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chithereader · 2 days ago

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losing my cool / aaron hotchner

part 2 to playing it cool !!! hope you like it word count: 1.6k pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader genre: angst at first, but fluff!!!!!! cw: more sickeningly sweet and soft aaron x reader, mentions of insecurities

The smile on Aaron’s face slowly fades as he takes in your frozen stance. You’re staring at him like he just shot you in the back and worry starts to fill him, “Honey..?” waving his hand in front of your face, hoping it would be enough to break you out of your stupor.

“Hello?” Still waving his hand in your face, your eyes darted to his. Your body is in a state of shock– in your mind, there’s a tiny version of you desperately digging her way out of a landslide of disbelief. Waves and waves of doubts and insecurities hindering you from processing what is happening.

Aaron watches as your mouth moves with barely any sound coming out. Like a fish out of water, you’re scrambling, “W-what?” That’s… a bit too shaky to be good.

He pauses to think. The doubts are starting to creep up on him.

Maybe he was too rash with his question.

Maybe that wasn’t the best way to spring it on you.

Maybe he should have waited for a better time.

Maybe he should have planned something.

Maybe she isn’t ready.

Maybe she just doesn’t want to marry me.

He tries hard to swallow all these dark thoughts, clearing his throat to fake the confidence that’s slowly diminishing, “I said, ‘Marry me.’” After he says those words again he stills, hoping that this time he’ll get an answer. And that.. it would be the answer he so badly wants.

But time slows down and his heart soon follows as he watches tears start to pool in your eyes. You’re shaking your head– they’re tiny shakes and you look panicked. This isn’t good. Not good at all.

He really wasn’t expecting this. It never occurred to him you’d say no. Or ..not yes. Aaron’s mind is running a million miles per hour. He doesn’t know what to do, or say. He barely even knows how he feels. And so he defaults to doing the one thing he does best (as a prosecutor at least): object.

This is triggered by your movement. You move around him, leaving the kitchen towards your living room. Your goal was to sit on the couch, craving some stability as your legs get weaker the more you’re processing what was asked, how you reacted, and how it could be coming across.

But Aaron’s legs are longer than yours. Before you even reach the couch, he’s holding your arm firmly and gently at the same time. He’s got that furrow in his brows that makes him look stern, but his eyes betray him as you can clearly see the worry in them.

“Well yes!” he says in disagreement. He doesn’t understand why you haven’t said yes, and as much as he isn’t the kind of man to ever force a lady into anything, a part of him is scared of what he’ll hear if he asks you why you’re not saying yes.

Though instead of allowing that fear to paralyze him, he allows it to control him. To bear its face because the softer, more rational part of him is hiding.

You’re avoiding his gaze, crossing your arms– you’re turning away from him. “No- Aaron, you– I don– I ca–”

You know he’s studying you. You can feel his eyes roaming your face, your neck, your body. He’s taking in everything he can because you’ve given him absolutely nothing so far. And oh how you wish you could voice it all out.

You just wish it was easy to say I don’t think I’m enough for you. What if you realize one day that I’m not good enough? Are you sure? Are you sure about this? About me? What if you start to want someone smarter? Prettier? Hotter? What if you want someone who is as accomplished or important as you? What if you get bored of me? What if–

You’re broken out of your thoughts when he suddenly straightens. He looks as if he’s realized something and the next thing you know you’re hit by a gust of wind because he’s running up the stairs.

Within an instant you run after him. A dozen scenarios are running through your head, the worst being Aaron packing your things because he’s going to ask you to leave. Your heart beats faster as you reach the top of the steps. You peek into your room and see him rummaging through drawers.

Your worries quiet significantly when you realize they’re his drawers. And just when you’re about to approach him, he turns around meeting you halfway. You’re both illuminated by the sunlight that’s coming through the bedroom window you’re standing in front of.

He’s still. He’s got a serious look on his face. You take him in, trying to read him but he’s got his profiler look on– unreadable and determined. His voice rattles you, “I’m sorry. That was a mistake.” Firm and devoid of any emotion.

Oh god.

You’re shaking your head, reaching to hold him by his arms. You start to cry, “Aaron please, that’s not what I–” but… he’s going down on one knee.

What?

He watched multiple emotions flicker on your face. Defeat, panic, confusion– “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have said that. I– I planned to do it better than that. I don’t know why I let it slip out, you deserve better than that.”

Before you can process it, Aaron��s holding out a ring. He’s holding your hand in the other while tears are streaming down both your faces. You have no idea how you heard it but you guess it’s simply a testament to how attuned you are to him when he whispers, “Please, please, please. Will you marry me, honey?”

Time stops. Literally. You can feel your heart in your chest beating louder, heavier. It’s pounding as if begging to be heard. Begging to let Aaron know that it beats for him and him only. You’re lowering yourself to kneel before him. You want to see his face properly. His eyes. His nose. His lips. This is the man you love. This is the man you want to marry. Your eyes are simply capturing every angle of this moment.

You’re leveled now. Equals. You grab both his hands in yours and you stare into his brown eyes. You want him to know you mean it, as you nod your head slowly and breathe out, “Yes.” A smile breaks across his face, tears starting to stream again.

You watch him as he tries to put the ring on your finger, getting it on the first try even if his sight is slightly hindered by his tears of happiness and relief. The sun makes the ring sparkle, catching your attention and you look at it properly for the first time.

It’s beautiful. Aaron would argue that the stone screams you – grace, loyalty, peace. He catches your eye and the both of you start to smile. You start to giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck while his arms snake around your waist.

He buries his head in your neck, breathing in your scent while silently thanking the heavens for granting him this. You break apart, startled to hear tiny footsteps nearing. The both of you start to stand up from the floor, straightening yourselves out and wiping the remaining tears staining your faces.

You both look to the door, waiting for the little boy to show himself. You hear a soft knock right before the door opens slowly, a head peeking in, “Daddy?”

Aaron goes to the door, opening it more for Jack to come in. The little boy goes straight to you and you pick him up in your arms with ease, resting him on your hip. You have your left hand holding him stable, and even though the little boy’s still groggy with sleep he notices the sparkling addition to your hand.

You take notice of how his little face lights up in excitement and you have no idea what about it he understands, “I help Daddy buy you that!” His voice is full of pride, genuinely proud that he had played a part in picking.

You’re confused, not fully understanding what Jack means. Looking to Aaron for an answer, you’re surprised to find him blushing. He looks shy and he’s shrugging at you but you can tell he’s trying hard to play it cool. The smile fighting its way on his face betrays him.

You decide to take your chance on the adorable kid that is now fiddling with your ring, watching in amazement at how much it’s twinkling in the light. Children are the most honest people you know anyway. Pursing your lips with squinted eyes, you investigate “What do you mean, bubba?”

“Daddy asked me what ring pop you want, so I asked you when we watched Spiderman and you said your favorite is the green one so I tell Daddy you want the green one!”

Your heart stutters and the tears start coming in again. Aaron asking Jack for his opinion for your engagement ring. Jack thinking it's a ring pop. Jack asking for your favorite ring pop flavor. Jack being proud that you got the ring you want, pop or not.

Brought out of your thoughts by Jack wanting to leave your hold, you put him down. You watch as he happily walks out of your room, presumably to go to the kitchen. You look at Aaron again, and just as you’re about to say something about what you just found out, you realize one thing. Spiderman.

You gasp. Covering your mouth in surprise, you slap his arm lightly, “That was our third date!”

Aaron laughs loudly, rushing out of the room before you can throw questions at him or even comments about how insane he is. He couldn’t care less. He was right.

a/n: just want to say thank you so much for the love and support i've been getting for my hotch fics!! as someone who's new here, it all means so much to me <33 i recently made a masterlist as i plan to write so much more and branch out to other characters i've been perpetually in love with!! leave requests of what you want to read or characters i can write about, i'd love to write for you guys ◡̈ tagging the people who wanted a part 2 for this: @pear-1206 @dedicatedfangirl2001 u guys are so sweet

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yummymitzy · 2 days ago

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Hi! I love your writing! Could you write a part two to Dangerous, right? Maybe it's their first mission or Nat needs a rescue and sees the reader's true form? Can you make it really angsty with a happy ending though?

Dangerous, Right? Part II

Summary: Hydra mission goes wrong on Natasha’s side, but did everything else go wrong?

Pt I

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader , Lucifer Morningstar x Reader (platonic)

WC: 2320

A/N: Sorry if it’s not as angsty as you expected😭😭

ᨖᨖೱᨖ⧗ᨖⴵᨖ🕷️ᨖⴵᨖ⧗ᨖೱᨖᨖ

Tonights mission wasn’t any different from any other mission, infiltrate the base and grab the necessary intel without suspicion. Until it wasn’t easy anymore, she hadn’t suspected that they’d be waiting for her.

It happened all so quickly for Natasha, one minute she was confident she’d make it home before the night falls; then the next minute a group of agents ambush her.

She felt almost embarrassed that she’s got herself in this position, but she’d dwell over that later.

The agents were quick on their feet, never faster than her. Her only negative was that she was out numbered, she didn’t feel any better when more agents swarmed through the door.

Her heart was thrumming in her ears while she clutched her fists tighter, the surrounding agents were sprawled on the floor of the room. Natasha’s adrenaline was so high, she hadn’t felt the blood soaking through the leather encasing her waist.

Once the adrenaline slowed, a sharp pang shot through her side. Reaching her hand down and grazing it against the wound, blood was all she saw on her fingertips. Cursing under her breath, she couldn’t believe how she let this mission turn to shit.

The sound of heavy footsteps outside the door caught Natasha’s attention, it wasn’t one person either. This really should have been the one day she would have taken a day off, Natasha thought.

She wanted to be at home, the compound, watching White Chicks with her friends while her eyes slowly drift towards you, losing focus of the movie. She hadn’t meant to be so forward with you during your first interaction.

It just felt all too fast for Natasha, she’s grown used each and every one of them with every moment that passed by. She never expected she’d had to repeat that process all over again when you and your brother turned up at the door.

Feeling guilty wasn’t a foreign feeling for Natasha, but this emotion felt more overwhelming than usual. Was it because she was on the brink of dying? She wasn’t sure.

She felt guilty for all of the innocent people she’s killed, guilty for the people who she wasn’t able to save. Guilty for how she acted with you. If only. Just if only she had spent her time getting to know you instead of judging.

Unbeknownst to her, FRIDAY was quick to alert the team of her condition. Right as FRIDAY displayed Natasha’s vitals, you were out the room, determined to get to her.

“Y/N!”

A strong voice echoing the hall of which you were rushing to get out of. Time wasn’t on your hands even if you wished that it were.

“Y/N! Take me with!”

The strong voice yelled once more. You had already known it was Lucifer from the start, his stern voice wasn’t one you were able to miss.

“Then catch up. I’m not waiting around.” You said over your shoulder, footsteps never faltering as you rushed down the corridor. The heavy footsteps behind you were all you needed to know.

“Do you think we’re able to make it fast enough with the quinjets?” Lucifer huffed behind you once you stepped foot onto the landing pad of the building.

“Ohh, no. Those things are slow.” You huffed a laugh as your wings extended behind you. Sparing a glance at Lucifer, a look of confusion was painted on his face, accompanied with a hint of exasperation.

“Now hurry up and catch up! If I hear that she’s dead, your grave will be dug next to hers!” You yell over your shoulder, feet lifting off the platform as you drive through the air towards Natasha’s location.

Dying really wasn’t the best feeling. It was a feeling Natasha became familiar with, it cane with the job. But this time, it felt different.

The pit in her stomach wasn’t from pain, it was an emotion she couldn’t define. What was it? Was it guilt? Natasha questioned, until the emotions began rushing through her.

She didn’t know what she’d die first from, the guilt or her wound. She felt sorry for how she made you and your brother feel unwelcome, it was a defense mechanism she wasn’t able to shake off.

Neither of you deserved that, it was barely your guys’s first day and the tension she created was unbearable. She was angry, frustrated with herself that she had judged your character. A hint of sadness also resided within Natasha, a foreign feeling to her. She was upset she wasn’t able to establish a great relationship with you, she wanted to be your friend, maybe more.

But that couldn’t happen now, and she was scared. Being afraid was an emotion she crossed paths with too many times to count. She was afraid of dying, afraid of not being able to clean the red off of her ledger, afraid of not being able to start off new with you.

Natasha had came to peace with the idea of dying, but not like this. She wanted to die once her ledger was cleaned, once her life didn’t feel like she was living off of the same schedule everyday.

She didn’t want to die with the guilt of her past weighing on her shoulders, she wanted to be free of that. Letting out a shaky sigh, she slowly seated herself onto the floor ; leaning upright against the wall as her hand tightly clutches her wound in an attempt to ease the bleeding.

Was Natasha close to dying before? Yes. But it never left her this fucking exhausted. She felt as though she was trying to compete against the two supersoliders in a race and still graciously lost.

Her worries eased as the surrounding area around Natasha blurred. Natasha’s head felt lighter and the tension in her body slowly lifted, and the pain from her wound numb enough to leave the throbbing. Natasha wasn’t against death if it was ever this calm, if she doesn’t include how she died.

The moment she shut her eyes, an explosion immediately caught her attention. So maybe she wasn’t going to die peacefully after all, she thought. Her eyes darted around the room, the room seemed untouched, meaning that explosion wasn’t near.

Huffing, her head lulled back, her eyes burning holes into the ceiling above her. Until the explosion reached her ears again, the pain in her side increasing tenfold. The explosion sounded more closer this time.

But before Natasha could dwell on it more, the door to the room she lays in opens. Two silhouettes were all she could make up due to the blinding light behind them. Were they here to kill her off? Might as well.

“It’s a quick in and out, don’t bother wasting time on any other agents.” A familiar voice stated, the owner of the voice stepping closer to her. Was it you? Was it really you? Why had you gone all this way to save her? Especially when she made you feel so unwelcome.

“..Y/N?” She croaked out, her voice wavering from not being used for a good minute. Her vision clearing slightly once the figure that she now knows is you is stood right in front of her.

She hears another body drop once more and she doesn’t need to turn her head knowing it’s an agent. Once her vision clears up, she’s shocked. Natasha wasn’t expected to be greeted with another sight other than your face.

Well it was your face, but different. It seemed more…devilish. Horns protruding out of your hair and curving away from your face, much like a goat. Your irises shone a bright red as your wings fluttered behind you. The only thing she could make out of your features was compassion, and something else she couldn’t define.

“Hey, Nat. We’re going to take you home, okay?” Your voice drops to a softer tone than she’s ever heard, she wishes to hear it more often. The guilt once more pangs against her heart, how could you be so kind to seek her out with how she treated you?

She hummed, that was the only response she could give at the moment. She was shocked, she understood why you were placed in the Avengers now, you really did have potential. She never doubted that for a moment. But that wasn’t her reason.

She was speechless to how you flew all this way without the quinjet all just for her? If she felt guilty then, then she felt even more guilty now. She wasn’t even sure if you really had forgiven her, consoling her in the dead of night.

Black spots started to form in the corner of Natasha’s eyes, vision becoming blurred once more before her eyes shut. The action sent a panic through your body. It was as if somebody had dumped cold ice water on you.

You didn’t waste any time rushing towards Natasha’s limp body. Sending a look towards Lucifer, you bolted towards the nearest window and slammed your side into it, preventing any shards from impaling the already injured woman.

You’ve flown countless of times before, but flying with a limp person in your arms?

The adrenaline kept you on your feet, as you drove through the wind. The gusts of wind kept you in reality, and the city lights looked beautiful from above. Only if the situation at hand wasn’t so drastic, you would have taken Natasha to gaze with you as a way to mend your friendship. relationship?

The flight back to the compound was incredibly fast, you didn’t even wait a minute before rushing towards the medical bay. Stealing a glance down towards the redheaded woman you’re carrying, she looked peaceful. Ever yet more graceful than she already is.

Why hadn’t she alerted any one of her state? Why did you and the rest of the team have to find out from FRIDAY?

Questions were piling in your head at 100 mph, your feelings are conflicting. You felt worried for Natasha, guilty that you hadn’t been there sooner, and another emotion. Was it admiration? Did you like Natasha? Fuck that, you’ll focus on that when she gets better, if she even does.

Once you reached the med bay, Dr.Cho immediately took over. The worry for Natasha was filling your bones, you had just met her but you felt as though the both of you could be so much more.

You shut your eyes, Dr. Cho was quick and efficient and you trusted her skills.

You didn’t know how long your eyes had been shut until Dr. Cho tapped you awake. Her worried gaze was the first thing you saw.

“She’s stable and the wound should heal nice, all that’s left is for her to wake up.” She stated, her words slow as she was trying to find the right words to ease your racing mind.

“Alright. Thanks doc.” Not once have you looked away from Natasha’s sleeping form. She looked gorgeous, even in a hospital bed.

You were true to your words that very night. You forgave her, there wasn’t anything to hold against her even if you thought harder about it. There wasn’t anything about her that you would dislike, her radiating smile, her fiery hair and personality, the kindness and compassion she holds with her teammates.

One twitch from her fingers was all it took for your thoughts to vanish. She was awake.

Seeing her eyes flutter open left you breathless. All the worries disappears when you saw her forest green eyes peer up at you.

“Hey Nat. How are you holding up?” You sat up, watching her in your peripheral while you fixed her a glass of water. Accepting the glass, she was quick to finish it, her eyes peering up at you once more as you placed the glass on a nearby table.

“Feels like I’ve been shot.” Apparently her attempt at joking didn’t fly past you from the glare you sent towards her.

Taking a deep sigh, she looks you dead in the eyes, a genuine glint shining in them.

“I feel like I should really apologize, Y/N. Although you said you forgave me, it doesn’t make up for all of the things I said.”

“Nat-“ “No, let me finish, I need to say this.” Your eyes widened a fraction before staying silent once more. Natasha shouldn’t feel the need to apologize to you when you already forgave her.

“All the things I said, it was unnecessary, not to mention not professional. I couldn’t help but judge, I felt like Fury just let you guys in the team like it was an open audition.” She huffed a laugh before continuing once more.

“You saving me proved that you really are worth being on the team. I never meant to hurt you, I just felt….protective, this team grew to be my family and I felt forced to trust you and Lucifer so quick. I’m really sorry, Y/N, you don’t have to feel bound to empathize with me. I just wanted to let you know of my intentions.”

You were shocked to say the least, the words that spilled from Natasha’s mouth brung tears to your eyes. You fought hard to not let the tears spill as you processed the information.

Neither were you able to find any words to respond to Natasha’s speech. Natasha noticed that, retracting herself from you with insecurity written on her face. She expected you to turn against her and leave her alone in the room.

Next thing Natasha knew was feeling a warmth embrace her, you were hugging her. Carefully raising her hands, she embraced you further, her hold on you becoming tighter as you both shared a moment that will impact your relationship forevermore.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha x reader #marvel #black widow x reader #mcu #black widow #natasha romanoff

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kizzer55555 · 20 days ago

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Alternative idea. They are chasing Danny ‘the betrayer’ down and as they follow the leads and clues and leftovers of where he’s been, they start slowly piecing together the mystery of who Danny is and why he’s doing this. And they find out just how deep the betrayal went. Because it was the Justice league that made the first move.

They finally catch up with him and he’s decoding something and he just snaps at them to leave him alone. He’s cold, not even acknowledging at them, this is nothing like the Danny they knew. They try to talk to him and when that doesn't work it breaks out into a battle. But Danny knows all their moves and weaknesses and they don’t know the first thing about his limits. He’s ruthless and efficient, not showing the barest hint of emotion on his face like this battle against his ‘friends’ means nothing to him. He doesn’t even have to reveal his powers. And once they are all completly immobile he whispers “I never wanted to hurt you.” Someone scoffs. “You have a funny way of showing that.” Danny rolls his eyes. “It’s your own fault. You really should have seen this coming.”

“Oh really?” A hero speaks, venom dripping with every word. “Is it really that easy to betray your friends? To betray the ones you trust?”

Danny just laughs without any emotion behind it. “Trust? Nah, I never trusted you. Let me tell you something, when my home town was invaded, we called the Justice league. But they never came. When we were besieged every. Single. Day. By monsters and demons and entitled government agents that had no regard for casualties, they never came. Do you know what it’s like? To always have to look at the sky in case something comes down a snatch you? To hide behind a trash can or alley wall and pray that skin peeling cyborg will pass you by? To be scared of the very food you eat wondering if it was poisoned or the meat was going to attack you? To wake up realize no one is moving and wonder if your friends and family will ever wake up again? We called over and over but they never came. So we had to find our own way to fight back. We had to build weapons to protect ourselves and our children. We had to fight tooth and nail just to make it to tommorow and finally, finally we figured out a system. We managed to push them back enough to breathe. And it was only then that your people arrived.

You abandoned my town to face their death. You took me from my home. You locked up my family and tortured them.” By now, Danny was screaming and crying. His eyes looked absolutely devastated. “How…can you possibly ask me to trust you after that?”

Danny doesn’t even explain himself and his reasoning. That’s how little he thinks of the heroes. He doesn’t care if what they think he’s doing is right or wrong or if it’s justified. Some think he’s doing some sort of master plan to take over the world rather than just rescuing his parents which makes even more devastating to them when they find out what he’s actually doing.

It’s a race against time and by the end, Waller launches a strike against the heroes and it ends up being Danny that built a counter solution to the anti super weapons. He still doesn’t care about them but he was a protector at heart. He always will be. He just didn’t need someone’s ‘permission’ to do so. When he finally frees his parents (possibly dragging in the help of his classmates for a break out) they stand and Waller says that they’ve lost as they are surrounded, no weapons, and all the heroes/former villains powerless because of machines specifically designed against them. And that’ when Danny looks her right in the eyes and says that there’s one thing he forgot to mention.

He has powers too.

Danny held up a large sign from the background like a man at an airport as thier leader, Robin, gave his report to this "Justice League". The first sign said, "Help! I'm surrounded by daddy issues!" Earning a laugh from someone off camera. He then pulled the next card out from behind the first one.

"Can you send air fresheners? It smells like teen angst in here"

This one got a cackle from someone on the Justice League side of things. Score. No one here really wants to laugh. They're all edgelords and Danny is suffering. He didn't really want to be here, but things in Amity had ended in a way he never expected.

Both he and his parents had been arrested.

Not by his worlds government, mind you, but by the government of another Earth. This Earth that he was currently on to be more accurate. Who knew that so much of the stuff he and his parents had been doing was super illegal and wouldn't ya know it? He was in the middle of doing something really sketchy looking in his parents lab when the feds busted in.

Thankfully, the Justice League presented him with a deal: they take him out of Juvie and the reformation program he was in, and in return, he joins a team of former teen/child villains and anti-heros.

Figuring he had nothing to lose at this point he agreed.

He was not expecting to be surrounded by angry angsty teens. His fault really. He should have known better. Thankfully it seems like nobody knows about Phantom and he'd like to keep it that way.

Psaro was his calm in the storm. The other boy was proud and almost as arrogant as Robin, but he had been proven to be very kind and reliable. If Danny ever needed advice or if Robin was getting a bit too much, he could just knock of Psaros door.

The last time Robin had a fit and was starting a fight with someone, Mr. Pointy ears stepped up and told Robin that his outburst was undignified, especially for someone of a higher class like Robin seems to be presenting himself as. He also said something about there being a big difference between a king and a tyrant, but Danny had been trying to rush Robin's victim to the medway and didn't hear all of the convo.

Psaro was some kind of half demon prince who was also from another world. He didn't have a superhero name yet, but the program was brand new, and to be fair, Danny didn't officially have one either.

Some lady called Raven was supposed to be coming in to help Psaro and convince him to embrace his human half and help him with magic and...something about a curse? What did Danny get himself into???

#Dpxdc #dcxdp #new young justice au #but with the kids of villains and child villains being reformed #kinda #no one knows danny is phantom #they just think hes the kid of evil mad scientists who was going down a bad path #hes the one colourful nerd surrounded by goths and dark clothes #Good Parents Jack and Maddie #Because I love them #and also them loving Danny only for him and their family to get fucked over anyways by outside forces makes for much better angst #Danny is playing them all #The betrayal will be gut-wrenching #But Danny will feel nothing #Imagine something kind of like in the Original Young Justice when they were looking for their own mole in the team #Danny will be the light that warms and guides them #That helps and encourages them to be better people #To be better than what their parents wanted them to be #only to discover too late that Danny was really the wildfire that spread too far and too quick to notice #And by the gods will it burn when they find out #i love this so much you dont even understand #Prev tags.#I wanted to write more but my iPad is glitching. You know how frustrating it is to have to wait 3 seconds before typing every single letter #It’s SO easy to lose your thought process.

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hoshifighting · 2 months ago

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cold hearted!jeonghan + virginity loss

— after the rumors spread about Jeonghan, the coldest guy in the university, having the biggest crush on you, you ask him to be your first.

WARNINGS: +18, smut, virginity loss, oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, begging, protected sex.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

it feels almost too easy.

you’ve spent years skirting around the idea, dropping hints here and there to guys you thought could be good enough, but somehow it never worked out. none of them felt right—not that it was about romance, but the hesitation always lingered when it came down to it. maybe it was nerves, maybe it was the wrong guys, but the frustration built up to the point where you just wanted to get it over with.

and then there’s jeonghan.

the guy everyone whispers about, cold-hearted, unapproachable, but with a reputation that’s impossible to ignore. girls gossiping in between lectures, bathrooms filled with whispers of him being distant yet insanely attractive. and somewhere along the line, you heard it—the rumor that he had the fattest crush on you.

the thought of it festered in your mind for weeks. yo know him, a few polite exchanges, some assignments you did together, pairing up on p.e... there’s a confidence in your gut that he’ll say yes.

you hadn’t planned on showing up at his dorm unannounced, yet here you are, standing outside jeonghan’s door with a racing heart and sweaty palms. knocking felt surreal, like a dream you might regret later, but you do it anyway because you’re desperate. a familiar, twisted excitement coils low in your stomach when you hear footsteps, and the door swings open to reveal jeonghan—leaning against the frame, as nonchalant as ever.

“what’s up?” he asks, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to read your thoughts. the casualness in his voice makes you almost forget why you’re here. almost.

“can i come in?” you stammer.

he steps aside without a word, allowing you to slip past him into the small room. his dorm smells faintly of laundry detergent and something minty. it’s tidy, too—unexpectedly so.

“this is new,” he says, sitting on the edge of his bed, arms folded, watching you. “you showing up here and all.”

you laugh nervously, wringing your hands as you stand awkwardly in the middle of the room. “yeah, well… i’ve been thinking.”

his eyebrow quirks up, like he’s daring you to keep going. but you hesitate, biting your lip, trying to find the right words. you’ve played this conversation out in your head a thousand times, but now, under his steady gaze, everything feels impossible to say.

he tilts his head. “you’re not here to ask me about the assignment, are you?”

“no,” you blurt, suddenly sitting down on the chair next to his bed. you can’t meet his eyes. “it’s… something else.”

silence stretches between you. jeonghan waits, patient, but there’s something flickering in his expression now—curiosity, maybe.

you take a deep breath, your voice shaky but determined. “i want you to be my first.”

his eyes widen, and for the first time, jeonghan looks genuinely caught off guard. “what?”

“i… i want to lose my virginity.” you blurt out, no point in dancing around it anymore. you’ve been holding onto this for years, and you’re tired. tired of hearing your friends share their stories, tired of feeling left behind.

“you want me to do it?” he shakes his head, leaning back on his elbows, processing your words. “so what, you just wanna pop your cherry and bounce?”

“no!” you shake your head quickly, heart pounding as you try to explain. “i just… i don’t want my first time to be with some asshole. everyone else would treat me like a joke. but you… you wouldn’t, right?” your voice is small, and you hate how vulnerable you sound, but it’s true. jeonghan might have a reputation, but he’s never been cruel.

he closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the wall. inside, you can tell he’s thrilled—maybe he’s been dreaming about this. but the mask he wears is cold, detached, like he’s doing you a favor.

“you’re serious?” he asks, voice low.

“yeah,” you whisper.

he doesn’t move for a moment, just staring at you, like he’s deciding whether or not to believe you. then, slowly, he leans in, his face inches from yours. his breath is warm, and your heart skips a beat. it’s almost too much to handle, and you blink up at him, your voice a nervous squeak.

“are you… are you gonna kiss me?”

jeonghan furrows his brow, like it’s the dumbest question he’s ever heard. “what, you thought i was just gonna—” he stops, and you see the slightest flicker of a smile. “—get straight to it?”

you shrink into yourself a little, cheeks burning. “maybe?”

he chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that makes your stomach twist. “nah, you’re way too cute for that.”

before you can respond, his lips are on yours—wet, sloppy, and everything you didn’t expect. there’s no rush, no hurried fumbling. just him, kissing you slow and deep, making sure you feel everything. his hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as you melt into the kiss, your body buzzing.

then, he takes your hand, guiding it down to his lap, pressing it against the hard length straining through his sweatpants. you freeze, your breath hitching at the sudden contact.

“feel that?” he murmurs against your lips, voice husky. “that’s going inside you.. do you think you can take it.”

your fingers curl around him instinctively, squeezing just enough to make him groan softly. “i can.” you bite your lip.

“still sure about this?” he asks, his breath heavy.

you nod.

jeonghan's hands are all over you, moving so effortlessly, and before you know it, your clothes are off, tossed somewhere in the room. he’s slow, but it’s not the kind of slow that makes you feel exposed—more like he’s savoring the moment, taking his time like he’s got all night. and maybe he does.

when he spreads your legs, the sudden awareness of what’s happening, of how vulnerable you are, hits you. you instinctively cover your face with your hands, but you can still feel his eyes on you, taking in every inch of your body.

“cute,” he murmurs. “you hiding from me now?”

your breath catches in your throat, but you peek through your fingers to see him smirking, looking like he’s in complete control. and maybe that’s what makes it less terrifying—he’s not rushing. he’s not judging. he’s just... there.

when his head dips between your thighs, you tense, unsure of what to expect. your heart races, and you let out a shaky breath as his mouth hovers over you, his warm breath ghosting over your already wet folds. then he licks, slow and slick, and you almost orgasm there, the warm tongue on your clit making your eyes slightly roll back.

“fuck,” you gasp, your hands clutching the sheets beside you, your face burning.

he pulls back slightly, lips glistening, his eyes locking with yours. “relax,” he says. “we’ve barely started.”

and then his tongue is back, sliding through every fold, licking with a patience that’s almost agonizing. he’s focused, making sure you feel everything—every lick, every brush of his lips, every soft kiss to your inner thigh between his slow, sensual movements.

your chest heaves as you try to process the sensations, but it’s overwhelming. this is what you’ve been missing out on all these years? the thought is almost laughable now, especially when he sucks on your clit, gently at first, then harder, leaving it swollen and pulsing.

“oh my god,” you cry out, the sound escaping you before you can stop it.

jeonghan grins against you, winking naughty, and as if to rub it in, he gives your clit a playful suck, sending you squealing. he looks up at you, still grinning. “you like that?”

you don’t even answer, can’t answer, because your brain is too fogged up. you can’t think, can barely breathe, and he hasn’t even started properly yet.

his hand travels down between your legs, and he presses a finger against your slick entrance, not pushing in just yet, just applying pressure, teasing. “have you ever had your little fingers here?” he asks curious.

your face burns at his words, but you nod “just one finger,” you admit, shy and sly, like a secret you’re embarrassed to reveal.

the way you say it—so sweet, so unsure—makes him throb inside his sweatpants. he exhales heavily, eyes darkening as he pushes his finger inside, just the tip at first, slowly. “just one, hmm?”

you bite your lip, nodding as he slides the rest of his finger in. the sensation is new, unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable, his finger is a bit longer than yours. he’s careful, attentive even, and that’s what makes you relax into the feeling.

“you’re so tight,” he mutters as he adds a second finger, stretching you out even more. you wince slightly at the stretch, but the way he curls his fingers inside you, scissoring them slowly, almost instantly makes the discomfort melt.

your hips buck instinctively as he works you open, his movements precise, his eyes fixed on you like he’s studying every reaction. “how’s that feel?”

“good,” you breathe, the word slipping out before you can stop it.

he chuckles softly, his free hand moving up to caress your thigh as his fingers pump in and out of you, his pace maddeningly slow. “you’re getting impatient, aren’t you?”

you whine in response, your voice shaky. “take your clothes off,” you mumble, your neediness evident in your tone.

jeonghan pauses, amusement flickering in his eyes. “hmm? what’s that?”

“take them off,” you repeat, a little more urgent this time, your voice coming out in a needy whine.

he grins, leaning over you, his face inches from yours. “patience, baby,” he says, his voice soft, but there’s a teasing edge to it. “you really wanna see me naked that bad?”

you nod, shameless now, your body craving the sight of him, the feeling of him against you. he’s been teasing you for too long, and it’s driving you insane.

“just wait a little longer,” he says, his tone mock-sulky, like he’s the one being deprived. but there’s a smile playing on his lips, and you can tell he’s enjoying this, the way you’re practically begging for him.

his fingers curl inside you again, hitting a spot that has you arching off the bed, a soft moan escaping your lips. “you’re so cute like this,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh as he works a third finger inside you, stretching you even more.

you whimper at the new stretch, your body trembling, but it’s the good kind of overwhelming now. the kind that has you clenching around him, needing more.

“jeonghan...” you whisper, your voice breathless, desperate.

he smirks, his thumb brushing over your clit as he scissoring his fingers inside you, spreading you open. “i love seeing you like this,” he murmurs. “all wet for me, begging like that.”

you don’t even care how wrecked you sound when you plead, “please, jeonghan. take them off.”

he laughs softly, shaking his head. “soon,” he says, his voice dripping with promise. “just let me enjoy this a little more.”

jeonghan keeps his fingers inside you, watching every twitch of your body as you clench around him, so tight he almost groans himself. you’re so close, it’s written all over your face, but you don’t even seem to notice it—lost somewhere, breathing heavily but not quite there yet. and he’s not about to let you drift off when you’re so close to cum.

“mm, baby,” he murmurs, his fingers moving just a little faster, curling them in that spot he’s already learned by heart. “you don’t even know, do you?”

you blink, dazed, barely processing his words, but then you feel his lips on your nipple—a soft peck at first, then a sharp bite that has you gasping, your hips jerking against his hand.

“there you are,” he smirks, teeth grazing over your sensitive skin as he feels you clench around his fingers again, tighter this time. “you were drifting away, but i need you right here with me. focus.”

your body reacts instantly, the tension building again, winding tighter and tighter until you can’t hold back anymore. his fingers pump in and out, wet and slick with your dampness, and the obscene sound of it fills the room as he brings you right to the edge.

“fuck, jeonghan—” your voice is shaky, barely holding it together as your hips start moving on their own, grinding down onto his hand. you’re not even sure when it happens, but suddenly, the tight coil inside you snaps, and you’re coming hard around his fingers, your body tensing, then releasing all at once.

“oh my god,” you cry out, your back arching off the bed as you orgasm, wet and messy. you’re so slick that his fingers slide easily in and out, coated in the creamy evidence of your cum. jeonghan’s eyes are glued to you, watching the way your body trembles, how soaked you are, and the satisfied smirk on his face says it all.

“so fucking wet,” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself, fingers still buried deep inside you. he slows down his movements, letting you ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm, his thumb brushing lazily over your clit. “you didn’t even realize how close you were, huh?”

you shake your head, still trying to catch your breath, your mind foggy from the bliss.

he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your thigh, his eyes flicking up to yours. “wanna see me take it all off now?” he teases, pulling his fingers out slowly, letting you feel every inch of them as they slip free. your breath hitches, still sensitive, but you nod eagerly, the post-orgasmic haze making you a little desperate.

“please,” you whisper, your voice a little hoarse, but the need is clear.

he grins, sitting up and tugging his shirt off halfway, but he pauses, eyes scanning the room. “wait a second,” he says, a bit too casual, as he starts searching around for something.

“what are you doing?” you ask, frustration creeping into your voice. he’s making you wait, again, and you’re about to protest when he holds up a condom, waving it in front of you with a satisfied smirk.

“can’t forget this,” he says, climbing back onto the bed.

you roll your eyes, still breathless, but your gaze drops to his chest as he slides the shirt the rest of the way off. his hand runs slowly down his chest, over his belly, and lower still to the waistband of his sweatpants.

“calm down,” he teases, his voice sweet, noticing the way your eyes are locked on his every move. “i’m not going anywhere.”

your breath hitches as he pulls his pants and boxers down, finally revealing himself to you. his cock is hard, flushed, and slick with precum, and you can’t stop yourself from staring.

“fuck, you’re pretty,” you mutter under your breath, barely aware you said it out loud until you see the way his lips curl into a grin.

“you’re the pretty one,” he counters, his voice soft as he strokes himself once, twice, before rolling the condom on. his eyes flick up to yours again, playful but with a hint of seriousness. “ready?”

you nod, your body buzzing as he lines himself up with your entrance. he slides the tip inside, and you both groan at the contact. it’s slow at first, his cock pushing into you inch by inch, and you can feel the stretch, how full he’s making you feel already.

but then, right when he’s halfway in, you gasp, “wait—stop.”

he freezes instantly, his eyes searching your face. “you okay?”

instead of answering, your hand slips between your bodies, wrapping around the base of his cock. the sudden contact makes him shudder, and he squeezes his eyes shut, groaning low in his throat. you give him a little shake, feeling the hardness of him pulsing in your hand, then slowly start guiding him deeper inside you.

you guide him in slowly, inch by inch, until your hand has nowhere else to go, and he's buried completely inside you, balls deep. you’re panting, your body adjusting to the size of him, and when you pout your lips for a kiss, jeonghan leans in without hesitation, pressing his lips to yours, swallowing the little scoff you let out between moans. the sensation of him stretching you so perfectly has your head spinning.

he pulls back slightly, eyes glued to yours as he starts moving, his hips rolling in slow thrusts. it’s a sharp sting at first, but nowhere near as painful as you expected, and the more he moves, the more that sting fades, replaced by a growing heat that makes your breath catch in your throat.

you don’t even notice the way your lips curl into the nastiest grin, like you finally got what you’ve been wanting, and you’re enjoying every second of it. jeonghan sees it though, sees the way your expression shifts from tentative to pure satisfaction, and it drives him fucking wild. his steady thrusts falter for a second, and he has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check.

“fuck,” he breathes, his voice shaky as he watches you. “you look like you’re having the time of your life right now.”

you moan in response, not even trying to hide it anymore. “i am.”

that’s all the encouragement he needs. his thrusts pick up, sharper now, deeper, and with each roll of his hips, his balls slap against your ass. the bed squeaks in time with his movements, but you barely notice, too caught up in the pleasure. your moans spill out freely, louder and more unrestrained, each one sending a jolt straight to his gut.

jeonghan’s losing it, the sight of you, the sound of you—it’s gonna replay in his mind for days, haunting him like a ghost, but right now, he’s not thinking about that. right now, all he can focus on is the way your body feels underneath him, how you seem to want this just as much as he does. his hips move faster, thrusts sharper and more purposeful, and fuck, you’re taking it all so well.

“god, you—” he groans, his voice strained. “you feel so fucking good. you don’t even know.”

his pace quickens, his hips rolling harder, and you gasp, your body arching up to meet him halfway. he’s hitting all the right spots now, and your moans turn into desperate little cries, your fingers gripping the sheets as you lose yourself in the feeling.

he notices how much you like it—how your body responds to every sharp thrust, how your moans get louder, and that nasty smile on your face only grows. it’s too much for him, but he tries to bury the overwhelming need down in his gut, focusing on fucking you just right.

but even then, he can’t help it—the more you react, the more he loses control, his hips working in sharper, stronger thrusts, the rhythm getting rougher as he chases that perfect high for both of you.

“you like that?” he asks, his voice rough, but the way your body clenches around him is answer enough.

he can’t help but smirk at your desperate little gasps. each thrust brings a little more pleasure, and your nails dig into his back, urging him on as you match his pace.

“more,” you whimper, the need spilling from your lips like a prayer. “please, jeonghan, don’t stop.”

he chuckles, making your heart race. “as if I could,” he replies, picking up the pace even more. you feel that familiar heat pooling deep inside you again.

he can’t help but lean down, pressing a kiss to your neck as he continues to rock into you, relishing in every little sound that escapes your mouth.

“that’s it,” he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot. “let me hear you.”

your moans grow louder, echoing off the walls as you feel the pressure building within you again. your body thrums with need as you claw at him, the sensation of him filling you completely making everything else fade away. you’re lost in him, in this moment, and nothing else matters.

“i’m so close,” you manage to gasp, your words barely coherent as your hips start moving on their own, desperate for that release.

jeonghan feels it, too—your body tightening around him, the way you’re pushing back against him, and it drives him crazy. he grips your hips tighter, controlling your movements, thrusting deeper, harder, pushing you right to the edge.

“cum pretty, cum f’me,” he urges sultry, and you can feel that heat building to a boiling point.

“jeonghan—” your voice breaks, and just like that, you’re falling, you’re gripping him tightly, your body spasming as you cum, crying out his name as everything blurs into a haze.

“that’s it, baby,” he groans, his own pleasure rising as he watches you unravel beneath him. “so fucking beautiful.”

the way your body squeezes him as you ride out your orgasm sends him over the edge, and he follows you, thrusting harder as he lets go, filling the condom as you both collapse.

you both lie there for a moment, breathless, the only sounds filling the room are your mingled breaths and the soft creaking of the bed. jeonghan brushes a strand of hair away from your face, a lazy grin spreading across his lips as he looks down at you.

“so, do I get to be the one who pops that cherry again sometime?”

“if you’re lucky,” you tease bakc, but deep down, you know you’re both hooked, and this was just the beginning.

1K notes · View notes

reidmotif · 3 months ago

Text

Relax, I've Got You

Summary: Reader isn't the best at handling stress, and her roommate Spencer, notices. Luckily, he has quite a few salacious ideas on how he could make her feel better.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: friends-with-benefits situation, oral (f!recieving), fingering (f!recieving), mentions of anxiety/symptoms of anxiety.

Word Count: 2.7 k

Masterlist

You were never good at handling stress.

You were well aware of this facet of your psyche– the way tensity would often wind around your limbs, snaking into the very depths of your bones until you were entirely drained and devoid of peace, a shell of the person you were accustomed to being.

You had dealt with this complication on your own for the most part. You’d come home after a long day, and attempt to find yourself again through chamomile tea, lavender mists, and a warm blanket.

Of course, there were days where even these measures could not suffice in curing your weariness.

That’s where Spencer Reid came in.

He’d only been your roommate at first. With the economy going as it was, it was simply more practical to find one, rather than renting alone. He’d responded to an ad you’d put up, and you accepted. The process was easy, honestly. You had no qualms about sharing your living space with another person, and even found the arrangement enjoyable at times. Spencer was well-mannered, never missed rent, and wasn’t even at home most of the time. When he was, he was quiet. Sweet.

Through time, you found yourself becoming friends with the man. The conversation was light and easy, and in a rare turn of events, you started to open up to him. Even more surprisingly, he returned the favor, adding to the understanding that was fast growing between the two of you. It seemed only natural, since both of you were made naturally vulnerable by the circumstances of your situation. You’d come to your apartment, drop the mask of the day, and see that Spencer was already there, becoming an extension of the solace you found at home. Soon enough, the comfort of your couch was simply synonymous to him as well.

It didn’t take long for Spencer to notice the anxieties that would plague you when a deadline came about, or when you simply fixated on an issue for too long. The way your bedroom light wouldn’t shut until 4 AM, or how you’d pace in the kitchen, so wired that your body denied you the rest you so desperately needed. He noticed the dark circles, the occasional irritability (followed by an apology, of course), the headaches, everything. Which is why he thought nothing of it to suggest some remedies for your troubles over breakfast one day.

“Caffeine can actually increase stress, if you weren’t aware.” He says, eyeing your second cup of coffee that morning. “There’s actually a large amount of data that indicates you should limit caffeine intake, especially if you’re already anxious.”

You narrow your eyes, furrowing your brows slightly. “Says who?” You retort, not quite ready to give up your chosen beverage.

“The NIH, Penn State, the AMA-”

“Okay, okay. Sorry. I got it.” You interrupt, knowing you’d started a losing battle the moment you’d questioned him. “I’ll try to cut down on it.”

He grins, satisfied with how the interaction had played out. You, on the other hand, started to drift farther away from your current setting. You swallow, putting down your coffee cup before rubbing your eyes, a soft sigh escaping you.

“Something wrong?” Spencer asks, cautiously, his voice soft.

You tsk, shaking your head and shrugging a bit at your own dilemma. “It's just.. I’m already so tired. I’m exhausted and the day’s barely begun.” You pause, unable to articulate just how fatigued you were. “It’s like I can already feel the mid-afternoon headache I’m going to get later, and it hasn’t even started yet.” You hate the way you sound, longing for the day you could fully relax for even a fraction of a second.

“You’d probably be a lot less tired if you slept a little more.” Spencer suggests, and you shoot him a death glare.

“Don’t you think I know that?” You snap. “I’m trying. It’s not that easy. It’s just-” You groan, stopping yourself as the quick realization dawns on you that you’ve misdirected your frustrations. There’s a wave of shame rising up almost immediately, heating your cheeks up in regret.

“I’m sorry, Spencer. Sorry. That’s unfair of me. I know you’re just looking out for me.” You murmur, taking a deep breath to calm your senses.

“Hey, don’t worry.” He says, his voice low and compassionate. “I get it. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now.”

You nod, closing your eyes as you continue to breathe. He continues to speak, his voice remaining warmhearted.

“There are actually quite a few ways to alleviate stress. Some experts recommend meditation, exercise and yoga. I wouldn’t mind doing those with you, if you were interested.” He offers, as he continues to ramble, lost in his own explanation in the hopes of being of service to you. “Some experts even name sex as a useful stress reliever, due to the endorphins and oxytocin released after completion.”

You give a fruitless laugh. “Jesus, I wish. I don’t have the time to try and find someone willing to do that for me.”

Spencer goes quiet, and you finally open your eyes. You’re met with his stare, trained on your form, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“What?” You ask, upon returning his gaze.

He clears his throat, shaking his head, as if he was ridding himself of a passing thought. “Nothing. Sorry. I’m sorry. I hope you do find something that works for you though. I hate seeing you like this.”

You soften at his concern. “Thanks, Spencer.” You say, the affection in your voice unmistakable. “Maybe I’ll end up taking on.. Yoga? That seems doable, right?”

He smiles. “Yoga. Right.”

The days pass on, until you find yourself in a similar scenario you’ve been in one too many times. You’re pacing the kitchen, a small clock reading that it was currently 2 AM. You couldn’t even really decipher the source of tonight’s anxiety– all you know is you feel it, and you feel it deeply.

That’s when a voice breaks through the darkness, halting your movements altogether.

“Hey, are you alright?” Spencer’s soft, slightly deeper voice.

“Oh, yeah.” You call out, despite the growing tightness in your chest. “I’m fine. You can go back to sleep. Sorry for waking you.”

He shakes his head, scratching his head as he makes his way towards you. “It’s nothing.” He reassures. “I needed to pee anyway. What’s going on with you?” He inquires, gently.

You rub at your chest, biting your lip. “The usual.”

“Work?” He asks, softly.

You purse your lips. “I’m not even sure at this point. Just really anxious.”

His expression softens. A beat of silence passes between the two of you.

“I’m- um. I’m willing to help.” He stammers out, suddenly seeming much more nervous than he was a moment ago.

You give a dejected smile. “That’s sweet, Spencer, but I dunno. I think I have to deal with this on my own.”

“No, I mean. I can help. I’m willing to help. To do that for you. I’m your friend. I want to help.” He restates, his voice a little urgent.

“Willing to do what?” You ask, wholly confused with where he was going with this.

He takes a breath. “Sex. Or, an orgasm, at least. You said no one you knew would be willing to help you like that. I am. If you want.” He blurts out.

You stand there, momentarily shocked into silence. You’re suddenly able to recall the conversation you’d had, just a few days prior, and realize what he was trying to say. Here you were, in your kitchen, with your friend- your roommate, and he was selflessly offering himself to you. For sex. For de-stressing sex. He sounded so earnest, despite the obvious lewdness of his offer, and the juxtaposition made your head spin.

“I..” You start, your voice caught in your throat.

“You don’t have to feel compelled to say yes. I’m just offering. I want to help you.” He interjects, his voice still carrying that unselfishness you’d known from the very beginning.

“I.. no. I mean, yes. I want to say yes.” You find yourself admitting after a moment. “But.. are you sure? It’s.. I mean, it’s sex, Spencer.” You whisper.

“I’m aware.” He says, matching your softer tone. “I’m okay with that. Are you?”

You take a breath. Looking up at him, you take in his slightly tousled hair illuminated by the soft moonlight that drifted in through your apartment windows. His white sleep shirt was crumpled, and even in the darkness that enveloped you, you could decipher the kindness in his eyes, his mere presence bringing a shade of ease into you as you spoke to him.

“Yes.” You murmur out, the words flowing out with no hesitation. “I’m okay with that.”

“Can I kiss you?” He says, gently, and your nod of affirmation is almost immediate.

He steps closer and cups your cheek, before pressing his lips against yours gently. It’s a sweeter kiss, something that, despite never saying out loud, you would have expected from him. His mouth moves languidly against yours, before pulling away, slightly out of breath.

“Kissing actually helps to reduce cortisol.” He murmurs. “It indirectly lowers stress as a result. Is it working?”

And true to his words, you realized that the tightness in your chest had faded somewhat, no longer blaring with the intensity you had just felt a few minutes prior. An entirely new feeling settled within you- an ache, a need for this man and what he brought to you.

“Yeah. It’s working.” You mumble out.

As if he could read your mind, Spencer gently takes your hand. “Let’s move to the couch, yeah?” He murmurs, already leading you to his spot of preference.

He gently guides you to sit on the couch, quickly finding your lips once again to exchange some soft kisses along the way. His hands drift up and down your back, fingertips light and tender. His every touch speaks to something more, to an unspoken dedication that you’d never felt before until this moment.

To something that maybe extended beyond the original purpose of your rendezvous. “Is this alright?” He asks, his tone hushed and reverent.

You nod, almost in a trance. He was so gentle, so reassuring. He was exactly what you needed.

His lips find yours again and you respond eagerly, letting your hands tangle into the mess of brown hair that sat atop his head. He let out a small groan as your fingers slightly tugged on the strands, sending a thrill through you.

He starts to trail the kisses down your neck, seeking out more sensitive spots that could bring you into a further state of rest and repose. Everything about you spurred him on, it seemed. He paid attention to every noise, every movement– his ultimate goal seeming to hinge on your pleasure throughout this.

Of course, you respond accordingly to the dedication, a soft gasp or whimper escaping you when he would mouth at the perfect spot, which would only cause him to increase his actions tenfold, leading to even more response on your end.

The perfect feedback loop driving you to pliancy and ecstasy all at once.

His lips begin to drift down, and you realize he’s settling in between your legs now, hands on the waistband of your sleep clothes, urging you to lie down completely, which you do.

“Gonna take these off now.” He whispers, looking up at you between your legs.

“Please.” You respond, waiting with bated breath.

He manages to pull down the last barrier between you two, before being met with the mess he’d created. His lips parted as his fingers trailed lightly over your wet slit, your arousal evident on his finger as he marveled on the effect he could have on you.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful.” He whispers, as if his eyes are set upon something precious, something worthy of worship. And in a way, isn’t that exactly what he’d set out to do the moment he’d placed his face between your thighs?

He loops his arms around your thighs, before slowly allowing his tongue to dart out, delicately, tracing the wetness of your pussy. A moan slips out of you, low and needy, and that’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s diving in, devouring your cunt like a man starved.

“Spencer.” You gasp out. You say his name like prayer, like he is god-given, because in this moment, he is.

His tongue traces your clit in circles, before directly placing his lips over the swollen bud, applying some light suction. The tenderness in the action, the way his eyes flit upto yours, watching your gaze for the utmost reassurance that he was doing right by you, only hurdle you closer and closer to your pleasurable end.

It’s almost as if you’re floating, your back arching as his face stubbornly stays buried in your cunt, lapping at your wetness insistently. He wants your release just as bad as you do, and it’s clear he’ll do anything for the sweetness that comes with you falling apart in his arms.

“Oh god.” You moan out- how is it possible to feel so airy, and yet so present all at once? To feel every movement of Spencer’s warm, wet tongue lavishing your clit, and still be somewhere else entirely- a new height of pleasure you had sorely needed all along.

One of his hands leaves the iron-grip it had your thighs in, letting his fingers drift towards your entrance. He slips the digits in, slowly pumping into you, only adding to the overwhelming rapture you found yourself in. Your eyes shoot open, and you find yourself writhing against him.

“Spencer- oh god. Please, please.” You babble out, legs starting to tense with the beginnings of your orgasm.

He only pulls away enough to murmur softly. “That’s it.” His fingers continue their steady pace into you, his grip on your thigh keeping you planted to the mattress. “I got you, love. Come for me.”

With nothing else to say, he resumes eating you out, and the combination of his fingers and mouth finally barrels you towards your orgasm, shuddering as it rips through you, as your every sense is clouded- with this, with him.

It’s only until you’ve ridden out the entirety of your orgasm that he pulls away. Sitting upright, he leans forward to caress your jaw, taking in the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the flushed appearance your face had taken on in the throes of gratification.

“Feeling better?” He asks, softly.

“Entirely.” You whisper back, almost in awe. Not only at how well it worked, but how adoringly he stared at you, it being enough to stop your heart in your chest. Did he always look like this? How did you never notice?

“Can I return the favor?” You implore, already beginning to get up, but Spencer pushes you back down lightly, shaking his head.

“You’re tired.” He says, as if his word was fact, despite these being your feelings that were being spoken about. “Right now, the oxytocin coursing through your body is priming you perfectly for sleep, and God knows you need it.” He chuckles out.

You realize that he’s right, and for the first time, you feel the fatigue that comes naturally with sleep, as opposed to the restless nights you’d been dealing with. You still feel disappointed though, feeling a sting of rejection as you’re unable to touch him back. Still, your tiredness is undeniable, and so you nod.

He gets up, finding a blanket to lay on top of you, before kneeling beside your face. He looks at you with subtle veneration, before letting his lips brush against your forehead.

“I’ll take you up on your offer tomorrow, though, if that’s alright.” He murmurs. “When you’re rested.”

Your smile is immediate. “Deal.” You whisper out.

He looks at you for another beat, before letting his knuckles brush against your cheek, slowly retreating to his bedroom, as to let you get the rest you so desperately needed.

You close your eyes, amazed by the tranquility that came with Spencer. How simple intimacy came with him, as if that’s how it should’ve been all along.

You know you’ll ponder on this fact in greater detail later on, but for now, you relished in serenity of the afterglow.

“Spencer Reid.” You think. “What divine comfort you are.”

HOOOLY SHIT. how long has it been since i uploaded? a long time? i think. hahahaha. in between traveling, [redacted life updates], and even more, i just wasn't very inspired to write. i hope this speaks to some of you, and i hope it was enjoyable to read. as usual, any likes, comments, reblogs are so so so deeply appreciated. feedback as well! thank you so so so much for reading regardless, i am eternally grateful for any and all support <3 (oh also haha. this was written for @imagining-in-the-margins friends with benefits challenge! check it out.)

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sensitive-neuvi-enthusiast · 1 year ago

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Cockwarming them

How the jjk men are when you warm their cock with your pretty pussy.

Nsfw. MDNI. Fem!reader.

Gojo

This man is a tease, through and through. He'll sit you nice on his lap, long fingers settling on your thighs as he gives you a a smirk. Or if he's got you facing away, he'll rest his chin on your shoulder. "Ya feel that baby?" And then he'd thrust up inside you, but would still your hips before you could move. "Nuhuh, that's not how the rules go, you can't move!" He'd chuckle and continue to tease you throughout the whole process. But don't worry, he's teasing himself too. He'll fuck you eventually.

Getou

He loves it. And likes making a little game out of it. Seeing who will cave first and beg the other to just fuck already. But he doesn't play fair. Teasing you in all sorts of places. Pinching your nipples, sucking your neck, whispering in your ear, "you feel so fucking good around my cock." His finger teasing at your clit. The only thing he wouldn't do is thrust up inside you. Then you'd lose too easy, and it's not fun that way. Even though you lose every time.

Nanami

I can see him doing this both for fun and for relaxation. Or when you're too needy and he's busy, he'll set your pretty little ass on his lap. Bury himself inside you and let you rock your hips a little. He'd let you get off that way, just don't disrupt his work. Sometimes when he's stressed he'll ask his girl to just, "I need your pussy, it calms me down." And of course you don't deny him. Sliding yourself easily down his length, kissing his neck. Anything to help your stressed out lover.

Chosou

One word; needy (bet you didn't see that coming.) Are we surprised? Once he found out what it was and how it could be a fun experience for both of you, he asked to try it. But you knew how sensitive he was, so he always lasted roughly twenty minutes before begging you to move. Or to please let him cum inside you. "You're too warm, hot, feels too good..need it." He'd whine and beg, sometimes tears would form in his eyes. And you couldn't deny him, you'd end up riding him until he shot his sticky cum inside you. Wiping the tears from his cheeks as you gave him kisses, "Maybe next time, love." You'd say.

Toji

Mean. Is all I can say, this man would be down right evil about it. But you don't mind, you wouldn't be with him if you did. He'd always make sure you could see yourself. Whether in front of a mirror or holding up his phone. He'd make you watch yourself squirm on his lap, his big dick deep inside you. But you couldn't do anything but use your fleshy walls to warm him. "Pretty little thing, ya wanna move so bad, don't ya? Too bad. Gotta keep my cock warm f'me."

A/N: Don't ask me how many times I've thought of these scenarios♡♡

#jjk smut #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen choso #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #suguru geto smut #choso x reader #choso smut #nanami smut #toji fushiguro smut #°•brainrot•°

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solxamber · 27 days ago

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Possessed || Ace Trappola

Something’s going on with Ace. He's being nice which either means he's possessed or has done something extremely illegal. (Spoiler alert: It's neither)

“You’ve been weird,” you say, squinting at Ace from across the cafeteria table. “New levels of weird. Scary kinds of weird. Are you possessed or something?”

Ace just leans back in his chair, balancing it on two legs with that infuriatingly carefree grin plastered across his face. He tosses a piece of bread into his mouth before raising an eyebrow at you, clearly not fazed by your accusation.

“I wish,” he responds with a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes. “Then I could blame all this weirdness on a curse or something and not just... you know, life.”

You cross your arms, not letting him brush it off so easily. “No, seriously. You’re being freaky. You helped me carry books to class the other day. Without asking for a favor in return.”

“Yeah, so?” Ace shrugs, but the slight twitch in his grin gives him away. “Maybe I was feeling generous.”

“Maybe you’re losing it,” you counter, leaning forward. “Since when do you do anything without an ulterior motive? I’m starting to think you’re planning something.”

“Me? Plan?” Ace feigns innocence, one hand over his heart. “You wound me, Prefect. You’re thinking of Azul, not me.”

“Nice deflection,” you deadpan. “But it’s not just that. You haven’t pranked Deuce all week.”

Ace’s smirk falters. “Okay, first of all, Deuce is too easy to prank. It’s like dunking a biscuit into water and calling it an achievement. Second—”

“I heard that!” Deuce calls out from the next table over, turning around to glare at Ace.

“You were supposed to hear that,” Ace shoots back without missing a beat, tossing a crumpled napkin at his friend.

You wave your hand in the air, trying to reel the conversation back in. “See, this is what I mean! You’re off your game! The Ace Trappola I know would be messing with Deuce every chance he got. Not sitting here, being... helpful and nice. You even opened the door for me yesterday.”

Ace looks horrified. “Wait, I did?”

“Yes! And you said something ridiculous like, ‘You can go first.’ It was spooky.”

He seems to visibly recoil, his face scrunching up as if he’s genuinely disturbed by the thought. “Wow. That is scary. Who am I turning into?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” you exclaim, throwing your arms in the air. “You’re possessed!”

He leans in toward you, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Okay, real talk? Maybe I’m evolving.”

“Into what, a decent human being?” you ask, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” Ace rolls his eyes again but leans closer, his expression strangely serious now. “Look, I’m just trying to... I dunno, be more... considerate.”

You squint at him, not buying it for a second. “Why? Who put you up to this?”

Ace huffs, running a hand through his hair, his face growing a little red. “No one put me up to anything, alright? I just thought... maybe you’d like it.”

Your mouth opens, then shuts. You’re not sure what to make of that.

“What?” Ace asks, noticing your bewildered expression. “Cat got your tongue?”

“No, I’m just... processing. You’re being nice because you think I’d like it?”

He shrugs, averting his gaze now. “Yeah, well... you’ve been giving me a hard time lately, so I figured, why not? You know, mix things up. Be nice for a change.”

“Uh-huh.” You narrow your eyes, suspicion creeping back in. “But... why me?”

Ace avoids eye contact, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his collar. “Does it matter? Just... shut up and let me be nice, okay?”

You stare at him for a long moment, trying to figure out what’s going on in that mischievous head of his. Finally, you let out a sigh, leaning back in your chair. “Fine. But I’m still convinced you’re up to something.”

Ace smirks, the cheeky glint returning to his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Over the next few days, Ace continues acting suspiciously... well, nice. He doesn’t trip you in the hallway or throw random jabs at your study habits like usual. He even brings you snacks during lunch—without eating half of them first.

It’s weird. Unsettling, even.

And every time you ask him about it, he brushes it off with a nonchalant “just felt like it” or “don’t read too much into it, Prefect.” But his little quirks keep poking through. Like when he sneaks up behind you, pretending he’s going to scare you, only to offer a helping hand with your bag. Or when he gives Deuce a hard time, only to turn around and cover for him when he forgets his homework.

Deuce, for his part, seems equally as confused. “Is he dying or something?” Deuce whispers to you one afternoon. “He’s not usually this nice unless he’s pulling something.”

“I know, right?” you whisper back, eyeing Ace from across the courtyard where he’s currently chatting with a group of students. “It’s unnatural.”

“He even let me borrow his notes last night,” Deuce continues, shaking his head. “His good notes, too. Not the ones he scribbled in crayon to mess with me.”

“Okay, now I’m seriously concerned,” you mutter. “He’s definitely plotting something.”

But the more time passes, the less it feels like a trick. There’s no punchline, no grand reveal. Ace is just... being Ace, albeit in a more considerate, slightly awkward way.

One evening, you’re leaving the library when you spot Ace waiting for you outside, leaning against a wall with his usual lazy posture. He looks up as you approach, flashing you a casual grin.

“Yo, Prefect,” he calls out. “Need help with your stuff?”

You raise an eyebrow, adjusting the books in your arms. “Are you really offering, or are you about to ‘accidentally’ trip me again?”

Ace chuckles, pushing off the wall and walking over to take some of the books from you. “What, you don’t trust me by now? I’ve been an absolute angel lately.”

“Yeah, and that’s the problem,” you retort, but you let him take the books anyway. “You’ve been too nice. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Ace smirks, walking beside you as you head toward Ramshackle. “Maybe I’m just growing up. Becoming a responsible, dependable guy.”

You snort. “Now I know you’re lying.”

“Hey!” Ace protests, nudging you with his elbow. “I’m serious. I can be responsible when I want to.”

You side-eye him. “Sure. And pigs can fly.”

Ace rolls his eyes, but there’s a soft smile on his lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Takes one to know one.”

The two of you walk in comfortable silence for a while, the moonlight casting long shadows on the cobblestone path. It’s peaceful, almost... nice.

Then, out of nowhere, Ace speaks again, his tone quieter this time. “So... you really think I’ve been weird lately?”

You glance at him, surprised by the question. “Yeah, kinda. Why?”

He shrugs, looking up at the sky. “I dunno. Just curious.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you seriously still playing this ‘nice guy’ act? What’s your angle, Ace?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he stops walking, turning to face you with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“There’s no angle,” he says softly. “I just... wanted to see if it’d make a difference.”

You blink, caught off guard by his sudden sincerity. “What do you mean?”

Ace rubs the back of his neck, looking unusually nervous. “I mean... I’ve been trying to... y’know, be a better person. For you.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you’re not sure if it’s because of his words or the fact that he’s actually being vulnerable for once. “For me?”

Ace avoids your gaze, his cheeks tinged pink. “Yeah. I figured... maybe if I stopped being such a jerk all the time, you’d... I dunno... like me more.”

You stare at him, your mind racing to process what he’s saying. “Wait. Are you... confessing to me?”

Ace scowls, clearly embarrassed now. “Ugh, don’t say it like that. You’re making it weird.”

“You’re the one making it weird!” you shoot back, feeling your face heat up. “I didn’t ask you to go all soft on me!”

Ace glares at you, but there’s no real malice behind it. “Well, excuse me for trying to be nice for once.”

There’s a beat of silence as the two of you stand there, staring at each other, before you both start laughing.

“You’re an idiot,” you say, shaking your head.

"Yeah, but you hang out with me anyway," Ace finishes with that signature smirk of his.

You roll your eyes, but there's no denying the truth in his words. There's something about his brash honesty, his ability to keep things light even when they're serious, that you can't help but be drawn to. His quick wit, the way he keeps you on your toes—it's always been part of his charm.

"Maybe I do," you admit, crossing your arms and giving him a playful look. "But you're still a jerk sometimes."

Ace grins wider, stepping a little closer. "Oh, I'm totally a jerk. But I think that's why we work so well. You need someone to challenge you, and I need someone to keep me in check."

You snort. "So that's why you've been weird? Trying to impress me?"

Ace shrugs, his gaze softening just a bit. "Something like that. I just... didn't want you to think I'm always messing around. Sometimes, I actually want to be serious."

It's strange hearing him say that, but in a way, it makes sense. You've always known there was more to Ace than the mischievous, carefree front he puts up. He's clever and observant, and maybe—just maybe—he's been paying attention to you in ways you hadn't realized.

"So, what now?" you ask, feeling the tension between you shift from playful to something a little more... real.

Ace takes a breath, glancing up at the stars for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "I dunno. Guess I was hoping you'd say something like... 'I like you too, Ace.'"

You can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. "And what if I do?"

His eyes widen, just for a second, before his cocky grin returns in full force. "Well, then that'd be great. 'Cause I'd say I like you too, Prefect"

You both stand there for a moment, the air between you charged with something new and exciting. It’s not the usual back-and-forth banter, not the endless teasing. This is real, and Ace’s normally confident posture seems just a little unsure, like he’s still figuring out how to navigate this new territory.

"Alright, fine," you say, your voice softer now. "I like you, Ace."

He blinks, clearly taken aback that you actually said it. For once, he's the one who seems at a loss for words.

"...You serious?" he asks, sounding almost vulnerable. It's a rare thing to hear from him, and it tugs at your heart just a little.

You nod, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. "Yeah. I mean, you've been acting all weird and nice, and it kind of freaked me out, but... I get it now. And I like you too."

Ace lets out a relieved breath, his grin softening into something more genuine. "Well, that's good. 'Cause I was starting to run out of ways to be nice. It’s exhausting."

You laugh, the tension finally breaking as the two of you slip back into the ease that’s always existed between you. But now, there's something more. Something deeper.

"So," you start, tilting your head at him, "does this mean you're going to stop being a jerk to me?"

Ace snorts. "Nah, that’s part of my charm. Besides, you’d get bored if I went all soft."

You roll your eyes, but you're smiling. "Fair enough."

Without warning, Ace reaches out and ruffles your hair, grinning like a kid who’s just won a prize. "You know, you're not too bad. Maybe we can make this thing work."

You swat his hand away, laughing. "Maybe. If you stop being so weird."

"Deal," Ace says, though you can tell from the look in his eyes that he’s already planning his next prank.

Deuce, who’s been watching the whole thing from a distance, finally decides to pipe up, calling out to the two of you from the other side of the courtyard. “Hey! Did you guys seriously just confess? In front of me?”

Ace turns around and shouts back, “Yeah, what of it?”

Deuce groans, looking exasperated. “Couldn’t you have waited until I wasn’t around to witness that?”

“You’re just jealous!” Ace calls, slinging an arm around your shoulders with a triumphant grin.

Deuce rolls his eyes but grins anyway. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go getting all mushy on me.”

Ace laughs, giving you a sidelong glance. “No promises.”

And as you walk back toward the dorms, Ace’s arm still around you, you can’t help but smile. It’s a weird, unexpected kind of happiness, but somehow, it fits. Just like Ace.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #ace trappola x reader #ace x reader #ace trappola #ace trapolla x reader #ace

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katescorner · 4 months ago

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thinking about olympic athlete!oikawa tooru today who made it to the paris olympics, representing argentina (proudly, he might add), and his whole story leading up to the games is full of drama and expectations because of course fate would line things up perfectly for the two nations he held in his heart to rival each other on the world's court.

he hears the cheers of fans and friends along with the jeering boos from the locker room, and he thinks, has he really betrayed his birth country when "home" no longer feels like home? with rising pressure, competition tastes like a bitter word when the opposition is all familiar faces. but he didn't make it this far by being sentimental. he trained for this. he sacrificed for this. he—

"the world is watching, tooru."

your voice is soft, but it cuts through the static of his thoughts. it parts his negativity with gentle movement until all he sees is you, and suddenly, he can breathe again. so he does. he draws in a long, deep breath, and you wait for him to speak to you.

"i'm scared," he whispers. "i don't want to disappoint anyone."

his admission is proof alone of how far he's come already, willing to admit insecurity and allowing vulnerability in difficult moments. oikawa tooru is not the same man he was when he left the land he'd known all his life (leaving claw marks into the grass and ground of his hometown; they forget he was only eighteen when he uprooted himself in the name of his passion) and when he let his mother tongue fall flat so he might have a chance at becoming the best (people forget that learning languages isn't some indirect relationship, when one rises, the other does not always fall; he remembers the words he came from, the intonation and the vocabulary, the slang and the meaning of it all; he remembers, still).

oikawa tooru is not the same man he was when his childhood friends saw him last. he's grown in his time apart from them; they all have. he's miles tallers and his horizons have expanded. he's changed, but that doesn't mean he's a stranger to himself.

(i'm scared they won't recognize me.)

"you are still the person they all befriended and the man i fell in love with, and i am so so proud of you," you answer his underlying question with a kiss to his cheek, a reminder of your love. "you aren't disappointing anyone with your decisions."

"but the people of—"

"the people will cope. they'll have to." you shrug. "what else can they do? what you do isn't up to them. it isn't up to the public because the roster that made it all this way and achieved this much lists oikawa tooru, starting setter, not the guy in the eighth row calling you names, not the displeased broadcaster with a combover, and certainly not anyone else."

you take his hands into yours. you're careful because these are the instruments of his success. his fingernails are always cut short and his skin is soft except for the pads of his fingers which are rough but not calloused. he doesn't let anyone else handle him the way you do, drawing circles and hearts into his palms and pressing kisses into his joints.

"as long as you are happy with the decisions you've made to get here, no one can take that away from you." you look into your fiancé's eyes. "are you happy, tooru?"

and he thinks about the uneasiness he felt landing in argentina, the finality in not buying a return ticket, and the eagerness for volleyball that earned him an easy spot under the guidance of jose blanco. he thinks about the sleep that he lost from being hungry in an unfamiliar country, missing his mother's cooking and the smell of yakitori and takoyaki when he walked down crowded streets filled with vendors.

but he also thinks about the first word that he learned in argentina, hermanito, tossed around during practice when he didn't even know how to ask for a pass because he didn't lose a brotherhood when he left japan, he just gained one in argentina. he thinks about the grueling process of overturning his birth citizenship, the uproar he caused in a country across the globe and the apology he almost let slip for it because everyone thinks it was just for volleyball. oikawa tooru, the athlete who doesn't know loyalty, but what do they know of the open arms he received in argentina when japan turned him away?

he thinks of how stress melted from him that first night after receiving his new passport, walking to your shared apartment with his stomach grumbling at the smell of choripán and alfajor as he hummed along to lamento boliviano. he thinks of how joy spilled into him, realizing he was finally home.

so he nods at your question and he draws stuttered hearts into your palms and he presses a kiss to your temple.

(thank you for seeing who i am.)

"i'm happy."

#the olympics make me emotional sorry #oikawa x reader #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa x you #oikawa toru x you #haikyuu blurbs #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq x you #oikawa drabble #oikawa headcanons #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa fanfiction #haikyuu fanfiction #hq fanfic #the olympics

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ghost-proofbaby · 9 months ago

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IT WILL COME BACK (E.M.)

"honey, don't feed me - i will come back."

summary: when eddie came back from the upside down, he was different. and you finally come to realize just how different the man you saved truly is one night, when push comes to shove.

pairings: kas!eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of BLOOD (in sexual manner), mentions of BITING (in sexual manner), allusions to possible coercion (consent is still explicitly stated - trust me), mentions of death and trauma, mentions of eddie's canon death, taking a lot of creative liberty with expansive vampire lore across all media, mentions of murderous dreams? (eddie dreamt about killing reader idk), oral (f receiving), smut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY.

wc: 7.7k+

a/n: i told y'all i'd write a serious biting/blood kink fic one day - today is the day. very lazily edited so beware.

When Eddie came back from the Upside Down, he was different.

There were subtle changes at first. Small, minute details that were easy to ignore. Everyone could turn a blind eye to them — everyone figured they would fade once the boy healed. His healing was first priority, and whatever lingered after could be dealt with.

Get Eddie better. Then question all that lingers.

A simple plan. A genius plan. A torturous plan.

The two of you had been friends, if you could even call it that, prior to it all. Teasing in the hallways, working on school projects here and there when in shared classes, he was your favorite (and only) dealer when you craved something to make sleep come just a little bit easier. He had been familiar — an old ghost you'd grown comfortable with, long before you’d seen those large and wet eyes looking back up at you in the boathouse.

Long before he’d pieced together the puzzle pieces as to why you’d needed the weed to cancel out the nightmares. Long before he’d processed exactly what those nightmares entailed.

But then, you’d fought for him. You’d fought with him. And most importantly, you’d bled with him.

God, you had bled for him.

Something admirable had blossomed in that short time. Eddie’s entire life had fallen apart, thread by frayed thread, and that new planted emotion had been the only solid thing to emerge for him to absolutely cling to. You were more than a fellow classmate to pass by in the hallways. You were more than his favorite customer, always weaponizing fluttering lashes and puckered lips for a discount he’d have given you regardless.

You were a force to be reckoned with, and had ignited a hunger in him like no other.

That’s all he had thought it was when he’d awoken in his living room — not the distorted version but the real one — to you screaming for the others to help you as you’d sealed his wounds. That’s all he had thought it was when you’d come to visit him as wounds turned to scars, and stabbing pains turned to hungering pangs. So he had tried to bury it, listen to Harrington and Wheeler and Buckley when they told him to take time to readjust. He’d locked away that hunger and focused on his healing, just as everyone else had, and told himself it was just residual feelings.

Residual feelings had been bound to happen after seeing someone bloody their hands, with your own blood, for your survival.

And in his burial, he’d never considered a similar hunger igniting somewhere deep within you.

You visited far more often than you should have. Returning time and time again to change his bandages, taking on one too many shifts at the hospital during his unconscious spells and baring your teeth for anyone who got too close. The sweet blood on your hands hadn’t washed away in that first shower; you swore, if you looked closer, you could still see the stain of nearly losing him across your knuckles.

Physical wounds were easier to heal than the internal ones. It was easier to lather on antibiotic lotion than it was to sleep soundly at night. Both of you came to realize that quickly in the weeks that followed Eddie’s return from the dead.

His nights were plagued with bad dreams, with thirst and cravings he couldn’t quite name. He’d wake up, burning up from the inside out with a fever that never existed. Tearing skin. Puncture wounds. Blood spilling across floors and his lips alike. He could never tell if the shivers that traced his spine had been from the cruel visions that had become his nightly visitors or if it was due to his perpetual drop in temperature that had worried Nancy since the very first night home from the hospital, that had concerned the nurses who piled blankets atop him during his week long sleep of recovery.

Your nights were even less kind. Horrific memories were the demons that haunted you — remembering the way you had watched Eddie cut that sheet rope, remembering finding him bloodied on the ground, remembering the warmth of his blood seeping across your palms and how when your ear had turned just as heated with it as you pressed it to his chest. Only to hear nothing. Emptiness.

His heart had stopped for minutes. Plural.

It had been your steady rhythm, your desperate hands and your gasping breaths breathing into his lungs. You’d sunk your claws into him, caught them right between his ribs and had decided he couldn’t leave you.

Some nights, when you wake up screaming, you can still taste his blood on your lips. You sometimes still swore that when you’d checked for a pulse after that, you hadn’t heard anything. Still worried that Eddie Munson’s heart never really restarted and resumed beating.

The worst was when you’d stare through the faded grey of mornings plastering across your room’s walls, and could still remember that initial look in his blown out pupils, once honey brown swallowed in pure black as he’d taken his first breath on his own.

Hunger.

You’d felt it, too. Shame riddled you on the nights you’d come down from the nightmares and remember it; it was as though the Universe had snapped back into place the moment you’d watched his chest first rise. A need so ardent to remain at his side. A chain clicking into place, binding both yourself and Eddie to one another, unaware of just what price had been paid to keep the boy that had laid under you in this world. Unaware of the hunger you had struck the match too that would become both your downfalls.

And so it had been buried. Something alive, even with your doubts of Eddie’s liveliness, and choking on dirt while six feet under. You and Eddie, two sides of the same coin, had decided to not speak of it. He never told you how he had come to be able to pinpoint your heartbeat in every shared room he entered, throat burning as his gaze always settled on you, and you never told him of the matching aches that had shamefully sparked within your chest and between your hips for him.

A hunger to be near one another. A hunger to devour. Neither of you really understood the heaviness.

“How are you feeling today, Eddie?” Steve asks as he sits on the edge of the new bed in the new apartment in the new part of town the Munson men now occupy.

Government money could go a Hell of a long way. Especially after your home had been devastated by the aftermath of alternate dimensions and unheard of evil being defeated.

“Fine,” is the only response Eddie can muster.

In reality, every time anyone came near him now, he burned. His throat tightened till it was surely raw, he swore his teeth sharpened until a mere slip of his tongue against his canines could bring the taste of metallic blood to his mouth. His entire body would tense with every person that walked through his door.

Control. Whatever was happening to him, Eddie needed to exercise control.

“Just fine?” Steve continues on, not catching the drift as he puts down the bag of things he’d bought at Eddie’s request. Basic things — painkillers, packs of cigarettes, a 6-pack. Some habits die harder and can’t be controlled, “You look like shit, Munson.”

“Gee, thanks, Stevie.”

Everyone had assumed the dark shadows beneath Eddie’s eyes would fade. They assumed his cheeks would eventually fill back out. They assumed he could wash away the ashen shade his hair now flatly flowed in. It was as if the life had been drained from Eddie since that day, and they had all assumed it would eventually flow back into him.

It never did. Just as his new hunger lingered, so did the look of Death.

“Sorry, man,” Steve throws his hands up, shrugging a bit before he stands, “Just being honest. It’s the best policy.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

If honesty was the best policy, Eddie could have filled the room with it. He could admit about the nightmarish wants, needs, he’d been keeping at bay. He could admit the way his irritation had been growing this last week every time another body, another friend, walked through his doorway and it wasn’t you. You, who had begun to plague the night terrors. You, who Eddie was beginning to crave far more than he had before he’d stared the afterlife down the barrel of the gun.

Steve just looks at Hawkins’ newest zombie boy, sighing, “Look, I don’t know what’s got you pissed off-“

“The whole dying thing, for starters.”

“-or why you’ve insisted on being an asshole to all of us these last few weeks-“

“Again, I died.”

“-but you’ve got everyone but me scared to visit you. We’re all scared of you biting our heads off, dude,” Steve finally finishes with a scowl.

Everyone. It’s unspoken that you’re included in the generalization.

It occurs to Eddie that maybe, just maybe, he should be kinder if he ever wants the ache of yearning to see you again to fade. If that’s what he could call this ache.

By the time Steve has left, Eddie’s still thinking about his warning. About the way he had been unusually cruel since coming back to life, since waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed. It made sense initially. But he wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed anymore — he was home, or as close to home as he could get, and he was technically safe.

The issue was that he’d accepted his safety. Everyone who had wanted Eddie Munson dead was now six feet under themselves. No, the bigger issue at hand was everyone else’s safety.

Your safety.

Once he’d realized you were the staring lead in his violent fantasies, he had stopped calling. Half of your absence last week had been his fault.

No one really bothered to look deeper into it. Steve didn’t press as to why Eddie’s fridge had remained empty, Nancy didn’t take second glances at the odd books on vampire tales that were now littering all the free real estate of Eddie’s room, and you hadn’t questioned the coldness of his tone whenever he spoke to you. The chill of his words had grown icier than his own palms, desperate to keep you at arm’s length until he figured out what had changed in him that day he came back to life.

He wanted you near. He wanted to rip your throat out. He wanted your blood to stain his mouth and neck just as his had stained your hands. That was an issue. That wasn’t normal.

Something had changed in Eddie Munson, and it had terrified him to his twisted core, and no one had cared enough to notice. Not yet.

–

It took you two weeks to be fed up with the radio silence.

Eddie stopped calling even Jonathan (the only one of the group he found he didn’t want to devour whole, as it turns out). When everyone had mentioned it in passing, it had only reminded you of the sleepless nights you’d be enduring. That small voice in the back of your head that had called out to you in the dead of night, the whisper of come to me that echoed all the way across a broken town.

Come to me.

Sometimes you swore it was Eddie’s voice calling to you. Sometimes, you nearly left your own new apartment in the dead of night, and let your legs guide you to the undead boy you had single-handedly revived.

Tonight was one of those nights. Your stomach was twisting, your head was pounding, your bones were aching. Every single inch of you hurt as it listened to that soft calling, and at some point, you gave in.

Hunger. You were insatiable with the need and drive to be at Eddie’s side. Warnings from the others be damned.

One thing leads to another. You find your coat, you find your car keys. You find yourself driving the deserted streets of Hawkins in the middle of the night. You find yourself on the Munson doorstep, knuckles shaking and aching with the knowledge that just beyond the wood of the door, he was there. You don’t have to see him to feel him; his thrumming presence, his anchoring existence.

Come to me.

The door swings open before you get the chance to knock. This string tying your two souls together is not a one-way channel, it seems.

“Why are you here?”

You watch him wince as the harsh words leave him. Immediately, you know that the abrasiveness is on instinct. Just as something claws inside of you to be near him, there is something within him howling to keep you far from him.

The polarity of two magnets. Some nights, surely, his twists in a way that would draw him to you, just as yours will twirl with the sensibility that whatever has changed within him should give you cause to run as far away from him as possible.

But tonight, your magnetism only yanks you closer to him. He doesn’t even invite you in, and yet, you find yourself stepping over the threshold of the new apartment.

“You’ve gone quiet,” you whisper as an answer. It’s not what he wants to hear, grimace deepening, nearly a scowl now, “I just… It’s been weeks. I…”

I missed you. I needed you. I heard you in my dreams and I’ve never had much self-control when it comes to you.

Magnets are a useless metaphor for whatever is happening here between you. A better comparison would be the cliche image of a moth to a flame; he’s dangerous, threatening to burn you alive, and you still find your heart fluttering after him hopelessly. You’re going to get scorned, and you’ll still never learn. You’ve fallen victim to a tired narrative that you’d rolled your eyes at in a plethora of books. How many times had you sworn that wouldn’t be you? Just how many eye rolls had you exhausted at the mere idea?

And now, here you were, on his doorstep. Grasping for something you’re not sure either of you can give.

“I’ve been dealing with a few things,” he mutters as he shuts the door behind you, shielding you both from the chill of the night. The room is still cold, especially in his radius, “Didn’t think it would make much of a difference.”

“You didn’t think I’d care if you just stopped calling?” you turn slowly, taking in the state of the living room. Wayne was clearly gone for the night, work most probably, and several books littered the coffee table. Eddie had been the one reading them, lounging on the couch.

The last time you had seen him, he couldn’t even sit up in bed on his own.

He’s keeping an unusual distance, nearly leaning back out of your vicinity, “Figured you were busy.”

He’s never been this short with you. His words are choked up, his body tense with pain. You assume it’s just his injuries bothering him.

You couldn’t be more wrong, but you’re completely unaware.

“I brought you back from the dead, and you think I’d still be too busy for you,” you laugh humorlessly, fully in disbelief at his pitiful excuse, “Eddie, we could find out Vecna didn’t really die, those damn cracks in the Earth could open right back up, and the first person I’d care about finding is you.”

The animal inside that had been yearning for his presence is satiated for now, but you can still feel it lurking in the darkest depths of your mind, ready to call out a new request at any moment. It’s the distraction that has you spilling pathetic truths.

The only response he offers you is a dead stare. With eyes wide, pupils nearly swallowed up by darkness.

“You could have called,” your voice cracks, body shaking with the effort not to take a step closer to him, “You could have just let me know you were still alive.”

“I-”

He cuts himself off when he’s the one taking a step closer. His entire face twists with pain, and you give up keeping your distance. In an instant, you’re at his side as your hand reaches out for his bicep.

He flinches away. Something inside of you burns.

Your hand is hovering in the air between the two of you, and in this lighting, you swear the skin is still stained with the blood that won’t wash away.

“Please don’t,” he begs, “I’m fine, but… please.”

You don’t know what he’s begging for. Distance, for you to pull your hand away, time – you don’t know what he needs.

“We should sit down,” you insist, finally pulling your hand as far from him as possible but making no move to put the space back between you two, “Has anyone helped you with your bandages? If your wounds got infected-”

“They didn’t.”

“If you didn’t change the bandages, they definitely could have-”

“They’re not infected,” he grits out, but he’s still walking over to the couch regardless, “They’re healed.”

Healed.

Mere weeks ago, those wounds were still deep enough to keep you from ever achieving a full night's rest. Deep enough to worry you to the core that you would wake up to them finally having consumed him. Deep enough that you all assumed it would take him months, not weeks, to recover.

“What do you mean they healed, Eddie?” you whisper, almost reaching out for him as he sits down.

Your hand twitches, but the echoes of his begging and his flinching keep it at bay as you stand before him.

“I mean, they healed,” he huffs, nostrils flaring as he takes deep breaths. He’s looking anywhere in the room but at you, his gaze subverting you with purpose. As though the mere sight of you, the mere proximity, is painful to him, “Don’t know how, don’t know why – they just did.”

“So why are you still in pain?”

A sharper intake of breath. A hush of silence falling over the apartment. Even the buzz of the building’s AC unit has faded from all your senses. It’s just you and him, and a heavy quietude like no other.

Until he finally breaks the surface tension, breathing out, “You.”

Your heart drops. That tug inside your chest, the one taut as you look at him right within your reach yet still so far away, almost snaps.

“Me?”

He nods with a harsh swallow, “I- Look, I can’t explain it, but when I came back, I came back…”

“Different?”

He doesn’t have to explain it. You’d felt it.

The moment his eyes had opened, just moments after what should have been blissful victory. The taste of his blood heavy on your tongue, a terrible sweetness that had choked you rather than its initial metallic twang. The whispers of his voice in your mind.

He wasn’t the only one changed from whatever had occurred that night.

“Different is a good way of putting it,” he nods, looking up with apologetic eyes, “It’s not you. It’s cliche as fuck, but it really isn’t – it’s me. I died, and you brought me back, but I don’t think either of us knew the cost.”

The yearning. The nightmares. The unmanageable needs. The hunger.

“What was the cost?”

He almost doesn’t hear you. Your voice is a whisper, tone weighed down with the curse of knowing.

You might not have known the cost when you were pressing your palms into his chest through your wretched sobs, functioning as his heart and lungs for nearly a minute, but you think you might have a clue now.

All that had been tethering you to him since he’d come back to you, all those webs and strings that had formed their knots around both of your necks. He’d changed, and you had plummeted right into the chasm of the unknown with him.

His blood on your tongue, sweet as honey.

Blood shouldn’t be sweet.

He grabs one of the books off the coffee table, motioning for you to join him on the couch. Under the weight of your realization, you’re nearly under a trance. All he has to do is wave a hand, and you follow.

You’re at his beck and call. Just like you had been when he’d been calling out for you, yearning for you.

“Don’t make me say it,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the book into your lap the moment you’ve sat down. This time, you’re mindful to keep your distance.

This time, you’re painfully aware of the compromising situation the two of you have found yourselves in.

The book is older, leather-bound and worn from years of readers’ careless hands breaking the spine. The corners of every page are weather, close to disintegration. The entire thing could easily pass for a Halloween decoration.

It’s not. You flip open to the title page, and if Eddie didn’t appear so deathly serious at your side, you would have scoffed.

“Dracula?” you question carefully, running a finger over the delicate script of the title, “Eddie, I don’t-”

“I’m not insane,” he interrupts you, “I’m not fucking- I swear to you. I’ve gathered up every goddamn book about it that I can. Fictional, nonfictional. Just- there’s obviously a Hell of a lot more fictional material to work with, okay?”

A vampire. He’s convinced he’s a vampire.

And even worse – you’re convinced right along with him.

You turn your head to look at him, trying to find the right words, but all you find is Eddie burying his face in his hands, head nearly hung between his knees.

“I can’t eat normal food anymore,” his voice is muffled, “That was the first sign. Couldn’t stomach it, made me throw up for hours when I tried. And then all those nurses kept talking about how I was healing faster than they expected. Most of my smaller cuts – those healed in under a day,” he finally lifts his face just enough to turn and peer at you through all the stray curls that fall into his vision, “My vision and hearing were the next things I noticed. Remember how I had a nonstop migraine those first few days?”

He doesn’t need to convince you, but the argument is compelling, “It… wasn’t a migraine.”

He shakes his head. “Not even close. Just turns out that it’s a killer to get used to fucking superhuman night vision and impeccable hearing. I still can’t handle being out in the sun very long. I don’t… burn up or any of that shit, but… it just…” he trails off, shoulders falling in defeat before he throws himself back against the couch. When he continues, his tone is flat, devoid of all emotion, “I keep having these dreams about you, too. Bad dreams. Terrible dreams.”

You shut the book, toss it back onto the coffee table, and decide to Hell with keeping your distance.

You need it. Even if he’ll only allow you to get an inch closer to him, you need it.

“What do you mean by terrible dreams?” you ask, breath catching at the end of your question as you scoot yourself closer on the couch. Even with such a small movement, Eddie is quick to notice, eyes flicking to you quickly with a sense of urgency flashing behind them.

“Don’t,” he lowly warns.

“What’s happening in your dreams, Eddie?”

Another inch closer. His jaw clenches.

“Sweetheart, do not-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Your knee bumps into his thigh, and you watch him go rigid. Hands turning to fists, eyes pinching shut and face twisting with the same pain he’d worn the ghost of when you first arrived at the apartment.

The moment you touch him, you see it. The flashes of his nightmares, all those terrible actions haunting him every time he closed his eyes. You. Your blood. That hunger.

Like a blackhole in the center of your stomach, it burns viciously as it sucks the air out of your lungs. It threatens to cave your entire being into itself until there’s nothing left. Not even a crumb of who you once were.

But it's not yours. It’s Eddie’s.

That pain on his face is only exhibiting a fraction of what he was feeling. That dizzying craving that he’d miraculously been keeping at bay since you’d simply entered the building, not even yet knocking on his door. You hadn’t even been in the same room as him yet, and he had still known. Had smelt you, had felt you.

He could almost taste you.

“You…” you have to shift your knee away from him, break the touch, break the connection, “You haven’t fed since you woke up.”

“I haven’t fed, period.”

With the connection severed, he somehow finds it in himself to open his eyes once more. You don’t know how – if he’s feeling what you’d just been privy to, you’d be an incoherent mess on the floor. Something feral and unrecognizable.

Although, maybe he was nearly there. You couldn’t see his pupils. That same look when he’d first woken up – a man swallowed whole by hunger.

“You’ve been dreaming about ripping my throat out,” you say it as a matter of fact, not a lick of judgment in your tone.

It wasn’t you scrutinizing him. It was what you had seen, with one simple touch.

His voice is hoarse as he echoes in confirmation, “I’ve been dreaming about ripping your throat out.”

You should probably be afraid. All your survival instincts should be kicking in, your feet should be carrying you towards the door, you shouldn’t be leaning in closer.

“You know what really sealed the whole vampire ordeal though, sweetheart?” he breathes out, your eyes fluttering shut at the lull in his hushed tone.

Just as you’ve been leaning in, he’s been slowly turning his body to face yours, hands twitching at his sides. He’s no longer retreating from your presence, sucking down breaths in harsh gulps the closer you grow to him.

He’s losing control. You’re losing control.

That thread, vibrant red as it draws you near him, is clear as day now. A noose around your neck. A road to your damnation.

A road to your hunger.

You hardly hum in response, completely entranced now. Had he ever been capable of this before? Of holding you beneath such an inescapable spell with such ease?

Probably.

He doesn’t use his words to answer. Instead, he finally takes the plunge.

His head ducks down towards your neck just as his hands lose the war, grabbing onto your hips, dragging you dangerously close to him until his lips hovered just over your pulse point. And by some strength that you certainly don’t possess, he stops there. Letting his lips barely brush against your soft skin, breath coming out in pants for you to feel, to relish, to get lost in. And just as soon as those pants, those waves, become a comfortable pattern to succumb to, you feel them.

His fangs.

Grazing over your sensitive skin. Sharp tips nipping at a surface they could so easily break, pierce with one wrong move. Your pulse is thrumming beneath the surface, heart racing painfully as Eddie’s grip turns bruising.

Come to me.

“Please.”

You’re the one begging now. It goes against every rule you’ve ever seen applied in fiction. If a vampire is baring their fangs against your neck, you should be reaching for a stake. The only noise escaping you should be a scream for help, not the pathetic whimpers beginning to slip out.

“I can’t,” you feel his gasp more than you can hear it. Your blood is too loud, roaring in your ears as you feel the fangs slip with his words, “I can’t.”

That hunger you felt, the one that had called out to you through the night and led you right to his doorstep, is unavoidable now. You need him closer, you need him to do this. For the first time since you had saved his life and tasted his blood after the Upside Down, everything seems to click into place. All he needs to do is let them sink into you, take that final leap of faith and reprieve that ache you’ve battled for weeks now.

You’re so close. So close.

“Eddie, please,” you’re nearly sobbing, hands gripping onto his shoulders, trying to pull him in closer.

But you’re no match for his strength. You don’t know if it’s a new addition with his vampire business or if there was always more to him than met the eye, but he easily stays stoic against your attempts, not moving a centimeter. Still hovering, still just barely making contact with your heartbeat.

“I-” his head drops slightly, tip of his nose beginning to trail down the side of your neck, mouth no longer dangerously close, “You saw my dreams-”

“I trust you.”

You do. You trust him even more now than you had when you first stumbled upon him in the boathouse. More than when he had pleaded his case, promised he hadn’t been the one to kill Chrissy Cunningham. The trust comes easier than breathing as his nose nuzzles into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters, fangs now brushing your collar bone, “You really, really shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t stop you when you move to straddle his hips. Your weight settles onto his lap, and he only fights to keep his face burrowed there in your shoulder, arms now moving around your waist to hold you tightly to him.

His self-control is impeccable. You’d admire him and all this impressiveness another time, when something inside of you wasn’t lamenting his resistance.

All at once, it occurs to you how to give him the final push.

“Did I ever tell you how sweet your blood was on my tongue after I brought you back?” you start, sighing, rolling your shoulders to expose more of your neck, grip on his shoulders tightening, “All that blood, all those tears, and I still can’t forget how welcome that warmth of you was in my mouth. How I needed more. How I pictured it every night, after every nightmare-”

He breaks.

One moment, his nose is buried in your skin. And the next, his fangs are.

You weren’t sure what to expect, but relief would have been low on your list. You gasp out in initial shock, but as you feel his teeth dig in, it’s as though something has snapped. The ache has been satiated, preening as you feel the warmth of your blood contrast the chill of his chin pressing into you.

If there’s any pain, you don’t feel it through the haze of pleasure.

Ice shards spread through your bloodstream, but the point in which Eddie’s mouth is connected to you radiates heat. He’s pulling you into him, letting go completely and relinquishing all that control as he nearly purrs against your skin in satisfaction. That connection is back, two minds linking with a heavy click, and you can feel all his pleasure mingling with your own. Satiation, desperation, adoration – the plethora of emotions all swarm your head and block out any better judgment.

You’d let him drain you dry, if that’s what he needed. If nothing more than to hear those soft moans as his fangs sink even deeper.

He pulls back too soon, though, suddenly and unexpectedly. Just as quickly as he had given in to both your desires, he’s putting an end to them. He hadn’t taken much blood, but your head is swimming from the loss all the same. Your grip has gone slack on him, hands slipping down to just barely cradle his biceps while his own touch stays unyielding around you.

You can hear his thoughts. Or rather, maybe more aptly put, you can feel them.

He wants to devour you. Wholly, ruthlessly.

He looks up at you with pupils still blown wide, chest heaving and a small scarlet drip trailing from the corner of his mouth. For the first time since he’d come back to you, he looks alive. Hair fluffed in a halo around his head, skin tinted with a healthy glow and unmistakable blush, bags beneath his eyes faded for the time being.

You were never quite sure if Eddie Munson’s heart had ever restarted, knew for certain that it hadn’t now, but you swear you can feel its pulse finally thrumming for you.

I need more.

It’s his voice in your head, echoing in the empty space as you look down with wild eyes to match his.

But it’s your voice in his head when you respond instantaneously.

Then take it.

Something unspoken lies there in the need. He doesn’t move back to your neck, doesn’t bite down and drink his fill of your blood. He only stares for a few seconds, watching the welt of blood that pools from each puncture wound of his making. His eyes follow when it runs down your skin, as though he might lose it should he so much as blink. Down, down, down. Following the trail that his nose had followed minutes before, across your collarbone until it stains the neck of your loose shirt.

My pleasure.

His hold proves helpful when he quickly changes positions, roughly throwing you down onto the couch before he’s settled between your thighs, crawling his way up your body. He pays close attention to the maroon trail on your throat, his tongue cleaning up after his mess, savoring the taste of you on his tongue.

Sweet as honey.

His tongue only pauses for a moment over the bite wound, pressing into it, making your back arch as you press yourself fully into him. Your head digs painfully into the cushion behind you as you expose your neck, wanting and begging and pleading all without words.

“I think we should take this off,” he plucks at the hem of your shirt, tugging hard before he begins to carefully lift. His freezing knuckles brush against your burning skin, eliciting a whimper from you, “Before we make an ever bigger mess. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”

A sultry tone you’ve never heard from him before. Honeyed words, familiar to how he once spoke, but entirely new in the way they curl around you. There’s a confidence there, a baiting that he’s luring you with.

“Yes, please.”

He could ask anything of you in this moment, and you’d be eager to comply. Fueled by your desire for him before the events of spring break, worsened by his new condition. A bright, red, vibrating thread. You couldn’t severe the tie if you wanted to.

And you most certainly did not want to.

Your shirt is removed, his hands careful despite the way they shake. His words may be smooth, but each move is jagged, the only sign you had that he’s still exercising control.

“And these?” he whispers, lowering his lips to your sternum as he toys with the band of your pants. His fangs scratch down the center of your stomach as it quivers with each breath, careful to not break skin as they make their presence known. You nearly lose all capability to speak until he says, “Use your words, baby. Tell me I can take them off.”

Yes.

His eyes flare, looking up to you, “Use your words. Not your mind. I want to hear how badly you need me – I want everyone to hear you beg.”

The words strike straight to your core. Lashing out in your lower stomach, burning deliciously.

It’s more than putting on a show. He needs to know you want this.

“Take them off,” you gasp out, hands wandering to tangle in his hair, “Take- Take it all off. I’m yours, Eddie.”

Shaking hands perform a dance you had long since fantasized about. In easier days, when Eddie had been uninvolved in the episode down, heart still beating along as he would bounce his knees in front of you and his fingers would idly fiddle with his pencils and pens. A yearning, a wanting, you’d always held for the boy.

He used to be an escape from it all. A pretty thing to daydream about when you weren’t worried about monsters. And now – he was one of the monsters.

Your monster. Tied to you inexplicably, brought back by your hands and your stubborn efforts.

His lips and fangs are one in the same, trailing along your body as he finds a home at the apex between your thighs. Even in undeath, he’s the most beautiful thing your mind could conjure.

You’d forgotten how he was privy to your every thought until he reacts.

“You’re too sweet,” he murmurs, smirking salaciously as he mouths innocently at that sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tongue darting out to lick a cool stride before he breathes out against it. It has you writhing beneath his hold, “You’ve wanted this all this time, sweetheart? Wanted to see me, between these pretty thighs, making you scream my name?” His mouth falls open a bit wider, the sharp canines pressing but not sinking against where he had just licked. He holds there, eyes locking with yours, until he pulls back to cockily say, “Could’ve just said something, y’know. Didn’t have to bring me back from the dead to have me devoted to you.”

Finally, finally, he lets his fangs sink back into you. The soft meat of your thigh is more pliant in his mouth, and he doesn’t linger as long as he had on your neck. One nick, just enough to start the blood flow, before he’s pulling back and licking hungrily at the scarlet liquid. Less for feeding, more for marking.

Marking you as his, just as you have with him. His methods just appeared a bit more physical.

He’s quick to avert his focus on your cunt, no warning before the tongue still covered in your blood is taking long strides over your entrance and clit. Devotion. That was the only word to describe the way he was unraveling you, alternating between indulging in your sweet cunt and returning back to that bite, going as far to even sink his teeth in a second time to take a proper drink of you. His chin and lips grow slick with it all – with the blood, with your wetness, with his own saliva. A starved man with a feast before him.

The way he’s rutting his hips into the couch as he slings your legs over his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed.

It’s a mess. A wonderful, satisfying, enchanting mess.

Beautiful. So beautiful, all mine.

His voice has you teetering on an edge of new carnal pleasure. Completely consumed by him, your hands tugging viciously at his curls. His face is round once more, eyes and cheeks no longer sunken in, vitality being breathed into him with each taste of your blood.

Let me touch you. Please.

You beg over that connection, trying your best to not buck your hips mercilessly against his tongue. You feel his wicked grin.

“You’re already touching me, sweetheart,” he reaches up, untangling your fingers from his hair for emphasis before he’s pinning them to your sides, “And what did I say about using our words? Hm?”

“Need more,” your voice is wrecked as you tilt your head back, wrists straining against his hold, “I need more.”

You’re fully light-headed now, the blood loss finally catching up. Maybe you were about to let him drain you dry.

And what a beautiful way to die. At the hand, at the fangs, of the one you had fought so urgently to bring back to you.

One last timid lick to the wound on your thigh, and he’s crawling his way back up to you. The mess doesn't phase you as he kisses you hungrily – the blood remains sweet rather than metallic, the remnants of your juices still on his tongue – and you meet him with an unbridled fervent. Nipping at his lips with your own dull canines as if you were the one looking for a bite of vivacity.

You don’t know when he lets go of your wrists, or when your hands find their way up beneath his shirt. The specifics don’t matter once he’s naked before you, clothes discarded messily to the ground with your own. The only thing that matters is the weight of him, the reminder that he was still here as his hips roll into yours and the head of him catches on your entrance.

He had been dead. For minutes. And you had brought him back to you.

The process had taken longer than the mere CPR administered, had taken weeks of whatever waiting game you two had tortured yourselves with, but you had him now. He was yours. You were his. There wasn’t a deity, a monster, an omniscient being in this world that could take that away from you. Not even Death herself.

“Last chance, baby,” he whispers against your lips, holding himself up so that not a single inch of his skin pressed to yours. You nearly cried out, missing that connection, missing him. Your hunger, the hunger for him entirely, rattles your bones once more, “Say the word, and I’ll-”

“No,” your hands pause their exploration of skin jagged with scars. Reminders of those few dreadful moments in which the world existed without Eddie Munson in it, that would fade in time but never fully disappear. Always there, just like the stain of his blood on your palms. Always there, just like your desperation to have him at your side. “I meant it when I said I’m yours. I’m not changing my mind. I want this.”

His skin is back on yours, body laid fully along your own road map, and it all comes flooding back. The pain of seeing his lifeless body, the nights spent in an eerie hospital room, baring your own teeth at any one who came too close to the man you had pulled back from the ledge of Death. The anxiety, the fear, the relief, the yearning – it all accumulates as he’s pressing into you, brimming you so full that there’s no room for memories of nightmares.

He’s here. He’s yours. You’re his.

His heart didn’t need to beat for you to accept that truth.

You can’t decipher which chants of your name fall from his lips for others to hear, and which ones whisper in the depths of your mind for only you to bear witness to. Each curse, each grunt, each moan – there for you and only you anyways. You’re entirely unsure if your lips even separate once as he thrusts, cock brushing somewhere deep in you that has you clenching around him.

And if his fangs wander, it only adds to the pleasure.

Blood, sweat, and tears all mingle between your bodies. He’s holding you tighter than water, as though you’re at risk of disappearing from him at any given moment. But that link between your two minds, your two souls, is unwavering. It’s the only thing grounding you to the moment as your half curls around his waist and your heel digs into his lower back. Urging him, pressing him, taking him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says it out loud, this time. You feel his lips brushing against your ear as he does, “Gripping me so tightly. This pussy was fucking made for me.”

Every movement only unlocks something more feral inside the two of you. Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines to trace over once it’s all said and done. There’s enough shallow bite marks across your neck that you’ll be wearing scarves for weeks, months. The others might question it, strangers might stare, but the pride you feel as he marks you is unmatched for any anxiety about it.

That black hole of hunger is no longer swallowing either of you whole. That debilitating pain, that animal inside, has been tamed.

When his hips begin to stutter, mouth no longer capable of the strength to properly bite you as his lips only smear the soft spattering of blood pooling at the base of your throat, you’re already there. Squeezing him tightly, sucking him in, voice raw as you let everyone know who’s ravishing you.

Eddie.

Hawkins’ newest zombie boy – Hawkins’ newest vampire.

The climax is just as pleasurable as the lead up. The haze lingers long after his spent has dripped out of you, long after he’s collapsed into your body with exhaustion and contentment. The blood dries, the wounds clot – but that haze doesn’t falter.

As long as his skin presses to yours, you feel that caress of his mind against yours.

“Did…” you’re breathless as his face nuzzles into your nude chest, a few mindless hums of gratification still slipping from him as you bring a hand to toy with the curls at the crown of his head, “Did any of your vampire books say anything about… that?”

The connection. The bloodlust. The spell you swear he still has you under, even as it’s all said and done.

He snorts against your skin, “Not that I, uh, recall.”

“What? You mean to tell me in all your research, you never dived into any vampire smut?” you tsk jokingly, a calm smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He lifts his head, and you swear, those honey-brown irises have threads of a deep maroon now, “You’re slacking, Munson.”

“Why read about it when I can just experience it?” he coos, letting his nose and lips drag across your still hot skin before he rests his chin on your sternum, “Besides, I mean – we’ll need to do this again, won’t we, baby? For research.”

Your head still spins. Your body aches in a welcome manner. There will be a need for explanations to others, for actually researching his condition, later on. But for now, it’s enough.

The pounding behind your ribcage, the one you know Eddie feels for the both of you when his ear presses to your chest, is enough.

Of course, lover.

That thought stays between the two of you. The world doesn’t need to know what can’t hurt them.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

#ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #kas!eddie munson #kas!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #reader essentially became soul bound to him womp womp #don't drink a vampire's blood kids #i really didn't edit that intensely i spent two hours fucking with photoshop #if it's bad it's bad #finally dipping my toes into kas!eddie tho wahoo #vampire!eddie munson #someone requested eddie with this song forever ago but i lost the ask #eddie reading dracula to figure out if he's become a vampire is actually so fucking funny to me

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stanswifeirl · 3 months ago

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NERD GETS APPRECIATED AND WHIPS IT OUT!

notes: cross-posted on my ao3!

contains: stanford pines x gn!reader

warning: masturbation, some self depreciating talk, him feeling guilty about thinking about you while he jerks it

Glass Shard Beach was rarely kind to him, and there were few normal scenarios he could recall throughout his life.

But now? Here he was, reduced to a stuttering, nervous wreck at the simple words of praise that seemed to flow from your mouth with ease, just like the process of diffusion with non-polar molecules (which, for your information, is pretty damn easy).

This type of reaction is expected, he thinks. How often did a guy find someone as attractive as you in a Fifth Dimensional Calculus class? Of course you would attract his attention!

He didn't like to audibly put down the work done at Backupsmore University, but it wasn't often he'd find someone so... smart. Maybe well-read is a better word? Someone who viewed his work not only with interest, but from a new perspective.

It was dangerous. The way your voice filled the space with intelligent dialogue made him wish it was the only sound he ever heard. The way your scent made him lose focus on his work whenever you leaned in to assist him on a project was simply intoxicating.

He could think up plenty of flowery phrases to describe what he's feeling... Actually expressing them was where his expertise fell short.

To put it simply, the guy was head over heels, and he didn't know how to handle it.

Inviting you to conduct research for class was probably the worst possible decision he could've made. It was absolutely thrilling to spend an afternoon with you, but the growing tightness in his pants only proved to sully his mood. He was sure you noticed. There was no way you didn't, even if you decided to carry on like you didn't know what you were doing to him. Surely, he couldn't be the only one feeling the chemistry!

He didn't know how you worked up the courage to call him sweet names, or pat his shoulder politely at the end of the night when he dropped you off in front of your apartment complex.

More than thankful for the dim lighting, he was only able to mumble out a hurried "Goodbye!" before slamming his foot down on the gas pedal, ready to get the hell outta there.

Ford drives, things pressed tightly together in shame, into an empty parking lot. He parks.

"Sweet Moses." He whines into his hands, patting down drops of sweat with the cuff of his shirt. "Goodness. I'm horrible. You don't deserve this. God, I can't believe I'm..."

His hand shoots for his pocket, pulling out a 38 sided die. To freak, or not to freak? That was the question. He squirms uncomfortably in his seat, closes his eyes, and takes a breath.

Ford mentally cringes it when he rolls it onto his dashboard, realizing how lame he must look as he uses his game dice to decide on if he should masturbate or not.

Mind running a mile a minute, the poor guy was always a bit too self aware of his actions, he realizes how lame he looks allowing a dice roll to tell him whether he's allowed to jerk off or not.

His face scrunches up in disgust as he unzips his pants, hand hesitantly hovering over his painfully erect dick.

"This is so embarrassing." He groans, feeling the length of his dick as it twitches under his touch.

Ford’s face flushes as he slowly moves his hand up and down, humiliated. His back straightens as his thumb brushes over the head, already leaking in precum.

He grits his teeth, feeling his face burning hot with shame as he strokes himself to the thought of you. As much as he admires your fiercely intelligent mind, he can't help but be captivated by how fucking hot you are.

Leaning back in his seat, his eyes flutter closed as he imagines hands brushing against his skin, comforting eyes looking up at him in that way that made him feel so, so safe. His hand moves faster as his breathing grows ragged.

"God, I'm such a loser." He whispers to himself, face growing hot as he realizes how pathetic he sounds.

Would you still look at him like that if you knew what was happening right now? Would you enjoy it? Maybe you'd entertain him. He'd like that.

Oh. Oh. That idea really sticks with him.

Your presence always seemed so commanding. So sure of yourself. Maybe, he hopes, you'd like taking charge of him when he was at his most vulnerable.

His back arches as he bucks into his hand, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to imagine it was you touching him. He should be allowed to indulge a little, shouldn't he? He doesn't know anymore.

It's almost this primal instinct that keep his thoughts out of logic mode, and far more acutely aware on the shockwaves of pleasure coursing throughout his body.

His chest feels tight as he imagines your hand slowly running up and down the base, teasing the head. Tears prick up in the corners of his eyes as picture after picture of you enter his mind.

He curses, stuttering your name as he twists his hand, quickening his pace.

"Thank you." He chokes out, face burning in humiliation as he feels his orgasm building. He didn't mean to think if you this way— the least he could do was thank the image of you.

His head slams back into his seat as he reaches his climax, body trembling as his hand and car floor is stained with long ropes of cum. The mind fog quickly clears, and makes quick work of grabbing tissues from the glove compartment to clean his mess up.

Ew. He'd have to clean properly in the morning.

#stanford pines x reader #stanford pines #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you

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megalony · 4 months ago

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Use Your Voice

Okay, this is my first time posting a Charles Xavier (X-Men) imagine, requested by the lovely @missdreamofendless I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

(I've set this in the middle of X-Men First Class)

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana

@shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @ml572 @jessie-lynn28 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700

@ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @itshamleth @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii

Masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) wants to use her mutation for good and show people that mutants aren't to be feared. But it isn't so easy when she remembers all the times her mutation was used for bad when she was taken advantage of.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A soft, lulling smile fluttered across (Y/n)'s lips when she felt a familiar pair of hands on her shoulders.

She tilted her head back on the sofa and grinned up at Charles as he stood behind the sofa, his thumbs rubbing circles into the back of her shoulders. She loved the curve of his lips and how his smile made his nose scrunch up as he looked down at her. And those baby blue eyes looked unusually bright tonight. Normally those eyes would be pastel and cloudy, only when Charles was deeply moved or shedding tears would his eyes go dark sienna.

She reached her hand up to hold his wrist and gave a light squeeze while Charles leaned down to peck her temple.

(Y/n) was sure she heard him mumble "Hi," but she wasn't sure if the word passed his lips or simply travelled from his mind through to hers. Either way, her smile conveyed that she had heard him.

Her eyes followed him when he eventually let go and walked past the sofa towards the small table set up in the window bay at the back of the room. The curtains were drawn, the fire was lit and lamps were dotted around the room to give an ambient glow and a cosy atmosphere.

There was a chess board laid out on the table where Erik was patiently waiting for his opponent to sit down and start the game.

(Y/n) liked how classy yet laid back the pair of them looked over there. Erik had one leg crossed over the other and one hand slowly rubbing back and forth over his chin like he was already in the middle of a game he was trying hard not to lose. And his other hand was quietly tapping out a repetitive rhythm against the rim of the table.

Whereas when Charles sat down opposite him, he took a different stance. He sat forward, knees parted to the sides, his left arm folded across the table while his right hand swirled over the top of the chess board, debating what piece to move first.

They looked like they should have been in a reneisance painting. And when Charles looked in her direction and flashed that cocky smile, (Y/n) guessed he'd heard that thought. Her thought process must have been loud for him to hear because Charles always made a point not to go snooping in anyone's mind without permission. He thought it rude and impertinent.

(Y/n) turned her attention back to the book on her lap she had been trying in vain to concentrate on.

She managed to read a page or two before eventually giving up when Raven turned the tv on low and sat down next to her on the sofa.

The others weren't far behind.

They had all been at the mansion for a while now and they were all doing separate training to improve their mutations and build up resistance. They didn't want to fight, but at the same time they had to be prepared for anything. And their mutations needed to be controlled and perfected, none of them had mastered their powers yet, not even Charles or Erik.

Erik didn't know how to harness his strength and churn it into his mutation. Charles was finding out day by day just how much control he could gather and how far his powers spread. Raven needed to stop focusing so much on blending in and perfect the ability to split her concentration without losing whatever image she had transformed into.

The rest of them were younger, they had little grip on their powers and needed to harness them. Alex was one of the worst for his powers, he was very out of touch with his mutation and with him having a dangerous one, the effects could be disastrous.

Closing her book, (Y/n) laid it down on the coffee table and curled her legs up beneath her. She wound her arms around her middle and burrowed into the side of the sofa while she watched the others move round.

Alex flopped down in the armchair nearest to the fire while Hank sat somewhat formally in the other chair. He sat with his back straight and his hands clasped tightly on his lap like he was sitting for an interview. And Sean plonked himself down on the carpet in between both armchairs so he could still be within their little friendship circle near the fireplace.

Tilting her head back, (Y/n) peeked over the back of the sofa towards the two men at the back playing chess. She loved the look of concentration on Charles's face and it was amusing how Erik's brows furrowed down when he was trying to calculate and think ahead of the next moves.

She zoned out for a little while, drifting between watching the game and listening to the news playing quietly in the background on the tv.

"…At least looking at the rest of you, no one knows you're different."

(Y/n) didn't catch the first part of the conversation, but she caught the last part of Hank's words. That statement sliced through her. The way Hank looked down at his hands as he spoke, the way he kept his voice quiet and passive as not to cause an argument between any of them. But he couldn't keep out the hint of envy from his tone.

It wasn't their fault.

(Y/n) hated meeting other mutants whose powers were clearly on display. Those who had different coloured eyes or had an entirely different skin colour, like Raven. Those with missing fingers or enlarged feet like Hank or who had wild hair or pointed teeth.

It wasn't (Y/n) or Charles or Erik's fault that their powers didn't show. They didn't even look any different when they used their powers whereas Alex could pass for 'normal' until he used his powers.

They couldn't control nature or what their mutations were or what they did to them. It was okay for Hank or Raven to sit there and and say that the world looked at them differently because they were visibly outcasts, but no one chose their mutations.

"Your mutation is harmless though, if Alex loses concentration we're all fried." Raven's words hung in the air along with the playful tone and the smirk on her face.

She nudged (Y/n)'s shoulder with a wide grin before she tangled her hand in her long blonde locks and leaned back into the sofa like she was posing for a portrait painting. (Y/n) always found it a little unnerving that Raven worried about her mutation. She could look like anyone she wanted to be, she had a gift people only dreamed about. She could have whatever body she wanted and even when she was in her true form, she was still stunning.

Nobody else got that pleasure, there was only so much people could do to change their appearance.

(Y/n) shuffled forward to reach for her drink that had been long forgotten on the coffee table, but her eyes locked with Hank when he leaned forward towards her. His hands stayed interlocked on his lap but he finally broke the straight composure and slouched forward with his elbows on his thighs.

"So um, your, your mutation is similar to Charles, right?" Hank's words were slow and calculated and clearly directed towards (Y/n).

They had all given brief introductions when they met a few weeks ago and they each said what their mutations were, but (Y/n) hadn't given a visual representation like the others. She didn't want to show off or let them see what she could do. The only two people who had seen her mutation at work were Charles and Erik.

"Oh, not really." (Y/n) glanced her eyes over her shoulder to the boys at the back. She could see Erik sneaking glances in their direction, clearly trying to keep track of his game but also pay interest into their conversation.

Charles didn't spare them a glance. He had mastered listening to voices and concentrating on tasks a long time ago. And he could keep check of (Y/n)'s thoughts since they were becoming louder and louder. His expression was calm and composed but his mind was intently focused, ready to chip into the conversation if necessary.

"I'm not that powerful, I can only give commands, and everyone is aware of what I'm doing, even if they can't stop me."

Sometimes (Y/n)'s mutation felt pointless.

She was a Siren. Her voice was her weapon, she could give people commands, tell them whatever she wanted them to do and they were compelled to do it. But everyone knew they were being controlled, they knew she was forcing their hand even if they couldn't help but obey her command.

Charles was different, he had the more varied, skilled mutation. He could control people, bend them to his will and they didn't know they were being controlled. He could make them forget they had been under his influence. He could make hundreds of people pause in the middle of a restaurant or a city. He could get people to look away or move or follow him. Charles could read their thoughts and get in their heads and see things through their eyes.

(Y/n) couldn't do any of that. She couldn't slip into people's minds, all she could do was hold their control and willpower for a while and make them do whatever she asked of them.

She couldn't give people thoughts or see their thoughts, she couldn't look into their minds or do any snooping or any damage.

"But you could kill someone, couldn't you?"

"I- I've never-"

(Y/n) began to shake her head as the cold fingers of dread clutched around her lungs and started to squeeze.

She had never killed anyone. She had never forced anyone to kill themselves or to commit murder on someone. (Y/n) didn't know if that was possible. She didn't know if she had that much influence. Part of her always hoped that if she ever had to give that command, that the person would have enough willpower to stop her. (Y/n) didn't want to be a murderer or be the reason someone was labelled a murderer.

How fair would that be if she got someone else to commit such an act on her behalf? She would be in control, but they would be physically committing the crime.

"Alex, we're not here to kill, and using our mutations to kill doesn't help our cause." Charles's voice cut through the air like a knife. His tone was cold, his words were firm and his expression was dark.

He was ending that topic before it begun.

They weren't here to kill, they didn't want to kill anyone for their cause and it would only give the humans more advantage and leverage over them. It didn't matter if their mutations could kill. All of them could at some point. Charles had enough power and control to kill many people, all at once. Erik could manipulate bullets. Raven could shape shift into someone else and commit a crime and get away with it.

Alex could definitely cause enough damage to kill someone, and if Sean screamed with a loud enough soundwave, he might just kill someone. And (Y/n) might have the capability to force someone's hand into murder. It was all possible, but it wasn't going to happen.

"How many people can you control at once?" Sean changed the subject, but the conversation was still steered onto (Y/n) and she didn't like it.

She didn't like being the centre of attention and her mutation wasn't one she was proud of. Who could be proud of having the ability to control other people?

It was manipulative.

(Y/n) looked back over her shoulder when she sensed something behind her and she bit her lip when she caught Charles wincing. He heard that last thought.

He didn't think it was manipulative. Charles thought it was a necessary gift. What if someone was going to hurt another person or hurt themselves? What if people needed to get to safety or they were too afraid to do something that was necessary? What if someone needed to make a call but didn't have the nerve?

(Y/n) could help them all, she could tell them what to do in those situations or tell them to walk to safety or to put a weapon down or let people go. There was so much good she could do, but all she could see was the bad that could happen from her mutation.

"Three." (Y/n) finally answered with a weak smile. She had been practicing, but three people seemed her maximum capacity for now. It was hard enough telling one person what to do without having to focus on splitting her attention and controlling other people to her will.

"What if I-"

"Sean, unless you want another flying lesson with Erik, do not ask that question."

Charles lifted his right hand to his temple and started to rub his fingers along the side of his head. He was getting a headache. There may not be many people here in the mansion, but all their thoughts were becoming louder and it was getting harder and harder not to listen to them.

There was something authorative in Charles's voice, something demanding and powerful enough to end the conversation then and there. Added with the fact that he didn't look away from the chess board, it made Sean shrink down in his seat on the floor and look towards his feet.

(Y/n) managed a small grin to herself when she heard Charles murmur "Checkmate."

She reached forward for her glass and got up, shaking it to tell them she was going for a refill and excusing herself from this conversation. They could all exchange stories and talk about their mutations without her, it would go smoother because the rest of them were open about their abilities.

On a second thought, she turned to the right and walked towards where the boys were playing their game in the window. She approached slowly, watching the way Erik's lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes looked colder now he had lost. He didn't like losing, but he managed to hide it somewhat well.

While Erik started to line the pieces back up in order on the board, (Y/n) reached across for the empty glass beside Charles.

Her lips curved into a smile and she felt her nerves settling down when his arm looped around her waist and he reeled her into his side so her knees were nudging against his thigh.

His hand started to glide up and down her back and his lips curved into a soft grin when (Y/n) leaned over to kiss the top of his head.

"Want another drink?"

"Please." Charles trailed his fingertips down her waist, over her hip and across the back of her thigh until (Y/n) eventually pulled out of his embrace and headed into the kitchen.

She hummed quietly as she set about making a drink, ensuring to keep her voice quiet and her tune random. Singing was a trigger for her mutation and although it didn't give people any commands or force them to do anything, it drew people closer to (Y/n). Her voice could put them under a trance and have people crowd round her, unsure what they wanted, just knowing they had to be close to her.

She poured a whiskey for Charles and made herself a drink, but she paused when heavy footsteps caught her attention.

It was only Alex.

He got himself a drink from the fridge, but instead of leaving the kitchen, he leaned his arms on the counter beside (Y/n). Arching his back out as he looked up at her with one raised brow.

"What's that look for?"

"Just that… you have such a good power."

(Y/n) let out a quiet huff with a faded, sad smile on her lips. "Do you know the myths about sirens? Creatures of the sea, they use their songs to lure sailors to their deaths. My power means I have to control people, it's not nice, you know."

The history behind her powers was dark. Sirens were depicted to be ravenous, dark creatures who sought out sailors on the sea and gave them bad luck. They would sing to the sailors and drag them overboard, they would make them crash their vessels and drown in the sea.

(Y/n) didn't like having to control people, she would much rather have an ability where the only control she had was over herself.

"People cry out for any sense of power, they would kill for the kind of power you have. Own it. You could do so much with it."

"Oh yeah, like what?" (Y/n) sank her teeth down into her lower lip and snook a glance behind Alex. She wouldn't mind if Charles or Erik came in and swiftly changed the conversation. She didn't like where this was going.

"Think about it, you could control so much. You could make them pass laws for us, make the President resign, put mutants in control. Make us superior. If you just take control. You and Charles could be unstoppable."

A subtle tremor coursed down (Y/n)'s spine and had her arms coiling into her chest.

She didn't like those words. Those few little words brought back bad memories. She could still hear that snide tone as if he were standing behind her now, whispering in her ear. He had always used her mutation to his advantage.

If you just take control, we can have everything we need.

We wouldn't be caught up in this mess if you controlled it properly.

Tell him. Tell him. You should have told him to pull the trigger. You're too weak.

"Unstoppable," (Y/n) murmured under her breath, a faraway look in her eyes as she turned and walked out of the kitchen without another word.

She didn't want to be unstoppable. She didn't want to be in control or in the limelight. (Y/n) didn't want to lead a crusade or become a marytr for the cause, and she certainly didn't want to be used as a pawn in a game. She had done that enough in the past.

***

It was hard for Charles to sleep when there were a lot of people around him. He grew up listening to his parent's thoughts and trying his best not to delve into Raven's whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The few servants they had slept in the rooms in the attic, so their thoughts were distant and never run rampid while they were sleeping.

Having the mansion lively with people meant Charles had to concentrate so he didn't slip into their thoughts at night. He didn't want to intrude and his concentration always wavered when he was trying to sleep.

The only saving grace he had was that (Y/n) never minded if his mind went wandering into hers during the night. She understood it was hard to keep concentration and she knew Charles meant no harm. She was the one sleeping next to him in his bed, the least she could do was understand if he happened to hear her thoughts when they were so close to his own.

Sometimes when he was sleeping and people were around, his dreams ended up morphing with theirs. Or their thoughts shaped his dreams and morphed his nightmares into something strange.

Tonight was a little different to that.

A frown set into Charles's previously slack expression and he flopped a hand over his eyes and the bridge of his nose. His fingertips rubbed into his temple and the base of his hand nudged against his eyes that were squinting even though they were closed.

His mind was aching. He didn't realise until he tried to open his eyes that his head felt like it was pounding and vibrating.

He pushed up on his elbows and looked around the room. Everything was draped in darkness, it was nowhere near morning and therefore not time to think about getting up.

Do it! I don't want to- You have to!

Those three little words caused Charles to quiver. His knees jolted up, his body propelled forward so he was sitting up in bed and his hand cradled the side of his temple again. God, those words were screaming around in his head and he found himself wanting to do something. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do, but there was a deep rooted sense of compulsion in the forefront of his mind.

(Y/n). His eyes darted to the left and squinted to adjust to the darkness as he tried to look down at his partner laid beside him.

She was laid on her side facing Charles, with her knees coiled up to her stomach and her arms pressing so tightly into her chest he was surprised she was able to breathe. Her arms were writhing from side to side and Charles could see her lips moving like she was trying to whisper something in her sleep.

Twisting to lean on his left elbow, Charles carefully reached his hand out and feathered his fingers over (Y/n)'s temple.

His lips pursed and his nose scrunched up as he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. He didn't want to intrude or invade, but he could tell she was having some sort of nightmare and he didn't want her to start lashing out or using her mutation in her sleep. The last thing they needed was everyone in the mansion waking up and knowing (Y/n) was experiencing nightmares.

I don't want to.

You don't have to, not anymore. It's okay, you need to wake up now.

Charles's voice was like a soft serenading song, overriding the memories acting out in her mind and the voices that were trying to get louder and louder. They ceased to exist when Charles slipped into her mind.

(Y/n) woke with a start, gasping and blinking rapidly. Her hand shot up to grip Charles's wrist, her nails scratching into his skin deep enough to create crescent moons and start to draw flecks of blood. Her eyes darted from left to right, looking for signs, for objects and people, for a hint to tell her whether this was another nightmare or if this was real.

She found a pair of deep sienna eyes burning into hers with an intensity she hadn't seen before. Those eyes captured (Y/n)'s full attention and a rush of heat blossomed all across her skin when she felt his hand glide down to cup her cheek. His thumb grazed across her cheekbone just beneath her eye and after a few seconds, (Y/n) let her eyes dart down to look at his lips.

Those ruby red lips were curved up into a soft, melting smile that did wonders for her shattered nerves.

"I'm sorry,"

"You don't need to be."

(Y/n) let herself lean into his touch while he rested his weight on his elbow, leaning over her. His thumb continued to glide across her skin and (Y/n) wasn't quite sure what he was looking at, but the calmness in his eyes was overwhelming. She couldn't help but shiver when he reached out to brush a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Did you see?" Her voice was quiet and the air of defeat woven into her tone made Charles frown.

He took a few seconds to find the right words and took a deep breath, tilting his head to the left with narrowed eyes.

"I heard." His thumb glided along her chin and up her jaw while he moved his other hand to prop his head up and wove his fingers into his hair. "I hear that voice a lot, when you're dreaming… is that him?"

Charles didn't like to ask. He never liked to intrude. The few people growing up who knew of his mutation all became wary of him. They didn't want him close by, they always feared he was peering into their thoughts, prodding around in their memories and finding out their darkest fears. The funny thing was, when they had all these worries, their thoughts became louder and amplified in Charles's mind rather than when they just acted normal around him.

He never wanted to snoop or look around in anyone's mind unless they told him it was okay, but more so with (Y/n). They were together, they knew things about each other that no one else did. But Charles wanted to know that information through conversation and trust, not by peering into her thoughts and delving into her mind.

But he couldn't help it sometimes when (Y/n)'s thoughts or her nightmares got loud. He heard that voice a lot when she got lost in memories or had bad nights and Charles never wanted to pry, but it didn't take a genius to work out who that dark, illusive figure was from (Y/n)'s past.

A quiet hum left (Y/n)'s lips and she nodded her head, shuffling forward until she could tuck her face into his chest.

She felt him take a deep breath and for a moment, she feared he was going to sit up or turn away. But instead, Charles dropped his head back onto the pillow and twisted so he was lying on his back again. His left arm slid beneath (Y/n)'s neck to drape around the back of her shoulders.

She could feel his fingers feathering across her back over the top of her night shirt. Soft patterns were drawn onto her skin while she shuffled closer to rest her cheek on his chest and drape her arm up so her hand could curl around his shoulder.

"Your powers aren't bad, love." He whispered softly against the top of her head. "No mutation is bad, not if it's used in the right way, for the right reasons."

"I didn't use mine for the right reasons." (Y/n) closed her eyes and burrowed her face deeper into his chest to fight off the threat of tears.

It had been a while ago, long enough now that (Y/n) hoped to forget. She wanted her life to be better. She wanted meeting Charles and Erik to be the turning point, the better point where she could use her mutation for the right reasons. She wanted to help people and to show them that no mutant was dangerous or deserved to be treated this way.

But (Y/n) hadn't always used her powers for good, not when her ex had been around, anyway.

"You didn't have a choice, that's different."

It didn't feel different. It felt like (Y/n) had done something increadibly wrong. She could still remember the look on her ex's face when she mistakingly trusted him to see her mutation. He had seen something valuable, something he could use. Not something to be nurtured and harnessed and used for good.

He was always pushing (Y/n) to use her powers. Telling her to make people look the other way. To make them give her things or do his bidding for him. He made her help him steal things and take what he wanted and to make people fear him.

She could still hear his voice in her head all those times she tried to say no, all those times she tried to leave or tell him her powers weren't a weapon or something to threaten people with.

Just because you don't look like a mutant doesn't mean you're safe. I know what you are, and I know what they'll do to you if they find out, so you need to use your voice and listen to me.

(Y/n) didn't realise how snide and gruelling that voice sounded in her head until she felt Charles wince beneath her.

"You know you're safe here, don't you? You're safe with me." Those words caused (Y/n) to shiver and her lips broadened into a smile that morphed when she kissed his bare chest.

"I know."

"We can't change the past, love, but the future isn't written yet."

Charles might not be able to change what had happened to (Y/n) in the past, but he could try his best to help her come to terms with those memories and nightmares. He could push them to the back of her mind if she asked him to.

And no part of their future was written yet. The past was set in stone, but the future was a clear slate, ready to be inscribed. They could do whatever they liked, they could use their gifts in whatever manner they chose, and there was no one here would be able to tell (Y/n) how to use her power. No one could force her to use it for the wrong reasons if she didn't want to.

Here, now, (Y/n) was the only one who could wield her power and choose what to do with it. No one was going to threaten or manipulate her or force her hand.

He wouldn't let them.

#imagine #x men #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #charles xavier x reader #charles xavier imagine #x men first class #x men fanfiction

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targaryenluvs · 11 months ago

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we can send in ideas you say 👀 dark! Cory with a reader who’s not so inclined to behave and listen to him, being bratty, turning him away, embarrassing him in public ….. his frail ego would shatter (and who knows what he’d do to her 🫣🫣)

TEMPER TANTRUM

pairing: president!coriolanus snow x fem!bratty!reader

summary: you were the daughter of one of the richest couples of panem. everything you’ve ever wanted, handed to you. coriolanus had a short temper and you were stubborn. who knows what could happen?

warnings: arguments, bratty reader, public scenes, punishments, kinda smutty, fingering, not proof read i’m lazy

a/n: stand up and fight back to that rude bitch babe

they’d messed up your order. again.

you’d ordered three dresses, all pink and one was too small. you’d already returned it multiple times but apparently the shop owner was incompetent. did he know who you were? the first lady of panem deserved nothing but the best and this imbecile couldn’t even do his job.

you’d give him another chance you figured. “soreen!” you shouted out as you heard the pitter patter of footsteps on the floor. “yes mrs snow?” you sighed, “pull the car around please. we’re going down to the genevieve store.” she nodded before scurrying away to arrange your mode of transportation.

the car ride was smooth, much to your relief. you needed at least one thing to go right today, and the car ride helped boost your morale as you pulled up in front of the aforementioned store. “here we are mrs snow.” your driver spoke as he promptly exited the vehicle to open your door, “thank you phillip.” he tipped his cap to you before shutting your door, “i’ll be waiting ma’am.”

the store was quite large, for someone who hadn’t been there before it was quite easy to lose your way. but you knew exactly where you were headed, walking a path of determination as you reached the front desk. a young lady, clearly disengaged from her job sat filing her nails at the desk. “what do you want?” your face twisted into a disingenuous smile, this was going to be fun, you thought. you cleared your throat as you placed your handbag down with care.

“mrs y/n snow, here for adina?” the girl looked close to tears as a string of apologies fell through her lips, “let me go get him, again, i cannot express my apologies mrs snow.” you’d already turned around to sit at one of the many chairs strewn about.

adina was frantic.

he sure as hell wasn’t expecting the first lady of panem, in his store, by herself. nonetheless, he quickly nodded along to her explanation of her dilemma, the dresses, the sizes, the unresponsive customer aid line.

you’d walked out of the store were five new dresses, all free of cost. a successful day in your eyes. the whisperings were there, of how the last store clerk who’d kept you waiting went out of business. or how the cook whose meal caused you to choke had his hand cut off. mistakes were made in the process of the workers bending over backwards to produce the upmost quality service for the presidents darling wife.

who was known for her own expensive tastes.

and god help anyone who kept her waiting.

the dress was for a charity event that night. coriolanus of course didn’t want to go, but it was seen as beneficial to his own cause to be seen out and about, especially at a high profile event. whereas you on the other hand? you’d ordered three new dresses, five now, two new pairs of heels and that jewellery set you’d been eyeing up for a while.

coriolanus wanted to get through the night, that was it. the office was as stressful as ever, his secretary was out sick, so a fill-in took her place, stuttering every time he spoke to her and messed up his meetings of the day. but since marrying you, coriolanus knew nothing was ever easy with you.

you prided yourself on your unpredictability. to keep people on their toes. you loved being able to stick out from the rest, keep people guessing. and most of all, you loved being seen, admired. you were never one to be tame, coriolanus knew it. you always tested his patience and temper.

but this?

you’d worn a burgundy gown, off the shoulder, floor length and a v-cut too low for his likes. the one dress out of five he’d disapproved of. you’d disobeyed him purposefully, coriolanus hoped you’d grow out of old habits, but again they die hard.

the eyes were on you like vultures, his wife.

he’d deal with you later, just get through the night.

“and that dress! it’s certainly, something.” you didn’t know the girls name, but her face seemed familiar. “why thank you! coriolanus had picked out some others but then again what do men know about women’s fashion?” the woman’s slack jaw caused you to giggle, “well aren’t you fiery! the president has a lot on his hands with you.”

you tossed your hair behind as you took a sip from your glass, “well i’m sure if he can handle a whole country,” you leaned in before whispering, “he can try his best to handle me.” coriolanus saw red. one night, without your antics was all he’d wished for. the dress and your behaviour had sent him over the edge.

“miss.” coriolanus acknowledged the woman as he grabbed a hold of your hand, “president snow! how nice it is to see you here, and your donation! how splendid.” coriolanus’s charm seemed to switch on instantaneously, “anything for the, good cause.” coriolanus couldn’t give a flying fuck about the cause let alone remember what it was. “it’s time for us to go.”

you had an image, pristine and clear. a lovely woman, kind and respectful. at times naive but overall a caring wife. your slick words, which charmed any man or woman, your striking beauty and sweet personality.

but at your core you, like your husband. couldn’t care less, it was one of the reasons you got along so well. it was all a facade and coriolanus was the only person who knew the real you. much to his chagrin, the real you was a total bitch. a smooth talker with a pretty face who got everything she wanted. you’d never wanted to marry him in the first place, so it seemed to be your personal mission to embarrass the poor man.

“if you’re tired then head on home love. i know you need your hours of sleep, cranky without them!” you made him sound like child without his favourite toy, unable to go on until he had it again. “sweetheart, you know we go home together. now come along.” his tone was nothing like the fake warmth it mimicked, you were on thin ice. “yes i know, honey, but you’re not incapable of returning home without me now are you? i’m sure the driver remembered the directions for you.” you pinched his cheek. pinched. his. cheek.

you may as well have started praying for your soul.

so he left, alone.

you had no clue as to why you wanted to stay. it’s not as if there was someone actually worthwhile to engage in conversation with, but you just wanted to be out of the house. you had to soak up your time outside while it lasted you assumed. coriolanus wouldn’t be letting you out anytime soon, especially after what you’d said that night.

the door slammed shut as you hung up your coat next to corio’s. you took a deep breath in before exhaling. it was going to be a long night.

“did you have fun?” corio was sat in a large, plush, arm chair, swirling a drink in his hand. you could only wonder how many he’d had in the hours by himself. “i did.” your voice was gentle, the house quiet in the dead of night. but the large mansion echoed, he would’ve heard you anyways.

“hm.” he feigned interest in your response. all he wanted was to put you in your place. “corio?” he turned to view you, whilst you walked over before situating yourself on his arm chair. but as soon as you did his glass clattered onto the side table as he rose up. “we’re going to bed.” you weren’t sure if he’d snap if you protested, your feet were aching and you found it best not to argue.

you should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy, which is how you ended up fully exposed whilst coriolanus was fully dressed. “please.” you’d been on your back for the last, ten? twenty? “please what?” coriolanus liked to put you in your place, it was one of his favourite things to do since you forgot it so often. “touch me.” his hand slipped into your panties, fingers sliding into your already soaking hole as you clutched onto his shoulders.

he’d been teasing you for what felt like forever and you felt you were finally done with it. “close your eyes.” he whispered as his fingers slid out, eliciting a whine from your throat, but you listened, closing your eyes, wondering what he’d do.

it’d been a minute since corio spoke and you were feeling restless. on one hand you could wait for him to speak up, allow you to open your eyes. on the other, you opened them to peek at what he was doing and he dragged out your punishment.

and to your right lay your husband, asleep. “corio!” you groaned out before shoving his shoulder, “you didn’t think i was going to fuck you tonight? after the shit you pulled? you have fingers, use them.” and coriolanus fell asleep soundly to your attempts to finish off without him.

now that, would teach you a lesson.

#hunger games x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #kira and anon chat <3 #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #coriolanus smut

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maikissed · 5 months ago

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post euro Jude Bellingham oneshot felt like writing something like this again, but it's a fluff (I guess?) sorry for typos, was writing like crazy!!!

ps. they’re best friends

A very early morning in Tokyo and you were glued to your laptop, attentively following the occurrences happening on the pitch on the other side of the world. Your eyes bloodshot, your head heavy. You did not get enough sleep since you’ve woken up on very not your usual hour to watch the European Championship final. And to add to that you went to sleep rather late. Sorrowfully, you were not prepared for it’s outcome, as you started picking at your nails, watching the minutes reach the end of the short added time. The final whistle, the final breath that left your lungs as the pictures of true euphoria kept flashing with bright colours at your tired eyes, bright red colours, happy screaming and whistling faces amongst the colour white, shrouded in sadness and defeat. You could not believe it. You were devastated. You were searching for his face but to your dismay the whole attention focused mostly on the true smiles of the cheerful winners. You waited a little bit more and there it was, an icy pain spilling inside your guts at the sight of his gaze, shocked, lost, unfocused. You were sure yours was the spitting image. Quickly you grabbed your phone laying on the nightstand to your right and looked at the last messages exchanged.

“Good luck, big boy. You got this!!!!”

“💪❤️”

You started to type. You stopped for a second and thought about it. What one say at such circumstances? Seemed easy but in fact was not. You knew how Jude was after losing any game, a damned one of the biggest events final must have been a disastrous blow. And he gave his all to it.

“Head up. You were wonderful”

You knew you would not get any more sleep this morning, so you decided to start your day at 6. After two hours of desperately trying to find a purpose in this day, you finally searched for a closest flight home.

Breathing in the England air felt different every time you came back. At some point the same, freshening, enlivening, moist whiff filling your lungs with longing; different with the way you were accepting it each time you were strolling down the very known streets. Every other time it seemed more feeble than before, like you’ve turned into a stranger. Like you did not belong anymore. You wondered why, since it was still your home, your roots. Were you distancing yourself? From home? From family? From him? Were you too preoccupied with all these new, different things? You felt downhearted at the thoughts.

You reached the doorbell with your slightly numb fingers. Just a minute later Mark opened the door for you. You smiled from under your cap.

“Y/n, what are you doing here?” his face bright and smile honest, he reached for you to pull you into a greeting hug.

“Hi” your voice croaky so you cleared your throat “Took a quick flight. Wanted to check on you”

“Quick? Thought it’s about fourteen hours” his expression amused, yet amazed.

“Something like that” you shrugged.

He nodded at your answer, gently in a thought.

“Please come in, want something to drink?” he turned around vigorously after a second and you followed him into the sitting-room connected with a spacious kitchen.

“I’m alright, thank you”

Not much changed around this house since your last visit, you thought to yourself. And it was quiet.

“Is he with you?” you murmured, almost like a whisper.

“Yes, upstairs”

Still very quiet.

“Asleep?” you asked.

“No, not yet” he commented, smiling at you with solicitude to it “I mean he struggles, more than usually. Mostly spends his days actively but alone, with no space to think too much. Running during the night, training for hours since early morning, sometimes visits the grandparents” his voice calm and stable, simply voicing out the facts but it added to your worry nonetheless.

A process of healing, you thought. But it broke your heart a little bit. You realised there must have been a sign of concern showing on your face because his lit up once again, his eyes smiling at you.

“He’ll be very happy to see you” you watched him beginning to collect some dirty dishes from the kitchen island “You happen to visit during his short rest so I guess he’ll be in his room or the gaming room”

You nodded before silently heading to the corridor leading to the stairs. There was an awful feeling gnawing at you because of your decision to not stay for the rest of the tournament to cheer for him, and leaving back to work after just 2 matches. Despite that he assured you it’s alright, you had your duties after all.

The doors to his room were opened and you took a quick peak around but he wasn’t there, so you turned to the other room, as Mark informed. The doors opened silently, the first thing you spotted was the back of the couch, the big TV in front of it turned off. The top of his head visible as he was sitting comfortably on the said couch. You took a few steps. A book in his hands, you realised and smiled amusingly at the sight. His head still down as he didn’t notice you.

“What’s the book about?” you started circling the couch to come closer.

His eyes shot up from the lecture and the first expression on his features that met your unsure gaze was surprise. He opened his mouth, with no sound at all, no words to voice out, his eyes always big and sparkly now smaller and tarnish. He reached out his hand for you to take it, his face softened. The corner of your mouth rose up as you placed your fingers in his gentle grip, sitting down next to him. He placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles and that’s when you reached for him to pull him in a hug.

“When did you arrive?” his voice raspy like he did not speak at all for the last few hours. You wondered.

“Two hours ago” you murmured into his arm before he pulled away.

“You crazy girl” he whispered, a bit of light entering his eyes as he examined you in amusement.

You granted him with the softest smile.

“Wanted to see you and tell you I’m proud of you” you shrugged.

Your sight turning blurry in a span of a second. You indeed were more sensitive than you would ever like to admit.

“Flew fifteen hours to tell me you’re proud of me?” he joked, his lips flexing in that funny smirk you knew so well.

“Fourteen” you corrected, making him chuckle in answer “You look tired”

“I am tired” he turned to lean back on the sofa.

“You did a great, invaluable job, you do know that?” after few seconds of silence.

These words made him tense, you could see that. His fingers shot up to his face, to the corners of his closed eyes, he sighed. Your intention was not to stress him, but it seemed it was still a very delicate subject. You reached with your own hand to his face, gently pressing on his cheek so he looked at you. Vulnerable and drained, your touch brining him peace.

“What would you say about a nap?” you asked.

As kids you used to love doing two specific things together during your free time. Playing outside all day, just the two of you or with your friends, until there was no more energy left in your limbs. And then coming back to yours or his to take a nap together. Sometimes short, sometimes lasting few more hours. Cuddled together or him resting on the pillows that were spread out on the floor and you on the bed, sometimes the other way around. Most of the times you were absolutely drained and it happened spontaneously, whatever space you reached first. But you loved to nestle into him, you rested well with his heartbeat palpable on your side. You never confessed. When you were kids it was simple and held no more into it than affection and happiness of two carefree souls.

And now you desperately yearned for him to have some good, cleansing sleep. You wished it could help, to go back a few years and feel it the way it used to made you feel. Safe and calm.

He silently agreed, so you stood up, his hand in yours when you started to walk in the direction of his room. There was a bit of awkwardness to it as you both laid down on the mattress next to each other. There never used to. But you weren’t kids anymore and it didn’t feel as natural as before. Many things didn’t feel like it used too anymore.

You turned your head to look at him, his eyes opened, staring at the ceiling.

“Come here” a whisper, a bit unsure but you hoped he didn’t notice that.

He turned your way and you rose up slightly so your back rested more on the backrest. He looked at you questionably.

“You want me to crush you?” he smiled.

“I’ll be fine” you rolled your eyes at his mocking smirk.

You’ve never been nervous around him, but when he placed his head on your stomach, gently and considerably, and his left hand reached around your waist to rest on your hip, there was a burst of funny sensations inside your belly. Affection, you held so much of it for him.

“Close your eyes” you whispered when your fingers reached his nape to scratch it gently, going down his back slowly and then back up.

“That’s nice” he hummed, his breath hot on the material of your shirt.

“Take some rest”

Minute by minute you could feel him relax more, his weight more prominent, his breathing evening – fifteen minutes later it turned deeper. He did fell asleep, you felt lighter at the realisation.

But after few more minutes you noticed the doors opening silently and you stressed that whomever decided to invade this peace might woke him up. You frowned when you noticed Jobe’s tall figure entering the room. Your expression dangerous as you shook your head at his brother because you were ready to murder him if Jude wakes up now. He smiled widely at the sight and despite your silent threats he circled the bed with an index finger placed lightly on his lips, as a sign that he’ll remain quiet. You followed him with your gaze. Bending over you he placed a quick kiss on your cheek in greeting, your features softened.

“He’s hopeless without you” Jobe whispered in your ear and you did not expect it “Don’t you dare leaving him again” his face funnily serious when he leaned back, turning away to leave you as you were.

You looked down at the boy resting on you, deep in a peaceful sleep, and you started to think heavily how would your life look like if you sacrificed all for everything you felt for him.

A sharp jolt startled you, you opened your eyes realising that sleep quickly overcame you as well. You looked around you quickly, the room turned darker, hours must’ve passed. Jude still laid on you, your legs entwined, but his grip on your side harsher, his body stiff against you. He jumped again, a distressed groan leaving his throat, followed by a quiet whimper, his face pressed hard onto your stomach. He was having a bad dream, you comprehended. You placed your palm on his arm.

“Jude” you whispered, shaking him delicately, but to no avail “Jude, wake up” louder.

He shuddered, his head rose up. After a second he turned to you in a little confusion.

“Y/n” he spoke your name more to himself, like an reassurance.

“I’m here” you confirmed watching his sleepy face, eyes a bit puffy, a few sleep wrinkles created by the material of your shirt visible on his skin.

“Good” he nodded.

He still looked disorientated, like he hasn’t fully woken up from a very deep slumber.

“Come here” he muttered, motioning for you to lay lower next to him.

You did as he asked, noticing a soft ghost of a smile on his lips, while his eyes kept closing involuntarily. You almost laughed out fondly at the sight. You had no time to correctly process his next move when he leaned closer to you and put a quick, sweet peck directly on your lips before whispering:

“Thank you”

His head rested down on the pillows, his face in the crook of your neck, arm wrapped around you. He fell asleep on the spot and you smiled to yourself, for the deepening darkness to see only. You felt lighter than you’ve felt in years. You belonged, just not where you believed you did in these last few years. You belonged back home.

#football imagine #football fics #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham #bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham fluff

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plutosunshine · 1 year ago

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What blocks your success? Mars in signs

Your Mars tells about how you act and make decisions. Let's see what doesn't let you succeed.

Mars in Aries

Mars in Aries is an intriguing astrological placement that gives you a quick, fiery, and decisive nature. You tend to be bold and eager to take action, never shying away from a challenge or opportunity. However, your impulsive tendencies can sometimes get the best of you, causing you to act before thinking things through. It's important to check the aspects and house your Mars is in if you struggle to make decisions or act purposefully.

While you may not be afraid to take action, you often find yourself regretting your hasty decisions later on. This fear of making mistakes can sometimes hold you back, preventing you from acting and moving forward. Although fear can be a helpful guide, it can also hinder your ability to take calculated risks and pursue your goals.

In the moment of making a decision, you feel motivated and inspired, convinced that you're on the right path. However, the reactive nature of Mars in Aries can sometimes make you feel like you want everything right now without considering the long-term consequences. It can lead to impulsive actions that you later regret. By understanding your tendencies and working to balance your desire for action with thoughtful consideration, you can make the most of your Mars in Aries placement and achieve your goals with confidence and purpose.

Mars in Taurus

Have you ever felt like you're unable to take action because of the fear of wasting your time and energy? This mindset can cause you to be in a constant state of energy conservation, only engaging in activities you deem helpful or worthy. When faced with a problem, you tend to take your time to think it through, even if you've already come up with a solution. You wait, hoping the problem will resolve itself rather than taking a risk or seizing the opportunity to act.

The idea of wasting your time and energy is a significant concern, so always create a plan to minimize your resource expenditure. While being cautious is important, this mindset may hold you back from taking advantage of potential opportunities and achieving your goals.

Mars in Gemini

As a Gemini Mars, your mutable nature can sometimes hinder your ability to take action when faced with a problem. You possess many ideas for solving said problem, but the challenge lies in selecting the most optimal solution. Seeking advice from your friends and loved ones is a common practice, as it helps you gain a broader perspective and consider different angles. While communication is an important part of your problem-solving process, it's just one of the ways you approach the task at hand. You tend to share your ideas and receive advice but ultimately make your own decisions. During a conversation, you may indicate that a particular solution is the best option, only to change your mind later. It is because you weigh your options and consider different perspectives before making a final decision. Ultimately, what matters is that you come to a decision that aligns with your values and feels right to you.

Mars in Cancer

It's a common experience to find oneself blocked from taking action due to overwhelming emotions. In such moments, rational thinking seems impossible, as you tend to be hindered by your feelings and lose sight of the problem. It's easy to take things personally and fail to see the bigger picture, which can cause you to withdraw entirely and shut down in certain situations. However, suppressing our emotions doesn't make them disappear; it only creates more frustration.

Cancer Mars individuals are known to be emotional and sensitive. However, at times, they tend to suppress their emotions, which can lead to stress and anxiety. They need to find a way to express their emotions healthily. They should not fear their feelings, as they are part of who they are.

It is important to note that Cancer Mars individuals should not let their emotions control their actions. Instead, they should find a balance between their emotions and rational thinking. By doing so, they can achieve their goals without being too hard on themselves.

Mars in Leo

It's common for your pride and fear of failure to become significant barriers to action. Your initial reaction may be to ignore the problem and shift the blame onto someone else. Meanwhile, your fear of failure can be so overwhelming that you become paralyzed and unable to take action.

You may have an intense desire to be the best, but the thought of failing in front of others can be terrifying. It can cause you to hesitate and second-guess yourself, preventing you from taking the necessary steps to solve the problem. Ultimately, it would help if you recognized that failure is an inevitable part of the learning process and that it's okay to make mistakes. The key is to persevere and learn from your failures, using them as stepping stones to future success.

Mars in Virgo

Do you ever find yourself stuck in a cycle of planning and strategizing, only to feel like your plans are never perfect enough to put into action? This mindset can be incredibly limiting, causing you to hold back from taking action because you fear failure or losing control. It can be challenging to balance caution and action; sometimes, your desire for control over every little detail can become paralyzing.

The fear of chaos and uncertainty can be so overwhelming that you spend too much time analyzing and overthinking, causing the problem to worsen. It's important to recognize when pursuing perfection hinders your progress and to take imperfect action to move toward your goals.

Also, you tend to overthink your problems, thinking about every scenario that may or may not happen. Ultimately, you can't see the bigger picture.

Mars in Libra

At times, it's not uncommon for this placement to feel stuck and unsure of which direction to take. One possible reason for this could be indecisiveness. Overanalyzing and weighing the pros and cons of every action can make decision-making a daunting task.

Additionally, if you're in a co-dependent relationship, you may rely heavily on your partner's opinion when it comes to making choices. It can lead to planning your actions based on your partner's life rather than your own. If you recognize these tendencies in yourself, it's important to be mindful and make sure you're making decisions that align with your own desires and goals.

Mars in Scorpio

You possess a remarkably vibrant and tenacious personality, with Mars in Scorpio accentuating your drive and passion. However, this may lead you to adopt an "all or nothing" approach toward your endeavors, and it can be challenging for you to regulate your resources effectively, resulting in a sense of stagnation and frustration. Perhaps you've been pushing yourself too hard, and now you're feeling burnt out and unproductive. In such cases, taking a break and restoring your energy levels is crucial.

Moreover, your inclination towards being overly cautious, suspicious, and fearful may also hinder you from taking necessary actions. You can perceive what is hidden beneath the surface, which could instill a sense of doubt and hesitation in you, making it difficult to trust your gut and act on your instincts. However, balancing prudence and action is essential to accomplish your objectives and success.

Mars in Sagittarius

Sagittarius Mars individuals are known for their enthusiastic and adventurous spirit. They are full of inspiration and ideas, always seeking new experiences and challenges to conquer. However, the problem with having so many interests and passions is that it can be difficult to focus all their energy on just one thing.

Sagittarius Mars natives constantly seek new opportunities and adventures, often feeling restless when stuck in one place or situation for too long. They crave variety and excitement, which can make it challenging to commit to a single project or goal. They may start multiple endeavors at once, only to lose interest or become distracted before they can see them through to completion.

While this can be frustrating for those around them, Sagittarius Mars individuals do not lack motivation or drive. They have too many interests and passions to pursue and struggle to choose just one. They may benefit from finding ways to channel their energy and focus on a particular goal or project while still allowing themselves the freedom to explore their other interests on the side.

Overall, Sagittarius Mars individuals have a lot of potential and creativity. Still, they may need to improve their focus and discipline to achieve their goals and dreams.

Mars in Capricorn

Capricorn Mars individuals are known for their dedication, persistence, and strategic thinking. They approach their goals with a powerful and determined mindset, willing to put in the hard work and effort to succeed. However, to truly excel, they need to have a goal they genuinely believe in and are passionate about.

Setbacks or obstacles do not easily deter Capricorn Mars natives. They are willing to put in the time and effort to achieve their goals and understand that success often requires a long-term approach. They are strategic thinkers who identify opportunities and plan their actions accordingly.

However, Capricorn Mars individuals may need a clear goal or purpose to channel their energy and focus. They need a driving force, a reason to invest their time and effort into a particular project or endeavor. They may benefit from reflecting on their values and priorities and identifying a goal that aligns with these beliefs.

Once they have a goal, Capricorn Mars individuals are a force to be reckoned with. They are willing to put in the hard work and dedication necessary to succeed and are not easily swayed by distractions or setbacks. They are powerful and determined, capable of achieving great things when they have a clear purpose and goal driving them forward.

Overall, Capricorn Mars individuals are powerful and strategic thinkers, but they need a strong sense of purpose and belief to excel truly. With a clear goal in mind, they can achieve great things and make a lasting impact in their chosen field.

Aquarius Mars

An Aquarius Mars person may get easily distracted from their goals by idealization. They tend to have a very idealistic approach to life, sometimes leading to a lack of focus and direction. They may become so absorbed in their dreams and ideals that they lose sight of the practical steps they need to take to achieve their goals. As a result, they may find themselves constantly starting new projects without ever following through on any of them. They need to learn to balance their idealism with a practical approach to achieving their goals.

An Aquarius Mars person has their Mars in a fixed sign, meaning they have the tenacity and determination to achieve whatever they put their mind to. However, they can sometimes get bogged down by their own idealism and lofty goals. To truly let their genius ideas bloom, they need to learn to let go of their idealization and embrace a more flexible approach. By doing so, they can harness their natural creativity and innovation to achieve great things and impact the world.

Pisces Mars

Pisces Mars individuals are known for their heightened intuition and empathetic nature. They possess a deep sense of compassion that enables them to connect with people on a deeper level. However, they may need help with logical thinking and practicality due to their tendency to get lost in their own thoughts and emotions. As a result, they may find it challenging to stay focused and organized, leading to a lack of structure in their lives. Additionally, their inclination towards idealism and vivid imagination may cause them to get lost in illusions and daydreams. Despite these challenges, their intuitive and compassionate nature allows them to offer a unique perspective and a deep understanding of others.

Lack of structure doesn't allow them to achieve goals persistently. These individuals start blaming themselves for not being good enough and get lost in regret and old traumas. You need to add some structure to your life in a way that works for you. You need to use all your senses to understand which kind of routine works for you.

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