#shy emma love
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Ethan Hunt. The living definition of ‘if I loved you less, I would talk about it more.’
Absolute love for Benji in every touch and look and action. Can he say a bloody word? Not at all. Just an occasional line hinting at it, then blushes and shuts up again.
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i get shy to comment on ao3 sometimes because i always get like cuteness overload and cringe about it but ive also consistently reread the astarion x bard reader series like 5+ times when i just want something sweet and funny... im subscribed and always excited for more and rotate it in my brain in the meantime :D
AW THANK YOU ANON!!!! I'm literally misty eyed over here 🥺
I'm SO GLAD that this series has become a sweet and silly getaway that MULTIPLE people like to revisit!! My goal has ALWAYS been to make people smile somehow, and I'm so overwhelmed with joy to know that I have successfully spread some happiness to a small corner of the internet :)
Seriously, thank you for this message, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed part 7!!!
#no seriously#i can barely see my computer screen on account of THE TEARS#THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU#i need to remember stuff like this when i'm having a down day#you guys are the best#anonymous#answered#thanks for the ask!#and i totally understand being shy#thank you for reaching out anyway!!!#i love you!!!!#beauty and the bard#emma blabs#mine#:)
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is no one talking about the weird doll on present day enid’s pillow
Lmaoooo her? That's just Son Hyeju. She's the Loona member I always portray to be Enid's favorite in my comics and fanarts


The dead eyes and triangle mouth is just how she's always drawn by herself or the other members. Chose her because she has many similarities to Wednesday and is considered the lonely Wolf among the girls in their music videos' connected storyline. (It's a very interesting and BONUS very canonically gay storyline, i used to make fanarts of it too-- sorry sorry)
Her appearance(NOT personality) was also the inspiration for Sora's design.



And it wasn't covered in the comics, but in the Meet the Addamses AU, since Enid can't use her actual name, she used the name "Olivia", which used to be Hyeju's stage name and the name of her character in their fictional lore.
#asks#i also personally love hyeju a lot so i may be projecting on enid#but hey emma herself said enid stans loona#hyeju just seems like the obvious choice for a favorite for me#since enid seems to very much like the shy and quiet types
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And as a side note it is fascinating to me how Austen consistently says if someone has completely impeccable social graces they are probably hiding something. I don't have an interpretation of this, I just think it's neat.
#like she has people who are close to charming and not hiding anything. like Lizzie!#but Lizzie is harsh and sometimes more mean than funny#Jane is lovely but she's considered too reserved and shy. Emma is also harsh and I mean consider box hill.#No one in Mansfield is charming on any level.#and I say that with so much love.#Marianne is too dramatic.#idk it is a regular trend that if someone seems completely on top of social behaviour. that is a Lie.
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youtube
so much to unpack here
#in hindsight it's funny emma joked about putting her in as the 9 for the game we got a cb brace#love that emma calls her em#“thought you were gonna say I'm gonna be warming up the whole time during all three”#“I'm shy and gentle”#the restraint she's trying to show makes this even funnier#“are you complementing my calmness” directly followed by clown noises really did it for me#“I'm alright I'm trying to quit” after being offered water so unserious#she was mad about that corner#advising casey to draw a yellow by going through lynn lmao#followed by shoulder charging lynn#nothing I love more than the soph and sonnett dynamic#rose worried everyones going to think they're bullying casey#show them your branches#she is so endearing and I can't explain it#Youtube
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i'm not tired, i'm exhausted
#my head is full of sooo many thoughts and i'm feeling way too many emotions right now#i struggled with my thesis today again after a few months break#yesterday a guy i'm kind of getting to know asked me a question that hit home when we were talking about the effects of past events#“'last time when cuddling and i gave you a kiss you tensed up completely for a sec. was that you being shy or being uncomfortable. '#i didn't even realise it and now i'm feeling extremely anxious about my subconscious acting out when i am in fact feeling comfortable#background: he knows my history of unpleasant events concerning intimacy/sex and he's very mindful about it yet challenges me in a good way#but now i am a mixture of extreme exhaustion experiencing high levels of fondness and yet feeling extremely agitated#and having constant minor flashbacks and i really don't know what to do or how to merely exist in this moment now#not going to bother anyone with this and my thoughts as they are having a good time and that also goes for the pretty nice guy i mentioned#so i'm on my own in my own company#maybe some music crying and ice cream straight from the tub would help haha#thank you for taking your time to read this mess love you and have a nice morning day or night#literally no one cares emma
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*pokes my head through the ceiling* hey does anyone have a chill discord server where I can come make friends in the Trigun fandom?
#just maybe#I would like to make friends#and yell about trigun#<333#trigun#trigun stampede#discord server#maybe please??#I am very smol and very shy#but I love people#ANYWAY#emma speaks
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Pocky Game! | Accepting!
@prodigiousvisions asked: funny you say that. ❤️ ALSO from barbatos
Honestly, she didn't think Barbatos would be interested in playing the Pocky game with her. Emma had given him a coy smile with one of the sticks in her mouth. He had looked a bit surprised at the offer, and the woman was about to turn away with a laugh and offer a stick of Pocky for him to eat, when he bit onto the other end. Now it was Emma's turn to look surprised.
But if anything, she wasn't a quitter. So she pressed forward, continuing to bite the other end of the stick. Their lips were almost touching now, and Emma wondered how Barbatos would feel if she actually kissed him. She went for it, finishing what was left of the stick between their mouths and meeting his lips. It was very quick and tentative, but when she pulled away her cheeks were very pink.
"... hehe, I won, Barb."
#prodigiousvisions#' fan mail! ' | asks#' the world of demons ; all i feel is love. ' | obey me#// emma: a little freaklet in bed#// also emma: shy and blushy during fluffy things#// the duality
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X-MEN x FEM!READER
X-Men with a S/O who is shy and has social anxiety
Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney & Wade Wilson
Logan Howlett (Wolverine)
- Logan is a storm, a hurricane contained in flesh and steel, and yet—he softens for you. You, who tread lightly in a world that feels too loud, too sharp. You, who flinch at attention, who hide behind the safety of silence. He doesn’t ask you to be louder. He just makes sure no one drowns you out.
- He has seen too much, lost too much, but your quiet presence is the one thing that stills the restless beast inside him. When your hands shake, he catches them in his own—warm, steady, calloused from wars you will never have to fight. He doesn’t say much, but then again, neither do you. That’s why it works.
- If someone mocks your silence, Logan doesn’t waste words. He just looks at them, eyes dark with something primal, something ancient. “You got somethin’ you wanna say?” His voice is quiet, but the threat is thunderous. No one ever says anything after that.
- When the world is too much, when your anxiety grips you in invisible chains, he pulls you close, his heartbeat steady against your ear. “Breathe, darlin’,” he mutters, voice rough but impossibly gentle. And you do—because he is an anchor, and he is yours.
- He does not call you fragile, though others might. Fragile things break—he has seen you bend, but never shatter. And when he kisses you, slow and reverent, he tastes the quiet fire in you, the one you don’t even know you have.
Remy LeBeau (Gambit)
- Remy is a poet wrapped in mischief, a man whose silver tongue could charm the moon from the sky. He has danced through danger, whispered promises into the night, but he has never met anyone who made him want to whisper softer, until you.
- Your shyness is a puzzle to him, one he doesn’t try to solve but simply admires. Where others fill silence with empty words, Remy listens. And when you struggle to find your own words, he waits. Because, chérie, he has all the time in the world for you.
- If someone tries to mock your quietness, Remy just laughs—low and slow, like he knows a secret they don’t. He leans in close to them, eyes glinting red beneath the shadows. “Funny, how the ones who talk the most tend to be the least important.” That shuts them up real fast.
- He makes it his mission to draw you out, but never forcefully. He teases, flirts, turns every interaction into a game where you always win. And when you finally laugh, finally let yourself meet his gaze without hesitation, he swears he falls in love all over again.
- When your anxiety flares, when your hands shake and words tangle, he just presses a kiss to your knuckles and murmurs, “Ain’t no rush, chérie. Take all the time you need.” And for the first time, you believe that maybe, just maybe, you are worth waiting for.
Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)
- Kurt understands the weight of being different. He has spent years learning to navigate a world that looks at him and sees something other. So when you shrink from the crowd, when your voice trembles in the presence of too many eyes, he does not judge. He understands.
- He never pushes you to be louder. Instead, he offers the comfort of his presence—always there, always patient. When you hesitate to speak, he smiles, waits, gives you all the time in the world. If words fail you, he speaks for you, in that gentle, accented voice that feels like home.
- If anyone ever mocks your quietness, his golden eyes darken. “Perhaps you should learn the virtue of silence yourself,” he says, voice as sharp as a blade. And then he vanishes in a cloud of smoke, reappearing behind them just to watch them jump.
- He finds ways to make you feel safe in a world that often feels too large. Holding your hand as you walk through crowds, teleporting you away when your anxiety becomes too much, whispering soft reassurances in German when you tremble.
- And when the night is quiet, when you curl up beside him and sigh against his chest, he holds you close, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Du bist perfekt, liebling,” he murmurs. Perfect, just as you are.
Scott Summers (Cyclops)
- Scott understands control—he has spent his entire life mastering it. But when he meets you, he realizes that not everything needs to be controlled. Some things—some people—are meant to be cherished exactly as they are.
- He notices the way you hesitate before speaking, the way your hands tremble when too many people look your way. And so, he makes sure no one ever forces you to be more than you are comfortable being. He does not push, does not pry. He simply stands beside you, unwavering.
- If someone dares to mock your shyness, his voice is like steel. “That’s enough.” No raised tone, no unnecessary anger—just quiet authority, a command that demands obedience. And it works. It always works.
- He is structure where you are uncertainty, certainty where you are hesitation. When your anxiety feels too heavy, he steadies you, an unshakable foundation in a world that feels like shifting sand.
- At night, when the world is still and you are curled up beside him, he presses a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to change for anyone,” he murmurs against your skin. And you know, in the deepest part of you, that he means it.
Jean Grey (Phoenix)
- Jean is warmth, is kindness, is the gentle strength of a woman who has walked through fire and emerged unburned. She sees you—not just the way the world sees you, but truly sees you, beneath the layers of hesitation and anxiety. And she loves you all the more for it.
- She never speaks for you, but she always makes sure you are heard. When you struggle to find words, she waits. When your anxiety tells you that your voice does not matter, she reminds you—gently, lovingly—that it does.
- If someone ever mocks your quietness, Jean does not raise her voice. She does not need to. She simply tilts her head, and the offender suddenly forgets why they were speaking in the first place. Perhaps it is telepathy. Perhaps it is the sheer force of her presence. Either way, they never make the mistake again.
- When your anxiety becomes overwhelming, Jean does not try to pull you from it. Instead, she grounds you, her presence like sunlight breaking through the storm. “Breathe with me,” she whispers, and when she exhales, you do too.
- At night, when you are tangled together in sheets and soft whispers, she runs her fingers through your hair and murmurs, “You don’t have to be louder to be strong.” And you believe her, because when she speaks, the universe itself listens.
Ororo Munroe (Storm)
- Ororo Munroe is power incarnate, a goddess who commands the skies, yet she never seeks to command you. She has seen tempests rage within the human heart, has seen the way the world can be unkind to those who walk softly. And so, she offers you shelter, the kind of protection that does not smother but instead allows you to breathe.
- She does not rush your words, does not fill the silence with unnecessary noise. Instead, she listens. Listens to the soft-spoken truths you dare to utter, listens to the way your heart speaks louder than your voice ever could. And she cherishes every syllable, every pause, because they are yours.
- If someone ever dares to mock your quietness, Ororo does not raise her voice. She does not need to. The sky darkens, the wind stills, and the world itself seems to wait for her judgment. “I would advise you to tread carefully,” she says, voice like distant thunder. And they do. They always do.
- When your anxiety threatens to drown you, when the world feels too heavy, she reminds you that even the most powerful storms must rest. She takes your hand and leads you outside, where the breeze is soft and the sky open. “Breathe with the wind, my love,” she murmurs. And you do. Because with her, you are safe.
- At night, when the world is quiet and you are curled beside her, she traces her fingers along your skin, like wind dancing across water. “You are strong,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Not because you are loud. Not because you are fearless. But because you are you.
Anna Marie (Rogue)
- Rogue understands isolation better than most. She knows what it is to feel like you don’t belong, to be wary of touch, of attention, of the weight of others’ expectations. So when you flinch from crowds, when your voice catches in your throat, she never judges. She just holds out her hand—gloved, patient, steady.
- She is fire and defiance, unbreakable and untamed, but for you, she softens. When you struggle to meet others’ eyes, she meets yours first, a silent reassurance that she is here. When your voice trembles, she makes sure no one talks over you. And if they do, well—she’s got a sharp tongue and a mean right hook.
- If anyone dares to mock your shyness, she doesn’t hesitate. “Y’know,” she drawls, tilting her head, “some of us don’t gotta be loud to be worth listenin’ to.” And then she smiles, slow and dangerous. “But I can be real loud if ya want.” They always back down.
- She helps you in ways you don’t even realize. Holding your hand when the room feels too big, leading conversations so you don’t have to, standing in front of you when the world demands too much. She makes space for you, without ever making you feel small.
- At the end of the day, when it’s just the two of you, she holds you close, her accent softer, her touch lighter. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ quiet, sugar,” she murmurs against your hair. And when she kisses you, you believe her.
Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)
- Erik Lehnsherr is a force of nature, a man who bends metal and willpower alike, yet with you—he is gentle. You, who speak in whispers where others shout. You, who hesitate where others rush forward. You are the only thing in his life that is not a battle, and that is something he treasures more than he can say.
- He does not ask you to be anything more than you are. In a world that demands strength in volume, he finds strength in your quiet presence. Where others might mistake your silence for weakness, he knows better. He knows that steel does not need to be loud to be unbreakable.
- If anyone mocks you, his fury is a quiet, smoldering thing. He does not need to raise his voice; he simply looks at them, and suddenly, their belt buckles tighten, their watches snap from their wrists. “I would choose your next words carefully,” he says. They never finish their sentence.
- He is protective, but never overbearing. If the world becomes too much, he removes you from it. A hand at the small of your back, a whispered promise—“You do not need to endure what pains you. I will handle it.” And he does. He always does.
- At night, when he lets himself be vulnerable, when the weight of the world slips from his shoulders, he turns to you. He traces your cheek, his voice softer than anyone else would believe. “You are perfect as you are,” he murmurs. “And I will destroy anyone who makes you feel otherwise.”
Charles Xavier (Professor X)
- Charles Xavier is a man who hears everything, who knows the weight of unspoken thoughts and unshed fears. And yet, he never intrudes upon your mind. He waits, patient, always willing to listen—but never demanding. Because he knows how precious it is to be given words freely.
- He notices the way your anxiety grips you, how you hesitate before speaking, how the world feels too large, too loud. And so, he makes space for you. In conversations, in gatherings, in life itself. He ensures you are never drowned out, never overlooked.
- If someone dares to belittle you, his response is quiet but absolute. “The strongest minds are often the most contemplative,” he says, his gaze steady, his presence commanding. And in that moment, the world seems to agree with him.
- He teaches you how to breathe through the panic, how to find stillness in chaos. When your hands shake, he takes them in his own, his touch steady, reassuring. “You are not alone,” he tells you, and with him, you believe it.
- When the night is dark and the silence is overwhelming, he pulls you close, his voice like a lullaby. “You are extraordinary,” he whispers against your hair. And with him, you know it to be true.
Emma Frost (The White Queen)
- Emma Frost is diamond—hard, unyielding, untouchable. And yet, with you, she is warmth where the world expects ice. She is silk where others expect steel. Because you, with your hesitant words and careful steps, are the one thing she allows herself to be soft for.
- She never forces you to speak, never pushes you into the spotlight. Instead, she makes sure no one overlooks you. If someone talks over you, she silences them with a single, perfectly arched brow. If someone underestimates you, she makes sure they regret it.
- If anyone mocks you, Emma doesn’t even blink. “How tragic,” she sighs, inspecting her nails. “Some people mistake volume for importance.” And then, with the barest hint of a smirk—“Would you like to forget how to speak entirely?” They never bother you again.
- When your anxiety is overwhelming, when the world feels too sharp, she takes your hand and leads you away. A quiet space, a soft touch, her voice low against your ear. “You do not have to fight every battle. Let me handle this.” And she does. With ruthless precision.
- At night, when it’s just the two of you, she presses a kiss to your forehead, her lips warm against your skin. “You don’t need to be anything but yourself,” she murmurs. And coming from Emma Frost, that is the highest form of love.
Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)
- Wanda is no stranger to feeling like she doesn’t belong, to feeling like the world does not know what to do with her presence. So when she meets you—quiet, hesitant, weighed down by a war no one else can see—she understands. She does not ask you to be different. She simply lets you exist, exactly as you are.
- She senses your discomfort before you even speak it, feels the way your heart stammers in a crowded room, how your thoughts spiral when too many eyes are on you. And so, she stands beside you like a shield woven from whispers and stardust, her very presence anchoring you. She lets you speak only when you are ready. And if you are not, she speaks for you.
- If someone ever mocks your quietness, Wanda does not waste words. She merely tilts her head, a flicker of red dancing at her fingertips. “Careful,” she says softly, her voice a lullaby with teeth. “Thoughts have a way of slipping, and I might just pluck yours out.” They never mock you again.
- When your anxiety suffocates you, when you feel like you might collapse beneath the weight of your own mind, Wanda takes your hands, her fingers warm against yours. “Close your eyes,” she whispers. And suddenly, your thoughts slow, like a tide retreating. The world does not feel so terrifying when she is near.
- At night, she traces patterns against your skin, a silent spell only the two of you will ever understand. “You are safe,” she murmurs, her lips against your temple. “You are enough.” And when she pulls you close, it feels like you are wrapped in the very fabric of the universe itself.
Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver)
- Pietro moves too fast for the world, but never too fast for you. He notices when your breathing hitches, when your hands tremble, when the world becomes too much. And in those moments, he slows. For you, he will always slow.
- He never pushes you into the spotlight, never asks you to be louder than you are. Instead, he stays close, his presence a constant hum of energy, an unspoken promise that you are not alone. And if you do speak? He listens. Fully, completely, as if your words are the only thing that matter.
- If someone dares to mock you, Pietro is gone before they finish their sentence. And when he returns, there’s a gust of wind, a smirk on his lips, and an unfamiliar weight in his hand. “I stole all their shoelaces,” he announces. “And their car keys. And, for fun, their dignity.”
- When your anxiety threatens to crush you, Pietro does not try to talk you out of it. He does not tell you to "calm down." Instead, he takes your hand and runs. Through city streets, through endless fields, through time itself if he must. “The world is bigger than your fear,” he whispers. And for a moment, you believe him.
- At night, he holds you like he is afraid you will slip through his fingers. “The world may be fast,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against your hair, “but I will always stop for you.” And in his arms, you are not afraid of being left behind.
Hank McCoy (Beast)
- Hank McCoy is brilliance and kindness woven together, a man whose intellect is matched only by the depth of his heart. He does not simply tolerate your shyness—he cherishes it, as one cherishes a rare book, delicate and irreplaceable.
- He does not rush you, does not demand you speak when words do not come easily. Instead, he engages with you in the language of understanding, of patience. When the world is too loud, he sits beside you in silence, offering you the comfort of his presence.
- If someone ever dares to belittle you, Hank does not raise his voice. He merely adjusts his glasses, considers them for a long moment, and then proceeds to dismantle them with logic so devastating they are left questioning their very existence.
- When your anxiety grips you tight, when your thoughts spiral, Hank does not try to fix you. Instead, he wraps you in his warmth, in his steady voice, in the quiet reassurance that he is here. That he will always be here.
- At night, he reads to you in a voice like velvet, weaving words into lullabies. And when sleep finally comes, it is not fear that follows you into your dreams, but the sound of his heartbeat, steady and sure.
Laura Kinney (X-23)
- Laura Kinney does not need words to understand you. She does not need explanations, does not need you to fight to be understood. She simply knows.
- She stands beside you like a silent guardian, always near, always watching. If a room feels too crowded, she is the space between you and the world. If your voice shakes, she ensures no one talks over you.
- If someone mocks you, Laura does not speak. She simply tilts her head, her eyes cold, calculating. They realize their mistake before she even moves. And if they do not? Well. They won’t make it twice.
- She does not try to make you “brave.” She does not try to change you. She simply exists beside you, in a quiet partnership that needs no embellishment. With Laura, your silence is never a weakness. It is simply another way to exist.
- At night, when words feel unnecessary, she presses a kiss to your shoulder, her voice a whisper against your skin. “You are safe.” And somehow, you believe her.
Wade Wilson (Deadpool)
- Wade Wilson never stops talking, but for you, he will. He notices the way the world overwhelms you, the way your breath catches in crowded spaces. And in those moments, he dials himself down—not because you ask, but because he wants you to feel safe.
- He does not mock your shyness. In fact, he adores it. “You’re like a delicate little deer,” he tells you, resting his chin on your shoulder. “A beautiful, anxious, socially awkward deer. And I love you for it.”
- If someone insults you, Wade does not take it well. He doesn’t get angry—he gets creative. The next day, the offender finds their car covered in 500 rubber ducks, all superglued.
- When you feel like you are drowning in your own thoughts, Wade distracts you in the only way he knows how. Bad jokes, ridiculous stunts, a spontaneous trip to Paris because “croissants cure anxiety, probably.”
- At night, he holds you tighter than he ever holds his weapons. “You’re my favorite person,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. “And I’ve met, like, EVERYONE.”
#logan howlett x reader#remy lebeau x reader#kurt wagner x reader#scott summers x reader#jean grey x reader#ororo munroe x reader#rogue x reader#erik lehnsherr x reader#charles xavier x reader#wanda maximoff x reader#pietro maximoff x reader#emma frost x reader#laura kinney x reader#wade wilson x reader#x men#x men comics#x men headcanons#x men imagines#x men x reader#marvel comics#marvel headcanons#marvel imagines#marvel x reader#x reader
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Chalkboard Hearts - Pt II



Pairing - Teacher!Steve Harrington x Fem!Mom!Reader
WC - 4.3k
Contains - slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers, single motherhood, kindergarten teacher AU, school field trip, awkward bashful stevie, ONE use of y/n bc the story called for it sorry i don’t make the rules, mention of parent death
AN - here’s part two! I’m so thankful for the love and support you all showed on the first part and continue to show on all my works. It means so much that you guys enjoy my silly little delusions that i happened to turn into silly little stories!
Much love ~ emma
“Well, she’s excelling in English and reading, but struggling a bit with our math unit,” your daughter’s new kindergarten teacher informs you across a maplewood desk clad with plenty of miscellaneous trinkets; Abbey sits on a plastic chair next to you. Normally, it’s not recommended to bring your child to a parent/teacher conference, but with the cost of hiring a sitter lately, this was your only feasible option.
“That being said,” he continues optimistically, “I have plenty of practice worksheets I can send home with you, and if she’s still not getting it in a few weeks, I'm more than willing to stay after hours to work with her.”
You cringe at the idea of him working overtime for you or Abbey, even if it’s literally his job.
“That’s very generous, Mr. H, but–”
He cuts you off, speaking your name in a reassuring tone, “I promise, I’m happy to. It’s not as if I have anywhere else to be,” he chuckles, gesturing to the empty room where you sit.
He senses your hesitation but continues anyway, “Look, I’ll give you the worksheets, and check back in next week. Deal?” he’s clearly asking you, but Abbey beats you to the punch, “Can I use my crayons?”
“Obviously,” he phrases it as though he would expect nothing less.
Abbey gives a barely noticeable little pump of her fist. She’s wriggling around in her seat and you can tell she’s getting antsy with all the ‘grownup talk’. Steve rises first and sticks his hand out for you to shake and when you return the gesture, he takes your palm in both of his.
“Hey, Abbey’s doing great, seriously. You have nothing to worry about,” maybe you look anxious at the prospect of your child struggling in a subject because you somehow weren’t attentive enough, or maybe he can just read you like a book. Either way, his hands on you are dizzying.
“I appreciate that,” you offer him a tender smile as he releases you from his grasp. “What do you say, Abbey? Wanna head home?”
She immediately deflates at the question. School has been in session for barely two months, and all she can seem to talk about is her new teacher. The car rides home and dinners at the table are spent telling tales of his Star Wars impressions, or how he hangs up every picture he’s given on the corkboard behind his desk– how he lets the class have extra recess time if they behave all day long, and how he ‘never ever’ raises his voice.
You can always picture it so easily. There’s something naturally whimsical about him, and anyone can tell he was made for this career. There’s a distant fear that the infatuation Abbey seems to have with him is caused by the absence of her own father, and you wish constantly to be able to give her that– to be two parents for the price of one– but as much as she adores you, there’s always going to be a void in her life that you alone can’t fill. It makes you ache to dwell on it for too long.
“Can’t we stay just a little bit longer?” She pleads with glistening eyes.
“I’m sure Mr. H wants to get home too, Ab,” at that, her features twist into a pout.
Steve kneels in front of her, “I’m gonna see you on Monday though, right?” She tearfully nods, “Good,” he grins and gives her hair a little ruffle when he stands.
“You two have a good weekend, and drive home safe, okay?”
You send him a shy wave, “You too, Mr. H,”
As you’re making your way down the hallway towards the exit with Abbey's hand clasped tightly in yours, you hear a voice along with heavy footfall echo after you, “Wait!--”
When you turn around, Steve’s lightly jogging towards you with a flyer in his hand, “I forgot to give you this,” he pants when he catches up. He hands you a colorful paper advertising a class field trip to Spiller Farm– an orchard a few miles outside of town.
He runs a hand through his hair, mussed from a stressful day doing exactly that, “We still need a few more chaperones, I wanted to ask if you’d be able to?”
Abbey’s demeanor becomes instantly lighter as she begins tugging on your arm, “Please, mommy?!” she begs, as if she’d even have to. “Definitely! Let me double check my schedule and make sure I’m not working,” you smile kindly, “I’ll let you know on Monday when I drop her off,”
For a split second, Steve considers just giving you his number before he thinks better of it. You barely know him, for Christ’s sake. I’d look like a complete creep, He thinks.
“Y-yeah– that’s fine,” he winces at his own awkwardness, “Trip’s on Wednesday,” again feeling like a blundering idiot, as the flyer he just handed you clearly states as much.
If you notice though, you don’t mention it. You simply say,
“See you Monday,”
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
Abbey seemed to be in better spirits by the time you made it home and popped a frozen pizza into the oven. You’ve always envied the rebound rate of her sour moods; maybe you should take a page out of her book.
She sits at the table playing with two perfectly groomed Barbie Dolls. Her other toys were a different story– baby doll’s with botched haircuts, stuffed animals with unidentifiable stains and the occasional hole, but her Barbies were always considered with the utmost care a five-year-old could offer.
“Mr. H says his favorite pizza is pepperoni,” she says from where she sits behind you, “is that what kind we’re having?”
“No, silly goose, you don’t like pepperoni,” you remind her, “you always say it’s too spicy,”
“Oh, okay,” she sounds indifferent; she trusts you to remember what she likes and dislikes on her behalf, sparing no room in her growing brain for such trivial facts.
“Can I have four slices?” She asks sweetly. You hum and pretend to give it some thought before bargaining, “How about I give you one slice first, and then if you’re still hungry, you can have more?”
She nods, taking the bait. You eventually make it to the table, plates in hand, and eat the greasy slices in a comfortable silence until Abbey asks,
“What kind of pizza did my daddy like?”
It’s not the first time she’s asked questions about Jeremy, and you know it won’t be the last, but your heart still sinks a little every time she does.
“Your dad liked hawaiian pizza, that was his favorite,”
“‘ha-way-en’?” she mispronounces, “what’s that?” her little features contort with confusion.
You correct her pronunciation and reply, “Well, technically It’s a state, but hawaiian pizza has ham and pineapple on it,”
Her confusion morphs to disgust and she giggles, “Ew!”
“I know,” her laughter is contagious, “I don’t like it either,” you wave your hand in front of your nose in a ‘P.U’ gesture.
Her father is no longer a topic of conversation after that. It was always like this– the questions generally mundane and inconsequential, not realizing that the images she’s conjuring are covered in cobwebs and dust; buried deep in the forgotten corners of your subconscious.
When you’re a kid, nothing holds that kind of weight. Petty things like broken toys or an early bedtime are the most of her worries and memories aren’t so burdening– yet another thing you envy of her youth.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
The next few days go by without a hitch– school, ballet class and homemade dinners every night– that is until Wednesday morning when you wake up and are immediately confronted with the sun cascading through your curtains, and your alarm that's been beeping for thirty minutes longer than it normally does.
Abbey is straddling your lap and vigorously shaking your shoulders, “Mom! Mom, we have to go!” The panic you feel outweighs the embarrassment of being woken up late by your own child, and you rush to slip on a pair of jeans and the first sweater you make out on top of your hamper.
A sideways glance at the clock tells you that you have exactly three minutes to get out the door– it appears that your go-to look lately is bags under your eyes and your hair scooped up into the nearest claw clip. The trend continues today, though you’re able to dab on a little concealer while Abbey puts her boots on in the mudroom.
You’re both shocked and amazed that she’s dressed– her outfit even mostly coordinating. Unfortunately, the remains of what was supposed to be a ham and cheese sandwich are littered all over the counter. Crackers for lunch today it is.
Grabbing her mostly empty backpack, you ask, “You got everything, Ab?”
“Yep!” She shouts, mostly because she was already outside and standing in the driveway, waiting for you to unlock the car for her.
When you get to the school, several golden buses are parked in a single file line and opening their doors for dozens of children to pour in. A little mortified, you realize you’re the last parent here, and silently pray that there’ll still be a seat for you and Abbey on the bus.
You’re searching for Steve, albeit unconsciously. You aren’t acquainted with any of the other teachers, and he’s your life raft in this sea of chaos and PTA soccer moms. You don’t have to look for very long though, before your name is being shouted from a few feet away on the tarmac. Grasping Abbey’s wrist, you shoulder your way over to where he stands waiting.
“Hey–I’m so sorry, I somehow slept through my alarm this morning,” you blush and muss Abbey’s hair, “this little gremlin woke me up, actually,”
She shakes your hand off her head, “Hey!” she frowns.
“You’re good, promise. I saved you a seat, and Abbey,” he redirects his attention, “Clarissa B. asked to sit with you, is that okay?”
She’s too excited to bother responding, instead dashing inside in an attempt to find her friend. You hear a muffled warning of ‘no running!’, eliciting a shared laugh between the two of you.
“After you,” Steve steps back to let you in first. You spot the only available seat which is dead in the front of the bus– and when you sit down, Steve sits down next to you.
“Well, uh,” he scratches his neck nervously when you scoot to make room for him, “I saved us a seat. Is what I meant.”
“It’s okay,” you give a reassuring breath of laughter, “I don’t mind,”
“Right,” he clears his throat and you feel the bus shift gears to make its way towards the
orchard.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
You’ve never been this close to Steve before and right away the space is enveloped with whatever cologne he’s wearing and the spearmint scent of the gum he’s been absentmindedly chewing. He smells of cedar and something musky; cinnamon and spice. You notice now all of the freckles and moles that form constellations over his forearms and neck.
When the silence between you becomes a little too stiff– pleasantries about the weather having subsided nearly ten minutes ago– he asks, “Have you ever been to Spiller Farm?”
“Yeah I– I have,” you say, unsure why you’re suddenly nervous, “My parents used to take me every year when I was Abbey’s age to go apple picking. Have you?”
“Oh, no,” he’s fixated on his hands folded in his lap, shaking his head, “this’ll be my first time, I actually grew up in Indiana,”
“Indianapolis?” You question curiously.
He gave a humorless laugh, “I wish. It was a uh…much smaller town,” he finally looks at you then, faces much closer than you realized in the cramped bus seat, “I came to Maine for college, liked it so much I guess I didn’t want to leave.” This time when he smiles, it looks genuine.
He clears his throat and continues, “Abbey tells me you work in a hospital– RN?
It was remarkable how much you knew about each other despite having very little conversations that didn’t surround Abbey; thanks to your oversharing kindergartener.
You wish that you could tell him you were a nurse, feeling increasingly embarrassed at your lack of a college education, but instead you reply, “Reception,” with a tight lipped smile. Having Abbey so young, and doing it alone at that, left no time for degrees or prestigious jobs.
You expect a sympathetic expression in response, maybe even distaste, but you find only sincerity etched across his features when he says, “That’s really neat, I could never do that. Hospitals they…kinda give me the heebie jeebies,”
“It’s definitely not for the faint of heart,” you agree, “I have so many crazy stories,”
“Well, I’d love to hear them sometime,” he smiles at you so tenderly that it makes you want to disintegrate and float away among the air that breezes through the open bus windows.
“Yeah, I’d like that”, you say, distracted by the hazel flecks in what you had previously thought were brown eyes. Luckily, the distinct jolt of tire on gravel bails you out of more awkward silence and before you know it, you’re filing off the bus and breathing in the scent of freshly picked apples and cow manure.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
You foolishly forget that Steve isn’t just here with you and your daughter on his own accord, and does actually have to do his job of wrangling children and organizing the day's activities. He proceeds to do a headcount, looking like he means business with one hand propped on his hip and a clipboard gripped in the other.
He captures everyone’s attention with ease as he does a quick call and response gesture, ‘Clap, Clap, Clap Clap Clap,’ you’re shocked at how efficiently it works to halt their chattering.
“Good morning, everyone!” He beams and the class responds with a choir of high-pitched ‘Good Morning, Mr. H!’’s, he continues, “Alright, so, I’m going to be splitting everyone into small groups. Each parent will have about five kiddos, and I’ll just be floating around to make sure everything goes smoothly. Sound like a plan?”
Everyone agrees in a sea of nods and murmurs and the kids bounce with anticipation– hoping that they might get placed in the same group as their friends. Finally, you hear your name called and Steve pairs you with five children: your own daughter, her friend Clarissa B., a little boy named Beck, his younger sister and a timid little girl named Sophia. You breathe a sigh of relief that you hadn’t realized you were holding when it becomes obvious that all the kids you were assigned seemed to be fairly reserved and not too rowdy.
You lead your little flock over to the barn, where several farm hands are waiting to assist the children in petting the cows, pigs and other various animals. There are red buckets full of pellets that you assume is feed for the goats scattered along the ground, and you can practically feel Abbey buzzing with excitement beside you. She had been begging you for a pet practically the second after she said her first word.
Steve makes his way over to you from the rows of apple trees in the orchard section of the farm while you supervise the kids holding their tiny palms out to the ravenous livestock– slightly anxious that one of them might lose a finger.
You feel a strong hand on your shoulder, “C’mon, don’t wanna pet a dirt-covered sheep?” Steve quips when he reaches you.
“Not particularly,” you huff a laugh, “I was never really a ‘farm animal’ person. I think a dog would suit me just fine,”
“Do you have one?”
“Oh, no. Abbey’s been asking me for one since she was, like, two? I think? I just don’t have the time, you know?”
“Believe me, I get it.” He seems pensive when he responds, looking out over the expanse of the farm, “I never had a pet growing up, either,”
Before you have the chance to express your remorse, Abbey calls, “Mommy, look! Come pet the goat!”
“Be right there!” You call back with thinly veiled reluctance.
“You heard the girl,” Steve pats your shoulder where his hand had been as if to say ‘Go on’. He has an amused if not smug expression when you turn to face him.
“Why don’t you go pet the goat, Mr. H,”
“Hey, she asked for you! Don’t shoot the messenger,” He laughs, “Don’t worry, I'll take over supervising for a minute,” he sends you a wink and it makes your stomach drop, just a bit, like when you miss a step on a staircase but catch yourself just before you fall.
A similar feeling strikes you when you actually do fall, slipping on a particularly slick patch of mud and landing flat on your back. It temporarily knocks the wind out of you, but the sensation is quickly replaced by a white hot embarrassment. Steve’s at your side in an instant, albeit poorly concealing a laugh, “Oh my God, are you okay?” he asks, a little bewildered as he kneels down to help you up and getting his own jeans muddy in the process. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind.
You groan, out of discomfort or humiliation, you’re not sure. He wraps two calloused hands around your biceps and hoists you up with a surprising amount of strength. By the time you’re on your feet again, Abbey’s also rushing towards you.
“Mommy, you have mud on your butt,” she giggles. Always Captain Obvious, your daughter.
“Thanks baby, I see that,”
She’s trying to shrug off her jacket to tie around your waist, even if she finds your current predicament rather amusing, but you stop her before she can get very far, “Keep it, Ab, it’s chilly out. I’m okay,” you falsely promise.
“Here, you can have mine,” Steve takes his windbreaker off to hand to you.
“Oh– you don’t have to do that, Steve,” feeling guilty that he’s even offering, “I’ll get mud all over it– and won’t you be cold?”
“Nah,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “I run warm, plus I hear they just came out with these cool things that clean your clothes for you when they get dirty– washing machines I think they’re called?”
You playfully smack his arm and he smirks, “Don’t get smart, Harrington,” taking the jacket from him nonetheless, “Thank you. I’ll wash it for you tonight,”
He shoves his hands in his pockets after you take the garment, unsure what to do with them now that they’re empty, “Don’t mention it,” and there's that damned smile again.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
You promised Abbey yesterday that you could pick a bag of apples to make a pie together, so once everyone is satisfied with the time spent at the barn, you all make your way to the dozens of rows of trees, adorned with fresh, bright red fruit for plucking.
“What kind of apples do you think, Ab?” you look down to ask her, “They have Gala, Empire, Granny Smith,” you read off the signs marking each aisle.
“Whichever is the most juicy!”
“That would probably be HoneyCrisp, those are over this way, I think,” you say, putting a hand on her shoulder to guide her in the right direction.
Abbey does more eating than picking, leaving you with all the heavy lifting, despite the numerous ‘No Eating’ signs. You just can’t bring yourself to stop her– not when she looks at you with so much unbridled joy. Eating the apples straight off the tree had always been your favorite part, too.
A row over from the one you were in, you watch as Steve lifts another student onto his shoulders so he can pick the specific apple he was jumping for, and you have to fight the corners of your lips from quirking up into a smile.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
There was a small wooden cabin near the gravel parking lot that doubled as a gift shop, and the shelves were stocked full of handmade knick knacks, glass bottles of maple syrup, and all sorts of treats. It smelled wonderfully of freshly baked fritters and cinnamon.
“Can I get this candy apple, mom?”
“I don’t know, baby, we have to make sure it doesn’t have any peanuts,”
Petulant whining follows before a cheerful, silvery voice declares, “Don’t worry, dear, It doesn’t.” When you turn to find the source, you’re met with an older, stout woman with grey hair adorned in a bandana– the owner, you presume.
“Can I, mommy?”
“Alright, okay. Put it on the counter with the bag of apples,”
She makes a beeline to the wooden counter, barely able to reach over the top as she slams the treat down, sporting a toothy grin.
“Thank you–” you search for her nametag but find nothing.
She fills in the blank for you, “Dorothy,” her lips wobble just a little when she smiles, face wrinkling from decades of laughter and grinning.
“Any time, honey. You two take care now,” she says when she finishes checking out your items. She wags a finger at Abbey, “You be good for your momma, missy,”
“Yes ma’am,” Abbey replies politely.
She skips in front of you contentedly, apple in hand, out of the shop and towards the rest of the waiting students.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
Back on the bus, Abbey naps against your chest despite being slightly too big and the candy apple she begged you for is now getting stuck to your sleeve, but you don’t dare disturb her. Steve sits beside you again and this time the silence is much more tolerable; both of you exhausted from a day of governing twenty children, give or take.
“Abbey, uhm, told me about her dad,” he says timidly, nervous that the subject might cross a boundary, “I wanted to offer my condolences.”
You’d already resigned yourself to the fact that you’d have this conversation eventually– especially with Abbey being school aged now.
“I appreciate that,” you reassure, “It was a long time ago, I don’t think Abbey even remembers anything about him.” You realize in real time that this is the reason her questioning of her father has increased in the past few weeks.
He nods and pauses before he continues; contemplating, “Can I ask what happened?”
You turn only your head to look at him and he clarifies, “Abbey only said he ‘went to heaven’,”
“He, uh– car accident.” you answer simply, returning your gaze back to the crown of Abbey’s head resting peacefully on your chest, “She was just about a year old,”
The expression twisting his features urges you to reiterate that you’re okay– you’re both okay. You’ve had nearly six years to reconcile the loss of Jeremy; you’ve mourned, you’ve grieved and you’ve placed his memory tight in a sector of your heart that was designated just for him. But you didn’t want the pity anymore– you didn’t want to be the widow.
He seems to comprehend this despite you having said very little, and decides to drop the topic for now.
“She talks about you all the time, you know.” You nudge him gently with your shoulder and he becomes suddenly shy– a slight blush tinting his cheeks.
“She talks about you all the time,” he counters, “just goes on and on about how her mom makes the best boxed mac and cheese, and always plays make believe with her– even when she says she’s tired.”
You feel the sting of unwanted tears welling behind your eyes, “Well, I–”
“--You do the best you can, and you don’t give yourself nearly enough credit,” he interrupts before you have the chance to discount yourself, “You’re a great mom, Y/N.”
One of the aforementioned tears breaches the edge of your lash line and falls rapidly down our cheek, dropping onto the soft cushion of Abbey’s hair. When the bus abruptly stops, you wipe your face quickly and smear the salty trail it left in its wake.
You harshly clear your throat, “Thanks, Steve,”
“You do that a lot,”
“I feel it a lot.”
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
Back at home, you set Abbey up in front of the television and peel your mud stained jeans off to throw them immediately in the wash, along with Steve’s jacket; not bothering with the hamper.
Once you’ve taken a quick shower to rinse the remaining crusted dirt off your thighs, you make your way back into the dimly lit living room to find Abbey asleep, once again, with her knees tucked into her chest, and the technicolor screen illuminating her features in tones of muted blue.
You strain your back to pick her up, but it’ll be worth it when she’s no longer small enough to carry bridal style into her all pink bedroom, and set atop her princess sheets. You’re thankful to have gotten her into her pajamas already– foreseeing this would happen.
There’s a dull longing in the center of your chest as you kiss her forehead and tuck the comforter up to her chin. It’s that same tug you felt after Jeremy died, when you realized you’d be putting your daughter to bed alone from that point on. It festered and grew until one day it became so routine that you didn’t remember what it felt like to have your partner there next to you, and then it dissipated completely.
Until tonight.
Except for this time the longing wasn’t for Jeremy. It wasn’t even for that ‘perfect man’ you’d sometimes conjure up in your mind’s eye just before you fell asleep at night.
It was for someone new.
divider credit to @/strangergraphics
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Fault ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 15, oct.
— pairing: Spencer Reid x girlfriend!reader
— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (Criminal Minds Edition)
— kink: safeword use
— summary: You knew things were different since Spencer came back from prison. But you never imagined he would hurt you so bad.
— word count: 1.2k
— tags/warnings: kinktober 15th day, female!reader, post-prison!Reid, dubcon, safeword use, ignored safeword, rough sex, vaginal sex, degradation, asphyxiation, breathplay, rape/non-con elements, fingering, pussy slapping, dacryphilia, crying, light bondage, overstimulation, sadism, no aftercare, ambiguous/open ending, curse words, switching, mild angst, dom!Reid, sub!reader, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.
— tagging list: @thatredlipped-classic @purplehaze206 @ehedrick012110 @hotchsmutrecs @slutcakes00 @emma-e-a @helo1281917
— crossposting: AO3
Ever since Spencer came back from prison, you had already noticed something different about him. You knew about the traumas and fears he went through when he was arrested, just as you knew about the constant nightmares he had, always involving those times or even involving you. He never wanted to tell you what they were about, but you figured they did not involve good things. They were probably about his traumatizing memories. His dark desires.
You also realized that Spencer was different when he did not come back refusing your touch, but searching for more. Mainly sexually. It was almost suffocating, precisely because he was a very different version of the shy, nerdy boy you had fallen in love with years ago.
Spencer always liked being submissive to you. Letting you take control of the moment. Letting you make him a whining mess, begging for more. More touches. More kisses. More sex. More of you. He always needed you to be the dominant side of sex.
But now... Everything has changed.
You knew your boyfriend better than anyone. You knew what he was doing was not just trying something new or being a switch. Spencer was punishing you.
With each rough thrust, with each cruel word spoken as he pressed you tightly against the mattress and placed his hands on your waist so he could increase his movements' speed even further.
Spencer Reid was punishing you. He was blaming you. He was blaming his own girlfriend.
You did not know exactly why. You could not remember anything wrong you could have done to him in the last few months. There was nothing that could cause such a huge change to his personality and your relationship's dynamics. There was nothing but the traumas tormenting his mind. His mental ghosts and cages.
"S-Spencie, stop. It's too much, baby..." Your voice came out trembling and tearful while he gripped your neck tighter than expected, pressing your face into the pillow so hard that your hands immediately began to grip the sheets to try to lift yourself up.
Your lungs were begging for and you tried to move beneath him, his cock practically impaling you with each thrust, fucking you like he wanted to break you. You never cared if he was rough or if you were sore afterwards — even if it was rare because you were more dominant in the relationship, but being submissive for now could be just as good. At least if he did not seem to hate you every time he fucked you in the last few weeks.
"P-please stop... Spencer, it hurts. You're really scaring me..." You muffled, starting to panic at the feeling of the pillow preventing you from breathing properly.
As soon as you managed to put your hands behind your back to touch his chest, a loud cry out echoed throughout the room when Spencer took the opportunity to pull both of your arms back, holding you and lifting your body off the mattress, continuing to fuck you like an animal. "Fuck, couldn't you breathe, little princess?"
His words were bitter and sharp, making you whimper pathetically when he stopped moving his hips to bite your neck and mock you, keeping your hands firmly behind your back. "You're weak and pathetic. You know how much I endured inside that fucking prison? You know how much I'd to suffer and feel pain? And you're crying like a spoiled little cunt 'cause you can't breathe for at least a few seconds?"
You did not know what to say. You were scared and confused. Your mind was void. Completely blank. You could only focus on the pain you were feeling, having your hands being held by your boyfriend, the pain of his deep thrusts inside you and how it all seemed too much. Why did Spencer hate you now? Why was he fucking you like he really wanted to hurt you? To break you?
You knew you needed to say something. You knew you needed to say your safeword, the one that would make him stop everything. The one that would make him go back to normal or at least make his cock come out of your sore pussy and leave you alone for a while.
You knew you needed your safeword, but you could not bring yourself to say it. You could not say anything other than sob when he pushed your body back down, pushing your face harder as you struggled, starting to cry and sob in panic, squirming as he lowered himself onto you. Now, his chest was against your back and he kept fucking you even deeper and rough, but with one hand almost crushing your breast and the other rubbing your clit.
"Your pussy makes me sick..." Spencer growled, slapping your overstimulated bud hard and making you cry out with pain, tears flowing when you realized that he was going too far. "Stupid, brainless little bitch, crying like a whore while creaming my cock. That's all you're good for. I should tie you to this bed, fill you with cum whenever I wanted, even if you—"
"SALEM!"
Spencer continued fucking you after your voice full of pain, fear and despair, but he was in complete shock. You had screamed the safeword. You had actually screamed the safeword that you two chose since your first time together, when you remembered that the first thing he said when he met you at the pub was a random curiosity about the Salem Witch Trials. You had been together for years and none of you never needed to say that. You had never gone too far with him when you were taking the dominant role, but Spencer… He had brought this on you. On both of you.
He had not realize how destroyed he was after his arrest or how your relationship was already becoming almost toxic. Spencer had not realized why he acted like he hated you until he saw what he had done to you. Until he realized that he had continued fucking you for about twenty minutes even after you said your safeword. Your face red from crying, your sobs echoing through the room, your arms gripping the bed sheets as if they were an anchor of sanity for both of you, your body weak and trembling due to the rough of the last few hours...
Spencer saw the fear in your eyes. You were scared of him. "Baby... I'm... I'm so sorry..." He began to stutter, his voice panicked, as sweet as it was before he was arrested. "Fuck, I'm so sorry."
He pulled out of you, letting out a soft involuntary moan at the absence of contact, but his own eyes filled with tears when he saw how you sighed in relief amidst the crying and how your pussy looked swollen, reddish and bruised. Because of him.
“Love, I swear… I'm so—" He cut himself off the second you started sobbing and hyperventilating at his sudden touch of your hair. Spencer could not stop the tears from running down his cheeks, wetting his stubble. "Baby, please. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, love, believe me. Please, forgive me..."
Spencer Reid knew almost everything about the world. Any curiosity about physics, chemistry, mathematics, history, philosophy... but Spencer Reid did not know what had happened to his mind lately. He did not know how to fix his relationship. He did not know what to do to fix you. You were panicking. You were scared. You were so fucking broken. And it was all his fault.
Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist
HOTD Edition - Masterlist
Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist
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Emma mock gasped at his hint of gossip to follow, "You must. It will be precious bonding time with your wife." They seemed so repressed in this country, that she just knew the secrets had to be good. Although her father had impersonated his twin brother and kept the throne, so there was that. "Oh, no, no nervousness!" she cooed, she reached out to give a couple of reassuring pats to his arm, even if he seemed so suave that she doubted he'd be nervous at all. "I'll help you, of course. But as long as you pretend to be in love and you are willing to discuss books with my father, my parents will consider you family with no hesitation. They are quite easy. Romantic people, not a care for anything besides sentiment."
She understood very well, and found hilarious, that he'd have trouble pretending she was meek. "Thank you, my king," she recited in a sweet, more high-pitched voice, fluttering eyelashes at him. "And it's just Emma, no lady, especially if you wish to mock me more."
It was the words coming from Emma, the tone with which she spoke, that finally pulled George from the slight melancholy that had started to infiltrate his mind. He couldn't help but bark out a quick laugh, grinning as he shook his head with his gaze staying on her. "Oh just wait until I get to know you better, the things I can tell you, family secrets to make you swoon." He continued to grin even as he closed the book once more in his hands, the expression only falling a little when he was reminded of their parents. He had it easier when it came to his future in-laws true, but he knew that either way it would be Emma stuck down the line, making a small part of his stomach fill with guilt. "I suppose I'll have to remember that when we meet, so that I'm hopefully not as nervous as I fear I might be."
It was the reminder of how she was wanting him to act that really had him chuckling again, shaking his head. Out of the entire time he had known the Princess, shy and quiet was never something that he could attribute to her. In fact they had started to talk under the impression that he was a simple servant and not King George. "I shall try my hardest, though you will have to help me out as well. I may have a coughing fit down the road." With a quick chuckle, he nodded at the reminder of their shared interests. "Whenever you wish, Lady Emma. A small part of myself can't wait to show you the Observatory and see how lost you seem." A simple jest.
#i love the implications that he's like WHOMST? at the idea of Emma being shy and quiet tho lol#writtenxbeginnings#she's dead
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can you write one where mikey tries so hard to hide your relationship but he lets you into toman without you really being all that strong (he just wanted you around) and some members try to hit on you and he teaches them a lesson?
I LOVE YOUR WORK BTW!!!! OMG
HIDDEN RELATIONSHIP ! but some new toman members make it not-so-hidden
with mikey + fem!reader
warnings unwelcome attraction, they corner you and try to force you into a date, a guy puts his hands on you against your will
notes i love this request !! :D i think i went overboard tho lol
mikey was the epitome of attention as the leader of the growing toman. he really couldn't help the fact that emma was known as his sister, but he desperately tried to keep the fact that you were his girlfriend under wraps. couldn't have dumb kids trying to use you against him or get you caught up in gang wars.
every time he dropped you home, you slid off his bike and handed him his spare helmet (more like his only helmet, cuz he didn't wear one).
"bye, mikey." you hummed. "pick me up tomorrow?"
you didn't even have to ask. "yeah." he leaned back in his seat, one hand resting on the bike handle while the other was held in front of you, palm towards the dusky sky.
you slipped your hand into his and he squeezed it, lingering as if he were contemplating something. you waited patiently.
he was so tempted to pull you back into his arms. who cares about the toman meeting when it meant a few more minutes with you?
he sighed and gave in, pulling you closer to the bike bashfully. he looked shy to ask. he'd never spent much time with you after school as he usually ran with his friends. but this time... he just wanted you close.
"ride with me?" he mumbled. "...again?"
you tilted your head slightly. "but... i thought you were gonna hang out with your friends?"
he tugged you forward, forcing a little yelp out of you as you fell into his shoulder. he hugged you tightly, his voice muffled against your chest.
"we never get to hang out for long..." he said. just this once, and no one will notice. maybe he could introduce you to his close friends this time? "it'll be okay. trust me."
you smiled and climbed on again, clasping the helmet buckle under your chin. "okay."
his bike roared to life, zooming down the streets.
[]
he parked his bike nearby, but far away enough so that it'd look like he walked to the meeting spot. your eyes drank the sight of the crowd down there. you knew who mikey was and what he was involved in, but never actually saw it for yourself.
he pouted. "why do you look so surprised?"
you chuckled. "aw, don't pout. i know you're a hotshot, mikey, but seeing all your guys is a different thing."
"not all of them are my guys." mikey whipped out his phone. "anyways, i want you to meet my sister."
you blinked, whipping your head to face him. he already had the phone to his ear. "now?!"
mikey grinned mischievously. "hey emma? i've got someone here, come to where all the bikes are parked."
after a few minutes, his sister came running up with a groan. "what do you want mikey—oh!" emma's jaw dropped. "a girl?!" she pointed an accusatory finger at mikey. "explain yourself!"
mikey smirked proudly and pulled you closer, his arm strung around your shoulders. "a girlfriend."
"girlfr—?!" emma paced in a frustrated circle. "and you didn't tell me?!"
"yeah, cuz it's supposed to be a secret!" mikey retorted, huffing. "and i know you'd just tell ken-chin or something."
emma gaped at the two of you for a moment. you waved meekly, squeaking a "hi, emma. i'm y/n."
she rushed towards you, clutching your hands in hers. "tell. me. everything."
mikey smiled despite his front of annoyance, ruffling both your heads as he walked by. "come on."
as mikey walked, gang members scurried away to make ample room for their president and the two that flanked him: his sister and who they assumed was her guest. he soon reached the platform where all the captains gathered. his crew looked more curious than confused at your presence.
"oi, emma," draken narrowed his eyes at the blonde, the first to pipe up. "you can't just bring whoever you want to these things."
emma opened her mouth to retort, but mikey nudged her side. that was enough to make her revise what she was going to say. "whatever."
you, on the other hand, were confused, thrown into a whole new environment that you knew nothing about. seeing all these violence-prone tough guys made you feel so small and weak.
mikey observed you as your eyes nervously darted across the crowd of toman. he leaned towards you to whisper while his friends were occupied by a chatty emma, his hair brushing against your ear. "just stay where i can see you and you can see me."
"so, at the front?" you gave him a skeptical look.
"wherever you want, i just wanna see your face." he smiled, eyes closed. heat rose to your face as you cast your gaze elsewhere. dork.
you and mikey were pulled from your own little world when emma huffed and puffed at draken.
"ugh, this is boring anyway!" emma turned on her heels. "come on, y/n!"
"oh! okay..." you blinked and gave mikey a parting glance.
the boys watched the two of you race down the steps.
draken scoffed, standing at mikey's side. "why was that girl looking at you like that?"
mikey smiled to himself, his heart thrumming happily. "dunno. might be in love with me or something."
they all laughed at him. yeah, as if!
"emma, slow down—!" you grunted as you wove through all the boys gathered, ignoring their smirking or curious faces as you desperately tried to keep her flowy blond hair in your sight. but it was dark and the black uniforms didn't help one bit.
you paused, looking around.
you lost her. you cursed and just focused on making your way to the back, being alone around all these weird teenagers didn't sit well with you.
"hey."
the firm grip around your wrist sent chills down your spine. you tugged once in a hopes to slither away but with no luck.
"what're ya doing here?"
you turned to see a group of guys surrounding you. your heart dropped into your stomach. your eyes drifted upwards. you couldn't see over their heads; you couldn't see mikey.
"oh, just hanging out with a friend..." you answered. "i'm gonna go now..."
"hold on, you think we buy that?" the one doing all the talking scoffed. "you're a girl here at a gang meeting, what 'friend' are you visiting, huh?!"
you flinched at the tone, unable to find the words.
"wanna know what i think?" he bent down to look you in the eye. "think you're just looking for attention. what, need a boyfriend, sweetheart?"
you hurriedly shook your hands, staring at them with panic. "no! no, i have one! i have a boyfriend." you hoped that would deter them, you desperately hoped they would leave you alone. your head swiveled around. some were taking amusement in the interaction, others were turning a blind eye.
"really?" he asked.
you found yourself glaring at him, despite the uneven match. "yeah."
the boy paused and surveyed you, his nasty gaze raking over you. his lips curled into a smirk. "ha! why should i believe you?"
you resolve crumbled. you whimpered at the failed attempt to get the fuck out of here which did nothing for your case.
"aw, sad you got found out?" he grinned down at you, shoving his hands in his pockets. "it's okay, we can go somewhere together after this, how about that?"
you scoffed, crossing your arms. "i said i have a boyfriend." who, for all the class he lacked, had way more class than this piece of shit.
that seemed to anger the boy. "quit lyin, we know you ain't got shit."
mikey, please just notice me. you begged silently, hoping for some miracle that'd get you out of this situation.
"did you hear me?" the boy hissed, grabbing your wrists. you gasped and glared at him, pulling against him with all your might. "quit—" he grunted. "cut that out!"
you felt cornered and tears pooled in your eyes. your heart felt almost cold as you let your impulses take over, screaming, "let go!"
mikey was eagerly listening as his captains addressed the gang, but his mind was still looking for you in the crowd. he searched for minutes and still couldn't find anything.
he wilted. was he just a bad boyfriend? not being able to recognize his girl in a crowd?
then he heard murmuring, hushed whispers, before he heard your voice.
"let go!"
his face scrunched and he rose to his feet. let go? who had their hands on you?
he marched to the front of the platform, scanning the crowd with newfound intensity. draken seemed to notice and did the work for him.
"oi!" draken's voice made the gang fall silent. even the guy who acted big froze in front of you. "why the fuck do you have your back turned to your leader when he's addressing you?"
mikey saw a couple boys distance themselves from the commotion, where he saw. anger flared into his body and he itched to beat someone to death.
you were looking at him, completely distraught.
he flew down the stairs, shoving past the members towards you. hatred radiated off him in waves as his eyes never left the sight in front of him. someone—his gang members—were fucking disrespecting you. he felt embarrassed and enraged.
the boy who had pressured you immediately let go. you stumbled backwards before looking at mikey. even now, you didn't know if you should run to him in front of everyone.
your doubts were squashed when he opened his arms. you inhaled deeply. your breath shook as you blinked the tears from your eyes, speedwalking towards him. the silence was killing you. what a reveal, you thought. you didn't care though, just happy to be in mikey's arms.
mikey hugged you tightly, pulling back to observe you for any damage. he ghosted his fingers over your wrists. "did they hurt you?"
you gulped at the menacing edge to his voice. you shook your head. he gave your wrists a soothing squeeze.
the aggressors' eyes flickered between you and their leader.
you smiled sweetly and pointed at mikey, mouthing boyfriend!
they paled.
you grinned. get fucked.
"do you know what you just did?" mikey asked, shrugging off his coat and putting it around your shoulders. he walked past you.
"h-hey... i didn't know—" the guy scrambled backwards, his voice dripping with desperation.
"who cares?" mikey's eyes were cloudy. "even if she weren't mine, are you trying to make toman look bad? if you're gonna be pathetic, do it somewhere else."
the guy took that as a cue to leave, quickly turning around.
"who said you could leave?"
you blinked and he was on the ground, mikey's foot landing gracefully.
"huh?" you mumbled. before you could even process it, he was standing over the other bystanders, holding them by their shirt as he landed punch after punch.
when they were all piles of bones on the floor he stood up, dusting his pants and slipping his hands in his pockets. "you're not welcome in toman. you better not let your faces be seen around here any more or i'll bash your head in."
you pulled the wings of mikey's coat closer to your body. despite the violence, you felt... warm and soothed by mikey's actions.
draken dismissed the meeting and the gang practically ran out of there, eager to get out of mikey's area of impact. the founding members and emma remained.
mitsuya looked sheepish when he asked, "i guess she really was in love with you, huh?"
mikey turned his nose in the air. "of course. why would i lie about that?"
pah scoffed. "do you even know yourself?"
you inched closer to mikey, unsure of your place here. he held you by your waist, reassuring you. your racing heart slowed down, little by little.
"hey." surprisingly, draken looked a little embarrassed, probably because he treated you like some rando when you were mikey's girlfriend. "you... we're not like that brat, okay?"
"yeah, what a disgrace!" pah interrupted, huffing.
"you don't have to be afraid." draken continued, glaring at pah. "just like mikey, we'll look out for you."
you smiled, coming out of mikey's side just a little. "thank you. i'm y/n, by the way."
mitsuya groaned. "oh, now it all makes sense." you voiced a confused hum and he elaborated, telling you that mikey would always go on and on about you. his friends thought you were just a crush of his, and since they'd never saw you they honestly thought you were a figment of his hormonal imagination.
your cheeks burned. "oh... no, i'm totally real."
emma peeked out from behind draken. her eyes were glossy and she sniffed, toddling towards you. "y/nnnn!" she wailed, hugging you. "i'm so sorry!"
you pat her back. "emma, it's not your fault! oh my god. please don't cry!" you looked at mikey for help but he just smiled. that smile faded when he realized that his friends and sister were slowly pushing him outside their little circle, wanting to know everything.
"okay, get off." mikey's demeanor changed in an instant. he slipped in under draken's arm and grabbed your hand, tugging you behind him.
"hey, no fair!" emma exclaimed, running after her brother. "you had her for who knows how long but i can't even get to talk to her for five minutes?!"
mikey sped up, laughing. "she's my girlfriend, not yours!"
"mikey!"
his bright laughter brought a smile to your face. he mounted his bike and made sure you were secure before revving off into the distance, his friends hot on his tail.
you gripped mikey's torso, nuzzling into his back. "thank you."
"don't thank me." mikey replied, quiet. "should've never happened in the first place."
your cheek rested on his shoulder blade, staring at him. his hair cascaded just enough to obscure his eyes from view. "i'm glad i have a strong boyfriend to protect me." you giggled.
his chest puffed with pride. "i am pretty strong."
you rolled your eyes.
"but it's not just us anymore." he turned his head to meet your eyes. "you have a new family, now. and they're all gonna look out for you."
your jaw hurt from how hard you smiled. your heart fluttered. resting your head on his back again, you squeezed him tight.
[]
the peaceful drive soon turned into a competition when the toman captains tried to race mikey down, determined for answers. emma, who rode on draken's bike, was especially vicious.
© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3
#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo revengers fluff#tokyo revengers#tokrev fluff#sano manjiro#manjiro sano x reader#mikey x reader#mikey fluff#mikey imagines#mikey sano#tokyo manji gang
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bigger than the whole sky | max verstappen
when i heard emma’s stone speech LET ME TELL YOU I GRABBED MY PHONE ASAP AND STARTED WRITING REMINDER FACECLAIM DOESNT HAVE TO BE EMMA STONE I JUST WANTED TO USE THE PIC LOL

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maxverstappen1 ophelia was very happy to see her mother win an oscar and have a mention in her speech. congratulations, yourusername you’re incredible as always. we love you!!
danielricciardo hello ophelia’s dad. can she come to the next race?
maxverstappen1 i have to ask ophelia’s mom
martingarrix little miss phee 🤍
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redbullracing mini verstappen is always welcomed!
yourusername the loves of my life!!
maxverstappen1 ❤️
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Australian Grand Prix 2024
“look, phee! that’s daniel. can you say hi daniel?” max pointed to the australian man who was entering the red bull motorhome. it was ophelia’s first time attending a race so max wanted to make sure she was okay at all times. that meant that ever since the verstappen family entered the paddock, max had ophelia in his arms, even when he had interviews.
daniel approached the family of three with a giant smile plastered on his face. “hi, little miss phee.” he waved at the three year old girl. “are you having fun?”
ophelia was a shy kid. when you and max would get invited to one of your friends kids’ birthday party, ophelia would always stay with you or max. she wasn’t interested in playing with the other kids.
“it’s okay, phee, daniel is a friend.” max encouraged the girl.
“you’re daddy’s friend.” ophelia said in a low voice that daniel could barely hear.
“yeah, your dad has loads of friends here. you want to meet them?” he asked.
“tell mommy we are going to meet daddy’s friends. we’ll be right back.” max gave ophelia a kiss on the cheek.
“we are . . meeting daddy’s friends!” ophelia told you with a giggle. if there was anyone who could get ophelia to open up, daniel was the man.
“okay, but come back soon. mommy is going to miss you so much.” you stood up from your chair and gave ophelia a kiss. you looked at max, who was too excited for ophelia to meet the rest of the drivers. “have fun.” you kissed max’s lips, but ophelia playfully moved max’s face away from yours.
“that’s my mommy.” ophelia told max.
“what? no way! she’s mine!” max played along as him and daniel walked out of the motorhome in search of their friends. you watched as your boyfriend and daughter laughed making some people passing by see that max enjoyed being a dad so much.
#formula 1#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#f1 imagine#f1 x you#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen one shot#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen#mv33#mv1#actress!reader#f1 smau#max verstappen smau#dad!max verstappen
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Emma, my witch. She is a necromancer, shy when it comes to the living but very talkative with the deceased. She is an art student and she loves books, collecting dead things and stitching dolls for her ghost friends.
#artists on tumblr#digital art#original character#digital drawing#witch#witchcraft#originalcharacter#necromancer#dark academia#dark acadamia aesthetic
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Sano Manjiro, the most frustrating man to have a crush on
You learnt that Mikey punched a guy who asked you out. Mikey refuses to explain why. Both of you are dumbasses.
Tags: fluff, stupid shit, getting together, friends to lovers, fem bodied reader, smut at the end, it's him just eating you out sjsns, slight Dom/sub undertones because I can't help myself
Mikey was a dumbass.
In every sense of the word, he was a short fucking dumbass with a deep melodic voice and great hair. The biggest dumbass in the world. You wanted to punch him in the face and kiss him at the same time. Genuinely, you couldn’t stand that man. In no way could you imagine him ever being a good boyfriend. He’d suck at it-----
“Oi, Sano Manjiro.”
The man in question turned, face dead and eyebrow twitching.
“What?”
“Did you beat up the guy?
“I beat up a lot of guys.”
“The guy who asked me out.”
Mikey sat back with his palms on the ground and Toman jacket secured on his back. His hair had gotten long, a bit too long for his liking and he still hadn’t decided how to cut it. You’d already taken the liberty over the last few weeks to tie them in pigtails and braid them to your heart’s content. He’d just walk around like that without batting an eye.
“Yeah, he went out with one hit. You could do better.”
“Do you know who you are? The fuck. That could have killed him.”
“He isn’t in the hospital or anything.”
You turned around, not being able to take a look at your friend anymore than you needed to. Everyone around you stared with either pity or annoyance. Sanzu, Emma and Ken-chin were utterly done with Mikey’s dumbassery and Chifuyu was done with yours. Baji and Kazutora were done with both of you. They just always choose the stupid people as friends.
“You weren’t gonna say ‘yes’ were you?”
And you weren’t. The boy had very bravely confessed his feelings for you (unlike some people) and before you could even tell him your answer, he’d told you to think about it at least. You’d appreciated it and left at that, already planning on saying no.
“Maybe I was, what’s it to you?”
“Oh my god,” Emma muttered out in agony.
"Maybe you should nurse him back to health then."
"Yeah I was already planning on it."
No you were not.
You left with an emphasis on your steps, back straight and eyes hard because you were stubborn. You didn't care if Mikey won at being the most stubborn person in the block, you would beat him at his own game.
♡
"You know he likes you. He has for years. He knows you like him. Just fuck already." Chifuyu moaned out, having gotten over the shoujo vibes very quickly after seeing the slow burn drag out.
"I dunno what you're talking about."
You wanted to deny it. Not deny that you were in love with Mikey but deny he was in love with you. Because admitting it meant hoping for something to happen and false hope got you hurt. People got close, they saw you in your humanity and ran away. The only people you trusted not to leave were your friends, Mikey included.
"Oh come on. I have given you a powerpoint presentation and a whole binder worth of evidence that Mikey likes you. I nearly got wiped out by Draken for taking one too many pictures."
You snorted. Chifuyu being a romantic buffoon with an overeager imagination made it harder for you to accept it. But you did acknowledge, not with the binder full of pictures and 'receipts', that Mikey had a soft spot for you.
You got close at 17, Mikey being an extroverted loud mouth and you being a shy but curious introvert. He took you on bike rides, talked to you while making eye contact, held your hand and pulled you next to him and you fed him bites of your food and let him sleep on your lap.
But you wanted to argue that….Mikey was just friendly like that.
It had been a few years before you noticed that Mikey rarely made eye contact with people while talking but always asked for your attention. You both were hopeless and were just waiting for the other one to confess. It was getting painful.
Chifuyu's eyes shifting to the side made you alert because he wasn't good at acting. And when he got up and ran, you knew who came inside.
"Hi, Captain! Bye, Captain!"
Mikey sat in front of you, dark bottomless eyes staring into your soul. You looked back at him, still pissed that he punched a perfectly nice guy. He then eyed your sundae and you immediately pulled it closer to you. He needed to learn that actions had consequences and that you weren't weak for him.
With a pout, Mikey placed his chin on his arms, splayed out on the table. It made you aware how broad he was, fingers nimble and boney and angular.
Pretty. Always so pretty.
"How's your boyfriend doing?"
Your teeth clicked and with a roll of your eyes, you established that Mikey needed to get pushed off a cliff somewhere.
"So you aren't gonna tell me?"
"Tell you what?" Mikey drawled out, looking up at you through his eyelashes.
"Why you punched an innocent dude."
"He pissed me off."
"Why?"
"Did you say yes?"
"Answer me first."
"I did."
You glared, taking a petty bite of your ice cream in retaliation. Mikey glared back harder, only changing when he looked out the corner of his eyes. You were about to turn your head before he spoke up again.
"It was an accident."
Your snort was loud and unattractive, hiding your face to try and compose yourself. When you looked up,Mikey's face had softened.
"I don't believe you."
"It's the truth. Answer my question."
You debated your options. Because maybe saying that 'yeah I want to date him' would be going too far considering it would be a lie. But admitting that you didn't meant even more probing questions. Like why you were annoyed at Mikey for punching someone you didn't wanna date.
"Why do you care?" You retaliated like a dumbass.
"You're pissing me off."
"Good."
There was another pause. Mikey's hand moving to steal your bowl. You swerve it away from him with no chance of winning with his reflexes and the limited space. So your hand went to grab his wrist.
Your heart raced at immediate contact. You became all too aware of him. Aware of his delicate wrist, the muscle, the bone that jutted out, the blue veins against pale skin. You became aware of his reddened and bruised knuckles, his calluses and ripped cuticles. They were hands of a delinquent, that liked to grip things too tight and didn't mind rough surfaces and reveled in strenuous activity. They were big too, too big against your own hand and too rough for your soft skin.
And they were warm, soaking into you to leave a lasting impression.
Mikey let go of the bowl in favor of holding your arm, gentle and all encompassing. His thumb rubbed against your skin, causing goosebumps to form and a shiver to run down your spine.
"I was fighting with Takemitchy. The dude got caught in the crossfire. My hand landed on his face by accident. I can show you Mitchy as proof. He still looks run down. Even I took a few hits."
You saw. Saw the scratches on his face and the redness of his jaw. It made you want to chide him for not bandaging himself. But he always liked it when you did it. Your eyes couldn't meet his, staring at your fingers wrapped around his wrist and his thumb rubbing your skin.
"You need to stop fighting in public settings."
"It wasn't that bad. A tire or two got thrown around but that's about it."
"Where did you--- not gonna ask."
Mikey giggled, soft and gravelly. You were reminded that the years changed his voice in a way that was still his. There was a pause and you realised the question eating away at you wouldn't go away until you asked it. The secret you kept wouldn't help being hidden away. You were tired and just wanted him.
"You know……I talked to the guy today. Went to meet him."
Mikey's eyes instantly hardened, looking away with a click of his tongue.
"Ah, did he tell you I knocked his brains out? You shouldn't date a liar."
"No," you tried to keep your voice casual, "he told me that it hurt but you weren't even looking at him when it happened. He just got too close."
"Then why did you ask---"
"He apologised though, said he didn't know I had a boyfriend."
Mikey’s lips tugged upwards, turning his head to the side so he could catch his composure. And you were ready to slap the shit out of him.
“Huh, I don’t know what gave him that impression. We must look good together.”
“I feel like you saying ‘that’s for asking my girl out’ after you hit him might’ve done the trick.”
Mikey held his hands up in surrender, knees knocking against yours almost to tease.
"I didn't hit him, I just repurposed the accident. Didn't want it to go to waste."
"Manjiro."
"What?"
"I'm not yours."
"Since when?"
"Since always!!"
His eyebrows furrowed, leaning back with a huge frown like you'd just told him his house burnt down.
"What the fuck?"
"You can't just make me yours without asking me first, asshat."
"Everyone knows you're mine."
"I dont."
Mikey took your hand, lips on the back of it as if it was a normal part of his day. But your breath hitched and you froze. Because oh---
"I found you first."
Your palms slammed against the table.
"If you wanna kiss me so bad then do it on my mouth, you coward---"
And within the next second, Manjiro’s mouth crashed into yours. It nearly knocked you back, if it wasn’t for his hand at the back of your head, curling into your hair. You whimpered against him, his lips tugging into a satisfied smirk.
Chifuyu had yelled out, “Fucking finally!!”
The sound of your lips parting away from each other was enough to make you want to lean back in. Your lips weren’t willing to move even an inch away from him. He tasted good. Like vanilla. And he had trouble keeping himself away from you as well, leaving chaste kisses on the corners of your mouth, fingers keeping your chin lifted up.
A throat was cleared, your cheeks instantly burned with the realisation of where you were. Mikey glared at the waiter who just let him know that it was time to leave. And with fingers interlocked, Mikey pulled you away from the diner, sticking out his tongue to Ken-chin who sighed in relief and leaned against Emma.
You got on his bike without question, heart racing because oh god--
The door to his room slammed open and he barely paid attention to anything with his arm around you. You giggled as he lifted you up and swirled you inside with a flourish. Once the door was shut, his laughter was loud and warm as his lips crashed into you, hungry for more. And you let him lead you, combing your hand through his hair causing him to shiver.
Mikey hugged you close, gentle in his touch and you let him swallow you whole and envelop you. When his tongue prodded against your lip, you parted them easily as if he didn’t even have to ask. And oh, he felt good.
But Mikey will spend the rest of your lives telling you that you were the best feeling in the world.
“Mine.” Manjiro murmured out, sucking on your lower lip so harshly that your whole body did a visceral shudder.
You were breathing hard when you parted, eyes hazy but daring as you looked your best friend in the eye.
“You still haven’t asked me, asshat.”
Manjiro growled, eyes narrowed and twitching. Your head and body threw itself back as you burst out laughing, feeling free because you knew Mikey’s arm would never let you fall. That led your neck to be exposed to the littering kisses Manjiro gave out of vengeance.
You squealed as it tickled and felt your knees give out against the bed beneath you. He’d backed you up, without you noticing, like a predator cornering its prey for a meal well earned.
You felt yourself sink into the soft mattress, hand reached out to tug his shirt down towards you. Manjiro just stared at you, eyes gleaming with an emotion you didn’t understand and a grin so wide you could see all his teeth.
“Mine, in every timeline.” Mikey whispered.
And your breath hitched, speaking out without a second thought.
“Yours, in every universe.”
Manjiro’s eyes watered and he finally enveloped you, body a welcomed weight as he kissed you in slow languid bliss.
“Good baby,” he whispered and you whined out.
You pawed at him, liking the praise a little too much. Manjiro’s kisses left a wet hot trail as he went from your chin to your cheek. A wet sound heard every time his lips disconnected from you. You let him have his way, feeling his hand pat the side of your head.
You wanted to kiss him back but every time you tried, he clicked his tongue in disapproval and you just laid there as he poured his love into you. You had begun to tear up because Manjiro's love was overwhelming and it was for you.
Your eyes closed as his lips met your eyelids, tasting the salty tears and pulling back to inspect your face. You mewled at the lost contact, opening your eyes and pouting.
Oh, how dare he
He hushed you, hand patting your head again, lips continuing their venture on your face.
Your legs wrapped themselves around his waist. And both of you became aware of the effect the intimacy had on you.
Manjiro pressed into you, hips solid and confident. And you felt his bulge against your pussy, only his pants and your underwear in the way. it was enough to drive you insane.
You yearned and yearned and begged with pretty fluttery eyes that had him breathless.
“Yeah? You wan’ me, honey?”
And despite the embarrassment, you nodded with the biggest pout you could muster. And Manjiro melted just at that, ready to burn the world for you if you asked him to. In another timeline, he probably had.
“Haven’t even been dating for a minute and you're already so needy.”
He didn’t even let you blubber out a complaint before your underwear was exposed to him. And you craved him so badly that your legs made space for only Manjiro. He appreciated it, boney fingers squeezing your hips before imprinting the memory of the wet patch into his mind.
Oh you were so sweet. A type of pliable that was only given to those you trusted.
“Not allowed to hide anything, okay?”
And with that, his nose traced the outline of your pussy, tongue peaking out for a taste that just wasn’t enough for you. Your thighs squished against his cheeks and he groaned, pressing his full mouth onto you. Your hips jutted upwards, a cry weak and wobbly escaping your lips. And with effort, you spoke.
“Stop teasing, jerk.”
The warmth was too much, you could feel him right there but the cotton was in the way. Despite your protest, he lapped you up out of greed. And your hands clutched onto his hair.
“If there’s nothing between us, I won’t be sane.” You heard him say and it just made you needier.
“Don’ want you to be. Please.”
And with that, his hand ripped your panties out of the way. Manjiro took a second to stare in awe at your pretty pussy. It was so wet, begging him to eat it out, practically drooling. Many thoughts went through his head.
How it would feel to be inside you, how warm it would be, if he could last long in the tightness? If he'd ever be able to survive without the taste of your pussy after this moment? If he gave your cunt a smack, would you like it?
Manjiro decided that keeping you waiting was the worst thing he could possibly do.
Mikey was a lot more hungry than he thought he was. Your pussy was engulfed in his mouth.
The direct contact was enough to make him moan. Your own got stuck in your throat, not realising how overwhelming it would be. When his tongue prodded inside, you let him guide your legs against your chest so that he could have more access. And then it plunged inside and you let out a warbled moan that felt too loud in your own ears. With a hand covering your mouth, you tried to suppress the little sounds tumbling out of you.
Manjiro’s middle finger tapped against the plush of your thigh and he pulled away with effort to say:
“No hiding. Be good.”
You cried out, flexing your fingers in his hair as he went back to the task at hand. And you let yourself voice out the feeling, soft “ah, ah, ah”s filling the air and causing you to tear up in embarrassment.
“Wan’ to be-be good for you.”
“Mhmmm,” He answered with the vibration of his hum shooting through your pussy and into your back that arched almost painfully.
The orgasm came out of nowhere, crashing into you the second Manjiro’s mouth wrapped around your clit and sucked.
You didn’t even care how loud you were being, brain wiping out everything it had as your body arched and twitched. Manjiro only stopped lapping your cum when you flinched away, kissing your inner thigh before moving to you for a kiss.
You let him inside your mouth easily, whimpering and pawing at his shoulder as you held him close. You shook in his embrace, muttering out weak and tiny ‘thank you’s that had him chuckling at you.
“Did your Manjiro make you feel good, bubba?”
“Uh-huh.” You nodded, kissing the corner of his lips in appreciation.
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