.” A raised eyebrow from your boyfriend is what prompts you to tell him the truth. “A little longer than that.”

San tuts disapprovingly, “You can’t keep slouching off on the table. It’s not good for your body. And this,” he takes your glasses off by the hinges, “it’s not comfortable for you.”

You hum at his loving lecture for you, beginning to straighten your back from the long nap. Truthfully, if San weren’t beside you right now, you would be sending complaints to your past self for dozing off at the table, your back cramping and sore. But Choi San knows you too well, and the creases between your eyebrows tell him everything.

“See?” He reprimands.

You’re not given another chance to rebut when he swivels the chair around for you to face him. In a second, you’re in his arms, the back of your knee and back supported securely with his arms, and your shoulder pressed against his chest. San looks down at you, pressing a quick kiss on your forehead that you respond to by pressing yours along his jawline. Along the short walk to the adjacent room, you plant kisses all over his face, giggling at the way his cheeks grow red with every second.

Just a few seconds before San would rest you gently on the mattress, you steal a kiss from his plump lips, arms wrapped around his nape and threading your fingers into the strands of his hair. San almost stumbles but soon regains balance when he registers the way you delicately take his lips. Along with the giggles and fabric rustling against each other in the small room, it’s not long until your head properly lays on a pillow. San doesn’t let you breathe after, climbing on top of your figure with his palms beside your head to support himself. His knees sink to the mattress beside your thighs, and you’re left breathless with the man before you. The remnants of his cologne are clearer now, and the proximity leaves you curling up a side of your lips.

Your boyfriend knows the meaning of your expression well from experience. “Don’t rile me up, baby girl…”

Just like he did a second ago, your eyebrow rises. Your pointer traces along the center of his exposed neck, feeling the gulp and his intense stare on you. You glide across his skin, tracing along his collarbones slowly, making sure that your touch lingers on his skin. When your finger slides down to the neckline of his fabric, it curls around his shirt to pull his tense expression closer to you. A quick touch of your lips is all you spare him before regaining eye contact with him.

“And if I do?”

Those words are enough for San to lose control, pulling the sheets to his palms as he fists them tightly. One hand leaves the bed, restraining both your wrists under his hold above your head. He dives closer to the crook of your neck, ragged breathing and warm breath against your skin.

“I’ll make sure you’ll sleep peacefully for days.”

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist 🤍 the boyz lee juyeon ver.

tags: @k-films @kflixnet @starlit-network @kstrucknet @blossomnet

@haneul-and-clouds @jaehunnyy @mars101

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dazedantics · 3 days ago

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Mark remembers being your husband.

Well, okay, he was never actually your husband.

But when you played house in the comfort of backyards and playgrounds, he never had an issue assuming that role in your game of make believe. Whatever it took to just to keep his friend.

You'd use whatever you had around as your "kids." New action figures, old dollies, spare blankets, the poor dog who wanted no part in being dressed up.

It wasn't Mark's thing, no. But he played along properly each time just to stay with you till the sun went down.

He'd fix the house, go to work, play hero with your kids, take you on pretend dates, he'd even pick you up and spin you around as a greeting for when he got home! Well, okay, maybe he wasn't quite strong enough to do that yet. But he certainly tried! Giggling when you two tipped over, talking about his supposed day at work.

He didn't stop you if you had an idea either.

You want to pretend you're going to the store? Sure thing, he'll push the basket. You stuff a ball under your shirt to pretend you got a baby in there? Okay, he'll do the chores while you sit 'n sew. You want to kiss him cause you just love your husband oh so much? Uhh ... well, maybe that's a bit ... oh, and now you're kissing him anyways. Super.

Admittedly, he didn't like that part at first, cooties and all, but his admonition went out the window as you huffed and started chasing him round and round until you landed a successful one on his lips.

He soon got used to it though, even puckering up before you had put your kids to sleep. He even found himself thinking about it when it was time for you two to hit the hay.

And even now as he got older.

When he sat there at his desk, spacing out. First wondering about what's for lunch, then the latest comic waiting for him at home, then you.

He hadn't seen you a long time. You probably forgot about him by now. Or maybe not? You two did spend a lot of time together and you seemed to have about as many other friends as he did (which wasn't a lot). But you guys were more grown up now, you'd probably repressed those memories, right?

Yeah, that seems more likely.

I mean, why worry about that one scrawny boy when you were probably surrounded by lots of hot guys now.

One who'd be your real husband someday. That you'd make play with your kids and cuddle up to and kiss over and over again.

Mmm ... for some reason Mark didn't like that thought. Nose scrunching up and brows furrowing.

You'd been his first kiss, you know. And probably his only one. That thought made him feel strange too. Though in a better way that turns bittersweet in the end.

Did you ever think about that?

How he could technically have been considered your first boyfriend?

Oh no, well now he hopes not. Cause if you did, you'd have to tell your current boyfriend, right? Then he'd want to come beat up the punk who knew his girl.

Mark rubbed his eyes, trying to get that out of his head. It'd suck if he'd made an another enemy he didn't even know existed. A guy could only take so much locker shoving, you know?

He sighed and looked up to the front of the class. He hadn't heard a word the teacher said and could only hope it wasn't important.

They guestured to the door.

A surprise principal meeting? Hadn't had one of those in a while. He should probably look at the other kids' desks to figure out what he should be pretending to do.

The door's opening.

Okay, no one has their notebooks so maybe he should- wait. Is that you!?

You were taller than back then, but he could recognize you from anywhere! He watched as your lips started moving, those lips that had countlessly kissed his. He blanked on what you were saying, but he heard your voice. The sound just made all those random specifics details of you appear in his mind all at once.

And he may have been making things up at this point, but he swears your eyes were on him the moment you walked in.

You remember him? Even if it is just a little vaguely? You don't know how high that'd make his heart rocket.

Did you maybe want to sit by him? He wouldn't mind. Maybe you couldn't play house anymore, but you could still do things as you used to right?

Or maybe he could work his way up to becoming your actual husband now?

That was why you were suddenly here, right? The fates decided you weren't done playing pretend. Was he cool enough to talk to you now? Could he even bring up what had technically happened between you?

Would you bring it up?

Or does he have to keep sitting here, reliving those tender moments till the rest of his days?

Please don't make it come to that.

Please ...

#Invincible #invincible x reader #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #x reader

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 months ago

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Jason is a protector at heart, it wasn’t something he could easily forget even in the brief time in death.

So Jason tended to let this side of him be shown in ways that were more subtle or quieter than physically standing between you and what he deemed a threat.

He’d make sure knives and any sharp objects were put away properly to their designated place or just not angled in a way where you could get hurt on accident.

Or when he would cover corners with his hands so you didn’t hit your head, and or would even grab you by the waist and move you away from bumping yourself into the wall, or bruising your side painfully on a door handle; not to mention how he’d make sure you wouldn’t stub your toe on any chair legs anytime soon.

He doesn’t want you to be hurt in any possible way and he’ll do anything in his power to keep you the safest he could, however he could because he feels as though he felt like he’s failing you somehow in not protecting you from something easily preventable. He felt as though it would just be life spitting him in the face once more, even when you reassure him that’s not the case and that you had a clumsy streak in you these had existed prior to meeting him.

Yet Jason being the stubborn man he is, doesn’t care about that and will threaten to swaddle you in his protective gear should he see a small cut, bruise or whether litter your skin and you couldn’t help but you smile as you knew that Jason was only looking out for you in the only way he knew how; and you couldn’t help but feel lucky to have him watching over you so closely, knowing that you’ll never truly be in harms way when Jason’s hands hovered just over your waist, ready to move you when needed.

‘My protective jaybird.’ You murmured as you burrowed your face into his neck, kissing the scars there.

‘Just doing my duty chipmunk.’ He whispers against your forehead as he kisses it, rubbing his calloused hands against your back as you relaxed in your shared bed, safe and sound within the other’s warm embrace.

#dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc comics x reader #dc fanfic #dc x y/n #dc fic #dc fanfiction #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd imagines #jason todd drabble #red hood x you #red hood fluff #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood imagines

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sugawhaaa · 4 months ago

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ATEEZ HEADCANONS

The type of women they like in bed...

Warnings//genre:: SMUT, BDSM, choking, oral (f rec) face sitting (Mingi) fingering (Seonghwa, San, Jongho) vibrator (Yeosang, Jongho) biting (Yunho, Wooyoung)

Pairing:: ot8!Ateez x fem!reader

A/N:: I wrote this all in like 3 hours so pls tell me if I misspelled things and stuff 😭🙏 also...should I do a skz ver 👀

Ateez headcanon masterlist:: 🍓

Princess, in the sense he can treat you like the only woman in the world.

Hongjoong has a bit of a flip to him in bed; sometimes he'll be gentle, soft and caring, treating you like a fragile artifact, and other nights he's got you tied up, sobbing, and choking. However, he always needs that little princess in his lady to obey him, feel herself emotionally, and acknowledge his forms of love and lust.

Hongjoong has you sitting on the edge of the bed as the two of you physically and mentally prepare for a pleasure-filled night. Hongjoong kneels down below you and gently unclasps the hook on the side of your skirt and tugs down the zipper. He pulls the soft fabric down your legs until it falls below your feet. He smirks softly as he sees your pink panties but he draws his attention to your stockings instead, the pretty white fabric with little bows at the top. Hongjoong hooks his fingers around the top of the sock before pulling it down your shin. He then holds up your foot by your lower ankle before tossing to sock aside. He repeats the same process for the other stocking before abruptly picking you up and laying you on the bed.

Though there were no words spoken something about that process was so romantic to you. Some might say it was tedious and unnecessary but this was Hongjoong's way of showing he cares. He's gentle, soft, and thorough in his work of love.

Romantic, so he can feel the connection of not only your bodies.

Love and lust are very similar and tightly bonded in Seonghwa's body and mind. Sex is emotional, passionate and most of all, romantic. He needs his woman to care for him like he cares for her because sex is his way of showing he loves you enough to embrace his lust. He needs you to trust him and not only be his sex partner but also his lover.

Seonghwa looms over you in the rose petal filled bath as his hands roam over your body through a soft graze. "I thought we were in here to bathe?" You tease with a little smile and Seonghwa chuckles lowly.

"C'mon baby, you know me," He kisses your neck softly, the skin slick from the water. "Will you let me steer tonight in a new direction?" He asks bluntly, his fingers tickling the inside of your thighs. His words leaked lust mixed with a hunger for passion. Before you can properly answer Seonghwa has his wet forehead pressed against yours, his breath heavy against your lips. "I miss you so much darling," He pulls you into a deep kiss, his hands tangled in your damp hair.

Desperate, he needs the feeling of being wanted so hungrily.

He wants his partner to crave him just as much as he desires them, that is the bond that makes his love and lust so strong. Sex is more than a physical experience, it's emotional, psychological and love. However he likes to be able to indulge whenever and feel the same level of intensity through desperacy.

As soon as Yunho comes through the door you have your hands on him, feeling him up and pulling him close. Yunho can't help but smile at your clinginess and he embraces your hunger. "I missed you," You say as if it wasn't obvious already.

"I missed you too babygirl," He brings his wide hand up to your head, petting your hair as you mark his neck. He lets out a low moan as you do so. "Is my princess feeling needy?" He tilts his head with a little smirk and you pull back to nod. "Want me to take care of you? Love you? Pleasure you?" Yunho was just as excited as you, his hands travelling down to your ass and groping it softly. He scoops you up into his arms before carrying you to the bed.

Confident, someone that will intimidate him and make him step out of his comfort zone a little.

Yeosang can be confident in himself for sure but having a lady to overpower his own confidence is a sensation he can't describe in words. Not to say he needs or wants to be humbled but it's more of who's taking the wheel, not necessarily steering.

Yeosang lays against the bed with his lips beautifully parted as he lets out quiet and soft moans between rapid breaths. His cock stands tall as you roll the vibrator up and down his cock. He tosses his head back as you increase the intensity. "Ah, baby," He jerks forward but you quickly hush him. He nods with a whine and lays back down. "I've never felt anything like this," He whimpers and you grin.

"Probably because you've never used a vibrator before," You tease and Yeosang smiles with a little chuckle.

"Yeah maybe-ah!" He jumps as you press the vibrator hard against his balls. He tries to squirm and wiggle away but you hold him close. Within seconds he's gripping the sheets and cumming onto his tummy and your hand. "Fuck," He groans before going limp. As he rests against the bed, his body still shivering, he smiles slightly. "Thank you Y/N," he sighs. "I don't think I could do that without you,"

Needy, a girl who will come crawling to him with need.

San absolutely loves sex, any kind of sex he can get really, but what he really likes is that raw need, raw hunger, raw pleasure. He wants a girl who will always need, not want, but need him. This makes sex more embodied. He likes when his girl is so blinded by lust that she loses all of decency.

San's wide body towers of yours as you lay helplessly against the bed. You are craving him, starving for sex and he is more than willing to give it to you. "Tell me what you're thinking baby, I want to give you everything you want," He kisses your collarbone as his hands glide over you skin, lingering on sensitive bits.

"I-I don't even know. I just need you," You plead as your eyes water with desperation, not quite tears, but definitely glossy. San can't help but smirk as he sees the desperation in your eyes. He brings his fingers down to your core and glides his finger through your folds, stopping at your clit to flick it softly.

"I'll give you everything you need and more," He kisses your neck softly.

Chubby, a girl with lot's of meat on her bones that he can grab.

Mingi loves to grope with his big, wide and strong hands. He knows what his fingers are good for but he likes to use them to knead flesh instead. Not to mention he just finds a bigger body attractive in general. The way the skin ripples with each thrust, tits bouncing with each pound and most of all the sound the skin makes when it hits his.

"Sit down," Mingi encourages you as he lays below your dripping cunt. "All of your weight," He nods determinedly as he holds your ass in his palms, a faint red outline left from his hands.

"Are you sure?" You ask again and he nods vigorously. You sigh as you cave into his doe eyes and begin to rest your core against his face. He moans of your soft, sensitive skin finally makes contact with his lips. He instantly begins to moan and groan as he eats you out, his hands kneading at your thighs. From the sensation of your skin alone Mingi's cock twitches in the air, he may even cum from squeezing your meat.

Clingy, a girl that will get needy for him and his touch.

Wooyoung is whiny and needy, always needing some kind of attention, so a girl that clings to him is exactly what he needs. He needs someone who won't mind his constant presence and need, this includes when he's horny. He needs a girl who won't mind when he rubs himself against you first thing in the morning when he gets morning wood, or won't mind if he wants to jack off while you shower.

As you stir awake you feel some weight and warmth against your thigh. As you peel your eyes open you instantly understand the situation, Wooyoung woke up hard as a rock again and he's using you to get off. You don't even mind at this point, if anything you like it. He's so desperate and needy that he just uses you. "I'm sorry," He whimpers as he leans in closer to your ear. "I had another dream about you," He admits before moaning louder. "I can't help myself," He sounds like he's about to cry, which could be for many reasons. You put a gentle arm around him as he continues to hump your leg.

"It's okay baby, keep going," You encourage and he lets out a whimper before burying his face in your shoulder. A surge of excitement rolls through him now that you're awake and watching him. He suddenly pulls back.

"I wanna fuck you...please,"

Patient, a girl who will take her time to feel all the feelings.

Unlike the others Jongho is patient and needs his partner to be able to follow his pace. He likes to build up the pleasure like building blocks. He starts slow and gradually works his way up to the highest peak possible. Jongho needs his woman to understand that he will get her there, it'll just take time.

"Shh, shh, you've been doing so good," Jongho whispers to you as you whine to cum, begging him to drag you to the high you know he can bring you to, but only he can. "Take deep breaths, relax your muscles," He encourages and though you are upset at him for not letting you cum yet, you do as he says. He then brings out a vibrator and excitement rushes through your body like a strike of lightening. He turns it on and the buzzing sound has you seeing stars. Jongho brings the toy down to your clit and rubs it in little circles.

Instantly, your eyes widen and your legs jerk up. Your jaw feels like it's been wired open as you let out soft moans.

"Fuck~" You moan loudly as tears build in your eyes; you knew your orgasm was close and it got you so excited. "I'm cumming!" You shout out as your back arches off of Jongho's chest. Tears pour down your cheeks and saliva drips from your lips. You felt so high as your body twitches and shakes from pleasure. Jongho doesn't say anything but he is secretly smirking to himself.

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez hard hours #ateez hard thoughts #ateez headcanons #ateez smut reaction #ot8 smut #ateez ot8 #ateez ot8 x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez mingi #ateez yeosang #ateez fic

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solsticescribe · 5 months ago

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Simon Riley x reader one-shot

Simon came home from a long deployment last night. You had no idea where he was during that time or what happened, you knew you were not supposed to know anything. You were just glad that he was back and safe.

After a great struggle of getting out of his hold this morning, you started unpacking his bag that he left on the floor right in the middle of the hallway (he was too busy thinking about getting into bed with you to care about where he left his stuff).

As you took out his dirty clothes, you noticed what looked like a plastic bag on the bottom. After starting the washing machine and getting the rest of his stuff out, you took the beige package into your hands to examine it.

What you were currently holding in your hand was an MRE. You’ve seen people all over Tiktok reviewing these meals and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about what they were like. Looks like this could be your chance to find out.

As you were examining the packet, you felt two bulky arms wrap around you and a face nuzzling your neck. “Mhh morning love” You heard Simon’s voice grumbling, still heavy with sleep. “Morning. Isn’t a bit too early for you to be up? You should sleep some more” You kissed all over his face and neck where you could reach. Simon shook his head. “ ‘s not as good without you in bed” “Are you hungry by any chance? I have some breakfast ready” You pointed to the pan sitting on the stove, his favorite breakfast, that you made earlier, just waiting to be heated up.

“Maybe later” He cupped your cheeks and pressed multiple little kisses to your lips. He had his eyes closed, fully emerged in the feeling of having you close to him and finally being able to love on you properly.

“What do you want to do with that?” He asked in between kisses, referring to the bag in your hands. He still had his eyes still closed and not showing any sign that he wishes to stop with the kisses.

“Well, can I try it? If you don’t need it” You held his face in your hands, stopping him so that you would have enough time to speak. “Whatever you want sweetheart. I was planning on throwing it out. Don’t expect anything gourmet though”

He left you at the counter to unbox everything from the MRE packet while he turned on the stove to heat up his breakfast.

Simon fixed himself a plate and sat next to you, watching your expression as you tried the different snacks and meal included in the bag. He smiled to himself, thinking about just how adorable you looked, eyes lighting up when trying things you liked and furrowing when you didn’t like something.

His own meal was soon forgotten, leaning on the countertop, he watched you fumble around with the small packets with a barely noticeable smile on his face. He found this quite amusing.

Trying the last thing included, you were disappointed by the blandness of it. You put everything in the bin and sat on Simon’s lap. “I’m sorry you have to eat that so often” You said while wrapping your arms around his neck. He just hummed, one arm around your waist to hold you closer, with the other, he held up a bite from his left-over breakfast to help wash away the taste in your mouth. You eagerly took the fork in your mouth. “Wanna know why isn’t it so bad?” He asked while preparing another bite for you “I know that I get to come home to you and your cooking. Makes it all worth it to keep you safe”

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you

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alwayslurkinginthebackground · 3 months ago

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Rocking Chair - A Joel Miller Drabble

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: E, unprotected p in v, slightest of breeding kinks?, idk y'all I just went feral here. Word Count: 2156 a/n: Happy TLOU Sunday! I genuinely blacked out while writing half of this in some kind of NyQuil induced haze! Enjoy!

Something is bothering him.

You clocked it the second you walked over the threshold of his brother's home. Actually, you knew something was up long before that, when he kept trying to make excuses as to why you and Ellie should go and he should stay home, despite the fact that it was his brother. Eventually, you convinced him to follow you down the street, Ellie chattering excitedly about the prospect of having a baby in the family while Joel dragged his feet.

His mood only worsened as the evening went on, following the trend of distance he'd been following since the baby arrived, a pattern that made you uneasy. Tonight, it was difficult to tell if it was the result of the mirage of questioning from the handful of close friends Tommy and Maria had invited over to meet their new son or because of whatever was lurking in the depths of his mind, but you kept trying to pinpoint it. You could only assume that it was some combination of both, a hypothesis only strengthened by the look of disappointment in the younger Miller brother's eyes when his sibling politely declined the opportunity to hold his nephew.

You're next to Ellie on the couch, the newest resident of Jackson tucked into your arms, when you meet his eyes from across the room for what feels like the thousandth time since you arrived. He's leaning against the door to the kitchen and you can see the discomfort in his posture and the way his shoulders tense further as yet another person approaches to congratulate him as though he was the new father and not his brother.

"Can I hold him?" Ellie asks suddenly, pulling your attention back to your side of the room. You turn to find her bright eyes looking down at the sleeping child, and it's impossible to stop the spread of warmth through your chest at the teen's eagerness. After a quick glance at Maria for permission, you gently pass the bundle over to Ellie, showing her how to properly cradle his head.

Joel's still watching when you turn back to the kitchen, his gaze securely set on the way Ellie is beaming as she holds the newborn. There's something hovering beneath the surface of his dark gaze, the root of whatever has truly been bothering him, and you feel certain you've almost worked it out when Ellie elbows you.

"He's waking up! What do I do?!"

"Just keep holding him, it'll be okay," you reassure her, although when the crying starts a moment later you can't help but join in the laughter filling the room as Ellie quickly hands the baby back to his mother. She breathes a sigh of relief and flops back on the couch the second he's out of her arms, and you give her a pat on the shoulder before you naturally seek out Joel once more, only to find him gone.

You don't see him again until the gathering winds down. He's eager to get home, and soon he's resuming his vigil of silence on the walk back down the street. He's behind you, always behind you, his shoulders still set in the same rigid formation they've been in all night, and you walk a few feet ahead with Ellie, doing your best to answer her questions about when the baby will start talking or walking and whether you think he'll look more like Tommy or Maria when he gets older.

The delicate balance that has been hanging between the three of you all evening holds steady until you're back through your own door, when three sets of eyes land on the rocking chair that still sits nearby, the silence soon enveloping you all.

"I thought you were going to bring that for Tommy and Maria?" Ellie asks, breaking the tension in a way that has you wincing, even if she's right. The chair still smells of fresh lumber, the smooth edges molded by Joel's hands in the late hours of the night when he couldn't sleep, and it's still sitting in your living room.

"Didn't he want it?" she continues, earning her an elbow to the ribs courtesy of your right arm. Joel grumbles something behind you as Ellie winces, and you're already silently begging her not to push it further. She must catch the look you give her because a moment later she's heading upstairs with a heavy sigh, the door of her room closing with a soft click.

"Wanna tell me what's going on?" you inquire firmly once you're alone, arms crossing over your chest as you watch Joel move into the kitchen.

He dismisses you with a shake of his head and a muttered "nothin's wrong," but the way he stands, unmoving as he stares at the sparse contents of the fridge, tells you otherwise.

"No, something is bothering you, so do you wanna start with why you've been distant all week or would you rather discuss the way you tried to stay as far away as possible from your new nephew tonight?"

It's easy to see the way he tenses when you finish your questioning. You've known him long enough to recognize the subtle straightening of his spine whenever you hit a little too close to the mark and the way he avoids eye contact when he turns back in your direction, a signal that you have indeed gotten under his skin. It's in the familiar quiet that descends upon the kitchen as you wait for him to speak.

Only, unlike the clockwork routine you expect to follow, the one that usually has him letting down a few of his walls for you and you alone, you instead find yourself hauled against his body like a man possessed. When his grasp trails to your thighs, it's mostly instinct that has you jumping up to wrap your legs around his waist in a practiced motion.

He's pinning you against the counter within seconds.

"Joel," you mumble, trying to sound stern even as his lips trail along your jawline, down your neck, and across the expanse of your chest, trailing lower until he's found where you're wet and wanting. You try to get him to look at you, hands raking through the hair he's refused to cut as of late, hopeful that his gaze will tell you something about the way you can feel him avoiding whatever it is that's on his mind. A hint as to why he's using you to forget instead of working through the emotions that are obviously controlling his every move.

But when your eyes meet his again, you only see the feral haze of lust, and you can do nothing but give in when he's pressing his nose against the damp spot between your thighs, leaving you thankful for the warm summer air that made you choose one of the few dresses in your closet as your attire for the evening.

He's slipped your panties from your legs in record time, leaving you squirming atop the edge of the small island in the center of the room. It's obvious that he won't be gentle, not tonight, not when he's hard between your thighs a moment later, filling you in a swift motion that has you wondering when he managed to even unbutton his jeans. You bite into the soft flesh of his shoulder, holding in the scream that could alert the teenager upstairs about what's currently happening in the kitchen, but the sound crawls up your chest with each pound of his hips against yours.

"Quiet," he whispers harshly in your ear, an unnecessary command because a moment later he's devouring you again, the frantic movement of his lips against yours concealing any evidence that threatens to escape. It's fast, the way he's rutting into you, within you, driving you higher until you're no longer certain where he stops and you begin.

And then you notice it. You catch the way he's focused on something over your shoulder, but it isn't until he's lifted you from the counter and carried you effortlessly across the room that your mind begins to process.

Ellie's earlier question slips from your mouth when he settles you in his lap, your knees braced against the wood on either side of his hips. "Thought this was for Tommy," you grit out when he guides your hips against his own, the chair rocking back in a way that leaves you feeling off balance. "I thought it was for the ba..."

He cuts you off with a grunt, pulling you back down and holding you tightly against him as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He's strangely silent, his movements slowing to nothing even as the chair continues to shift slowly back and forth beneath you. The only sound remaining is the heavy rhythm of your breath, your body relaxing further against his in a way that makes it impossible not to feel him everywhere.

"Hey," you ask, voice softer now, more at ease, because you know he'll hear you this time. "I saw the way you were looking at them, earlier." He says nothing as you trace your fingers along the greying stubble on his jaw and you wait to see if he'll answer you, even if you already know his answer to the question you haven't asked.

It wasn't a secret to anyone that Joel was struggling with the idea of his brother having a kid, but it left everyone treading a fine line between the eager new father and the man still plagued by the memories of his lost daughter. The prospect of new joys mirrored only by the multitude of moments stolen long, long ago.

So when Joel had brought up the idea of the rocking chair, it caught you off guard. Things had been understandably tense between the Miller brothers, but it felt to you like Joel was finally finding peace with the situation, the rocking chair serving as an olive branch. One that might just help repair the broken parts of their relationship. But now, wrapped up in his arms, you begin to realize that perhaps you've been reading it all wrong.

You smooth back his hair from his forehead, looking down at him, and you see it. It's not just the loss of Sarah he's mourning now. It's the loss of all of it.

So you do the only thing you can think of. You move.

The sound that escapes his lips as you lift from his lap can only be described as a growl, one that you can feel rumbling in his chest when you brace your hands against it. You're slow at first, letting his length drag along your walls until he's nearly slipped from your heat, and then you fall back down. Joel's hands slip beneath the fabric of your dress, pushing it up along the expanse of your back as his fingers trail along your spine.

He pulls you closer then, his grip just as possessive as earlier, tugging you against him in a way that has you keening. You do your best to cling to reality, gripping the wood behind his head, nails digging into the surface as he continues to guide you. But when he tries to lift you from his lap, as he tries to proceed through the practiced motions that will leave him spilling across your stomach, you stop him.

"It's okay," you whisper against his ear, "let go."

For a moment he resists, his eyes clamping shut with the effort it takes to ward off his own climax as you continue to clench around him. But when you whisper it again, it's all the encouragement he needs. He finally snaps, pulling you somehow closer as he buries his length in your heat, the movement causing the chair that supports you both to rock back and forth gently as he fills you to the brim.

The air in the room feels different as you come back to earth, the two of you still nearly fully clothed as you perch atop his lap. He's softening inside you, the gentle feeling of his release trickling down your thigh and onto his jeans, but neither of you have the will to move aside from the way you gently rest your head against his shoulder.

"Are you sure?" Joel asks a while after, the question sounding redundant as his hands run soothingly along your back.

You nod against him, pressing your lips to the spot where his shoulder meets his neck. "I'm sure. Although," you pause, pulling back, "I think you might need to make another chair for Tommy and Maria."

"And why would that be?" he questions in a way that, for the first time in weeks, makes you feel like the man you love is back.

"Because," you kiss him softly, "we're gonna need this one for us."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #tlou sundays #lurking and writing

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sanguineterrain · 9 months ago

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crushin' | jason todd

Summary: Barbara invites you to dinner with the Bats. She's done so before, and you've always declined, but this time, you agree because the Bat you've had a crush on for ages will be there. Little do you know, the only reason he's staying for dinner is because of you.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings/tags: batfam shenanigans, dick is a good meddling brother and deserves a fruit basket, fluff and humor, kissing, crushes, love confessions. just wanted to write something sweet and light :)

the divider

"So you're gonna press this," Barbara says, demonstrating on her own screen.

You follow along, clicking and typing. She nods.

"Good. Then you're gonna do this."

You open the file. A video of what looks to be Bruce drunkenly hula-hooping pops up. Your eyes widen.

"And that's how you keep Bruce in check," Barbara says, patting your shoulder. "Use sparingly. Only when he's getting on your last nerve."

"Wow," you say. "Babs, I... I don't know if I should have this kind of power."

"No, it's cool. I have dirt on everyone in this family, so really, it's my power. You're the only one who gets to see the vault."

You look at her. "You scare me."

She grins. "Thanks! Anyway, you're free to go. They'll be back from the mission soon, so our job is pretty much over."

The computer beeps. She checks the notification and types back. Then she hums.

"Or, you can, y'know, join us for dinner. Alfred keeps wondering when you'll do so."

You press your lips together. "I dunno, Babs... are you sure? I don't want to intrude."

"You're not. Seriously. And you know what I just found out? Jason will be here too."

Well. That does certainly stop your refusal in its tracks. You haven't seen Jason properly since he returned. You feel a pang of guilt at that; true, he's never at the Manor, at least not when you're around. But you could've reached out by now.

Still, being able to see him again properly is a wonderful opportunity. One you can't pass up.

"Okay," you say. "I'll join you all. As long as Alfred's okay with it."

She rolls her eyes, smiles. "Don't be ridiculous. C'mon."

You follow her to the elevator Bruce got installed for her. In the Manor, most of the family are sitting down to dinner. Damian and Cass are on one side of the table. Bruce is at the head. Alfred is still bustling in the kitchen.

You start to pull out the chair next to Cass, but Barbara startles you.

"That's Dick's chair!" She smiles sympathetically. "Sorry. He's particular. Isn't he, guys?"

"Yes," Cass says. "He's comfortable here."

"I've no idea what you're referring to, Gordon," says Damian. He nods at you. "Hello."

You smile. "Hey, Damian. That's fine. I'll sit next to you, Babs." You sit in the middle of three chairs, with Barbara on your right and an empty chair on your left.

"Hi, Cass. Hello, Mr. Wayne."

"Bruce," he reminds you. That's not happening. It feels way too weird to call him Bruce, even though you've known him since Jason was Robin. Just, no.

Cass smiles. "Hello. Glad to have you."

"Where's Tim and Duke?" you ask.

"Thomas is at university," Damian says. "Drake is probably with that idiot clone he calls a boyfriend."

Bruce looks up. "Tim and Connor are dating?"

"Good God," Barbara mumbles.

"Well, yes, Father. They've been dating for quite some time, even shared a room together. Last month, Drake went undercover in Atlantic City and the clone—"

"Old man! Where are you?"

"Jason, just—"

"Shut it, Dickhead."

The grandfather clock swings open, revealing the Cave entrance. Up stomps Jason, followed by Dick. Jason has a smear of purple goo on his forehead, but otherwise is clean. His back is to you.

Jason points an accusing gloved finger at Bruce. "You owe me a new bike, new guns, new gear, new phone, new—"

"Jason, slow down. Why exactly do I owe you new things?" Bruce asks.

"Because Tweedle-Dum here didn't scan the fuckin' spaceship that landed in Syracuse and melted my bike with purple goo!"

"It said it was empty," Dick says tiredly. "How was I supposed to know an abandoned ship would spit goo?"

"Okay, alright, boys, don't fight. Yes, Jason, I'll compensate everything you lost in Syracuse."

"Yeah, you will. And a new fridge." Jason thinks. "And a new TV."

"Master Jason," Alfred begins, walking into the dining room with a dish of roasted potatoes. "You may continue your bargaining with Master Bruce after dinner. Wipe that alien sludge off your face and have a seat."

Jason sighs. "Alf, I appreciate the invite, but you know I don't dine with most of the folks at this table. Gets real fuckin' crowded."

"Master Jason, watch your language," Alfred says sternly. "We have a guest. Behave like the young man I raised you to be."

Jason scoffs. "Who, Barbie? She doesn't—" He turns and stops, staring at you.

You smile, suddenly self-conscious. "Hi."

He swallows, eyes wide. "Hi. Hey."

"Aren't you staying for dinner?" you ask, confused. "Barbara said you were."

"I—" He glances at Barbara, then looks at you. "Uh. Well. I don't really..."

"C'mon, Jay, you guys should catch up!" Dick says brightly, already seated.

Jason's mouth sours as he turns to Dick. You pull out the chair next to you and tap the seat.

"You can sit next to me," you say, looking up at Jason.

He immediately turns back to you, lips parted. "Oh. I—y-yeah. Sure. Thanks."

"Master Jason. The goo," Alfred reminds, raising a brow. "And hang up your jacket."

Jason quickly backs up and bumps into the table corner. He winces.

"Right. I'm gonna... yeah. Be right back."

Jason disappears down the hall. Dick grins wolfishly at Barbara.

"You're amazing," he says.

"I know," she says, shrugging.

Alfred serves the last tray of vegetables, then sits. Jason soon returns, gloves and jacket away and goo-free.

"Did you style your hair, Todd?" Damian asks.

"No. Shut it." Jason scoots in his chair, glaring at his brother. But when you pass him the tray of roast, his expression softens. He smiles at you.

"Thanks," he says, and puts three slices on his plate. "Great roast, Alf."

"You haven't tried it," Alfred says, but looks very pleased.

"Don't need to."

"We're very glad you're here, Jason," Bruce says. "All things considered—"

Jason holds up a hand. "Ah-ah. I'm not here for you, old man. Save the speech for another day."

"And who are you here for, Jason?" Dick asks, propping his chin on his hands.

"None of your beeswax, Dick."

Dick shrugs. Damian begins to talk about an art project in school. You pay the appropriate amount of attention until Jason nudges your arm.

"Hey," he says, nodding at your empty glass. "Didja get something to drink?"

"Oh." Heat creeps up your neck. "Um, no. Sorry. I didn't know where to get the drinks."

"'S okay. Alf doesn't put out drinks anymore 'cause everybody drinks something different. You just help yourself to whatever's in the fridge. I'll get it for ya."

"Jason, you don't have to—"

He holds up a hand, smiling. "C'mon, none of that. You're a guest. Orange Fanta, right?"

You blink. "You remembered."

"Uh." His cheeks go pink. "I mean, yeah. No biggie. I'll be back."

Jason stands. Immediately, the others pounce.

"Are you going to the kitchen?" Dick asks.

"No," Jason says.

"Can you get me another Diet Coke?"

"Todd, if you're going to the kitchen, I would like another lemonade, please," Damian says.

"I just said I'm not going to the—"

"Master Jason, will you please bring this into the kitchen?" Alfred asks, holding up an empty tray.

Jason heaves a sigh. You wince.

"Sorry," you whisper.

He shakes his head and winks. "Nah, 's not you."

Obediently, Jason takes the tray and goes to the kitchen. He returns with a Diet Coke, which he tosses at Dick, who catches it with one hand, and a bottle of lemonade, which he throws to Damian who also catches it with one hand and a scowl. Finally, Jason opens the Orange Fanta for you and gently pours it into your glass, then sets the half-full can next to your plate. He sits down.

"Of course they get special treatment," Dick mumbles into his drink.

The table rattles, and Dick winces, squinting at Jason. The table rattles again, and Jason hisses.

"Boys," Bruce says wearily. "Enough."

"Yeah, Jason," Dick says, sticking his nose up. "Y'know it's my birthday soon. I deserve a brother who doesn't kick me."

"Oh, I'll tell ya what you deserve," Jason begins.

"Are we doing laser tag?" Cass pipes up from the end.

"'Course we are! Everybody's gonna be there." Dick looks pointedly at Jason. "Except my own brother. He refused."

You look at Jason, who's got a nasty glower aimed at Dick.

"You're not coming?" you ask.

Jason's expression melts away when he turns to you. "Uh, I mean—"

"No, he's not," Dick says, pulling the saddest pout you've ever seen. "He said he wanted nothing to do with my stupid birthday."

"Those weren't my exact words."

"They were very close," Damian says.

"Shut—"

"Jason, I can't believe you aren't going to Dick's birthday," Barbara says, shaking her head.

Jason's mouth falls open. "Et tu, Barbie?"

"You should come," you say, touching Jason's arm.

He immediately looks at your hand. You slowly remove it, smiling sheepishly.

"Then we can be a team," you say. "We're playing doubles. I'm horrendously bad at laser tag, but I bet we'd win together. I'd watch your six."

"Leaving them in the lurch, Jason?" Barbara tuts. "So unlike you."

Jason heaves a sigh. "For God—okay. Alright, brother mine. You win."

You beam. "So you'll come?"

"'Long as you and I are a team," Jason says, a little shy.

You bump his shoulder with yours. "Of course."

Dick looks at you. "You should join us for dinner every night."

You laugh bashfully. "Thanks, Dick."

Dinner goes on. Bruce excuses himself early, as do Cass and Damian. Soon, it's the four of you plus Alfred cleaning up after dinner. You and Jason are loading the dishwasher when Jason hisses. He pulls out his hand, revealing a thin red cut on his palm.

"Are you okay?" you ask, hovering worriedly.

"Yeah, 'm fine. I'll take the tray—"

"Jason, no," Dick says, herding him away from the dishwasher. "You have to get that wrapped immediately."

"What are you—dude, it's a tiny cut—"

"Yeah, but there was food on there, and you have no idea what can get into the wound and make you sick," Barbara says seriously. "You need to get it cleaned right now."

Jason rolls his eyes. "Fine, whatever. There's a first aid kit in the closet."

"There isn't!" Dick says, shooing Jason toward you. "Alfred hasn't restocked it. You have to go to the Cave. You should both go."

"Yes, great idea," Barbara says, looking at you. "You have medical experience, don't you?"

"I mean, a little, but—"

"More than us!" Dick says, shoving you both towards the hallway.

"I don't think so..."

"You take care of Jaybird here, he needs that hand," Dick says cheerily, opening the Cave entrance. "Go on, go."

"Christ on a bike," Jason mumbles, and heads down the stairs.

You follow, confused and concerned. The entrance slides closed. Jason goes to the medbay, muttering under his breath as he digs through one of the drawers with one hand. You join him, searching the top drawer for the antiseptic spray.

"Is the cut really bad?" you ask, trying to get a better look.

"No. My brother's just an idiot. Nothin' new."

You pull out the spray, some gauze, and a bandaid. Jason nods in thanks and goes to take it.

"I can do it," you say. "I do have medical experience, after all."

He snorts. "Fine by me."

You both sit on the edge of a cot. You turn to Jason and pull his hand into your lap. He inhales sharply. You stop.

"Is this okay?" you ask.

"Y-yeah. Fine. Sorry. I don't get touched a lot." Jason's mouth screws up. "Ugh. That sounded weird."

You laugh. "It's fine, I know what you meant."

He scratches the back of his neck while you clean his hand. He has big hands. Bigger than you remember. They're deeply scarred and calloused. You rub your thumbs over the pads of his fingers without thinking.

"You got soft hands," Jason says quietly.

"Heh. Thanks. The computer life."

He hums. "I didn't know you were working with Babs."

The guilt swims back full force.

"I know. I'm sorry. I should've reached out, Jason. I-I basically ignored you. Not on purpose! I just... I guess I wasn't sure where we stood and I thought maybe you'd be mad I was working for Batman after everything and I was afraid that we wouldn't—"

"Hey, whoa. 'M not mad." Jason finds your gaze. You frown. "I'm serious. I don't mind that you're working for Bruce. I mean, hell, I do too, on occasion. Mostly I just bitch at him."

You giggle. He smiles. You're still holding his hand. You don't really want to let go. Jason doesn't seem to want to pull away either.

"Well, even so, I'm sorry for not reaching out. I did miss you, Jason. And I'm glad you're back."

He clears his throat, ducking his head. "Huh. Well, I missed you too. And y'got nothin' to apologize for. I could've asked about you."

"Well—"

"Uh-uh, no, I'm the king of self-deprication. Y'can't take that from me," Jason says, eyes dancing with mirth.

You sigh dramatically. "Fine, fine. Can we say that we both could've reached out?"

"That's agreeable. And, uh, while we're clearing the air, I'm so terribly sorry 'bout my dumbass brother."

You tilt your head. "What do you mean?"

"Ah, huh. Hm. Well, funny thing. I kinda had a, um, crush on you, before. And Dick has it in his head that I... that I have a chance now. So... yeah."

"Before?" you ask.

You don't know why you're disappointed. It's not like you knew. Except maybe if you had, you wouldn't have missed out. Maybe you wouldn't have lost so much time.

Jason glances at you. "What... why are you sayin' it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you wish... that I..." He shakes his head. "Forget it."

"Jason," you say, barely a whisper.

He looks at you. His eyes flick to your lips, just for a millisecond. "Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you?"

A beat. Your heart falls.

"Yeah." Jason nods. "Yeah, kiss me."

You heart soars.

You hold Jason's face, still holding his hand. He gingerly touches your neck with his uninjured hand, strokes behind your ear with his thumb. Every nerve alights. You're kissing Jason Todd. The boy you've loved since you were thirteen.

"They did it! They're kissing!"

Jason growls against your mouth. You know it's not aimed at you, but it makes lightning shoot down your spine. Wow.

"'M gonna kill 'im," Jason mumbles.

You smile and pull back, just an inch. "It's nearly his birthday. At least wait till next week."

"Hm." Jason kisses the corner of your mouth. You like him so much. "Fine. Y'know you can convince me of pretty much anything? Wield that power carefully."

You wrap your arms around his neck. Jason braces you with a hand on the small of your back.

"I'm very flattered, but I think you're confused, Jay." A kiss to his jaw. "It's you who has a hold on me."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood fanfiction #red hood imagine #jason todd x gender neutral reader #gn reader #jason todd imagine #dc fanfiction #batman fanfiction #batman imagine #jason todd fluff

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lvrclerc · 1 month ago

Text

✶ UNTIL SUNRISE

summary: you and charles broke up a year ago ─ it was messy, brutal, but not unexpected. what was unexpected, though, was to see each other at a monaco party thrown by your socialite friend. between champagne, stolen stares and bittersweet regrets, things left unsaid come back to haunt the both of you.

F1 MASTERLIST | CL16 MASTERLIST | PT2: UNTIL SUNSET

pairing: charles leclercﾉex!f!reader

wc: 7k

cw: angst, bittersweet, smut (oral f!receiving, p in v, unprotected - mdni!), second chance, exes to lovers, reader is BITTER, accurate french, ocs for plot purpose, english is not my first language

a/n: the weeknd the party & the afterparty on repeat, while there is smut it's entirely skippable! if you just want to read the clean vers beginning and end will be marked by bolded words :) i'll still ask minors not to interact

DRENCHED IN SUNSET, Monaco glistened under waves of gold and orange, highlighting the marble of its buildings and the shine of the coast. The streets bustled with laughter dangerously mixed with the motor of fast cars and the crash of the waves. The air smelled like salt, and the tall buildings of the city centers looked like lazy Saturday afternoons spent losing yourself in the neverending streets. Monaco was a country of fast heartbeats and taken chances, and for a time now long past, it felt like home.

It didn’t anymore. As you stepped out of the car, you couldn’t feel more like a stranger.

You thanked the driver with a small smile and a generous tip before he turned around and drove away. The marble structure in front of you shone as the last ray of the sun caressed it ─ it was the stuff of wonder: tall windows and ancient Italian architecture. Your friend, Bridget, always knew how to go all out, but this time she had every right. It was her engagement party after all. You felt ridiculously small as the butlers opened the massive doors when you entered. Monaco and you had been estranged for more than a year now, you should be used to the feeling, but the bitter taste of heartache and tears was stuck in your throat like glue as you made your way up the stairs to the reception.

Enough of that, you thought, you came to celebrate your friend and her fiancé. You came to have fun, not to dwell on the past. You clutched your purse, plastered on a bright smile, and blended in the crowd.

Bridget didn’t make the guest list with a nimble hand, that was for sure. The room was swarming with people, all dressed to the nines, some you did and didn’t recognize. You fit in amazingly well, your dress sweeping the floor and the warm air hitting your bare back, a delicate necklace dropping between your shoulder blades. Soft jazz echoed against the walls, and conversations and champagne flowed as you took laps around the room searching for Bridget.

You knew she found you first when her hands wrapped around your waist in a bear hug. “You came!” She yelled in your ear.

A surprised screech escaped you while your friend twirled around you in ecstasy, all in silky white and tanned skin. Guests turned around, laughing at her antics, while the first real smile out of your evening broke your stunned expression. “What made you think I wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know!” Bridget stood in front of you, holding you by the forearms as if she were afraid you’d run away. “You just─ We haven’t talked a lot the past year, and you moved out. I thought that maybe you didn’t want to come back here.”

Your chest tightened a little at her self-consciousness. Leaving was necessary, and you had found a semblance of peace by doing so, but you might have neglected a few connections in the meantime. Bridget included. “I know I haven’t been as present as I should have been, but there was no way I would have missed your engagement party,” you reassured her. “It’s just that with everything that happened, I needed some time to think. But I’m here now! We can celebrate properly. Where’s Jaime?” Her fiancé, soon-to-be husband.

The glimmer of happiness your consolation brought to Bridget’s eyes vanished as soon as you mentioned the events that caused your sudden disappearance. It had that effect on people. Nobody had expected it, except maybe you and the other party involved. “About that… the whole thing… there’s something I need to tell you about tonight, Y/N…”

“There you are, Bree! Look who I found trying to sneak his way to the piano.” You and Bridget turned at the sound of Jaime’s voice ─ and the second he came into view, the blood in your veins turned icy.

Because behind him was the reason you moved out of Monaco. Dressed in a sharp black suit with the trademark red tie around the collar of his shirt, his hair an artful mess of brown, the green eyes that promised you so much widening in recognition.

Charles Leclerc, your ex-boyfriend─ no, scratch that, the ex-love of your life, stood before you, champagne in hand, and you were mentally back in the threshold of his apartment a year ago, where your life fell apart in the slamming of a door.

You didn’t miss the way his knuckles tightened around the glass, nor how his pace faltered behind Jaime when he set his eyes upon you. The overwhelming distance between the two of you, whether physical or emotional, still stabbed you in the stomach.

You shouldn't have been surprised he was invited. He was one of Jaime's closest friends, they had known each other for years. There was a small part of you who knew but didn't want to face the possibility of Charles being here. Now, it was way more than a possibility.

The four of you went quiet. Bridget bit her lip, Jaime awkwardly stepped from one foot to the other, aware of what he’s caused, Charles’ eyes were stuck on you, almost transfixed. The air in the room became scarce, almost impossible for you to grasp fully: your world was limited to Charles. Apparently, a year was not near enough to swallow down the hurt and the gaping hole he left in you.

You couldn’t let the silence go on longer or you’d drown. Almost as a reflex, a fabricated smile made its way to your face and the split second of hurt across your face disappeared. “Doesn't surprise me at all!” You glanced at Charles, and the fake sympathy in your voice seemed to startle him out of his trance. “Well, don't let me keep you longer, Bridget. You have guests to attend to. Jaime, it was really nice to see you again. Now if you'll excuse me.”

You didn't stick around for any reactions. The bar at the other end of the room was practically screaming your name and if you were to survive tonight, you needed something stronger than champagne. Fighting to get out of the suffocating sphere around Charles, you almost dropped your whole weight on the red-cushioned stool, startling the bartender. “Can I have an Espresso Martini? Don't go easy on the vodka. Please.”

You barely had time to sip the sugary drink when the cocktail got in your hand before a dark, warm amber perfume you knew all too well grazed your nose and swallowed you whole, heart with it. Shutting your eyelids tight, you took a deep breath.

“I didn't expect to see you here,” Charles said.

He put his back against the bar, sipping from his champagne flute and carefully avoiding the distrusting glance you threw his way as if he wasn’t the one striking up a conversation with you. You couldn’t help the venom in your voice when you answered. “Well, Monaco’s not that big.” You wished it was. It would have been less painful to come back, to feel him so close to you ,and to still react to it.

That made him look your way, at least. Charles almost looked pained but quickly regained his usual composure. You graced him with a half smile, trying to sweeten your words. “And I wouldn’t miss Bridget’s engagement party.”

He chuckled at that, swirling the bubbly liquid in his glass. “We did play a big role in that happening, it would’ve been a shame.”

Yes, you did. After you and Charles got together, it was only a matter of time before both of your friend groups merged ─ friendships were extremely important to the both of you, and there was no way it was going to work if you didn’t get to know them at some point. During a dinner Charles organized for your birthday, you both noticed how Charles’ friend Jaime was making eyes at your friend Bridget, and how Bridget seemed to laugh a little too loud when he was around. Next thing you knew, you two were playing Cupid between muted giggles and stolen kisses. Not even a year later they were engaged.

And you and Charles weren’t anything anymore. The memory erased the sweetness of the sugar in your cocktail and left you with a bitter aftertaste. You didn’t want to remember anymore. It hurt too much.

“Yeah, well, looks like they’re doing much better on their own.”

You threw your head back and downed the end of your drink. If Charles wanted to answer anything, he swallowed it back, preferring to watch you with the same calculation he used on the track. For the second time in your life, you felt like a statistic in his life. The double dose of vodka you ordered was starting to wreak havoc on your empty stomach, and acidic words flew out before you could stop them. “So, still driving like you have something to prove?”

A flash of hurt distorted his delicate traits, but he didn’t miss a beat. “Still running away from your problems?”

Silence stretched between the two of you, letting the words marinate in the air. Music and chatter were getting louder but the only thing you could hear was the sharp sting of his words. You signaled the bartender for another drink ─ bad idea, but again, everything you were doing right now didn’t exactly fit in the good decision category. “That’s rich,” you laughed humorlessly, “coming from the guy who spent months pretending I didn’t exist.”

He exhaled sharply. “Don’t act like you were the only one hurting.”

“Oh, I’m sorry─ did I ruin your life by walking away? Because I remember doing it and you just─” you gestured vaguely, “letting me.”

“And what, you expected me to beg?”

Your fresh drink barely even grazed your lips before you slammed it down on the bar. The room was suddenly too loud, too crowded, too suffocating. “No, Charles, I expected you to care.” You despised how your voice broke at the end of your sentence.

That lands. His facade crumbled ever-so-slightly, enough for you to see the vulnerability you became all too familiar with. The regrets rippling in your stomach did not correlate with the words you spew out. Charles took a step closer, and suddenly his expensive cologne and something so distinctively him overwhelm you. “You think I didn’t?” Barely contained frustration curled around every syllable, his voice an octave lower. “You think it didn’t kill me to watch you go?”

“If it really killed you, you would’ve stopped me.”

His gaze dulled, and the fingers around his glass twitched. “And if you really wanted to stay, you wouldn’t have left.”

The words settled between the two of you like a live wire, buzzing and electrifying. Charles’ eyes scrutinized yours, and as he put his empty flute of champagne on the counter, you couldn’t stand how your pulse stuttered when his fingers grazed yours. The same hand flexed by his side.

Whatever anger you felt when you started spewing venom at him slowly died down, replaced by something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Acerbic regrets, maybe, mixed with the wet outrage of misplaced resentment. Your limits were drawn at the emptiness of your stomach, the hum of the vodka in your veins, and the hollow of Charles' pupils when he looked at you.

You no longer knew what it meant, and you weren’t sure you could handle the uncertainty.

“We shouldn’t be doing this at Bridget’s party,” you murmured. “She deserves to have a good night. Jaime too.”

“You’re right.” He looked at the ground, and you swore his eyes were shining. “Is there even a right time to do this?”

“There’s none for us. Not anymore, at least. You missed your opportunity a year ago.”

You slowly slid a bill toward the waiter, took your cocktail, and carefully avoided looking at Charles as you walked away. You’d have to shorten your time at this party if you wanted to survive it. Bridget would understand ─ she always did. Something cruel in the back of your mind wondered if Charles would do too.

Most of your time was spent mingling with old friends and acquaintances. You answered the same questions with the same smile and tone for each of them: Yes, you needed a fresh start, that’s why you left. No, you were at peace with your current situation, it was a clean slate. Maybe you’d want to join them for dinner, one day. No, you didn’t care Charles was there tonight, not at all.

Yet, you were painfully aware of the Monegasque’s presence. It was a magnetic pull, in the way you wanted to avoid him like the plague but neither of you could stray too far away: you were both orbiting around each other, far enough for your heart to settle but too close for comfort. It wasn’t enough ─ you didn’t know which one you were talking about.

You found Bridget after another good hour of waltzing around the room, and she dropped on you with a flurry of apologies about not telling you sooner, that she learned last minute Charles was coming. You laughed it off to reassure her, but the truth was that you were already ready to leave. A minute spent there was one more minute dipping your toes in a dangerous type of nostalgia. You didn’t feel capable of handling it any longer.

But you did promise Bridget to stay until the slow dance.

It was fairytale-like, how the jazz music and the incessant rumbling of conversation turned into soft piano and hushed whispers as Jaime and she stepped onto the dance floor. The color coordination of their clothes, their smiles as they basked into each other’s presence, happy, their graceful yet discreet movements to the music ─ they would have a beautiful wedding, and Bridget would make the most beautiful bride. A single teardrop slipped past your lashes.

You were in the first rank of the circle that formed around them. People were elbowing others to share your spot, so it wasn’t much of a shock when Charles ended up next to you. You still had to repress back a sharp gasp at his sudden proximity. “They look perfect,” he whispered, barely audible.

You didn’t know if he spoke to himself or if he noticed you next to him. You answered nonetheless. “They really do.” Charles didn’t look surprised by your interjection, which made you understand the comment was indeed directed at you.

“Do you…” He hesitated, sneaking a glance that you met by accident. “Do you think we looked like that, at some point?”

Music filled the air between you. “Yes. We did.”

A half-smile stretched your lips, though without any substance to it. Slowly, people and couples all around you joined Bridget and Jaime on the dance floor. Their partners took hold of their waist, intertwined hands, and slowly glided around the marble floor. It was hypnotizing.

Charles’ fingers twitched in the dim light of the room, brushing yours oh so innocently. Shivers ran down your spine at the soft contact. It was only a matter of seconds before you subconsciously sought his touch once more, out of habit or homesickness, you didn’t know. Casually, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world, your hands intertwined. It was hesitant, and you just kept staring at the slow dance in front of you, but the feeling of his knuckles grazing yours, the back of his hand you’d trace the veins of during long nights…

The weight of memories made you nauseous.

You needed to get out. Now. You barely even muttered an excuse before snapping your hand back and rushing outside.

The night was sharp against your overheated skin, but the three cocktails you inhaled were enough to keep you warm. Breathe in through the nose, out by the mouth ─ again and again, until the palpitations against your ribcage finally ceased. What the hell was that?

Your fingers still tingled from where Charles had touched them ─ so innocent, so casual, like he hadn’t once held your entire world in his hand and let it slip away. You squeezed your eyes shut: you couldn’t handle this party any longer. You stuck until the slow dance, you fulfilled your promise. Except you were supposed to sleep at Bridget’s tonight, sparing you the added expense of a hotel in Monaco, and she wasn’t leaving her own engagement party anytime soon, even for you. You could hitchhike or call an Uber if you knew where her house was.

No hotel booked. No backup plan. No escape.

A familiar voice broke your thoughts. “Running again?”

You turned abruptly to see Charles at the grand entrance of the building. He stood there, hands buried in his pockets, the soft light of the entry hall graciously dancing on his features. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes─ God, his eyes. They held something between concern and something else, something unreachable and unspoken. You swallowed with difficulty.

“Not everything is about you, Charles.”

He hummed. “Didn’t say it was.”

Silence. He took a few steps closer, and the thick fog of the situation tightened around you ─ the past, the present, the fact you had nowhere to go. Charles titled his head, studying you. “You don’t have a place to stay, do you?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hating how easily he could still see right through you after everything. “I’m sleeping over at Bridget’s.”

“But you don’t want to stay until the party’s over.”

You prayed somebody would make him shut up as you answered through gritted teeth. “I’ll figure something out.”

At this point, the Monegasque was close enough that you could see the muscle ticking in his jaw, like the idea of you wandering through the city alone at this hour physically pained him. A few seconds passed before a sigh escaped him and he spoke up again.

“Come to mine.”

You blinked. “What?”

Charles' gaze softened, almost making your knees buckle under the heaviness of it, but his tone remained steady, if somewhat quieter when he confessed, “I still have some of your things. It makes sense. I know you’re not capable of waiting until the end of the party.”

It makes sense. Like it was logical, like it wasn’t dangerous for your heart to step back into the house that held so many feelings and memories. Your lips parted, forming a protest, but Charles beat you to it. “I’ll sleep on the couch if that’s what you want.” His voice dipped, now lower with insistence and blatant worry. “But don’t be stubborn. Just let me take you home.”

Home.

You exhaled shakily. The word was enough to make you shudder, or maybe it was the hopeful way Charles’ tone curled around it.

Any person in their right mind would have said no. You should say no. You should call a cab to a random hotel and make do like you always did. But your body betrayed you: you nodded, slowly, before your mind could catch up with your actions.

Charles didn’t gloat or smile. Instead, a visible tension seemed to leave his shoulders and he stepped aside as if waiting for you to move first to his car, you could see the familiar shape of it in the distance. He was giving you the opportunity to leave, the one he never gave you back then.

You still sat in the passenger seat.

The city lights blurred past during the short ride. It was quiet, not awkward ─ just heavy. You couldn’t forget the way to his house, your house, even if you tried to. It was a tear in your soul, a reminder. Every streetlight brushed against his features in flickers. You tried your best not to stare, but his sharp jaw, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tight… Neither of you spoke. Maybe that was safer.

When he pulled into the garage and killed the engine, you finally exhaled.

“Come on,” Charles said softly, as if he was afraid too much noise would break whatever fragile thread held you together.

Walking into his house was like stepping into the remnants of a dream when the morning came.

It smelled the same ─ clean, and the faint trace of his amber cologne clung to the air and your skin like melted plastic. “I’ll get you something to sleep in,” Charles said, disappearing into his bedroom. Once, it was yours.

A few things had changed, you’re pretty sure the lamp in the corner of the living room wasn't there before and he changed the rug ─ you always hated it anyway. But some hadn’t. A red sweater you used to steal regularly hung over the couch. You ran your fingers along the kitchen counter, a ghost tracing the memories of a past life. How many times had you leaned against this exact spot, laughing at some dumb joke he made while he cooked?

When Charles returned, he was changed into a simple white tee shirt and gray sweatpants. He held out something all too familiar ─ white shorts and a tee-shirt of his, brown, soft, and worn. After a while sleeping at his, it became more yours than it was his and he ended up giving it to you. It was your favorite.

You hesitated. “You kept it?”

“I kept most of it.” He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

Your fingers brushed his as you took it and for a second, neither of you moved. “Thank you,” you whispered. Charles just nodded and you made your way to the bathroom.

You changed, hands trembling as you slipped the shirt on. It smelled like fresh laundry and something so undeniably him. You hated how much comfort it brought you. How good it felt on your skin. You looked around the bathroom, noticing some of your leftover skincare products aligned next to the mirror of what used to be your side, and you swallowed with difficulty. He kept most of it. Your heart threatened to give out right here and there. When you walked out, Charles was sitting on the couch, staring into the emptiness.

You should go to sleep. You should pretend this is normal and turn away. But there are a lot of things you should have done tonight and didn’t do, so what was one more?

Instead, you walked over and hesitantly settled beside him, a little bit closer than you should be, the pounding in your chest so loud you were afraid he could hear it. The city lights poured through the windows, drenching his face in long shadows and nostalgia. Neither of you said anything for a while, basking in the stillness of what was.

Then, so quietly you barely caught it─ “I missed you.”

The corners of your eyes started burning the second the words left his lips. His head sharply turned toward you, eyes searching for something in your face. “I know… I know I don’t get to say that, but it’s the truth.”

Your breath hitched. If you were a better person, you would have let it go. Let it sit in the air, fade away like all the things he should have said but never did. But the weight of them, the sheer audacity they let transpire after everything ─ it would kill you to just let it be. Your fingers curled against your knees as you forced out a wet, bitter laugh that didn’t even sound like yours.

“That’s your problem, Charles. You always tell the truth when it’s too fucking late.”

His jaw visibly tensed. “That’s not fair. You’re not innocent either.”

“Isn’t it?” This time, you fully turned to face him. You were angry, but underneath all that rage was something fragile hiding in the depths of your facade, something so desperately broken, begging to be fixed. Your voice wavered as you continued. “You missed me? Where was this when I was actually there? When I was waiting for you to show up, to choose me over everything else for once?”

“You think I didn’t want to?”

You scoffed. “I think you didn’t.”

The silence was deafening. Charles leaned back against the couch, and he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You don’t understand.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and the feelings you spent a year trying to bury under the pretense of peace rushed to the surface, drowning you with it. “Then help me,” your voice broke, “make me understand, Charles, because all I can remember is feeling like I was never good enough.”

His head snapped toward you. His expression─ Raw. Devastated. Emotions painfully obvious in every trait. “You were enough. More than enough, you were everything. And I─ I just didn’t know how to keep you.” His voice was just as teary as yours, if a little stronger, as if he was mad at himself. Your heart twisted violently in your chest.

“Then why did you let me go?”

Charles ran a hand down his face, looking up at the ceiling like the answer was hidden in the dark lights. His next sentence came out in something next to a whisper. “Because I thought it’d be better for you.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” You let out a wobbly breath.

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to argue, like he wanted to take back the words and shove them back in his mouth in shame ─ but he didn’t. He let them simmer between you two, like so many other things.

You had spent so long thinking that Charles didn’t love you enough to fight for you. But now, here in the dim glow of his house, the faint sounds of cars and laughter coming from the streets echoing against the walls, you realized the truth was even crueler. He loved you enough to let you go. It didn’t make it hurt any less ─ for all you knew, it wrecked you even more.

Everything was so fragile. The tension between you, the past, the feeble source of city lights shining on you both. And then─ his fingers twitched. Just slightly, resting on the couch beside you, brushing against yours, remnants of what happened in the party hall. It was small, hesitant. A question.

You knew where this would lead. You knew that nothing had changed, that the past still sat uncomfortably between you like an open wound. But, God help you, you turned your hand over almost immediately, allowing your fingers to thread through his. A shaky breath left his lips. Relief, surrender, and his thumb traced soft circles against your skin, old habits reignited like they never left.

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Charles murmured.

“Then what do you want?”

He swallowed, his grip on your hand tightening as if he was afraid you’d disappear.

“You. Just you.”

Your heart rate picked up, your resolve crumbling like sand through an hourglass. Because you wanted him too. Maybe you always would.

And so, Charles leaned in, imperceptibly, hesitant and almost afraid in his gesture. His eyes darted from your eyes to your lips to your eyes again, and there was no coming back from that. Your lips crashed onto his.

It was different, distinguished from all the other ones you shared before. It wasn’t fueled by anger, desperation, or habit. The way his lips moved against yours in perfect synchronization, the ghost-like touch of his fingers running up your arms, his shaky breath against your skin when you parted for a split second too long. It was soft, lingering. The kind of kiss that felt like home.

And maybe, just for tonight, you’d let yourself believe that was enough.

You threw your arms around his neck, and melted against him when his rough palms found the dip of your waist. It was a rhythm you didn’t forget, no matter how many months passed. Charles lifted you up easily, as if you were nothing, settling you in his lap and his lips never once leaving yours. The kiss, so delicate and gentle, grew more and more erratic and his hands started roaming your sides, lower, right above the curve of your ass.

A quiet sigh escaped you when his head buried in your neck, nibbling against your supple skin, breathing you in like a drug. Your hands tangled in his hair. Charles’ grip on your hips got tighter, pressing you against him. He hissed, and you could feel every centimeter of him through his sweatpants touching your throbbing core. The effect you still had on him would have made you smile if your senses weren’t completely captured by the feeling of his mouth on your body, the delightful friction sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Please, Y/N,” he pleaded, high-pitched and desperate into your neck. He pushed himself up against your shorts, and a moan drew out of you, louder than any of your silent sighs. “Bordel, please, let me…”

There was no hesitation in your voice when you answered. “Yes.”

Charles wasted no time. His hands grabbed your thighs hard enough to leave marks and lifted you up, lips still on yours. You locked your legs around his waist and, carefully, he walked you to the bedroom.

He set you down on the silky sheets as if you were made of porcelain, yet the way he kissed you was anything but gentle. His tongue slipped past your lips, demanding access you offered without a second thought. You could finally taste your shared breath, remnants of champagne, espresso, and tears lingering in the way he angled his mouth. He bruised you with his kiss. How you missed it. Him. The both of you.

Charles’ hands traveled further up, slowly dipping underneath your shirt. It didn’t take long for it to end up on the floor. He leaned back, staring at your body, leaving you panting from the sudden lack of contact. He took you in like a priceless painting, breathless himself like you hung the stars in the sky for him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Charles whispered, and the ache between your legs only intensified. One hand came to knead your naked breast, fingers ghosting over your erect nipple. You whimpered at the sudden contact. “Fuck, I missed seeing you like this. Hearing you. You can’t imagine how many nights I spent thinking about what I’d do to you if you were mine again. Just once.” He pinched your sensitive bud, and this time, his name slipped past your lips.

“Charles…” You gasped, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes. His gaze darkened at the sound of his name, and you saw how cock twitch through the thin fabric of his pants.

Your hands reached to untie the knot tying his sweatpants. His hands simply grazing you weren’t enough. He wasn’t the only one who spent nights reminiscing and gasping alone at night in an empty room ─ you needed him close. In every way. You needed it to be real.

Gently, he pushed your hand away and you couldn’t stop the whine that came out of your mouth. “Doucement,” Charles whispered.

He leaned down and dragged his lips on the curve of your neck, tasting your skin. He planted a kiss in the middle of your chest, took a nipple in his mouth he swirled around on his tongue and let out with an erotic pop, followed the line of your stomach until he reached the dangerously low hem of your shorts. He would look patient if the iron grip he had on your hips wasn’t betraying him.

Your breathing was uneven, and anticipation stained your underwear and shorts with a wet patch you would be ashamed of if you weren’t so desperate for touch. Charles untied and slipped off your shorts with a timed precision, and when his fingers started playing with the border of your panties, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Please…”

Charles dropped a kiss on your clothed cunt, and you squirmed beneath him. “Tell me you want me.”

His words didn’t register in the fog of want clouding your mind. He repeated, this time with a little more force. “Tell me you want me, Y/N. Please.”

Your chest tightened at the pathetic need in his voice. “I want you. I want you so bad, Char─”

You didn’t notice him push your panties aside. All you knew was the feeling of his tongue, a slow lap along your folds, and any words you wanted to say died on your tongue with a silent cry.

It wasn’t soft or relaxed. Charles ate you out like a starved man as if the air he needed to live was between your legs. It was messy, a newfound fervor found as he circled your clit with his tongue, sucking on it, torturing it. You bucked under his mouth, pushing your hips against him, always craving more, more, more. More of the tightness in your lower stomach, more of him. When he lowered himself further and started exploring your warmth, you could barely breathe through the gasps and whines spilling from your lips.

Charles watched you eagerly from his point of view, hooded eyes glazed over by pure lust and need. His arms were hooked beneath your thighs, smothering himself in your cunt, and with his tongue pushing deeper inside you, the pad of his fingers came pressing down on your clit, making rapid and hard circles. The pace, fast and needy, his drunken look, the familiarity of it all… it was all too overwhelming. You were a writhing mess underneath this man.

After a year, he still knew your body by heart.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him as close as you could, eliciting a groan out of him that reverberated straight into your core. The knot in your stomach grew tighter and tighter, your breathing erratic. “Charles, I’m gonna─ Fuck! I’m close, please, I’m─”

And right as you were about to let yourself go, he stopped.

The high slipping through your finger was enough to throw you in deep confusion as you glanced down at him, your hands falling from his hair to the side of his face. Charles’ lips were glistening with your arousal, his gaze dark and hair messy, heaving. He looked downright pornographic.

He spoke up before you could word your protest. “Need to be inside of you, mon amour. Need to feel you coming around me.” His voice was hoarse and possessive, leaving no room for argument. The familiar pet name sent shivers down your entire body and you couldn’t find it in you to oppose him, not when you craved the same.

Charles was a man possessed, fumbling with the waistband of his sweats as you hurriedly helped him out of his shirt. His lean muscles on display, you traced them with your palm, feeling every scattered breath and the hitches of it when your nails grazed his skin. You stopped at the waistband of his boxers. You wished you weren’t as impatient, otherwise you would have savored the begging scrunch of his eyebrows, or the quiet whimpers escaping him. Instead, you released him from torture and helped him take it off.

His cock sprung out and tapped his stomach. At some point in your life, you got used to the size of it ─ now, you weren’t sure if your body knew how to take its length anymore. Slowly, Charles' hands gripped your hips to slide you closer to him, grinding his engorged member against your entrance. The sensation, so little and so much at the same time, had you release a strangled cry.

Charles leaned in closer, upper body above you, palms pressed next to each side of your head. “D’you want it? This? Me?” His tip nudged your hole a little harder, and the small shock had you seeing stars. “Us?”

The question was charged with emotions and tears pricked your eyes. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him as close as you could. “Yes. More than anything.”

Those were all the words he needed. In a slow, agonizing push, he slid inside of you.

Nothing in the world could ever matter after that. It was dizzying, you could get drunk on the feeling: Charles filled you up so completely, reaching every sweet spot inside of you without even trying, and your back arched as if answering to his command. He took the opportunity to capture your back with one arm, bodies flushing against the other. You couldn’t remember the last time something had felt this right.

“Fuck… you feel so good, so tight,” he moaned in your ear. “Made for me. You were made for me.”

You answered between sharp intakes of air. “Yours, Charles.”

You felt his cock twitch inside of you at your words. He bottomed out, sucking in the thin skin of your collarbone. You croaked as he asked, “Mine?”

“All yours. Always have.”

All you could remember from here was the tangled mess of limbs you both became. His thrusts were erratic, slamming his hips upon yours like he was trying to mold your body to fit his. Your nails dug into his back ─ you dragged them down, finding no other outlet for the ache within you. Twisting, biting, moaning and kissing, lips and tongues at war to see who will leave the biggest imprint. Charles’ iron-clad hold on you only intensified the feverish state of the two of you, your skin glistening, panting. You couldn’t think straight anymore. All of you was his and all of his was yours.

“Shit, ‘M getting close,” Charles managed to articulate. “Need you to finish first. Fuck, need you to fall apart so I can see.”

You could only cry out his name in response, an unanswered prayer spilling from your lips. “I’m right there,” his pace picked up, his thrusts uneven between the plush of your thighs. “C’mon, I know you can do it. Let go for me, mon ange.”

The pad of his fingers drew slow circles on your clit, his rhythm relentless. It did it for you: in a flash of white, the knot in your lower stomach snapped. Everything narrowed down to the stuttering of Charles’ hips, spilling soon after you. He coated your insides with his warmth and broken pleas escaped you as he fucked your high and his with languid movements, gradually slowing down, bringing you down in the softest way possible.

The sheets were tangled, the air of the bedroom thick with heat, but neither of you spoke as Charles collapsed next to you. It was the type of silence that only came before something inevitable.

Your chest was still rising and falling unevenly, skin warm, raw from the way you had just taken each other apart. Charles laid on his back, one arm draped over his forehead, taking steady and measured breaths─ like he was trying to regulate something deeper than exhaustion. In the dim glow of his bedroom, reality finally settled in.

What you just did, with the guilt, heartbreak, and relief coming with it.

You sat up until you reached the edge of the bed, gazing emptily in front of you, wrapped in the sheets that smelled like you and him, your fingers playing with the hem of the fabric as you tried to remember how to breathe. You didn’t know what you should do from here and desperately dug in the depths of your mind to find an answer.

Behind you, Charles shifted. The mattress dipped under his weight, and before you could register his sudden closeness, you felt the warmth of his palm grazing up and down your spine, featherlight.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

You swallowed hard, staring at the Monaco lights outside his window. “I don’t know how not to.”

Silence. Then, a whisper- “Come back to bed.”

You closed your eyes. The words shouldn’t have made you feel anything. They should have been meaningless, casual, something you could ignore ─ this whole ordeal should have been a one-time thing you could have forgotten when the morning came. But they weren’t.

Because you remembered this.

The way he used to whisper it on nights where you’d get up at ungodly hours, restless. The way he always reached for you, even in sleep. You turned slightly, catching sight of him in the semi-darkness of the room: messy hair, kiss-bruised lips, green eyes heavy with a feeling you knew too well but were too scared to name.

“Charles…”

“I know,” he said, almost frustrated. “I know we─” He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair. Softer─ “I know it doesn’t fix anything. I know we’ll wake up tomorrow and we’ll still be…”

Exes. Strangers.

People who still fit together in every way that mattered, except the ones that actually kept them from breaking.

“But… just for tonight, can you stay? With me? We can talk about it tomorrow. Just… stay.”

You hesitated.

Then, gently, you let the sheets slip from your naked shoulders as you turned fully, shifting back onto the mattress beside him. For a second, neither of you moved or even dared to breathe, too afraid to ruin it. Hesitantly, carefully, Charles reached for you. It wasn’t demanding, nor possessive like he was when you were busy unraveling each other ─ it was in the heat of the moment. This was raw, emotional, uncertain. Like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to.

You made the choice for him. Moving closer, you tucked yourself against his side, tangling your legs with his and resting your hands on his chest in an all too familiar fashion, the heat of skin warming you up.

Charles melted and released a slow, shaky exhale as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. His fingers retraced the same patterns he did earlier along your back. The contact made your chest twist.

You chose to ignore it. You chose to ignore it all ─ tonight, this will be enough. You, him, and the unsaid. Everything else could wait until sunrise.

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