#AND MY HEART IS TOTALLY TEAR APART

[ratguy-nico]

Im not part of the Helluva Boss fandom but Im gonna judge you directly and personally

I don't hear near enough talking about this song

We get over this song way to fast

I know my bird have had many hit songs but people I've been listening to this shit non stop and crying every freaking time, is just...is too much 😭😭🤧

[gay4way]

dearest greyson,

i remember the first time you messaged me, four whole months ago. it was fanmail, for a fic I finished soon after. i was ecstatic that day, and i still am every time you hit send and my phone goes *bloop*.

sometimes I reread our chats, starting from the top and working my way down to the bottom, watching our relationship progress over those four months in the span of mere minutes, fast-forwarding through digital time. 

some times it feels like i'm sending you postcards from the bottom of the ocean and sometimes not, but one thing's always been clear -- our love, even before we were married.

you're the light of my life, the half-doomed to my semi-sweet, and I wouldn't have it any other way. separated by a screen, but connected by the strings of our hearts. severed at the wrist, and yet I'll still find a way to hold your hand. 

you make feel alive, reanimating my rotting corpse of a soul night after night after night, through some combination of stupid weezer memes and keyboard witchcraft. you don't just create the light behind my eyes, you *are* that light, that effervescent glow, that constant reminder that someone out there loves me.

if life were a galaxy, then we'd be a binary star system, orbiting around each other for the rest of eternity, with nothing but a faint glow and our love for each other to keep us safe in the ever-present vacuum of space, and i'd cherish every minute of it. we'd live forever, and maybe we *could* live forever, if we had the time.

these cold, dead hands of mine could write a million more stanzas of this discombobulated poem/dead letter (marked return to sender as always with but a digital stamp) and it would never be enough to describe just how much i love you.

happy valentine's day, and here's to many more <33333

xo,

moss <3

hoooly fuck i am so close to crying over this right now and probably will later later but seriously thank you i wish i had the ability to write you something like this in response though even if i did it would even come close to the master piece that is this message <3333 i love you so so much

[hairmetal666]

Eddie thought inviting Steve to the Grammys would be fine, cool, no big deal. And it should be, but Steve is walking out of the suite's bedroom wearing a burgundy tuxedo that fits him like a fucking glove. His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to let chest hair peak out, and Eddie thinks he might faint.

He's always been attracted to Steve, of course, but never let it go further than that. Like, sure, Steve was hot as fuck, and sure he was the best guy Eddie had ever met, and sometimes, yeah, he did have to force away thoughts of Steve when he jerked off, and in other circumstances he'd totally be head over heels. Just, Steve is straight, the straightest, a fucking arrow.

Eddie tears his eyes from Steve's body. "You look great, man." He slaps Steve's back. Keeping it cool; keeping it so cool.

"Psh," Steve says. "Have you looked in a mirror? Oh my god." His eyes are saucer wide as they travel down Eddie's body.

"Is it too much?" Eddie crosses his arms over his bare chest.

"Are you kidding? You're--fuck, man. You look good as hell."

He's wearing a silky burgundy shirt, open to show off the necklaces around his throat, his tattoos, the silver in his nipples. His pants are leather, tight, sitting low on his hips and putting the cut of his pelvic bone on full display. They have a lace-up closure that comes dangerously close to showing pube.

Heat rushes to his face at the compliment. "It's--you know. Hazard of the job."

"Yeah, hazard, sure. Guess it's a hard life having hot dudes literally throwing themselves at you."

Eddie barks out a laugh. "That's a vast exaggeration."

"Is it?"

He blushes harder. "You're my date tonight, Steve."

"My point exactly."

His manager and publicist usher them out the door before he can ask what the hell that meant.

---

The ride is giddy and playful, Steve popping champagne to celebrate Eddie's nomination for Song of the Year, even though there's no chance in hell he wins.

Steve is happy. His face is bright with joy, eyes shining, laugh loud and infectious. He's gorgeous, knows it, will be an absolute menace on the red carpet. He's been with Eddie to parties and stuff before, doesn't have any anxiety in front of the camera and isn't obsessed with musicians like Eddie is, unafraid to meet them.

Or so Eddie thought.

Because now they're standing at the edge of the red carpet, Steve very nearly trembling next to him.

"Harrington?"

"That's--That's Madonna." Steve points to her. "We're not even ten feet away from Madonna." He gulps. "Eddie. Madonna."

Steve has met famous people before with Eddie. Ozzy, briefly, Janet Jackson, Dave Grohl, James Hetfield, and he'd always been fine. Barely batted an eye. But get him within reaching distance of Madonna and he falls apart.

Eddie doesn't think about it, grabs Steve's hand, twines their fingers together. "Okay?"

The smile Steve throws him, grateful and a little embarrassed, stabs straight through his heart. He calms as they make it up the carpet, but he doesn't drop Eddie's hand, even when they pause for pictures. In fact, he leans into it, drapes his arm around Eddie's shoulders, or around his waist, seeming to thrive the closer they are. Eddie feels this dangerous pull to indulge in it, to let himself believe it means something, and he doesn't quite have it in him to turn it off.

By the time they reach their seats, Steve is relaxed back to his normal charming and handsome self, doesn't bat an eye as Eddie introduces him around.

The show passes quickly with all the performances and Steve whispering jokes in his ear. It's the best time he's ever had at an award show, like he should have been bringing Steve along this whole time. He's so distracted that he's not really ready when Paula Abdul comes out to announce Song of the Year.

His name is read off as a nominee and Steve grabs his hand, squeezes tight. Eddie's heart flips in his chest. He's not paying attention when Paula opens the envelope, too focused on Steve's strong hand holding his. He hears her say, "And the Grammy goes to--" and everything goes fuzzy.

Steve is saying, "oh my god, oh my god, Eddie. Get up, get up."

And his fucking song is playing and everyone is cheering, a couple people slap his back, and oh shit, oh shit, he fucking won. He stands, Steve with him. He thinks they're going to hug, that's what you do in these situations, but Steve is kissing him. Not on the cheek and not a quick peck, but lip-to-lip, soft and sweet.

Steve just kissed him and he has to get on stage and give a speech. He has no idea what he says because Steve just kissed him. On the lips. On purpose. His ears are ringing and words tumble out of his mouth, thinks he says, "couldn't have done it without you, Stevie," before tripping over his feet to get backstage.

Interviews, photographs, congratulations all help him settle. He's still buzzing with the win, but aware enough now to think the kiss had to be an accident. They've been friends for nearly a decade and Steve never seemed interested in men generally or Eddie specifically.

It takes a while to finish up the backstage business, but when he makes it to his seat, Steve just beams at him. He doesn't mention the kiss, which makes Eddie think he's overreacting. It wasn't a big deal. Sure, he could still feel Steve's lips, warm and soft, against his own, but it didn't mean anything. He's just too in his big gay feelings to be objective.

They don't get a chance to really talk until they're back in the limo and on their way to the after-party.

"You won," Steve says.

"I won." Eddie smiles. "Crazy."

"You deserved it."

He shrugs. "I don't know about that."

"Doesn't matter. You did." Steve fidgets with the cuff of his jacket. "About earlier, um. The kiss. I--"

Eddie feels his face heating, heart kicking up. It was nothing, he knows, and Steve shouldn't have to-- "It was an accident. It's okay. I know you don't--it was the heat of the moment and--I know you're not--you don't--"

Steve blinks a lot, emotions flashing across his face faster than Eddie can categorize.

"What if I do?" Steve asks. His voice is too soft, eyes locked on the cuff link he's fiddling with.

"You--what?"

"What if I did mean it?"

"You're straight."

Steve goes pink. "I'm really not."

"Steve?" He shrieks. "Since when?"

"Um. Since you invited me to this?"

"What the fuck?" Eddie shoves him. "What the fuck, man?"

"I know, I know!" Steve pulls his hand through his hair. "You invited me and I freaked out and I didn't know why, and Robin made the saddest little face at me. Said, 'oh, dingus, you didn't know?' How the fuck was I supposed to know!"

"I think you wanting to fuck me should've been a pretty good indication!"

"I thought that happened to everyone!"

"It doesn't!"

"That's what Robin said!"

They're both yelling.

"Jesus christ. Jesus christ," Eddie keeps repeating.

"Look, I get it if you don't want me too, dude. I know that's not how it works, but I've been pretty crazy about you without realizing it for a while now, so--"

He doesn't mean to, he really doesn't, but he laughs. Like, super loud. Like a donkey bray.

"Okay, can the driver let me out? Like, can I go? I can't--"

"Wait, wait, sweetheart." Steve's gotten up, like he's about to knock on the partition, but Eddie grabs his wrist. "Of course I want you back, you idiot, oh my god."

"Oh." Steve's ears are pink. "Oh. Well. That's good."

Eddie huffs. "Just good? I won a Grammy and the guy I've been pining over for years wants me back. I'm having the night of my life."

"Shut-up." Steve's smile is so big, his eyes so bright.

He raises an eyebrow. "Make me," he says in his lowest register, but he's truly not prepared for it when Steve clambers over to him and lowers himself to straddle Eddie's hips.

"Holy shit," Eddie whispers. "Holy shit, Steve."

He give a wry little smile, eyes locked on Eddie's mouth. "Baby, can I kiss you?"

"Yes." Eddie clears his throat. "Yes, please, do that. Yeah."

Only, he doesn't. He's straddling Eddie, they're so close their breath mingles, and Steve's eyes flicker between Eddie's mouth and his eyes, lips so close to touching but not.

"C'mon, asshole," Eddie says.

"I knew you'd be a brat." He whispers. He wraps his hands into Eddie's hair. "Been dying to do this."

And then they're kissing. They're kissing and it steals all of Eddie's breath and his thoughts, and it's new but it's also like they've been kissing forever, like their lips and tongue know each other, like coming home.

He whines, high-pitched and breathy, and Steve laughs, kisses him deeper, moves closer, and Eddie feels how hard Steve is, the persistent pulse of him. And shit Eddie's close, on the brink just from this, from nothing, oh my god.

Steve's hands drift down Eddie's torso, mapping his chest and his stomach, coming to rest at the laces of his pants. "These have been driving me insane," Steve breaks the kiss to say. "Been thinking about undoing them all night."

"Fuck, sweetheart, you can't say shit like that," Eddie groans.

"Why not?"

"Because--because," Eddie sputters but then Steve's lips are on his neck and he's rolling his hips for friction.

Steve's fingers find the laces again, trace against them. Eddie's legs fall open, arching into the touch. "We're going to be so late," he murmurs as Steve's fingers get to work.

[allurilove]

Yan!Prodigy x Rival you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Includes: enemies to lovers?— not really he falls in love pretty quick, first time kissing, stalking, admitting his feelings, he gets excited by the tiniest sight of skin, he’s delusional, gender neutral reader.

*I played violin for a couple of years, but my knowledge is a bit dusty and it’s been awhile 😬 And sorry for not posting! I’ve been busy with studying for the SAT! He is referred to as “your enemy” and this is purely fictional writing!*

Synopsis: He’s been on the top of his game for years. He’s known as the most talented violinist, and his ability to play has brought people to tears. All until you came along and threatened his legacy.

He was upset and furious that a nobody like you could win the spot of the first chair. You were now the center of attention, and not him. He wanted to break you down.

But… why did he find himself yearning for you?

He’s been practicing for years. He spent his whole life dedicating to the art of music. His fingers have been numb before, his wrist hurt, and he’s been staring at music sheets for so long— that everything looked like notes to him.

He’s been the first chair. He climbed his way to the top, he earned his reputation, and everyone admires him.

So, a little and measly talent like you shouldn’t have been in his spot. He had to audition for that seat—just like everyone else— but he knew that the directors loved him the moment he stepped on the stage.

He created masterpiece after masterpiece, and he’s a well sought out man.

He heard murmurs and whispers as he sat down behind you. He could feel everyone look at you with fascination, and admiration. He scowled and his grip on the neck of the violin was tight. He imagined ripping you out of the chair, or shoving his bow down your throat.

He had a steely gaze as you turned around to look at the person who had been glaring daggers at you. You smile at him, feeling a bit bad that you’re a newbie who took his usual position.

Why was his heart beating?

“Dont look at me.” The man scowled at you. His face slowly turning pink, and he looked away as you turned to face him again.

For the first time ever, he was distracted. As the show began he could hear his mistakes. He felt his hand shake, and he accidentally pressed down too hard on the string- causing an eerie squeaking noise. He looked up to see what you were doing and you are confident, each note of yours is perfect, and you were clearly the better choice. His eyes slowly widened as he became hypnotized by the way you moved, and the way your hand was so nimble.

“…fuck.” He was falling in love. That has never happened to him before. His body is filled with warmth, his heart fluttered, and he felt like he could float on the wave of happiness. For the first time ever— he felt alive.

The person next to him gently kicked at his chair, and he snapped out of it. He looked back at the sheet, and he realized he lost his place. His eyes and ears frantically tried to figure out where they were.

The show was a nightmare. He got chewed out for the very first time, and he hung his head low. He made multiple mistakes, made a mockery of the whole orchestra, and organization. He apologized to everyone, and he seethed at how people thought he was slipping.

You were the only one to approach him. Your enemy threw his jacket on, ready to leave, but he paused when he saw you.

“Hey… I’m sorry-“

He raised a hand to stop you. “It’s not your fault.” He said curtly, and he grabbed his instrument case. He brushed past you, and quickly made it out of the building. He had to stop and take a breather- leaning on the wall as he felt red cheeks. He always felt a rush of adrenaline and excitement when you came close to him.

That’s when the stalking began. I mean it was a total accident, and he didn’t mean to find your apartment… he just happened to know it was yours, because of the way the melodic sound came from the window. He was across the street, and he was able to see you sway, and play with such emotion. He stood there for what felt like years, and he started to film you.

He would rewatch them at night in his bed. A huge smile on his face as he was able to relive that moment. Before he knew it… he kissed the screen.

He came to practice early in the morning. Your enemy had to keep up a cool facade, and he ignored your little “hello” to him. He sat in his chair, feeling a bit bitter, but he knew it was well deserved. You’re a good violin player, and he was coming to terms with it. He sighed as he brought his instrument out of the case, he took out his tuner, and he started to tune his instrument. He fiddled with the fine tuners, and eventually adjusting the pegs when that didn’t work.

The whole entire time… he glanced at you. His heart swelled up as he saw you take off your jacket, and he gulped as he saw your shoulders.

Ohhh god.

He slightly groaned as his pants felt tighter.

He heard the peg creak, his fingers mindlessly kept turning and turning. He gasped as the string he was trying to tune snapped, he felt it hit his cheek, and out of surprise he dropped his violin.

He was so embarrassed as you helped him get an ice pack. You two were in the tiny hallway, an ice pack in your hand. Instead of handing it to him, you placed it on his cheek for him. You made him feel better, told a little joke about what happened and he let out a chuckle.

He saw you smile and step closer to him. Was this seriously happening? He immediately kissed you back as you pressed against him, one arm around your waist and the other on the back of your head. You tasted wonderful.

He started to moan out your name, your hand now down his pants, and he arched his back. His hands then gripped at the brick wall, his hips jerked with the movement, and he felt his orgasm coming pretty close.

He felt you pull down his pants and boxers, and you got down onto your knees, and your tongue stuck out to lick his length.

“God, I love you—“ He pants, his stomach tightening as his arousal grew.

“Hello?”

Hello?

His eyes came back to focus on your hand waving in his face. He gulped as he took a step back. You were confused as to what happened, you tried to speak to him, but it looked like he was lost in his thoughts. His face was flushed and he was murmuring incoherent things.

The man quickly snatched the ice pack and he panicked— his dick twitching— and he ran away from you.

Allure: It’s a pretty short fic, unedited, and i wrote this on my break 😭 yandere x zombie part three should be coming soon.

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

“hungover” - hotch x fem!reader

after a girls’ night in, you wake up next to your boyfriend.

1380 words - FLUFFY FLUFF

cw; mentions of alcohol and food, implied age gap?, typical hangover, jemily agenda (sry not sry)

a/n: I wrote this on my phone on vacation bc I have a serious problem

———————

The first thing you notice when you wake up is that you are not in your clothes.

You aren’t in your clothes. And you only realize it because of the scent wafting up your nose. Sea Salt Breeze - the cologne you’d gotten him for Christmas last year - emanates from the t-shirt that envelopes your upper half. You dip your chin for another whiff, breathing him in deeply. You want the smell inscribed into your brain.

You feel the bed dip and creak and you instinctively shut your eyes, playing possum as Aaron pads into the bathroom. The door whines as he shuts it most of the way, not totally closing it because he thinks you’re still asleep and that the sound of the door shutting will wake you.

Each of your senses turns on one at a time, like your brain waves run on dial-up Internet. You open your eyes and the room is mostly dark, save for the sliver of light creeping in through the outline of the curtains. You run the palm of your hand along Aaron’s sheets and marvel over how soft they are - Egyptian cotton, he’d told you once before.

Your head hurts, but only mildly. You’d certainly been drunker before, but last night was still up there. Penelope made her mojitos strong.

You slowly sit up in the bed as Aaron opens the door, flicking the bathroom light off in the same motion. Your eyes meet his and he cracks a small smile. “Thought you’d still be asleep,” he muses. You love his pale blue boxers and seeing the hair on his legs. His calves are crazy defined - he’s a runner, after all, but still. You rarely see him in anything but a suit and tie, so it’s always a treat. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

You shake your head, wincing slightly at the movement. Maybe you’re a little more hungover than you thought. “I was already awake,” you mumble, running a hand over your face. “Did you put me in your own clothes last night? I have pajamas in my drawer,” you point out, gesturing to the second drawer of Aaron’s dresser, the one that contains your set of pajamas, a few spare pairs of underwear, and a couple of emergency outfits, just in case you end up sleeping over at his place.

It happens more often than not, so you keep the drawer decently stocked at all times.

“You insisted,” Aaron climbs into the bed, reaching for you. He tugs you to him and you roll over onto your side, and then halfway onto your tummy so that your leg drapes over his and your palm rests flat on his chest.

You can hear his heart beating. It’s like a metronome, steady and guiding and calm. You feel his pointed chin nuzzle into your hair and then, his lips, quick yet effective, against your forehead.

Flashes of last night run through your head. You, Emily and JJ, over at Penelope’s apartment. A symphony of girlish giggles, talking about Emily and JJ’s upcoming wedding date, drinking at least three pitchers of mojitos among the four of you. Watching Dirty Dancing and gabbing the entire time, realizing it’d be a bad idea to drive yourself home, and calling Aaron to come get you.

When he arrived, you called him Hotch and apologized for him having to come get you, and he reminded you that he was Aaron and he was your boyfriend and he would pick you up anytime you needed it. You were determined to play the Dirty Dancing soundtrack on the ride home, fumbling with his phone until you found it.

You belted out (I’ve Had) The Time of My Life and demanded Aaron sing along. He admitted that he didn’t know all the words and you gave him a stern lecture until you started laughing so hard that you were in tears. Traffic lights reflected Christmas ornament colors in Aaron’s brown eyes as he drove, occasionally glancing over at you.

You swore you saw the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile as you berated him for not knowing the words to such a classic song.

And then, once you were back at his place, you sat on the edge of the bed and stared at your shoes dumbly until Aaron offered to help you take them off. “Laces too hard,” you mumbled, and Aaron just hummed in agreement before kneeling down to help you.

And then he helped you out of your clothes. He went for your drawer, and you threw a pillow at him. “The college t-shirt,” you demanded with these Bambi-esque eyes.

“Arms up, baby,” Aaron said as he slid his law school t-shirt onto your upper half. He saved that specific term of endearment for times like these, when he was taking care of you, when he himself was exhausted. You could tell he was, too, not only because he kept yawning, but because of that glazed-over look in his chestnut eyes.

You glance down at the words George Washington University, printed over your chest.

Aaron’s arms around you tighten for just a moment as he embraces you, and you dig your face a little further into his chest. “No Jack today?” You ask, your voice coming out croaky.

“At his grandparents’,” Aaron murmurs, and you yawn. He strokes your hair. “How’s your head?”

“I haven’t had any complaints so far.”

Aaron’s hand freezes in your hair, and you lift your head, smirking at him. His mouth has formed a straight line, but you snicker and you can tell he’s trying not to smile at your dirty joke. “Degenerate,” he calls you.

“Prude,” you tease back, inching closer to kiss his jaw briefly before laying your head back down. “It hurts,” you answer his question. “But not as bad as it could.”

“That’s good,” Aaron comments, his hand running through your hair again, gently, the world’s most relaxing and least effective hairbrush. It feels nice, but his hands are so big that his fingers snag on the tangles, accomplishing nothing but making you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Nothing wrong with that, though.

“Do you want some Tylenol for your headache?” Aaron asks, and you just curl up into him even more. He’s so warm, and sturdy, and it’s so rare that you get mornings like this. Either you’re both working or Jack has a soccer game or there’s something else going on. It’s nice just to lay around with him, to be mildly hungover and pretend like that’s the only thing going on in either of your lives.

“That would require getting out of bed,” you protest, and feel Aaron’s arms tighten around you. He’s a very doting boa constrictor.

“How about I get it for you, then?” He offers, and you shake your head and shift all your weight onto him. He chuckles, a deep, throaty noise you know you’re only privy to for about twenty minutes right after he’s woken up. “So that’s a no.”

“That’s a no,” you confirm, settling back in to your original position.

You lay like that with him, in comfortable silence, for a few minutes. Until it feels like you’ve melded into one being. Then Aaron finally shifts under you. “Honey, my arm’s asleep,” he whispers, as though he’s afraid to disturb you.

You slither off of him, then clamber out of bed with no amount of grace, going so far as to trip over the corner post of the bed. As Aaron sits up, you exclaim, “I’m okay!” and hold your hands out to steady yourself.

Aaron stifles a laugh and you watch him stand from the bed and he walks towards you, steadying you with one of those gargantuan hands on your shoulder. He then lifts that hand to tip your chin up. You step forward in a silent dance, wrapping your arms around his neck and standing on your toes to kiss him. “Oh, shit,” you murmur. “I bet I have really awful morning breath.”

He just blinks a few times, and then offers you a shit-eating grin. “Yeah, honey, you kind of do,” he admits. You lightly punch him in the pectoral and then head to the en suite to brush your teeth.

[mysicklove]

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋!

DAY 18: DRY ORGASM

With: Yuuta Okkotsu

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Sub! Yuuta, gn! reader, multiple orgasm, sorta mentions of cnc? idk, "breeder balls" are used in a silly goofy way, pregnancy mentioned, yuuta cums a total of six times, unrealistic portrayal of dry orgasms.

A/N: i almost named this fic breeder balls just to mess with all you guys. kinktober is driving me crazy

“It will be fun. C’mon, just trust me!” You tease, pressing kisses along Yuuta’s neck while he sighs. You sit behind him, hands resting on his stomach while you continue to pepper kisses along his neck. One of his weaker points. 

He lets out a shaky breath and then whines gently. “I don’t know…I-It sounds kinda scary.”

“Aw, scary? C’mon, my big, strong, sorcerer boyfriend isn’t afraid of anything,” You quip, teeth grazing his pale skin when you smile into his back.

 Your hands begin to roam up and down his body, and he gulps but doesn’t stop you. He does let out a noise of complaint about your choice of words though. “Yknow that isn’t true,” He mumbles out, pouting slightly. 

You pinch his nipples, and he lets out a high-pitched squeal before turning to you with a half-hearted glare. “Sorry, they are too cute.”

He sighs, slumping against your chest and closing his eyes. “You're the worst.”

“Aw, you don’t mean that. You love me.”

He glances at you before rolling his eyes and nodding softly. Yeah, he did, even with all your teasing.

“Yuutaaaaa,” You purr, getting back to the main point. “Let’s do it.”

He hums, nodding for you to continue to try to convince him. He was still unsure and slightly nervous at the thought.

“You will look so cute. Haven’t you always wanted to cum like a girl? To have every ounce of cum milked out of you,” You bite his ear, earning a whole body shiver from the boy. “Forced out of you. Till you’re shooting blanks.”

That immmediately perks him up, and he cranes his head backward to look up at you with a sheepish grin. He already feels himself growing hard. 

“F-Forced?”

You grin.

“No more! No more! Please!” He screeches, tears and drool coating his face and falling onto the sheets below him. He was heaving, and he feels like every inch of his body was covered in cum. His thighs and stomach were so sticky, and he was unbelievably sweaty.

Shaky legs try to crawl forward, away from your tortuous hands, but he ultimately fails. You use one arm to grab him by the waist and pull him back. “Where do you think you are going?”

He lets out a pathetic “Noooo!” as his fingers drag along the sheets back toward you. His thighs shake as he tries to hold his body up, and he buries his face into a pillow. 

You hum to yourself, sitting cross-legged and fully clothed, contrasting your lover’s naked body. His knees straddle your legs, giving you a perfect sight of his ass and easier access to pull him back whenever he tries to crawl away.

His thighs, stomach, balls, and even your hand were coated with his cum, and is beginning to dry up from how long its been. But nevertheless, your hands continue to work at his cock, pulling it slightly downward so that it hangs between his open legs. 

Yuuta lets out a choking noise, a mix between a gargle and a yelp, and suddenly he is cumming again. He doesn’t say anything as his orgasm comes crashing upon him again, but you weren’t surprised – he went borderline nonverbal after the third one. 

His chest rises and falls with his rapid breathing, and you watch his whole body tense up. His tears stain the pillow, and his mouth hangs open in a silent scream. The only thing that showed that he was in pleasure was the way his nails dug into the sheets as if he wanted to tear them apart from how intense the sensation was.

You frown through it all, and watch two globs of cum slide down your finger. His legs give out, and he begins to slump on the bed, but you are quick to grab him and hold his waist up with your arm. “Am I–Did I? Are we d-done?” He stutters, his voice raw from his previous screams and cries. You hear him sniffle and watch the way a shaky arm rubs at his nose.

You lightly slap his thigh. “Nope. Almost there, Yuuta! The next one will definitely be dry. Think I got the last couple of drops,” You say, pointing to his cum staining your hand. 

He looks up at you with wide, fearful eyes and starts squirming in your hold. “No! I can’t go anymore. A-And you said that the last couple of times!” He screeches, legs kicking out like a toddler throwing a tantrum, trying desperately to run away from your hold.

Your hands remain on his waist, and you move your body aside so that he doesn’t accidentally kick you with his frantic, panicked movements. His dick was raw at this point, and every muscle was trembling. He couldn’t go again – he was exhausted, completely pushed to his limits.

“Hey, hey, hey. Relax. This time I'm really sure! How many times have you ejaculated?” 

He pauses for a moment, gulping as he thinks back to the previous events. “I think after that…Five times?”

You giggle at him, and the sound makes him tense up. Whenever he is put in these positions, and you laugh, it never is a good sign for him. “Woah, Yuuta, you really have a lot of cum stored up. I’ve heard that most men go dry after their third one…Don’t tell me your pent up?” You babble, passing time to hopefully let his body rest for a moment. Overstimulating him would probably kill the dark-haired boy. 

He sniffles again, and then furrows his eyes and turns back toward you. “Im not, though. Came two days ago, remember?”

You think back to the night and chuckle fondly. “Yeah, I guess your right. Guess my lovely boyfriend just has breeder balls.” You laugh at yourself from the ridiculous word.

His mouth hangs open at your crude words, and he turns a bright shade of pink. Immediately, he tries to scramble out of your hold again, but you just laugh at his flustered noises. “Why would you say something like that? So embarrassing…And no, I don’t,” Your boyfriend complains, shaking his head back and forth to execute his point.

You hum to yourself, content that he has finally calmed down again, at least enough to put up and actively respond to your teasing words. 

“Bet you could get any girl pregnant,” You continue to coax, mind drifting off from your words to return to your original motive. You begin to situate yourself again, hands moving back to the task at hand. 

“Stop it, please! It’s so,” He groans into the pillow, unaware that you have begun to stand up. “I don’t know! Just sto–” Suddenly, his head is being forced into the pillow, and your hand is back onto his cock. Your movements are rough and fast, and his whole body seems to short-circuit.

Yuutas eyes widen as he feels the back of your hand pin his head into the pillow, and he feels your hands wrap around his dick again. He doesn’t even have time to react, except for a surprised yelp. By the time his brain catches up to the sensation, you have already palmed him four times now, and he is so sensitive. “W-Wait!” He begs, tears resurfacing. 

The sound of your hand wrapping around his red cock is lewd. Loud squelching sounds fill the room, and he knows that the wetness is from his previous cum. It makes your head spin, and Yuuta wants to die from embarrassment. 

Your hand finally lets go of his neck, and he pulls away immediately, gasping out for air. His back arches, and he begins his clawing at the bedsheets again. “F-Fuck,” Your lover whimpers, tears free streaming again. 

His cock feels raw by now. Five orgasms in a row was an insane amount to him. The farthest he had gone before this was three, before he was forced to call it quits, or else risking him passing out. Right now, his mind seemed to be melting from the harsh feeling. 

You have to support his body still by hoisting his hips upward. His forehead touches the sheets, and his bangs cover his face as he looks downward. It was almost disappointing that you couldn’t see his pretty expressions, but from what you could see by his sporadic movements, Yuuta was crumbling. 

It hurt. Your hands were too rough. The pace was too intense. He can’t think anymore. His mouth hangs open, and his tongue threatens to loll out. All he can hear is your hands and his cum, and honestly, although he hates to admit it, it was spurring him closer to his orgasm.

Just one more. He can do that. He can cum one more time. Everything in him pleads for it to be dry, because he may seriously die if he has to go a seventh round. 

So, with everything in him, he begins to grind into your hand, trying to coax his orgasm to come quicker. He lets out a silent scream, and he furrows his eyes shut but doesn’t stop fucking back into your hand. 

You watch with amusement at the trembling boy’s movements. He was trying his best, and it was honestly quite cute. Just for him, you pick up the pace of your hand movements. 

The reaction to it is immediate – the muscular body curls over on itself as he heaves. You bring him closer to you, now using both hands to jack him off, hoping he doesn’t collapse just for a couple more seconds.

Yuuta’s eyes roll back, and he can faintly hear your encouragements. “C’mon, love. Just one more. Cum for me one more time.” 

He bites onto the pillow and nods his head, unable to give you a reply. He can feel his orgasm approaching, and frankly, it scared him. It was going to be a strong one, he could tell, and he was unsure if his body was able to take it. He was already shaking at this point, could his muscles really constrict one more time? He could barely hold himself up.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because his orgasm hits him out of the blue. For the first time since his second orgasm, Yuuta screams into the pillow. His thighs come squeezing together, and his fingers dig into anything they can grab. Tears continue to rush down his face, and he tries his best to breathe.

His knees come forward, and accidentally, he raises his hips higher into the air, creating a pretty arch in his back. You watch, mesmerized by the show, and then glance at his cock.

Not a single drop of cum is let out. You grin, and rub his thighs, coaxing him through it all, proud of him.

He slumps against the bed and this time you let him. Then, he very slowly turns to you, eyes cloudy. “I–I?” He tries, brain not catching up with him.

“Yep, good job. Came dry. I’m so proud of you.”

He gives you a lazy, but satisfied grin, nodding slightly. You crawl over to him, sitting down next to his head. He places his near-limp hand on your knee, and you hold onto it. “Guess…Guess I–No breeder balls for me,” He mumbles in full seriousness, as if he is proud of the fact.

You have to cover your mouth to refrain from laughing too loud. You place your head over his eyes, shutting them for him. “Guess not. Sleep, Yuuta.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He falls asleep not even a minute later. You don’t blame him.

PREV POST | MASTERLIST | NEXT POST

[moonlight-prose]

HEART MADE OF GLASS

a/n: this is totally not to make myself feel better. totally not self indulgent cause i couldn't finish cooking my dinner last night. that gif is also self indulgent. but also hopefully a distraction from how angsty this kind of is. divider as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics.

summary: you couldn't control when they could come. the waves of nothingness - of battling with your body and mind in the hopes it would cause a shift. you wanted to control it. he simply wanted to help.

word count: 1.1k

pairing: logan howlett x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, disassociating, depression isn't outright stated but that's what it is, meat eating (sorry i'm an iron anemic bitch), logan's love language being acts of service.

The fire alarm never went off when you were in the kitchen. So he felt his heart jump at the sound of it blaring through the small apartment. Even down the hall and in the bathroom he smelled the bitter smoke as it rose from the pan you were currently staring at. A blank expression on your face and hand gripping the handle.

He meant to grab his flannel and join you for dinner. What he didn't expect was the emptiness of a silent kitchen not filled with your usual music. Your soft hums as you try to keep in tune with the song.

Logan's favorite pastime was standing in the doorway watching you cook whatever creation came to mind. Whether it tasted good or positively vile, he'd eat it one way or another. He'd swallow happily with a grin simply to see that smile bloom across your face. A look he did everything possible to keep right where it was meant to be.

"Bub?"

You startled, flinching at the sound of the alarm as you shoved the pan away from the burner. "Shit. Sorry."

A frown etched onto his face at your quick apology—your eyes never quite meeting him. "Everythin' okay?"

"Yeah," you said, lying right through your teeth. "I just got distracted."

Logan could hear the bullshit louder than the alarm. He knew something was wrong, because he'd seen it before. The silence that filled a once loud household. How you slowed down during the day, unable to finish simple tasks without pushing yourself over the edge. He watched you dwindle down to the barest bones your body had to offer and yet you never asked him for help.

You never explained why it occurred.

This wasn't in part because you didn't want to. You did. You simply held no real reason for why your body—your mind—chose to betray you at the oddest of times. At first you figured it was the lack of sleep. The restlessness that ate away at your body each night—keeping you up and active until finally you wore yourself out.

But this wasn't that.

This came from deep inside your chest, lingering beneath the surface—waiting for something good to happen before it struck with a vengeance. This protruded out of your very nightmares.

"Need some help?" He knew the answer before it came. No.

What could he possibly do that you hadn't tried a million times over? There was no easy fix for something this brutal. Silently, you begged him to leave the kitchen and find something else to occupy his time. He stubbornly stood behind you, watching over your shoulder as you dumped the now burned pan in the sink. What might have been a delicious steak now looked like a charred brick.

The sight of it still smoking only seemed to dampen your mood further.

You fought to keep yourself there, in the moment. But the dazed expression from earlier began to slowly trail its way back up your face. Until you could do nothing but stare at the mess you made, exhaustion slicing down to your bones.

His looming presence became an afterthought to all that filtered through your head. All the brittle and vile thoughts you tried to keep at bay. Some days they managed to weasel their way past your infinite walls. Some days...they found joy in tearing you up inside little by little.

Voicing it aloud though would never be an option to the havoc you tried to tame.

"C'mon," he muttered, his hands pulling at your hips to move you. "Out of the kitchen."

"I can finish–"

His glare was devastating.

Most of the time you'd ask him to tell you what he was thinking. Tonight you understood his demand. Get out of the kitchen before you hurt yourself. Let him do what you often did for everyone else.

Give him the chance to put you first.

He points to the chair originally pulled out for him. "Sit down."

But unlike other people he encountered, you were far more stubborn. "I don't–"

"Sit on the chair bub. Or I'll tie you to it." The grin he gives you is filled with sarcasm, but you can see the truth shining in his eyes. He wouldn't hesitate to follow through on a promise like that. He wouldn't even blink. "Your choice."

There was no argument left to throw at him, because his attention was elsewhere. So you sat. You allowed yourself to rest as he stumbled his way through the kitchen. Logan couldn't really cook. He picked up what he could through the life he lived, but nothing came out exactly perfect. That wasn't what warmed your heart at the sight of him standing there intent on delivering a meal worth eating.

He didn't shy away when you tried to push. When the horror that you needed someone to help was no longer a fact you could ignore. No matter how hard you shoved and bit and did what you could to scare him off. Logan pushed back. He quelled your bite with a stature of resolute stoicism.

With an exhale, he flipped the burner off and slid whatever he'd made onto a clean plate. Watching him move felt as if you were being placed in a trance. You almost told him that once in your first week of dating. Something told you he already knew by the way your eyes tracked him from the kitchen to the table.

"Steak," he said, sitting with a grunt.

A quick glance told you one thing. Logan didn't know shit about cooking steak.

You grinned nonetheless.

"There's..." Red spilled down the side, pooling on the plate as steam hit your face. "How long did you cook it?"

He shrugged, slicing it with ease and plopping a piece into his mouth. "Tastes fine to me."

"I'm sure it does."

"Watch it bub," he muttered mid chew, his lips curled into a smirk.

Making a show of zipping your lips shut, you took the piece he offered you. And as he did each time before, you ate it with a grin simply to watch his smirk turn into a smile. There may have been no salt, no extra flavor, and strangely a charred sensation with each bite. But you could taste the love spreading across your tongue with ease.

"Delicious," you garbled in the hopes he'd understand how much you loved him.

He snorted, shoving the plate to the center of the table. His thumb swiped at the juice that leaked from the corner of your mouth, causing your heart to jump erratically in your chest. Even on your bad days he managed to flip the switch in your mind with simple touches and soft looks.

"'M gonna order a pizza."

Leaning into his hand, you pressed a kiss to his wrist. "Thank you."

[alittlebitofsainz]

- he kissed me right in front of my friends -

prompt: “i threw a party, he kissed me right in front of my friends, i felt so far from the cliffs.”

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: if you could have one birthday wish granted, it would be that you no longer had to hide your relationship.

a/n: lyrics from track #89 there it goes by maisie peters :)

masterlist | the spotify wrapped collection

“hey, happy birthday baby!”

you couldn’t help but let your lips curve into a soft smile as lando pressed a kiss to your cheek, holding out a bag full of presents as he stepped inside your apartment. you accepted it graciously, eyes wide at the sheer number of gifts.

“lan, you really didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to.” he cut you off with a shake of his head, “for my special girl.”

he leaned forward to press a kiss to your lips, but you quickly batted him away.

“careful, lan, people might see!” you giggled, looking up at him like he’d lost his mind. it had been eight months of keeping your relationship under wraps, and while you both understood why it had to be that way, it still didn’t make it easy. it was moments like these where you yearned for a normal relationship, one where your partner wasn’t in the spotlight, one where he could give you a kiss on your birthday and it wouldn’t be plastered all over social media the next day. but it was worth it, you thought as you looked up at lando’s face, eagerly waiting for you to open your presents. it was worth it to call him yours, even if it was only in secret.

yeah, it was worth it, you thought, as you watched lando laughing uncontrollably at something max had said, the two of them stationed behind the dj booth you’d hired for the party. in general, lando didn’t go much on drinking, and he’d sworn off djing for the most part, but he was willing to make exceptions for your special day, and you smiled to see him enjoying himself. your best friend followed your gaze, noticing you phasing out of the group conversation you were in, and nudged you.

“you’re staring, y/n. you totally fancy him.” she teased, and for a moment you almost slipped up, you almost replied with yeah, I really do. but you caught yourself, instead laughing it off with a sharp shake of your head, elbowing her right back.

“knock it off, we’re just mates.” you protested, but your friend arched an eyebrow and pursed her lips in a way that suggested that she didn’t quite believe you. she opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment, the lights shut off and the music cut out. you instinctively glanced over back towards the dj booth, eyes searching for lando, confused to find him gone. but the confusion only lasted for a moment as a glow of light emerged from the kitchen; twenty lit candles pressed into a cake, held up by lando as he brought it across the room towards you, all your friends joining in and singing happy birthday to you. you grinned, feeling tears prick your eyes. god, you’d never been happier. there was only one thing that could’ve made this day more incredible, and you sighed to yourself as you watched lando bring the cake closer, lowering it slightly so you could blow out the candles. his eyes locked on yours for just a moment, and you swore you felt your heart stop.

“make a wish.” he murmured.

you blew out the candles, earning a cheer and a few hip hip hoorays from your friends gathered around you. lando set the cake down on the table, another friend stepping in to help cut and distribute it to guests, allowing you just a moment to talk whilst everyone was distracted.

“what did you wish for?” he asked, voice low, making you lean in to be able to hear him above the music which had started up again. you arched an eyebrow.

“if I tell you, it won’t come true.” you retorted, the corner of your lips curving up into a wry smile. it always gave you butterflies, flirting with lando in public. something about it made you feel like you were still in that stage where anything could happen, like you were just starting to get to know him all over again. his expression changed slightly as he reached into his back pocket.

“now don’t yell at me, but I got you one last present.”

“lando!” you protested; you’d already admonished him earlier after you’d opened all your gifts from him. you could tell he’d spent a lot of money, more than you believed you deserved, on anything you’d ever mentioned wanting. shoes, a nice handbag, a designer coat, expensive earrings. but it wasn’t just material things, he’d got tickets to than gig you mentioned you wanted to go to, taken out an annual membership for the gardens you always liked going to for some peace and quiet, donated money to the shelter your parents adopted the family dog from. it was far too much, yet lando insisted it wasn’t enough to show you how much he loved you.

“I said don’t yell at me!” he replied playfully, producing a small wrapped item and holding it out to you, “it’s not an expensive one. it’s just… well, just open it and see.”

you peeled off the wrapping paper with gentle fingers, the package feeling so delicate in your hands compared to all the other larger gifts he’d showered you with. it revealed a gold necklace, with a single ‘L’ hanging from the chain. you looked at it, awestruck, running a finger over the gold letter.

“lan, this is beautiful.” you murmured softly.

“to remind you how much I love you, even if I can’t always show it.” he explained softly, and you felt a lump form in your throat. it was so bittersweet, you thought, as he took the necklace from your hands and instructed you to turn around so he could fasten it round your neck. the necklace was like some sort of twisted metaphor for your relationship, always there but often hidden. you turned back to face him, glancing down to admire the jewellery for a moment. if people saw this, it wouldn’t take them long to join the dots, to make the connection, especially if you were next to lando. you sighed, reaching to take the ‘L’ between your fingers and tuck it under your top, to hide it away. but lando’s hand was on yours in an instant, holding it in place, his fingers clasped round yours, clasped round the golden letter. you looked up in surprise.

“don’t hide it.” he said softly, “fuck it. I want people to see it. I want them to know.”

the confidence with which he had said it startled you, but in the best way. you barely had time to process the words before his hand had snaked around your waist, pulling you to him, his lips on yours in an instant. it wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was a kiss that let everyone know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you were his, and he was yours.

you pulled away for a moment, eyes on him, but in your peripheral vision you clocked a few of your friends watching the two of you, mouths open, slices of cake forgotten about. your best friend had a smug grin on her face, one that said that she knew all along. you saw max begrudgingly slip pietra a ten pound note. lando saw it too, and laughed. and then you laughed. and then you kissed him again.

“happy birthday.” he murmured, resting his forehead on yours.

“I got my birthday wish.” you murmured in reply.

a/n: and thus concludes the little ‘just friends’ mixtape! check out the previous tracks below:

told her you were just a friend | just don’t want your friend to see

[emphistic]

Moonstruck

a/n: im going to try a new format for one-shots bc i dont like how my old one looked

Taglist: @starlets-things @sad-darksoul

"He's staring at you!" Your friend, Zoe, whisper-shouted in a singsong tone.

"He's such a moron," you grumbled, focused on finishing your assignment.

"Y/N, c'mon," Zoe turned to you with a serious look on her face. "You should totally just give him a chance. He's got the hots for you, hundred and twenty percent," your friend patted herself on the back.

You sighed, "That's ridiculous," before turning over to look at Sukuna for yourself.

And as your friend has said, he was already staring at you. He rested his head on his fist, and delivered a sultry look your way.

You cocked your head to the side, as if to say, what?

Sukuna mouthed back, you know what, before he lifted his head from his fist, and flipped you off.

Speechless, you gawked at the pink-haired man.

"He is so into you, girl."

"He is so not," you muttered, turning back to face your friend.

"But Y/N," she whined, "you guys are literally so cute together. Combining both of your genes will literally make the best babies."

"He's such an oaf, the most annoying man-child I've ever met," you rolled your eyes, before shaking your head.

At this point, Zoe just gave up on her matchmaking abilities, and rested her head on the desk beside yours.

All the while — across the classroom — Sukuna's twin brother, Yuuji, was no different from Zoe.

Yuuji wiggled his eyebrows at his older brother, "I see the way you look at her. Ooooh, does my cold-hearted brother have a crush?"

Sukuna glared down at Yuuji, who was making kissy faces and noises, "I should've eaten you in the womb."

Yuuji immediately dropped his act, "How dare you."

The rest of the class went by quickly; your friend said she had something to do so you just packed up your stuff.

Minutes after you left the room and entered the hallway, you were roughly pulled into what you assumed was a janitor's closet.

You heard the door lock behind you.

Even in the dark, you could still cleary make out two crimson eyes staring back at you.

"Sukuna. Why are we here?"

"Don't play dumb," he walked towards you as you kept on backing away, until your back met the wall. "God, you're so fucking annoying."

Your eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, and you saw Sukuna lean down towards you, your noses barely apart. Your breathing quickened.

"I can't stop thinking about you. You've been in my head all day," Sukuna narrowed his eyes at you.

"And just, what are you going to do that?"

Something snapped in Sukuna, he didn't even bother holding back.

You felt one of his hands roughly grip your waist, while the other tangled itself in your hair. He breathed in your scent; it was intoxicating for him.

He forced his lips onto you like an animal, before biting your bottom lip, drawing blood. You gasped, and he took the opportunity to shove his tongue inside.

This wasn't new to either of you, you've been in this little arrangement of yours for quite some time now. Albeit your friends know nothing of it; which is probably best.

"Sukuna," you giggled against his lips.

"Mm, you're so beautiful. Just can't get enough of you."

Your noses brushed against each other.

"Hah—" You found it hard to breathe.

Sukuna pulled your hair, emitting a squeal from you.

"Sukuna, please, I can't—" You felt tears sting your eyes, your mascara smeared over your cheeks.

He pressed his lips against yours, "Just for a little more. You can take that, right?"

You fervently nodded, although you felt a little dazed, and out of your mind.

The seconds passed by slowly, and the minutes passed by even slower, until Sukuna finally decided he was satisified.

He pulled away, and smirked to himself, looking at your half-lidded eyes, your mascara stained face, your lips stuck out in a pout. And as cocky as he was, Sukuna couldn't deny he was also out of breath.

Panting, you said, "You're such a jerk."

"Sure, sweetheart." Sukuna wiped your lipgloss off of his now shining lips.

"Serious, 'Kuna. You need to learn to let me breathe."

Sukuna rolled his eyes, "Pfft — as if you weren't the one provoking me."

You scoffed, and fixed your hair — or, well, attempted to, at least.

Sukuna adjusted his pants, and ruffled his unruly hair, before moving his hand to unlock the closet. You stood behind him in anticipation.

A beat passed.

"Well? What's taking you so long? Don't know how to unlock a door?" You teased, but when Sukuna didn't retaliate, you soon realized the direness of the situation at hand.

"It's not unlocking," Sukuna turned to face you, confusion mixed in his tone.

"I see that, dumbass," you muttered, sliding down the wall into a sitting position.

You were going to be here for a while.

What could you do to pass time?

[rafecameronssl4t]

Wildflower || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: Based on what Wildflower is about, helping your friend get through a breakup only to fall in love with her ex and breaking girl code and feeling haunted by what you know about their past relationship

Warnings: ANGST!!!!

Word count: 1,548

A/n: this song acc has me bawling you guys i love it sm

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

Things fall apart and time breaks your heart. I wasn’t there, but I know.

Everyone thought Rafe and Sofia were destined for forever. They were total opposites in every way—personality, interests, dreams—but their love was so deep that breaking up seemed impossible. Yet, as the 2 years went by, something felt off with Sofia. Even from miles away, during your FaceTime calls, you could sense a change in her. She never said a word about it, but you could feel the shift. After all, you were her best friend.

She was your girl, you showed her the world.

Rafe was everything to Sofia. He was her entire world, and though it might sound cliché, it was true. He was her first love, her first everything. He made her happier than anyone ever had, and everyone could see it. It was almost surreal to think that someone who had given her the universe could ever be the source of such pain.

You fell out love and you both let go.

Rafe couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he fell out of love with Sofia. The transition was subtle, an ebbing tide he couldn’t fully grasp. He couldn’t even bring himself to utter the words that would shatter their shared dreams. Once, he had believed she was the one—his soulmate, his future wife, the mother of his children. Yet now, Sofia found it unbearable to hold onto a love that was no longer reciprocated. The weight of his unspoken truth was too heavy for her heart to bear, knowing that his feelings had shifted while hers remained steadfast.

She was crying on my shoulder, all I could do was hold her. Only made us closer until July.

The second your feet touched the sands of obx, Sofia’s tears soaked through your shoulder like a storm unleashed. You could feel the weight of her anguish, a heavy, unspoken truth that you sensed from the moment you saw her. As she unraveled her sorrows into your embrace, each sob a silent plea, your heart ached at the sight of your best friend’s shattered world. All you could do was offer your presence and comfort, feeling helpless yet determined to be there for her.

Now I know that you love me, you don’t need to remind me.

You stared at the locket, the image of you and Sofia as young girls reflecting back. Tears welled in your eyes as you took in the precious memory. “You really didn’t need to do this,” you sniffled, meeting her gaze with glassy eyes. She smiled softly, pulling you into a tight embrace. Her hand comfortingly stroked your back as you struggled to hold back your sobs.

“I love you,” she whispered, and the weight of her words made you sob even harder. The guilt of being with Rafe behind Sofia’s back pressed heavily on your heart. Each tear you shed was a mix of sorrow for her pain and the crushing guilt of hiding your true feelings.

I should put it all behind me, shouldn’t I?

“She’ll get over it,” Rafe says with a dismissive shrug, his gaze flicking briefly towards you in the passenger seat before returning to the road ahead. His hand rests firmly on your thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze that feels more mechanical than comforting.

“But she’s my best friend, Rafe,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you absently fiddle with the ring he gave you, feeling its cold metal against your skin.

“So? If she was your best friend, she’d want you to be happy,” Rafe responds, his tone dismissive and frustrated. His lack of empathy makes the tears well up in your eyes, despite your efforts to hold them back.

“It’s more complicated than that, Rafe,” you cry out in frustration, your voice cracking as you cover your face with your hands, unable to contain the sobs that begin to shake your body. The harshness of Rafe’s chuckle only amplifies your distress.

“How is it more complicated? Please, fucking enlighten me, because I’m sick of you cry about this,” he shouts, his eyes never leaving the road. His words feel like a dagger, deepening the anguish you’re already feeling.

“Because I fucking care about her—” you start to explain, but Rafe interrupts with a loud scoff. “You obviously don’t care as much as you say you do, or you wouldn’t have kissed me back!” he yells, his voice sharp and accusatory. The intensity of his words makes your breath hitch, and you feel the weight of his anger crushing down on you.

“Stop the car,” you say calmly, though your voice trembles with a mix of anger and desperation as you quickly unbuckle your seatbelt. Rafe’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What?”

“I said stop the fucking car, Rafe, or I swear to God I’m going to jump out,” you scream, the urgency in your voice leaving no room for argument. He slams on the brakes, pulling over abruptly on the side of the road.

“Are you fucking serious? We’re still in the cut, someone could—” Rafe begins, but you cut him off by flinging open the door and stepping out into the chilly night air. The door slams shut behind you with a resounding thud, echoing your frustration and pain. Tears flow freely down your face as you feel your phone vibrating in your pocket. Glancing at the screen, your heart drops—Sofia is calling. You swallow hard, turning the phone to silent before shoving it back into your pocket.

“Come on, baby. I didn’t mean it!” Rafe’s voice calls out from his truck, his tone desperate as he drives slowly alongside you. “Just go home, Rafe. I’ll be fine,” you reply, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to ward off the cold and the emotional turmoil. Despite his lingering presence, Rafe eventually speeds off, his truck’s taillights fading into the darkness as you are left standing alone on the side of the road.

But I see her in the back of my mind, all the time

You lounged against Rafe’s back, soaking in the warmth of the sun as you lay sprawled on the deck of his yacht feeling the gentle sway of the boat beneath you. His thumb traced absent-minded circles on your hip while you stared out at the water.

“You good? You haven’t said much since we got here,” Rafe’s voice broke the silence, a note of concern laced with a hint of impatience. His hand rested lightly on your thighs, a gesture meant to reassure, yet it only intensified your unease. You snapped out of your daze, feeling the weight of the guilt that had been shadowing you ever since you and Rafe hooked up that one night.

“‘M fine,” you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You fidgeted with your ring, a nervous habit you had developed over time. Rafe’s gaze, sharp and unyielding, didn’t waver. His frustration was palpable, and you could sense the slight edge in his tone.

“You’re obviously not, Y/N. What’s wrong?” His words were laced with a subtle annoyance that made you sit up abruptly, breaking the comfortable silence you had been trying to maintain. “I’m going to go inside for a bit,” you said, standing up and stretching. Rafe watched you carefully, his expression softening as he chose not to push further when you clearly didn’t want to talk.

As you moved past him on the sun lounge, he reached out and grasped your hand, making you pause in your tracks. The intensity of his gaze was almost palpable, his eyes searching yours for answers. Slowly, he drew your hand closer to his face and pressed a tender kiss to your knuckles.

The gesture was both affectionate and vulnerable, and his next words made your breath catch. “I love you,” he said softly, the sincerity in his voice making your heart ache. A shiver ran through. A shiver ran through you as you tried to process the weight of his confession.

You couldn’t shake the image of him saying those same words to Sofia, the unresolved guilt gnawing at your insides. You managed a tight-lipped smile, the weight of your conflicted emotions pressing down on you. “Love you too,” you said quickly, before withdrawing your hand and heading inside. The door clicked shut behind you, and you were left alone with your thoughts.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love Rafe—quite the opposite. You were certain that you’d never felt as deeply for anyone as you did for him. That's why you didn't stop seeing him. But the reality of loving him, especially given that he was your best friend’s ex, made everything feel so much more complicated.

So you couldn’t help but see Sofia in the back of your mind whenever you were with Rafe. It felt unfair to him, but most of all it was so fucking unfair for Sofia. Every time you were with Rafe, all you could think about was how fucked up it was that you ended up hooking up with her ex at a party she had skipped because she was still getting over the breakup. She’d wanted you to have fun, and yet here you were, knowing you were betraying her trust.

[elllisaaa]

the only thing running in my mind rn is -> sensitive and soft(his heart) jungwon fucking into you fast from the back with one of your leg lifted into the air by the hold of his strong arms. you were being ruined, tear stains on your cheek and head dizzy. the way jungwon was pounding into your soft walls had you whimpering and moaning patheticly. his hips grinding and rubbing his pelvis while being in you. jungwon was no good himself, his cock was deliciously being stimulated by rapid movements into your hot walls. it all makes him unable to hold back the pretty moans and whimpers in his throat... (i went a little crazy there, but pls pls write this, im literally itching for it)

i looove when yall are getting unhinged in my inbox, it's my favourite part of the day honestly.

and i can totally see this with JUNGWON who's coming back from tour, and he's so pent up with the stress of the concerts and not being able to see you or talk to you for more than an hour. and yes, maybe that the fact that he couldn't fuck you for a whole month did make him a little irritable.

so the second jungwon steps a foot into your apartment, he doesn't care that it's late, or that you're already ready to go to bed. instead of letting you welcome him home, he pins you down to the mattress, his lips crashing on yours and making out with you passionately. "i missed you so much, baby. been thinking about this all day." - "me too, wonnie… i need you so bad, please !"

jungwon doesn't need more than that to rip your panties out of you. usually, he takes his time to do a lot of foreplay, loving the intimacy of it and to get you as wet as possible before slipping into your heat. but tonight, he only needs to be buried inside of you as soon as possible.

the contrast from how sweet your boyfriend typically is to the animal he has become excites you to no end when he manhandles you on your knees, your back arched for him and head in the pillow. jungwon doesn't take the time to undress fully, only pushing his pants down enough to get his cock out and thrust into you all the way.

"shit ! i missed this angel, i missed this so bad." you are already a moaning mess underneath him, and he has barely done anything. jungwon grabs your hips and immediately picks up a rapid pace, fucking into you hard and fast. you're used to your boyfriend being sweet and loving, but at this moment, all you need is to be ruined by him.

and it's exactly what jungwon does, lifting one of your legs up to thrust deeper into your cunt, the tip of his cock hitting just the right spot to make you moan louder. "wonnie ! feels so good…" - "so fucking good baby, you're so tight." his dirty words make you clench around him, a moan escaping him too.

a thin layer of sweat is covering the skin of your back exposed by your shirt that has fallen around your shoulders, and with your head turned to the side, jungwon can see the tears running down your cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure of his cock dragging against your walls. "'m close wonnie, please…" - "not gonna last long, baby, you're so fucking wet." you whine loudly as he hit deep inside of you again and again. your moans pick up, your voice pitching higher and higher the more jungwon rams into you. and the way you're clenching hard around him as you cum makes him lose his rhythm. his thrusts become sloppy, the sensitiveness from not being able to properly release the tension for more than a month getting to his head. and his moans are uninterrupted until he shoots his load deep inside of you.

as soon as the waves of his orgasm die down, jungwon lies down beside you, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. his hair are sticking to his sweaty forehead, and he's out of breath but he finally feels at peace and relaxed. "i missed you so much, y/n. i'm glad to be home." you look up at him with a lazy smile on your lips, your hair completely disheveled and your eyes still glazed by desire. "me too. but if it means you're going to fuck me like that, you can go on tour every month." he chuckles but looks you in the eyes, fingers brushing against your puffy lips. "you just have to ask, baby."

[emchant3d]

part 2 of runaway bride stevie! modern au, exes to lovers, transfem stevie harrington pt 1

Eddie Munson is not having a good day.

His phone died last night so his alarm didn’t go off, his bassist is sick so their gig tonight has to be canceled, and his last three Uber rides have stiffed him on a tip.

He accepts a request from some dude named Scott with a terrible comb-over in his profile picture and gives himself two seconds to bang his forehead into his steering wheel in frustration with a closed-mouth scream. Then he dials it back so he doesn’t seem absolutely fucking insane. He can see the suit he’s about to escort to some fucking meeting even though he’d rather be doing any-fucking-thing else, and he pastes a fake smile on to greet him. He’s gearing up to fall into the usual routine of this godforsaken job, but then it all goes a little sideways.

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and then a blur of a body is slamming into poor Scott from behind, shoulder checking him and almost sending him careening onto the sidewalk. The dude pinwheels his arms like a cartoon character, suit jacket puffing up around his shoulders awkwardly, expression so baffled it makes Eddie snort despite himself.

“Oh, shit,” he mumbles, and he’s reaching for his seatbelt to see if the guy needs any help - he looks like he might break a hip if he hits the ground - but then a whirlwind of white fabric swoops into his backseat and a loud, desperate voice yells "DRIVE!" in his ear, and he sort of just thinks 'sure, why the fuck not,' and slams his foot on the gas.

The car fishtails a bit and the tires squeal as he swerves into traffic, horns honking after him, and he picks a direction at random, going way too fast for this area of town.

His heart is pounding in his chest, worst case scenarios running through his head. He’s going to get car jacked. He’s going to go to jail for being an unwitting getaway driver. But there isn’t any more yelling from the back seat, just heavy, panicked breathing, and he settles into traffic and slows down to a more normal speed before he cuts his eyes up to the rearview mirror.

Time stops.

It’s Stevie.

He can’t believe he didn’t recognize her the second he saw her, but in his defense, it's not like he was expecting to see his ex-girlfriend in a goddamn wedding dress running like she stole something today.

Pure panic wraps tight around his throat as he takes her in - is she hurt? In danger? Nothing good could have had her sprinting away from her own wedding, but it seems like she’s just shaken up.

His heart calms a bit once her tears dry and they get properly on the road.

And shit, it’s so unfair, because she's just as breathtaking as she was the day they split. She looks just as sad, too, which is certainly not how a woman like Stevie Harrington should look on her wedding day. But seeing her in a gown like that - Jesus Christ. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest. It’s like something out of a fantasy, seeing her in the exact kind of dress she used to whisper to him about wanting, the kind of dress he’d once promised to marry her in. Of course, they fell apart before he could even get a ring on her finger, but it still sends his stomach swooping to see the future they’d spoken about come to life.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he can’t help but ask, glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Yeah,” she says, voice high and a little squeaky. “Yeah, I’m totally fine. Just in my ex-boyfriend's car after I left my fiance at the altar, it’s all fine, it’s chill.”

“Okay,” he says haltingly, delicately, because Stevie Harrington is not the kind of person who says it’s chill, “it’s just that, you know, all of that sounds decidedly not chill.”

“This is so chill. It’s the chillest I’ve ever been, actually - hold on–” she says, and next thing he knows a swirl of silk is blocking his view and he sputters a bit as the train of her dress smacks him in the face, but she’s clambering gracelessly from the back seat and over the console to plop down on the passenger side with a loud huff and a cloud of perfume.

It’s different from what she used to wear. She used to smell spicy and warm, with notes of amber and cinnamon. He’d kiss the little spots in her wrists where she’d spritz it on, trace the veins beneath the tan skin with his nose to keep the scent of her with him.

Now she smells like vanilla and something floral, airy and light. Like he stepped into a bakery. It’s not bad, of course it’s not bad, but it’s…different. Not her.

Or not his version of her, anyway.

This is someone else’s Stevie now, and she smells like fucking cookies instead of home.

Instead of commenting on it, he just tells her to put on her seat belt, and she looks at him like he���s an idiot.

“And wrinkle this dress?” she says, her nose curling a little, and God she’s such a bitch and he’s missed it so much.

“I hate to break it to you,” he tells her, “but some wrinkles are not the worst damage that thing has seen today.” There are small grey splotches on the bodice where her makeup dripped as she cried earlier, and the hemline has some muddy staining from her mad dash on the sidewalk. It’s not ruined, but it’ll have to be cleaned, and a couple of wrinkles will be the easiest thing to get out of the formerly pristine fabric.

He glances over at her in time to see her run her hands over the skirt of the dress, smoothing it out over her thighs. It shifts, the leg slit parting to show her skin, teasing at the hint of a crease where her thigh and stomach meet, and Eddie rips his gaze away to stare at the road instead.

“Probably for the best, anyway,” he says, and he feels her eyes latch onto his profile.

“And why’s that?” she asks, and he smirks.

“Well, pure white? C’mon, Stevie, we both know that’s a lie.” He flashes her a wicked grin and she makes an outraged sound, but a small smile is teasing at her mouth even as her cheeks flush.

She kicks off her heels - red bottoms, because of fucking course they are - and slouches in the seat. She pushes herself up, adjusting in the pile of silk and corsetry she’s been strapped into, and he sees the absolute mountain of a rock on her hand, and manages to bite his tongue about it being the gaudiest thing he’s ever seen.

"So who was the lucky guy?" Eddie asks before he can stop himself, and the glare Stevie gives him could cut glass. “Or lucky woman. Person? Far be it from me to deny you your bisexual rights.”

He probably sounds like a jealous asshole, but he can't help it. He's the getaway driver for his one that got away on her fucking wedding day, and he feels like he deserves to ask a few questions.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel as the silence lingers, but eventually, Stevie just groans, letting her head fall back against the headrest dramatically.

"Don't laugh," she demands, and Eddie shakes his head.

"Scout's honor," he promises, and he swears a wry little grin teases at her lips.

“You were never a scout. You would have been kicked out for inciting a riot.”

“Hey, I just ensured we all earned our arson badges, okay? I did every one of those kids a favor.” Stevie scoffs, and it almost sounds fond.

Then she says, “Tommy,” and he almost swerves into oncoming traffic.

"HAGAN?" he says, louder than he means to, and her hand flies up to grab the oh-shit bar.

“Eddie, Jesus!” she says, glaring at him, and he shakes his head, focusing back on the road.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, but fucking - really? “Really?” He can’t help himself. “Tommy Hagan?”

“Yes, really, Tommy Hagan,” she says hotly, like she’s defensive, like she didn’t just leave the schmuck at the fucking altar.

“Well that explains the ring, at least.” She reaches over, smacking at his arm, which, thanks to the aforementioned ring, is probably going to bruise. “Hey, ow!” He glares at her, taking a hand off the wheel to rub his bicep. “Watch it, that thing’s a weapon.”

“Then stop sassing me about it,” she snaps, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms and her face falls into that adorable bitchy little pout he’s always fucking loved, and he looks away again.

He can’t help but glance back over at her left hand. The ring is…certainly something. Giant, square, one big diamond surrounded by other, smaller diamonds, with even more diamonds on the band. It looks heavy and cumbersome and like she’s going to smack it into every wall and door and get it caught in her hair and seriously, he’s pretty sure he’s already got a knot forming on his arm where the thing hit him.

It looks like Tommy walked into the priciest jewelry store he could find and asked for the most expensive ring they had.

It looks like a status symbol.

It doesn’t look like her.

“Apologies, highness,” he says, shaking himself free of his thoughts. It’s not fair to hold her to those standards. He hasn’t spoken to her in years. He can’t know what kind of person she is now.

But there’s still a bone-deep knowing that overtakes him at the feeling of the woman next to him. A sense of deja vu so strong it threatens to knock him over.

A different car, a different time, a different circumstance, but the same person. The same love.

He’d picked a direction at random, but as the streets become more familiar, he realizes he’s heading towards his place. It’s as good as any, he figures, and he shifts lanes, reaching to tap on his phone and shutting down his Uber account.

“You know, I almost expected you’d still be driving that beat up old van,” Stevie says suddenly, and he crows a laugh.

“Ah, Van Halen, you served me well until you almost blew up on the highway,” he says fondly. “Lost her about a year ago. It was tragic. I held a funeral.” She laughs again, shaking her head.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she says, turning that pretty smile his way, and his heart does a somersault.

“That was a very impressive move back there, by the way,” he tells her, “that shoulder check of that old defenseless businessman?” He whistles. “Haven’t seen anybody move that quick to steal an old man’s ride before, really, it should have been documented.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” she says, but there’s a laugh in her voice, and she brings up her hands to press to her pink cheeks. He can’t help but keep digging.

“No, seriously! And sprinting like that in heels? And in that dress? What’s that thing weigh, like twenty pounds?”

“It’s a dress, not a suit of armor,” she tells him, but her smile is growing, making her eyes crinkle.

“Just saying, it was pretty metal,” he shrugs, and she snorts.

“Well, you would know,” she says, and he ignores the way his face flushes in response. She gives a little sigh, wiping below her eye and frowning at the smear of black on her fingers.

“Here,” he says, reaching across her. His arm brushes her leg as he opens the glove box and he’s so fucking normal about it. He pulls out a few fast food napkins, holding them out to her. “No makeup wipes in here, but that’ll help with the worst of it.”

“Thanks,” she says, and she flips the visor down, tapping a napkin to her tongue to wet it before wiping at the mascara tracks running down her face. “God,” she groans, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn smear, “I look like a raccoon.”

“A very cute raccoon,” he says before he can stop himself. Jesus, Munson, dial it back. “Like the raccoon that’s about to get the best trash in the bin, she doesn’t even have to ask for it.” Stop talking. “The other raccoons are just gonna give it to her, on account of how cute she is.” He’s gonna throw himself into traffic.

“Did you just call me a raccoon on my wedding day,” she asks. Fine, commit to the bit.

“You called yourself a raccoon on your wedding day. I was just agreeing with you,” he replies, keeping his eyes fixed to the road.

Her eyes are on him - he can feel her stare burning into the side of his face, and his cheeks are going pink and blotchy and God, he’s an idiot–

And then she laughs. Not her polite little contained laugh, either, no, this is that loud, wide mouthed laugh that she hates, that makes her shoulders shake and her head fall back. It’s squeaky and hearty and a little obnoxious and he’s always been so obsessed with getting her to let it out, and he can’t help the smug beaming little smile he gives at the sound.

“You’re such an ass,” she says through her laugh, and Eddie can’t help but laugh with her even if it’s at his own expense, because at least she doesn’t look so goddamn sad anymore.

When they finally reach his apartment complex she’s a little more subdued, but the look on her face isn’t totally heartbreaking, and he’ll take what he can get. He comes around to the passenger side to open her door for her and helps her gather the dramatic skirt of her dress to keep it off the pavement as they head towards the stairs, and he knows he looks like an insane person as he carts a bride down the hall, but he just smiles at his nosy neighbors and lets this cement his reputation as the weird as fuck off-putting metalhead he knows they all think of him as.

He feels a little self conscious as he opens the apartment door for her, sweeping an arm dramatically to allow her to enter first. For the first time since she swept into his car, he wonders if this is a good idea. But it’s too late now – Stevie’s giving him a little smile and stepping into his home, and part of him knows this was inevitable. She may not have called him, but he was always going to come if she needed him.

He follows her inside and tries to calm the pounding of his heart, watching her take in his space, struck all over again by her beauty and the impossibility of her standing here, and silently prays he isn’t going to fuck it up all over again.

this was almost even longer, but I figure 2.5k is enough for a part 2! no tag lists, sorry, but part 3 will be here at some point. thank you to everyone who's had a kind word to say about this au these two are very near and dear to me 💕

[reiderwriter]

Well, Are You Mine?

Final Chapter of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Spencer adjusts to fatherhood alone.

Warnings: Angst, hopeful ending, mentions Canon character death (Gideon), mentions of new parent stress, single parenthood, etc.

A/N: I'm back! The final chapter is finally here, and I'm so very happy!! Thank you all for waiting patiently while I recovered from my illness. It's monsoon season here right now, so I've been hit with just depressing wave after wave of coughs, colds, fevers, and general rainy season ailments. But now this is finished! Thank you for joining ke on this three month journey. I'll be publishing a much happier, much fluffier epilogue within the week, so please look forward to that~♡ Without further ado, The End.

In the six weeks since his daughter had been born, Spencer Reid had experienced what he could solidly call the most terrifying weeks of his life.

The baby cried, and his heart beat out of his chest. Rain or shine, fully awake or fully knocked out, a single gargle or a full on scream and he was sprinting to her side to coo her back to blissful sleep, or to change her, or just to hold her close.

In the six weeks up to her birth, he'd pointedly avoided parenting books on the whole, doing his best to drown out all the memories from reading similar books when JJ was pregnant. Every memory stung as he clawed his way back to the family that was prematurely ripped from him.

But the baby was here now. The baby was safe, and the baby was crying, which he knew was absolutely healthy and nothing to worry about, and completely and totally fine, except it dropped his heart to his stomach everytime she did it.

It wasn't as if your daughter was a particularly fussy child. She was a newborn, she was a healthy weight and size, and the doctors who had checked her over at the hospital after her birth had reassured him multiple times that she was totally healthy. A miracle, all things considered.

And she was his miracle. For six weeks, she'd been his little wonder.

The team had banded together to fix up his apartment while she'd been observed in the hospital for the first few days of her life.

He'd sat and watched her through the newborn window at the hospital while Penelope had cleaned up his apartment, and Luke had built him a crib.

Emily and JJ had gone hunting for baby clothes and found probably a lifetime supply of 0-3 months, 3-6 months, and 6-9 months babygrows, t-shirts, dresses, and matching little hair bows for everything.

The first time he'd seen the socks, he'd broken down.

Arriving back with his newborn daughter to his apartment, he'd carried her to her new room, desk removed and crib added, though the walls were still shelved with books he really needed to do something with. He'd opened the sock drawer and been faced with a drawer full of single socks. There wasn't a matching pair in sight.

He'd pulled his daughter into his arms and held her close as the tears fell once again.

It had been six weeks since you'd delivered your first baby, and Spencer was sure that if you had the opportunity, you'd be cussing him out continuously.

Because as much as he doted on his daughter, his sweet baby, who he swore was already smiling sweetly up at him each time she grabbed his pinkie with her whole tiny fist, he had still not given her a a name.

“We can't just call her baby,” Emily complained to him after three days, already getting restless with Spencer's lack of decisiveness.

“I won't name her without Y/N,” he'd replied, and Emily had shut her mouth, not willing to open up that can of worms around him just yet. The sudden silence whenever he mentioned you was deafening. Spencer felt the team growing rigid each time he said something even slightly hopeful, then gently tried to lead him back to being ‘realistic.’

It had been six weeks since you'd given birth, and smiled at him sweetly as you brought you'd daughter into the world and six weeks since you'd quietly slipped into a peaceful coma.

The first week, he'd been told to prepare himself for the worst. The second week, he'd been told there was nothing more that they could do.

But in the third week, you'd moved. Just your hand, just a twitch, but a sign of life the doctors had been trying to convince him wasn't there before.

In the fourth week, you'd recovered enough to be taken off the ventilator.

You were clawing your way back to consciousness, readying yourself to meet your precious, sweet baby.

In the sixth week after Spencer Reid became a father, he took his daughter back to the hospital to meet her mother again. With some expert baby-sitting from Penelope, he'd managed to visit you once every two days at least in the last few months, but with the little-one still only small, hospital visits to trauma wards weren't exactly recommended.

When they'd transferred you to a regular ward, he'd packed his bags immediately and gathered the baby up, strapping her into her carrier and waiting desperately for visiting hours to begin.

After thirty minutes, he made a call.

“Emily? Can I… can we get a ride?”

Of course, she'd agreed. While no one else had been letting themselves hope, they had absolutely been at his beck and call. He'd been swamped with guilt calling JJ at 3am asking how to settle you because he'd tried everything, and constantly relying on Penelope to come and help him and Luke and Emily, picking up extra hours to finish his paperwork because his paternity leave still hadn't been approved.

He felt guilty, overwhelmed, and stressed, and he needed you to wake up so goddamn much that he feared if he got any bad news, he would shatter. And he didn't know how to be a father, because really he hadn't had one before he was 20 and Gideon became his, and even he had left when things got hard. So how could he be sure he wouldn't.

So he hadn't given his daughter a name. And, yes, it was because he wanted to do it with you, to pick out a name together, but also it was because he didn't think he could stand knowing it if he was too weak and ran from her.

The pressure built and built for six weeks, as he fell in love with his daughter, who deserved better than his love, and then Emily pulled up in his car, and he started sobbing.

“Spencer!” Emily exclaimed, not expecting the outburst at all, the loneliness of the last five months catching up to him finally.

“Emily… Emily, I'm a terrible father-”

“No! No, sweetie, you're-”

“My daughter doesn't have a name!”

Emily switched the engine off and then grabbed Spencer's shoulder, roughly turning him to face her if he wouldn't meet her in the eyes.

“You have survived this job for nearly two decades. You have survived gunshots, and murderers, and loss that I can not begin to comprehend, and you love that child. You are grieving, and you are stressed, and it is so totally, completely normal to not be okay after everything you've been through,” Emily held her breath, waiting for his reply. Just as he opened his mouth to whisper more doubts, the baby in the back seat began to fuss and cry.

Unable to stop himself, Spencer laughed. Emily laughed with him. They sat giggling in the car together, tears in their eyes as his daughter kicked up a fuss.

“She doesn't like hearing you talk badly about her daddy,” Emily joked and started the engine again.

When Spencer finally made it to your room, his daughter had stopped fussing. A quick bottle in the parking lot had mollified her, and she was gurgling softly now, still pink, her eyes tightly closed. He'd dressed her up nicely, or as nicely as he could muster. A cute pink newborn dress for his tiny baby and a matching pink hair bow.

He gathered the baby carrier in his arms and let the hospital doors open for him.

Finding your new ward wasn't hard. The nurses were helpful enough and honestly, he'd taken a look at the building blueprints weeks before, when he'd been obsessing over every small detail of your care, so he practically knew the route by himself.

Straight, then a left turn, then straight again, and a right turn and keep going until there was a final turn into your ward.

He let out a deep sigh as soon as he reached the nurses station and readied himself to ask for you.

“Hello, I'm here to see my Y/N, I was told she was transferred here this morning?”

The nurses on the station looked up at him in shock and blinked at him a few times before speaking up. If ever there was a time to hear the words “you haven't heard?” uttered from the mouth of a nurse in a hospital where your comatose girlfriend was being treated, then it likely wasn't when he held a newborn in his already weak arms.

The panic set in quickly as he tuned the noise out. An older nurse walked around the side of the desk to comfort him, sticking by his side and grabbing the baby carrier before he could accidentally let it go in his shock.

Another nurse came to his side to take care of the baby, and quickly, they both ushered him down another hall to an adjacent ward. He drowned out every word as they tried to comfort and reassure him, his brain jumping to the worst conclusions.

His teammates were right when they said he shouldn't hope. He needed to be realistic now. If you were gone, he had to call your family and organize the funeral. He had to pack up your stuff. He had to settle the hospital bills and decide how you would be seen off.

He had to name his daughter.

The nurses pushed him towards the room quickly, and he mentally prepared himself to say goodbye, but as the doors swung open, he saw you, and he fell to his knees.

“Spencer?”

In the two hours since you'd woken up, you'd been poked, prodded, hydrated, fed, rubbed down, and spoken over like you were still somewhat asleep.

No one had explained exactly what had happened, and no one explained where your baby was, and you'd kicked and screamed yourself hoarse, as the doctors noted down that you still had use of your vocal chords and all four limbs.

So seeing Spencer crash into your room at full force through your tear filled eyes was the best experience you'd had in months, especially when you spotted the nurse with the baby sized car seat coming in behind him.

“Is that my baby? Is that my baby? Please-” You pushed sheets off your body as a nurse tried to hold you still, not wanting you to pull the IV from your arm or the oxygen tubes from your face.

And suddenly Spencer was there, and he'd regained his strength, and his hope, and his happiness because you were awake, and talking and god you remembered.

It was all he could do not to grab you, bundle you up, and carry you away to safety, but the nurse propping you up was stern-looking, and he had a daughter to tend to.

He pulled your face into his hands and kissed you as softly as he could, holding back his emotion as he held you like you would break, feeling your wet tears on his skin.

“I missed you,” he whispered, dropping his forehead to yours as he gently stepped back and allowed the nurses to help you get comfortable.

Then he turned quickly and grabbed your daughter, and your breath caught in your throat as he held her out to you.

“What do I…? Where should I put my hands- Oh god, I'm so unprepared, I-” your eyes welled again, but it was joy as you saw her serene little sleeping face for the first time and he slowly lowered her into your arms. It turns out, no-one needed to help you out holding her at all, because she was so precious and perfect and yours that she slotted into your arms completely, like it was a spot made completely for her, like you'd been purpose made to hold her and be her mother and love her and cherish her.

You cried and looked up at Spencer and laughed. He rested on the side of the bed and pulled you into his arms, and you felt that completeness a second time, and you knew that you were made for him the way she was made for you.

Your family.

It had almost been taken for you, but it was yours, and it was fate.

With a quiet whisper that only Spencer could hear, you leant down to your baby's ear and said your first words to her.

“I wish that I could be your mother in every lifetime, my sweet Angel.”

[cozage]

Congrats on 2k!!!!

For the request I was wondering if you could do the ASL boys confessing to their childhood friend that they've had a crush on:) and if it's not too much could you add shanks as well?? It's okay if not!

I love your writing it's the best just make sure you're taking care of yourself!! <3

A/N: Some of these are kind of subtle, but I think subtle is their way of confessing after that long :)  Characters: gn reader x Ace, Sabo, Luffy, Shanks CW: Marineford spoilers Total word count: 873

From Friends to Lovers

Ace

“She looks like your type,” you mumbled, nudging Ace. A girl at the end of the bar had been eyeing him all night. 

“And how do you know my type?” Ace asked, raising his eyebrow at you. He was slurring his words just slightly; enough for you to know he was drunk.

“Please. We’ve been friends forever, and we’ve sailed together for two years. I know what kind of girls you go for.” You laughed, pushing down the jealousy that churned in your stomach. 

“You must not,” Ace said, leaning his head against you. "I'll stay right where I am."

“Go talk to her,” you urged. “It’s not doing you any good being by my side.”

He frowned at you. “What do you mean? I’m already sitting next to the hottest person in the bar.”

You rolled your eyes and gave him a playful shove. 

“I’m serious.” He had a newfound urgency in his voice. “You’re the only one for me. You’ve always been the only one for me.”

Your heart skipped a beat. There was no way he could be serious right now. He was drunk and stupid. 

He saw the bewilderment on your face and gave you a goofy grin. “Are you just now realizing I’m head over heels for you?! I thought I had made that obvious from day one!”

Sabo

You stared at the man before you, unsure how to react. He looked like Sabo. He definitely acted like Sabo. Even his name was Sabo. But it had to be a coincidence. 

“No,” you said. “Sabo died. Sabo died a long time ago.”

“There was this one winter day where we went sledding,” he said. “We raced Ace and Luffy down the hill a hundred times. They kept trying to beat us, but they never could. And then Dadan made us go inside and gave us hot chocolate and let us all sleep together in one big bed that night because it was so cold. I said it was the best day ever because we got to spend it together.”

Tears filled your eyes as he spoke. “You died,” you whispered again. 

You were talking to a ghost. You were afraid any moment you’d wake up and be left alone again. Just like when he had died. Just like when Ace had died, and Luffy had disappeared.

“I lost my memories from the head injury and was taken in by the Revolutionary Army. I only remembered after I saw the headlines about…” 

“Ace,” you whispered, tears spilling over. It still hurt to think about. 

“I’ll never leave you again,” he promised. “Come back with me to the Revolutionary Army. We’ll keep you safe. I want to hear about everything.”

“Sabo-”

“Please,” he begged. “I know I just remembered you, but my heart has ached every moment we’ve been apart. I just found you again and I’m starting to feel whole. Please-please don’t leave yet.”

Luffy

“Heeeeeeyyyyyyy!!!!” Luffys voice rang out from above you, and you instinctually braced yourself. 

He slammed into you, sending the both of you falling to the ground. You screamed out in glee as rubber arms wrapped around you, holding you tight. 

“It’s been a while, Luffy!” 

“I can’t believe it’s really you!” He shouted. “What are you doing here?”

“This is my home, idiot!” You laughed, trying to squirm out from under him. 

Moving away from his grip was proving to be quite difficult though, considering Luffy’s body weight was on top of you, his arms still tightly around you to prevent you from moving. 

“Your home was Windmill Village. I’ve missed you since you left.” 

Tears filled your eyes, and you suddenly enjoyed his closeness “I missed you too, Luffy.”

“Sail with me and my crew,” he said, pulling away slightly to look in your eyes, begging you with his big, dark eyes. “I want you to join me.”

You raised your eyebrow. “I have a life here, Luffy. I can’t-“

“Make a life with me!” He whined. “Come on!!”

“You still want to be King of the Pirates?” 

“I can only do it with you by my side.”

Shanks

A red-haired man sat down next to you in the bar, glancing your way. 

“Come here often?” he asked, sliding your favorite beer over to you. 

“Only in town for the week.” A smile danced across your lips. “My pain in the ass captain has us on a tight schedule.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his jolly laugh, the room brightening as his voice echoed through it. 

“He sounds like tough work,” Shanks said, wiping a tear from his eye. 

“He is!” You took a long drink of your beer. “I’ve been sailing with him my whole life, I think I would know.”

He smirked. “And you’re not tired of him yet?”

“Nah,” you chuckled. “I could never get tired of you.”

Your words caught up with your brain, and your cheeks turned a deep pink at the realization of what you had said. 

“Good, because I’ll never get tired of you either. ” Shanks gave you a softy, gentle smile and cupped your cheek with his hand. “So you’re stuck with me for the rest of time, okay? You’re all mine.”

“Of course, Captain.”

[mygnolia]

say it. say you love me. - hyung line vers.

or....perhaps not the first, but the most memorable of times they’ve said i love you. 

pair: hyung line x reader (separate) | genre: comfort, fluff, minor angst | wc: 1.3k | cw: everyone is over 21, alcohol consumption (jake) kisses hehe MAKNAE LINE VERS.

a/n: some r angst some r comfort some are me silently begging to be loved i fear. also bye why did it go from total angst n comfort where reader is sobbing to nervous enha and kisses...u can never stray away from love LMFAOOO

—

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ LEE HEESEUNG

'i love you,  i know i don't say it enough.'

lee heeseung, who knows he’s created a rift between you and him the more he devotes himself to his work, and the less he responds to your texts and messages, the more you worry.

lee heeseung, who sees you in your room with tears in your eyes as you write in your journal how you feel, the songs of your playlist emcompassing the melancholic insecurities that continue to choke you out. 

“you don’t love me anymore, do you?” you confess your amalgamation of issues, afraid that his lack of availability and excuses stem from his loss of feelings. 

and lee heeseung lays with you, refusing to let the exhaustion creep into his bones until he’s quelled your fears. “I know you keep hearing it, but it really is work.” he pairs his explanations with begging texts from his boss and team as evidence, followed by his refusal but eventual acceptance. it’s overtime, and he promises himself he’ll treat you both to a trip with the three day weekend coming up. and he’s been too tired to even realize how aloof he sounds, until he hears your quiet and vulnerable explanations. “i’m sorry, ____. I promise, it’s not what you think. i’ve been meaning to ask to take you out down south a bit, yeah? just us, over that three day weekend. it’s what i’ve been planning. i’m sorry I haven’t noticed how I’ve made you feel, my love.” Although you still have to take deep breaths and slowly calm yourself, you let him dote on you, wiping away tears and placing small kisses on your forehead. 

“say it, heeseung.” and he knows immediately.

“i love you, ___.” his eyes glitter with affection as he cups your jaw, his forehead against yours. “i love you, and i know i don’t say it enough.”

more under the cut!

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ PARK JONGSEONG

'i love you, and it drives me crazy.'

park jay, who swears he would never let it happen to him, he swears he would never be caught purposely in the rain, but his heart falls into reckless abandon; and it falls for you, vehemently. some would say it’s cliche. jay thinks it’s simply a byproduct of his feelings for you.

park jay, who knocks at your door repeatedly, the rain soaking him down to the bone. he knows he’ll catch a cold, but the craziest thing about being in love is that he truly doesn’t care.

you open your door, annoyed at who could be out at the hour. “jay, what the hell? you have a flight tomorrow!”

“i love you.” he confesses, like it’s torture to contain. “i love you, and it drives me crazy.” 

your words feel caught up in your mouth, suddenly dry and without response. “i swear, ____. I don’t care that we’re friends, i don’t care that i leave for a month tomorrow. i stay up at night because you are all I think about. And I can’t come home to an empty apartment without at least trying to gain the courage to ask you to join me there.” 

you think you could cry, honestly, when you step into the rain and wrap your arms around him, pulling jay into a slow kiss. you don’t need words to describe how you feel, only reprimanding his recklessness. “i’m glad it only took two years for you to feel the same.” you finally tell him. he drips on your floor as you two hurry across the wood to dry off.

you don’t care that he makes a mess, and it doesn’t matter that he has to borrow your clothes. you’ll move out soon, anyways.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ PARK SUNGHOON

'i love you,  and i hope you feel the same.'

park sunghoon, who feels stupid asking you out on your fifth date as a couple, standing outside your door with yet another bouquet of flowers. the man feels like he’s in high-school once more, but swears that you deserve nothing but the best, however cliche. 

park sunghoon, who does not know the aching feeling of love and how exhilarating it feels to hold your hand, willing to palms not to get clammy and for his racing heart to slow down when he sees your smile again.

sunghoon always brings you on the most well thought-out dates. drives to the flower fields are filled with boxes and wrapping paper for you to make bouquets with, he attentively works on his color-by-number and makes sure you’re not slacking off to appreciate the end effort, and he makes pottery with you, sculpting with pride as you frown at your mess. your boyfriend has always poured love into the little things. 

today, he takes you ice skating, despite your pleas against looking like a floundering idiot. he laughs at you, dragging your shaky legs onto the rink and giggling as you scream. he pretends to race you, spinning and twirling as you try your might to finish your pre-decided finish line before him. he sulks, and you smile, your chest filling with a swirling, bubbling feeling. 

when he finally takes you home, you two share a sweet kiss, and you pull away to rest your forehead on his. 

“i love you.” he breathes, like it’s natural, like it’s meant to be. “I hope you feel the same.” 

you can’t fight the smile on your face and the kisses that come next, with whispers of ‘i love you’ spoken into the wind from you and him. 

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ SIM JAEYUN

'i love you,  i hope you can tell.'

sim jake, who has zero idea what he’s doing as a boyfriend, scared whenever he takes you out to dinner or comes home with flowers.  

sim jake, who truly finds it befuddling how you’ve moved into his place and offered him comfort every night in your arms. 

he fumbles with his car keys once more, waiting for you to get off work to celebrate your birthday. he has planned an array of events that you love; watching the next episode of the new drama that came out with the projector he just installed, a meal at one of your favorite restaurants, and bags with a purse you’ve been eyeing, some sunglasses, and one of your favorite books, in its special edition form with a signature. 

when you emerge with a look of shock, jake springs into action, opening your door. “i thought heeseung was going to take me home.” you say, pleasantly surprised. 

“and so you thought wrong.” you pull at his ear, laughing when he shrinks away from you. 

the rest of the night continues perfectly, and your chest swells with every new thing your boyfriend tells you he has planned. truly, in this moment, you feel so wholly accepted and appreciated. the night ends with you two tangled on the couch, your head following the rise and fall of his chest as you two clink wine glasses. you turn to him, making eye contact after you place your glass down. “thank you, jake. truly. i appreciate this so much,” you tell him quietly. “you were lying when you said you didn’t know what you were doing.” the corner of his lip curls into a smile, and he places his glass down as well, a look of pure emotion in his eyes. when he kisses you, it feels right, your lips slotted against his as a content sigh leaves you. 

“i love you, ____.” he murmurs, his hand still cradling your jaw. “i hope you can tell.” and you scrunch your eyebrows, sending jake into full panic and overthinking. 

“of course, jake, you did so much for me today, and i feel so special.” you confess. “i love you, too. more, even.” you ponder, before rushing out. “yes, definitely more.” and jake quiets you with yet another kiss. 

—

YES MAKNAE LINE IS COMINGGG i just wanted to see how you guys liked this one first!

[marigoldenblooms]

Drunken Confessions - Drabble

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff  x Agent!Reader

Prompt: You never called on her for anything, always staying at a distance from  Natasha. She was starting to think you hated her, that your lingering glances and continual avoidance was because you didn’t want to know her. That changes when you call her drunk off your ass at 1 am. 

MINORS DNI - 18+

Tags: Drunkenness, slight drunken confessions, mentions of harassment, Reader calls Natasha “Natty,” Natasha calls reader “Agent,” Natasha has a motorcycle, fluff, hurt/comfort.

A/N: Had this one in my word counter for a while, and thought I’d finish it up! Quick little doozy, wanted a break from all the smut totally wholesome drafts I have going (although none of my work is not 18+ even without smut content! Once again, Minors DNI!) Biker women own my heart (I’d love to do a proper Biker!AU if anyone’s got any ideas!) Asks/requests are open! Director!N x Actor!R x Actor!W is coming soon... >:))

Word Count: 777 - Read Length: 2 minutes, 50 seconds. Pictures aren't mine, credit to their owners!

~~~ 

It had been a while since you’d been out drinking, and even longer since you asked for Natasha’s help. You were acquaintances, perhaps even coworkers, but she thought it stopped there. You always avoided her- you were a beautiful stranger, lost in the night. And even still, when she heard her phone buzz with your ringtone this late, she picked up without a second thought.

“Agent?” She’d question, brow furrowing as she’d sit up, slinging her arm across her knee. She could hear the sound of cars around you, though from your heavy, stumbling footfalls you weren’t in one. You were drunk. 

“Natty..-“ you’d keen and she’d blush, wiping the sleep from her face as Natasha tried to ignore the sweetness in your tone, and the nickname on your lips- never used for her. She wished it came out of your sober mouth. You’d stop walking and she’d hear you huff, stuck in an alleyway you didn’t recognize. “I think I’m..-lost, I’m lost, fuck-“ 

“And I’m awake,” she’d respond, voice gravelly and thick, but focused as she’d pull on clothes, and you heard the rustle. Your voice would drop into a secretive whisper, still too loud to be actually effective, “Natty, Natty- are you…naked-??” 

“No,” Natasha would be grabbing her motorcycle keys and jacket now, slung loose over one shoulder before you heard the sound of her door, and seconds later the ignition of some vehicle. “I’m coming to get you, Agent. Gimme a landmark-“ 

“There’s a Mc…a Burger King, next to me, mm-“ Your mumble about being hungry was lost on her as Natasha’s tires would squeal across the road, its emptiness allowing her to climb speed quickly. Her voice was closer now, spoken through her helmet’s microphone, “Stay put, I’m on my way.” 

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

“He was… was callin’ me ugly-“ you slur, a blush alighting your cheeks. You’d hiccup, earning a chuckle from Natasha’s focused expression on the road. She’d picked you up minutes ago, careful to drive slower with your arms slung sloppily around her waist. You’d been telling her something about a rude man at the bar, disgruntled by your refusal to ‘go home to his smelly apartment,’ as your mocking voice had put it, “On the inside, and- and the…..outside, mhm!”

Natasha would chuckle again, expecting the insult to roll off your drunken facade, but instead your shoulders shook against her back. Slowing to a crawl on the side of the road, she’d look back to see your face looking crumbled- gleaming with tears. You hiccup again and Natasha turned off the bike, trying to soothe you with an awkward hand around you. She’d pull your side against hers, helmet in the crook of her other elbow as she’d whisper to you, “Hey, hey Agent, it’s alright, shhh..” Natasha’s hand would’ve risen to your cheek, prickling goosebumps down your spine as her thumb would wipe your tears away. Your fingers would’ve risen to hers, taking her palm gently before placing a kiss on it. She’d shift her hand away and you’d meet her gaze- her mouth was open, and your eyes darted down to it. “Natty..” your eyebrows would furrow, pouting as she’d escape your touch, “Why won’t you kiss me, Natty?”

“Because you’re drunk,” She’d roll her shoulders and you’d watch with wonder as her muscles moved beneath thin fabric, Natasha’s coat now on you. You’d have to pick your jaw off the road once you were done. Her words would almost startle you, “And you don’t know what you’re doing, Agent. Why did you call me?” 

“I..” You’d begin, yet your words left you as soon as you started them. You could never think when she was around- distance was necessary for professionalism. You hoped liquid confidence would be enough to bridge the gap, and ask the attractive redhead for coffee tomorrow. You overdid it. You forgot what she even asked, “But I want- want you. Don’t you want me?” 

Your declaration made her smile, and you decided then that you wanted her to do that again. Needed her to. Natasha shook her head, and she thanked your drunken stupor for you not noticing the blush on her face. She’d turn around, donning her helmet again- her voice muffled now, “You’re drunk, Agent. Let’s talk about this tomorrow, alright?”

“Mhmm..” You’d settle, pulling yourself against her back. “So warm..” you’d murmur, crooning into her shoulder. You’d hear the woman snicker, before the bike underneath you thrummed to life. Maybe if that conversation went well, your thoughts sluggishly considered- she’d teach you how to ride it. If Natasha’s playful snicker at your words was any indication, your chance was pretty high.

~~~