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ghost-proofbaby · 2 months

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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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wonysugar · 14 days

Text

close the door | hanni pham

synopsis : you had no idea what you were doing, and neither did she.

genre : fluffy smut!

pairing : non-idol!hanni x gf!femreader

tags : they’re in love your honor, lots of kissing and making out, cuddling, l-bombs, top!femreader, bottom!hanni, they’re both virgins, fingering, clit play, nipple play, neck kissing, hanni’s dogs are mentioned twice lawl, lots of comfort, lots of consent! they’re literally just lovey dovey girlfriends having sex for the first time aheheh

warnings : none :]

word count : 2.5k

a/n : if you’re rereading this and thinking “hey the synopsis changed and there wasn’t an author’s note before!!” well you’d be right I POSTED THIS IN A RUSH I’M SO SORRYYFKEJF

anyways!! this is just to say that this fic is inspired by the lovely writer that is sorry for tagging you twice ahh @facefullofsadness’s fic right over here :] sooo GO READ THAT FIRST! it’s truly lovely and i really enjoyed reading it, hence why i wrote thisskfke. thank you for readingg<33

oh how you loved your girlfriend.

you would die for your girlfriend, actually, even if you only started dating barely a few months ago. who could blame you? that’s what happens when you’ve been best friends prior to your relationship for so, so, so long. it simply started with a ‘hi! my name’s hanni! what’s yours?’ from her part at the innocent age of seven and just like that, years later, you guys were still inseparable.

so really, your life-long friendship and months-long relationship were both with the same gorgeous and outgoing girl, and the only thing distinguishing those two was the label you used to describe them.

“bro i genuinely don’t understand why he doesn’t just… run away. cause— get this, there’s obviously a murderer in his house right? and what does he decide to do about that? just stay in there. like, okay.. like i’m aware they needed plot but lord, i don’t know at least make it somewhat realistic you know what i mean—“ was what your girlfriend said, on her bed as she sat down in between your legs and leaned her back against you, her head facing forward and resting on your shoulder.

you simply nodded along to her words as you played with her hair, trying your hardest to stay focused on the piece of media before you whilst also paying your utmost attention to her, despite her constant ranting and criticizing of the entire movie. you, having originally liked the film, were now conflicted about your opinion on it. it’s not like she was wrong, her very heavy criticism had to have come from somewhere, after all, but you couldn’t help but slightly appreciate the storyline. so, you weren’t really sure what you felt about it anymore.

one thing you were certain of, however,

was that your girlfriend looked really good while passionately rambling. like, way too good. she had tied her dark hair into a high ponytail, it also looked wavy due to the rain that was pouring on you guys earlier, her messy bangs fell perfectly onto her forehead. and her smile? it always looked perfect. she always looked perfect.

and since you apparently weren’t hiding your admiration well enough, she very quickly noticed it.

she giggled teasingly. her voice sweet like honey, her australian accent more prominent than usual, she spoke up, “hello?” before full-on laughing, “were you even listening to me?”

you could only kiss her, that seemed like the only appropriate response in the heat of the moment. she, of course, kissed back just as lovingly before pulling away moments after, a curious and confused look on her face.

“no seriously, what is up with you?” she kept teasing, smiling stupidly as she kept her gaze lingering on yours for the following seconds, her eyes unconsciously drifting to your lips. “you look stupid.”

“and you look really pretty.” was what you whispered back to her, earning a shy smile and an exaggerated eye roll from her. immediately, you made your lips come into contact with hers again. it felt as if the world would stop spinning if you didn’t, like a slowly growing urge to keep touching her suddenly came over you and you needed to fill it.

“so.. so pretty.” you mumbled, so quietly that it was almost to yourself, before going back in. you allowed yourself to make the kiss deeper and slid her tongue across her soft lips as you demanded entrance. you could hear her let out slight noises, she clearly was not expecting you to do anything of the sorts, at least not right now. she was a tad bit confused, but let you in, who in their right mind would pass up the opportunity to kiss their girlfriend? immediately, your hands wrapped around her waist whilst you continued kissing her lovingly, your tongue roaming every part of her mouth.

it didn’t take long before your hands started naturally reaching under her top, caressing on her tummy and progressively going higher with each sound she let out.

you pulled away, slightly worried of going too far, “c-can.. can i continue, hanni?”

you were scared, terrified, even! despite knowing each other for years, you’d only been dating for a few months; those are two completely different things! it’s not like you see your completely platonic best friend’s naked body every tuesday. even then, despite dating, you still haven’t gotten that stage of the relationship. and on top of that,

the two of you were a proper pair of virgins. you had no idea what you were doing, and neither did she. you didn’t want to seem like an inexperienced loser to her, you wanted to take care of her and make her feel good. what if that didn’t happen? what if you made it awkward between the two of you?? it was nerve-racking.

as if barging into your mind and reading your thoughts, wanting to reassure you, she grabbed your hand in a gentle manner before nodding. then, she spoke up, “can you close the door?”

“there’s.. nobody home, though?”

she giggled, “oh i know, it’s just that i don’t want the dogs to potentially walk in on this.”

you groaned dramatically, laughing and insisting that you were too lazy to get up and that her dogs wouldn’t understand the situation if they even walked in. she, in response, just tapped your knee with a cheeky smile, encouraging you to stand up.

“come on y/n, close the door. think about milly and mia; think about their innocence!” she exaggerated.

after playfully hitting her arm and laughing along with her, you got up, proceeded to close and lock the door like she asked you to and eventually walked back to her bed, sitting back on it and positioning yourself the way you originally were, her back to you again.

“happy?” you asked in a fake arrogant tone.

she hummed, radiant, “yes, very happy.” before turning her head just right and kissing you again.

eventually back to the original rhythm of the kiss, you placed your hands back on her stomach again, slowly caressing and teasing higher and higher with time. once you reached her bra, you proceeded to impatiently unhook it, immediately taking it off of her.

her breathing got heavier with each second that passed, partially due to nervousness, probably. you’d be lying if you said that wasn’t the case for you too. the more your hands carefully roamed her body, the more self-conscious you got, you truly had no idea what you were doing.

then, as if something in your mind clicked, you had an idea. what if you just did to her whatever you enjoyed doing to yourself in moments like these? that could work.. right? maybe??

you glided your hand upwards, your finger lightly grazing her nipple. in response to the sudden movement, a lewd sound accidentally escaped from her pretty lips, her breath hitching. that sound was a small moan.

a small one, barely audible, yet it was still enough for you to feel the activation of every single neuron residing in your brain.

then suddenly, it’s like the concept of making love to her wasn’t as nerve-racking as it originally was.

“s-sorry..” she apologized, seeming slightly embarrassed.

you kissed her cheek, reassuring her, “don’t apologize, i wanna hear you.”

despite it being an accident, she seemed to enjoy the sensation of your hand on her chest, so you went back to teasing her tits and gently groping them before you eventually asked, “is it okay if i go further..?”

nodding in a keen manner, she swallowed her saliva, then breathed out her response, “yes. yes keep— keep going. please.”

well shit! even if you wanted to stop, it’s not like you could, not with how good she sounded pleading for you.

not wasting any more time, you proceeded to separate one of your hands from her chest and quickly slid it downwards; to the band of her sweatpants. now, of course, your other hand was still in its original place, working its magic, but you wanted her to feel more. so much more.

you wanted to convey every surge of affection you violently felt for her into pleasure. and, if there was one thing you surely knew how to do, it was kissing her.

so, you started kissing on her neck, which she didn’t expect whatsoever, and still heavily concentrated on the hand you had on her breast. then, you pulled on the sleeve of her tee just enough to expose her shoulder and moved your mouth towards it, nipping and gently licking it.

your hand now fully slipped into her pants, you teased her entrance through the fabric of her underwear as you kept kissing her naked shoulder. you listened to her attentively and took mental notes of her reactions; so far, her breathing got heavier, her thighs slightly clenched around your hand and she was now frequently biting her lip.

plus, her panties were wet.

did all of that mean you were doing good? …perhaps it did!

and did her drenched underwear make you short circuit? perhaps it did as well!

“d-d’you feel okay?” you asked, before going back to slowly kissing her shoulder. she threw you a quick glance, chest heaving up and down.

“s-so okay.” she giggled.

her smile being contagious, you found yourself doing the exact same thing, content with the answer she gave you.

soon enough, you traced your finger up her clothed slit before eventually sliding it into the undergarment she wore, making her shudder. after what felt like an eternity, you could feel her slick coat your digits from one swipe of the finger.

it was tantalizing.

growing impatient, you quickly yet carefully settled your middle and ring finger on her swollen clit, making slow circular motions on it, looking at her in the process. full on whimpering, this time, she stared back at you, no longer embarrassed. she wanted to let you know how good you were making her feel, hence why she was getting louder with each movement you made, and it filled you with enough confidence and adrenaline to gently push her head towards you, leaning in for a kiss.

thankfully, she kissed you back, deeply at that, her eyes closed and her quiet moans muffled.

you pulled away after a few moments, “tell me if it hurts, okay?” you reminded her. she simply nodded, brain all fuzzy from arousal.

she grabbed your other hand and intertwined her fingers with yours. “g-go slowly.” she whispered.

“i will.” you affirmed.

slowly and gently, you slid your fingers into her core, making sure not to go too fast or too rough. thankfully, the wetness was making it easier for you, and probably for her as well. every time that your girlfriend’s breath hitched, that her hand gripped harder on yours or, hell, every time that her eyes closed, you stopped in your tracks and double checked to see if you were hurting her, so it took a little while for your digits to fully penetrate her.

fortunately, she assured you that you weren’t, in fact, hurting her. some moments just felt more comfortable than others, is all.

once they were fully in, you gave her time to get used to the feeling, still double checking on her state every now and then. after a few deep breaths, she nodded.

“i-i’m ready.”

you started to pump your fingers in and out of her, taking in all of her as your speed slowly increased as time went on. naturally, as more time passed, you felt the urge to make her feel good get even stronger.

that’s when you decided to increase the pace, your fingers curling on just the right spot inside her, pumping faster and faster as your thumb played with her clit.

“is this okay baby—” you asked.

“f-fuck— yes y/n that feels good—“ was what she moaned out, cutting you off. a feeling of bliss progressively and clearly overtaking her whole body.

when you tried to look at her despite only being able to see her side profile, you could’ve sworn you saw an angel. her cheeks were slightly tinted with a pinkish color and her eyebrows were upturned, her whole face contorted with pleasure, her skin glistening with sweat. her eyes hooded with lust, hanni looked down at herself and attentively watched as you played with her. your fingers swimming in her slick, navigating in her folds the way a skilled sailor would the vast ocean, it was hypnotizing, and she realized how this was probably the way you got yourself off on a regular day, and she couldn’t help but moan at both the thought and the sensation.

you made her feel good, you made her feel happy, loved. you always did.

amidst the chaos that was her messy bed, the setting somehow looked better than every piece of artwork you’d ever seen combined. the bed creaked ever so slightly, and she looked and sounded so beautiful, especially with the way the sun set directly on her parted lips at that moment.

you were certain that your heart skipped a beat at the sight.

“i love you so much, hanni.” you softly said, kissing the back of her ear whilst you kept fingering her. she couldn’t form proper words, so she simply tightened her grip on your hand more, as a way to say it back.

then, once you picked up a stable pace for a few minutes, her back arched against you, her breathing getting heavier, practically panting. her hand’s grip on yours getting tighter, you felt her hot breath hit your neck once she settled her head into the crook of it.

“y/n— baby i think i’m- i’m— mmh—“

that was the moment she reached climax, letting out a long and loud moan as she rode out her orgasm, bucking her hips against your hand before smashing her lips onto yours. quietly, she let a few i love yous slip out of her mouth between kisses, her hand resting on your head, fingers intertwined with your soft hair.

you particularly made sure to say it back to her every time.

you pulled out your fingers and took your hand out of her pants. still coming down from her high, she smiled at you with tired eyes and kissed your cheek. you smiled back, looking at her lovingly.

“d-did i do okay?”

she giggled, “..are you seriously asking me that? do you not see me right now?”

you raised your eyebrows, playful, “for all i know you were faking it.”

“yeah, actually.. i was faking it, especially with how wet i was from the whole thing. aren’t i such a good actor y/n? it’s almost like i legitimately came really hard—”

“shut up.” you elbowed her, laughing. she gave you a cheeky smile before she got up from the bed, grabbed a pair of new underwear from her drawer and opened the bedroom door, heading straight towards the living room to pet her dogs.

“hey y/n?”

“hm?”

“wanna bake brownies in a bit?”

“uhm.. yes? what kind of question is that?? let me just go wash my hands first.” you replied, getting up and walking towards the bathroom before adding on, “unless you wanna eat very unsanitary cum-buttered brownies, of course—“

you heard her contagious laugh from across the hallway, making you smile to yourself, “you’re fucking disgusting— go wash your hands, you weirdo!”

oh how you loved your girlfriend.

#smut #kpop gg #hanni pham newjeans #hanni newjeans #newjeans smut #hanni pham #hanni pham x female reader #hanni x reader #hanni x fem reader #hanni pham x fem reader #hanni smut #newjeans hanni #female reader #kpop gg smut #kpop girlgroups

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lecsainz · 7 months

Note

Hope you're doing amazing! I love your blog so much! I come here almost every other day to day dream about my favourites and read your pieces again and again. Could i request Carlos x reader fic where Carlos comforts the reader after some reporters prod into their private life and the reader feels overwhelmed... Angst to fluff and maybe smut in the end?

SHE’S A BAD BAD GIRL

parings: carlos sainz x famous!reader

authors note: I gotta say, mixing a bit of AU with regular fanfic, can I just say I love doing magazine features?

summary: that one where the media makes up stuff about your relationship with carlos but he ain't gonna let that shake our relationship.

☆. . . masterlist !

Exclusive Source Reveals Startling Insights Into the Relationship of F1's Rising Star and the Elusive Heiress

The Power Couple: Carlos Sainz and Y/N Y/L/N's Love Story or PR Masterpiece?

By TMZ Magazine - September 2023

In the glitzy world of fame and fortune, where the line between reality and illusion often blurs, power couples are born just as swiftly as they fade away.

None have captured the public's attention quite like that of Formula 1 sensation Carlos Sainz Jr. and the enigmatic heiress Y/N Y/L/N. This power couple's whirlwind romance has been the subject of intense speculation, with many questioning the authenticity of their love. In a TMZ exclusive, we delve into the inner workings of their seemingly sensational union, revealing what lies beneath the surface.

It's no secret that the world of celebrity romance often blurs the lines between genuine affection and calculated publicity. In the case of Carlos Sainz Jr. and Y/N Y/L/N, sources close to the couple suggest that their relationship might be more PR strategy than a heartfelt connection. Our exclusive source, a close friend of the couple, disclosed that the pair has carefully orchestrated their romance to maximize benefits on both ends.

"They both know that being in the spotlight can help boost their respective careers," our source shared. "They decided it's a mutually beneficial arrangement. Carlos gets more media coverage, and Y/N can use his popularity to her advantage."

Y/N Y/L/N, the elusive heiress whose life has been shrouded in mystery, has raised eyebrows with her numerous high-profile relationships over the years. It's no secret that she's been romantically linked to at least eight A-list celebrities, including musicians, actors, and even fellow heirs. Despite her apparent aversion to fame and the media circus that surrounds it, Y/N has consistently found herself in the headlines due to her high-profile affairs.

"The irony is that Y/N has always claimed to hate the attention that comes with dating famous people," our source revealed. "Yet, she's continued to choose partners from the same world she professes to despise."

As the couple's relationship has garnered more attention, their PR teams have been working tirelessly to manage the narrative. They've employed tactics such as carefully timed public appearances, social media posts, and interviews to keep the public intrigued and invested in their romance. This calculated approach, however, has led many to question the authenticity of their connection.

"Their teams are skilled at using the media to their advantage," our source admitted. "It's all about perception and maintaining their status as a 'power couple.'"

As the world continues to watch this captivating couple's every move, one question lingers: Is their love story genuine, or is it a calculated maneuver to seize the attention of the masses and advance their respective careers? Are Carlos and Y/N truly in love, or are they orchestrating a well-choreographed PR campaign for mutual benefit?

Stay tuned for more exclusive updates and revelations from TMZ Magazine.

Y/N lay sprawled across the plush sofa in the cozy living room of her shared home with Carlos in Spain. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting warm rays of light across the room. She'd been catching up on some reading when her phone buzzed incessantly, drawing her attention away from the book.

The headline on her screen was impossible to miss: "The Power Couple: Carlos Sainz and Y/N Y/L/N's Love Story or PR Masterpiece?" The TMZ article had surfaced online, and her heart sank as she read through the scandalous claims about their relationship. It was a relentless invasion of their privacy, dissecting their love as if it were a staged performance.

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes, and she felt overwhelmed by the intrusion into their lives. She knew she had to confront this with Carlos, who had always been her rock in times of turmoil.

Carlos entered the room, sensing the tension in the air. "Y/N, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with concern as he sat down beside her.

She handed him her phone, unable to speak the words herself. Carlos read through the article, his expression growing darker with every word. He clenched his jaw, his protective instincts kicking in. "This is complete nonsense," he muttered angrily.

Carlos's anger simmered as he continued to read the invasive article. His protective instincts flared, and he couldn't fathom how anyone could twist their love into something so far from the truth.

"They have no idea what they're talking about," Carlos said, his voice low but filled with determination. "This is just trash journalism trying to stir up controversy."

Y/N looked up at Carlos, her eyes filled with gratitude. She'd always admired his strength and resilience. "I know, Carlos, but it still stings. I hate how they're trying to make our love seem fake."

Carlos's expression softened as he turned to her. "Mi sol," he whispered, using the affectionate term he had for her. "Our love is as real as the sun streaming through those windows. Don't ever doubt that."

Y/N managed a faint smile, her heart aching a little less with his reassuring words. "I just wish we could shut them up, Carlos."

A mischievous glint flickered in Carlos's eyes as he looked at her. "Well, maybe we can," he said cryptically.

Before Y/N could ask what he meant, Carlos swept her into his arms and stood up. She laughed in surprise, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Carlos, what are you doing?" she asked, her laughter mixing with curiosity.

He grinned down at her, his eyes dancing with mischief. "I'm taking my sunshine to our room," he said, "away from all this nonsense."

Y/N couldn't help but giggle as Carlos carried her bridal style down the hallway to their bedroom. His laughter joined hers, and it echoed through their home, drowning out the noise of the world outside.

In that moment, as Carlos playfully carried her, Y/N realized that their love was a sanctuary, a refuge from the chaos of fame and gossip. It didn't matter what others said or wrote about them. What they had was real, unbreakable, and filled with a kind of love that could weather any storm.

As they reached their bedroom, Carlos gently set Y/N down, and they both burst into laughter. He pulled her into a tender kiss, sealing their promise to protect their love from the prying eyes of the world.

As Carlos set Y/N down in their bedroom, their laughter filled the air like a sweet melody, banishing the remnants of unease brought on by the intrusive article. With a loving smile, Carlos cupped her face in his hands, his gaze locked onto hers.

"You know," he whispered, his voice laced with desire, "there's one thing those journalists will never understand."

Y/N's breath hitched as she met his intense gaze. "What's that?" she asked, her voice barely more than a soft murmur.

Carlos leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a teasing, tantalizing kiss. "That our love," he murmured, his voice husky, "is the real deal."

Their kisses deepened, their passion igniting like a flame. Carlos's hands slid from her face down to the small of her back, pulling her closer. Y/N's fingers tangled in his hair, and she moaned softly against his lips.

Their love was a fire burning brightly, an unbreakable bond that no amount of gossip or scrutiny could diminish. As their clothes fell to the floor, they reveled in the intimacy that was entirely their own, a celebration of their genuine love.

In the quiet of their bedroom, away from the prying eyes of the world, Carlos and Y/N proved that their love wasn't just a masterpiece of public relations. It was a passionate, fiery, and deeply genuine connection that left no room for doubt.

As their bodies entwined and their moans of pleasure filled the room, they knew that their love was their most cherished secret, a sanctuary where they could be their true selves, far away from the judgmental eyes of the world.

liked by charlesleclerc , taylorswift , and 13.657.473 others

carlossainz55 just had the best night of my life! thanks, gossipmongers, for the motivation.

tag: yourusername

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sassydefendorflower · 6 months

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I want to talk about something. I want to talk about ableism in fandom. And sexism in fandom. Oh, and racism in fandom.

Mostly though, I wanna talk about how the discussion about these things often gets derailed because people don't understand what trends and typical behaviors actually are.

Whenever a Person of Color, a woman, someone disabled, someone queer (or an intersection of any of these groups) points out that certain fandom trends are bigoted in some shape or form, half the replies seem to be "but they are my comfort character! Maybe people just like them better because they are more interesting!" or even "people are allowed to have headcanons!" - the very daft even go for a "don't bring politics into fandom" which is a personal favorite because nothing exists in a vacuum and nothing is truly apolitical. But alas~

What most of these replies seemingly fail to understand is something very, very simple: it's not about you.

You, as an individual, are just one datapoint in a fandom. You are not the trend. You do not necessarily depict the typical behavior.

When someone points out that there is racism in fandom, that doesn't mean every fan is racist or perpetuating racist ideas*. By constantly mentioning your own lack of racism, quite often, you are actively derailing the conversation away from the problems at hand.

When someone names and describes a trend, they don't mean your headcanon specifically - they mean the accumulated number of headcanons perpetuating a harmful or outdated idea.

I am not saying this to forbid anyone from writing fics about their favorite characters or to keep anyone from having fun headcanons and sharing their theories and thoughts - quite the opposite actually. A critique of a general trend is not a critique of you as an individual - and you're going to have a much better, and more productive, time online if you can internalize that. If you stop growing defensive and instead allow yourself to actually digest the message of what was pointed out.

I am saying this to encourage some critical thinking.

Allow me to offer up some examples:

Case 1: A DC blogger made the daring statement that maybe Tim and Jason were such a popular fanfic focus because they are the only two undeniably white batboys. Immediately someone replied saying "no, it's all the fun traumatic situations we can put them in!". Which is an insane statement to make, considering the same can be said for literally ANY OTHER DC Batman and Batfam character.

The original post wasn't anything groundbreaking, they didn't accuse anyone, didn't name any names... but immediately there was a justification, immediately there was a reason why people might like these characters more. No one stopped to take a second and reflect on the current trends in fanfiction, no one considered that maybe this wasn't a declaration against people who like these characters but a thesis depicting the OVERALL trend of fandom once again focusing on undeniably white (and male) characters.

(don't get me started on the racebending of white characters in media that has a big Cast of Color and the implications of that)

Case 2: A meta posted on Ao3 about ableism in the Criminal Minds fandom caught my attention. A wonderful piece, very thoughtful, analyzing certain characterization choices within the fandom through the lens of an actually autistic person. The conclusion they reached: the writing of Spencer Reid as an autistic character, while often charming and comforting, tended to be incredibly infantilizing and at worst downright ableist. They came to that conclusion while CLEARLY stating that the individual fanfic wasn't the problem, but the general fandom trend in depicting this character.

Once again, looking at the replies seemed to be a mistake: while many comments furthered the discussion, there were quite a few which completely missed the point. Some were downright hostile. Because how dare this author imply that THEY are ableist when they write their favorite character using that specific characterization.

It didn't matter that the author allowed room for personal interpretation. It didn't matter that they noted something concerning about the entire fandom - people still thought they were attacking singular people.

Case 3: I wrote a fic about abortion in the FMA(b) fandom (actually I've written a weird amount of fics about abortion in a lot of fandoms, but alas) and I got hate comments for it. Because of that I addressed the bias in fandom against pro-choice depictions of pregnancies. I pointed out that the utter lack of abortion in many omegaverse stories or even mpreg or het romances, painted the picture of an unconscious bias that hurt people for whom abortion was the only option, the best possible ending. The response on the post itself was mostly positive, but I got anon hate.

(which I can unfortunately not show you since I deleted it in the months since)

And I'm not overly broken up about it, but it also underlines my point: by pointing at a general problem, a typical behavior, a larger trend... people feel personally attacked.

This inability to discuss sexism, ableism, racism, transphobia, etc in fandom without people turning defensive and hurt... well, it damages our ability to have these conversations at all.

Earlier I said YOU are not the problem - well, i think part of this discussion is acknowledging that: sometimes YOU are in fact part of the problem. And that's not the end of the world. But you can only recognize yourself as a cog in the machine, if you can examine your own actions, your own biases, your own preferences critically and without becoming defensive.

And, again, this is not to keep you from finding comfort in your favorite characters and headcanons. This is also not to say that I am free of biases and internalized bigotries - I am also very much a part of the system. A part of the problem.

This is so you can comfortably ask yourself "but why is there no abortion in this universe?" or "why are my favorite black characters always the top in my slash ships?" or "why do I write this disabled character as childish and in need of help?" - and sometimes the answer is "because I am disabled and I want comfort", and that's fine too.

There is no one shoe fits all in fiction. There is not a single trope that captures all members of a group. There is no single stereotype that isn't also someone's comfort. No group is a monolith, no experienced all-encompasing (or entirely unique).

There is never a simple answer.

But that doesn't mean you should stop questioning your own biases, your own ideals.

Especially, if you grow defensive if someone points out that a certain trend you engage in might be racist. Or sexist. Or queerphobic. Or fucking ableist.

*this does not mean negate the general anti-blackness perpetuated by most cultures as a result of colonialism and slavery

#criminal minds #dc #batman #racism #fandom racism #fandom #fandom discourse #sexism #fandom sexism #ableism #fandom ableism #discourse #fma #fmab #abortion #abortion rights #pro choice #opening up a discussion about having discussions

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dear-bunnyboo · 7 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 3𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄’𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌 || 𝐉𝐎𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖

important note: my face claim will be madison beer but you can imagine whoever you desire. also the songs mentioned are not all technically all madison’s i will be incorporating other songs from other artists.

all the pictures seen below are not mine, however they were edited by yours truly. credits to the owners.

the longest chapter I have written, hands down,, and I know you all have been waiting for this one 💕(let’s just all collectively ignore the elephant in the room) I also made this as fluffy as I can in preparation for the shit show that's about to happen in the next chapter ;)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Joe Burrow x Singer!Reader / Brief Ex!Jack Hughes x Singer!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Sometimes, you get things right the first time. Others, the second. But the third time, they say, is the charm.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing, paparazzi, media, fans, crowds, mentions of football injuries, tackling, mentions of ex, fluff, new relationship, tension, flirting, doubts, slight angst if you squint

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐍𝐇𝐋 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Tuesday

It was mocking you…

You stood face to face with a dilemma and all you could do was stare at the problem.

“Y/N! Stop glaring at your closet and put these on!” Y/BF/N yelled at you from your bedroom.

Removing yourself from the mess you created in front of you, you head over to your best friend who was holding up a black two piece number— the top was a black sleeveless button up vest, matching with black pants.

You asked Y/BF/N to quickly purchase some outfits with the help from your sales associate. Joe just asked you out to watch a UFC fight with him tonight and you just instantly panicked when you opened your closet— you had nothing appropriate to wear. You weren’t quite sure what ‘appropriate’ meant for a UFC fight but what you were sure about is that you had none of it, no matter how big ones closet is— it would simply not be enough.

You haven’t watched a single UFC fight to save your life— you aren’t a big fan of violence, you couldn’t even fathom watching a boxing match let alone MMA, but Joe is a huge fan so you couldn’t find yourself to say no. You and Joe have been spending more time together whenever you both can and you have been enjoying his company and that frightens you but you kept that worry out of your mind for the mean time— locked in a safe place in your head.

Your feelings for the blonde seems to grow even more now that you decided to acknowledge and act upon those feelings. You and Joe are not official, not yet at least but that doesn’t stop the both of you from acting like you were official— it seems to come naturally from the both of you, you just naturally gravitate towards each other.

Now wearing the outfit Y/BF/N brought, you looked at yourself at the huge mirror in your walk-in closet— the vest clinched your waist just perfectly while the pants offered a comfortable yet sophisticated look and feel to them, your eyes fell to your chest where a glimpse of your breast were seen.

Turning to your best friend who passed you a pair of black stilettos, you said, “Are you sure this is appropriate for a fight? Are the boobs too much?” adjusting your breast, making sure they won’t show too much.

“You look great! They don’t look too much at all, don’t be crazy.” Y/BF/N gave you a glance before giving you a matching black blazer in case it gets cold.

“Joe is gonna have to fight people off of you, Y/N!” She squeals as she dusted your outfit before helping you put your shoes on like she always does. It was as if you were Y/BF/N's personal Barbie doll she enjoys playing dress up with— you weren't complaining, not at all.

Joe texted you earlier saying that he will be picking you up 6 pm tonight, just an hour before the fight starts. Looking up at your wall clock you see that it’s currently 5:39 pm which means Joe will be arriving soon.

You circled your room, making sure that you didn’t leave anything behind and that everything you need was in your purse. Once you were satisfied with everything, you and Y/BF/N headed down to the living room to wait for Joe— you weren’t sure why you were so nervous, maybe it is because that tonight will be your first public appearance with Joe and you weren't quite sure how people are gonna react.

For the most part, both of your fans have been supportive about the idea. There were people who weren't so supportive— the naysayers who never really bothered you given your line of work, you were used to it by now; it goes in ear and out the other and as a professional athlete, Joe has gained thick skin— the hate just bounces off of him.

So, why were you nervous?

"We have been sitting here in silence for almost three minutes now." your best friend gave you a weird look as she tried to figure out what was going on inside your head. "Why are you so worked up? You've both hung out before." Y/BF/N throws her arm up in exaggeration.

You remained silent as you fiddled with the rings on your fingers. A heat rushes on your face, red hue filling the apples of your cheeks as you tried to avoid eye contact from Y/BF/N. To no avail, she spotted you hiding your face from her and just like that she instantly knew— having a best friend you have known your entire life has its perks which is biting you in the ass at the moment.

"You fucking like him, like him." She jumps up from her seat as she grabbed your arms to get a closer look at you. With a look of defeat on your face, the redness spreading even more that you were sure that you'd be hot to the touch.

Your silence was your answer causing your best friend to shake your shoulders in delight. "I am so proud of you!" squeezing your shoulders on last time before moving back to her seat.

"Y/BF/N, is it that serious?" you tried to brush it off as normal behavior from you.

"Don't be dumb. Its not like you fall for every man you meet— you're probably the only person I have met who's standards are excruciatingly high." she pointed at you like she was trying to lecture you— she probably was.

"Yet, look where that got me." you mumbled as you referred to your cheating ex boyfriend, Jack.

"A momentary lapse of judgement." Y/BF/N says tutting in disagreement.

You turned your body towards your best friend, a flood of thoughts rushing in your head, "And what if this another momentary lapse of my judgement?" you retorted back at her.

"Y/N, you can't stay in that shell you created forever. If you don't take the risk you'll never know— if you continue to live in fear that you're gonna get your heart broken, then Jack won. You can't let him win." she gave you a pointed look before smiling at you softly after seeing your terrified face, it was a RBF but she knows better— she always does,

"Sadly, that's life. You can't keep a flower in the shade just because you think the sun will burn it and yet expect it to live— can you?"

"When did you become a poet?" you smiled at her— thankful for her empowering speech, making you feel much better than you did a few minutes ago.

"Bitch, I've always been the smartest out of the both of us." Y/BF/N flips her hair off of her shoulders dramatically before cackling in laughter, clearly finding herself amusing.

"Now that's a lie." you muttered under your breath a grin spreading on your face as you caught her face looking appalled after hearing what you said.

"Joe better get here before I beat your ass—" thankfully she was cut off by a car honking, stopping Y/BF/N from pouncing on you.

"Lucky bitch." She stuck her tongue at you like the child she was.

Before you could even tease her again, your doorbell rang— Joe was here. You gathered your things while Y/BF/N went ahead and opened the door for Joe.

You rummaged through your bag before heading towards the door, making sure that you had everything you needed with you— and as you reached the door you see Joe in all his glory; wearing simple black jeans and a black tee, a black bucket hat on his head while his Cartier sunglasses sat on the bridge of his nose. Joe had his hands in his pockets as he remained silent listening to your best friend who was lecturing him.

"Listen here, Joseph. If you don't get Y/N back home by 10 pm tonight— I'll have a search party looking for the both of you." Y/BF/N said with her hands on her waist, looking like a concerned yet overbearing mother.

"Don't listen to her she's crazy." you deadpanned as you gave your best friend the 'shut-the-fuck-up' look.

Joe only chuckled as he watched the both of you playfully glare at each other. "Well, we might be home later than that— I wanna take Y/N out to dinner." the blonde asks permission playing along with Y/BF/N. His request made you and your best friend instantly turn to him.

Joe didn't say anything about a dinner. You told everything Joe told you to your best friend the second you received the invitation— he must have forgotten to say.

"You didn't tell me about a dinner." you looked up at the quarterback but to your dismay, his beautiful baby blue eyes were covered by his shades— you didn't know if he read your mind or he simply read how disappointed you were from your facial cues but as he looked back down at you he offered you a grin before removing the Cartiers off his eyes.

"I was gonna tell you once we got in the car but your mother is scaring me." Joe turned to look at Y/BF/N who looked slightly offended by Joe's teasing.

"You both better start moving before I beat you both up." It was your best friend's turn to deadpan at the both of you. "You two are basically the same person. I fear for my sanity once you two actually start dating." she muttered the last part lowly under her breath which nonetheless was caught by both you and Joe.

"Okay!— we are leaving, I'll see you soon, Y/BF/N. Don't burn my house down!" you waved at your best friend who was now giving you one of her famous sneaky grin.

"Stay safe!" she teased even more, shouting for your whole neighborhood to hear. You looked at her from your shoulder, your eyes widening after catching her double entendre which made Joe chuckle silently as he leads you to his car.

Now finally inside Joe's car, you released a sigh of relief— Joe starts his car, the engine rumbling before it started moving. The drive to the arena was calm and comfortable, as Joe drove he answered your many questions regarding the fight. The blonde just kept answering your questions with no hesitation but enthusiasm— you also appreciated how he didn't shame you for your lack of knowledge on the matter.

Once the two of you arrived in front of the arena, you were greeted by a number of people who were already outside. Dressed in merchandises of the fighter they were supporting, the fans turned to look at Joe's car— the bodyguards and security surrounding Joe's door.

The paparazzi clearly took that as a sign that someone famous or important was inside cause in an instant, they were swarming Joe's car. Luckily his car windows were tinted that they failed to see you and Joe trying to figure out how to go on about the situation you found yourselves in.

"Are you sure you want them to see us together?" You turned to look at Joe who was as calm as ever, fixing his bucket hat.

"Yeah, It will be fine— you trust me?" Joe's stare could burn even behind those damn shades of his, staring at you— looking for any sign of discomfort.

"I trust you." you nodded and a couple beats later, Joe opens his door— the paparazzi immediately snapping shots of the NFL player who was circling his car to get to your side to open the door for you.

Here goes nothing

Once your head popped out of the door the camera flashes doubled along with the yells for your name.

"Y/N!"

"Y/N, darling over here!"

"Joe!"

"Joey B!"

"Miss, Y/L/N, are you and Joe dating?"

"Y/N! Look over here!"

“Are you two dating?”

Joe places his hand behind your back to gently guide you inside the stadium as he firmly places himself just behind you, to keep them from touching you.

"You okay?" Joe leans down to whisper in your ear as you both continued walking towards your seats.

"I'm fine. You?" you turned to look up at him as he gave your waist a quick squeeze to confirm that he was indeed fine.

The second you and Joe entered the arena— you were spotted in an instant. The fear and anxiety that was crawling up at you quickly disintegrated when you felt a large warm hand grab onto your small ones. Looking up, you found Joe with his head held up high as he guided you to your designated seats— and just like that, the phones were out, following both of your moves.

The blonde gently pulled you towards the center where your seats were found, it was right in front of the rink. You weren't quite sure if you'd be liking that anytime soon but you kept quiet. Once you reached your seats you spotted a woman who was seated behind you crying as she looked at you— once she caught you staring at her she started waving her hand wildly earning a giggle from you.

You quickly reached your vacant hand to wave back at her as she continued to film your interaction, earning another squeal from her. You decided to reach towards her and enter the frame of her video— you enjoyed doing fan service. Apart from performing, meeting your fans was always the fun part of your job.

"Oh my gosh! I love you so much!" she whispered in disbelief as she continued to stare at you as if you'd disappear from her sight. You gave her shoulder a quick squeeze with you vacant hand as you smiled at her. "You're the sweetest. I love you too."

Turning back around you found Joe and his friends watching you. Your hand still intertwined with Joe's, not budging during that entire interaction. The quarterback simply watched you in adoration as he waited patiently for you to finish so that he can introduce you to his friends.

"I'm sorry— Hi! I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you." you gave the people next to Joe a smile.

Joe smiles as he continued staring at you like an idiot, "This is Ja'Marr, Tee, and Sam. They're my teammates and good friends of mine" he directed to the men next to him.

"Nice to finally meet you." Tee stated giving you a nod in acknowledgement. "We keep asking Joe to introduce the Y/N Y/L/N to us" Ja'Marr chimes in as he nodded towards Joe who was watching the interaction.

Sam who was twice your size moved towards you to shake your hand, earning a grin from you— he is adorable. "I am a huge fan— I'm Sam."

"Nice to meet you, Sam" you chuckled before looking at Joe with a smile. His friends are great. You've watch them play during games but now officially meeting them was a new experience.

The light and fun atmosphere came to you as a surprise. You expected a UFC fight to have a tense and somewhat scary atmosphere which was proven wrong— up until the fight started. You were seated next to Joe, a drink in your hand as you watched the two fighters in front of you beat each other up. The sight of the bruises, cuts, and blood made you sink into Joe's side even more.

You don't mind the gore and the blood at all. What you did mind was the fact that people did this for a living, you respected that fact— you respected their partners and their families even more. Watching this is hard. Watching Joe get tackled during his games was hard enough— you could only imagine what its like watching him get beaten up.

"You're fine. You're alright." Joe whispers in your ear as he places a hand on your thigh to stop you from bouncing it up an down.

"They aren't though." You pointed at the fighters while you released a breath as they called for a break in between rounds.

You turned to Joe who was chugging his drink, "I don't understand how you enjoy this. I'm not judging— just confused." you gave him a tight lipped smile earning a laugh from him.

"If you ask Ja'Marr right now he'd tell you how I'd try MMA moves on him." He offered you a wink. You in turn furrowed your eyebrows in confusion before snickering, "I can already picture you two on the ground— wrestling."

Joe laughs while rubbing your thigh up and down, the announcer's voice booming across the stadium, "A lot of big names in the room tonight but not as big as that man right there!" turning your head up you were met with a close up of Joe who turned to the camera and smiled. The stadium erupting in cheers and hollers for the quarterback next to you.

The camera started panning towards you while you stared at the screen above, "With none other than, Y/N Y/L/N right next to him! Stars after stars!" more screams erupted as you simply gave a smile towards the camera which now moved on to the next celebrity.

The fight was eventful to say the least. An unexpected knock out got everyone around you, including Joe to jump up on their feet. You remained on your seat with your mouth wide open at what you just witnessed— Joe had his hands up his head, his eyes widen in shock as he dapped up his friends and everyone else for that matter.

Joe looked like a kid who got to watch his favorite cartoon. He wouldn't stop talking about it the entire ride to the restaurant he was taking you to. You continued to laugh at him as you admired his sudden burst in energy with the result of today's events. However, something must have clicked in Joe's head the moment you two sat on your reserved table.

As you ordered your meal, talking to the waiter— asking politely for about the different dishes they offer, Joe couldn't help but eye you. You were a ray of sunshine to him. You're polite and would always offer the people around you smiles no matter what the situation was. He found himself thinking the same thing when he was watching you interact with your fan at the arena not long ago.

You looked beautiful and he continued to remind you every time he could; when you both got in his car when he picked you up, when you finally sat in your seats before the fight started, during the break, on the way to the restaurant, before the waiter came over to ask for your orders— Joe told you every single time.

You were talking animatedly about a mishap that happened at your studio the other day, giggling after ever breath but as Joe listened to you all he could think about was how much more stories you could giggle to him about if you were officially his.

Joe was with you throughout your entire healing and moving on process. He watched you cry about a stupid boy, he watched you work your magic— writing music as a way to cope, he watched you heal. Some might say he helped you heal. You both know how you feel for each other, it was almost an unspoken understanding between the two of you. Joe is ready to move on to the next step in your relationship— he was willing to take the risk.

With a deep breath he grabbed your hands, enveloping yours into his. "Y/N, I want to ask you something." he started. Your attention now fully on him, a concerned look formed on your face as you watched Joe's expression. "Alright— is everything okay?" you squeezed his hands.

"Yeah. It's just— I think it is time for me to ask you if you'd be my—"

"You're food," the waiter walks towards your table with a tray of food held up above his head.

Your moment was completely ruined, Joe gave you a bitter smile as he thanked the waiter. "Wait, what were you saying, Joey?" your eyebrows furrowing at the interruption.

"Its nothing." Joe shook his head as he looked at the dish in front of him. You decided not to push him even further for answers after hearing a slight raise in his tone that the quarterback tried to hide with a smile.

Joe took that interruption as a sign.

Not as a sign of giving up— no, Joe Burrow does not give up. He took it as a sign from the universe to up his game. Asking someone to be your girlfriend in a restaurant was cliche and an outdated one at that— you were one in a million, Joe knows that which is why as you two ate in comfortable silence he thought of his next move.

Unbeknownst to you, Joe tried to ask you to be his girlfriend for the first time that night.

Sunday

It was Sunday and you just arrived back in Cincinnati after another successful show in Michigan. It's been four days since you last seen Joe during your UFC 'date'. You still message each other back and forth, FaceTiming each other here and there— so it didn't really feel like time has passed.

Joe invited you to watch his game against the Steelers which is why you and Y/BF/N were in Joe's suite, idlily chatting with each other— she has been complaining a great deal about Trevor more than usual recently and that in itself got you eyeing your best friend in interest. These past couple of days it has been 'Trevor this', 'Trevor that' and as much as you loved the hockey player, you were getting sick of hearing his name.

You continued eyeing your best friend teasingly— a lightbulb mentally lighting in your head upon the realization, "You like him, like him" you teased her, making sure to reference what she told you a few days ago. She instantly stops talking before glaring at you as you wore smug look on your face, "Shut up." she mumbles, not denying anything whatsoever— proving your point even further. Y/BF/N and Trevor have been dancing around each other for a couple of years now and hiding it all behind the facade that they find each other annoying but you know her as much as she knows you— the perks goes both ways.

"Y/N?" a woman calls from behind you making you and Y/BF/N stop your conversation, turning around you were met with a couple who looked exactly like Joe...

"Mr. and Mrs. Burrow! How lovely it is to finally meet you two!" you stood up immediately upon realization, Joe's mom reaching out to give you big hug.

"Call me Robin, dear" she gave you a squeeze before letting go of you. "And call me, Jim" Joe's dad pats you in the back as they turned to look at Y/BF/N who was standing behind you quietly.

"Oh, this is my best friend, Y/BF/N" you directed your hand towards your best friend who politely waved at Joe's parents who warmly smiled at her in return. "Nice to meet you as well— such beautiful girls." Robin squealed in excitement earning a laugh from you and Y/BF/N.

You and Y/BF/N conversed with Robin and Jim as you waited for the game to begin. Your place from the suite giving you a wide view of the field and the fans surrounding the stadium. You also spotted fans who have spotted you with Joe's parents— the cameras and phones coming out as they pointed and turned towards your direction.

A few minutes before kickoff Robin urged you to meet Joe by the sidelines, "Are you sure you two don't want to come with us?" you asked his parents as you motioned towards you and Y/BF/N who was accompanying you down the field.

"I'm sure, dear. We came here with Joe, from what I've heard you two haven't seen each other in a few days— go." Robin gave your hand a squeeze, motioning you and Y/BF/N to hurry before the game starts.

Which is why you and Y/BF/N found yourselves standing at the sidelines where a few of the staff were found. With your arms crossed you chatted with your best friend as you two waited for Joe to come out of the tunnel and once he did, you knew immediately because the fans who were facing towards you were not only yelling but also pointing at something behind you.

Turning around you found Joe with his entire gear on, the black Bengals jersey fitting his torso just right as he removed the helmet off his head to get a good look at you. "My parents tell you to come here?" he smiled down at you before nodding towards Y/BF/N in acknowledgement who was evidently hiding from the sun.

"Yeah. They are great by the way— you could have at least warned me that I was gonna meet your parents today." you looked up at him, lifting your hand up to cover the sun from your eyes— from that action alone, Joe took his 6 ft. 4 self and stood in the direction the sun was facing without taking his eyes off of you, his tall frame casting a shadow over you as you found shade in his body— that single action from the quarterback made you want to melt in a puddle. It's always the littlest things that got to you.

"They told me not to tell you. They said they didn't want you to feel pressure beforehand." Joe shrugs, placing his hand on the collar of his jersey keeping the gear he was wearing inside in place.

"The game starting soon. I'll see you later?" you asked.

"Wait for me at the suite, I'll come get you and I'll take you home." Joe instructed you before he proceeded to ready his helmet in his hand.

"Okay." you nodded before patting his chest in encouragement, "Good luck and win for me, 9" you grinned at him as you watch him take a couple step towards you to lean down and place a peck on your cheek.

"I will." Joe placed his helmet back on place before jogging to position.

You watched him for a few more second before moving back to where Y/BF/N was standing, your best friend gave you a wink before linking your arms together walking back to the suite.

"I'll be the most beautiful maid of honor." Y/BF/N says after a few beats of just silence.

"Y/BF/N!"

The game was a close match which had you literally at the edge of your seat as you gripped both Y/BF/N and Robin's hands the entire time— Jim standing behind the three of you watching in concentration with his arms crossed, a stance that is very familiar to you considering your dad would look the exact same whenever he watches a game— you called it the 'retired-football-coach' stance, you just knew that both your dads will hit it off.

At the end the Bengals won 37-30. It was safe to say that Joe was in a good mood as he drove you home. You had to say goodbye to Robin and Jim who were staying at Joe's place for the night while Y/BF/N had to leave early to prepare a meeting with her assistant to prepare your outfits for the upcoming VMAs which you will be attending and performing in soon.

The ride home was quiet but not the comfortable kind. You could practically hear Joe thinking, you were surprised he could even drive— his thoughts looked like it was clouding his mind.

Joe was fine. He was. He just couldn't think of an appropriate way of asking you to be his girlfriend. He was so close to asking you before the game but he decided not to knowing how much that would distract him from the game— now here he was, struggling to form a sentence as the question laid at the tip of his tongue urging him to just spit it out.

Joe knows better and he will be better. He knows you deserved to be asked in a much more grand way— he just needs to find a way to execute it perfectly.

"Are you okay, Joey?" you placed a comforting arm on his shoulder which were very tense, softly massaging them as he continued to focus on not crashing the car.

"I'm fine, lovebug. Just wondering if you'd like to hang out again? Tomorrow maybe?" Joe tries his best to make conversation while he tried to think of a perfect way to ask you tomorrow.

"I can't. My cousin is getting married on Tuesday and I'll be flying to Wyoming tomorrow, I won't be back until Wednesday— I'm sorry." Joe nodded in understandment as he mentally rearranged his plans for another day, however, before he could do so, you gasped— your body turning towards the blonde.

"Do you want to be my plus one? I'm allowed a plus one and Y/BF/N said she was already bringing somebody. I know you have another home game next Sunday and you probably don't want to travel all the way to Wyoming for a few days but we will be back by Wednesday—" Joe cut you off by placing his hand on your upper thigh, squeezing them in response.

"I'll go. It will be fun— you met my parents, this will be a perfect moment for me to meet yours." Joe turned to you to give you a smile. "You think attending a wedding of someone you don't know will be fun?" you questioned the quarterback with your eyebrows raised shocked that he was willing to fly off with you just like that.

"I think a wedding with you will be fun."

You two stayed quiet as you two tried to unpack the statement Joe just blurted out. He was messing with you, cause there was absolutely no way he said that on purpose.

Joe did in fact say that in purpose and he enjoyed your reaction very much; the way your eyes widen for a second, how your chest rose up and down more faster and erratic, and how your cheeks blushed red. Joe's plan on asking you today might have not gone to plan just like the previous attempt but third time's the charm, right?

Unknownst to you, Joe tried asking you to be his girlfriend for the second time that day.

Monday

You and Joe drove to the airport early in the morning to head to Wyoming for your cousin’s wedding. You gripped Joe’s forearm as you tried to make sense of your surroundings early in the morning— you were barely awake.

Y/BF/N called you saying that she will meet you and Joe in the plane cause she will be driving with her plus one who you haven’t met yet. With your arm tucked in Joe’s arm, you two climbed the steps of your private plane— the flight crew greeting you two as you entered your lofty plane.

In an instant you threw yourself on your seat by the window and shut your eyes for a while. Rustling was heard next to you— taking a quick peak you see Joe arranging both of your things before placing himself on the seat next to you. All the uncertainty, doubts, and fears were thrown out the window with how sleepy you were— with no hesitation whatsoever, you moved the arm rest that separated you and Joe upwards, inching your way to his side where you tucked yourself. Your face on his shoulder as he circled his arm around you in response.

Before you could even shut your eyes to drift off to sleep, footsteps were heard climbing up the steps of the plane— Y/BF/N has finally arrived with her plus one in tow.

Trevor fucking Zegras.

This caused you to shoot up in excitement— now very much awake. Joe looked at you in concern as he eyed Trevor in confusion.

“No fucking way!” You emphasized every single word still not believing your eyes. Y/BF/N rolled her eyes at you in response placing herself in the seat behind you and Joe— clearly not wanting to see you two cuddle together or maybe she was planning on having her own cuddle fest with Trevor.

“Hey, popstar!” Trevor reached out to give you a hug which you accepted considering you haven’t seen the hockey player since your concert in LA. “No fucking way, Trevor!” You repeated still at shocked.

“What can I say? She can’t resist me.” Trevor joked before getting thrown a pillow on his face curtesy of Y/BF/N.

“Oh, wait!— Joe, this is my friend, Trevor. Trevor this is Joe.” You introduced the two who have not yet met personally. Joe offered Trevor one of his famous smiles as he shook his hand while the latter gawked at the man that is Joe Burrow.

“Nice to meet you, man! I’m a huge fan!” Trevor animatedly praised the quarterback earning a pat in the back from Joe. The two continued to converse, talking about football and hockey back and forth as the plane lifted up in the air. Y/BF/N is a terrible flyer so she remained seated the entire time watching her favorite shows to calm her down, Trevor later joining her.

You remained tucked in Joe’s side now fully asleep while he played with your hair as he watched a movie on his phone— you two were stuck together like two peas in a pod the entire flight, not moving away from each other even after your plane finally landed in Wyoming.

The four of you arrived at the resort where the your wedding will be held and where your family was waiting. Y/BF/N and Trevor has met your family a number of times already while this will be Joe’s first time and you knew that he had nothing to worry about.

Once you reached your parents, your father immediately darted towards you pulling you into a hug, “My girl, how have you been? Was the flight alright?” He pulled away to take a good look at you.

“I’m doing great, dad and the flight was smooth.” You smiled at him before squeezing your mother in a hug. “Hi, mommy!” You grinned. “My sweet girl.” She plays with your hair before halting after spotting Joe who was watching the interaction.

“Y/N, are you not gonna introduce us?” Your mom motioned towards Joe who your father was now eyeing as if he grew three heads.

“Oh, right— mom, dad, this is Joe. Joe these are my parents.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N. I’m Joe.” The blonde stepped forward towards your parents. Your mom instantly hugged the quarterback like all mothers do and grinned up at him. “Nice to finally meet you, Joe! You’re such a handsome young man.” she raves on.

“Burrow— nice to meet you, son. I watched your game yesterday and you were throwing dimes. You’re great.” You’re dad praised Joe which in turn got you feeling so proud of Joe.

“Thank you so much. That means a lot— Y/N told me you used to coach football.” Joe asked completely intrigued with your father. You watched the two walk towards the garden as your father started talking about his career. Your mom simply turned to look at you and smirked, “He’s a cutie, Y/N.”

You couldn’t help but agree as you watched Joe and your father laugh about something.

The day consisted of you and your friends resting after your long flight. You spent time with your family as you prepared for the wedding celebrations tomorrow.

Tuesday

Weddings are such beautiful events. Every girl has at least dreamt about their perfect wedding; the perfect place, the perfect dress, the perfect song, the perfect man— and as you watched your cousin seal the deal with a kiss, you couldn’t help but get teary eyed as she finally fulfilled her dream— you could still remember the time you two would dress up as Princesses.

You wanted something like this in the future. You felt a slight pang in your chest as you get reminded of empty promises given to you. Joe caressed your bare back, as he eyes you carefully. You two were finally seated at the reception, you changed from your bridesmaid dress to a black backless dress for the reception.

Joe was wearing his black tux, silently listening to the speeches as his warm hand caressed your bare back— his touch shooting electricity through your body, the hairs on your arms standing up as the wind kissed your skin. The quarterback moved closer to you with his arm placed on the back of your chair, his hand now caressing your arm to keep you from getting cold.

As the speeches went on and on the more Joe craved you. He watched the curve of your nose crinkle every time you were mentioned in an embarrassing story during the speech, he watched as you eyes lit up thinking about a certain memory, and he watched you as you stared at the bride and groom as they take their first dance— you’re eyes glistening as you quietly hummed and swayed on your seat.

Once the dance floor was open for everyone, Joe, gently took your hand and lead you to the part of the dance floor away from the majority of the guests. You placed your arms around Joe’s neck as he placed his around your waist— the two of you slowly swaying to the soft music playing across the reception hall.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Joe whispered as he leaned closer to you, his baby blues piercing through your soul. “I do. You tell me every chance you get, Joey.” You giggled.

“Do I? Does that seem excessive to you?” Joe pulled you towards him closer, your feet moving closer to his that you were sure that you were gonna accidentally pierce his foot with your stiletto heel.

“Not really” you shrugged. “I like hearing it from you.” your eyes seem to never leave his as if you two were your own little bubble.

“Yeah? You’d let me remind you how beautiful you are everyday then?” Joe couldn’t stop himself, he was thinking of something more special but he was down deep and he couldn’t find himself to wait anymore.

You nodded, “I don’t know how you plan on doing that every single day but–” yours eyes glistened as the lights hit them. Joe’s hand now cradling the back of your neck, his thumb caressing the soft flesh beneath it.

“Be my girlfriend.”

Joe blurted out. Your eyes widening at his response— you remained frozen in place as you eyed the blonde in front of you. The fear and worry that you locked in the back of your head, slowly creeping into the surface as you listed down the risk this could cause, the potential heartache you could experience again.

“What?” was all you could say as you tried to understand what was happening around you.

“Date me. Be my girlfriend and I’ll tell you every second of every day how beautiful you are. How beautiful you are both physically and as a human being. I’ll remind you how special and loved you are, how talented and smart you are— be mine, Y/N.”

Joe is a lot of things for you. He is a friend who came to your life when you needed the most, he is a man who patiently helped you heal throughout your darkest of days, he is a person you respect and trust, he is the kind of person you were willing to take the risk for— maybe it will all work out the way you want it to be, but maybe it won’t but seeing if it does will be one of the best adventures of your life— a risk you were willing to take.

Reaching up on your tiptoes, you grabbed Joe’s tie and pulled him towards you— your lips finally latching on to his as you two simultaneously sighed in relief as if you two were holding those breaths from the day you first met. Joe tilted your head back, a smile gracing your lips he smiled against yours before pulling you in for another kiss.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.” Joe breathed out as he pulled away from your lips, his eyes memorizing every detail of your face that was smiling up at him.

“I could get use to that.” You giggled as Joe placed another peck on your lips.

Unbeknownst to you, Joe was mentally celebrating the ever so successful third attempt.

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ellatoone7 · 7 months

Note

Don't know if you've seen the Videos of Alexia at the airport getting followed by paps. Would you write a fic where reader is also playing on the national team and is together with Alexia. Maybe Reader is just as famous as Alexia. When Alexia gets swamed by paps (which by the way reader hates cameras) reader all but drags Alexia through the crowd. And after making sure Alexia is ok she gives the paps an ear full about being a bit nicer.

Respect (Alexia Putellas x reader)

A/N: I can’t even begin to imagine what the girls must be feeling right now. The most horrible situation to be put in. Those girls are truly the biggest inspirations to everyone! 🫶

The situation was absolutely impossible. Alexia knew that, you knew that, your teammates knew hell the whole world knew that. You watch Alexia retype the statement over and over again, you can’t possibly fathom how she manages to fit the injustice of what’s happened in one A4 page.

Alexia has been silently seething since the call up, you didn’t think she could get angrier but you were proven wrong when Patri and Mapi’s name popped up.

You walk over to your exhausted girlfriend hoping to offer some comfort, “Baby, you need to get some sleep.” Your arms rest on her shoulders as you watch the fight leave Alexia’s body.

“I don’t know what to do.” Your girlfriend looked to you for an answer knowing that you wouldn’t have one either. Instead of telling her it will be okay, you try to offer as much support as you possibly could.

Your head was absolutely pounding with all the thoughts running through your head. The anger was always there, it never really left. Even hearing the name of that fucking federation sends you into a frenzy that you try to contain.

The fear was new, sure you had always known that the RFEF were an absolute piece of shit but you never thought it would get this far. You were nearly positive that it ended with Rubiales and Vilda going down but you know that was naive thinking.

After hours of deliberation, you and Alexia knew that there was no other choice but to go. Your career wasn’t something you were overly worried about knowing that you had made the most of it while you could but the thought of leaving the younger girls behind to suffer scared you more than anything the RFEF could ever do to you.

That’s how you find yourself walking through the airport, the arm wrapped around your waist tightens as Alexia spots the press hoping to god she would somehow be able to find the both of you invisible.

You stayed close to your girlfriend, you had never been a fan of the cameras even more so now when you’ve been forced into this situation.

Alexia stayed calm knowing that her getting angry would help no one, her main priority right now was getting you through the mob of people safely, it was the only thing she could control at the moment.

“Just breathe, Mi amor. Ignore them.” You hear Alexia whisper as she places a reassuring kiss to the crown of your head, wanting to just get it over with as she walks towards the media.

The minute they catch sight of the two of you, you’re swarmed. You tuck yourself impossibly close to the blonde, you try to calm yourself down at the amount of questions they throw your way.

Alexia keeps her eyes forward, occasionally glancing at you making sure the reporters keep their hands to themselves. You hear Alexia respond calmly to a few questions thrown her way but you can see that your girlfriend is quickly getting overwhelmed.

No one else would be able to tell with the mask she’s perfected over the years but you can see the slight panic in her eyes as they dart around the place.

You know that her arm that’s wrapped around your waist is as comforting for her as it is for you, you discreetly place your own hand over hers letting her know you were okay.

She glances down at you nearly tripping over a stray lead of a camera, she immediately apologises and your heart aches at how good your girlfriend is even in this horrific situation.

As your gate finally comes into sight, you hear her answer to one particular question, “How are you feeling?”

“Well bad.” Your heart shatters at her defeated tone, you know this has been slowly eating away at her. There is only so much pretending one person can do and you know she’s quickly reaching her limit.

They give you room to breathe once you have finally reached your gate, she waits for you to go first but you insist that she does as she has her details ready on her phone.

She shoot’s you a grateful yet slightly worried smile, not feeling secure with leaving you behind even if it’s for less than a minute. You kiss her cheek letting her know that you’d be fine and also to thank her for unnecessarily taking the brunt of the press.

You watch her walk through the gate and once she’s out of sight you turn to cameras, the rage that you had tried to put aside for your teammates' sakes flamed up at the sight of your distressed girlfriend.

The press catches on to the fact that you haven’t followed the older girl and immediately fires questions at you. You ignore every single one of them wanting to make sure they understand every single word you are about to say.

“We are in an impossible situation, one you couldn’t even imagine. The last thing we need is you people sticking your cameras into our faces when you don’t know the half of it. I will not stand here and watch as you create more false accusations to add fuel to the already massive fire. Alexia is an absolute saint for putting up with all this shit give her some room to fucking breathe and have some respect for this horrific situation we have been put in.”

You don’t think you have ever spoken to a camera as much as you just have, you knew there could be some repercussions but you find yourself not caring as the tension eases just a little bit.

The press have gone dead silent, no doubt in shock as they witness your normally shy and composed persona switch before their eyes.

With one last deadly glare you make your own way through the gate, desperate to get away from their prying eyes but also desperate to feel your girlfriend's touch.

“What took you so long? I was getting worried.” You felt slightly guilty seeing the concern on the already stressed girl's face. You cup her face soothingly as you press a soft kiss to her lips. She visibly relaxes as her hands find your hips, “Are you okay?” You nearly cry at the question, how can she ask you that when she has the weight of the national team on her shoulders.

“I am now that you are here.” She cracks the first genuine smile of the day, holding you close to her as she relaxes knowing no one is watching.

“We are going to get through this, Alé. I promise you.” You reassure as you tuck your face into her neck, she rubs a hand down your back, “I’m not going to stop fighting.” You sigh knowing that she would destroy herself if it meant everyone else would be okay, the love you feel for the brave, selfless woman overpowers every other feeling.

With one more firm kiss you make her another promise, “And I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagines #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas oneshot #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso imagines #barca femeni

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dfortrafalgar · 1 month

Text

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Law x Fem Reader

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read these warnings before reading this fic. Genuinely, I implore you. I started writing this fic on a whim a few weeks ago, when I was contemplating my own experiences with reproduction-related health conditions such as the one that will be addressed later on in this story (endometriosis). Reproductive education and health is something that I feel very strongly about, and I feel that topics such as pregnancy complications and loss aren't addressed enough in media for fear that they're too taboo or shocking. Which, to be fair, is true, at least for the shocking aspect. Pregnancy loss is difficult, traumatic, and life-changing, for better or for worse, truly dependent on the person and the world around them.

Now you might be wondering... why would you drag one piece into this? well, i don't know. i felt like it, perhaps. Law is a character who resonates very deeply to me, his character is emotionally complex and layered, and imagining him in a scenario like this one became very interesting to me. Combine that with everything i stated above and taddaa, you get this fic.

this story does and will eventually have a happy ending (a very happy ending!) however it will take a bit to get there. this is a multi-chapter fic that i'm moving from my ao3 to my new blog, and the same warnings there apply here.

if this fic doesn't seem like your cup of tea, i encourage you to check out some of my other fics on my blog. i have a few law/readers that are tooth-rottingly fluffy and much more feel good.

with all that out of the way, thank you for reading.

Chapter 1

[Next]

The air in the room was as stifling as a sauna from the stress and anxiety filling the air. It was so silent, the tiles surrounding the small area blocking any and all noise from outside. The door was closed, caging you in.

You were sitting on the toilet lid, your hands rapidly perspiring and your whole body shivering with nerves. Across from you, your husband had his arms crossed, his head hung low, his heel bouncing off the floor. The tension was unlike anything you had ever experienced, however this had unfortunately become the norm for the past six months.

On the side of the sink sat a long white stick. Neither of you wanted to look at it.

“Do you think it’s ready now…?” you asked, inwardly cringing at how pathetic and weak your wobbly voice sounded.

Law picked his head up, his golden eyes creased in profound concern and worry. “It should be. Five minutes, right?”

“I think so,” you replied. With a trembling hand, you grabbed the stick from the counter. Law watched your every movement with a close eye. With a deep breath, you flipped over the test and gazed at the result window.

A single red line.

After the last failed attempt, you made a joke that you didn’t have any more tears left in you to cry, but clearly that wasn’t the case as fat, salty tears rapidly welled in your eyes and flowed down your cheeks. Law immediately knew what the result was the second your lips twitched downward. His heart sank into his stomach, immediately stepping toward you, grabbing the test from your hand and blindly chucking it into the small garbage can in the corner. He knelt on the floor in front of you to pull you into his chest.

“Damn it…” you whimpered. Your body forced you to take a shuddering inhale before sobbing an anguished, “FUCK!!!!”

Law’s heart broke. He didn’t even know what to say to comfort you anymore. 6 months of failed attempts at conceiving a very wanted baby had caused nothing but pain to both of you. You had both been scientific about the process. All birth control and protection was ceased, and the two of you were religiously tracking your cycle to make sure you would try during your ovulation window, but nothing but failure after failure showed up.

You thought you were broken.

Law thought he was broken.

You wept into his shoulder, your body shuddering with each pained sob that crawled from your sore throat. Law’s hands were frozen around you, firmly gripping your back. You couldn’t see the tears that were forming in the corners of his stern eyes, biting his lip and forcing every muscle in his face to prevent those tears from slipping downward. The last thing you needed was to see him cry, but he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to hold it in.

“Law…” you whimpered into his shoulder.

Law stayed silent.

“I’m sorry–”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he quickly retorted, cutting you off. He felt you lurch in his arms. “This isn’t your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault… it’s…”

Now you stayed silent.

Law took his own shallow inhale. “I… don’t know.”

For one of the only times in Law’s life, he was rendered completely incapable of speech. Normally calm and analytical, looking for every possible solution or reason for an issue, he was now left completely helpless to the crashing waves of sheer dejection. As your quivering body clung to him like a lifeline, his entire brain was scrambling for some sense, any logical thought, for the current predicament, but it was starting to become glaringly obvious to both of you.

It was very likely one of you was infertile.

When you finally picked your head up from his shoulder, Law’s previously broken heart fractured into even more irreparable pieces.

Your eyes were puffy, swollen and bloodshot from your tears. Your entire face looked bloated from the force of your crying, and you were clearly flushed. You looked, for lack of a better word, completely miserable. Law helped you stand from the closed toilet seat, keeping your eyes away from the trash can where the negative pregnancy test lay on top of discarded tissues and makeup wipes, to guide you to your shared bedroom. Neither of you had to say a word, you knew he was going to put you into your shared bed and let you get some much-deserved rest after the stressful eternity (10 minutes) you had just endured. It was almost 8:00PM anyway, and regrettably, both of you still had work the following day.

You didn’t fight it when Law eased you down onto the mattress by your shoulders. You kept your eyes pinned closed, not wanting to let your husband see any more of your beaten state. You rolled over onto your side and hid in your pillows. You didn’t hear Law mention that he would join you after cleaning up, and you didn’t notice the overhead light dimming. You simply begged for sleep to take you quickly and painlessly.

When Law finally returned after washing his face, he gazed dejectedly at your weary form. Finally asleep, fortunately, but your cheeks were glossy with fresh tears. The man carefully crawled into bed behind you, carefully pulling your body into his. He wished more than anything that he could make your pain go away. He ran through the many years you had been together, and struggled to find a time where your sorrow was as profound as it was this evening. His mind was constantly at war- his analytical, doctor side beginning to list specific reasons why this could be happening, and his sincere, passionate, loving husband side breaking apart reflecting over the sound of your sobs.

It could have been either of you. But it also could’ve been both of you. The thought was enough to finally force the tears in Law’s eyes to break free and travel down his cheeks. Some of them plotted into your hair.

—

You awoke to the sound of whispering in your hallway outside the bedroom. The blinds covering the window above the bed you shared with Law were pulled shut, but the sunlight still beamed through them leaving patterns on the walls and floor. The side Law slept on was empty and freshly made. No surprise, he left for work early in the morning after all. You slowly sat up in bed, your head pounding. The events of the previous evening came rushing back to you, but you felt nothing but an empty melancholy, a dark fog that hung over your brain and clouded your vision.

The door to your bedroom slowly opened. You looked up just in time to see a very large, very fluffy cloud with four legs and two beady eyes come sprinting into your room. Its feet ripped across the carpeted floor as It hopped on your bed with a loud huff, immediately snuggling on top of your duvet and leaning into your body for some much needed cuddles.

You mustered a weary laugh, your hands instinctively moving to the back of the dog’s neck to rub his fluffy cheeks from behind, eliciting happy grunts from the large animal. He had his tongue out, a tiny pink blep among the sea of rich white fur.

“Bepo,” you sighed. “You know Law doesn’t like it when you get on the bed.”

“He missed you!” called a voice from the hallway. Spiky red hair appeared in the doorway. “So did we, actually. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

Shachi had, actually, woken you up, but you didn’t need to tell him that. “No, not at all.” You shook your head. Bepo’s tail was wagging in your face, causing you to sputter out small strands of loose fur from your mouth. The red-head entered your bedroom, leaving the door open. The smell of French toast instantly wafted into the space, making your mouth water and your eyes widen. “Is Penguin cooking?”

“Yee-up,” Shachi replied, popping his lips to enunciate the word. “Law invited us over, if you couldn’t tell.” He flashed a smirk. “You got the day off, by the way.”

Your eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. “What?”

“Law called in sick for you,” the man confirmed.

You frantically reached for the night stand and grabbed your phone, tapping the screen to illuminate it. It was almost 10:00AM, and sure enough, your alarm had been turned off. Three texts from Law sat waiting on your screen, as well as two texts from your coworkers.

Baby~~<3

Sorry, I broke into your phone to turn your alarm off. You get to sleep in today, I called you out sick. I didn’t tell them anything, just that you weren’t feeling good.

Baby~~<3

Shachi and Penguin might be there when you wake up. I did tell them a little about what happened, just so they know to give you space if you need it.

Baby~~<3

Call me if you need anything at all, I love you.

Ika-chan

I heard you called in sick today!!! I hope you’re alright, let me know if you need anything!

Nami Swan

How r u feeling? If u caut the flu u can blame Usopp :P

You smiled, your heart beating in your chest. “You guys are too much sometimes.”

Shachi proudly rested his clenched fist over his sternum as a display of pride. “Nothing is ever enough for your best friend!” The sight made you chuckle.

You were caught off guard by Penguin entering with a much larger platter of food than you ever expected. He excitedly approached your bedside with a wide grin, marveling at his own work. A bowl of mixed fruits, a plate of French toast drizzled with maple syrup and dollopped with a swirl of whipped cream, a small portion of sausage on the side, and a single unopened bottle of apple juice. You graciously accepted the spread, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t completely befuddled.

“You guys know I’m not actually sick, right?” you asked, glancing at your husband’s best friends with concern. You shooed Bepo away from getting too close to the sausage.

“We know,” Penguin clarified. “We can treat you to a nice breakfast even when you’re not sick, though!”

You smiled, forcing down the lump that formed in your throat. “Thank you guys, I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I know what you’d do,” Shachi stated. “You’d eat your breakfast and savor every bite!” He stood up from your bed and clapped his hands twice, beckoning Bepo off of the bed and over to his side. “We’ll take Bepo for a walk around the neighborhood! Take some time for yourself!” The two men left with your dog in tow, leaving you to stare in awe at the spread of food.

Your mind was reeling. Law’s text informed you that he had given his two friends a brief summary of what had happened, but you didn’t really mind. If anything, it brought you some comfort to know that you and your husband’s two closest friends understood the predicament you were currently in and were more than willing to go out of their way to support you. You also couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Law calling you out sick for the day, putting your passcode into your phone to turn off your alarm, and making sure his friends would be there for you when you woke up. You were beyond grateful for such an incredible support system, but just to be on the safe side…

You grabbed your phone once more, opening your text messages with Law.

Good morning baby, thank you for calling me out. Im feeling a bit better, Shachi and Penguin made me breakfast. I hope you didnt give them too much grief ;3; Take care of yourself today, I’ll see you when you get home. I love you!!! <333

With your breakfast completed, you slowly trudged to the bathroom to take a relaxing shower. The sight of your negative pregnancy test filled you with nausea, but you pushed past the feeling and turned on the water.

#trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #fem reader #law x reader #x reader #reader insert #tw pregnancy #tw miscarriage #tw pregnancy loss #im losing you

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sgrplumditz · 3 months

Text

Orange peel theory w/ Simon Riley

They had all been granted time off work for a couple weeks now. Being left uninterrupted by her typical life of briefings, debriefings, flights across the globe, and long days away from home only added to her restless nature and her seemingly effortless ability to grow bored --like any woman in her 20's would do to kill time she downloaded social media.

"What the fuck is the orange peel theory?" she spoke to herself as she tossed a piece of the mentioned fruit into her mouth. She continued scrolling through what appeared to be an endless supply of videos regarding the topic. Once she had grasped the concept she shut her phone off and only stared at the scraps of orange peel sitting on the table, a small "hm" leaving her lips as she wondered if that mindless social media trend held any real substance.

Can a person truly show how much they care about another by simply peeling an orange for them? Does peeling a fruit display the extent of their affection?

Shaking her head to clear her mind, she stood up collecting her trash. "No wonder women today are insane..." she thought to herself as she found herself spiraling into deep thought over a fruit named after its color. The over-scrutinizing coming naturally.

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"Don't request to follow me, killer", said Simon in his typical stoic tone. Simon had always referred to her as “killer”, not because of her career choice, but simply because of the way her eyes sat on her face. When she was on duty she wore a balaclava — similar to Simon’s, but it was more precautionary. She actually had no interest in keeping her identity concealed, but being the only woman on the team meant that she would easily become a target if her identity and gender were to be revealed — hence Simon’s encouragement behind the wearing of a balaclava, which the entire team also agreed would be a good idea. However, when she wore the cloth that hid her features her eyes become even more prominent. The striking color only complimented by the sharp almond shape that seemed to drag at the ends. Because of that Simon then coined the nickname “Killer” for her Killer eyes, which she only accepted as a term of endearment.

“We are not friends, just co-workers". Simon had always been impressively kept to himself in the sense that his private life remained private -- if he truly had one outside of his job. He was good at being a literal ghost. Not many (if any) knew not even the smallest of details — like a hobby, or a favorite color. His name itself was also a privilege to know. She was always curious about him, but she never pushed boundaries on the man. What he revealed to her was what she accepted, a quality that he enjoyed about her, amongst others.

"Aw, c'mon! You let Soap follow you!" she replied with a slight chuckle leaving her mouth. She and Simon were sitting together in the living room of the house that all of Task Force 141 shared. It was convenient, close to the base, and it also meant nobody had to pay rent, but it was empty as of recently. Everyone but her and Simon had taken advantage of the break and decided to travel elsewhere for the remainder of their time off -- leaving only them two in the giant 7-bedroom house.

"He's my friend" he replied still holding the same disinterested tone, yet his body language displayed him to be seemingly intrigued by the conversation. That was one of his best qualities. Simon was not one to initiate an interaction himself unless he felt the need to assert himself, but that did not mean that he was not able to hold a conversation with substance.

"For someone who has social media you're not very social," she muttered as she slumped back on the couch in defeat. Her gaze lazily resting on him.

"Touché" was his only retort. At this point, he had also leaned back in his seat, his hips inching upward as he adjusted himself to be more comfortable. How his body reacted to the movement made his abdominal muscles contract -- her eyes resting on the contracting anatomy. He also maintained his gaze on her, and for a second there was a slight hint of amusement in his eyes as they softened knowing that he knew exactly how to get under her skin. With him being so quiet meant that he was always observing the others, learning their mannerisms and personalities. She couldn’t help but admire him. It was clear that she was fond of him — especially in the physical category, Simon easily embodies the definition of what it means to be a man. He is tall, muscular, handsome, and his personality was simply the cherry on top of the 6’3” sundae.

"I'm... social..." she reclaimed as she removed herself from her spiraling thoughts of him, her tone slightly defensive. Similarly to Simon, she was a homebody and actively avoided situations that required her to be out of her comfort zone for an extended period of time -- perhaps that is part of the reason why the two got along so well. "I just have.." she attempted to continue, but she was cut off by Simon finishing her predictable answer.

"... a social battery. Yeah, you've mentioned that before, Killer." his eyes narrowing slightly amused at her reply. He chuckled shaking his head and pulling his cellphone out of the pocket of his gray sweat pants. He typed into the device’s screen for a few seconds before tossing it to his left side, “Happy?” He chuckled , her phone vibrating as he spoke. She obviously knew the notification was from him, so she didn’t even bother glancing at the device.

“I knew you’d come around. You can never say no to me” she smirked. The pair would often go back a forth with mildly flirtations comments, all of them being light hearted and mostly came from the fact that she was the only woman on the team. The playful banter merely came naturally — at least that is what she assumed. She never took Simon as the type to ever have a genuine interest in a woman due to obvious reasons.

“How could I ever say no to those eyes, Princess?” A teasing tone lingering on his tongue. Princess was the second nickname he had labeled her with. Again, being the only female of the team meant she got some sort of special treatment from everyone else. Soap would help her carry in her groceries — knowing she was more than capable, Price would always brew her some fresh coffee along with his own then place it in the fridge so that by the time she woke up she could easily make an iced coffee without having that watered down taste, and Gaz would often restock her feminine care products for her. Him calling her Princess was the most teasing variation of her nicknames. Although she was well aware of the meaning and the reasoning behind it she could not help but smile whenever he used it. Her full lips parted slightly as a soft grin appeared on them and oddly enough he returned it with a half grin.

He forced himself to stand up before he became completely engulfed in the moment, "I'm gonna make some lunch. Wanna join?" he prompted as he initiated his walk to the kitchen. With a slight nod of her head she also raised herself off the couch and followed closely behind him. God does he always smell good, she thought to herself as they walked.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

She sat on the kitchen island scrolling through her phone as Simon cooked them both lunch. The two had grown to be comfortable around each other, and their kindred personalities only added to their ability to sit in a peaceful silence. The aroma created by the mixing of spices and ingredients only made her stomach growl and rumble. The sound audible to both her and Simon and truthfully she could not wait to eat. She considered having a snack before just to ease her stomach -- before she could even set her phone down Simon had handed her a small bowl of fruit.

Specifically a bowl of oranges — peeled orange slices. She stared at the bowl in awe. Her gaze was unintentionally soft. As she shifted her gaze to him she noticed that he had gone back to cooking their lunch, as if the action itself was natural to him, something he didn’t think twice about doing for her. He had taken notice of her staring which made him quirk an eyebrow at her as he grabbed a piece of orange from the bowl that was sitting on her lap, close to her lower stomach, casually tossing the piece of fruit into his mouth. “I thought you liked oranges” he spoke with the assumption that she was disappointed in the contents of the bowl.

“I do.” she replied softly. He gave her a small wink prior to turning his attention back to their meal. The entire interaction being a sign of pure affection.

_______________________________________________

Pic credit:

instagram/tiktok: takeoffurmaskghost

#soapghost #ghost x reader #ghostsoap #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #john price #cod keegan #soap cod

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takami-takami · 4 months

Text

Like a Candle at Both Ends.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. smut.

warnings— sub!keigo. reader uses a strap. double penetration with a twist. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. dacryphilia. cum as lube. slight feminization (of keigo). slight degradation. some brattiness. face-sitting mentioned.

In which you blow the birthday boy's back out like a candle. Topping Keigo with a fleshlight underneath him, that way he gets so overwhelmed he cries. ♡

You're at least ninety percent sure Keigo won't remember a damn word he says, tomorrow.

It's a pity, truly, that his gorgeous babbles of incoherency that entertain you aplenty in bed will only live on in your memories; but you suppose you can't really blame him. It would be difficult for any man to remain focused in this situation— let alone one who gets as lost in the floaty depths of subspace as Hawks.

You've always known your boyfriend to have a penchant for indulgence. If the tabloids get one thing at least half-correct, it's that Keigo is quite the glutton for satisfying his baser urges.

Tabloids call him a foodie. They snap pictures of him at different restaurants every afternoon during his usual two o'clock lunch breaks, sinking his teeth into delicacies with a moan, only to wash it down with the most caffeinated coffee he can get his mitts on.

And those same tabloids write adorable little periodicals about how their media darling just loves a little something to eat.

But you know better.

The reality is, it's more that Keigo is simply a brat who likes to indulge. He likes to be pleased.

He likes to fill and be filled, to stuff and be stuffed; but you don't blame them for not reading between the lines, there. You suppose you do have the unfair advantage of seeing him make that same, satisfied face after you've milked his cock to empty itself past the point of shooting blanks.

If anyone on this earth is privy to a crucial little piece of information the rest of the world doesn't know, it's you. The paparazzi that flock like vultures outside local diners in the hopes of catching the number two may snap pics of him smiling to himself as he digs in, but they don't have the slightest idea what else Keigo likes to sink his teeth into.

Namely: your neck, if he's lucky; cock throbbing in your vice grip, on days you grant him permission to teethe at your skin until the splotches of color from his marks settle like satisfaction in his chest.

But mostly— and especially, on nights like tonight— the revered, dignified hero Keigo Takami just sinks his teeth into the pillow like a goddamn whore.

Right now, as Keigo lays on his front and bites back some rather pathetic sounds, the plush pillow beneath him is looking unbearably chewable to his eyes. Your delicate hand is reaching around his body like a serpent, snaking underneath his pelvis to grip his sensitive length so carefully in your palm; and the man below you is beginning to suspect he might need another outlet for his sexual frustrations, soon.

"I c-can do that myself," he releases the pillow and sputters, though his body doesn't protest in the slightest. In fact, his hips arch away from the toy positioned below, in order to allow you rightful access to his cock.

"Yeah, obviously," you answer with a squint, sliding your fingers along his length. "But I want to do it for you, so I will. Are you complaining, Kei'?"

"Mm. No," he hums the right answer, shifting comfortably to rest his cheek against the pillow and settle his weight on his knees. "But I might start complaining if you don't hurry it up. I don't take this long when I put it in you," he whines, smushing his cheek further into the fluff to resist the temptation to look down. He doesn't flinch a bit when you thread your fingers through his hair in response, practically petting him.

Still, Keigo sighs in pleasure rather than dissatisfaction when he shuts his eyes. He can't deny that your soft skin feels incredible on his cock, crackling with electric charge; but the fleshlight trapped beneath his hips is enticingly lubed and ready for him, and that simple fact is causing him to grow impatient. The way you're rubbing his tip against its entrance doesn't help in the slightest. It feels more agonizing than pleasurable, at this point.

"Stop playing with it and put it inside already," he groans.

"Aww," you coo. "Are you feeling pent up today, Keigo?"

It's meant to be a tease, but the response you get is heartbreakingly genuine.

"A little bit, yeah," Keigo answers truthfully, cocking his head to the side for a second. His neck pops with the motion, achingly, and he cracks his neck the other way to make it look intentional. Still on his belly, he crosses his elbows and tucks his chin atop his arms.

Keigo looks genuinely fatigued when he blinks. Black lashes rest on his cheekbones a little longer than usual today, and you're aware that the only thing hiding his prominent eye bags is a few layers of expensive, caked-on concealer.

You swallow a pang of resentment at the sight.

Next year, you'll be sure to make a few phone calls with some choice words and demands you refuse to budge on.

Somehow, the urge to spit an uncharacteristically shrill "let me speak to your manager" over the phone to some HPSC bigshot isn't quite as strong as the urge to spoil Keigo tonight, instead; to make your baby forget the press interviews his handlers drag him to, around this time every year. The meetups, the galas— even those photoshoots you're silently a bit thankful for because he looks so irritatingly handsome in them.

You take out your irritation on his wings, gripping the sensitive primaries in one fist. To his delight, you begin to stroke the sensitive, silky bristles along the sides of his feathers, teasing them with your fingertips.

"Woah, woah, woah," Keigo smirks. The plumage of his wingspan preens with the attention, arching into your touch like a purring, spoiled housecat. "Easy there, doll. What's gotten into you today— oh, fuck me."

The moan dies down into a pleased rumble in his chest; and before he knows it, his hips arch just like his glorious wings, grinding his backside against the pretty, pink appendage strapped to your hips by a few medieval-looking buckles.

"Nothing," you lie. "Just wanted to shut you up, but it's not working all that well."

"Liar," he snides. "You know that makes me loud, baby."

"Wasn't exactly trying to hide that, but nice try."

Your palm finally guides his tip into the toy, slipping it deep inside while he sighs in momentary relief.

But the relief is just that. Momentary.

Keigo's hardly bottomed out for a dozen seconds before he's whining and trying to press himself back against the tip of your strap, too.

"Oh my god," you laugh genuinely, dumbfounded by how quickly he begs for the next little indulgence on the list. You're too busy popping the lid of a plastic tube and drizzling your strap with lube to babysit him; so for now, you ignore his whorish little display for attention.

"You want it that bad, already," you ask, slicking the length and plopping the tip against his fluttering rim, giving him a few lovetaps.

"Yeah," Keigo smiles, deliriously. "Wanna feel you fucking against my prostate. Give it to me."

Cheeky. On another day, you'd deny him strap altogether for acting like he doesn't need to do anything to earn it.

"Tell me if anything feels weird," you say instead, kissing his shoulder once while you grip the tip in one hand, pressing it against his hole. "Does it feel okay?"

"Mm, yeah," he rolls his shoulders. "But can you, uh, let me just lay here a little, at first? You know, while you do your thing?"

Keigo shakes his hips in an attempt to look enticing with the shameless request. "I'll be really good. Promise."

"You're such a fucking pillow princess," you accuse as you slide inside his already prepped hole and begin to move; and just as quickly as you utter it, the pseudo-insult backfires in the form of a high pitched, utterly pleased moan below you.

"I-I can be your princess," Keigo immediately agrees, with some nods alongside each of your thrusts. When you sink into him, he sinks his teeth further into the pillow than his mind sinks to delirium— deeper than his pride sinks down to a new low.

"I'm yours, I'm your princess," Keigo repeats. "I'm your fucking princess," he moans, reaching one hand back to claw those delicately manicured fingernails into the meat of your thigh. Each nail is meticulously cut, shaved down like the hair on his lithe body and painted an iridescent gold to match his eyes under your bedroom light.

It's whiny when he pleads, "fuck me"— and it sounds even more pathetic when he squeals it.

With every infuriatingly slow thrust of your hips, Keigo makes a show of displaying his greed. He drags you into him, vice-grip in one hand locked in your flesh to pull it flush into his. His other hand busies itself clutching the drool-soaked pillow against his bare chest for stability.

You treat him delicately, fucking him too slow for him to even think of blowing his load? Oh, that makes him growl through his teeth.

"Just blow my back out, already!" He practically mopes, cock still throbbing in his toy. You can hear the purse of Keigo's lips, his adorable, jutted bottom lip that you're certain is wobbling at this point.

"C'mon," he grits. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that you should, like… Keep your promises? They're no good if you don't, y'know."

There are only a few days in the year Keigo is allowed to act out like this, and he'll be damned if he doesn't capitalize on them to the fullest.

The brat's gonna put you in an early grave at this rate, you think. You may not be able to punish him today, but you certainly can give him exactly what he wants.

And when you do give him what he wants, the reality becomes abundantly clear: he can't actually handle it.

When you speed up, he pants like a dog— or, more aptly given this pretty little position, dripping submission and precum while he gets his ass stuffed, face down— Keigo pants like a bitch.

With his tongue far too heavy for his mouth, he resorts to whimpering into the pillow— his poor little crutch. The fleshlight is still squished between his pelvis and the bed, so every thrust you grind against his ass milks his cock, too. It's impossible to keep his head clear and focused when he's stimulated on all fronts; but bless him, Keigo does try.

He tries so hard, pathetically, to focus through the sounds of his lubed cock rubbing against the wet silicone, through the full feeling stuffing his insides at the same time.

Yet even still, it's not enough for him. He snarls in frustration as he shoves his hand between his thighs to adjust the cocksleeve, angled so he can stuff more of his cock in it, enveloped down to his base and pressing near-painfully against his balls.

Fuckin' perfect, he sighs, finally able to direct his attention to his lovely partner digging out his guts from behind.

"Make me your b-b—" He starts and trails off, brows pinched with effort. "Make me yours," he corrects.

Oh? You tuck that little tidbit away.

You suppose it's been countless minutes since you began railing the poor, whimpering pup beneath you. That is, if you were to judge by the rasp in his voice that builds each time he cries his heart out.

Keigo is, despite it all, a very, very good boy. He gives you his visual cues when he feels that telltale tingling in the swollen, blushing tip of his cock; the one that lets him know how close he really is to bursting along the edge. He tenses his already defined muscles and looks back at you with the cutest puppydog eyes, just to make sure you know he's close.

"I'm gonna cum," he warns verbally, too.

But you don't stop.

If his muscles weren't tense enough before, they certainly are now.

"Baby?" Keigo near-panics, turning a bit to gaze up at you pleadingly. Your floral bed sheets twist into spirals under each of his fists, wrung in a manner not unlike his cock. "Baby, I-I said I was gonna cum."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time." You peer down your nose and eye the bead of sweat that slithers down his neck.

You watch the tremble of Keigo's hips as he does his best to keep his position poised like a prized showdog, dutifully still. He resists the urge to meet your strokes, instead offering every scrap of control to you as he lets the length of your strap carve out his insides. With every angled rock of your hips, the tip of your curved cock rubs against his poor prostate, stimulating it and making it a nightmare of an endurance test to hold himself back from spilling.

Habit is a powerful thing. Of course, Keigo's body recognizes the familiarity of this song and dance. His cock, ever well-trained, expects you to deny its release; to still your hips and cause his balls to ache, heavy with deprivation, just like you always do.

But tonight, you don't stop.

Your hands are still gripping his hips and your strap buckles are still clinking with your desperate movements. Your pelvis keeps pressing him deeper, manually pushing him in and out of the toy below; and he begrudgingly accepts your generosity, because it's possible that you just felt a little altruistic today.

After all, it is his—

"I'm gonna cum," Keigo whimpers. "Fuck, baby, I'm gonna cum!"

And with his nails tearing at the sheets, Keigo's world goes white; almost as white as the sticky mess he makes of his poor little toy, tip flooding it with rope after rope from his throbbing cock.

It rings in his ears when he climaxes, overloading his poor brain with endorphins and making him scream into the pillow he chomps down on.

Still, your delicate hands guide his hips back and forth, ignoring his babbling to watch him fuck his own cum into the toy.

If it pleases you to watch Keigo continue the motion long after your hands have retreated, you keep it to yourself.

"Ah," he nearly shrieks, high pitched and pretty. "Too much! Ah, fuck, baby, please—"

"Yeah? How does it feel, sweetheart?"

"W-Wet," Keigo hiccups, hips stuttering just the same as his voice. He paws at the sheets when he continues, kneading them in his palms like a kitten. "So fucking wet."

"Mhm," you hum, sitting back on your haunches. You decide to make him use his words for your entertainment, to sate your indignance at his prior tantrums. "And why is that, babe?"

Your palms slide possessively down his hips and up the curvature of his back, meeting his arch. They trail toward his shoulder blades, fingers splayed as Keigo tries to chase them; and to your amusement, he hardly looks to be in the proper state to process the fact that he's actually being mocked, let alone protest it.

To Keigo, all he knows is it simply feels good.

Keigo answers obediently, instead. It takes you by surprise, the way his unabashed filth spills without shame. Arousal pools between your thighs, but your body remains still— if only to watch the way he fucks himself on your cock, balls deep before he does the same using his own to the fleshlight below.

"Because it's stuffed full of my cum. It's s-so wet, full— fuck," he slurs, voice airy and utterly uncontrolled when he draws his hips back onto your thick, pink strap, down till his ass meets your pelvis; and he thrusts his cock back inside the toy, the subsequent shlick somehow louder than how he runs his mouth.

Back and forth, in and out, Keigo irreverently milks himself from both ends. The motion of it smears his own spent along the sides of his cock, acting as the most obscene lubricant. It's messy, unbearably loud in its slick sounds.

It must sound as satisfying to hump as it feels, Keigo thinks. His lip wobbles at the thought, hoping it impresses you, and he bites the pillow below him.

"Aww, it's full?" You don't bother to muffle your laughs as you kneel behind him, simply watching as the once-powerful hero below you does all the work and fucks the snark out of himself, for you. The sound of your condescending laughter breaks him, whittling down his vocabulary as his mind sinks to that familiar, fuzzy place.

The silicone is unbearably tight around his length, even though you were careful to pick one out that he could fit into. The thickness and length of Keigo's cock does tend to make shopping for toys a chore, you muse.

You're not complaining, though. You'll take a couple extra hours of scrolling through fleshlight reviews on forums for the well-endowed before making a purchase, if it means you can keep getting split open by his massive cock when he bends you over the bathroom vanity.

Or the kitchen counter. Or the leather couch in your living room. Or the nearest single-stall restroom sink after you accidentally call him something you shouldn't have in public.

But tonight, the nicknames you call him sound nothing like "sir."

They sound like "puppy", like "sweetheart", like "good boy."

The ribbed, silicone rings inside are designed to squeeze his cock with each stroke. It normally feels simply pleasurable; though, after an orgasm that explosive, his cock feels nearly raw in its sensitivity, nerves exposed like live wiring and sparking electricity all the same.

"It hurts," Keigo squeaks through his fat, wet tears; and you begin to pull out and fuss over him.

That is, until he wails and grips your thigh close in his claws.

"Wait, I want it to! Don't pull out, please don't, please don't pull out. I was so close," he slurs.

"Already?" Your face scrunches with disbelief.

"Uh huh," he nods furiously.

And just like that, your grandiose plans of discovering how much is too much for the glutton end up fizzling out.

"Figures you'd be into overstimulation," you roll your eyes, palm slapping once against his behind as you watch it go from fleshy peach to red. "Whore."

"Huh?" He drools. He sounds like a lost puppy, brain too fuzzy to register a single word— well, other than whore, but that's only because that word made his cock feel kinda nice.

"Not gonna remember a damn word you said tomorrow, are you," you ask, watching him rock his hips in desperation, drowning in his own pleasure. "Too lost when you get fucked, huh, puppy?"

"Mm-mm," Keigo shakes his head furiously, blonde tufts sticking up like stray feathers. At the sight of it, you're overcome with a sudden urge to claw at his scalp.

"Mm! Love you," he adds for seemingly no reason when you yank his neck back by the roots, throat bobbing with his strained swallow.

Heart pounding like the percussion of a heavy metal drum with moans just as erotic, skin slick with sweat and cock wet with his own release; this is the man Keigo is reduced to as you take charge once more. You bully his prostate, thighs burning with effort and breath panting in his ear. Your left hand releases his scalp to grip his jaw and keep his back arched into your chest, while your right shamelessly milks his cock, fleshlight in hand.

It's too much. His moans are broken, climbing in pitch like a crescendo until the dam breaks and his mind shatters once more.

You know how loud Keigo can be. You're well aware, well prepared; yet, like every time you make him sob and scream when he cums, it travels between your legs like lightning, regardless.

After he collapses into the sheets, it takes Keigo ages to catch his breath. His body still shudders and twitches with the aftershocks of his orgasm, wings flapping twice before tucking against his shoulder blades, submissively.

There's drool on the pillowcase, you note; and it's been chewed to bits.

When you pull out, he gasps. You rub the tip against his twitching rim in an attempt to soothe him, and his gasp settles into a sigh.

"Good?" You're out of breath, yourself, when you dare to ask. "You look like you lost one of your nine lives, for a second."

"Eh, it was alright," he smirks. "Could you do it again? I wasn't paying attention."

"Shut the fuck up," you slam the pillow against his side. "You're such a brat.

"You love it," Keigo teases, rolling onto his back and stretching. He exposes his belly. Blissfully comfortable, fucked-out, and entirely satiated.

His eyes nevertheless catch between your legs as you unbuckle the strap and let it fall unceremoniously. He wets his lip and swallows, pupils dilating.

"C'mere," he says, making grabby hands. Expectant, he shifts in eager anticipation, settling into an acceptably comfortable position as you place your thighs on either side of his head— he won't be moving for quite some time, after all.

"Oh," you add, pretending as if you suddenly remembered something. "And Keigo?"

"Mhm?" He hums, craning his neck toward your core, eager to lap himself another helping to fill.

"Happy birthday, baby."

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY KEIGO 🥳🥳🥳#🖋 writing #🌶 spice #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #smut #x reader

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