#oc blurb

[puffymucher]

I might have made a hazbin OC.. how did you figure out a story I'm struggling 😭

OH. GOD FINALLY AN EXCUSE TO POST HAZELS STORY

so, first- how did i come up with it? i tried to think about what i wanted for an oc- i wanted a hell hound, i wanted an "old fashion" butch inspired a lot by our narrator in the book "stone butch blues" (AMAZING read) and i wanted a country gal

so, how did i put that into my story? let's read the basic blurb of what i have first

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Hazel was born into the gluttony ring, like a good amount of hellhounds are, but she wasn't exactly from the.. Best family. You always had to fight for your part, and if you were rude or out of line about it, you got snapped at to get in place or *starve.* Her family is mostly consistent of her and her handful of siblings (shes the first born in the litter, followed by Bolt [@mirconreadzztuff22 's oc!] and you can feel free to add on siblings if you'd like!! always ask me though LMAO), her parents, and her grandfather.

Her grandfather was actually the one who, when she was about to leave the family for work in Pentagon City, helped her dress up to look snazy. He would also comfort Hazel during the harder parts of her family moments, and even if he was the one who instilled some of the "manners" talk, he didn't feel exactly right about watching his grandpups starve, and he'd often sneak into the pup's room at night with small snacks to feed the ones who weren't fed

Once Hazel made it for the city, it was rough at first. Being a hound, she was treated like absolute DIRT, and constantly had to either fight or kill for her own survival (or, job) and a few years later in the city, that's when she saw applications for Vox Tech's Guard Initiative.

(I CANNOT DIVE MORE INTO IT WITHOUT SPOILING THE "Just A Simple Job" BUT a basic thing to note, most art of hazel herself is nearing half a decade she's worked for velvette! (if you're curious, Hazel in current time is just entering her 30's, she got the job with velvette around her mid 20's :^>)

Hazel was soon promoted up to Velvette's personal guard after that, and it was so significant that Hazel was constantly called and chided as her "lap dog" or "pet" by others, but never infront her or the overlord- It wasn't a good idea if you wanted to keep intact.

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the whole gyst of what i want her to be is in her roots and ties to hell itself n all that- shes a guard because hounds are expendable, and its setting up something that can be touched on in my scenes with her and velvette as i touch into their first day together you'll get to understand how exactly they got together

basic gyst of this shit though is have fun with it! who fucking cares if it makes sense why they kiss whoever!!!!! just have fun!

[rscroogedraws]

Scrooge, the fan character, is a wannabe witch that dabbles with alchemy. They hoard ingredients, grow weird plants, and know how to make things from love potions to a philosopher's stone with varying degrees of success.

Along their early misadventures, they were hit with a curse that turns them into a scorpion/demon monster if they become too petty or bitter. That's where the sharp teeth and forked tongue come from (otherwise, they're human).

There's a 100% guarantee they're becoming a full blown monster as a villain with the extremely petty aim of destroying Valentine's Day or annoying Cupid.

[boyybites]

Been thinking about a Librarian and Mister friendship for a minute now.

Considering Heirloom Demons are by all accounts spirits/ghosts in a sense The Librarian just wouldn't be able to actually physically do anything to Mister so he'd really just end up with a dude on his shoulder just reading his books as leisurely as he pleases while he can't do a damn thing about it.

[why-did-i-move-here]

Instead of just full on answering these questions I might write little blurbs around the answers instead.

Basically, using them like a writing prompt...

Ready, set, go!

Edgy/misc OC ask meme ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Send me a number and an OC, and I'll answer.

What memory would your OC rather just forget?

What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

What is your OC's fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?

When scared, does your OC fight, flee, freeze or fawn?

How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want?

How easily could your OC be convinced to do something that goes against their moral compass?

What's one way your OC has changed since you first came up with them?

Would your OC ostensibly be able to get away with murder?

Do you have a specific lyric or quote which you associate with your OC?

What's an AU that would be interesting to explore with your OC?

What is your OC's weapon of choice? Have they ever actually used it?

Is your OC self-destructive? In what ways?

If you met your OC, would the two of you get along?

How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

Does your OC have a faceclaim? If so, who?

What is your OC's pain tolerance like?

What is the worst thing you have put your OC through story-wise?

Is your OC more cold and detached or up close and personal?

How does your OC behave when enraged?

Does your OC have a tendency to get jealous? If so, how does this manifest?

Does your OC have any illnesses or disorders? How do they handle it?

What character alignment would you consider your OC to be?

What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

What is your favorite thing about your OC?

[babespn]

Her curly hair is tangling as she drives with the windows down, a cigarette lit between her pointer and middle fingers. Her phone is buzzing nonstop, calls from everyone— wondering where she is; why she left without telling.

She’s not one for crying, but a tear or two is pulled from her eyes because of the wind whipping at her corneas— at least that’s what she convinces herself.

Goodbye comfort, goodbye cheap whiskey and old books. Hello to running again, to searching— looking for something she can only find in one place— in one person.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

whatever you want

words: 1.5k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, ab riding, tit fucking, semi public sex, established relationship, cumming in mouth, mentions of future and past sex, lots of talk about rafes muscles, reader is kinda described as having big (or at least decent sized) breasts, lots of banter can these bitches just shut up and fuck oh my goddddd

“again.” you call, almost sounding drunk despite being completely sober.

rafe sighs, rolling his eyes, but the side of his lip quirks up, unable to hide how much he likes your fascination.

rafe flexes again, his arms bulging and pecs tightening. you reach out, smoothing your hands over the hard muscles.

“you're so strong.” you coo, sat on rafes lap despite the hot temperature of the day, which resulted in rafe pulling his shirt off.

"you're acting like you've never seen me shirtless before.” rafe says with a chuckle.

“shh, let me appreciate you.” you shake your head. sure, you've seen him shirtless plenty of times but rafe was bulking up for summer and it caused all his muscles to be deliciously defined.

“alright, whatever.” rafe flexes again, not going to argue too much when he has your hands obsessively touching every part of his body.

your hands move down to his stomach, fingers running over his abs. “if you let me ride your abs, i’d let you do whatever you want to me.”

“you-” rafe places his hands on his hips, sitting up straighter. “you want to ride my abs?”

“yeah.” you nod, quirking your head to the side. “you know, like rub my pussy against them.”

“shit, do it right now.” rafe looks down at your short shorts, barely covering more than your underwear does.

“yes!” you squeal out, hopping up and tugging your bottoms and panties off, not caring that you’re in the backyard and anyone could theoretically come by. “lay back.” you instruct.

rafe lays on the couch, smiling up at you as you climb on top of him. “you’ll have to flex for me as im doing this.” you inform rafe, placing your pussy on his abdomen. “especially your pecs.” you poke his chest.

“you’re such a slut for my body.” rafe chuckles, hands coming to your hips, pushing you further down, feeling your wetness as your thighs spread even more open.

“i can’t help that you’re so sexy.” you shrug, hips starting to move back and forth in a slow rock, carefully building up the pace, wanting to enjoy being sat on his stomach.

you lean forward, placing your hands on his chest for stability, pressing your clit further against his muscles. rafe flexes his muscles and they harden underneath you.

“rafe!” you squeal. 

“i guess you like that, huh?” rafes hands squeeze at your hips and lift up, placing you harder back down on his stomach. “oh, you like that too.” he smiles as he bounces you again and you moan out.

“i really like that.” you hum, eyes struggling to stay open with the pleasure, but you want to keep your eyes on rafe beneath you. its rare he lets you take over like this.

you moan as you both bounce, using your knees to go up and down while rafe assists so you don’t get burnt out. 

you pull your top off, revealing the bikini top you’re wearing underneath, ready to go swimming whenever you’re done playing with rafe, needing to get in the water on this sweltering day.

“jesus, your tits are perfect.” rafe smiles as he watches your chest bouncing, sitting up to rub his face in between your pushed together breasts, the bikini top holding them tight together.

“not as perfect as yours.” you giggle, hands squeezing at his chest, palms over his nipples.

“don’t call them tits.” rafe rolls his eyes as he lays back, head against the cushion.

“well, whatever you wanna call them, i fucking love your muscles. your pecs-” you squeeze your hands again, digging into his soft flesh until rafe flexes and they harden. “your biceps-” you move your hands, and rafe flexes again, his muscles bulging. “your abs.” this time you press your pussy down, rubbing against the contours and ridges.

“you’re lucky that you offered to let me do whatever i want to you otherwise i wouldn’t have agreed to this.” rafe smirks.

“oh yeah?” you raise an eyebrow. “what are you gonna do to me?” there’s truly nothing rafe could do to your body that wouldn’t bring you pleasure, you glow just under his attention alone.

“fuck your tits.” rafe smirks, eyes moving down from your face to your chest. “as soon as your done, right here for anyone to see.”

“damn, you could do anything and you don’t want to fuck my asshole or tie me up?” you laugh, expecting something more from rafe.

“you’d let me do all that whenever anyways.” rafe pushes your hips down, grinding you against him. you moan and lean forward, your hands coming back to rafes chest. 

“keep doing that.” you whimper, eyes sliding closed as your mouth drops open, moans filling the air and being carried away by the wind. 

rafe keeps moving, the veins in his forearm flexing as your wetness spreads over his abs, coating them in your slick, allowing your pussy to drag even easier.

“im-im close.” you warn, swallowing thickly.

rafe grunts and increases his hold, tightening his grip on your hips so you can’t slip loose, grinding you down as he flexes his abs, the hardness rubbing against your clit making you moan out, body falling forward as you cum hard, shaking as rafe lets up on you, hands loosening and moving to rub your back.

“fuck.” you whine, snuggling into his chest, letting your hips drop down, feeling rafes hardness pressing against your stomach.

rafe starts to move as you cry out, not ready to do anything more than close your eyes and feel his warmth against your cheek.

“come on, brat.” rafe chuckles. “i wanna fuck your tits while you’re all spaced out from your orgasm. you know i love you like this.” 

you hum a sound thats close enough to agreement that rafe flips you so you’re underneath him, laying on your back on the couch as he stands.

“you’re so gorgeous like this.” rafe says as he undoes his belt buckle, then pushing his pants and underwear down, his hard cock popping up.

“wanna taste.” you whine, eyes still droopy.

“nope.” rafe shakes his head. “we made a deal. i know you like to taste me, but im fucking your tits. take your top off.”

rafe pulls at the strings of your bikini, flinging it away to reveal your pink nipples to the sunlight.

“fine, but will you at least cum a little in my mouth?” you pout as rafe kneels on either side of you, glad that the outdoor couch is big enough for all of these activities.

“sure, baby.” rafe chuckles, just another way of showing how desperate you are for him.

rafes hands land on your tits, palms rubbing on your nipples, feeling them harden against his palms, not unlike when he was flexing his muscles for you earlier.

rafes hands move to the sides of your breasts, pushing them together. “god, you look so fuckable right now.”

“yeah? gonna fuck me later then? maybe out on the boat hm? after you’re done with my tits?”

“the boat, the bed, the counter, the shower, im gonna have you everywhere.” rafe bends down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose.

you smile up at him, a lazy, tired smile. rafe angles his hips down, the head of his cock pushing against the underside of your tits before slipping in between them.

“oh!” your eyebrows raise, surprised at the unusual feeling, but certainly not disliking it as he begins to move back and forth.

“shit.” rafe grunts. “fuck.”

you swat rafes hands away, pressing your tits together for him. rafe leans forward, hands landing on either side of your neck, his face contorted in pleasure directly over yours.

you look down, eyes watching the head of rafes cock appearing and disappearing between your breasts.

“this is- this is fucking good.” rafe grunts, moving faster. “im- im not gonna last very long.”

you stick your tongue out, rafes cock just long enough to hit it with the tip of his cock as he thrusts. you relish the taste, pulling your tongue back into your mouth every couple thrusts to spread the taste.

“thats it, baby.” rafe moans, one hand moving to your mouth, two fingers pulling at the side of your lip, spreading your mouth wider.

you moan out, tongue open and ready for his cum. rafe fucks forward as fast as he can, just like he does your pussy when you spread your legs wide for him.

“cumming.” rafe manages to say as he surges forward, burying his cock in your mouth as his hand wraps around his length, stroking up and down as he reaches his high, cum spurting into your mouth as you happily swallow.

rafe moans slowly die out and become quieter until hes pulling out of your mouth. “get up my legs are about to give out.” he says quickly, and you barely slide off the couch before he collapses.

you giggle and climb on top of him, pressing kisses to his cheek as his chest heaves up and down.

“im guessing you liked that.” you rub your thumb over his bottom lip.

“yeah.” rafe smiles, his eyes sliding shut.

“so, boat ride now?”

“jesus, woman give me a second.” rafe laughs, pulling you into a gentle kiss.

[willowpains]

we listen and we don’t judge

drew starkey x latina actress reader!

Drew was not a fan of social media.

Unlike you.

Chronically online was a term that was gaining fame to describe someone who spent quite some time on the internet, and who knew all the trends going on.

You weren’t exactly proud to be a part of that community.

But it kept you entertained.

And that’s how you ended up setting your phone up, ready to record Drew and you filming a new trend on TikTok.

How did you convince him to do it? You don’t even remember.

And after what felt like an eternity of explaining the dynamic to Drew, you both were finally ready to begin.

Both of you sitting next to each other on your couch, you looked at him with a mischievous smirk while he stared at you suspiciously.

“We listen and we don’t judge” you both said at the same time, Drew smirking at you.

“I’ll start” you said, looking from your phone screen to your boyfriend. “Sometimes, when I don’t really wanna cook, I get all dramatic and lie about us not having all the ingredients for the dish I was supposed to make, so you can offer to make something instead with what we do have” you say, giving him an embarrassed smile.

He chuckled at your words.

“I knew that love” he lets out a laugh. “You’re not good at lying to me”.

Your mouth opens up in shock.

“We listen and we don’t judge”.

Drew pauses for a moment, smiling at you.

"When you're showering, i close the door of our room so the sound of your music gets as muffled as possible" he admits.

You giggle as you nod at his words, you did like to shower with loud music.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You look at him through the screen.

“I thought you hated me when we first met, so I would intentionally try to stay out of your way our first couple of working days together”.

Drew gives you a puzzled expression trying his best not to judge.

“We listen and we don’t judge”.

He clears his throat before speaking.

“I often fake coming home super tired and stressed so that you take pity on me and cuddle me while playing with my hair” he says giving you a cute smile.

You giggle at his words.

“That’s cute” you admit leaning to peck his lips.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You take a couple of seconds before speaking, trying to be dramatic.

“I have a lot of edits of you saved on my favorites folder on TikTok” you look at him.

Drew covers his eyes while letting out a chuckle.

“We listen and we don’t judge”.

He looks at you mischievously.

“I get jealous of the guys in your books” he admits seriously.

You let out a laugh as you throw your head back.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You giggle softly before confessing the next one.

“Whenever I feel sick in the middle of the night, I wiggle a lot in bed or move your body so you’ll accidentally wake up and ask me what’s wrong”.

He opens his mouth surprised at your words.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

Drew thinks a little before speaking.

“Ever since we met I’ve always been skeptical of your at home remedies for illnesses, even though they work every time” he admits.

You slowly nod while giving him a defeated look, knowing that already.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You give him a playful look before speaking.

“When we’re cuddling, sometimes I have the urge to stand up abruptly because I get too hot and I feel like I can’t breathe because you’re too big” you say, barely getting out the words without laughing.

Drew looks at you with big eyes, moving his brows up and down at the double meaning of your last words.

You roll your eyes at him.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

He thinks for a moment before speaking.

“When I’m showering, sometimes I’ll use your shampoo rather than mine” he pauses as he looks at your baffled face. “It leaves my hair softer! And smells like you”.

Of course, there were a few confessions you had to cut from the video because your PR managers would hunt you down if they made it out into the internet.

“We listen and we don’t judge” you both say smiling at each other.

You smirk playfully at him before speaking.

“I cannot stand one of your friends and past coworkers” you admit, making a serious face.

Drew immediately throws his head back and lets out a chuckle, knowing exactly who you’re referring to.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

He clears his throat before looking at you.

“I don’t like watching F1 since you told me about that driver that slid into your dm’s” he lets out cockily.

You burst out laughing looking at him while he joins you.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You make a thinking face looking at him.

“I wish you sent me more shirtless photos” you say giving him puppy eyes. “Or like, you took more of those with my phone, so I could look at them”.

He snorted out a laugh.

“That can be fixed baby” he says as he looks at you mischievously.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

He gives you a smile.

“When I travel for work and you’re not coming with me, I take a pair of your panties and stuff them in my suitcase” he says laughing.

You scrunch up your nose at him.

“Drewwwwww” you say covering your face, now knowing where those missing undies went.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You avoid his eyes for the next one.

“Sometimes when I’m cold, I throw on one of your dirty hoodies that you used while working out, cause they’re sweaty and smell like you” you say, trying not to burst out laughing.

He gives you a grossed out look.

“We listen and we don’t judge”

You look at him waiting for him to speak.

“You know those sleeping shorts Brooke sent you cause she accidentally bought too many?” He says, making quotation marks with his fingers while saying sent and accidentally.

You nod at his words.

“I actually bought them for you because I love how your ass looks in them”.

Your mouth opens at his confession while you hit him playfully in the chest.

Drew laughs at your reaction.

“Oh my god baby, this is definitely not making it to the video” you say as you stand up from your position while laughing at him, walking to your phone to stop recording, while he stands back watching your movements with a smile.

Noticing that in fact, you were wearing a pair of those shorts.

“We don’t judge remember?” he said cheekily.

*

inspired by @valstranquility lando blurb<3

I love this trend on TikTok and I just couldn’t help myself

they’re just too cute I can’t

this was short n sweet hope you like it, if you have any other concepts you’d like to read let me know!

[arcadia-smith]

Simon Riley x Wife!Reader

The knife in your hand isn’t for Simon, but the thought is tempting.

You stand at the kitchen counter, grip tightening around the handle as you glare at the absolute disaster he’s made. Flour coats the counter like a fresh dusting of snow, and a broken egg dribbles off the edge onto the floor. The sink is full of bowls, one of which contains what you can only assume was an attempt at pancake batter—though it looks more like concrete mix.

Simon, standing in the middle of the chaos, holds a spatula like it’s a foreign object. He stares at you, unbothered, as if he hasn’t just committed a war crime in your kitchen.

“I’m running out of reasons to not stab you,” you say.

He blinks slowly, like a cat. “Use me ribs, love. Less mess.”

You slam the knife down on the counter and point a finger at him instead. “What the hell is this?”

He shrugs. “Breakfast.”

“This is arson with extra steps.”

Simon tilts his head, gaze flicking to the stove, where a pan sits abandoned with something charred beyond recognition. He considers it for a long moment before turning back to you. “S’not that bad.”

You stare at him, then at the kitchen, then back at him. Your blood pressure rises. “What part of this is not that bad?”

Simon, the six-foot-something god of a man who has probably stared death in the face more times than you can count, has the audacity to smirk. “The effort.”

You exhale sharply, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Simon, I love you, but if you ever—”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

He says it so easily, with that gravelly voice and the hint of amusement curling the words, and you hate that it works. That it softens the sharp edges of your irritation, even as you glare at him.

He takes a step closer, crowding your space just enough that you feel the warmth of him. “C’mon,” he murmurs. “Was tryin’ to do somethin’ nice.”

You cross your arms. “This was not nice. This was a health hazard.”

He leans down, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth, then mutters against your skin, “Go sit down. I’ll clean it up.”

You hesitate, watching him with narrowed eyes, then sigh. “Fine. But if I find one speck of flour on the ceiling, I’m stabbing you.”

His chuckle follows you as you leave the kitchen, and you don’t have to turn around to know that whatever punishment you think you’ll deliver, he’d let you do it with a smile.

[khioneee]

trying to break up with your fuck buddy, rafe

rafe paces. back and forth. hand running through his hair, jaw tight, eyes sharp with something between frustration and disbelief.

‘you want to stop?’ his voice is even, but there’s an edge to it.

you nod, arms crossed over your chest. ‘yeah.’

‘why?’ his head tilts, eyes scanning your face like he’s searching for an answer that actually makes sense to him.

‘i don’t like what this is turning me into,’ you say, voice steady. ‘it’s not who i am. and i don’t want it to be.’

he exhales sharply, turning on his heel and pacing again. ‘where is this coming from?’

‘i’m not blaming you for anything, rafe.’ you sigh, feeling the weight of this conversation sink into your bones. ‘i just realized i don’t want to be another girl in your rotation.’

he stops mid-step, turning to face you. ‘rotation?’

you hold his gaze. ‘you know what i mean.’

his jaw tenses. ‘you knew what this was,’ he says, voice low, careful.

‘i did,’ you agree. ‘and now i know i don’t want it.’

he drags a hand down his face, shaking his head. ‘i thought everything was fine.’

‘it was,’ you admit. ‘but i’m a ‘girlfriend’ kind of girl, rafe. i have boyfriends, not fuck buddies.’

rafe lets out a dry laugh, almost disbelieving. he starts pacing again, steps restless, like he needs to move or he’ll explode.

then, from outside, a familiar voice cuts through the tension.

‘rafe! come on, man, we’re waiting!’ topper, followed by laughter and girls’ voices, high and sweet.

your stomach turns, but you don’t react. instead, you nod toward the door.

‘you should go,’ you say softly.

a pause, a sharp inhale. his jaw clenches. ‘we’re not done.’

‘i said what i needed to say.’ you swallow the lump in your throat. ‘you have girls waiting for you.’

he stops pacing. his expression hardens. ‘you think that’s what this is about?’

‘i think it doesn’t matter,’ you answer. ‘because you’re not my boyfriend, and you don’t owe me anything.’

his hands curl into fists at his sides. ‘you’re doing that thing again.’

‘what thing?’

‘acting like you don’t care.’

you inhale sharply. ‘i do care, rafe. that’s the problem.’

something flickers in his expression. for the first time, he looks uncertain. like this wasn’t supposed to happen. like he never considered the possibility of you walking away.

he starts pacing again, steps quicker now, frustration rolling off him in waves. ‘so what? you’re just done?’

you nod. ‘yeah.’

he stops. looks at you. then, after a beat, he says, ‘fine.’

you hesitate. ‘fine, what?’

‘i’ll be your boyfriend.’

you blink, caught off guard. ‘what?’

‘you want a relationship?’ he shrugs, like it’s the easiest fix in the world. ‘done.’

‘that’s not how this works.’

‘why not?’ his voice is sharper now, defensive. ‘you said you don’t want to be just another girl— fine. be my girlfriend.’

you shake your head, a humorless laugh escaping. ‘jesus, rafe.’

‘what?’

‘you don’t even want to be my boyfriend. you just don’t want to see me with someone else.’

his jaw tightens, and for the first time, he stops pacing. stands still.

‘you can’t just decide to be in a relationship because you don’t like the idea of losing me,’ you say, voice softer now. ‘that’s not love, rafe. that’s possession.’

his lips part slightly, but no words come out.

‘you don’t know how to do this,’ you continue gently. ‘how to be with someone in a way that isn’t just about control.’

he exhales, slow and deep, fingers rubbing at his jaw as he looks away for a moment. when he meets your gaze again, there’s something different there. hesitation, sure. but also something you weren’t expecting.

fear.

‘i don’t want to lose you,’ he admits, voice quiet now.

your breath catches. ‘then be better.’

rafe swallows. ‘tell me how.’

‘you already know how,’ you whisper. ‘you just have to choose it.’

the silence stretches between you again, but this time, it’s different.

it’s not heavy. it’s hopeful.

then, from outside, topper calls out again. ‘rafe! you coming or what?’

rafe doesn’t even look toward the door.

‘nah,’ he calls back, eyes still locked on yours. ‘i’m good.’

your heart was about to try to break out from behind your ribs.

his gaze softens. ‘stay?’

you hesitate. ‘rafe—’

he shakes his head, stepping closer. ‘if i say i can do this, then i can do this.’

you search his face for the lie, the excuse, the escape route he’s bound to take. but there isn’t one.

he raised your hands to his mouth and kissed the tip of each of your fingers in turn. your thumb, your index finger, your middle finger, your ring finger, finally your pinky, and then, your gaze caught the black cross that rested on the centre of his chest.

you wonder if his heart beats steadily.

his lips twitch, just slightly, into the kind of smirk that used to make you roll your eyes. ‘i’ll be the last boyfriend you’ll have,’ he murmurs. ‘you’ll see.’

your chest tightens, but this time, it’s not with dread.

‘okay,’ you whisper.

he grins, triumphant. ‘yeah?’

you exhale, a small smile creeping onto your lips despite yourself.

‘yeah.’

an. inspired by rory and logan.

[littlelamy]

clingy with rafe

rafe would never call himself clingy. clingy was for guys who didn’t have their shit together or needed constant reassurance. but with you, it wasn’t insecurity—it was something else entirely.

he wasn’t sure when it started, but the second you walked into a room, it was like his body moved on its own. at toppers’ parties, his hand found yours before you even said hi to anyone. you were his grounding force in the chaos, and he wasn’t about to let you slip away.

“stick with me,” he muttered, fingers laced tightly with yours. his voice was low, the kind of tone that was more of a command than a suggestion. you weren’t complaining—his hand was warm and steady, making you feel more at ease in the wild, drunken crowd.

“i thought this was supposed to be a chill thing,” you teased, trying to match his long strides as he led you through the sea of bodies. your tone was light, but you couldn’t help smirking at the way he scanned the room like a hawk. he always had that protective edge, though he’d never admit it outright.

“yeah, well, topper’s definition of ‘chill’ is breaking every piece of furniture in the house,” rafe said, rolling his eyes. his thumb brushed over the back of your hand like it was second nature. “where the fuck is topp, anyway?”

you shrugged, barely holding back a laugh as you glanced around the room. “you’re asking me? i thought you were keeping track of him.” his jaw ticked slightly, but his focus never wavered from you for long.

when someone brushed past you a little too closely, rafe’s grip on your hand tightened. his shoulders tensed, and he pulled you into his side without missing a beat. “you good, princess?” he asked, his voice dropping in that way that made your stomach flutter.

“i’m fine, rafe,” you said, rolling your eyes but feeling secretly pleased at how much he cared. it wasn’t like the guy bumped into you on purpose, but rafe wasn’t about to let it slide. “you’ve asked me that, like, five times tonight.”

“yeah, well, just making sure,” he shot back, his lips twitching into a grin that didn’t quite mask his protective streak. he glanced down at you, eyes scanning your face as if checking for any hint of discomfort. “can’t have anyone messing with my girl, right?”

later, when the two of you found an empty spot on the couch, rafe was already pulling you down next to him. “sit,” he ordered, his voice taking on that familiar commanding edge.

you raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest, sinking into his lap with a sigh. before you could even get comfortable, his hands were sliding over your legs, his fingers brushing gently over your skin.

“rafe,” you said, leaning back against him as his hands roamed, moving up to your thighs and rubbing slow circles over the soft fabric of your dress.

“relax, princess,” he murmured in your ear, his voice low and almost playful as he traced his fingertips along your legs. “you’re too tense.”

you shot him a look, feeling the heat of his hands on your skin, but despite your attempt to act nonchalant, you couldn’t stop the warmth flooding your chest. “you’re impossible,” you muttered, but didn’t move away.

“nah,” he whispered with a smirk, fingers continuing their teasing path along your legs. “i just know how to get you to relax.”

later, when you nudged him and told him you needed to use the bathroom, his reaction was immediate. “cool, i’ll come with you,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. you stopped mid-step, looking at him like he’d grown another head.

“rafe, i’m not gonna get lost. it’s the bathroom,” you said, already exasperated. his expression didn’t budge, that familiar mix of confidence and stubbornness plastered across his face. “you don’t need to come with me.”

“it’s not about you getting lost, princess,” he said, smirking in a way that made your pulse quicken. the nickname rolled off his tongue effortlessly, like he’d been calling you that forever. “just making sure no one tries anything while you’re gone.”

“so, what? you’re gonna stand outside the door like a security guard?” you asked, crossing your arms in challenge. his grin widened, the mischievous glint in his eyes telling you he had other plans. “you’re unbelievable, rafe.”

“not standing outside, babe,” he said with a wink, already following you toward the tiny bathroom. you gaped at him, half-annoyed and half-amused, as he casually shut the door behind you. “i’m coming in with you.”

“rafe!” you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper as you gestured around the cramped space. his nonchalant demeanor made it even more infuriating, like this was the most logical thing he could’ve done. “you can’t just—this is weird!”

“what’s weird about it?” he asked, leaning against the door with his arms crossed. his gaze was steady, like he genuinely couldn’t understand your objection. “not like i haven’t seen you before, princess.”

your cheeks flushed at his comment, and you smacked his arm lightly in protest. “rafe cameron, you’re impossible,” you muttered, turning toward the toilet with a defeated sigh. “at least turn around or something.”

“fine, fine,” he said, laughing as he spun to face the door, his shoulders shaking slightly. his smugness was practically radiating off him, and you knew he was enjoying every second of this. “just say the word if you need me, babe.”

when you were done and washing your hands, he turned back around without missing a beat. his eyes softened as they landed on you, his usual teasing replaced with something gentler. “you okay?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“i’m fine, rafe,” you said, shaking your head with a small smile. his concern, as ridiculous as it was sometimes, always managed to make your heart ache in the best way. “but you’re never living this down.”

“don’t care,” he said, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around your waist. his lips brushed against your temple, his hold on you firm and steady. “you’re stuck with me, princess.”

and honestly? you didn’t mind one bit.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[stvolanis]

brothers best friend! Rafe who stroked his cock to the thought of the way you looked in your little bikini when he was at your house for your brother, spurting heavy ropes of cum when he remembered the way your boobs almost kept slipping out of your flimsy top, and the blush that coated your cheeks when you adjusted it—wondering if anyone saw, but of course, rafe did.

brothers best friend! Rafe who was supposed to be staying the night for your older brother, but somehow ended up finding himself in front of your cracked door, watching the way you rode your stuffed animal. He couldn’t seem to control himself as his hand slid into his boxers, whining, wishing it was him. His hand was pressed to his mouth as you played with your sensitive buds, afraid he’d moan too at the sight in front of him.

brothers best friend! Rafe who made sure to sit next to you at the dinner table. Laughing at your brothers sports jokes as he trailed a hand up your thigh. Your breath hitched as you felt him rub you through your panties, and suddenly you were happy you wore a skirt. Rafes cock was unbelievably hard, and he wanted nothing more than to fuck you silly as he watched you lick some sauce off that had accidentally gotten on your finger.

brothers best friend! Rafe who tightly held his hand over your mouth after you’d gotten a little too loud from the way he pounded into your pussy mercilessly. His cock stretched you open, and the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed throughout your girly room. Tears brimmed your eyes, but all you could do was clutch the sheets beneath you as his tip hit your cervix repeatedly.

brothers best friend! Rafe who had made you cum at least 3 times on his cock, the wetness on your bedsheets below you proof of his work. You were so fucked out, unable to form a coherent sentence—only able to moan Rafes name repeatedly. “Good girl, princess. Know it’s a lot, but you can give me another one, yeah?” He whispered softly in your ear as he lazily fucked into you still. Your pussy was beyond sensitive, and your nearly screamed as his hand came down to play with your clit—but you didn’t want to disappoint him. “Y-Yes, oh my god, Rafe!” You whimpered out. Rafe hummed in approval as your legs shook from overstimulation, but he didn’t let up. “Fuckin’ perfect.” He muttered.

TAG LIST: @epthedream69 @claire-elvisgirl @elvisrealgf @littlehoneyposts @luxuriouslokistan-3 @jazminsjaz @www-interludeshadow-com @khxna @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @floredaqueen @lemonadygirl @newavenger @bloobewy @vogueprincess @scintilla-morningstar @liv-n @armandosbabymama @axailslink @cosmixstar

[shrimpybbq]

rafe experiences the comfort of a mother

synopsis: rafe appears on his girlfriend’s doorstop, badly burnt and in need of care and affection

Rafe stood in front of the guest room, body stiff and hand frozen against the wooden door. He wanted to knock, he really did, and yet he was hesitant. Only the day before had the couple fought, screaming and shouting until both were out of breath. Rafe had watched his sweet girl leave with teary eyes and he’d felt bad, his heart twisting as she had slammed the door in his face. It was the same door he finally knocked on after realising he’d been motionless for too long. The rap of his knuckles echoed and for a moment, he wondered if she wouldn’t answer the door at all, until a creak sounded. Rafe raised his gaze to see his girlfriend standing in front of him, her fists rubbing the sleep away from her eyes.

“R-rafe? What are yo-”, she began to ask, voice heavy with tiredness, the hour late. It wasn’t until she looked at him properly that she paused, taking in his entire state. Rafe was standing there, clutching his arm to his chest protectively. It wasn’t the childlike pose that caught her eye though, no - it was the way Rafe’s eyes were filled with unshed tears and his bottom lip wobbling ever so subtly.

“Are you ok?” She asked gently, as if she were talking to their son. Rafe could only shake his head side to side, slowly pulling his arm away. At the sight of the red and blistering flesh, she gasped loudly, “Oh my god! What happened?”.

“I-uh, I got into some trouble,” Rafe responded timidly, full of shame and in pain.

“Come here,” his girlfriend said, gently ushering him into the guest room, “sit down. Have you cleaned this?” She asked. Again he shook his head, leading her to hum lowly. “Ok, I’ll need to clean it. Gimme a sec.”

Rafe sat on the bed patiently as he took in the room. He’d never been in there since she began sleeping in there, now taking in all the little trinkets she had lying around. He had been trying to get her to move back into his room but she still refused, and the pair used the nursery as a mutual zone.

His musings were cut off by a gentle voice questioning him.

“What happened Rafe?”

“It’s nothing, just an accident, you know?” Rafe grumbled out as she began to wet antiseptic pads in front of him. She looked up at him, gaze incredulous.

“This is bad, Rafe. You don’t just get something like this accidentally! You said you got into trouble before - what did you mean by that?” She questioned. Rafe sighed, having underestimated just how much she would question him, but he should’ve expected that, he thought to himself. When he didn’t answer, she began to clean his arm.

The sharp stinging sensation that travelled through him as the antiseptic touched his burn made Rafe jump, his voice exclaiming in shock. It was that sudden pain that caused the unshed tears in his eyes to spill over, and it was like once he started he couldn’t stop. All his pain and worries spilled out of him, the tears streaming down his face.

“Oh baby, it’s ok, come here,” he heard her say, cleaning forgotten as she pulled his head into her chest. Whenever she had comforted Rafe in the past, this had been his favourite position, curled up against her chest and having his hair stroked. So she did just that, soothing his heaving sobs with each pass through his hair. “It’s ok Rafe, you’re ok here baby. I’ve got you, ok? Breathe, Rafe.”

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, his sobs wetting the fabric of the tank top she wore. He’d almost completely exhausted himself by the time his sobs stopped, only able to breathe deeply now. It was then his muffled voice could be heard, “it was Barry.”

He felt her stiffen before she tentatively probed further. “Barry, your dealer?”

At the feeling of him nodding, she pulled him away from her chest. Her voice was stern, as if she was talking to a small child,

“Rafe, why is your dealer burning you? What did you do?”

He looked up at her, eyes wide and rimmed with red. He looked just a like their son, she thought, his features so innocent and needy.

“I-I couldn’t pay him back in time… I tried, I really did, but I had this thing and I couldn’t get it all there in time, and I said- I said to him I would get it bu-but he didn’t care,” Rafe began to ramble, his voice pleading with her to understand him. He had been trying to do better, for her - for his family. He watched her sigh, before she returned to clean his wound in silence. Rafe wanted to speak, to explain himself more but he didn’t know what to say, and the idea of her disappointed gaze upon him once more sealed his lips. The feeling of her fingers smoothing a burn cream over his wound tenderly had him curling back into her chest.

She began to card her fingers back through his blonde locks, feeling Rafe relax against her. When he was upset he would be one of two ways: angry and reactive, or clingy and touch-starved. Today, it was clear he was the latter. She couldn’t bare to leave him alone like this, and so she gently whispered,

“Come here baby, let’s get you into bed, ok?”

Rafe pulled away, his eyes wide as he looked up upon her face.

“Here?”

She nodded and began to pull the covers away, creating a space for him to shuffle in. Rafe allowed himself to be guided under the quilt and he couldn’t help but sigh at the feeling of her fingers tenderly brushing his messed-up strands away from his forehead. As he made space for her beside him, Rafe watched his girlfriend pull away from the bed.

“Nononono-” he began to mutter, only to be cut off. His hand was outstretched pathetically to try and keep her by his side, scared to be alone.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. I’m just going to the nursery. I thought you’d want him to stay with us tonight,” she soothed, watching surprised as Rafe shook his head in response.

“No, let him sleep. Just c’mere,” he mumbled, dragging her into his side and under the blankets. Within seconds Rafe had found his position for the night, curled up into her side, his head resting on her chest once more. He was so sullen and quiet as he listened to her heartbeat, hands clutching at her waist.

“Goodnight Rafe,” she uttered sleepily, the events of the night catching up to her.

“I love you,” he said quietly, his voice muffled against her chest. He didn’t say it often, preferring to show his love for her through actions, but she always knew it. With a soft kiss against the crown of his head, she echoed those words back to him, before slipping into unconsciousness,

“I love you too, baby.”

[amandabbbbb]

summary: rafe who protects maybank!reader from luke bc jj is too busy finding gold to protect his sister

tw: parental abuse, mention of drugs, rafes sweet but kinda demanding

word count: 526

you covered a shift working at the wreck because kie could never be bothered to take a shift at her dad’s restaurant, too busy running around the island trying to find whatever gold bullshit that john b has got your brother’s friends and him hung up on. you call jj, overwhelmed from the morning of dealing with your father luke’s fit of rage.

“are you gonna be home tonight? dad just bought a bunch of drugs from barry’s and i don’t want to be alone. i’m scared.”

“sis, you know i love ya, but do you want our lives to get better or not? i’m tryna get us out of this hell, alright? so just stay in your room and don’t come out. love ya, bye.”

he hung up before you could squeeze in another cry for help. just as your salty tears fall, rafe cameron motions you over to give him his bill. you wipe your tears away and give him the fakest smile. he orders you to sit in the opposite empty chair.

“are you alright, sweetheart? i heard that. you know, i know your dad’s a druggie dick. i’ve seen him at barry’s. I gotta get you out of that house. i see your bruises. you know all that makeup doesn’t cover it.” he grabs your arm and rolls up your sleeve, showing your bruise from your father. you, flustered, pull away as his tone was demanding.

before you could even respond, kie’s words ring in your ears: “rafe cameron wouldn’t be caught dead eating here, especially alone. he usually spends his time at the country club. to a kook like him, the wreck is a dump. but ever since you started working there, he always sits at the same table almost every day, staring at you your whole shift, and if you aren’t his waitress, he makes a huge fuss. he’s so sweet to you, always.”

“rafe, really, i’m alright. don’t worry about me.”

“stay at mine tonight, y/n. i’ll take care of you.” he sets 1000 dollars down on the table. he usually gives you a 100 or 200 dollar tip but never this much. you barely know rafe.

“rafe, no. i can’t take this. i don’t even know… uh, uh, rafe, i can’t.”

“stop mumbling and take it. your dad spends all his money on drugs and your brother’s too goddamn worried about god knows what to even be home to take care of you. so i’m going to man up and protect you, okay? so shut up.”

that night after your shift, you stay at rafe’s house. he lets you stay in sarah’s room since the camerons are away. for the first time in ages, you finally relax, safe from your abusive father. you fall asleep almost instantly, exhausted from the stress. rafe makes sure you’re comfortable, checking on you throughout the night. when you wake up in the morning, you find a note and breakfast waiting for you. the note reads:

“good morning, sweetheart. had to run some errands. i know we’re very different but i know what you’re going through. stay as long as you need. you’re safe here. - rafe.”

[irisinluv]

Isekaied as the Yandere Villain!? Pt 2

Part one

It was almost 2 minutes before I realized I was still dragging the crown prince behind me. I quickly dropped his hand and looked at him, not able to hide the embarrassment on my face. Listen- I’m committed to the bit. I WILL be the crazy jealous fiancé. But… I’m still human ok. I just dragged a full grown man down several halls and a flight of stairs while I spaced out thinking about how I’m gonna buy my cat premium wet food once I get back home to her.

It’s fine, I’m not flustered at spacing out about my cat, my characters just flustered because she’s been holding the hand of the man she’s obsessed with, that’s all!

“Well…. Did you still want to dine and take that walk?”

I expected him to scold me for my mistreatment of Cressida, grow irritated from me dragging him along like this. Instead, he chuckles and threads his arm in mine, and begins escorting me down the hall.

“Absolutely, have you dined outside by the roses yet? There’s this lovely pavilion that I am eager to hear your thoughts on.”

And that’s how I found myself under an impressive array of roses, all trained up and around a cozy dining area, creating a canopy of green and pink over an intimate tea table. The food was equally impressive, I had to keep reminding myself that the other me is used to this lavish lifestyle, to not gawk at the fancy tiny sandwiches and deserts.

“Well? Is everything to your liking? ”

I’m going off script here, how am I supposed to know how the villainess would react to a romantic scene like this?? If my “evil crazy” side isn’t supposed to be directed at him, and she’s usually kinda distant and unsure around him…. That means I should probably respond pretty curtly, polite, yet not really engaging. But…. I’ve already messed that up…. I guess I can be more genuine when it’s the two of us like this. He can think that this version of me is the facade, that I’m pretending to be pleasant, and then will start to see what a jerk “I” truly am when Cressida’s around. Besides…. I almost feel bad for the villainess. She really just seems like she was shy. Who knows- maybe, if given the opportunity, she really would have opened up more. It’s clear she loved the prince, and just didn’t know how to show it. So, with that thought, I made up my mind.

“It’s breathtaking! Roses are my favorite flower, and I’ve never seen so many kinds in bloom at once…. Plus the food and company leave little to be desired.”

There you go- slip in some subtle flirting! I’m not quite sure what time period this is supposed to be, but I get the impression flirting as bit more high class here, and I think I can have some fun with that.

“I’m glad, to be honest I was a bit flustered asking you to dine with me… you caught me quite off guard today, but in a good way.” He reaches his hand across the table and places it on my own, “I’d like to do this more often, you and I. I feel like the confines of our current arrangement have left us practically strangers, despite being engaged for several months already. I’m enjoying just being companionable with you, even if it’s just existing comfortably in the same room.”

Ohhhh, I know I’m the villain in this story but I can’t help but root for him- what a sweetheart! It’s so obvious he’s been lonely, I can’t wait for him and Cressida to fall in love and have a couple of kids that they’ll spoil rotten. And in the meantime…. Maybe I do have a bit of evil in me, because I’m going to selfishly enjoy this handsome man treating me to lunches under roses and reading in cozy libraries while I can.

“I know exactly how you feel your highness. Now, you mentioned a walk?”

We spent the afternoon laughing and chatting, and it felt nice to chat without worrying too much about my role. He asked me about that book I picked out earlier, and listened attentively as I caught him up with where I’m at in the plot. In turn, I asked about what papers he’s been signing, documents he’s been drafting, etc.

The only thing I had to do was send glares to any young ladies we passed, settling my hand on his arm possessively, and I saw their eyes widen and faces disappear behind fans as they whisper to one another. I can picture this illustrated in a manhwa- the nasty princess sinking her claws into the gullible prince… hopefully all these ladies will start gossiping and we can really cement this evil persona of mine now that Cressida’s here.

When we returned to our separate apartments, I explored my rooms a bit until servants came to get me ready for dinner, and I slipped back into the frigid bitch persona. The servant girls dressed me in a slightly stuffy gown, but I had to admit, I looked gorgeous. I sat stiff and straight as they did my hair, forcing myself to be the very picture of cold indifference. I then dismissively thanked them for their help, then sat there awkwardly as they stared at me like I was crazy.

Ohhhh shit…. The original story hadn’t prepared me for this. My character was a villain, yes, but a side character for the most part! How was she supposed to act towards her servants? I went over what I knew- the novel showed the villainess alone quite often, usually obsessing over Eric and plotting/stalking. It showed her with Eric, and how distant and awkward their relationship was when together. And then of course the numerous scenes with Cressida where the Villainess did all sorts of heinous things to the sweet girl. But… it never depicted her with servants, or even any friends or other nobles. Just… Eric and Cressida. Was other me not actually a bitch all the time? Am I being unnecessarily rude right now? Oh god I’m such an idiot.

The story is told through Cressida’s point of view- of course there’s more depth to my own character than I initially thought! The Villianess must be a misunderstood introvert! Unsure of how to act around her crush, she’s fiercely insecure and jealous of this new girl who doesn’t struggle the same way she does. When she notices the prince slipping from her grasp, she acts out against Cressida because she can’t bear to lose Eric!

As someone’s who’s worked minimum wage jobs and struggled with social anxiety most of my life, I try to be nice to the people just working to survive, but here I am acting like these poor women are the dirt beneath my shoe…. Ok. Um. Well they’re still standing there in shock, I can fix this….

“You really did a lovely job… my hair has never looked so gorgeous, you’re truly talented! And I think the prince will be very pleased with this choice of ribbon!”

There- I was nicer, and I brought it back to Eric, so I’m still the lovesick fiancé whose entire world is waiting for her in the dining room. I frowned as the servants scuttled out of the room with hurried excuses, all of them looking like they were about to faint. Damn it… I can’t believe I misread the relationship between us. I probably just ruined their night by being uncharacteristically rude. I’ve gotta learn their names next time…. Maybe ask them to help me eat some fancy pastries as an apology…?

I didn’t know it, but while I was lamenting how wrong I was about the Villainess’ character, the servants were all gossiping to the others about what had just transpired.

“You’re telling me she said THANK YOU!?”

“Yes!!! And then you should have seen how nervous she got! She just rambled, blurting out such a sweet compliment, and she even tied it back to the prince!”

“I had no idea how precious she was… I can’t believe I never realized she’s just shy! In a new place, all alone aside from her new fiancé…. Who I gather she’s got a bit of a crush on! Poor dear.”

“Ohh our sweet girl, I’m sure it must be hard bonding with the prince, when all you do is sit yards apart and hardly speak …”

“Well I may have some news about that… and it’s no wonder she was a bit flustered today, because I saw the two of them in the gardens today! They were both nothing but smiles- absolutely smitten with one another!”

“Such a lovely girl, and we never knew it all this time!”

Apparently, I had it backwards. The real villainess truly was a 2D, basic character. She was insecure and possessive over the prince, bullying Cressida half to remind her who Eric belonged to, half for the fun of it. But she didn’t let on to anyone about the true depth of her love for him. She didn’t gossip to her handmaid, didn’t ask the servants which dress he would like better. Simply acted as if they did not exist, hardly saying a word to them.

While I thought my blunt “thank you” was colder than they were used to, and then tried to smooth things over…. It was more words than they’d heard from me in the whole time I’d lived in the palace. They lapped it up and declared me their own shy little dove after that.

When I arrived to dinner, I realized why daily dinners weren’t exactly a bonding activity for the villainess and Eric. The table was massive, and only held two chairs, one at either end. It felt so…. Cold?

Eric had beat me there, and quickly stood up from his seat, waiting until I sat and a servant pushed in my chair to retake his own seat. He smiled at me and said,

“Good evening, princess.”

He had to project his voice slightly. It wasn’t like he was shouting or being loud, it was just the manner of speaking you use when talking to an elderly relative, clearer, and enunciating better so they could hear you.

I replied back, projecting my voice similarly, and found the conversation was, in fact, more awkward than it had been earlier. We ate our food mostly in silence, occasionally one of us would say something and the other would stop moving their utensils on their plate, listening closer as they ask,

“What’s that?”

By the time dinner was over and we each went to bed, I felt drained. I could have just been louder I suppose- but it’s so hard to keep up a conversation like that. I know we get along- we had chatted all afternoon after all. But some part of me realized it’s probably good to keep a bit of distance between us, even if I’ve rewritten things to be a bit chummier between the two of us. Cressida needs to swoop in and steal him from me… and my job is still to leave that room for her to do so.

It’s hard trying to be someone else, yet also making sure you lead the plot in the right direction- it’s exhausting! I feel like both director and actress!

It’s with this in mind that I launch myself into the softest bed I’d ever felt, and passed out. My first day as princess consort, the Yandere fiancé, complete.

While I was getting acquainted with my feather bed, Eric was speaking with the head waitstaff.

“Yes, tomorrow, would you mind adjusting the seating situation? I’d like for the princess consort and I to be closer together from now on. Yes, and ask my assistant to arrange my schedules like so, I’ve detailed it here. Thank you.”

At the same time, Cressida was recounting her run in with the prince and I to her handmaiden as she finishing unpacking and settling into her family’s guest apartments. Which, unbeknownst to me… was right across the hall.

Series discontinued- sorry my loves. Ik y’all wanted more but the good news is that I’ve seen several really talented authors picking up this idea and executing it wayyyy better than my sporadic mood writing ever could.

[yuutryingtowrite]

Yandere!Salaryman who is exhausted from this dull and pathetic job. He has been trying to climb the ladders for years, but it just keeps getting worse and worse and…

Yandere!Salaryman who has a burning hatred for the newbie aka you. “Oh! Congrats on the new promotion! I never have gotten one even though I have been rotting here for as long as I can remember, while you just came in last month”, he wants to tell you. Instead, he just offers you a strained smile and a small nod when you greet him in the morning.

Yandere!Salaryman who, one day, has to stay overtime with the newbie. As he diligently works on the numbers on his computer screen, he ignores your attempts at small talk, giving curt answers at best.

Yandere!Salaryman who finally snaps as you won’t leave him alone. He screams and shouts, emptying his heart out. Suddenly, he collapses on the floor and starts sobbing. He cries and cries for his pitiful self and miserable life, until it dies down to small sniffles. His face ends up being all red and puffy, his eyes all glossy and his lips settled into a pout. You can't help but find him cute.

Yandere!Salaryman who looks confused when you give him your handkerchief to dry his tears. He stays eerily quiet as you try to cheer him up, telling him that he shouldn’t ruin his pretty face like that. After offering your hand to help him stand up, you end this interaction with a small, empathetic pat on the shoulder and a “If you need anything, I got you”.

Yandere!Salaryman who, later that night, goes straight to bed. He can feel his face burn from embarrassment and maybe something else. Your words keep going on loop inside his head. Clutching the handkerchief close to his chest, a small whimper escapes him as he takes a whiff of it. You smell so good…He closes his eyes as he tries to recall your touch. Your hand was soft too…This is all making him dizzy.

Oh god, what did you do to him? And how was he going to face you at work tomorrow?

[goofygubegubler]

‘𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚, 𝑰'𝒎 𝒂 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓.

Spencer eating you for your dear life, ‘cause baby, he’s a giver.

wc: 2.4k | F!Reader (Established Relationship) | cw: explicit sexual content, cunnilingus, fingering, vibrator use, overstimulation, sleepy sex?, mild power dynamics, teasing, implied age gap

A/N: Spencer is absolutely a giver in my mind, and I hope you all enjoy this! This is my first one-shot and my first time writing smut, so please feel free to share any feedback—I’d really appreciate it! My asks are always open.

Spencer is a giver—there's no doubt about it. He has studied you with a scholar's precision, but his devotion is deeper, almost reverent. He knows where to touch, how to kiss—his mouth slow and consuming, savoring every second, unraveling you with the deliberate slide of his tongue against yours. His teeth scrape over your bottom lip, a teasing sting that he soothes with a lingering press, a soft contrast to the hunger simmering beneath his touch.

And his hands—God, his hands. They move over you like he’s composing something exquisite, mapping each curve, each tremor, each stuttered breath with an intimacy that feels instinctual. He knows how to dismantle you, how to wind you so tightly in pleasure that you shatter in his grasp. His words pour into your ear, dark and teasing, igniting a heat that pools low and aching, leaving you breathless beneath him.

Sleep clings to you in slow waves, pulling you under, weaving you into something intoxicating, something inevitable. His hands find you first—fingertips gliding over your skin like a whisper of possession, tracing your curves, teasing, promising. The heat of his breath spills against your neck, the hushed murmur of your name curling like smoke in the thick air.

Then, his mouth—God, his mouth—claims yours, slow and insistent. His tongue sweeps over your bottom lip before his teeth catch, a bite of sharp, deliberate hunger.

You’re not in bed anymore. You’re pressed against the bookshelf, trembling under his touch, the rough wood biting into your spine, grounding you in the feverish haze. A book slips from your hands, forgotten the moment his lips trail lower, marking their path with slow, open-mouthed kisses.

He hums against your skin, his voice dark, indulgent. "Keep reading for me."

The command slithers down your spine, igniting something helplessly wanton inside you. You try—God, you try—to obey, lips parting, voice trembling, but the second his fingers sink deep, curling just right, the words unravel, lost in a gasp as he drags you under.

A sharp inhale rips you from the dream, the ghost of his touch still imprinted on your skin, heat curling deep and insatiable. Your thighs clench in a feeble attempt at relief, but it isn’t enough. It’s never enough—not when you wake up to find him lying beside you, lips parted, his breathing slow and steady, a cruel reminder that the hands you crave are just beyond reach.

Biting your lip, you slip a hand toward the nightstand, fingers grazing the smooth edge before you pull the drawer open just enough to reach inside. Your fingers find the well-worn spine of your favorite spicy book first—the one Spencer pretends to roll his eyes at but listens to whenever you read aloud in bed.

Beneath it, tucked away like a secret, is the small vibrator you keep for nights just like this—when Spencer is working late, when the ache refuses to fade, when his absence leaves you restless and wanting. You know better. You should just use your fingers—quieter, safer—but this? This is too good to resist. The way it hums against you, the way it sends pleasure curling through your veins in thick, decadent waves.

It’s never been a replacement for Spencer, not really, but God, it’s close enough to take the edge off when you need it most. Your pulse quickens as you wrap your fingers around it, the cool plastic a stark contrast to the heat pooling low in your belly. You hesitate, casting a glance at him—his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths, lips parted slightly in sleep—before exhaling softly, determination settling in your bones.

You start slow, pressing the toy against your clit through your panties, barely turning it on, letting the low hum tease you like the ghost of his touch. A quiet gasp escapes, your hips tilting into the sensation, but even this—God, even this—isn’t him.

Frustration coils tighter in your belly, the need for more gnawing at you, demanding. With a shaky exhale, you lift your hips, sliding your panties down, the cool air a stark contrast against the heat between your thighs. The vibrator follows, gliding against slick, sensitive skin, sending pleasure rolling through you in slow, deliberate waves.

Your breath stutters, fingers tightening around the toy as you sink into the feeling, chasing the edge, knowing it won’t ever feel as good as Spencer but unable to stop yourself from trying. The quiet hum of the vibrator is nearly drowned out by your own heavy breaths, the way your body trembles beneath the weight of your own need. Maybe if you just keep quiet, if you move slow—

But then—a shift. The bed dips. A sharp inhale from beside you.

Before panic can settle, warmth floods your senses—a heavy hand pressing against your stomach, grounding you in the moment. His touch is slow, deliberate, fingers splayed, sliding lower until they brush against yours, still gripping the toy. He hums low in his throat, voice thick with sleep yet unmistakably amused.

"Couldn't wait for me, could you?"

Spencer’s fingers curl over yours, his grip firm as he slowly pries the vibrator from your grasp. The moment it’s in his control, the pressure changes—subtly, precise, his touch calculated in a way that makes your breath catch. The sudden shift sends a sharp jolt of pleasure spiraling through you, tearing a gasp from your lips.

"Spencer—" It’s barely a whimper, swallowed by the way his body shifts closer, his breath hot against your neck.

"Shh," he soothes, his lips brushing your temple before trailing down to your jaw, soft and teasing. "Let me help."

His focus is singular. Unwavering.

"Besides," he murmured, pressing another kiss higher, teeth grazing sensitive skin just enough to make you shiver, "it’s only 5:17 a.m." Another pause, another deliberate press of his mouth. "I don’t have to get ready until six." His breath is warm, teasing, wicked. "Plenty of time to enjoy myself."

You let out a breathless laugh, fingers weakly carding through his hair. "You are such a giver, Spence."

His lips curve against your skin, and without missing a beat, he hums, "I do pride myself on my generosity."

Before you can reply, the aftershocks of your last orgasm still making your thighs tremble, he licks a slow, teasing stripe up your center. A full-body shudder ripples through you, your nerves still alight with oversensitivity. His hands tighten around your thighs, thumbs pressing into your skin, keeping you spread open, fully at his mercy. His mouth is warm and relentless, his tongue flicking, circling, pressing just right—like he’s savoring every tiny whimper and every shuddered breath.

He hums against you, the vibration sending another sharp spike of pleasure through your overstimulated body. "Still shaking," he muses, voice muffled against your slick skin. "So sensitive, but I think you can take just a little more, don’t you?"

He shifts, sealing his lips around your clit, sucking with slow, deliberate pressure, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you from squirming away. Your breath stutters, hips twitching involuntarily as pleasure coils hot and sharp in your stomach, overwhelming, dizzying. It’s too much and yet not nearly enough.

"Fuck—Spencer—"

He groans against you, the vibration sending another sharp jolt of pleasure through your oversensitive nerves. "Mmm. Say my name like that again."

His tongue presses deeper, his pace unrelenting, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you from squirming away. He’s thorough and determined, making sure every flick and swirl sends you hurtling toward that inevitable edge. And just when you think you might catch a break, his fingers join in—sliding inside you, curling just right, stroking in rhythm with his mouth.

You gasp, arching into him, hands flying to his hair, gripping tight. "Spencer, oh my—"

"That’s it," he coaxed between teasing licks. "Give me another one, sweetheart. I know you can."

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, keeping you in place. His mouth never wavers, his fingers never falter, dragging another sharp cry from your throat as another orgasm crashes over you, leaving you breathless and shivering. You’re still gasping for air when he pulls back just enough to murmur, "Still with me?"

You manage a weak, trembling nod, half-lost in the afterglow, and for a second, you think he might give you a reprieve.

But then he moves again—this time, slower, more deliberate. His fingers stroke along your inner thigh, coaxing, teasing. His breath is warm as he presses a kiss just above your knee, then another, trailing higher, the anticipation making your skin prickle.

"Spence—" you whimper, voice barely above a breath. "Sensitive."

He hums, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. "I know. That’s what makes it fun."

Then, without warning, his mouth is on you again, softer this time, but no less devastating. His tongue moves with careful precision, his fingers pressing deeper, curving just right. You writhe beneath him, overwhelmed, and when your hand weakly pushes at his head, he merely chuckles against you.

"That’s not our safeword, sweetheart."

You whimper, unable to do anything but surrender as he drags you to the edge again, slow and thorough, relentless in his devotion. The pressure builds again, unbearable, and when you finally shatter beneath him for the third time, he groans, swallowing every broken sound that spills from your lips.

You barely have time to recover before you feel him again—his hands smoothing over your trembling thighs, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, "One more. Just one more."

You shake your head weakly, though your body betrays you, already arching into his touch. Your mind is hazy, barely clinging to the waking world, but Spencer? He’s focused, singular in his intent.

His mouth is on you again, lazy and indulgent, his tongue dragging slow, torturous circles that make your stomach tighten. His fingers press inside, stretching, teasing, working you open with practiced ease. You whimper, toes curling, every nerve alight.

"Almost there," he murmurs, voice frayed, breathless. "Come on, sweetheart. Give it to me."

Your release crashes over you like a tidal wave, pulling you under with no hope of resurfacing. Your body trembles, shuddering apart beneath him, and this time—even Spencer groans, his breath hitching as if he’s feeling it just as intensely as you are. His hands flex against your hips, tightening like he’s holding himself back, resisting the urge to take even more.

He presses one last, lingering kiss to your thigh before letting his head drop against you, exhaling a shaking breath.

Your vision wavers, the edges smudging into deep, inky black as the pleasure crests and breaks. The last thing you register is the warmth of Spencer’s mouth, the reverberation of his voice against your skin—low, coaxing, reverent.

Then, everything fades.

You resurface gradually—like wading through molasses, every inch of you weighted, sore in the most indulgent, well-earned way. The sheets are a tangled wreck around you, clinging to your overheated skin, undeniable evidence of everything Spencer just did to you. Your limbs are useless, your thoughts thick and sluggish, your body still humming with the aftershocks of him.

And yet.

Spencer is already awake.

“It’s 6:37 AM,” he announces smugly, from somewhere near the foot of the bed. “In case you were wondering.”

You groan, throwing an arm over your face. “Oh my God.”

“No, just Spencer,” he corrects, voice warm and teasing. “But I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

When you manage to blink your eyes open, the sight that greets you almost makes you laugh—if you had the energy. Spencer stands there, utterly unbothered, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers covered in tiny owls. His curls are a disaster, sticking up wildly, and his lips are still pink from pressing them against every inch of your body.

He looks entirely too pleased with himself.

“Are you—” You swallow, voice hoarse. “Are you gloating?”

Spencer tilts his head, considering. “I’d say it’s more of a… reasonable acknowledgment of my achievements.”

You make a weak sound of protest. He grins.

The mattress shifts as he crawls back toward you, his hands finding your waist with practiced ease. He presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your shoulder—sweet, affectionate, in direct contrast to the way he ruined you not even thirty minutes ago.

Then, with an absolutely insufferable level of satisfaction, he murmurs, “Four times.”

You let out a wheezy breath, still not recovered enough to fight him on this. “I know, Spencer.”

He hums, trailing his lips up the side of your neck. “Just making sure it’s fully processed.”

You blindly shove at his shoulder, but it’s weak. He barely moves.

Instead, he settles beside you, tucking you against his chest, fingers idly stroking along your spine. He’s quiet for a moment—until he glances at the clock. And then, you see it. The exact moment he realizes his mistake.

His smirk flickers.

A pause. Then, lightly:

“I may have miscalculated.”

You snort. “You think?”

Spencer lets out a thoughtful hum, completely unrepentant as he presses a soft, lazy kiss to your forehead. “In my defense, I failed to account for… the lingering effects.” He shifts, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your skin. “Or my own overwhelming enthusiasm.”

You lift your arm just enough to glare at him. “You have work in an hour.”

He nods solemnly. “I’m aware.”

“I have work in two.”

Another nod. “Yes.”

“You owe me.”

Something flickers in his expression—thoughtful, determined. Then, without a word, he slips out of bed.

You frown. “Spencer?”

“Fixing it,” he calls, already halfway to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, he returns with a steaming cup of your favorite coffee and a plate with a perfectly toasted bagel. He sets them on the nightstand with the precision of a man delivering an official peace offering before climbing back into bed and wrapping himself around you again.

You eye him suspiciously. “This is your plan?”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your hair. “It’s called positive reinforcement.”

You sigh, taking a sip. It’s perfect. Of course, it is.

“You’re still in trouble,” you mumble, though the warmth of his body and the way he’s lazily stroking your back suggest otherwise.

Spencer just grins against your skin, utterly unbothered. “That’s fair.” A beat of silence. Then, far too pleased with himself, he murmurs, “But just so you’re aware… I already have a plan for making it up to you.”

You groan. Spencer just tucks you closer, and you don’t even have the energy to argue.

Then, after a moment of quiet, his voice comes soft and smug against your ear:

“You know, I am a giver.”

You huff a laugh, exhausted and hopelessly fond. “Shut up, Spencer.”

But all he does is press another kiss to your temple, grinning against your skin.