#i now actually need to them to physically interact at this point | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

maskedbyghost · 2 months ago

Note

Hear me out, possessive reader plays a prank, or maybe to see how it would work out and starts acting wayyy less possessive, to the point of being a normal partner..

I NEED SI REACTION

Anon, I love your fucking mind. I had the best time writing this, literally giggling and kicking my feet while imagining Simon spiraling because his crazy girl went "normal mode" on him and he couldn’t handle it for even a second. BASED ON THIS IDEA

You barely looked at him when the waitress called him handsome.

You just smiled to yourself and kept sipping your drink, didn’t glare at her, didn’t grab his hand and lace your fingers through his, didn’t scoot closer in your seat or wrap your arms around him like you used to, and Simon sat there blinking at you like he’d just been slapped across the face.

And then when you walked past a group of girls at the grocery store and one of them giggled and said something about his arms, you didn’t even flinch, didn’t even frown, didn’t even murmur something low and territorial under your breath the way you always did, and Simon actually almost tripped over the cart trying to get a reaction out of you, heart hammering so hard.

You used to get pissed if he so much as looked at another woman too long, used to give him that smug little smirk when you caught someone staring at him, used to lean into him and press your mouth to his ear and mutter "mine" so dark and low that it left him shivering for hours, and now? Now you were just... chill.

Way too chill.

He caught himself thinking insane things like maybe you were losing interest, maybe you were getting ready to leave, maybe you finally realized he wasn’t enough for you, maybe you were pulling away slow and silent to make it easier when you walked out for good, and by the time you got home, Simon’s brain was working overtime, replaying every interaction, every glance, every smile you had given that wasn’t just for him, every time you hadn't touched him when you should have.

You didn’t steal his hoodie when he tossed it on the couch.

You didn’t scroll through his phone and make snarky comments about the girls who liked his photos.

You didn’t pull into his lap when he sat down to watch TV.

You didn’t tell him to shower because he "smelled like other people," which he always secretly loved, even though he rolled his eyes and grumbled about it every time.

You just... existed next to him.

Detached.

Simon sat there on the couch while you scrolled on your phone, completely casual, legs tucked under you, not touching him at all, and he was spiraling so badly he almost convinced himself he could physically see the relationship disintegrating in real time, piece by miserable piece.

He thought about asking if you still loved him.

He thought about proposing on the spot just to lock you down before you could change your mind.

He thought about texting Johnny and asking him if it was normal to feel like your entire world was slipping out from under you because your girlfriend wasn’t being a possessive lunatic for five seconds.

Finally, when you stood up and stretched and said, "I'm gonna head to bed" without even glancing at him, without even saying goodnight or trying to drag him with you, Simon couldn’t take it anymore.

He launched off the couch and followed you, heart pounding like he was about to get left behind at the airport or something, stomach twisted into a knot.

You climbed into bed and flipped onto your side, facing away from him like it was nothing, like you hadn’t spent months curling around him like a vine the second he lay down.

He just stood there at the foot of the bed, breathing way too hard for a normal human being, feeling an honest-to-God panic attack brewing in his chest.

"Love," he said, his voice way shakier than he wanted it to be.

You didn’t even roll over. "Hmm?"

He swallowed hard, hands fisting at his sides. "You don’t want me anymore."

You snorted. Actually snorted. "What are you talking about?"

Simon clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. "You—you’re not even—you didn’t get mad when that girl flirted with me. You didn’t steal my hoodie. You didn’t call me yours even once. You’re acting like we’re—" his voice cracked and he cursed under his breath, "—like we’re normal."

You turned slowly, propping yourself up on your elbow, and the look you gave him was so infuriatingly calm he almost burst into tears on the spot.

"You mean," you said, so evenly it made his eye twitch, "like a normal girlfriend who trusts her boyfriend?"

He stared at you, chest heaving, entire body screaming at him that something was wrong.

"You’re gonna leave me," he said, absolutely sure of it, absolutely certain this was the beginning of the end.

You blinked at him for a second, like you were trying very hard not to laugh in his stupid, panicking face, and then you moved so fast he barely had time to react—you were grabbing him by the front of his shirt, hauling him down onto the bed, straddling his hips, and pinning him there with your thighs as your hands locked around his neck, firm but not tight, just enough to make him shut up and listen.

"Listen to me, you stupid, beautiful man," you said, voice low and furious in that way that made every nerve in his body light up, "you need me just as much as I need you. You belong to me. You hear me? You are fucking mine. I’m not going anywhere; I’m never fucking leaving you. I don't want normal; I want you wrapped around my fucking finger where you belong. Don’t ever doubt that again."

You leaned in closer, your nose brushing his, your hands still gripping his neck just enough to keep him pinned under you, and you added, your voice dropping even lower, smug and wicked, "And maybe I wanted you to lose your fucking mind for a bit. Wanted you to see how much you love it when I’m unhinged about you."

Simon just exhaled like he’d been punched in the stomach and kissed at the same time, his whole body sagging against the bed.

He groaned, almost whining, burying his face against your chest with a muffled, desperate, "Fuckin’ hell, don’t ever do that to me again, you psycho."

But his arms were wrapping around you like steel, holding you so tight, and when you laughed and tugged his hair gently, he actually sighed in relief, like his whole world had finally clicked back into place.

"You’re crazy," he muttered again, not even trying to sound annoyed, his voice almost grateful.

"You love it," you said against his hair, grinning wide enough your cheeks hurt.

"Yeah," he breathed, voice raw and low and real, "yeah, I fuckin’ do. I need you crazy. Need you to ruin me a little. Keep me yours."

You kissed the side of his head, smug and sweet and savage all at once, and Simon just kept breathing you in, letting that awful gnawing terror bleed out of him one slow second at a time until there was nothing left but you, your hands, your voice, your body wrapped around him like armor, pulling him deeper, anchoring him exactly where he belonged.

And he was fine, better than fine actually, and exactly where he needed to be.

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

i can't even explain how much i love this idea...

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon ghost riley #simon riley imagine #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you

3K notes · View notes

romerona · 3 months ago

Text

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Warnings: None

You glanced at the clock again, sighing like it had personally offended you. Your fingers tugged at the edge of your sleeve, mostly for dramatic flair at this point. The hands hadn’t moved much since the last time you looked—which was approximately forty-seven seconds ago, but who’s counting?

Not that you were nervous. No, no. Nervous is for people who don’t have an emergency backup plan involving a pigeon wearing a tiny tie and a PowerPoint presentation about apples.

You were just… mildly concerned.

Okay, maybe “low-key spiraling” was a more accurate term.

He said he’d come. Offered, even. You hadn’t begged, bribed, or emotionally blackmailed him (which you were fully capable of, for the record). He’d volunteered. That was important. Crucial, even.

It had all started with your now-iconic meltdown earlier in the week—Career Day Eve, if you will—when the zookeeper cancelled via email and emoji. An elephant emoji, to be exact and you, of course, had reacted in a calm, measured way.

By ranting to your handsome neighbour while pacing your living room in mismatched socks and clutching a mug of tea that had gone cold hours ago.

“I told them they were gonna see someone who works with LIONS, Carmy. Actual, roar-in-your-face, majestic-ass lions.” You groaned, flopping onto the couch like your spirit had physically left your body. “Ugh, I knew it. You can never trust someone with an exotic job and a man bun. That’s, like, a statistically proven red flag.”

From his seat at the far end of the couch, Carmy raised an eyebrow, expression maddeningly calm as he absently played with one of your throw pillows—the one you embroidered with little sunflowers during your short-lived cottage-core phase. He didn’t say anything. He just let you spiral.

You shot up, posture suddenly straight, eyes wild with new inspiration. “It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s all fine. I’ll just… bring in Gus. Yeah. Kids love Gus. Boom. Problem solved.”

Carmy blinked. “You’re not seriously—”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” you interrupted one hand over your heart. “I’ll dress him up. Tiny tie, maybe a little badge. ‘Hello, my name is Gus. I’m a bird with a superiority complex and a cracker addiction.’ They’ll eat it up.”

That was when he said it, without looking up, like he was offering to pass the salt instead of volunteering for chaos. “I could come.”

You paused mid-rant, mouth half-open. “Come where? The pity party? Too late, I already RSVP’d with tears and dramatic flopping.”

“Career Day,” he said, glancing over at you finally. “I could do it. Talk to the kids. If you want.”

You blinked. Then blinked again, slower this time, like your brain needed an extra second to process the words.

“Carmy. Be serious. You run a whole kitchen. You work, like, twenty hours a day and sleep in four-minute intervals. I’m not about to let you donate one of your free mornings to a classroom of sugar-high fourth graders who will, at some point, absolutely ask if you ever had a rat under your hat."

He shrugged, unfazed. “I don’t mind.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut in before you could unleash another dramatic protest.

“If it helps you,” he said, his tone easy but sincere, “I can handle being asked about Ratatouille.”

You gawked at him. “You're serious?”

He nodded, resting his arm along the back of the couch like this was a totally normal Tuesday. “Sure.”

“Carmy,” you said slowly, voice pitched somewhere between disbelief and exasperated fondness. “You do understand this is unpaid, right? Like, full-on volunteer mode. Zero dollars. No tips. Just you, a room of small humans, and probably a glitter explosion.”

He looked at you, completely unbothered. “Still don’t mind.”

You knew Carmy well enough by now to understand there were layers—deep, complicated, messy layers—hiding beneath that simple, “I could come.” Because yeah, sure, Carmy loved to cook, but he didn’t glamorize it. Not even a little. The passion was real, but so was the damage. Even though he hadn’t laid it all out for you—hadn’t sat you down and unpacked every scar—you could see it. You felt it.

You’d seen it.

In the way, his shoulders tensed at the mention of certain names, in the haunted, faraway look he got when he talked about past kitchens, the way his eyes darkened when work crept too far into the personal, the way silence filled in for stories he couldn’t bring himself to tell. The job had nearly eaten him alive more than once. You could tell. It had taken from him—family, sleep, health, peace. Years of his life he was still fighting to claw back, one broken, beautiful piece at a time.

So the idea of standing in front of a room full of wide-eyed, hopeful fourth graders and telling them, “Follow your passion!” like that passion hadn’t nearly swallowed him whole?

Yeah. That wasn’t a small ask.

And yet—he’d offered. Unprompted. Just a soft, casual, “I could come.”

For you.

And god, wasn’t that the part that ruined you a little?

Still, you'd waited a full twenty-four hours before giving him the green light. For his sake. For yours. For that part of you—the newer, softer, protective part—that had started to believe in shielding him from things, even when he didn’t ask to be shielded.

Because Carmy Berzatto may have survived a thousand kitchens, but that didn’t mean he needed to walk into this one unless he truly, truly wanted to.

And the crazy thing was? He did.

Now here you were, pacing between tiny desks like a caffeinated motivational speaker who didn’t have a Plan B involving a pigeon. You were totally calm. Totally fine. Totally not spiralling internally while your brain whispered charming thoughts like, 'he’s not coming', and 'Congrats, you’re about to host a cooking segment with no chef, no plan, and possibly a breakdown'.

“Miss!” one of your students called out, yanking you out of your mental spiral like a life preserver made of glitter glue. “When’s the chef getting here?”

You spun on your heel, smile locked in place like the unbothered queen you absolutely were not.

“Soon!” you beamed, while glancing at the cameras. “He’s probably just fighting with a soufflé or locked in a passionate debate with a garlic clove. You know—chef stuff.”

They laughed. You did too, though yours was the manic sort that said everything’s on fire, but at least we’re warm.

You had told them a real chef was coming. A famous one, even. But you’d kept that part tucked away. Just in case. You didn’t want them disappointed if he didn’t show.

You didn’t want to be disappointed if he didn’t show.

Because while you were currently dazzling these kids with your best “unbothered teacher queen” routine, inside? Yeah, your soul had filed an early resignation.

You glanced at the clock again.

Cool cool cool.

It was fine. Everything was fine. You were totally not about to fake a PowerPoint on “Why apples are the real MVP of fruits” while sobbing internally.

You gave your class a cheerful clap of your hands, channeling the kind of positivity that could sell overpriced candles on Etsy. “Alright! While we wait, why don’t we write down what questions we might want to ask our guest, hmm? Think big. Think bold. Think ‘What’s your favorite sauce?’ but, like, deeper.”

"Writting?" A collective groan rose from the class, dramatic and loud, as if you’d just asked them to handwrite the Constitution.

You raised your eyebrows, completely unfazed. “Yes, writing. The horror. Grab your pencils, Hemingways.”

And just as a few reluctant pens started to scratch against paper, the door swung open—abrupt, theatrical.

You were just about to exhale a tiny breath of relief when the classroom door swung open—and not in the chef arrives like a movie moment with the wind blowing his coat kind of way.

Nope.

It was Ava.

Your best friend. Your favorite menace. And the one person on Earth with zero chill.

Ava stepped in like she owned the place—which, to be fair, she kind of did, at least spiritually with phone in hand, eyes scanning the room like she was about to announce lottery numbers.

You blinked at her. “Principal Coleman?”

She ignored you completely and addressed your students with dramatic flair. “Excuse me, tiny scholars. I have a very important update.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Ava.”

She turned to you, positively glowing with mischief. “Your hansome chef is here.”

You blinked. “My—what?”

“Girl,” she said, one eyebrow raised. “The one you told me about. With the tattoed arms and the trauma. He’s here. And I gotta say, you undersold it.”

The class erupted into giggles. You blinked harder.

You blinked, stunned, brain buffering like a broken Wi-Fi signal. “Ava, this is a classroom. A learning environment.”

“I learned something,” she said with a wink. “I learned you have a taste for emotionally complex kitchen men with cheekbones so sharp they could dice an onion.”

“Can you just send him in, please?” you asked, voice sweet but strained, like you were one Ava comment away from evaporating into glitter.

Ava raised her brows like okay, ma’am, then dramatically pivoted on one heel, mumbling something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Don’t say I never brought you anything good.”

The door closed behind her with a dramatic little click, and you turned back to your students, who were all openly staring at you like you were the lead in a very juicy reality show.

“Miss,” one of them stage-whispered, eyes wide with scandal, “are you dating the chef?”

You blinked. “Excuse me—what? No. Absolutely not. We are just… two humans who happen to know each other and occasionally share oxygen in the same room.”

And with a dramatic little head shake and the world's weakest scoff, you muttered, “Kids and their imaginations.”

A second student raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “But Miss… your face is doing the same thing it did when that one dad brought you cupcakes for Valentine’s Day.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Blinked. Then pointed at the worksheet pile like it held the answers to life itself.

“Okay—first of all, pencils up, Cupid Patrol. Second, that wasn’t a dad, it was the very kind district representative who happened to believe in seasonal baked goods and workplace appreciation.”

The kids oooh’d like you’d just admitted to a full-blown scandal.

“And for the record,” you muttered, loud enough for the mic to catch, "Nothing happened. It was one cupcake. Vanilla. Calm down.”

The camera lingered.

You blinked. “Cut somewhere else.”

You were still glaring at the camera crew when the door creaked open again—this time quieter, less dramatic, almost hesitant.

You turned, mid-eye-roll, fully expecting Ava to have come back for one final round of public humiliation.

But it wasn’t Ava.

It was him.

Carmy stepped into the room, somehow looking both like a Michelin-starred chef and a man who was deeply unsure if he’d accidentally walked into a daycare. His white tee was freshly pressed, chef’s coat folded neatly over his arm, hair was slightly messy like he’d fought with it in the car, lost, and decided to just let fate take the wheel, carrying a large bag.

He stood there for a second, blinking at the sea of tiny faces—and you.

“Uh… hi,” Carmy said, voice low and hesitant.

Your brain, which had been barely clinging to function, promptly short-circuited.

“Hi,” you echoed, way too breathy for someone in charge of young minds, smiling like a fourth grader yourself.

“Miss! Is that him?” one student asked, already halfway out of their chair like they were witnessing a celebrity walk-in.

You blinked back into Teacher Modetm with the grace of someone internally screaming. “Yes. Yes, that’s him. Everyone—uh—remain seated.”

You gestured toward Carmy. “This is Chef Carmy, our very special guest for Career Day!”

The kids leaned forward like a chorus of curious meerkats, eyes wide, pencils ready.

“Can we all say, ‘Hi, Chef Carmy’?” you asked.

“Hiiii, Chef Carmyyyyy!” the room chorused in chaos, overlapping voices.

Carmy raised a hand in a small wave, his lips pulling into a sheepish smile. “Hey. Uh… thanks for having me.”

Then—of course—he glanced over at the camera crew like he just now realized they existed, eyes slightly wide before blinking quickly back to you. He stepped closer, leaning in just a bit, voice soft—just for you.

“Sorry I’m late,” he murmured. “Traffic was… hell.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “You’re fine. You made it. That’s what matters.”

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, still looking at you like you’d somehow made this less terrifying just by standing there.

And then, because this day was determined to destroy you emotionally, one of your students blurted out, “Miss, your face is doing the thing again!”

You didn’t even flinch as you turned to the children. “Okay! We are officially in session. Chef Carmy is here, so I hope you have your questions ready—and no, none of them can be about Ratatouille, or I will confiscate your recess.”

A hand shot up immediately. “Is it true chefs yell a lot?”

Carmy blinked, caught between answering and short-circuiting.

You sighed dramatically, shooting him a look. “And here we go.”

To his credit, Carmy recovered quickly. “Uh… yeah,” he said honestly, scratching the back of his neck. “Sometimes. But mostly just when things are on fire or… slicing off a thumb.”

A collective gasp filled the room.

“Wait, did you really cut your thumb off?” one kid asked, absolutely horrified and delighted.

Carmy hesitated. “No, but… close enough.”

“Cool,” the kid breathed.

You gave Carmy a look like sir, but he just gave you a little shrug back that said I’m trying here.

Still, you beamed. Progress. He was finding his rhythm.

And then, the spaghetti.

You’d cleared a small table for him earlier, just in case he brought something. But you had not expected him to go full cooking show.

With sleeves rolled, Carmy walked the kids through how to make fresh spaghetti from scratch.

“Alright, so—flour,” he said, pouring it out onto the surface. “Then you make a little well, like this.”

“Ooooh,” the kids chorused, some of them leaning forward like they were witnessing magic.

You stood off to the side, arms crossed, trying very hard to look composed and not like you were watching a rom-com scene play out in real time. Because Carmy? Flour dust on his hands, explaining things so gently, so patiently, even when the questions made zero sense? It was unfairly attractive.

“So the eggs go in the middle, and you start mixing with a fork—”

“What if you used a spoon?”

“Would it still work if it was peanut butter instead of eggs?”

“Could you make the dough into, like… animal shapes?”

“Do you have beef with Gordon Ramsay?”

Carmy was trying his best. “Okay, uh—no spoons, no peanut butter, yes to animal shapes, and… no comment on Gordon Ramsay.”

He cracked eggs into flour, mixed dough by hand, and passed around little pinches so the kids could feel it for themselves. He used terms like “emulsify” and “al dente,” then immediately explained them in fourth-grade-speak. He asked for volunteers to help him roll the dough out with a tiny pin you’d borrowed from the kithcen. He let one kid sprinkle flour on the surface with a flair that could only be described as “chef-in-training chaos.” Another student tried to twirl the noodles like he was doing a magic trick.

He was awkward, yes—but also patient, funny in that deadpan way that made the kids hang onto every word.

Somewhere around the rolling-out portion of the lesson, the door creaked open again—and in walked the kitchen staff from the cafeteria. Hairnets. Aprons. Pens and little spiral notebooks in hand.

“We heard there was a Michelin star in the building,” Shanae announced from the doorway, arms crossed over her cafeteria apron, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding. “We just wanted to, you know… take a peek.”

“If you need to boil it, Chef Carmy, you can use my pot,” Devin offered, already scribbling something in a little notepad like he was about to text his group chat immediately.

"Thank you, Chef," Carmy nodded at him with a polite smile, a little bashful now, and returned to cutting his dough.

As if that wasn’t enough, Mr. Johnson sauntered in not five minutes later, leaned against the back wall like he was in a speakeasy, and said, “You know, back in ‘92 I made lasagna so good the mayor cried. Just sayin’.”

He then turned and disappeared down the hall like a wizard of chaos, muttering something about gluten conspiracies.

You didn’t even blink. “Thank you, Mr. Johnson.”

Then, Melissa strolls in, coffee in hand and eyebrows already at maximum scepticism.

She paused in the doorway, scanning the flour-dusted counter, the students gathered around like Carmy was performing miracles, and Carmy himself—elbows deep in pasta dough.

She sipped her coffee as she stared at the pasta. “Wait, so… what’s your last name?”

Carmy glanced up, blinking like he’d been pulled out of a trance. He looked at Melissa, then at you, like he was checking to see if this was a trick question. “Uh… Berzatto.”

Melissa squinted. A beat passed.

“Huh,” she said, in a tone that somehow contained five different layers of meaning: vague suspicion, mild approval, distant familiarity, one raised red flag, and a complete personality assessment. “Makes sense.”

And just like that, she turned and walked off, heels clicking, coffee still steaming, not another word spoken.

Carmy blinked after her, then looked at you, deadpan. “Was that a threat?”

You shrugged. “Honestly? It’s better not to ask.”

“Right,” Carmy mumbled, brushing a bit of flour from his fingers before continuing like he hadn’t just been hit with a drive-by personality analysis from a woman with mob energy and perfect eyeliner.

He rolled back into the lesson with ease, walking the kids through shaping the dough into spaghetti strands.

“You want it thin, but not too thin,” he was saying, hands moving with a kind of gentle confidence that made even flour seem like it was cooperating out of respect. “If you can see through it, you’ve gone too far. Unless you’re making ravioli. But that’s… a whole different story.”

Meanwhile, you?

You couldn’t take your eyes off him.

Every time he explained something—how the gluten develops, why olive oil matters, the difference between done and perfect—you leaned in without realizing. Just a little. Drawn in, like the words were for you and only you.

And the worst part?

Sometimes he looked at you while he talked. Just little glances. Barely-there flickers. But each one lit you up like someone had turned on all the fairy lights inside your chest.

Your heart fluttered. Your cheeks hurt from smiling. Your brain? Fully composing a sonnet titled To the Man Making Spaghetti in My Classroom.

You were so, so doomed and just when your face was halfway to full heart-eyes emoji status, you remembered—

The cameras.

You blinked, snapped your head toward them, and straightened up like you hadn’t just been silently daydreaming about holding Carmy’s tattooed hand while wandering through a farmer’s market in the fall or about his hands elsewhere...

One cameraman raised an eyebrow.

You cleared your throat. Smiled. Gave a stiff little nod like everything is normal and fine and I am a professional adult woman.

The rest passed too quickly for your liking.

One second, he was explaining how flour and eggs became pasta, and the next he was handing off the fresh noodles to Devin who looked so starstruck you half-expected him to ask for an autograph, but instead, he just took the dough reverently, muttering, “I got you, Chef,”

While Devin handled the boiling, Carmy fielded more questions, bouncing between wide-eyed children and genuinely curious adults.

One kid asked if he ever cried over burnt toast.

“Only once,” Carmy replied. “It was a really good piece of bread.”

Another asked if he’d ever cooked for a king.

“Not officially,” he said, glancing at you with a quick smirk that made your heart do a cartwheel. “But I’ve cooked for people who matter.”

The kitchen staff and at least one substitute from down the hall— all threw out questions about risotto techniques, braising, and how he gets his red sauce just right.

He pulled out a small pan he’d brought, explaining how to build a sauce from scratch—olive oil, garlic, a little tomato, basil. Simple, but the room smelled like heaven. The adults were wide-eyed. The kids were openly drooling. You might’ve been, too.

He offered tiny sample spoons as he stirred, like it was the most natural thing in the world to casually do a cooking demo in a public school classroom. And when Devin returned with the perfectly cooked pasta��because of course it was perfect—Carmy tossed it with the sauce and started plating like it was no big deal.

Little paper bowls. Plastic forks. A sprinkle of cheese. And just like that, he was handing out servings of handmade pasta to a group of nine-year-olds and the adults like they were at some five-star tasting event.

You got a plate, too and the second you took a bite, you nearly sat down.

It was so good—like warm, rich, made-with-love kind of good. Like maybe he put his entire soul into the sauce and also possibly his feelings for you kind of good. You blinked up at him, genuinely speechless for the first time all day.

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

You nodded, slow. “I hate you a little bit.”

He chuckled. “I’ll take that.”

And yeah, you were so, so gone.

The kids were still buzzing as they lined up to leave, chattering about pasta like it was the greatest invention since slime. A few waved wildly at Carmy on their way out, and others whispered to each other like they’d just met a celebrity—which, honestly, they kind of had to and Carmy gave them a small, slightly awkward wave back.

“Miss,” one whispered as they passed you, eyes wide with hope, “can Chef Carmy come back next week?”

You smiled, warm and fond. “We’ll see.”

When the last of them filed out and the door finally clicked shut, the room fell into a warm, quiet hum—sunlight filtering through the windows, flour still dusted on the counter, the lingering scent of garlic and tomato hanging in the air like some kind of cozy spell.

You turned, and there he was.

Carmy stood at the table he’d used, wiping it down with a damp towel, sleeves still rolled to his forearms, curls a little wild after an hour of navigating the adorable storm that was your classroom. He looked… calm. Settled.

“Hey,” you said, a little sing-songy as you stopped beside him. “Chef of the Year. You did it.”

He glanced up, met your eyes with a crooked smile. “Hey.”

“I just wanted to say thank you,” you said, lowering your voice just a bit. “Like, really—you didn’t just show up, you… you were brilliant, Carmy.”

He let out a breath that was half-laugh, half something more complicated. “I was wingin’ it the whole time.”

“Well,” you said with a smile, “you wing things very charmingly.”

His eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than strictly necessary. “You made it easier.”

The words landed between you like something delicate and important. You swallowed, heart doing that tight, fluttery thing again—the one that always showed up whenever he looked at you like that.

You tried to recover, tossing the moment a wink and a grin just to keep yourself grounded. “So does that mean you’re open to a regular Thursday guest chef gig?”

He smirked, low and lopsided. Shook his head like he couldn’t believe you—but not in a bad way. “I don’t know if I’m built for the fourth grade attention span.”

“They were obsessed with you,” you said matter-of-factly, crossing your arms and stepping just a little closer.

“They were obsessed with the pasta.”

You tilted your head, eyes twinkling. “It wouldn’t be hard for it to be both.”

That made him pause. Just long enough for the tension to hum again, low and warm.

He looked at you like he was trying to read between your words. Like he wasn’t quite sure if you meant it the way it sounded—but hoping you did.

A beat passed. You held his gaze, smile softening just slightly. Just enough.

And then he looked down—at your shoes, the floor, literally anything else that wasn’t your face—and cleared his throat. “I should… probably get going.”

“Right. Yeah.” You brushed past him to grab a tray, your shoulder just barely bumping his as you passed. “See you around, Carmy Next Door.”

If he froze for half a second—well, that was between him and the classroom air that had suddenly grown suspiciously warmer.

You kept your back to him, pretending to busy yourself with stacking paper plates while absolutely listening for every move behind you.

A minute later, he was at the door, bag slung over one shoulder, hand on the knob.

“Yeah, see you around,” he said, almost too casually.

You turned toward him, giving him a smile that was part “Thank you, again.”

He nodded but didn’t move. Just stood there and after a pause he cleared his throat, glanced down, then back up at you—like he was in the middle of a conversation with himself and currently losing.

“Hey—” he started, then stopped, his jaw clenching just slightly. “Would it be weird if I…”

You raised your brows, trying not to let the hope leak into your smile. “If you what?”

He shifted his weight, ran a hand through his curls. “If I asked you to dinner.”

You tilted your head, giving him your best faux-casual sass. “Like a date?”

“Yeah. Like a date.” He gave the tiniest nod, just enough

You didn’t even hesitate. “Took you long enough.”

His mouth curved into the softest smile you’d seen from him all day—like it caught him off guard like it made something inside him loosen.

“So that’s a yes?” he asked, voice quiet.

“It’s a yes,” you said, and damn, you didn’t even try to hide your smile this time.

He opened the door, then turned back one last time. “I’ll text you.”

“You better,” you said. “You owe me pasta without a classroom audience.”

He laughed under his breath, then stepped out, the door clicking softly behind him.

You stood there for a moment, alone in the quiet hum of the classroom, heart fluttering like you were seventeen and just got asked to prom. Which, honestly… wasn’t that far off.

You let out a breath, tried to pull yourself together, and failed—because your face still hurt from smiling and your brain was very much replaying every single second in high-definition slow motion.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted it, the cameras.

Still rolling.

“Told you it was a matter of time,” you said, voice smug and giddy. Then you added, dead serious: “Also—if you zoomed in on me blushing again, we’re fighting.”

Cut to black.

A/N: Helloooooo. How is everyone!?? Okay first I want to apolagize that it took me so long to publish this part, lots going on rn, second, I thank you all for the support, for those likes, commentsss and shares ❤️ Like its crazyyyy.

Be safe out there 🫶 Tell me if you would like to get tagged.

Tags:

@hiitsmebbygrl16 @urthem00n @svzwriting29 @tyferbebe @akornsworld @khxna @ruthyalva96 @beingalive1 @darkestbeforethedawn16 @turtle-cant-communicate spideybv28 veryberryjelly @daisy-the-quake leilanixx softpia cosmix-stxrs the-disaster-in-waiting memoriesat30 emerald-jade1 sabrina-carpenter-stan-account ateliefloresdaprimavera theflowerswillbloom blairfox04 nicksolemnlyswears stardream14 notme22sblog mattm1964 maddeningmentalmess isla-finke-blog literature-nerd-blossom starberryhorse hipsternerd9 landpiranha-blog miarabanana everywherenothere just-soft-things1 blue-4-raven rockyeatrock this--is--music lettucel0ver chayceschultz silas-aeiou alexxavicry

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto fanfiction #abbott elementary #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader smut #mikey berzatto #abbott elementary x reader #janine teagues #ava coleman #melissa schemmenti #barbara howard #gregory eddie

632 notes · View notes

cutebat · 11 months ago

Text

You know what, fuck it. I'm going to write my own neglectful yandere batfamily cause everyone else is doing it, but I'm going to do it in a different way.

Yandere Batfam x Neglected, but Defiant Reader

Prologue (Diary Entry)

Warning(s): Mentions of yandere themes, neglect, emotional abuse, mentions of physical abuse, forcing to drop out, attempted guilt tripping, reader is just venting out her feelings

(I made this in the reader's POV to make the whole 'diary entry' thing more sense.)

~~~~~

July 22, 2024

It's funny when someone tells their story.

Only to be told back that it's unrealistic.

Almost as if they're afraid to believe it's real...

Oh, God, that sounded dark.

~~~~~

For everyone who doesn't know,

Bruce is a billionaire who's also a shitty dad

Dick is a dick, like actually

Jason uses his trauma to let all his frustrations on me

Tim is a delusional bitch

Cass was okay until she knocked me to the ground

Damian is just a thing who you want to burn to ashes

Alfred... I guess is just Alfred

~~~~~

I was basically raised as what people would call a 'black sheep'. Kind of like... actually, I don't need to explain all that.

Basically, I was adopted by the infamous Bruce Wayne when I was ten for whatever reason. After the first day of living with him and the family and giving me the new role of Batgirl, everyone just pretended as if I didn't exist.

I tried to interact with every one of them and all I got were "sorry, can't talk right now" and "can you shut up".

Like, WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO TO THEM?!

Is it because I'm prettier than all of them and had barely any trauma in my past? Seriously, why are people so jealous about these kinds of things?

Bruce really signed all that paperwork for nothing.

Of course, my little ten year old brain would think that if I tried to impress all of them with what I could do, maybe I could gain their attention.

So by the time I was twelve with my ten year old mindset goal in my head, I did nine different after school activities, won over fifteen awards for my achievements, and went out to patrol at least six nights a week.

And none of that worked! Those fuckers wouldn't even spare me a glance!

~~~~~

After a while, you don't see a point in trying your best.

I dropped out of most of the clubs I regret joining, I just laid back in my classes, and most of all...

I quit being Batgirl.

I didn't want to, but like I said, where's the point in that?

So with that, I just gave up on everything and just... stopped trying.

~~~~~

But then one year all of that almost changed?

For the first time ever, I found myself suddenly really pretty, and after a month I entered eighth grade, I was suddenly asked out by one guy, then two, and all the way up to ten!

It was like really cool!

The popular girls became my best friends, more guys would ask me out, and the teachers started pointing out that I was their favorite student, even the ones who weren't my teachers.

It felt like I was on top of everything. That I was special. The world is revolving around me.

Finally, I was in a place to build a great reputation.

And then life was like FUCK THAT!

~~~~~

After the first semester of eighth grade, Bruce was weirdly in my room and he said wanted to have a 'talk' with me.

So, during this talk, he was basically talking about the last three years of me being neglected by him and his family. To be honest, I forgot everything he told me, but honestly, I don't really care.

He also told the others about all this and now they suddenly feel bad which I don't give a shit about. But, I knew he was doing all this to guilt trip me, which was honestly so stupid.

Now, after he dropped that bomb, he told me that I had to drop out of school to do some "bonding time" with the others along with him and the people who actually cared about me didn't really matter at all!

I JUST GOT SETTLED IN!

All I said was "FUCK YOU" and just stormed out of my room with the only thing that I took was my diary that I had for quite a while that I never used before.

~~~~~

So, yeah. I'm currently in the attic, venting my feelings all out on this stupid glitter diary with a random pen that I found on the ground.

But whatever.

It doesn't matter.

Nothing matters...

My life is just a game.

A sick, hopeless game.

#yandere #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #batfam #batfamily #yandere x reader #yandere platonic #neglected reader #platonic #yandere dc

1K notes · View notes

weirdero · 5 months ago

Text

I’ve seen a lot of people speculating that Gemma’s storyline will lead to a cloning reveal, which like, it’s a decent theory and wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. But god, this show is so specific and detail oriented Ben Stiller himself has even said nothing in the show is a coincidence. The cloning theory has also been shut down a couple times by some producers and writes from what I understand and idk I feel like a cloning reveal would just be so boring. And honestly, I don’t know if this is insane, but I’m fully leaning towards the idea that when it comes to Ms. Casey/Gemma, it’s more of a resurrection situation.

Okay so hear me out I believe our Ms. Casey is still physically Gemma her original body, her bones, her blood she’s alive baby that’s her but like also it’s not her. It’s like in horror or fantasy stories when a character dies and comes back but comes back wrong YK?. Physically it’s still them but it’s not them. In my opinion, her brain has been completely reset, wiping away whatever kind of person she used to be.

To back this theory I’ve been heavily leaning on the interaction between Ms. Cobel and Helena in the parking lot and just the general existence of the Mammalian Nurturable department.

Now, I might be reading into this too much, but I just love these characters so much and this show so please bear with me, this is a long one.

this season Harmony/Ms. Cobel is a problem. Like there is just no way she isn’t. Lumon is already struggling to keep it together after the scandal the main four caused, and a change in management isn’t helping. People are (probably) starting to pay attention, and they do not need that kind of heat. Ms. Cobel literally crashing tf out making herself homeless and sneaking around in the dark probably isn’t helping.

Helena’s choice of words have always stood out to me. She’s calculated, smart, and precise in how she speak just like Harmony. Both of them are masters at saying exactly what they need to without ever outright saying it yk? So when she she spots Cobel in the parking lot in the middle of the night she clocks her immediately.

Harmony walks out as if she still has a job in that bitch and has the audacity to tell Helena what her needs are and exactly how they should be met. And in my opinion, Helena is appalled but not surprised. She calls her out on her behavior.

“I hear ego, hubris, and arrogance. Kier teaches us they only cause pain.”

To me, this isn’t just a read it’s a warning. Harmony doesn’t take it. She bites back, calling Helena a NEPOTISM BABY. wild.

And I mean look at Helena’s face.

So Helena lays it out for her as plainly as possible

“We didn’t have to ask you back.”

No translation even needed, she just said it flat out Baby, we don’t need you here. You do not, no matter what you think, represent us. You are not Lumon.

And Harmony, being just as cunty clocks her shit right back

“You didn’t have a choice.”

At this point, Ms. Cobel isn’t just skating on thin ice she’s walking across a frozen lake in metal combat boots, her ass skipping around as if the ice won’t break. And that’s her mistake.

Helena, after giving Harmony multiple chances to walk away. Multiple chances to come back in on lumons terms. Multiple chances to stop playing in her fucking face, finally pulls back with a kind smile and offers her a chance to “restart”.

As they walk towards the car, Ms. Cobel locks eyes with Helena’s bodyguard and the instant terror is actually insane. Full deer in headlights.

A lot of people saw that shot and took it as a straight-up Sopranos esque death threat like, if she gets in that car, she’s not gonna survive the drive (RIP Audriana). And sure, it could be as simple as that, but this show is just way too good for it to be that simple.

I think Cobel recognizes the bodyguard. She knows him and I mean like fr knows him.

I saw a theory on Reddit suggesting that the bodyguard might be someone she knew maybe a former coworker, someone from her personal life (they suggested it could’ve been someone she was super close with before she even became the woman we know today) idk just somebody she knows knows and out of nowhere suddenly, he’s here, presented as Helena’s bodyguard. But it’s not him. It’s his skin, his bones, his blood but it’s not HIM.

And the way it plays out, it doesn’t seem like the bodyguard recognizes her at least not in the same way she knows him. That stare man that stare. I didn’t even know Harmony could experience fear. Who knows, maybe in that moment she’s reflecting on everything that’s happened. She bitched out the boss’s daughter in this empty ass parking lot on the brink of a mental break down, and suddenly there’s a chance to start over. All she has to do is get in that car, with that man, talk to the higher-ups, and hit the “reset” button.

Basically my theory is that Lumon are essentially grave robbing the fuck out of that town. Taking people who have been in serious accidents car crashes, house fires, construction site falls, factory explosion, hell even a drive by. I also think they’re also taking drug addicts, the homeless people who have no loved ones looking out for them, or even looking for them at all, the ones who are confirmed to be gone in every way, physically or emotionally. They’re taking these people and giving them a full system reset rebooting the computer.

By doing this, Lumon gets to create a free labor force that works 24/7 without question or resistance, exploiting people who have no emotional ties or support systems. Blank slate baby! They’re also using these individuals as test subjects for whatever weird shit they wanna launch out as a new product.

This helps explain a lot of the weird shit going on with the employees at Mammalian Nurturable. They look so rough and are also really off-putting towards outsiders. Which is understandable but I genuinely believe they haven’t even “clocked out” in days, if not ever.

Even though this theory makes the most sense to me, It still has its plot holes like if Gemma isn’t a clone and it’s her “resurrected” where does she go when she’s not her innie. In Season 1, she tells Mark she’s only conscious as her innie for a couple of minutes at a time, and the longest she’s ever stayed “alive” was the 8 hours she spent with his department. So where tf is she if not there as Ms Casey i don’t know man I do not know.

Anyways I have some other general curiosities about the town itself and why Lumon decided to build their main building there. I saw a TikTok video of someone saying it reminded them of company-built towns like Hershey Pennsylvania or Kodak Town, and I agree. Anywho I love this show so much it hurts I hope it never dies I literally missed having an obsession this intense I hope it gets all the love and awards it deserves!!

#severance #severance season 2 #helena eagan #helly r #harmony cobel #ms casey #Gemma/ms Casey

416 notes · View notes

cheriladycl01 · 8 months ago

Text

Kinktober 18/10/2024 Max Verstappen - Mutual Masturbation

Plot: You and Max too tired to actually do anything, decide that mutual masturbation is the way to go after a tricky race weekend.

Warnings: Kinktober, SMUT, mutual masturbation, fingering, handjob, 18+ Minors DNI

You and Max were a very clingy couple, it was rarer to see you not at a race weekend than to see you at one. You were always there supporting Max and cheering him on, and for the most part you guys had loads of energy interacting with fans and being helpful to the team.

However triple-headers normally took it out of you both, especially ones where it was far travel in between and maybe some time zone difference.

But you always supported Max.

You were there though his highest highs and his lowest lows and that just so happened to be today. A very low low. It was Max worst performance in his career. There wasn’t great communication, the car didn’t feel right and Max had struggled the whole race, not moving up any places from his Qualifying Result of P11.

He’d gotten no points, and ended up behind Yuki Tsunoda who’d defended from him brilliantly for the entire race.

When Max came out, after driving the car for 2 hours and all of the media commitments and team jobs he had to conduct afterwards you both got on his private jet pretty done with the day.

You got home to Monaco, and you were both really silent which was kinda rare for Max. Despite what most people think this man can talk for hours, especially to you when you are such a good listening and love the sound of his husky and burnt sort of voice when he spoke both English and Dutch.

You guys had a routine that was never changed no matter how tired you guys were once you got back from a race weekend.

Step one: Get the cases into the house.

Step two Part A: Max separates clean from dirty into piles

Step two Part B: You take the shoes and toiletries and dish them out to where they need to go.

Step three Part A: Max puts a wash on

Step three Part B: You take the clean clothes up and hang them in the wardrobe or fold into draws.

Step four Part A: Max hoovers, Jimmy and Sassy, and then your British Shorthair Lila have all been there moulting in the summer heat.

Step four Part B: You wash out the cat bowls and place down new food

Step five: Make dinner together

And that was how you always did it. You always each took those chores and got on with them. Usually you spoke to each other across the apartment while you were doing it but this time a comfortable silence was with you apart from the cat interruptions every now and then.

After that you guys let the dishes in the sink before alternating showering and getting ready for bed. You both climbed into the fresh bed with the nice sheets rather than the hotel sheets that regardless of the hotel rating always seemed to make you feel kind of odd.

Usually at this stage Max would turn on a film before fucking you into the bed, you clutching into the pillow that your face is smushed against while he thrusts in and out of you deeply.

But tonight with how silent the pair of you were it was obvious neither of you had the energy to fully commit to that.

“Schatz…” he says softly and you look away from the film he’d just put on opposite you bed, a classic you’d watched many times that was sort of just background noise.

“Mmmmmm? What is it?” You smile at him kindly, pulling the quilt up around you some more.

“Well, I just thought that maybe we could relieve some tension” he says still just as softly, a quiet hint to his voice. You almost groan not having the energy to get in top and ride him, which usually happened after these race weekends as his legs, back and arms were physically just as tired as his mind was.

“Argh baby not tonight … I know usually I’m more energetic but I can’t tonight” you say looking at him with a guilty look and he turns away with a flushed and embarrassed look on his face.

“Oh- okay” he says nodding and tucking the cover over him.

You guys sit and watch the film, you lean into him his arm loosely coming behind you as you naturally pulls yourself in closer to him. After the day of silence it was nice just embracing one another in bed.

“Hey I’m sorry I just have no energy tonight it’s not you” you say reaching out to hold his hand that’s above the blanket but knock against something hard causing him to moan out.

You lightly pull the covers away seeing him rock solid underneath. He tries to pull the covers back up, but your grip is strong.

“Max baby why didn’t you say” you try to stifle your laugh.

“Because your not in the mood and we’re both too tired” he sighs pressing his legs together and trying to alleviate the growing need down low.

“How about something else baby, it won’t take up too much energy from either of us” you whisper helping him pull his boxers down seeing his whole dick spring up and slap his bear stomach. He moans as the cold air hits him and you use your hand going up and down.

“Ah ah ah” he moans.

“Now you take over baby” you say and he does taking himself in his hand. Your hand goes into your underwear teasing your clit the way you knew you liked. Your fingers rub against that nub and you moan.

“Fuck Max” you moan and look to your left to look at him only to see him already looking at you. His eyes travel from your eyes down to where your fingers enter your dripping wet core.

You reach out a hand as you hear the fapping sound that Max is making with his fist tightening around his length and going quicker the more you moan.

“So pretty Schatz, fuck lemme see pull them panties off” he groans and you do as your told pulling them off and chucking them to the end of the bed. You spread your legs show Max your fingers thrusting in and out, a scissoring motion as you feel the spongey wall. You free hand reaches out gripping Max thighs as your mouth drops open, you repeating his name as you can feel the coil build up further and further.

His free hand reaches down and starts to rub circles on your clit as he tightens his grip on his own dick going faster than before.

“Fuck Schatz, such a good idea” he moans as before you know it he’s cumming, the stream hitting his lower stomach as his hips lightly lurch up. You cum shortly after him, the release making you relax back into the pillows.

“I think that should be our new go too” he groans, taking tissue from the bedside table cleaning himself up.

“When we’re tired?” You ask with a nod.

“Whenever, that was really hot” he smiles before pulling you into a kiss.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

590 notes · View notes

ghostgirl101 · 3 months ago

Text

Poppy Playtime Bigger Bodies (Antagonists) x You || General HCS

...if you were an orphan left mysteriously alive in the factory.

A/N: Aka you being protected by every bigger body brother sister significant mother huggable plush dog cat dough boy in the factory. 😀 also random note but I'd love to hear theories about chapter 5 coming out next year, I'm already ready for it lol, I think I heard its gonna be the last and there's gonna be multiple endings and I'm 100% down for all of it

Sidenote: These headcanons aren't gonna be massively romantic or anything just because they're trapped childrennnnn in animal plush forrrrms and idk writing that ifykwimeaaannn 😺someone freakier than me might attempt to tho lmao also I didn't manage to include Ms Delight in this one, I'm sorry, but girl gave me nightmares for a straight week 😭

CATNAP?

🐾 • Basically never says a word. Kitty's always staring in the back with those big, blank white eyes and gaping grin, looming over everything, lurking in red shadows. Don't think he's not always watching you, because he is. Everywhere. Anywhere. He knows.

🐾 • If you happened to know Catnap before "Catnap" and as Theodore Grambell, there are just two things to know. Don't ever call him by his real name. And don't ever leave him.

🐾 • Cat might actually, very, very slightly be tempted to question the almighty Prototype's intentions if and when he ever demands Catnap fetch you for them for a "discussion of sorts."

🐾 • Get used to being flung up onto his back at random points of the day or night to stalk around the factory levels with him. And also get used to the red mist, because if he thinks you need sleep, then you're gonna get sleep.

🐾 • He'll only stop when he realises that you get the nightmares too. That's how you'll know he cares. In his own ways.

🐾 • And if The Player tries to interact or find you in the factory, Catnap will actually scrap his love for a cat and mouse game with them, and go straight for the kill. And there's no death screen for this one.

🐾 • He's pobably one of the most protective out of all the Bigger Bodies surrounding you in Playtime factory. He won't let you go anywhere near the train, or the main ground floor where the entrance and exit are. It's been bolted and secured by The Prototype itself, and Huggy's another willing blockade to any attempted escapes.

🐾 • I'm rambling about the others now, so let's move on to them-

DOEY?

🍭 • Let me first state (for the very obvious fact, but in case you didn't know lol) that Doey the Doughman is infact multiple mans. Three. And more boys than men- we have Kevin, the "problem child" that has an uncontrolled temper, glaring scowl on his features, and the loudest voice. We've got poor Jack, the victim of falling into literal molten dough as a child, who just wants his mum and brings out the pure blue sadness in the mix. And Matt just tries to keep everyone together as a "dream child," being the most thoughtful and caring of the bunch. So that's that.

🍭 • I feel like out of all of them, Jack would barely say a word, probably still completely traumatised by everything and numbed in pain mentally and physically to end up like a bit of a blank, unresponsive slate. But if you give him time, and maybe a few hugs, he'll soften out of his shell in his own way, and will naturally just follow after you wherever and whenever he can in the factory, even giving the other boys a bit of a tug in your direction when they're fighting for control.

🍭 • Kevin wouldn't give the boys a tug, he would physically lunge and shove against Matt's gentleness to do as he wanted, or to speak to you himself. It would be a miracle for anyone to calm him down, and if it's not Matt getting in at just the right time, it'd be you.

🍭 • Matt's a complete gentle giant in every way, and so you and he would be a dream team in helping keep up the safe haven and a sense of order amongst the others. You'd probably see him asking you for guidance and leadership after a little while too, after he's done it almost completely alone up to this point.

🍭 • All three of them would gang up in an instant to defend or protect you, no questions asked, working in perfect harmony. Just like how brutal the fight with The Player ended up being, but heightened to an extreme, because here, there's no mental or physical conflict in their motives, there's just the raw instinct of protecting their own.

HUGGY?

🧸 • Big surprise - or maybe not - that he's probably one of the softest of the bunch when it comes to you and your protection. He would absolutely steal Catnap's move of just randomly scooping you up to wander around or play in the Game Station, except you'd be carried around on his shoulder for most of the time.

🧸 • He'll play whatever game you want with you, when he's not on surveillance for intruders. Tag or It can be mildly stressful with him though, just because, he will absolutely chase the hell after you until he's knocked you off your balance and into the air- "Huggy it's just a game 😭"

🧸 • The Prototype put Huggy Wuggy in charge of securing the main entrance and level of the factory, and so he takes it completely seriously. If The Player's on the hunt to find you, they'll have to get through Huggy first. He'll be raging, screeching the whole end scene of Chapter 4, because he saw you talk to The Player.

🧸 • Very much like a golden retriever one moment and then a guard dog with snapping teeth and dead eyes the next.

MOMMY LONG LEGS?

💗ྀི • This woman is INSANE 😭 😭 like whattt girl calm down just cus Catnap was giving us a ride around the Navigation Room we aren't gonna fall off and "smash into tiny bloodied pieces," if you keep poking at the Cat he's actually going to twist one of your pink arms off-

💗ྀི • Very protective. Insanely, 24/7, obsessively so. Every other child left her to die but one, so if you go anywhere near the main ground floor or the train, get ready for a momentary mental collapse until The Prototype itself has to threaten her nerves to get her to back off a bit

💗ྀི • She can actually be a nice presence to be around if you're missing your parents or family or anything you had to give up to live in hell underground, because she's motherly to the max and will treat you like you're four and can't do anything for yourself even though you most certainly are not four, and haven't been for some time

💗ྀི • Anyone she doesn't think is protecting and watchiing over you enough on the rare occasions that you're out of her reach is gonna risk being webbed up as a corpse somewhere around the factory, just as a warning sign. She has to teach her lessons, after all.

HARLEY SAWYER?

👁️ • This guy's an absolute bitch. In every way possible.

👁️ • He'll keep you around, not because The Prototype commands it, but either because you're either (1) his child somehow - my condolences to you to have a dad who's basically the monsters inc eye in a box - or (2) you were an interesting and possible subject choice for a future test that never saw the light of day before the Hour Of Joy.

👁️ • He just has a weird obsession with you in some way, though not as strongly as The Prototype's mentality. Harley's still a psychopathic ass, so don't expect much soft treatment. Just a lot of eyes on the old, broken-down security cameras in the factory and a snarky remark whenever you come to check on him in the Doctor's Lair.

👁️ • It'd give him all the more reason to dissect The Player if he found they were trying to reach you somehow. "After my orphan, I see. How inspired. You'll save no one."

THE PROTOTYPE?

⚠︎ • The most protective 101/100 out of every single being left alive in the factory. It just goes about things in a different, "creative" way.

⚠︎ • Low-key borderline obsessed with everything about you and everything you represent in their mind. Whatever they're planning, it's for you. Poppy who?

⚠︎ • All the Bigger Bodies under his control have the sole job to follow him blindly, and to make sure you stay alive, unharmed, fed and watered, and nowhere near the exit. You're not going anywhere. Playtime birthed you, Playtime is you.

⚠︎ • It'll go after The Player in its own ways. Using Catnap and Mommy and Huggy and everyone else to beat them down, and then get The Player to watch the inevitable. That's what makes it sweet. "It's not about you."

⚠︎ • Not very soft or sweet at all, because... It's The Prototype. But it can take on many acts, like it did with Ollie, and you might've gone through the whole thing of thinking you were friends with someone else hidden in the factory that tells you they're always here for you, they love you, you look so pretty today! when it's actually The Prototype all along. Just don't expect it to admit to those same words in its usual tones.

And there we have it. Two hours ten mins of writing Poppy Playtime headcanons 😀 I'm now going to lie unconscious in bed for an appropriate amount of time, so thanks for reading.

#poppy playtime fanfic #poppy playtime headcanon #poppy playtime fandom #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime oc #catnap x reader #doey the doughman x reader #huggy wuggy x reader #poppy playtime fic #harley sawyer x reader #the prototype poppy playtime #leith pierre x reader

284 notes · View notes

bastardlybonkers · 3 months ago

Note

For ur hc, what do you think would happen for partners who are organic (e.g Crankcase) who don't have ports ect.?

now THAT is a question i hadnt thought about yet! in this hc, transformers would be sexually incompatible with organics so they wouldnt be able to have traditional 'sex', but that doesnt mean they cant be intimate!

notes under the cut

-false cables need to be charged and false ports do not, both can also be equipped with fun extra features (like auto insulant fluid or being made out of a material that insulates, or physical things like vibration and levels of charge). if the port has extra features, it can either be charged beforehand or the user can charge it themselves with their own charge

-wire stimulation is also very pleasant, and many organics like the feeling of pulling/caressing them, so its a pretty common method of tactile stimulation. the only danger is all the moving parts around the wires (though that danger is part of the fun for some couples)

-a cybertronians natural insulant fluid is not safe for most organics to ingest, but luckily, its activated manually. usually, their mouths are dry metal. this means theyre free to kiss their partners without getting them sick! unfortunately, if they ever want their organic partners to help apply insulant fluid, then they might run into a problem. luckily, since cybertronians have been interacting more with organic species, there is organic-safe insulant fluid for sale. however, that doesnt mean its safe for ALL organics- ingredients list must be consulted first

-its more difficult on the organic end, since cybertronians have plenty of ways to stimulate themselves. not that organics dont as well, but organics can be kinda, well. wet. mechanics and wet do not mix very well. cybertronians would be fine, but the chances of shocking a partner are very much not zero

-mutual masturbation/taking turns is pretty common in mech/organic relationships

-a lot of it would just be communication between partners and trial and error

when it comes to sparks...

-organics can actually touch sparks, but instead of feeling physical like it would to a cybertronian, they would instead pass through it and act as something of a conductor. this is because (in this hc) a cybertronians spark has an opposite polarity to their metal, which results in that 'suspension' look, and them being able to hold and touch sparks. an organic conducting the spark back into itself would actually be the closest thing they could get to 'traditional' sex for a cybertronian, since it would technically be a charge loop. it just so happens that displaying your spark is THE most intimate thing a cybertronian can do, and very, very few have reached this point with an organic partner, so while it would be the most pleasurable, its extremely uncommon

-organics cannot sparkmerge or sparkbond since they do not have a spark

-conducting spark energy would also be pleasurable for an organic, but should not be done for an extended period of time, as it can be dangerous. it would feel somewhat like a vibration throughout the entire body, resonating from the inside out

#transformers #maccadams #crankcase #cons4eva #noah diaz #mirage #miroah #valveplug #god i looooooove thinking about hypothetical robot intimacy #this is so fucking fun #i hadnt even touched on the sparkmerging shit before #mostly because i figure everyone already knows how that goes and i dont really have anything unique to add #but now i do! because organics!#my art

295 notes · View notes

vanessagillings · 1 year ago

Text

I’m posting the ever-so-rare photo of myself alongside one of my characters based on my childhood because today is World Autism Acceptance Day, and I wanted to show my little corner of the internet who this particular autistic person is:

I was officially diagnosed in February, at age 38 (I’m now 39). A lot of people thought I couldn’t be autistic. Some people who know me in real life still don’t. And until around 10 years ago, I didn’t think I could be either, because I was nothing like the stereotype media portrays. I was told that autistics lacked empathy (untrue), and never played make-believe (also often untrue) and only enjoyed STEM. I was — and am — an empathetic artist -- and make believe? I can spend days sketching finely bedecked bears brewing tea or carefully choosing the right words to weave tapestries of fiction — though perhaps my hyper focus was a bit of a red flag. Even so, how could autism describe me? I was a good student. I got straight A's. I didn’t act out in class. I can make eye contact…if I must. And lots of girls hate having their hair brushed with an unholy passion, right? Clearly I swim in sarcasm like a fish, so autism couldn't be why I was so anxious all the time, could it?

If someone had told me when I was younger what autism ACTUALLY is — instead of the nonsense I’d seen on screens — I would have seen myself in it. I didn’t hear that autistics have sensory issues until I was in my mid-twenties, which is when I first began to really research autism symptoms, and I had almost all of them: sensitivity to light, smells, fabrics, temperatures, textures, and certain touches, all of which make me feel anxious, I fidget (stim), I never know what the hell to do with my hands or where to look, I talk too little or too much, I have special interests, I have entire animated movies memorized shot-by-shot and can remember the first time and place I saw every movie I've ever seen but I often forget what I'm trying to say mid-sentence, I echo movies and tv shows (my husband and I have a whole repertoire of shared echolalias, making up about 20% of our conversations), I was in speech therapy as a kid, I have issues with dysnomia and verbal fluency, I toe-walk, I can't multitask to save my life, I like things just-so, I’m deeply introverted but not shy, I need to recover from all social interaction — even social interaction I enjoy — and I find stupid, every day things like grocery shopping, driving and making appointments overwhelming and intensely stressful, sometimes to the point where I struggle to speak. It turns out, I am definitely autistic. My results weren't borderline. Not even close. And while these aren’t all of my challenges, and not everyone with these symptoms is autistic, it’s definitely something to look into if you present with all of these things at once.

So why did it take me so long to get diagnosed? The same bias that exists in media threads through the medical community as well, and because I'm a woman who can discuss the weather while smiling on cue, few people thought I was worth looking into. Even after I was fairly certain I was autistic, receiving an official diagnosis in the US is unnecessarily difficult and expensive, and in my case, completely uncovered by my insurance. It cost me over $4000, and I could only afford it because my husband makes more money than I do as a freelance illustrator — a job I fell into largely because it didn’t require in-person work; like many autists, I have been chronically underemployed and underpaid, in part due to physical illness in my twenties, which is a topic for another day. But it shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t be so hard for adults to receive diagnoses and it shouldn’t be so hard for people to see themselves in this condition to begin with due to misinformation and stereotypes. Like many issues in America, these barriers are even higher for marginalized groups with multiple intersectionalities.

It’s commonly said that if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person. This is why it’s called a spectrum, not because there’s a linear progression of severity (someone who appears to have low support needs like myself might need more than it seems, and vice versa), but because every autistic person has their own strengths and weaknesses, challenges and experiences, opinions and needs. No two people on the spectrum present in the same way. And that’s a good thing! No way of being autistic is inherently any better than any other, and even if someone on the spectrum struggles with things I don’t — or can do things I can’t — doesn’t make them more or less deserving of respect and human dignity.

But speaking solely for myself, the more I learn about autism, the happier I am to be autistic. I struggle to find words and exert fine motor control, but my deep passion and fixation has made me good at art and storytelling anyway. I find more joy watching dogs and studying leaf shapes on my walks than most people do in an entire day. More often than not, the barriers I’ve faced weren’t due to my autism directly, but due to society being overly rigid about what it considers a valid way of existing. My hope in writing this today is that maybe one person will realize that autism isn’t what they thought — and that being different is not the same as being less than. My hope with my fiction is to give autistic children mirrors with which to see themselves, and everyone else windows through which to see us as we actually are.

If you’re interested in learning more about autism or think you might be autistic, too, I recommend the Autism Self Advocacy Network autisticadvocacy.org and the following books:

What I Mean When I Say I’m Autistic by Annie Kotowicz

We're Not Broken by Eric Garcia

Knowing Why edited by Elizabeth Bartmess

Unmasking Autism by Devon Price, PhD

Loud Hands edited by Julia Bascom

Neurotribes by Steve Silberman

(trigger warning: the last two contain quite a lot of upsetting material involving institutionalized child abuse, but I think it’s important for people to know how often autistic children were — and are — abused simply for being neurodivergent).

Thanks for reading 💛

#autism acceptance day #actually autistic

2K notes · View notes

selfloverrrrrr · 1 month ago

Note

Hiii can i please req yandere megumi corrupting innocent reader?😫😫 like reader is so helpless against gumi who’s like 2x bigger than her

Stealing?

Warnings : smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, Noncon, Kidnapping, physically and emotional abuse, biting, size difference, Yandere Megumi, protective, jealous, obsessive, manipulative....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

Y/N��s POV

College is… chaotic. The kind of chaos where I am constantly juggling assignments, and trying not to lose your mind from the pressure. I loved my friend circles as well. Nobara, the girl who always helps me out with my overthinkings. She's the best girl's girl I've ever know. Then yuji. She's such a sweet gut. Funny, sweet. He's too.... Well let's not talk about that now... Then Megumi. He’s always been there. Quiet, composed, eyes that say too much but lips that stay sealed. I always felt safe around him. He walks me to classes, waits when it’s dark, and steps in when some creepy guy tries to hit on me in the library.

“Hey, Y/N,” Nobara waved as she jogged over. “You coming to training?” she asked. “Yeah. I wanna catch up with Yuji and Megumi too.” I replied. Then after the training is done. We were walking towards our Campus again when we heard a whistle. Looked at the direction. Saw a guy of our campus looking at me *creepy*. He disgustingly signed for a blow job pointing towards his dick. And after that yuji was about to launch but Megumi was faster.

He grabbed that guy's neck with one hand and pushed him to the wall. We all gasped. "Look at her again you'll know what the hell looks like in seconds" Megumi muttered. The guy was struggling to breathe. One of that guy's friends came to save. But when he tried to reach megumi grabbed his hand with his other hand and twisted it. He screamed in pain. "Megumi let him go... He'll die" I said. "Yes that's enough don't be too rough... If does this again we'll see... Let him go now" Yuji said and Nobara nodded.

Megumi finally let them go and they ran gasping for air. "I didn't know Megumi's like that.... I mean he seems like a silent guy" I whispered to Nobara. "He is like this actually... He used to beat up guys in high school who used to bother him. The whole school used to fear him" Nobara whispered back. I gave her a shocked look. "Yes... This emo isn't that emo you think he is" She whispered and laughed.

Megumi’s POV. Few days later.

It was too early for training today. Yuji was half-asleep, drooling on my shoulder. I didn’t have the heart to push him off—not that he’d wake up anyway. We were waiting for the others to show up for technique sparring, but my mind was far from training. Y/N walked by. Her hair tied in a loose ponytail. Hoodie too big. Laughing softly at something Nobara said. She didn’t even notice what she does to me.

She never notices how I follow her when she’s walking alone at night to make sure she’s safe. How I memorize every outfit she wears, every guy she speaks to, every look she gives. She’s mine. She just doesn’t know it yet. "You're drooling, idiot," I muttered to Yuji, but he didn’t even twitch. Suddenly, I felt it—a shift in energy. The lazy weight on my shoulder grew tense. A low chuckle slithered into my ear like venom.

"I know... She's hot." I snapped my head. Yuji was no longer Yuji. Sukuna. He was smirking. "Get the fuck out," I hissed. “Relax, kid. I just wanted to say… you’ve got taste. That girl—Y/N, right? Delicious little thing” Sukuna teased, eyes flicking to Y/N. "You do like her, don’t you? Don’t lie. I'm not an idiot like the rest of these dumbasses." He said. I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. He laughed again, voice low and dangerous. "You’re so quiet about it. Lurking like a shadow. But you haven’t done anything, have you? Haven’t even kissed her. Tch... pathetic."

"She’s my..........we're just friend." I said. "You sure Yuji sees her that way as well?" Sukuna leaned in. "You don’t know about their late-night chats? Every night, Megumi. While you're asleep like a good little guard dog, your best friend is texting your girl." He said. My heart dropped. "You're lying." I said. "Am I?" Sukuna grinned, devilish. "I'm stuck with this brat 24/7. I see everything. The way he blushes when she texts back. The way he types and deletes messages like a nervous virgin. And trust me, you really don’t wanna know what kind of things they talk about sometimes."

I clenched my jaw. Hard. "You're trying to get in my head." I replied. "Am I?" Sukuna echoed. "You think he’s innocent? He’s a teenage boy with zero filter and a pretty girl giving him attention. Do you think he’s just talking about school and cursed techniques?" I hated how my stomach turned. How something cold twisted in my chest.

"You’re pathetic, Megumi," Sukuna whispered like poison. "You sit and watch. Let him flirt. Let her laugh at his jokes. You protect her, worship her from afar… while someone else is inching into her bed....You’re weak, Fushiguro. You could have had her years ago. But now, you’re watching her slip through your fingers like a coward. What are you waiting for? For Yuji to stick his cock in her first?” he said.

“Shut up.” I almost screamed. My heart arched. “Take her. Mark her. Chain her to your fucking bed if you have to. She’s yours. Not his.” he said. “You’re insane.” I said but my heart didn't agree with my words. “No. I’m just honest. You think love is gentle? It’s possession. It’s war. She needs to learn that.” sukuna said. “You’re wasting time protecting her like she’s some princess,” Sukuna sneered. “She doesn’t need a knight. She needs a master. Someone who’ll show her who she belongs to. Who’ll make her kneel and learn.”

“That’s not—” “What’s stopping you?” Sukuna cut me off. “Your morals? Your cowardice? You think that’ll keep her from spreading her legs for someone else?” he asked. My heart pounded. “Face it,” Sukuna continued, voice slithering through my ear like poison. “You’re not gonna win her by being soft. You’re going to lose her. Unless you make her yours. Break her if you have to. Love like yours doesn’t need permission. It needs control.”

“You think she’ll hate you for it? Who cares? Let her hate you. Fear makes people loyal. Fear makes them yours" he said. And just then Yuji groaned and slowly opened his eyes, stretching like he hadn’t just been possessed by a monster. I didn’t say anything. My head was burning. I needed proof.

Later that afternoon, Nobara invited us to sit together outside the cafeteria. I pretended to scroll my phone, watching Y/N and Yuji across the table. Laughing. So close their knees touched. He leaned in to whisper something in her ear, and she giggled. I waited for her to leave her phone on the table when she went to grab a drink. Yuji had gone with her. The moment they were gone, I reached for her phone. Opened the chat. Scanned. My blood ran cold.

Yuji: “That little skirt you wore yesterday? You really trying to kill me?”

Y/N: “Haha stopppp.”

Yuji: “Not joking. If you wore that in my room, I don’t think I’d let you leave.”

Y/N: “You're bad.”

Yuji: “Wanna be worse?”

There was a photo. Yuji. Lying back in his dorm bed. Shirtless. Sweatpants low on his hips. His hand was clearly inside the waistband. I scrolled.

Yuji: “You thinking about me now?”

Y/N: “Maybe.”

Yuji: “What would you do if I pulled you into my lap right now?”

Y/N: “Depends. Would you let me go?”

Yuji: “Not a fucking chance.”

My grip tightened around her phone. My knuckles went white. Another photo. A mirror selfie this time—sweatpants again. No shirt. The message below it:

Yuji: “Imagine me behind you like this. My hand under that cute little shirt you wear to bed.”

And she replied?!

Y/N: “Flirt much,huh? 🤭”

Yuji: “it's you after all.”

I know they hadn’t done anything yet. But it was close. It was dangerous. He was pushing it, and she was letting him. She trusted me. She talked to me about books. Walked beside me in silence. Called me “calm in the chaos.” And all this time she was letting Yuji talk to her like this? “Make her yours… Fuck her before this brat puts his dick inside her…” Sukuna’s words echoed again, like a goddamn curse, coiling around my brain. I looked up. They were still at the vending machine. Laughing. His hand brushed her back like it was nothing. Like he owned her. But he didn’t. He never would.

As the cafeteria crowd thinned, I stood up. "Hey, Y/N," I said casually, stepping behind her chair. "Can I talk to you?" She turned to me, all innocent eyes and soft curiosity. "Yeah, of course. What’s up?" “Privately.” I said. She blinked, then nodded, grabbing her drink. “Sure.” she replied. "Can you please come to my droom.... I really need to tell you something" I said. "It's okay..... We can go now. I was about to go to my droom anyways" She replied. Good.

Y/n's pov

We walked to his droom room. He opened the door. "You first" He said. I went inside the he. He locked the door. "Yk your droom always smells good and-" I was saying and suddenly he grabbed my face and kissed me. Roughly. Too roughly that I almost couldn't breathe. My bag fell on the floor. He tried to push his tongue in my mouth but I kept it close. I pushed him away. "What are you doing?!?!" I said loudly.

He just looked at me. I can't even get outside he's standing in front of the door. He threw his bag on the floor. Still staring at me. I walked back. He's walking towards me. "Megumi stop!" I said panicking. "Now you're scared of me? After all these days I've protected you from everyone?" He asked. "Megumi what's wrong with you?!" I said. I didn't realize and my back the door behind me. I was trapped. "Everything is wrong with me" He said. Then he opened the door and pushed me inside.

"Wait... Megumi stop please!" I said. He didn't replied. He closed the door and threw me on the bed. "Take off your clothes" He said. A shiver runs through my spine. "........what?" I asked. "You want me to rip that off?" He asked. "Megumi I-" He cut me off again. "I see what it is" He said and went up the bed. I was scared and tried to back off but Megumi grabbed my top and pulled it over my head and threw it on the floor. "Megumi stop!" I screamed and tried to cover myself. "Should have think about it before flirting with Yuji" He said leaning close.

"M-Megumi stop this please!" I said. "You weren't saying this when yuji was flirting with you" He said leaning close and pressing his lips on mine. I tried to push him away but he was pulling me closer. His hand slid to my chest and squeezed it. My body jerked off. I turned my head to the left to prevent his kiss. But he started kissing and licking my neck and jaw.

I grabbed his hand to stop him but he squeezed harder. I screamed. "Megumi stop this!" I said. "You thought I won't know?" He asked. He licked downwards and captured a nipple in his mouth, sucking on it. I was trying to push him away. "Megumi stop!!!!" Screamed. He looked up. And pulled down my pants with panties using one hand while looking at me. "I had planned everything how you gonna be mine how everything's gonna work out until you decided to go to the wrong person" He said.

I was breathing heavily. "Please I won't do anything again please-" He cuts off "you think I'm dumb like Yuji?" He asked and took off his sweatpants. He wasn't wearing anything underneath. He was pinning me under him. I looked away. He grabbed my chin and made me look at him again. "Don't look away.... I've waited for this for days...." He said a smirk appeared on his face.

He lined himself with me. "Megumi please please don't do this... Please! I'm begging you! I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry please!" I begged. Tears appear in my eyes. But he didn't. He pushed inside. I threw my head back. My back arched. I can't.... I can't. It's too big. It's thick. It hurts. He jerked forward and he was fully inside. I screamed.

It's too much. I've never done this before! I don't want it. I didn't realize when I started crying. He started thrusting. "Fuck.... Mmmhhhh..... Ahhh.... Fuckkkk.... Feels good.... Too good.... Ughhhhhh" He said between groans and moans. He looked down and me smirking. "Don't worry you'll get used to it" He said. He kept thrusting.I scremed. He didn't even give me time to adjust his size and started thursting in and out roughly. I was throwing my legs from pain and begging him to stop. And he was liking it so much. His thrust became harder and harder. I clenched around him tightly and he moaned loudly " ughhhhhh....ahhh s-so...ahhhh....so f-fucking tight " he started rubbing my clit with his thumb.

I bite his shoulder scratched his back to control myself. With a few more thurst I came. He was still thrusting roughly. I felt his cock pulsing inside me. I tried to push him away with all of my strength." Ughh...no no no no...ahhhhhh...no please no....ahhhhhh..... n-not ahhhh.....not inside... please please.... please Megumi I'm begging you....you're not even using protection" I told him between hiccups. He grabbed my throat and chocked me down to the bed.

"Isn't that more fun?" He said calmly with a smirk. I couldn't even believe what was happening to me. How could Megumi do this to me. Weren't we good friends??? The boy always kept silent, so the innocent is doing the most devilish thing to me??!! Within a minute he came inside me I could feel his seed inside me. He pulled out.

"You are mine... You always have been! No one will take you away from me! I'll keep breaking you until you understand that I am the one for you" He said biting my lip.

Give me your requests guys....

I love when you give me your requests 💗

324 notes · View notes