#all the details in this game are perfectly done

[asterafroditis]

𐔌 . ⋮ white day ♥︎ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Third Years x gn! reader

𓏵 1161 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns, fluff

First Years are done! Second Years are done, too! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

“Woah, no way—seriously?!” Cater exclaims, eyes lighting up as you hand him the neatly wrapped gift.

He turns the box over in his hands, snapping a quick photo before even opening it. “#WhiteDayWin! Look at this—perfectly wrapped and everything. You’ve got a real aesthetic eye, y’know?”

But when he actually opens the gift, his teasing falters for just a second. His smile softens, and his fingers tighten around the box.

“Aw, you really went all out for me, huh?” His voice drops just a bit, no filters, no exaggeration—just genuine warmth.

He quickly shakes off the moment, flashing you a playful grin. “Guess I’ll have to step up my game next year~ Can’t be outdone, right?”

Still, you notice him glancing at your gift more than once, a small, real smile tugging at his lips when he thinks no one’s looking.

─────────────────────────

“Oh? What’s this?” Trey’s brows lift as you place a small box in his hands.

When you explain that it’s a White Day gift in return for his Valentine’s one, he chuckles, shaking his head. “You didn’t have to do that. Really, I was just happy to make something for you.”

But despite his words, he’s careful when he opens the box, almost like he’s savoring the moment. His expression softens as he takes in the contents, eyes lingering on the details.

“…You really put thought into this.” There’s something deeply appreciative in his voice, something steady and warm. “Thanks, I’ll make sure to take good care of it.”

He smiles at you, gentle and sincere. “Guess I’ll have to bake you something extra special next time, huh?”

And true to his word, the next time you visit Heartslabyul, there’s a fresh batch of sweets waiting just for you.

─────────────────────────

“Tch. What’s this?” Leona eyes the gift you hold out, lips pulling into a smirk. “You think I need some kinda thank-you?”

He leans back lazily, but there’s a flicker of interest in his eyes as he reaches for the box. His movements are slow, deliberate, like he’s making sure you know he’s choosing to accept it, not because he cares.

(But he does care. A little too much.)

He opens it with one hand, the other propping up his head. His eyes flicker over the gift, and for a moment, his usual cocky expression softens into something unreadable.

“…Hmph.” He clicks his tongue, setting the box aside with feigned nonchalance. “You’re somethin’ else, herbivore. Wasting time on me like this.”

But later, you catch him looking at the gift again—thumb running idly over its surface, tail flicking lazily behind him.

─────────────────────────

A single elegant brow lifts as you present the gift. “Oh? A White Day present? How thoughtful.”

Vil takes the box delicately, inspecting the wrapping with a keen eye. “A good presentation is just as important as the gift itself,” he muses, but when he actually opens it, the comment dies on his lips.

His fingers brush over the gift, his gaze unreadable. Then, slowly, a small, approving smile tugs at his lips.

“This… is quite tasteful,” he finally says, his voice softer than usual. He glances at you, something warm and unreadable in his violet eyes.

“You have good instincts. Perhaps I should bring you along next time I go shopping.”

Vil may not say it outright, but you can tell—he’s genuinely pleased. The next time you see him, he’s wearing or using your gift, as if it had always belonged to him.

─────────────────────────

“Ah! What a delightful surprise!” Rook gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Mon cher, you continue to amaze me~”

He takes the gift with a flourish, twirling it in his hands as he admires the craftsmanship. “To think that you would bestow upon me a token of your appreciation! Ah, the beauty of human connection!”

When he opens it, his emerald eyes gleam with excitement. “Exquisite! You have chosen with such care, such precision! It is as if you peered into my very soul to divine what would please me most!”

He holds the gift close, smiling warmly. “Truly, this is a treasure. And so are you, my dear trickster.”

Later, you find him showing off your gift to others, boasting about how “magnifique” your sense of taste is.

─────────────────────────

Idia freezes when you hand him the gift. His hair flares slightly at the edges.

“Wha—huh? For me?” His voice cracks slightly, and he pulls his hoodie strings tighter. “N-No way, you’re actually returning the favor?”

His fingers twitch as he takes the box, staring at it like it might explode. He mutters something about “NPCs in dating sims never doing this,” but his curiosity gets the better of him, and he peeks inside.

His breath catches.

For a second, he just stares at the gift, expression unreadable. Then, ever so slightly, his lips twitch into the smallest, most genuine of smiles.

“…T-Thanks,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. His face is burning, but there’s a softness in his eyes. “Guess I gotta, um… get you something next year, huh?”

He tries to act casual, but you later find the gift displayed in his room, perfectly preserved like a prized collectible figure.

─────────────────────────

Malleus’s eyes widen ever so slightly when you present the gift. “A gift… for me?”

His fingers brush over the wrapping, handling it with a careful reverence. “I see. This is in response to my offering on Valentine’s Day.”

There’s something almost wistful in his expression as he unwraps the gift, as if savoring the moment. When he sees what’s inside, his lips curve into a small, pleased smile.

“You are quite considerate,” he murmurs, his glowing eyes meeting yours. “It is a rare thing for one to present me with such a sincere offering.”

He chuckles softly. “I shall treasure this.”

True to his word, the next time you visit Diasomnia, you see your gift carefully placed among his most valued belongings.

─────────────────────────

“Oh ho! What’s this?” Lilia grins as you hand him the box, his crimson eyes gleaming with mischief.

When you explain that it’s for White Day, he lets out a chuckle. “How sweet! You’re quite the thoughtful one, aren’t you?”

He opens the box with theatrical flair, but the moment he sees what’s inside, his expression shifts—just a little. His usual playful air softens, something warmer lurking beneath.

“My, my… You really put effort into this, didn’t you?” His voice is quieter now, almost fond. “How wonderful.”

He pats your head (whether you like it or not). “I’ll cherish it. And perhaps, next year, I’ll have to surprise you with something even grander!”

Despite his usual antics, you notice him holding onto your gift with care—tucking it safely away, as if it’s something precious.

[furiarossa]

23th lineart for this year's @green-with-envy-phandom-event!

Looking yourself in the eye, admitting that you haven't done your best, that your enormous potential is untapped... it takes courage, to admit that you can be stronger, to hold your own hands and do a dance turn. The strange thing, though, is when this isn't a metaphor, but you find yourself in the room with an alternate version of yourself that is much stronger than you.

A little crossover between the one who was originally created as "Monarch Vlad" (and who is now an alternate multiversal version of Vlad Masters, named Vladislav Korolkrovi) and the original Vlad. One of the two has put on the crown and the ring, and this, trust me, can make all the difference in the world.

This is a collaboration: Lines by @trinoxtrinox, sketch (but only of the characters! The room was drawn by Trinox) and color by Furia again (because this year the artist duo Furiarossa&Mimma is split in half! We'll be competing against each other, in two different teams... but still, all the stuff will be posted on the same Tumblr account, or Patreon, or wherever you follow us)

And here's a new feature! Since we're working on a card game, and we want to give all the other participants (and spectators of this event) a fun "demo", we've decided that each of the completed illustrations will be used to make a "Let's Play! Overlord" (more details in the future) card.

All the cards will then be collected at the end in a pdf file and will be freely available to everyone, becoming a print-to-play game that we hope will be fun, and that will include easter eggs and other little treats, but will also be perfectly playable within the main game. 

So here is the 23th card of this special promo set: A dance with your ego.

[Oh, and a lot more of our Danny Phantom fanarts: Here’s our tag]

★ Instagram|Facebook|FurAffinity|Deviantart|Commission prices★

[purgatorygrl]

God I was watching this part of the story and my heart broke when I saw how incredibly sad Arthur looked. I mean, it's totally logical. The bank robbery had gone horribly wrong, his greatest father figure had died, Lenny who was probably like a brother to him and he loved had also died, John who was a brother to him was captured along with Charles and Abigail whom he also loved, plus the rest of the band that he didn't know what had happened to them either.

He was on a boat in the middle of nowhere and he didn't know if he was going to get out of there alive and if he would be able to see any of them again.

[fragmentedblade]

I don't know, it's silly, but I really love this story. I fell in love with the details and how everything cohered beyond my expectations, how the little details in worldbuilding made big things click and make sense even though they seemed typical fiction "too much but you have to suspend belief" things at first. And I actually honestly think most of the things some parts of fandom complain about are not only coherent, but some of the best more nuanced aspects of the writing. Everything that I thought and interpreted, even to the most minute details, was confirmed. Even, again, to the most minute details I loved but thought I was being stupid for paying so much attention to, because surely they couldn't mean as much as I thought they did. Yet they did.

[reiderwriter]

Flirting with the FBI

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word count: 7.1k

Request: Hiiii!! This is my first time requesting anything on this app, but Spencer reid has me in a chokehold. So, I was thinking that the reader is the unsub, and she's like this very good hacker who keeps teasing the fbi cause she's bored or something so she keeps sending hints about who she is or where she is but they keep getting nothing on her. And all of this just keeps getting on Spencer's nerves. And so when Spencer finds her, she keeps teasing him and acting like a brat so he "disciplines" her and takes her roughly and maybe a bit of spanking???

Warnings: a lot tbh - mentions of case details, mentions of domestic violence and police brutality, reader is a possible target of a serial killer, bad tech skills from the writer who really couldn't be bothered to do anymore research than the actual CM writing team, rough Dom Spencer, brat reader, sexual innuendo, semi-public sexual play, spanking, dirty talk (good girl, brat etc.) fingering, raw sex/creampie, aftercare, slight dacryphilia (crying kink) and bimbofication.

A/N: My last fic was a heartwarming family fic, and now I'm back to being depraved. Apologies to anyone here for cute fluff 😭

Masterlist

You always thought hacking the FBI mainframe would be hard, but it's one of the easiest things you've done all week.

If they were going to sit around doing nothing while a serial killer ran around in their own backyard, then obviously, they needed a helping hand. Or a helping poem or two.

Getting into their security camera feed was just an added bonus.

You grabbed your bowl of popcorn and settled into your desk chair, clicking open the window to find which room exactly they would gather in to freak out together.

You made sure to get their attention, blacking out all the computers in the office as they ran to a backroom where a very distraught looking blonde woman was sat. She was evidently the go-to tech support of about six agents who quickly ran to her room to figure out what the issue was. It was show time.

“There once was a serial killer,

Who ate boys and girl both for his dinner,

He cut, diced and slashed,

Left the feds quite abashed,

So I leave this message to be clearer”

The poem scrolled onto their screen on a loop, flashing in and out quickly before you let the computer systems relax again.

You thought they'd panic, scramble for a pen or paper or something, but none of the agents moved until the flashing was over.

You watched curiously as an older man took charge of the scene, likely directing the woman at the desk to figure out who you were, where you lived, and what your social security number was. She got to work quickly, and he moved on to the other agents.

None of them had written the poem down. None had even taken a picture, but one man started talking, and for a while, all eyes and attention in the room were focused solely on him. His hands moved as his mouth did, as if he were casting a spell over the room as he spoke. Even more intriguing was the fact that he rarely seemed to make eye contact with any of them as he spoke. He wasn't conversing or giving directions. He was simply talking.

And you really wanted to listen in.

The younger man began to walk and you watched him quickly pace over to a whiteboard, switching from one feed to another as he made his way there, and pick up a pen before notating the poem perfectly.

Whoever this man was, he was making you feel more and more excited about the game of cat and mouse you had begun with the FBI. You weren't entirely sure if he was to be the cat or the mouse, though.

A few days later, they'd seemingly lost the motivation to work, so you again did their job for them.

With another accompanying limerick to help them along, of course.

“There once was a bullpen full of agents,

Who thought they were very surveillant,

But a simply code crack,

And there system did hack,

A young girl who lived quite adjacent.”

This time, you let the words linger on the screen longer, as you slipped your information into their files, leaving more bread crumbs they could follow to the real villain.

The Agent - Doctor, you had since learned - took up his pen once again and scribbled your first poem next to your most recent.

Doctor Spencer Reid. An IQ of 187, three PhDs and however many Bachelor's Degrees, a member of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, and, as you could somehow tell from the grainy security footage, incredibly attractive man.

He was calm, again talking with his hands as he notated, again drawing the rooms attention like he was the sun and everything needed to orbit him to sustain life. You wondered what it would be like to fluster him.

Typing something out quickly, you broke back into the FBI system. It was risky doing it again so soon again, knowing that their tech analyst was already actively hunting you down, cyber-wise. But you couldn't resist.

“The tall, dark and handsome employee,

How I do wish that he could enjoy me,

I would gladly submit,

we match wit for wit,

But he's trying his best to arrest me.”

The BAU team stood silent on the camera before the two women on the team burst into rambunctious laughter. The camera feed was archaic, black and white, and grainy to boot, but even you couldn't miss the red stain against Doctor Spencer Reid's cheeks. A bonus was the other gentlemen subtly posturing, trying to figure out exactly which of them was “tall, dark, and handsome.”

The payoff for that poem was so great that over the course of the next few days, you kept serenading him with love poems among your quick hints about the actual crime being committed.

You'd first suspected the man of being dangerous when you'd seen the state of his wife. 19 domestic disturbance calls in two months, 0 arrests, and 1 very cushy job as a police detective. You'd done some simple computer programming for your local precinct, inputting data from cases into an algorithm that helped track everything easier, so you'd been intimate with cases that he'd handled.

A pattern had emerged, a series of murders of “undesirables,” people the city didn't care about when alive and certainly didn't have the resources to allocate to after their deaths. Prostitutes, the homeless, and runaway foster kids. All missing or dead, all cases handled by the same officer. The officer that lived next door to you and was one beer away from beating his wife into submission 5 days a week.

After your third 911 call, you'd been notified of your contract termination with the precinct. After the tenth, you noticed parole cars driving by every hour.

By call number 19, you were sure it was a miracle he hadn't tried to have you arrested.

So you turned back to the FBI to see what they could do about a man who treated his wife, and basically everyone else, like scum of the earth.

“Please don't get sidetracked by my hacking,

I'm a good girl, your team I am backing,

the killer, you see,

Is right now hunting me,

You're the ones who can do better tracking.”

You watched the tension snap back into place in the office as, for the first time, Spencer Reid was silent at your message. They all got back to work quickly, going over the files you'd dropped in their servers.

That night, Spencer Reid stayed in the office late, reading through piles and piles of files and looking for the connection he needed. You watched in pity, feeling almost guilty that you'd placed this burden on him instead of just approaching them honestly. But you'd called the police before, and it hadn't worked, so getting attention anyway you could was the only way to go.

You watched for so long that you began noticing his small habits. Each time you sensed frustration, he would run a hand through his hair and tug it slightly. When he found something, he leaned in closer to the page, as if his proximity to the words would make them clearer. Finally, he stood and began clearing his files. But you weren't quite ready to sign off yet, the shouting already beginning in the apartment next to yours, so you quickly typed out the first thing that came to mind to get him to stay.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,

Who I simply and truly just need,

I would lie on my back,

And then let him attack,

Any inch of my body with his seed.”

He fumbled the files in his haste to remove your words from his screen, from every screen now in the building, face awash with embarrassment as he looked around for some sign that no one witnessed your words.

Luck was not to be had as the tech analyst - Penelope Garcia - came shooting out of her office to join him in the near empty bullpen, and the older team leader - Aaron Hotchner - also looked out over the bannister from his office as they bore witness to your seduction.

You were driving Spencer Reid crazy.

He'd spent the last two weeks tracking down a serial killer who may or may not exist based on the word of a set of limericks delivered to the BAU through illegal means that had begun unabashedly flirting with him.

This latest limerick was his last straw.

“The cameras are how I can see you,

I do find myself enjoying the view,

His hair is so fine,

I wish he was mine,

The agent with more PhDs than two.”

“Another score, pretty boy, it was about time someone noticed your good looks instead of your brain for once.” Morgan patted him on the shoulder, barely containing his glee and laughter.

“She's watching us through security feed, and that's all you have to say?” he grumbled, writing out this limerick again, the words to the others burned into his brain. “She's playing with me.”

“It sure sounds like she'd enjoy doing just that,” Emily laughed from her desk, “but I think she might be right, Spencer. Every case file she's given us has suspicious activity on it. They're all unsolved, but the victims aren't linked.”

“He's crossing race and gender boundaries, but he's hitting undesirables.”

They had a case because of you. It didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy handcuffing you and putting you in a cell once this was all finished.

“WE'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE,” Penelope shouted from her office, to no avail. If it was at one computer, it was on all of them.

“The agents grew closer by day,

As the killer wanted to escape,

He paced across the floor,

As I watched by his door,

Getting closer than the agents could say.”

He paused then for a second, thinking through each of the limericks in turn and the panic began.

“Closer than… Emily, the officer that took in all of the cases, what was his name?”

“Officer Falstaff, why?”

“I think he might be our killer. And I think he knows she's on to him, or if he doesn't, he will soon.” He stood suddenly, grabbing a file and sprinting to Penelope’s office, Emily and Morgan trailing close behind.

“Spencer, wait-”

“No time. If we want them both alive, we have to move now.”

Throwing the door to Penelope’s room open, he didn't even bother with niceties.

“Can you get her a message?” He demanded, panting from the short run.

“A wha-? Spencer, what are you talking about?”

“Can you send the hacker a message? Or leave her one so she can find it when she comes?”

Penelope swivelled around in her chair once again, doing who-knows-what to answer his question.

“There's no telling what she actually sees in our servers, Spencer, we didn't see any breach in classified files, the only thing she's done is read your personal file and drop us hints.”

His hands closed into fists as he nodded along. “So no?”

“No, Spencer, I'm sorry. Why? Are you starting to grow fond of our little helper.”

“She's not our little helper. She's a criminal. And she'll be dead soon if I don't confirm with her that we have the right guy - excuse me.”

The anger was washing over him now, as he left the room to get some air, getting only as far as the corridor before slamming an open palm into the wall and resting his forehead against it for a moment, just thinking.

The stress of the case was almost too much for him as he turned around and rested his back against the wall, sliding down it until he was sat on the floor. He may have despised you at that moment, but he didn't want you to get yourself killed.

Something nagged him, still, some stress or anger that hadn't yet surfaced, or some case fact he was missing. A glint at the corner of his eye had him looking up to the camera currently trained directly on him.

Computers are useless, he thought to himself, when you can send a letter.

The next time you sat down at your desk, you weren't exactly shocked to see an up close and personal shot of Aaron Hotchner - they'd turned your security stream into a one way facetime and you were sat directly opposite the big boss himself in an interrogation room.

“Checkmate, I guess,” you said, waiting for the man to move.

A signal from behind the camera let him know you were online and watching. He picked up a pen and paper and scribbled down something before holding the note out to you once more.

The name and location of the bastard next door. They'd done it, and now you simply had to drop your evidence, shut down your computer, and wait for the sirens to sound.

You felt slightly sad typing out your last message, knowing that you had no more reason to stay in touch with the team now. Still, you were only human and couldn't resist the chance to say something more.

“Aaron Hotchner and his clever team,

Working with you has been like a dream,

When Reid comes it is wet,

And my mind is all set,

Oh, I do wish that he'd make me cream.”

The camera turned seconds after your message was sent, and there he was, reading intently, frow creased in annoyance as he tried to remain calm. He, too, picked up a pen and paper.

“I have questions,” the paper said when he turned it around. Holding it up for a few seconds before returning his pen to paper. You typed out a message before he could finish dictating his, though.

“When you find me there's lots for me to say,

I can't help simply feeling this way,

Your profile I read,

Can't believe you're a Fed,

I yearn for you all night and day.”

Somehow, the lines between his brow deepened as he quickly scribbled out another message. This one wasn't a question, though. It was simply two words.

He'd written your name on that paper. He'd found you.

You weren't sure if the tingle that ran up your spine was fear or anticipation. One one hand, you'd likely committed multiple felonies in the pursuit of justice, and the SWAT team about to pick up the killer was going to knock for you, too. On the other hand, it was pretty much a given that you would be seeing Spencer Reid in person in the next few hours.

“The Doctor had finally cracked it,

The only identity that could fit,

The pretty young thing,

Who'd been flirting with him,

And was thinking of sitting on his…”

You sent a second message along with the first.

“I couldn't make this one rhyme, Doc. Come and get me.”

The sound of the FBI outside your neighbour's door had you stepping away from the computer finally. It was time to get ready to see him. You stepped out of your robe and into the shower as you waited to be collected and hauled into a police vehicle.

xxx

So far, you were a bit disappointed by the look of the BAU offices. It was smaller than it appeared on the CCTV, and you hadn't exactly given the tour. Unless the whole tour was the wall from the elevators, through the bullpen and straight to interrogation room one. You were also slightly embarrassed that you had yet to be greeted by any of your favourite characters yet. The lead swat officer had led you in some desk agents dropping by to have you fill out some simple documents - waiving your rights and all that. You'd seen not even a single member of the BAU since dropping in two hours ago, but you felt his eyes on you.

You faced the mirror, trying your best to stare straight through it and into the man beyond.

Spencer Reid was there. He had to be. He was too curious to be anywhere else. You smiled at him through the mirror and waited.

You were right, of course. Spencer stood on the opposite side of the one-way window and watched you look for him in every inch of the glass. He watched you squirm when you couldn't find anything, watched you pick at your nails as he made you wait.

He watched you cross and uncross your legs, the short skirt you'd slipped into just before you left providing just enough mystery to catch his eye and his breath.

He was annoyed, frustrated, a little bit impressed, anxious, and - to his peril - turned on.

“Spencer,” Hotch said, breaking the man's concentration. “We can't keep her that much longer. Go in and say something, or I'll cut her loose.”

Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away and stepped out of the waiting room before letting himself into yours.

“Miss Y/N, my name is Doctor Spencer Reid, I'm a profiler working with the Behavioural An-”

“You're joking, right?” You asked, eyes lighting up, spine straightening as you looked up at the man. “I know who you are, Doc.”

“Please call me Doctor Reid,” he asked, setting down a file on the table and looking over the desk at you.

“Oh, I don't even get your first name.” You lifted your leg and ran it along the side of his until he moved his chair back, just out of reach. You pouted as he began reading through documents, asking you to confirm exactly which technical breaches you were responsible for.

“And the breach at 1:27pm on Thursday 5th-”

“Yes, that was me, too. They were all me, Doc, is that all? Are we finished now?”

“I don't know, are we finished? Can I leave?”

“No,” you shouted, just as he stood up to gather his things. “No, don't go. I want to talk to you.”

He sat back down, finally looking at you instead of words on a page.

“Do you enjoy attention, Miss Y/N?” He asked, voice cold but gaze burning like fire into your skin.

“As much as anyone does.”

“Do you enjoy my attention?” The words hung between you for a few minutes as you watched him carefully, searching for the right answer.

“What do you think, Doc?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” he repeated reflexively.

“I know your name,” you smiled, and he finally looked away, breaking contact to regroup for a second.

“We have reason to believe you used your backdoor into our system to access my personal file, is that correct?” It may have been asked as a question, but Spencer Reid already knew the answer.

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

You laughed at the simple question, sure that your behaviour until this point was evidence enough to answer it.

“Why? Because you're attractive and your smart and-”

“Why haven't you used the content of the files as leverage? I've been digging at you for the last half hour, and you have plenty of ammunition to throw back at me, yet you haven't. Why?”

For the first time in a while, you were speechless.

“Oh. Wow. Should I have said something? Would you have felt more comfortable if I were a horrible person using your background to make you feel vulnerable?”

“Why, Y/N?”

You sighed and looked back up at him.

“I'm interested in you. That's it. Honestly, there is nothing in your file more interesting than how you look running your hands through your hair.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched before he let out a sigh.

“So you're a compulsive liar.” He said it so finitely it was like a kick in the teeth.

“Or maybe you're just insecure. I can help with that.”

He shot you another warning look as a grin spread over your lips. Yes, it was very fun to mess with Spencer Reid.

“FBI Agents aren't allowed to sleep with suspects.”

“You want to sleep with me?”

His eyes went wide as he realized his mistake, mouth opening and closing as he tossed another annoyed look in your direction.

The door to the interrogation room opened, and Reid quickly bolted out of his seat as Aaron Hotchner entered. The two men shared a nod before the younger man left the room entirely.

“Such a shame, I thought we were really getting somewhere.”

To your surprise, Hotchner’s lips curled up in a laugh as he sat down, straightening his suit.

“Miss Y/N, we've reviewed the information you've given us and taken into account your motives, and the FBI has decided not to prosecute you for your actions.”

You sat for a minute, Hotch doing the same, the both of you caught waiting for each other to say something or continue.

“But?” You prodded, knowing there was more left to say.

“But, we'd ask for your cooperation on cases in the future that require technological man-power. In a consultancy role, of course. You wouldn't be given a badge or a gun or any clearance, and you'd need to be with an agent at all times.”

You tapped your fingers against the desk, trying to figure out if this deal was beneficial or not.

“I'll do it if I can pick the Agent.”

Now, the man was fully smiling at you or giving you what you assumed passed for a smile in his books.

“We had recommended Doctor Reid for the role. Of course, if you're more comfortable with another agent, you can-”

“Doctor Reid is perfect, thank you.”

The man nodded and stood, and you stood with him as he led you quietly out of the room.

A flustered Spencer Reid exited the adjoining room, hurrying to catch Hotch before he really signed his life away to you.

“Hotch, what is this?” He demanded, stopping the man in his tracks. They both paused, turning around and moved a few feet awaywfrom.you whispering out their argument.

You couldn't catch most of it, but you did happen to catch the phrases “man-eater,” “I'm not good with people,” and “Spencer, this will be good for you.” Victory in the end went to Hotch, who promptly turned on his heel and kept walking down the hall.

“I work here now,” you said, grinning up at Spencer.

“No, you don't.”

“According to your boss, I do. And you're my babysitter.”

“You're a criminal. You hacked into the FBI database to leave ominous clues to multiple murders.”

“If you call those ominous clues, I'm curious how people usually flirt with you.”

“They don't. Why…why are we having this conversation?”

He stormed off ahead of you, and you quickened your pace to catch up to him, following him down a familiar hallway to what was obviously tech central at the BAU.

“Spencer, seriously? You're walking around looking like that, and no one hits on you?”

He stopped abruptly, and you ran into his back before he turned around to scowl at you again.

“Can we keep this serious, please?”

“I'm very serious about flirting with you, and I'm stumped why more people aren't.”

“Okay, let's go somewhere and talk,” his hand landed on your waist, readying his grip to forcibly move you if need be.

“I thought that's what we were doing.” Instead of allowing him to move you, you leaned into his touch, stepping closer and raising a hand to his chest, as his head dipped to maintain eye contact.

“No, this isn't talking, this is some weird foreplay I've never heard of, and I'd like you to leave my office if you're going to continue,” the woman sat at the desk exclaimed, horror and amusement fighting a battle for her facial expressions. “I like to keep my office a no trauma zone, so please take a walk to the nearest bed or storage closet or car and you can shove your tongues down each other's throats in peace and out of my sight, please and thank you.”

Spencer tried to step away, but a hand on his tie kept him close and kept his eyes on you. You poked your head out around him and smiled at the other woman.

“Sorry to disturb you. I'm Y/N. Based on the tech, I assume we will be working with each other soon.”

“Oh my gosh, you were, like, my number one most hated person last week. Penelope Garcia, tech analyst.”

“I'm sorry about that. If it makes it any better, it was really hard to get past some of your firewalls. And I couldn't even touch the classified files.”

“Apology accepted, on the condition that you lead young Reid out of my office right now before he explodes.”

You grinned and grabbed the man's hand, sending Penelope a quick goodbye as you pulled him out of the room.

He stumbled behind you for a few moments before catching up and pulling you in a different direction, keeping your hands intertwined as he bee-lined for the elevators and pushed the button to go down.

It arrived, and he pulled you in, not releasing your grip until the doors were fully closed and you were alone.

“Getting me all alone, Doc? What do you have in mind?”

“I'm driving you home.”

“My apartment is a crime scene, and I have no family in the city.”

“What about friends?”

“I've been stalked by a homicidal police officer for the last month and barricaded myself into an apartment. Do you think I have friends?”

His gaze was somewhat softer as he looked at you again. You saw the math happening in his head as he tried to figure out what to do with you. You also saw his brain short circuiting when you wrapped yourself around his arm.

“We're friends now, Doc. Isn't that right?”

“What?”

“We're friends,” you repeated again, tone becoming a little defensive in a pout.

“We are not friends, Y/N. We've known each other for less than 6 hours, and we haven't engaged in any friendly conversation.”

“We've known each other for two weeks, and I've been more than friendly enough for the both of us.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Gesturing for you to go first, Spencer hurried you out of the elevator and into the parking garage.

“Trust me, Spencer, deep down, part of you really wants to be friends with me,” you said poking his chest with a finger. You couldn't resist flattening your hand against his surprisingly hard chest and letting the hand drop slightly.

“And an ever deeper down part of you doesn't want to be friends at all,” you smiled at him.

He caught your wrist before it could reach his belt buckle, your unconscious finish line, spinning you around and dragging you to his car.

The biting cold of metal cutting into your wrists was the first indication that maybe Spencer Reid wasn't as easy to mess with as you'd hoped. He closed the handcuffs around your wrists and handed you into the car as you gaped at him.

“Spencer!”

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“I’m not a criminal, Spencer, let me go.”

“I'll let you go when you prove to me you can behave.”

You pouted as he strapped you into the car and closed the door, walking around to the passenger side before letting himself in.

“What's next? Are you going to gag me?” You scoffed as he turned over the engine and began backing out of the parking lot.

“No. I think you'd enjoy that too much.”

The drive to Spencer's apartment was long and quiet as you sat pouting in the passenger seat. Every few seconds, you twisted and moved your arms, fidgeting left and right so he could see how much the restraints bothered you. Luckily, he'd handcuffed your hands in front of your body, so you still sat somewhat comfortably, but you didn't want him to know that.

He pulled up to the building and turned off the engine, pulling out his keys.

“Let's go,” he said, not even sparing you a look as he climbed out.

“Spencer, I'm handcuffed. How do I even get out?”

“You'll figure it out. You're a smart girl, right?”

He closed his door and began walking, and you quickly fumbled your way out.

“Spencer… Spencer, your neighbours are going to ask questions about you bringing a handcuffed girl into your apartment!” You whispered at him as you paced behind him, somehow running to catch up with his mere walk.

“I don't have neighbours like you, Y/N. They won't notice a thing.”

“Right, okay. And when you murder a dozen people over a six month period, they won't hack the federal government.” You rolled your eyes as he unlocked the door, taking your arm and finally handing you into the apartment.

It was dark and cold, and you shivered, feeling his body pushed in right behind yours, closing the door before he felt around for the light switch.

When the lights turned on, you blinked, adjusting to the light again as he walked you further into the apartment, hands on your hips as you slowly stumbled forward.

“Can you take the handcuffs off now?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him.

“And let you touch my things? No.”

You shook off his hands and walked further into the room.

“You know I can still mess with your stuff with my hands tied up like this,” you said, walking to the nearest bookshelf.

“Whoops, look at that,” you said, pulling a book off the shelf and letting it fall to the floor between you with a thud.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed, voice pitched up in exasperation.

“Oh, this stack of books on the ground looks well organized. Oopsie!” You acted out tripping over the books, sending them flying in different directions.

“One more time, Y/N, mess with my stuff one more time-”

You didn't hear the words as you pulled yet another book off his shelf and let it tumble to the ground.

He was on you in seconds, lifting your wrists and pinning them to the top shelf, pressing his body against yours as he stretched you out.

You gasped at both the sudden contact and the tight grip he now had on your hands.

“Tell me, do you actually want to be in control, or do you just think you should want to be in control?”

“What's the difference?”

“The difference is how much you enjoy it. I think you're only being a brat to get a rise out of me. You're doing this because there's no one else in your life that will give you exactly what you crave."

"And what would that be?"

"Attention," he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Great, thanks for the therapy. Are you going to show me how much I can enjoy relinquishing control now?”

“Brat,” he spat at you.

“Fed,” you spat back.

“You have a problem with law enforcement?” He asked, his breath hitting your ear as you tried not to shiver again at his touch.

“My neighbour was a serial killer whose day job was police brutality," you said, as if the answer was obvious, but Spencer still stared, waiting for true confirmation.

“Yes I have a problem with law enforcement. What, are you going to spank me?”

His eyes lit up, and you suddenly wondered if you'd made a mistake.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“N-No.” You stuttered, but he'd already begun moving you over to his couch.

“It was a joke. Spencer, it was a joke, don't-”

You underestimated his strength as he flipped you around and guided you down over his lap. Keeping your hips raised, he used one hand to hold you down while the other pushed up your tight skirt.

“S-Spencer, I really don't think-”

“Then don't think,” he said, bringing his hand down hard on your ass as you cried out in shock and pain.

“Stop thinking. You think too much, let me do it for you.”

With each hit, your shock grew fuzzy, melting into pleasure as you felt wetness pooling between your thighs.

The doctor you thought would be an easy target was not sadistically returning every teasing word back to you with his hands, letting bruises blossom all over your ass as he delivered painfully arousing strikes.

His hand stopped and he rubbed your ass as you twitched at the gentleness, panties sticking to the folds of your cunt as you absent mindedly pushed up into his touch.

“See, now you're listening,” he said, fingers trailing down to touch you over the sopping undergarments.

With two quick fingers, the crotch of your panties peeled away from your skin and he was plunged deep inside you, fingers pressing in as his thumb found its way to your clit.

“Fuck, Spencer-”

“Doctor Reid. You can use my full title now or you don't get to cum.”

“D-Doctor Reid, please!” His thumb rubbed slowly over your clit bit his fingers didn't move as you shuddered and contracted around them.

“Please what?” He asked, voice light as if he wasn't two knuckles deep in you already.

“Please make me cum, Doctor Reid!”

“Good manners,” he said as he finally began pumping his digits in and out of you, spreading your legs wider as you clawed your hands into his couch cushions to ground yourself in the moment. His spare hands left your wrists, and you felt them again, delivering small, almost cute hits to your ass as you twitched around his fingers, shying away from the painful contact.

“That's it, Y/N, let yourself relax,” he whispered, shifting his weight underneath you as you became aware of the tent in his pants.

Your brain was jello as you tried to bounce back on his fingers, chasing your oncoming orgasm.

“Look at you, trying to cum on my hands. You're just an attention-seeking slut, right?”

His fingers continued ppimg as your tongue hung loosely in your mouth.

“Answer me, or I'll leave you here high and dry, Y/N. Tell me you're an attention seeking slut that's been fingering yourself to the thought of this for weeks.”

“I-I'm an a-atten…tion seeking s-slut,” you stifled a moan and bit back tears as he pressed another finger inside of you. “Spencer I can't I need to cum,” you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks pathetically.

“Say it.”

“I'm an attention seeking s-slut that's been th-thinking about this-”

“Fingering yourself,” he corrected.

“Fingering myself to the thought of this for w-weeks,” you cried, sniffing now as your thighs shook in anticipation.

“What a nasty little slut,” he said as you finally came, your cum running down his fingers as he kept his hands moving.

Your tears were falling freely now as you bit back little sobs and chokes of emotions, the pleasure from the orgasm almost too much to handle.

Underneath you, Spencer shifted, freeing himself from his position and laying you fully down on the sofa as your legs still shook.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,” he said, unzipping his pants as he took up his place behind you.

They were your words, and your body signalled warnings everywhere as his hands pulled your hips up once more, pulling your knees up too to bend under you, laying you face down ass up.

“Who I simply and truly just need.”

He pulled the panties down to the crook of your knees before leaning down over you so he could deliver the next few lines as whispers into your ear.

“I would lie on my back, And then let him attack, Any inch of my body with his seed.”

A weak moan escaped your lips as he sank his cock inside of you, lips still pressed against your ears.

“I don't want you on your back, though. I much prefer you like this.”

His cock slid out of you and returned with a speed and strength that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

He was thick, maybe a little longer than average, and he filled you perfectly using your cum as lubricant.

“Such a good listener, now, Y/N. I like you like this,” he said with a moan, thrusting hard and deep inside of you.

You didn't talk. You could only drool and moan into his couch as he emptied your brain one thrust at a time.

You didn't think about how he wasn't wearing a condom. You didn't think about how he'd spat your words back at you, ready to fill you with his seed. You just sat in a pool of your own pleasure and let Spencer Reid use your body as you'd been begging him to for weeks.

He raised your hips and gave one last thrust, stilling there for a second as he filled your empty body and mind with his cum and his entire being.

If you weren't obsessed with Doctor Spencer Reid before this, you certainly were now.

He pulled out of you quickly, wiping his cock on your skirt before hurrying off to the bathroom to clean up.

Your brain was still absent when he returned, cleaning you off and finally removing the handcuffs. He removed your clothes, replacing them with his spares as he threw the soiled ones into the wash.

When you regained your wits or what was left of them, you were laid out in his bed, wrapped in a blanket and stuffed into a sweater and sweats, fully covered from head to toe. Spencer was picking up his keys and trying his shoelaces.

“Where are you going?’ You asked sleepily, stumbling to the doorway. Your legs were still shaky, and your movement was already limited. You knew that tomorrow, the use of your limbs would be nonexistent.

“Back to the office. Now that you're not around, maybe I'll be able to get some actual work done.”

“Spencer,” you said, forcing him to turn around to look back at you.

Before he could say anything else, you pressed your lips to his, hot and needy, wrapping your arms around his neck as he kissed back, slipping his tongue into your mouth and pressed you into the wall next to the door.

When you both pulled away for breath, you detangled your limbs, smoothing out his shirt and readjusting his tie.

He looked down at you, waiting for you to say something else as you met his gaze, grinning at him.

“I look forward to working with you, Doctor Reid.”

[nylqnder]

HANDS TO MYSELF QUINN HUGHES

pairing: fem!reader x quinn hughes

summary: after weeks of clashing schedules, yours and quinns calendars finally align for a much-desired date night.

warnings: veerrryyy sexually charged (but no smut), quinn and reader are very much in love, quinn being a lil bit horny, makeout

wc: 2.45k

notes: came so close to writing smut for this fic but i didn't think it would be good. also here is the dress i'm describing if you care!

In a serendipitous alignment of your overfilled schedules, the night finally arrives. Weeks of clashing obligations, games, appointments, practices, and disappointments converge to clear a single slot in time, and Quinn, ever the romantic planner, had spent the entire day coordinating for it. He’d spun a few webs to secure a table at Riley’s, a restaurant that you knew had been booked solid for months. The restaurant itself was peak elegance, serving high-end food with the best of service.

You pulled the black, satin dress that hung in its garment bag out from the back of your closet. It was a dress that had been waiting, forgotten but pristine, for an evening like this. You stepped into the dress, pulling the zipper, but realizing that the button at the top would need the aid of Quinn. Your makeup was done, hair pulled up into a messy, but planned bun on the top of your head. You check your reflection, every detail scrutinized until it's perfect. In the low-lit glow of your vanity mirror, you look radiant, a piece of art made alive.

When you’re finally ready, you drift into the living room where Quinn is waiting. He rises at your entrance, and the room seems to shrink around you. His silence feels louder than any compliment. His eyes take you in, from the cut-outs at your waist to the way the fabric hugs and accentuates the curves of your body perfectly.

Then, as if he can no longer contain it, he utters, “You look… I can’t believe how stunning you are.” His voice is reverent as if you were something divine and beautiful he had stumbled upon.

“Thank you, baby,” you say softly. You take him in as well, the chocolate-colored suit tailored to fit him perfectly, the white dress shirt unbuttoned slightly to show off the curves of his chest. “Can you help me do up the button?”

You turn around, exposing the deep, plunging back to Quinn. When he catches sight of your exposed back, you swear you hear him let out a whimper. His calloused fingers brush against your back, attaching the button. The sensation of his lips pressing a light kiss to the back of your neck sends goosebumps all over.

“All done,” he says in a breathy voice.

As you turn to face him, your heart skips a beat, taking in the intensity in his eyes. There’s a simmering hunger in his gaze like he's seeing you in an entirely new light and savoring every inch of the view. For a moment, his fingertips linger on your bare shoulder, his thumb tracing gentle circles over your skin. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him, and the subtle scent of his cologne fills the air around you. The magnetism between you is undeniable, making it easy to get lost in the moment.

Quinn’s eyes drift from yours to your plump, gloss-covered lips, then back up to meet your gaze, smoldering and almost pleading. You feel the tension between you both rise, quiet electricity sparking in the space between your bodies, drawing you closer. He leans in, lips barely grazing your ear, his breath hot as he murmurs, “You sure we have to go to dinner?”

The way he says it makes your heart race, a low hum of excitement settling in your stomach. He’s looking at you as though dinner could wait, as though the evening he planned so meticulously is suddenly the furthest thing from his mind. You manage a playful smile, resting your hands on his chest and pressing back ever so slightly to keep a sliver of space between you.

“Quinn,” you whisper, forcing a bit of composure back into your voice. “I don’t even want to know what you had to do to get a reservation at Riley’s. And if we don’t leave now, we’re going to miss our reservation.”

He lets out a soft groan, but a smile tugs at his lips. “Fine, but only because I’ve waited long enough for this night.” His hands slowly fall from your shoulders, lingering a moment longer than they need to. He takes a step back, slipping one hand into yours, as if reluctant to let you out of his grasp even for a second.

Hand in hand, you head to the car, the cool evening air a gentle contrast to the warm intimacy that still lingers from Quinn’s touch. He opens the passenger door for you, his eyes never leaving you as you slide into the seat. He closes the door softly, circling around to the driver's side.

Once he’s settled in and starts the car, his hand immediately finds yours, fingers interlocking as he gives you a quick, admiring glance. You feel his eyes linger, that same look of reverence and wonder as he takes in the sight of you beside him.

“Eyes on the road, Mr. Romantic,” you tease gently, squeezing his hand.

He laughs, but there’s a slight flush on his cheeks. “It’s a little hard to focus when you look like that,” he admits. “That dress was practically designed to distract me.”

You shake your head, though you can’t deny how his words send a thrill through you. He’s still sneaking glances, unable to help himself, his fingers gently tracing circles on the back of your hand as he drives.

As you arrive at Riley’s, you’re greeted with the soft glow of candlelight spilling from the windows, the gentle hum of jazz drifting into the night air. The restaurant is elegant in a timeless way, with dim lighting and warm wooden accents that create an intimate, welcoming atmosphere. Quinn helps you out of the car, his hand finding the small of your back as he guides you through the grand entrance, where the maître d’ greets you with a polite nod.

“Right this way, Mr. Hughes,” she says with a warm smile, as though she too knows how special this night is. You’re led to a private corner booth tucked away from the rest of the tables. A single candle rests in the center, casting a warm glow across the table.

Quinn pulls your chair out for you, his hand grazing your shoulder as you sit. His gaze never leaves yours as he settles across from you, his expression one of barely contained awe. “I wasn’t exaggerating before,” he says softly, leaning in. “You look absolutely breathtaking.”

You feel your cheeks heat under his intense gaze, and you find yourself smiling, eyes twinkling as you return the compliment. “And you look incredible too, Quinn. That suit… I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so good.”

A waiter approaches, and Quinn orders a bottle of wine, one you remember J.T. Miller suggesting the two of you try if you’re willing to shell out a bit of money on a bottle. As the bottle arrives and the wine is poured, Quinn raises his glass to you, his eyes catching the candlelight.

“To you,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm.

“To us,” you correct. You clink glasses, each sip bringing a pleasant buzz that only heightens the already electrifying atmosphere.

For a while, your conversation is playful and light. You talk about little things — reminiscing over memories that make you laugh, filling in each other on anecdotes that got lost in your busy lives. Quinn leans in, his attention unwavering, absorbing every word with a soft, amused grin. Every facet of him is distracting to you - the way his fingers play with the stem of his wine glass, how he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth when he listens so intently to you telling a story, and the unmissable gleam in his eye when he looks at you.

You each glance half-heartedly at the menu, but quickly abandon it, unable to tear your focus away from each other. The conversation flows with a surprising ease, touching on topics deep and trivial. He confides how strange it felt to find the perfect suit, mentioning how he asked Jack if it was too much. You smile, knowing how important tonight must be for him to fuss over something like that.

“I can't tell you how good it feels to finally be here with you. It’s been a rough couple of weeks.” His expression shifts, his normally relaxed face showing traces of the stress that he’s been carrying.

“I know,” you say, reaching across the table to place your hand over his. “It feels like every time we tried to plan something, something would get in the way. Between your games, my projects…”

He lets out a long breath and gives a slight nod. “Yeah, it’s just been so much with the season, and all I’ve wanted is a night like this. Just you and me.” His eyes soften, and you feel his hand give yours a soft squeeze, grounding both of you at this moment. “Games have been intense lately. And I love it, but… I miss you,” he confesses, his voice almost whispering.

Your heart swells at his honesty. You can see the weariness in him, but there's also a kind of vulnerable tenderness in the way he’s looking at you now. “I miss you, too. But I’m really proud of you, Quinn. I see how much you put into it.”

He smiles, his gaze dropping to your lips for a moment before flicking back up to your eyes, his expression soft yet intent. “That means a lot to me, more than you know.” He leans in just slightly, a private, mischievous grin slipping onto his face. “But honestly, right now? All I want is to be with you. Just us.”

“Well,” you reply, leaning closer to Quinn. “Here we are. Just the two of us.”

His thumb traces slow, deliberate circles on your wrist, sending sparks up your arm. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low and earnest. “Exactly where I want to be.” His eyes drop to the faint glow of the candlelight on your face, and he seems to lose himself in the view.

But the tender moment is interrupted as the waiter returns to take your orders. Reluctantly, Quinn tears his gaze from you, giving his order in a tone that is a bit rushed. You can’t help but smile at his eagerness as you place your own order, stealing glances at him. The waiter leaves, and a comfortable silence settles over you both, the soft jazz music a fitting backdrop to the intimacy between you.

Quinn leans forward, elbows on the table, his fingers interlaced as he studies you again. “I know we’ve been waiting for a night out for forever but…” His voice dips into a quiet murmur, like he’s sharing a secret, “If you told me we could just go home right now, I wouldn’t even blink.”

You laugh, shaking your head slightly, but there’s a warm blush in your cheeks at his words. “Quinn Hughes, you’re telling me you’re willing to give up the table that you pulled some serious strings to get, all because you don’t know if you can keep it in your pants?”

“Yes, exactly that,” he says without missing a beat, his expression growing serious. “Do you know how hard it is to just sit here with you in that dress and keep my hands to myself?”

The boldness in his voice takes you by surprise, and it sends a thrill through you. His words are a reminder of the magnetic pull between you, one that hasn’t faded since the beginning of your relationship. A playful smirk tugs at the corner of your lips. “You know,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “I’d almost believe you didn’t want this night as much as I did.”

Quinn reaches across the table, capturing your hand in his as his thumb glides over your skin, the touch featherlight yet stirring. “Trust me,” he murmurs, voice thick with sincerity, “I want tonight. Every part of it. But right now, it’s taking everything I have not to pull you out of here and make you mine before our food gets here.”

Your breath catches at the intensity in his voice, the raw honesty in his words unraveling you. The ambiance of the restaurant fades into the background; it’s as if the two of you are in a world of your own, insulated by shared desire and the gravity of this long-awaited moment.

You lean forward, your eyes locked onto his with equal fervor. “I guess we could always… take the food to go,” you whisper, testing the waters.

A glimmer of excitement flashes in his gaze. “Are you serious?” he asks, barely able to keep his voice steady, as though the thought alone is almost too good to believe.

Your fingers trace slow patterns over the top of his hand. “Quinn, this night is already perfect… you went above and beyond to make it perfect. But, truth be told, we could’ve just ordered Chinese food and I would have been just as happy. I just want to be with you”

Quinn signals for the waitress, quickly requesting the check and your ordered meals in boxes with a smoothness that belies the fire simmering beneath his calm exterior. He leans over and gives her a charming but hurried excuse about needing to leave for a family matter, handing over his card before she can even respond. The minutes it takes to process feel like an eternity, but Quinn’s hand rests over yours, grounding you in the electric silence shared between you.

Finally, the waitress returns, and he leaves a generous tip before helping you to your feet. You weave through the restaurant together, stealing glances and half-hidden smiles, every step charged with anticipation.

Outside, the city air hits cool and refreshing, but the chill is quickly forgotten as Quinn’s hand finds its familiar place on your thigh once you’re seated in the car. His fingers trail subtle, teasing patterns that have your pulse racing, yet he maintains a sense of composure, his gaze focused forward as he drives the short distance back to your place. You both sense the unspoken thrill of getting back as quickly as possible, yet his hand remains on you, tethering you to the rising tension.

When he finally pulls into the driveway, neither of you wastes a moment. The world outside becomes a blur as you make your way up the steps to the front door, his lips already brushing against your neck as you struggle with the key. By the time you stumble through the door, his mouth finds yours, and the soft click of the door closing behind you is drowned out by the rush of your heartbeat.

[littlelamy]

PLEASEE dad Rafe where the reader is like a Pilates mom trophy wife, and she and Rafe have kids and UGHHHHHHHH traditional rich family the kind Rafe would have.

⭐️i love making little moodboards for this theme so disregard if you dont like it, but i hope you enjoy! ⭐️

rafe pulls up in the blacked-out suv, the engine a low, contented hum as he steps out, shoulders squared, exuding that effortless confidence that still sends a spark through you. the sun dips lower in the sky, casting golden rays over the sprawling lawn as the kids burst out, laughing and calling back to him, backpacks slung carelessly over their shoulders. they race each other toward the house, shouting over who gets the last snack in the pantry, and rafe just shakes his head, watching with that quiet pride that’s become second nature to him.

you’re settled by the pool, lounging on one of the cushioned chairs with your favorite oversized sunglasses perched on your nose, a fresh iced latte in hand. you’re fresh from pilates, dressed in a crisp white athleisure set that rafe has already told you he loves—a little too much, given the look he’s giving you right now. you pull your sunglasses down, meeting his gaze with a smile that’s just for him.

he saunters over, hands sliding into the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants. the sun catches in his hair, bringing out the few strands of blonde that the summer hadn’t quite left behind. there’s a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, that warm gleam in his eyes, hinting at that wild edge that he still carries, even now. and it’s there, in that look, that you see how completely wrapped up in you he still is.

“hey, stranger,” you murmur, lifting your drink in a silent toast as he drops into the chair next to you, leaning close enough that you can catch his aftershave, something dark and woodsy. you see his gaze flicker over you, taking in every detail like he’s still half-surprised by the life you both built.

“missed you today,” he says, voice low and sweet. you give a playful shrug, pretending not to notice how his hand casually finds yours, warm fingers threading between yours, the way he’s always done.

you shake your head, leaning back and giving a little sigh, mock-serious. “all i did was pilates and a trip to the club, rafe,” you tease. “how’d you survive without me?”

his laugh is quiet, but you catch that glint in his eye. “barely,” he says, thumb tracing gentle circles along the side of your hand, a gesture so natural you barely even notice it anymore. he pauses, looking out at the kids, who are now a blur in the distance, likely digging around for snacks or on their way to the game room. and it’s in that moment—just the two of you with the day slipping into evening—that you feel the absolute certainty he has in this life, in the family you’ve built.

you turn to him, watching as his gaze softens, and there’s something that pulls at your heart, this deep, endless feeling he has for you, even after all these years. you’re the perfect vision of his world, a pilates-mom trophy wife, the gleaming pool and manicured lawn the backdrop to a life that’s both beautiful and grounded, something he never knew he wanted until he had it. and yet, in his gaze, it’s so clear how much he appreciates every inch of it.

“think i’m going to make something special for dinner,” you say, though you both know it’ll be the chef taking care of most of it. but the idea of you, his wife, planning out dinner like this is exactly the sort of scene he loves—a glimpse of something tender and old-fashioned, just for the two of you.

he grins, giving you that lopsided smile. “save some time for me afterward?”

“always,” you reply, resting your head on his shoulder as the sun dips low. it’s not the first time you’ve had this moment, and it won’t be the last—but that’s exactly what makes it so perfect.

he’s quiet for a moment, eyes still tracing the outline of your face before his hand slides around to the back of your neck, pulling you in close for a slow kiss. his lips press into yours with that intensity that still makes your heart race, like he’s savoring every second, every touch.

when he pulls back, his gaze is a shade darker, playful but serious all at once. he lowers his voice. “the kids aren’t here, you know.”

your heart flutters, and you bite back a smile. “they’re just inside,” you murmur, a teasing note in your voice.

“exactly. not here.” his hand drifts down your arm, sending a shiver through you as he smirks, voice dropping lower. “and, by the way… that little package you ordered just came in.” his fingers trace along your wrist, up your arm, igniting little sparks of excitement. “saw it in the bedroom.”

you feign a casual shrug, but the look in his eyes makes it impossible to keep the smile from your face. “oh? did it now?” you ask, feigning innocence. “must have slipped my mind.”

he laughs softly, his thumb brushing across your cheek as his gaze roams over you, lingering in a way that makes you feel like the only woman in the world. “you knew exactly what you were doing,” he murmurs, voice tinged with admiration and something else—something wild. he leans in, his lips just grazing your ear as he whispers, “think you could model it for me later?”

your cheeks warm, and you feel your pulse quicken, unable to hide your grin. “if you think you can keep the kids distracted…”

his smirk widens, a promise in his gaze. “i’ll figure something out,” he says, his voice filled with that familiar mischief. he presses another kiss to your lips, lingering just long enough to leave you breathless, anticipation simmering between you as the sun sinks lower, casting long shadows over the beautiful life you’ve built together.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafecameroninterlude @sstargirln

[iliketangerines]

pov you randomly facetime johnny while he's busy working and you're fucking yourself stupid on a dildo that HE CUSTOM MADE FROM HIS OWN COCK AND BALLS and he's just so caught off guard like

made by you

a/n: @partycatty last request!!!

pairing: johnny cage x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), soft!Johnny, needy (like really needy) reader, masturbating (?), praise kink, phone sex, not proofread

Johnny rubs his eyes with one hand, squinting them at the unfinished script of the video game

the pen in his hand shakes as he circles and scribbles in comments about what he liked and what he didn’t like about what the script writer had put in

he wonders if he had hired an idiot because the dialogue sounded stiff and the staging of the scene seemed to make no sense

perhaps he should just hire a new editor and write his own script and then send it to an editor to have them tweak any small details he might’ve missed

his hand reaches out for the coffee cup next to him, and he lifts it up only to find it empty

Johnny looks up from his script with a disgruntled look, lips curved downward and eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the empty cardboard

throwing it into the wastebasket beneath his desk along with the three other empty coffee cups, he stands up from his seat, hearing the bones in his back creak and his knees pop with pain

he groans and presses both of his hands to his lower back, stretching out after spending so long hunched over his desk trying to edit this ridiculous script

maybe he should just go to bed, wake up with a fresh head and fresh eyes

Johnny glances once more over to the script, the red pen decorating the paper at almost every corner, and he lets out a displeased hum

for as much as the weight on his eyelids felt heavy, he really wanted, needed, to get this done tonight, at least before the next shoot happened

he checks his phone for the time, greeted with the sight of you as his lock screen, a bright smile on your face with the sunset perfectly framing you

you hadn’t been able to come with him this time to shoot the current movie, a new project at work had a deadline that happened to cross over into the workflow of the shoot, and you couldn’t afford to slack off

every day and night, he would text you updates about his day, how he felt, whether the food was good on set tonight, and you tried to do the same, complaining about your colleagues, your boss, the traffic getting to and from work

it never failed to make him smile as he read your texts

lately, however, the actors had pressing questions, the cameramen had questions and positions to be marked, the stuntmen needed more clarification on the moveset

he hadn’t had much time for you, and he tried his best to respond to you, typing as fast as he could with one hand as he went on lunch breaks, eyes glued to his screen whenever the actors needed a short break before they could continue

it was absolute hell for him to not be able to talk to you so freely

Johnny steps out of his trailer, trudging over to the coffee machine, checking his phone for any new messages from you

there are a few from a few hours ago, telling them that the dinner party you had been to had been a bust and that one of your colleagues had passed out from drinking too much

he smiles at the text and goes to text you back, quickly pressing the buttons on the coffee machine to give him the largest coffee possible, when your face shows up with your caller id

that was strange, it was past midnight for you usually you’d be fast asleep at this hour, always claiming you needed your beauty rest to get an early start on the grocery shopping on the weekend

nonetheless, he picks up the call, “hey sweetheart, what are you doing up so late?” and he blows on the steaming coffee in his cup and takes a sip

“‘m miss you, miss you Johnny,” you sound breathless, words all slurred together and slightly too high-pitched to be normal

panic strikes through his heart, had something happened? were you safe? had something happened? Shang Tsung?

the memory of you being at the dinner party flits into his memory, and he realizes that you’re probably just drunk and a little needy for him, just as needy as he was for you

“are you drunk? you should go to bed, honey. drink some water before you do.” Johnny takes another sip of his coffee as he starts striding back to his trailer

he wonders if you’ll be able to get up in the morning, you always complained so heavily about hangovers, he’ll send you a text in the morning to remember to take some medicine

“no, not drunk, want you, Johnny, hah-” you practically whine into your phone, and Johnny stops in front of his trailer, hand frozen, his phone tucked right between his ear and his shoulder

suddenly, with his phone so close to his ear, he can hear the faint shuffle of the bedsheets, the way you breathe heavily into the mic and the familiar wet squelch of your pussy

Johnny practically rips the door open in his hurry to get inside, “oh honey, i know, what do you want? tell me.”

suddenly, the coffee in his hand seems redundant, not when adrenaline rushed through him, the thought of you so desperate for him on the sheets sending all of his blood rushing downwards

he places the coffee on his desk and sits on the edge of his bed, pressing his phone as close to his ear as possible to hear you

“want you, want you to kiss me, mark me all over, want you fucking me right now,” you pant into the phone, a low drawn out moan escaping you

Johnny swears his hand is dangerously close to cracking his phone with how tightly he grips it, and he presses his free hand against the bottom of his chin, still trying to remain calm as thoughts of you naked and covered in a slight sweat filters into his thoughts

“i wish i could, honey,” he lets out a sharp exhale through his nose as he tries to imagine what you look like, the soft caress of your skin against the sheets, your eyes that glossy faraway look, lips turned into a slight pout, “tell me what you’re doing right now.”

“mm, wearing your shirt, your favorite, missed you, i miss you,” Johnny resists a groan at the image of you wearing nothing but his shirt, the purple one that had cost too much money

still, it was worth all the money, especially now that you were wearing it right now, all needy and whiny for him

“what else are you doing, honey? c’mon keep talking to me, you’re doing so well.” he encourages to talk more, to fill out the details of your want for him so that he can fuel his own imagination of you

“riding, riding you, but it’s-i-i can’t,” you sound pained at the end, your voice tinted with tears

“hey hey, what’s wrong, what can’t you do?” Johnny presses his chin further into his free hand, trying to decipher what you meant by you riding him

he wasn’t there, but you wouldn’t take on another partner just for this, you wouldn’t do something like that, at least not without his permission

Johnny closes his eyes, listening to you whimper, voice slightly warbled through the phone line, “can’t make myself cum, can’t without you, please, Johnny.”

you sound so desperate for him, and he exhales through his nose, almost proud of himself for ruining you for anyone else, but he could stroke his pride later

“honey, why don’t you facetime me? show me what you’re doing, i’ll guide you. how does that sound?” he hears your small sound of confirmation on the other end, and he pulls his phone away from his ear and waits for your caller id to show up again

as soon as it pops up, he clicks on accept and is met with the sight of you, the phone resting on the headboard of the bed, slightly tilting as you move away after setting up the camera

you look divine, better than he remembered, better than anything he had ever seen actually

his heart slightly aches at the sight of you, just as desperate as you to see each other again, to feel your touch on his skin, to feel your warmth hold his soul

Johnny sucks in a breath and concentrates back on you, how he can slightly see your chest through the unbuttoned front of the shirt, how your thighs slightly trembled as you ride a toy

your baby hairs stick slightly to your forehead, and you look breathless, lips parted in a moan and your brows furrowed upwards as you sink back down onto the toy

he stares at it, rummaging through his mind which one it could possibly be when it suddenly clicks in his head

you were riding him, him as in the prank gift he had given you on your birthday before presenting you with your actual gift

Johnny thought you had thrown it out, but you had kept it and now you were riding it, riding him and his lips slightly part in surprise

as he stares at you, you continue to ride the dildo and let out a long whine as one hand travels downward to rub harsh circles onto your clit

it snaps him out of his shock and back into the moment as he coos at you, “you look so gorgeous, so pretty on my cock.”

a slight hum escapes from you as you stare at the camera with half-lidded eyes, drinking in his praise, and Johnny has to bite his tongue to keep himself from cumming into his pants at the sight alone

“that’s it honey, slow down your hand, you’re being too rough on yourself,” he says it gently, voice a little breathy as he strains to control himself, and you listen obediently, your fingers on your clit slowing down into small gentle circles

you whine pitifully, wanting more, but you listen anyway, trusting him

the fact that you do so easily in such a vulnerable moment fills him with something more, something proud and smooth, like gold shining underneath the sun

“good, you’re being so good for me, sweetheart. use your other hand to pinch your nipple,” he stares, unblinking at his phone as you follow through, legs shaking as you ride him slowly, whimpering as you twist and pinch your nipple

Johnny can’t look away, not, he drinks in the sight like you were the stars in the sky, the galaxies flying in the universe, a marvel, a miracle, a beauty to behold

because you truly were, something wonderful and marvelous and more than anything you would ever know

“that’s it, just like that, speed up just a little bit, good, so good for me” he watches as you bounce a little faster, your fingers against your clit just a bit faster, your pinching at your chest just a bit rougher

“haah, ahhh aghh, Johnny, please, please,” you can barely speak, mewls of pleasure interrupting your own thoughts

“let go for me,” it’s all he needs to say as you moan loudly, and you sink down fully onto the toy, fingers rubbing against your clit desperately as your thighs tremble and twitch

he watches as you ride through your orgasm, as your breathing slows, as your body slouches over, exhausted and spent

“you did so well, so well for me,” he isn’t sure if wants to push it, to tell you to try and get yourself cleaned up, and he decides against it as you lower yourself to the bed and grip onto a pillow, no doubt the one on his side of the bed

his fingers itch to stroke your hair, to massage out your muscles, to hold you close in his arms and fall asleep next to you

Johnny settles with watching you fall asleep on the bed and then ending the call, sending you a text message asking how you felt and to call him when you woke up

setting his phone off to the side, he drags a hand over his face, the image of you riding the toy, the toy based off of him, buried deep inside of you

he stands up and rummages through his drawer, he needed a change of his clothes before he went to bed

[sccrim]

she’s just like candy ── toji fushiguro

ʬʬ . warnings ▧ ▧ smut w plot , teasing , choking , slapping , hair grabbing , oral male , degrading , praising , spitting , public sex , pnv , unprotected , cream pies

you teasing toji everytime he was around you. eventually he couldn’t take it anymore

i hope you guys enjoyed this as much as i did.

1.3k words not proof read

"sorry to interrupt, but here's everyone's coffee." you spoke, giving everyone each of their coffees. you never mind grabbing them since it was always on gojos business card and he always insisted on you buying yourself coffee too.

"i didn't forget about your detail coffee mr. fushiguro." you smiled and place the drinks in the middle. you were bent over the around table. toji leaned back with his finger on his chin seeing your whole ass now. the way your short tight shirt fit perfectly against your thighs and ass. "anything else for you mr. gojo?" gojo nodding his head no. you smiled at everyone and closing the door behind you. toji reminiscing the way your outfit was tight on you.

you sat at your desk going through gojos schedule to add on or take off things he wanted. when you looked up, you saw toji. he couldn’t keep his eyes off your breast. you had on a white button up sleeve but since your boobs popped out you had a couple buttons off. "can i help you mr. fushiguro." you smiled. "why did you have to work for gojo and not me." he fake frowned. "because i wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you." you laughed. god, he loved that laugh. the way your smile lit up the room.

"i wouldn’t mind you getting me coffee anytime."

"who said i couldn’t get you coffee everyday. your one floor up." you teased. to be fair you always flirted with all the upper males. it just made your job easier for the day. women hated you for it but you didn’t care. you never once got complained on. "i don’t think gojo would mind if i stole you for a couple weeks."

"to do what for you mr. fushiguro? you have an assistant already." you playing around with your pen. toji eyeing your every move. "come find out." you laughed. you picked up the phone seeing that it was gojo. "yes sir?" you applied gloss on your lips. you didn’t care that toji was right in front of you. if anything you liked it. the way he would want your lips on him. "yes sir, i’ll get it done right away." you hung up the phone. "sorry mr. fushiguro duty calls." you winked, walking off.

if eyes could fuck, yours would be amazing. fushiguro groaned in annoyance, feeling his cock about to turn rock solid. "im done with this game." he whispered trying to find you.

you chewing your gum, waiting for the printer to print the copies for gojos next meeting. "come on." you rolled your eyes, seeing that the printer stopped functioning. you bent down to pull the cord and plug it back in. you heard the printer restart. "better fucking work." you spoke. you turned your body hearing the door close. "stalking now? thought you were better then this."

"i’m done with your games y/n."

"what games?"

"come on, don’t act stupid."

"you know what’s funny?" you laughed. "hm?" he walked closer to you as you were leaning against the counter. "everytime we have a conversation, you always seem to get hard? and yet you never seem to find me and fuck me." bold of you. "you have no idea how bad i wanna fuck the shit out of you."

"tell me mr. fushiguro, how bad?" you looked up at him with your lashes. toji getting closer to you. "i want you screaming my fucking name. telling me don’t stop. i want you in tears."

you got on your knees, unbuckling his belt. toji placing his hand on your chin while moving his thumb against your lips. "be a good girl and spit on it." he whispered. your saliva hitting his tip. your hand pumping his dick causing him to lean his head back. you place his dick in your mouth. going back and forth. toji soft moaning. gripping your head guiding you to go faster. the faster you went the more gagging happened.

he did not give a fuck. it turned him on even more. the way your mouth wrapped while his dick perfectly. you placing your other hand on the other half that couldn’t fit in your mouth. toji looking down at you. "fuck, take it all." he spoke. toji now, rocking back and forth as you continued to devour his cock. "look at you, being a fucking slut for me. how would gojo feel if he saw you being a dirty fucking slut in his printer room."

"unbutton your shirt."

you took your shirt off while he was pumping his dick. toji watched your take off your shirt when he lifted you up. you now sitting on your counter. he lifted your shirt up seeing your black thong. toji tapping his dick against your clit. he could tell you were wet just by the moist noise from just his dick tapping your wet pussy. "look how wet you are for me." he couldn’t wait any longer, he slammed into you, causing you to moan. toji thrusting into you at a fast pace. his head on your shoulder moaning.

"so. fucking. wet."

"toji—"

toji gripping your hair causing your head to lean back. toji giving your kisses on your neck. "holy fuck. y/n." he kept the same pace. hitting your g spot. "please toji— don’t stop."

"shit feels good huh?"

"fucking speak." you moaned in agreement. "can’t even speak. fucking pathetic." he kissed his teeth. "open your mouth for me." toji spitting in your mouth. you had never been fucked this good. "i’m gonna—"

"cum for me."your body shaking. "i’m not finished with you yet." toji turning you around. he slammed back into you. "i don’t care how many times you cum, you’re gonna be screaming for me." he slapped your ass causing it to be red. he placed his hands on your shoulder, thrusting into you. "you feel so fucking good." he moaned. his balls slapping against you. "toji—" you moaned back.

this is what he wanted and he got it. all those times you teased him with bending over, rubbing your leg against his, the way you placed your gloss right in front of him. "be a good doll and suck on my finger." he placed his finger in your mouth. toji getting harder, feeling how wet his finger was. "baby, you’re so fucking perfect. your pussy was made just for me." this man was so pussy whipped and you didn’t even care. you loved how his dick fit so perfect in you.

he wrapped his hand around ur neck, slamming into you. his other hand in front of your clit, rubbing it in circles. your body began to shake again. "i’m cumming—" toji loved this.

your body wanted more. you knew you would be sore but you did not care. you wanted this more than ever. your phone began to ring. "answer it." you nodded your head no. "fucking answer it." you grabbed your phone and swiped to answer it. it was gojo. fuck. "yes mr. gojo?" you tried so hard not to moan. "yes, sorry about the wait. the printer had to reset. so i had to reprint them. i’ll be done soon." toji going at a fast pace.

"fuck." you moaned. "if only he knew." he laughed. toji placed his hands on your hips, all you hear is the clapping against each others skin. "hang on just a little longer for me, doll." he moaned about to come to his climax. thrusting fasted and faster. "fuck i’m gonna cum." he pulled out and snapped his finger for you to get on ur knees.

pumping his dick as you opened your mouth. "fuck—" his breathing getting heavier, trying to catch his breath. "swallow it all for me." he finished in your mouth. you looked up at him with your innocent eyes following his command. "now go give gojo his papers." he smiled.

tags . @rissouu

 sccrim — all rights reserved. please do not modify, repost , translate , or plagiarise my content.

[emchant3d]

modern au, exes to lovers, transfem stevie harrington

Stevie Harrington is not having a good day.

By all accounts, she should be. Robin woke her right on time by pressing a perfectly made brown sugar shaken espresso into her hand. Nancy and Chrissy got to the venue earlier than expected. The hair and makeup people were on schedule. Their boozy charcuterie brunch during their prep time was perfectly served, the mimosas delicious and the food fresh and light enough to put on her nervous stomach. 

Everything’s gone off without a hitch. She looks gorgeous. She’s got her something old, her something new, her something borrowed, and even her something blue. Her hair’s done in a soft blowout, framing her face but out of the way, ready for the combs of her veil to slip into. Her makeup is elegant, not too showy and not too dramatic, neutral and warm and sweet. And her dress. It’s what she always dreamed of, clingy and silky with a dramatic leg slit and a long train, off the shoulders, perfectly white. She’s staring at herself in the mirror knowing that in forty-five minutes, she’s going to hold the world’s most beautiful wedding bouquet and walk down the most perfectly decorated aisle in the quaintest, sweetest church she could find, and she’ll stand across from her fiancé and take his hands and say “I do” and all of her dreams will come true.

So she should be having a good day.

Because it’s her wedding day, and Stevie Harrington is about to become Stefania Hagan.

Maybe that brunch wasn’t so perfect after all, because she thinks she’s about to puke.

“I can’t do this,” she says, but her voice is so soft it’s barely a whisper and the girls don’t even glance at her. “I can’t do this,” she repeats, and Robin - bless her, her favorite person in the world, her soulmate, her other half, her maid of honor - glances up. 

“What’s that, Evie?” she asks, and the others look over at her, and Stevie stands there beneath their gazes and knows if she just says it again, says I can’t do this, don’t make me marry him, get me out of here, all three of them would drag her to an exit and get her the fuck out.

They don’t even like Tommy. Robin actively hates him, actually, and that should have been enough for Stevie to never look at him twice.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough.

She thinks back to a few days ago, drunk in a bar with a white sash wrapped around her torso, a tiara on her head, and mascara running down her face as she desperately sobbed on Robin’s shoulder during her bachelorette party. That little meltdown wasn’t enough. And she thinks back further, to when Tommy proposed - in public, at a fucking baseball game, on the goddamn jumbotron. Dread had settled in her chest at the sight of the ring (huge, gaudy, she hated it on sight) even as she pasted on a smile and said yes. That hadn’t been enough.

But somehow standing here done up head to toe, about to walk down the aisle in her absolute dream wedding - that’s enough. Because everything about today is right. Everything’s in place. Everything’s gorgeous and going to plan and she should be so, so happy - but it’s the wrong man waiting for her at the end of all of it.

She can’t do this. 

She looks up and meets Robin’s eyes and forces a smile. “I said I need to get my veil,” she lies, and she slips into her shoes (red bottoms, a gift from Tommy’s mother, perfectly white and pointed and it’s her dream day, how can she be throwing this away?) and walks into the other room where her garment bag is hanging, and her veil is there with its delicate detail and it’s scalloped edges and it’s all so fucking perfect she’s going to scream, she wants to rip it to pieces and she wants to tear this dress off and she wants to sob, she doesn’t want to do this, she doesn’t want to get married - not to him. Not to Tommy. 

She could ask for help. Robin would have her out of here in five minutes flat, Nancy would craft an excuse to tell everyone, and Chrissy would cause a distraction. But even that’s too long of a wait. Even that’s too much attention, too much suspicion. She needs to move faster than that. She needs out now.

She quickens her pace as she crosses the room, dress dragging along the carpet, and she snags her phone where it’s sitting on the end table next to an overstuffed love seat, and in three long strides she’s out the door and in the hall and the church has been busy and packed all day but somehow, miraculously, there’s no one here.

No one sees Stevie as she gathers up the fabric of her dress in her hands and starts to walk towards the exit. No one sees as her walk speeds to a jog, and then a run, and then she slams out of a side door and she’s on the sidewalk and she’s sprinting, her heels are going to get scuffed by the pavement but she can’t care, she’s running as fast as she can and dodging people on the sidewalk as they turn and gawk at her and she cannot give them a thought, cannot focus on them even a little bit because she has to get away, escape is the only thought on her mind as she gasps for air, her dress is so heavy and it’s not made for running that’s for goddamn sure, and the last few years with Tommy flash through her mind - every time he’s undermined her or given her a backhanded compliment or policed her, told her she wasn’t feminine enough, told her she wasn’t trying hard enough to pass, told her to just keep it all to herself so no one would know she wasn’t cis, wouldn’t embarrass him by making a scene, all the times that come together to a glaringly obvious conclusion that he doesn’t really love her and she kind of hates him a little actually, and obviously she can’t fucking marry him and–

There. 

A beat-up four-door with an Uber sticker in the window. 

That’ll do, she thinks, and she changes course, shoulder-checking a man and not apologizing for it as she makes a beeline for the car. She pops off an acrylic wrenching the door open and tossing herself into the backseat, and she yells “DRIVE!” at the top of her lungs and somehow, through some miracle, they listen, swerving into traffic with a loud curse and a myriad of honking horns and a quaint, sweet little church growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.

She’s gasping for breath, chest heaving, staring out the back window like she’s waiting for someone to follow her - and maybe she is, maybe Tommy is hot on her trail, or maybe Robin is coming to kill her for not including her in her mad dash to freedom and instead jumping in a stranger’s car going God knows where.

“So uh,” a voice says, and she whips around, staring wide-eyed at the brown eyes fixed on her in the mirror, and no, no fucking way– “where to, ma’am?” 

“Um,” she says, and her voice is shaky, cracking a little, she brushes her hair out of her face and stares and– wait.

There’s a beat. The driver’s eyes widen. Recognition flashes over his face at the same time it registers for Stevie. 

“Stevie?” Eddie Munson, her ex-boyfriend of several years, the man she hasn’t spoken to since that fateful night they went their separate ways, is staring at her in shock, not even looking at the road, and the only thing she can think is how he’s just as averse to road safety now as he’d been way back when.

“Eddie,” she croaks out. 

Too many emotions are overwhelming her at once and it feels like the biggest cliché in the world, but honestly, Stevie feels like she’s entitled to some dramatics. It’s her goddamn wedding day, after all.

Her failed wedding day.

Where she just left her fiancé at the altar.

“Oh god,” she manages. Her lower lip wobbles. Her vision blurs.

“Stevie,” Eddie says again, like a warning, and that’s enough to push her over.

She bursts into tears in his backseat.

“Hey hey hey!” he says like she’s a fucking spooked horse or something, which only makes her cry more, ugly sobs that shake her shoulders and drip tear drops onto her dress. “Stevie, honey–”

“Do NOT call me honey right now!” she manages, and he raises a hand in surrender before flipping on a turn signal and finding a parking lot to pull over in. 

“Okay, okay! No comforting pet names, you got it,” he agrees, and he shuts the car off, turning in his seat to look at her, concern painted all over his face and that’s just really not fair, she thinks, that he still looks so earnest and sweet and fucking worried about her.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, urgent and serious, and she shakes her head quickly.

“No! No, I’m - I’m fine, really,” she insists and he proves that he is a gentleman after all, because he doesn’t call her out on the blatant lie.

“Okay,” he says, level, his hand hovering in the space between them like he wants to touch her. “What do you need?” he asks, and she wipes at her face with her hands, swallowing down yet another sob.

“Get me out of here,” she pleads, and he searches her face for - something, she doesn’t know what, because she’s sure all she’s showing him is how much of a fucking mess she is, but he must find whatever he’s looking for.

He gives her a sharp nod. “Anywhere in particular, sweetheart?” he asks, turning to start the car again. She doesn’t call him out on the pet name this time.

“Anywhere but here,” she says, and he puts the car in reverse, pulling back onto the road.

“You got it,” he says, and some of that old charm must kick in - he winks at her in the rearview. She resolutely ignores the spike of emotion it gives her. 

Then she takes a deep, shuddery breath, and opens the group chat to break the news to her wedding party.

part 2

[austars]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ 1/25 - 6:13 pm

— minors dni, you may be blocked

thinking about rafayel, who is just completely obsessed with his bride, who isn’t technically his bride yet.

but that’s okay, he could change that later.

he’s completely devoted to you, in every way imaginable. he buys you only the finest of clothing, some part in purple to leave his mark. the most beautiful jewelry, a new piece nearly every week. his paintings, which always show some trace of your influence. every time he speaks with you, his eyes shine with adoration.

any chance he can get, his words are about you. those who know him definitely know you, even if it’s just your name. nobody can have a conversation with rafayel without hearing your name.

those days spent, just the two of you, he treasures deeply. no one is allowed to bother him during those days. no matter the activity, painting, sleeping, gaming, anything will make the day his favorite. rafayel just needs to be around you.

rafayel is completely obsessed with everything about you, including the more intimate details.

he knows every possible way to make you feel good. from the second he lies you down on the bed, your pleasure is on the forefront of his mind.

rafayel lives for the sweet moans and whimpers that escape your throat when he teases you. tantalizing touches as he strips you of the beautiful clothes you wore to his gallery that day. the laugh that escapes his throat is taunting as he watches you shiver under his touch.

but he can't help it, he loves seeing you like this. he loves knowing that there is no one out there who knows your body like he does.

he takes his time with you, slowly going lower and lower. and once he gets to that one spot he knows you want him at, his words do all the teasing for him.

"all of this, just for me baby? if i didn't know any better, i'd say you need me."

you can't retort, not when he finally plunges a finger into your sopping hole, curling it just the right way. rafayel relishes in the way your face contorts from surprise to pure bliss. he’s already framed your expression in his mind, to remember forever and always.

you practically beg for rafayel for more. how could he deny his beautiful bride anything? he adds another finger, speeding up his ministrations. soon, a third finger joins, hitting that spongy spot in your pussy so perfectly.

“there you go, princess. almost there. just a little more, my beautiful girl.” he whispers in your ear, practically pushing you over the edge.

as you cum on his fingers, he adores the way your body reacts to what he’s done. that’s right, only he can make you feel that good.

he’s normally so good at holding himself back, keeping his own pleasure at bay. but his pants were unbelievably tight, and he wanted, no needed, to be inside you.

“you can give me one more, can’t you? let me make love to you, my gorgeous bride.”

thinking about rafayel, obsessed with giving his bride the greatest pleasure she’s ever experienced.

© property of austars 2025, all rights reserved. please do not redistribute

[junezsq]

Hii could you do Harry bf headcanons?

(⁠^⁠^⁠)

harry james potter as your bf … ! 🤍💫

˗ˏˋ★‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹ a/n! these were so fun to write, i hope this meets your expectations,, enjoy<3

۶ৎ . was pretty awkward when you first started dating but after a while the flirting just came naturally. from calling you affectionate nicknames to random compliments; half of the time he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. however, the second you flirt back he becomes all flustered with rosy cheeks and stutters

۶ৎ . loves it when you show up at quidditch games to support him and calls you his lucky charm. most of the time he’s not even paying attention to the game; the moment he sees you in the stands—with his initials painted on your cheeks and dressed in his spare gryffindor jersey—he cannot take his eyes off you

۶ৎ . you’re one of the few people who’s allowed to touch and play with his hair. it actually comforts him when you do so and he loves it when you run your hands through his messy curls

۶ৎ . likes to just watch you and will listen to you very intently. it doesn’t matter if it’s as simple as telling him about a mistake you made during one of your classes, he will pay attention to every detail; a small smile growing on his lips and twinkles in his eyes as he watches you speak

۶ৎ . really attentive and an excellent gift giver. he remembers details about things you’ve told him you might not even remember yourself. so, don’t be surprised when you receive a bouquet of white roses on a random wednesday just because you told him you thought they were pretty a few days earlier

۶ৎ . can be really sassy and enjoys teasing you. probably about either your height or your grades. you pretend it annoys you but the fact it makes him laugh makes you happy too

۶ৎ . gets jealous pretty easily but can control it well and doesn’t really show it. you know when he’s jealous though, and you will tease him about it

۶ৎ . will go on study dates with you in the library, but not much studying gets done. he can’t stop staring at you and when he gets the chance he will swoop in for a kiss

۶ৎ . slightly insecure. he’ll go quiet after you fight or when you’ve had a discussion, thinking it was his fault. he knows communication is key, though, so you’ll give him the time he needs and he will come to you when he’s ready to talk things through

۶ৎ . slipping each other love notes in classes. he’ll also hide them in your books for you to randomly find

۶ৎ . really supportive; he’ll side with you and protect you no matter what

۶ৎ . when you start dating you make a routine of falling asleep together wherever you can; the common room being your favorite spot. it started as a way of being able to comfort him if he’d have a nightmare but it slowly turned into a routine

۶ৎ . swings your hands whenever you walk hand in hand

۶ৎ . loves it when you wear his hoodies. he will leave them laying around for you to find because he knows you’ll steal them

۶ৎ . so funny. the two of you are almost always laughing when you are together and it’s mostly about something dumb too

۶ৎ . not that big on physical touch considering his past trauma’s, but he adores holding your hand. it doesn’t matter if you’re walking the hogwarts corridors to your next class, or if you’re just sat down next to each other. whenever he’s anxious or deep in thought he’ll automatically reach for your hand; holding it brings him a great sense of comfort

۶ৎ . is not the most careful person so often breaks his glasses. he’s perfectly capable of fixing them himself but loves seeing you do it for him. neither does he care for cleaning his glasses, but when you do it for him he’ll be immensely grateful and will thank you with kisses

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

[loverlessnight]

My Gold Standard List for Polin FanFiction:

My Dearest, Penelope: Although Colin sends letters like clockwork, he receives no reply from his friend, Penelope Featherington. Is this what it feels like to lose one's mind?

The Gentlemen's Wager: After his careless words ruined Penelope's prospects on the marriage mart, Colin is determined to do everything he can to restore her reputation and to find her a good match, even if it means pretending to court his best friend. However, outside forces with a grudge against the Bridgertons inadvertently transforms a wallflower into the most coveted prize of the London Season of 1815.

An Agreement: Every Monday (and on special occasions) Penelope took her husband to bed. It was an agreement, after a year of marriage, that they would finally explore each other for the sake of having a child. It did not mean anything, not at all.

Making It Up As We Go Along: Penelope swears that she will make it Aubrey Hall if it kills her. The universe takes up her challenge. Sans carriage and caught in the worst storm that has struck England in living memory, Penelope bumps into a familiar face on the road (what a mystery who could it possibly be!). Their only hope of a shelter in the storm requires a degree of... creative... application of the truth and Penelope finds herself wondering how a young lady is to comport herself when the bounds of propriety have been all but swept away. Enter Colin, who has a suggestion or two.

Cruel & Unusual: A Tale of Personal Growth: Penelope Featherington is officially over Colin Bridgerton. Deservedly so. She’d worked tirelessly over the last twelve months to move on from him. She’d listened to Lizzo on repeat, read every self-help book under the sun, been to therapy, and even changed the plot of her novel from a coming-of-age romance to a zombie thriller in a world devoid of men. In fact, she was seeing someone, not exclusively, but it was certainly heading in that direction. She’d done everything in her power to move on from her stupid, heart-wrenching, soul-destroying crush. Everything short of having a lobotomy. Which was why it was a tad concerning that she’d just shagged him.

Dr Bridgerton; or With his educated eyes, and his hand between my thighs: There lay in Penelope a sickness, or so she had been told. A very specific kind that only this physician, as he called himself, could potentially be willing to alleviate for her, if there were any hope at all. At least that was what the flyer had said. A gentleman by the name of Mr Bridgerton had developed a technique of stimulatory effect to relieve the sufferings of women. Of sharp tongues and short tempers gone in a few months or less, within three sessions with his special apparatus.

Dance Card: Penelope never expected to spend her first season with the Bridgertons. And Colin never expected that the young debutant would capture his heart, one dance at a time.

i'll use you as a warning sign: The words on his body sound like Lady Whistledown. His soulmate - the person meant to capture his body and heart, his partner and love of his life - ruins lives. Perhaps it makes sense that she’s already ruined his.

The Temptation of one Penelope Featherington...: Colin would like nothing more than to teach his dearest friend the true art that could be found in a game of pall mall, although he only wished he could do so without the help of the peanut gallery and all their meaningful 'looks'. Penelope, for her part, is determined that a slight against Lady Whistledown will not go unchallenged setting her thoughts upon a most dangerous path. Pall mall, rain, and midnight trips to the library. What could possibly go wrong?!

All We Left Unsaid: In which Penelope resolves to keep her friendship with Colin perfectly proper, Colin attempts to truly know Penelope, and Eloise knows everything.

Ruin: “Perhaps you should take a seat,” said Violet. Colin wouldn't remember the details of what his mother told him next. He would remember her hand warm on his knee, her eyes wide with concern, her voice gentle as velvet. All of it in stark contrast to the devastating news she shared. Penelope was ruined.

one man's bungled nuptials are another man's dot dot dot: The Queen's plan to host the wedding of the season goes disastrously astray when her chosen Diamond flees from her Viscount husband-to-be at the alter and disappears from the Palace entirely. The Queen is incensed and more than a little desperate to save face, when an alternative match falls right into her lap. One misconstrued gesture and Colin and Penelope's lives are changed forever. But perhaps, in this one particular case, the Queen's matchmaking instincts cannot be faulted.

with the flutter of butterfly wings: Penelope woke up alone. Alone and in her childhood bedroom. For the third day in a row. Her hand slid down to her lower abdomen. The life that was supposed to be fluttering there did not exist yet and neither did the beautiful children that she had already given birth to. She had three days to accept that something had happened that had sent her back to just before her first season. She wished she had more time, but with having to wake up every day in the wrong house, the wrong bed, without her husband and children—Penelope had to accept that her current present was her new reality. No matter how often she cried every morning, hours before Rae came to get her ready for the day.

Only You: After a heated argument leaves their friendship in tatters, Penelope and Colin wake to find the entirety of London abandoned. What follows is a journey of survival and self-discovery, each of them forced to confront their greatest fears, insecurities and grief in order to find their way back to each other and discover all the beauty this new world has to offer.

Love You With My Past & for My Future: Happily married Colin time travels back to Season 1, Episode 2.

For God's sake, Penelope!: For the first time at a ball, free from the strict gaze of her mother, Penelope indulges in a bit more drink than usual. It doesn't take long for her to realize that as the liquor goes in, the truth comes out. Colin, concerned for his friend's reputation, does everything in his power to prevent her from getting involved in scandals. Yet, it seems that Penelope is determined to experience a chaotic night, filled with liquors.

a father's son: 12 yo colin choosing to immediately leave the family for eton after edmund's death & preferring staying there over the holidays bc everyone always told him he looked exactly like his dad & colin couldnt bear the pained look violet gave him whenever he reminded her of her husband

Odd Encounter: What if book! Polin and series! Polin got to have a nice little chat over some tea?

Secret Love Song: The night before Penelope marries Lord Debling, Colin leaves Mayfair, shutting his family and the world out. Five long and silent years later, Violet's sudden illness brings him home... back to London and the woman who never stopped loving him.

A Little More Convincing: What if Penelope refused Colin's proposal after the carriage incident? What if Penelope stood firm in her refusal and Colin had to work a little bit harder for that "yes" (An alternate take going from the end of Chapter 13 of Romancing Mr. Bridgerton. Book Canon with a few show shout-outs.)

(Lack) Luster: Everyone knew that the spinster lady of the Featherington barony had no intentions of marrying and similarly, no man had any intention of marrying her. So why, pray tell, was the newest Bridgerton bachelor chasing after her skirts like she was some pretty little chit?

The Gentleman: “Read it again Pen,” Colin said softly. She looked back at him, eyes wide and blinking, biting her lower lip, drawing in his attention. Until today, not an impure thought had passed through his mind of Penelope. He suddenly felt like the wind was knocked out of him. His eyes snapped up to hers, her blue eyes wide and blinking rapidly. He wasn’t sure what to say. It felt like the air had changed around them. All he could think about was her in that moment. Touching her hair, caressing her cheeks, kissing her lips. He took a deep breath. He could not make sense of the impulses he was having, “please, read it again.” She swallowed, turned back to the page, and started reading it again. He listened to her sweet voice recite the words of Byron. Did she pick this poem on purpose? ‘How could she’ he reasoned, ‘she’s never seen this book, how would she know’. He was so lost in thought; he didn’t realize she had finished. He wasn’t ready for her to stop reading, what was the last part? She looked over at him again. Had she moved closer to him? Or was he leaning into her? “Again,” He said, wondering if she could hear him as it came out almost as a whisper.

[heich0e]

suna's parents divorced when he was eight.

he doesn't remember a lot of the finer details as he's gotten older, mostly just that there used to be a lot of yelling, but he does remember the two piles of belongings that stacked up in the empty living room of his childhood home: one consisting of his father's and his own, and the other comprised of his mother's and his little sister's. their entire life, their entire family, packed up into cardboard and then divided down the middle.

the apartment he moved into with his father was always too quiet. it was in aichi, far enough away from where he spent the first decade of his life that he didn't have to be reminded of it every time he left the house, but since his father worked so much it still left him with plenty of time to think. to grieve. though maybe he didn't recognize it as that at the time. he played video games his father bought for him after school. ate convenience store bentos or whatever leftovers were set aside for him in the fridge for dinner. he put himself to bed at night. it wasn't a bad life, though maybe a bit lonely.

he was scouted to play for inarizaki when he was 14.

the lonely apartment turned into a lively dorm. he had new friends (his teammates) to play video games with. his convenience store bentos were replaced with hot meals from the meal hall. the loneliness of the apartment in aichi was a distant memory, but still lingered.

"i'm home."

rintarou drops his training bag in the genkan as he toes off his shoes, calling into the apartment to announce his return.

"welcome home!" you call back from further in the apartment, and the sound makes him smirk a little to himself.

you've been coming over to his place a lot lately, ever since he gave you his spare key. he's not upset about this in the slightest, but it doesn't mean he won't take every possible opportunity to tease you for it. he plans how he's going to make fun of you as he pads into his home towards the sound of your voice. he almost has it all planned out—his delivery on the very tip of his tongue—when he falters to a stop.

"how was your day?" you ask him without looking up from what you're doing.

and suddenly, anything rintarou may have wanted to say—joke or otherwise—is beyond him.

he watches as you set a plate of food down on the already full table just off his little kitchen. the food that covers the surface is still hot enough that steam curls up into the air above it, its preparation perfectly timed to his arrival home. his apartment is warm, and smells good, and there's music playing from your cellphone on the other side of the room that you must have been listening to while you cooked.

his chest feels tight.

you turn to look at him when he doesn't respond to your question.

"rin?" you ask again, a lilt of worry in your tone. "you okay?"

"what's all this?" he manages to ask, nodding towards the table where the meal you prepared is still waiting.

"oh, i've been craving my mom's recipe for the past few days, i just thought i'd make it for dinner," you say, tugging at your fingers nervously. your entire countenance is a bit different now, strained like you're worried you've done something wrong. "hope that's okay?" your words lift at the end like a question.

rintarou's never seen so much food on his table. can't remember the last time he even sat there to eat a meal—let alone a home cooked one. his face feels hot, and his eyes sting, and he just can't bring himself to look at you.

"yeah," he says, and if you notice how his voice is a bit croaky, you're nice enough not to tease him about it. "'course it's okay."

you smile, and you look relieved. "wash your hands then, it's getting cold."

you eat your dinner together and talk about your days. you take a shower while he cleans up the dishes. you fall asleep tangled up together on the couch with a movie playing in the background.

his home isn't quiet anymore. he isn't lonely.

and it's thanks to you.

[smoshyourheadin]

idea!!!

the cast/crew meeting spencer’s partner for the first time everyone thinks she isn’t real and all that

Disbeleif

pairing: spencer agnew x f!reader

a/n: anon i love this concept SO MUCH!!! also i tried a 3rd person instead of 2nd person perspective for this fic so there is a bunch of use of y/n,,lmk what u think!! also sorry for the slow posting recently i’m almost done w my exams so hopefully more content otw!! thank you all so much for ur support, it means the world 🫶🫶

requests are open <33

spencer had been working at smosh for a few years now, and he had always been the quiet one in the corner, headphones on, immersed in an edit or a video game. everyone knew he was brilliant, but they never saw much of him outside of work. that changed the day he mentioned his girlfriend, y/n.

“wait, spencer, you have a girlfriend?” shayne, his closest colleague, said with a mix of surprise and skepticism.

“don’t sound so surprised! but yeah, she’s amazing,” he replied, a shy smile on his face. “she’s actually cooking dinner tonight. you guys should come over!”

the disbelief was palpable. everyone in the office exchanged glances, clearly doubting spencer’s story. but out of curiosity and the lure of a home-cooked meal, they accepted the invitation.

that evening, spencer’s apartment was a flurry of activity. y/n, a stunning woman with bright eyes and a warm smile, was bustling around the kitchen. she wore a casual dress and an plaid apron, her hair tied back in a high ponytail.

as the doorbell rang, spencer went to answer it, his nerves fluttering. He opened the door to shayne, courtney, amanda, and a couple of others from work.

“welcome welcome, come in!” he said, stepping aside. his friends walked in, their eyes widening at the sight of y/n.

“hi there! I’m y/n. dinner will be ready soon,” she greeted them, her voice cheerful and inviting. her smile was genuine, putting everyone at ease immediately.

“OH MY GOD,” angela shouted “spencer can bring her home she’s so pretty!”

amanda smacked her shoulder as they walked in, giving y/n an apologetic look. all she could do was smile in flattery.

as they settled into the living room, everyone couldn’t help but admire the cozy space filled with gaming consoles, posters of classic video games, and shelves lined with sci-fi novels and collectibles, which trevor and alex were studying in great detail whilst they were waiting for their food.

“wow, he really does have a girlfriend,” courtney whispered to shayne, who nodded, equally astonished.

when dinner was finally served, y/n’s culinary skills shone. the table was laden with a variety of dishes, each one smelling more delicious than the last. they all sat down, and as they started eating, the conversation flowed easily.

“so, spencer tells me you’re all big fans of gaming,” y/n said, looking around the table with a twinkle in her eye. “what’s everyone’s favorite game?”

and just like that, the ice was broken. they spent the evening discussing their favorite games, from childhood ones to the latest releases. to everyone’s surprise, y/n not only kept up, but shared detailed insights and strategies, revealing her deep knowledge and passion for gaming.

“you’re really into this stuff too?” ian asked, clearly impressed.

y/n laughed. “oh, absolutely. spence and i met at a gaming convention. he saw me playing qbert and he came up to me, and we bonded over our love for retro games.”

as the night went on, it became clear that y/n wasn’t just beautiful and kind, but also just as nerdy and passionate about gaming as spencer. she fit perfectly into his world, and he into hers.

by the end of the evening, any doubts about spencer’s relationship were completely dispelled. as his coworkers left, each one thanked y/n for the amazing dinner and the great company.

“thanks for having us, spencer. and y/n, you’re an angel! we should do this again,” anthony said, clapping spencer on the back.

spencer smiled, his shyness melting away. “yeah, we should. thanks for coming, guys.”

as the door closed behind them, spencer turned to y/n, who was busy cleaning up.

“thank you for tonight,” he said softly. “you were amazing.”

y/n smiled, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “anytime, lovebug. i love surprising people.”

and surprise them, she had. everyone at smosh wouldn’t stop talking about her. the slack messages were filled with praise for her cooking, and they realized that their shy, nerdy pal had found someone truly special.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

That is so nice of you honestly, i think the the ask was how a yan alucard would take advantage of his position of power in the village post season 4, and if he and the people(the villages people, the orphans, sypha and Trevor) around him would pressure his fem love interest/obsession into being with him because of all he has done for them making it very difficult to reject his advances with out becoming a social outcast .Like I can imagine a darker version of him proposing to his Darling in a public space surrounded by the aforementioned people and villagers for that very reason. And side note do you think he would turn his Darling so they could be together for ever?

A/N: Yes, oh my gosh, yes! A Yandere! Alucard would 100% use his position of power over her to gently “guide” her into falling for him. And I do think, that yes, a Yandere! Alucard would eventually try to turn his Darling. I like to think that it might take some extra dark magic, as he is not a full vampire, but that he goes down that path willingly for her (regardless of how she feels about it) because once he falls, he falls hard, and he cannot imagine living without her.

TW: Toxic/Manualpative Relationship, and Brief Mentions of Sex and Pregnancy 

Yandere! Village Leader Alucard Headcanons: 

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard who always insists on “helping” his Darling, and whatever group she happens to be in. ‘Ah, you’re on kitchen duty today. Well it's a good thing that my Mother taught me to cook.’ & ‘Barn raising? Surely your tiny frame is no match for such a strenuous job. Here, allow me.’ 

You don’t like feeling helpless, but you couldn’t say ‘no’. That would be such a rude thing to deny the very Savior of your people. 

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard, who is always so kind, and attentive. One who chooses to spend most of the free time he has at gatherings putting the spotlight on his Darling so that he may listen to her speak. ‘Hmm, what an interesting Speaker tradition, Sypha. Tell me, (Y/N), what sort of traditions remind you of home?’ 

You’re running out of things to share with him, it seems everything you could say about yourself he seems to already know.

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard who memorizes every little detail his Darling shares, and uses it to his advantage, all the while pretending such occurrences are mere coincidence. ‘I found these flowers blooming on the other side of the castle and I thought of you. Truly? How lucky, I had no idea these were your favorite flowers.’ & ‘Hmm, now that you mention it, I believe Mother had an old dress in that color. Why don’t you wait here while I go and fetch it for you?’ 

The dress fits perfectly, huh. How odd that you and Alucard’s mother must have been the same size. 

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard who “lets it slip” in conversation with Trevor and Sypha just how madly in love he is with his Darling, prompting his married friends to conspire together, coming up with ways to make you see Alucard’s love. ‘I can only hope she shares the same affection, although I must admit, I am unsure of how to tell her of my feelings.’ ‘& ‘Do you mean to say you’ll help me win her devotion?’ 

Did Sypha always talk up Alucard like that? Trevor sure keeps talking an awful lot about being married, even for a newlywed. 

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard who always speaks your praises to the children, about how smart, loving, and fun you are so that when they call on him to play games, they’re always scheming to get you to play as well. ‘I must admit I’ve pondered over whether I have the ability to have my own.’ & ‘Don’t believe I haven’t seen the way you light up when the children call you Mother.’ 

Wait? Don’t they also call Alucard, Father?

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard who insists on caring for you by himself, anytime you become the least bit injured or ill. He insists you stay within the walls of the castle for the time being, as opposed to in your cottage with your family outside. ‘I know the castle can feel overwhelming at times, but please, try to think of it as a mere extension of your home.’ & ‘I do wish you’d let me take better care of you, Darling. You’re too important of a person around here to be laid out sick so often.’ 

You didn't used to fall ill so often. What the hell is happening to you?!

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard who makes a very public display of asking for your hand, one evening during a solstice festival. All eyes are on you as you smile, and you a faint chorus of applause as you accept the dhampir’s proposal. ‘It would be my utmost honor to marry you, my Darling.’ & ‘You are making me the happiest man alive.’ 

Not as if you could say no with all the other villagers and your family watching. They want this for you too, so, this marriage must be a good idea, right?

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard who arranges for you to be wed as soon as possible. One of the castle’s largest halls is transformed into a makeshift chapel as Sypha performs the wedding rites. Greta acts as your Maiden of Honor, while Alucard slots Trevor in as his Best Man. All of the villagers- your family included- are there to watch the ceremony, with laughter and joyful tears in their eyes. ‘I know it’s not a church wedding, Darling. But you understand, I doubt we’d find a Priest anywhere willing to marry the son of Dracula.’ 

You look like royalty in the dress Alucard provided you, so you try to ignore how the cuffs of your dress’s bishop sleeves feel like weighted shackles upon your wrists. 

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard who promises you can’t get pregnant the first time you have sex. He’d know of course, silly! His Mother was a Doctor after all. Just let him love you… No, let him worship you, mind, body, and soul. ‘Besides, I’m quite certain dhampirs are sterile. It would take a miracle for us to make a child together.’ & ‘Even if it were to happen, it’s not the end of the world, is it? We are wedded after all.’  

If that’s not a goal, why does he insist on always flipping you over so that he can watch your expression as he finishes inside you? 

A Yandere! Village Leader Alucard who swears you will make incredible parents, and he could not be happier to have a large family with you. You have so much knowledge and wisdom to impart, creating this legacy with him is a great act of service for the world. And Alucard promises, as soon as you’re done having his children, maybe two or three, he’ll change you into a vampire so that you can enjoy the fruits of your labor at his side- forever. ‘Just imagine it, Darling. Neither one of us will be lonely ever again.’ & ‘We’ll be each other’s soulmate for all eternity.’ 

Surely, eternity isn’t all that long. 

Right?

A/N: I hope you liked it! I was trying a different style/format here, so I apologize if it isn't what you expected. My mom’s having surgery this week, so I didn’t get as much writing/editing time as expected. 

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