#knuckles just has resting bitch face

[ggarbagee]

doodles of two angry guys

[cheuby]

waking up to simon riley is really sweet.

retired/civilian simon riley in mind, part two to this post. a/n: honestly didn’t expect people to like the first post but here we are, thank you everyone for the pleasant surprise! also, i try to make simon feel more ‘human’, i feel like he doesn’t get humanized enough, does that make sense?

waking up to simon is like being shielded against the world, the contour of his body cradling your softer one as he holds you close in his sleep; maybe there’s an arm thrown haphazardly over your frame, perhaps a leg, or maybe he’s even put a leg between your legs — either way, you’re a mess of limbs and it’s like simon is attempting to fuse with you in his sleep.

simon who sighs deeply before he wakes. when asleep, his chest rises and falls with measured breaths, working in a rhythm; the epitome of peace. but, you move one good inch, try to untuck yourself from underneath his arm, anything — he stirs, filling his lungs with air before huffing it out not even a moment afterward, melting back against you more insistent on putting the weight and heat of his heavy build more onto you.

simon finds himself airing out his apologies as his lips drag across your warm skin in lazy kisses. he almost crushed under his weight in his sleep? he sounds so sorry, voice low and practically murmured whisperers against your skin. his brain is still attempting to catch up with his sleep slurred mumbles, filling in the blanks of his apologies with a kiss or absentminded hum.

simon is just really pretty when he wakes up. if you manage to stop him from nuzzling — or head-butting — into whatever part of you is soft enough for him to bury his face into, he’s all slow blinks and droopy eyes. it also takes a bit for his expression to soften into something a bit sweeter when he first wakes (he has a literal resting bitch face), squinted eyes and his lips pressed into an unamused line. it’s oddly satisfying to see his expression bordering on a pout, rich brown irises looking up at you through pale lashes.

simon has to smooth over the smile that’s fighting to tug at the corner of his lips for a more empathetic one when he’s taking you in for the first time in the morning, your hair a mess. if he didn’t know better, he would’ve asked if you were tossing and turning all night instead of if he did that, his calloused palms petting down your messy hair in short strokes before they settled at framing your face.

saying good morning to simon is a must. if he’s just waking up and he’s gruffing out a good morning, he expects to hear one back. he doesn’t want to hear a groan or some half-assed ‘morning’, it has to be good morning specifically. and oh, you’re asleep? he’s nudging your forearm gently with his knuckle to rouse you a bit, saying another insistent (but sweeter) good morning until you respond.

simon doesn’t always want to be on the go. sometimes being draped in warm covers and a tangle of limbs is where it’s at for simon, wanting to find a little more time in bed with you. so when he’s spooning you and starts crowding impossibly closer, his chin perched right on your shoulder as he uses your extended forearm to prop up his phone like some kickstand to watch some woodcarving asmr video on youtube — you better not move and your eyes better be on that screen, this is his and your enrichment time.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

The JJK men want YOU to wear their jersey

Tags: JJK men x fem!Reader, college au, sports au, mostly fluff and/or crack, suggestive only on Toji’s (nasty bitch), itafushi makes an appearance

An: This has been heavy on my brain recently 🙂‍↕️ Also, I don’t know if this concept is only in like my area, but basically, the concept is that on game days, a common thing for highschool/college players to do is to wear their jersey to class, and their sweetheart wears their home/away jersey. it’s just a cute thing to show support. Another thing, I know Kamo is not Choso’s last name, and I know Sukuna is not Sukuna’s last name. Sukuna might not even be Sukuna’s name at all. idk and idc. this is a no curse au anyways so who cares! let me know if i should do more sports au :)

Incl - Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Choso, Toji, Sukuna

SATORU

Girls will literally hunt Satoru down to get his jersey from him, and if you were the lucky girl who got to wear the jersey of the star quarterback… you either became instantly popular, or every girl in the university wanted to kill you.

“I’m sorry, ladies. I already have someone in mind.” Satoru flashed a grin towards the crowd of girls surrounding his seat. Disappointed sighs and whines emitted from the group as they slowly dissipated from his desk.

Satoru couldn’t care less. They could be mad at him if they wanted to. They were no where near as special as the girl he had his eyes set on.

Class had yet to start, and Satoru was growing tired of just staring at the back of your head. He finally got up, and he slumped down in the chair next to you.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked with a bright smile. He hadn’t interacted with you much, but he always had his eye on you. You were the one of the few girls who didn’t dumb down their intelligence for him to make themselves more appealing.

“It’s not.” You replied shortly. You weren’t rude, just incredibly matter-of-fact.

“Wanna make a bet with me?” Satoru asked as he tried to catch your eyes from your book. He was really pining for your attention, and you wouldn’t pass him a second glance.

“Not really.” You replied, not looking up from your book.

“I bet the professor will be twenty minutes late.” Satoru went on anyways, not taking your rejection to heart.

“Hmm. Doubtful. He’s normally prompt.” You say finally looking up at Satoru, which causes him to flash an easy smile. He’s happy to have your attention — now he wants to keep it.

“If he isn’t here within the next twenty minutes, you have to wear my jersey today and every game day for the rest of the season. If he makes it here before twenty minutes is up, I’ll buy you as many books as you can carry.” Satoru proposes as he taps on your book with a cheeky grin.

You think for a moment… all the books you can carry?? “Deal.” You say with a smile, offering your hand to him to shake on it — thinking you just easily won yourself a free shopping spree. Satoru takes your hand, and he gently shakes it before bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

He’s already won.

Satoru knows that you’ll be wearing his jersey today, and you’ll wear his colors for the rest of the season. He’ll make more bets… win you over slowly with false bets. Oh, he’ll buy you all those books you want too just because he can.

He’s already set Geto in motion to go run into your professor with large cups of coffees in his hand. Your professor ended up cancelling class after being 25 minutes late.

When the group of girls sees you with “GOJO” written on the back of your jersey, their faces contort in utter disdain, but Satoru looks at it with a shit-eating grin on his face. He won.

SUGURU

Suguru really didn’t get the thing about giving a girl his jersey on game days. Basketball season is pretty ruthless. While football teams only have 12 games in a season, basketball teams play over 30. That’s 30 days in one season that he’d have to find a girl that he gave enough of a shit about to give his jersey to? No thanks.

Of course, if he had a girlfriend it wouldn’t be too big of a deal, but the whole attitude around giving a girl your jersey was just something Suguru didn’t subscribe to.

Well, he didn’t think he subscribed to it until he saw one of his teammates offering you their jersey.

Maybe on a more psychological level, this was territory marking, and Suguru would be damned if he sat back and let another man mark you as their territory.

Even though he’s not proud of it, Suguru immediately marched straight up to you and his teammate with his away jersey thrown over his shoulder. He placed his hand firmly on the small of your back, and he gave his teammate a piercing look with his violet eyes. His lips curled into an easy smirk.

“Sorry man, she’s already agreed to wear my jersey today, isn’t that right angel?” He asked in such a condescending tone, and his fingertips dig into your skin with just enough pressure to make your face flush.

Luckily for Suguru, you were into it — and not his teammate. “Yeah, sorry. I almost forgot.” You agree, giving his teammate an empathetic smile.

So no, Suguru doesn’t get the idea of giving his jersey to a girl on game days, but he does get the idea of giving you his jersey. He loves how he towers behind you in the halls, seeing the name “GETO” written on your back with his number. He loves remembering the way you easily went along with his plan. You just fit him.

NANAMI

Nanami doesn’t need antics to get you to wear his baseball jersey.

Plenty of girls pine for Kento. Who wouldn’t? He was the leading star of the baseball team… who’s ass just so happened to look so good in those white tight-fitting pants.

Your college certainly played into it, giving Nanami the big screen when he takes off his helmet and shakes out his messy blonde hair that a bit damp from sweat. His cheeks are smeared with his eye black smeared on his cheeks (the charcoal black lines that athletes sometimes have).

They knew what they were doing when the yearbook crew took professional level pictures of Nanami looking absolutely jaw-dropping while delivering the nastiest pitch.

He was like eye candy that enticed a bunch of girls to buy tickets to the baseball games, and dammit, it worked.

Despite his celebrity status at the school, Kento didn’t act above anyone else. He didn’t flaunt money or act posh and sophisticated like a lot of the wannabes did at your university.

He was down to earth, smart, caring, and humorous to the right group of people (the dry humor enjoyers). Kento was the type of man to be able to reject someone without them even feeling rejected, which he did a lot when girls would ask for his jersey.

You often came to baseball games to watch (to watch nanami lets bffr), but you weren’t bold enough to ask Kento for his jersey on game days. You had witness girls before you, pilgriming the way to Nanami before they turn back empty handed. You couldn’t risk the heartache.

It wasn’t until one day after class you and Kento were the only two still packing up after a lecture, he casually strolled to your desk. “Will you be at the game tonight?” He asked with a genuine air of curiosity to him. This wasn’t awkward forced conversation because you two were the only two people in a room together.

You hadn’t even known that Nanami noticed you, much less noticed your attendance at games. You could feel your heart start to thud obscenely loud in your chest as you came to terms that you’re not invisible in Kento’s life.

“Yeah, I think I’ll show up…” You try your hardest to sound casual, but you just sound terribly nervous.

“I’ll look forward to seeing you.” He said politely before he reached into his bag and pulled out his spare jersey. “Hopefully wearing this..?”

Your eyes widen as you realize he was offering his jersey to you. “That- are you sure? Me?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He gives an honest laugh. His multimillion dollar smile makes you swoon, and he hands his jersey out again. “You should put it on now. That’s the tradition, right?”

You slowly slip the jersey on over your long-sleeved white top, and it definitely hangs loosely on you, but with a few tucks and adjustments, it finally sits on your body appropriately.

“It looks good on you. I’ll see you tonight.” Kento smiles before leaving the classroom.

You had never gotten more shocked stares than when girls saw you with “NANAMI” printed across your back.

CHOSO

“Hey Yuji, why does Megumi wear your jersey on game days?” Choso asked his teammate as he sat down on the bench in the locker room.

He had seen quite a few people - guys and girls who weren’t on the basketball team wearing the jerseys of his teammates, but he didn’t understand it. He figured he’d ask the one teammate who he considered to be more of a brother to explain.

“Because I make him.” Yuji laughed as he dried his pink hair off from the shower. It was a pretty brutal practice, even Choso’s raven hair was down, messy from sweat.

Choso furrowed his eyebrows. “Why would you do that-? I thought you liked him.”

Yuji laughed even harder as Choso clearly didn’t understand the dynamic he had with Megumi. He also clearly didn’t understand the concept behind giving someone his jersey.

“I do like him, so I like seeing him wearing my jersey on game days. I think he looks good in it too, even if he pretends to hate it. I know he likes showing his support.” Yuji explained, but he went on, “People give their jerseys to someone they like. It’s like a courting gift, and it lets everyone know your intentions with that person.”

Choso nodded as he began to understand. He should give his jersey to someone he liked - to someone he wanted to court, and his intentions would be made known.

That’s how shy, timid Choso ended up at your dorm door late one evening. After much encouragement and convincing from Yuji, he finally gave your door a soft knock, and Yuji ran around the corner to hide.

When you opened the door, looking at Choso with those big pretty eyes, he completely clammed up and forgot the mental script he had prepared about how he really liked you, and it’d mean a lot to him if you wore his jersey.

Instead, “I want my intentions known.” He nearly shouted as he gestured his jersey to you.

Yuji facepalmed around the corner.

You blinked a few times, looking down at the jersey then back up to him. He was lucky that you’re very good at filling in the blanks. “You want me to wear your jersey, Cho?” You asked with a small laugh before taking the jersey from his hands.

His cheeks were flushed, and he gave you an awkward smile before nodding his head vigorously. “And uh.. I want to court you.” He finally added all in one breath.

To Choso’s delight, you agreed, and now, he finally understands the real reasoning behind giving his jersey to someone he likes because seeing “KAMO” on your back makes him feel all dizzy with love and adoration.

TOJI

It started off as a small prank amongst girls. A prank that really pissed Toji off. A group of girls decided it would be cute to steal Toji’s spare hockey jersey and wear it without his knowledge.

When Toji saw one of the girls wearing his stolen jersey with his appalling last name printed on the back, he was livid.

Needless to say, he got his jersey back, and the girl couldn’t even look him in the eye after that whole experience.

He hated his jersey. He hated how his last name was on the back, and he hated how anyone else would want to wear it.

He couldn’t just get rid of his spare jersey. Then, he’d owe the school even more than what he already owes them. He couldn’t trust to keep it in his dorm because he didn’t put it past those bitches to try to sneak into his dorm to get their filthy hands on it. That was when he had a genius idea.

“Wear my jersey.” His gruff voice demanded as he dropped the fabric on the table in front of you, his too responsible friend.

“No, it probably stinks.” You pushed the jersey aside, trying to focus on the homework in front of you.

“Nah. It smells like the last bitch who stole it.” He remarked as he plopped down in a chair in front of your desk.

“Even worse.” You respond back unamused, still not giving Toji the time of day.

“Do you remember who hunted down the fuck who stole your headphones?”

You sighed, finally looking up at Toji to show that you were paying attention. “Why do you think me wearing your jersey will deter them?”

“Maybe they’ll think you’re my girl and piss off for a while. I don’t know, but if I see another preppy bitch wearing it without my knowledge, I’m going to burn it.” Toji’s voice sounded stressed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“And you don’t mind them thinking that?” You inquire, raising your eyebrow.

“Doll, you know I’ve spent the last three years trying to get you to hop on my-“

“Eughhh, give it.” You interrupt Toji before he can go into any further detail, snatching his jersey up and putting it on over your clothes. “There. Happy?”

Toji didn’t expect to have such a reaction to seeing you in his jersey. He knew he was serious about liking you, no matter how much you liked to believe that he didn’t actually like you, but seeing you in his jersey — the way it swallowed you whole. He figured he’d still hate seeing his last name on you, but there was something satiating those deep primal urges when he caught a glimpse of “ZENIN” across your back.

SUKUNA

Sukuna is much comparable to a dragon. He sees something pretty and shiny (you): he wants it all for himself. He wants to hoard treasure (you) to keep, and he definitely does not like the idea of anyone else looking or touching his treasure.

So, how does he keep wandering eyes off his treasure? He cloaks her in his favor, making her brandish his last name on her back along with his number. Yes, Sukuna demanded for you to wear his football jersey.

There was just enough satisfaction of seeing you walk around campus with “SUKUNA” written on your back that kept him from trying to hoard you in his room.

Oh, he’s also like a dragon in the sense that he’s absolutely devastating out on the field.

[avocado-writing]

Not sure if this is enough to go off of but I loved the poly!poolverine fic where they rescued the reader. I was wondering if we could get some more of them being protective of the reader 🙏🏻

The bar is pretty crowded tonight. You nurse a rum and coke and hope Logan and Wade are able to find you in the corner booth you managed to snag, because you know the second you go to order another some opportunistic patrons will take your spot - and you’ve been on your feet all day at work so there’s no way in hell you’ll let that happen.

You take a sip. It’s warm now, ice long since melted in the heat of the room. You grimace at the taste as someone slides onto the bench next to you. 

It is not one of your boys. 

“Hey, baby.”

He’s big. Kinda guy who goes to the gym every day big, which isn’t inherently bad - but from the way he uses his size to press up against you there’s a little bit of unease rising in your chest. He puts his elbow on the table so that he can rest his jaw in his hand, biceps flexing in the tight shirt he wears. 

“I’m waiting for someone,” you say, as calmly as you can, hoping this will deter him. It does not. 

“So? We can have a little talk, can’t we? Not hurting anybody.”

His hand goes to cover yours where it rests on the table. You snatch it back. He frowns. 

“Dunno who you’re waiting for, but they probably shouldn’t have left you here alone. Looks like they don’t care about you, honey.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, annoyed, deciding it’s not worth it. He won’t go so you will. You slide out the free side of the booth - but you’re forced to stop when he grabs your wrist. 

“I wasn’t done talking to you yet,” he says. Okay. Now you’re panicking. You manage to shake yourself free of his grasp and quickly push through the throng of people, hoping to lose him in the crowd. No such luck. He knows where you’re heading. 

The air is cold on the street as you speed up; not running, never running, that might incite a chase. He’s on your heels anyway. 

“Hey, are you just gonna keep ignoring me?”

“I told you I’m not interested!”

He grabs you again, harder this time. A grip you can’t break free from. 

“You know, you should learn not to be such a bitch —”

“Oh! Isn’t this fun! Sorry to interrupt this little show of misogyny in action but it’d be great if you could let go of our pookie.”

You’ve never been more relieved to hear Wade’s voice. Suddenly you’ve got someone either side of you: the brick which is Logan on your left, and the snark which is Wade on your right. 

The guy who’s holding you does not drop your arm. He frowns. 

“Who the fuck are you?”

“They’re who I was waiting for,” you say quickly, as if this will deter him. The man laughs, loudly, cruelly.

“Sorry, you’re in some kinda threesome with this old fucker and whatever this dude is? Fuck, honey, you really need someone to show you what a real man—”

He does not get a chance to finish. Logan’s fist has collided with his face with such ferocity you can hear his nose break. The man yelps and staggers backwards, you bring your hand to your chest for safety. 

“Should’ve let go, bub,” he mutters, massaging his knuckles. Wade deflates. 

“Aw, I wanted to get the first hit in!” He peers over at where the guy is laid out flat. “Go on, get back up. If I don’t throw a punch it emasculates me, and I’m very sensitive about it.”

You roll your eyes, tugging at his sleeve. 

“Let’s just go, guys. I don’t think he’s gonna follow us.”

“One sec.”

Wade strolls over and puts his boot on the guy’s chest, pushing down until he’s wheezing.

“You wanna apologise?”

The guy groans out a sorry, and you give a curt nod when Wade turns to see if you’ve accepted it.

“Don’t do this bullshit again, with anyone, or I’m gonna find you, rip your dick off, then feed it to my adorable, hideous dog.”

They cage in around you as your turn, two loyal hounds at your beck and call. You throw a couple of glances over your shoulder as you leave but it’s as you suspected: the guy remains on the cold concrete. When you’re far enough away to feel safe they slow to a stop. 

“You okay?” Logan asks, lifting your chin with a finger so that he can get a good look at you. You nod. 

“Yeah. Thanks for being there in time.”

“I’m sorry baby, we should have got here earlier, but peanut here tore a guy’s arm off so we had to go and clean up first—”

“Oh god, stop,” you say, pulling a face. You don’t want to know about their line of work, very happy for the business and personal life gulf to be a wide one. “Let’s go get some pizza and head home.”

“Anything you want,” says Logan, squeezing your hand. 

Anything where you’re between them is what you want. Safe and happy, they’ll make sure you’re both. 

[sincerelyneo]

promiscuous | l.jn

“i’m all yours, what you waiting for?”

💿now playing: promiscuous by nelly furtado, timbaland

❯ summary: Jeno’s more turned on than angry he thinks - it’s not everyday he finds out his girlfriend used to be a stripper and now all he wants from you is a lap dance. Right now. In his car.

❯ pairings: jeno x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut

❯ words: 3.7k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, mentions of drinking, lap dancing, stripping, car sex, unprotected sex (don't do this!), dirty talk, thigh riding, semi-public sex, hair pulling, mentions of groping and shitty men, karina is reader's bsf, reader uses she/her pronouns, just jeno being smitten and in awe over his stripper gf.

“Did you see the look on his face when you said you had a boyfriend?” Karina chuckles from the backseat of Jeno’s car.

The joke isn't particularly funny, but it's the combination of alcohol buzzing through her system and the late hour that has her snickering and laughing as if she's a comedian. Jeno can’t help but crack a smile either, not because he finds her humorous; but because his heart swells with pride knowing you turned down another guy because you’re his girlfriend. 

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of saying that. 

“I know, he looked like he was about to piss his pants when he started apologising,” you add with your own cackle of laughter. “Priceless really, like a little dear in the headlights.”

Karina grins, leaning back into the middle seat. "I almost wanna feel bad for him, but then I remember he wouldn't take no for an answer until you mentioned Jeno."

You roll your eyes with a shake of your head, “That’s men for you.”

“Ugh! Tell me about it,” she rolls her eyes, “Men are so gross.”

Jeno looks through the rearview mirror and sees her scrunch her nose as a shiver runs through her body. “Hey now, I’m not gross.”

“Oh I know, Y/N tells us all about how cute the two of you are,” she sighs, “She’s managed to find one of the good ones, lucky bitch.”

You look over at Jeno when she says it, a smile on your face because she’s right. Lee Jeno’s the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. Just the right balance of sweet and smitten and passionate and protective. Even now, with one hand on the steering wheel and the other gently resting on your exposed thigh beneath your short dress, he had insisted on picking you up from the club even if it meant waiting up into the early hours of the morning. He just didn’t like the idea of you and your friend getting in a cab alone, drunk. Granted, you’re not that drunk, but Karina is. 

He is one of the good ones.

“You’ll find a good one too, Rina. You deserve it,” you assure her looking back to see her sitting with her arms folded across her chest. 

“Well wherever he is he needs to hurry up, honestly, I don’t know how much more I can take of shitty men chatting me up at the bar and trying to grope me. It’s nauseating.”

“They do that to you?” Jeno asks. You pull up to a red light and his eyes meet hers in the mirror.

“Sometimes,” she shrugs, “Honestly Y/N, I don’t know how you used to put up with it when you used to strip…” 

Karina's words trail off as she realises her mistake, her eyes widening in alarm. You go stiff in the passenger seat because you haven’t told Jeno about that. 

The jovial atmosphere in the car suddenly shifts, the air growing thick with tension as Karina's slip of the tongue hangs in the air like a heavy cloud. Jeno's grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. His eyes flicker to the rearview mirror, catching Karina's wide-eyed expression, and there’s a silent plea for forgiveness in her gaze.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and a rush of panic floods through you. For a moment, the only sound in the car is the dull hum of the engine and the distant echo of traffic outside. Jeno's jaw clenches, but it’s not out of anger, you’ve seen him angry and this isn’t it. If anything you haven’t ever seen him like this, expression unreadable, and you don’t know whether that’s worse.

"You... used to strip?" His voice finally cuts through the heavy silence. 

Your breath catches in your throat, as you struggle to find the right words to explain yourself. You open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. There’s a weight of guilt and fear pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket.

Karina shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her earlier confidence replaced by a palpable sense of regret. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out for her either. Her gaze darts between Jeno and you with a mixture of guilt and apprehension.

The remainder of the car ride was suffocatingly silent until the car pulls up in front of Karina's building, the engine cutting off with a final sputter. She hesitates for a moment, her hand lingering on the door handle as she glances between you and Jeno, unsure of what to say.

Eventually, she opens the door and lets herself out, but not before standing at the passenger window to mouth a small and apologetic. "I’m sorry.”

You manage a weak smile and shake your head, mouthing back a simple, “It’s okay.”

She nods, and she stumbles her way up to her apartment. Jeno waits until she’s safe inside and the door closes behind her before he starts driving off again. You can’t help but shift uncomfortably in your seat, stealing glances at him out of the corner of your eye. 

You can’t shake the feeling that he’s angry, furious even, at the revelation of your past. Guilt gnaws at your insides, twisting and turning as the car is quiet and his gaze stays fixed on the road ahead. 

You can’t bear the silence any longer, the weight of it pressing down on you. "Jeno, are you... mad?" you tread lightly, voice barely above a whisper.

Jeno's head snaps to the side until his eyes meet yours. They’re dark and intense but filled with more surprise than anger. And you’re caught off guard; because you could have sworn from the way he’s gripping the steering wheel, hard enough to cause a fire, he would have been at least a little annoyed.

A slow smirk starts to spread across his lips, gaze now burning and it sends shivers down your spine. "Mad?" he echoes, "No, Y/N... not mad."

A wave of confusion washes over you, your mind reeling at the unexpected response. But before you can process his words, he’s pulling over at some random side of the road to lean in close to your ear. His breath is hot, and he whispers, "Actually, I'm pretty turned on."

You move away from him, back hitting the car door, “Really? You’re not upset…?”

“Well…” he shrugs, “I’m upset that you didn’t tell me—”

“I didn’t want you to look down on me, or be embarrassed of me,” you cut him off, the urge to guard yourself getting the best of you.

Jeno sighs, and he notices the way your voice shakes as you defend yourself. He doesn’t understand why you’re even doing that – you don’t have to prove anything about yourself to him – he loves you as you are, past and future included. 

“You didn’t let me finish,” his fingertips grip your chin, “I’m upset I made you feel like you couldn’t trust me to tell me that.”

“I just didn’t want you to judge me is all,” you look down, voice going quiet. 

“That what you think I’d do?” He asks, planting a kiss on your cheek, and to his pleasure, it snaps your eyes up to him. “I’d never fucking judge you, baby, I already think you’re perfect… and I suppose knowing you used to strip is kind of a bonus.”

You laugh, shaking his hand from your chin, “Shut up.”

“I’m serious, do you know how hot it is knowing my girlfriend used to be a stripper?”

His tone is too calm for your liking. You had often imagined how Jeno might react about learning of your past as a stripper, and you don’t know why, but you had always prepared for him to be angry. You weren’t expecting this, him being so touchy and needy and – well – horny. 

“I’m serious, Y/N.” He scrapes his teeth across his bottom lip as he flicks a glance up to the roof of his car. When his eyes fall down to yours, they’re dangerous. “I’m getting hard just thinking about it.” 

You push at his chest playfully, “Stop it Jeno.” 

“Were you any good at it?” he asks tensely.

“We’re not doing this,” you laugh, shaking your head. 

He groans - it’s more of a whine. “Come on humour me, please baby.” 

You jut your jaw and roll your eyes. “Fine, I suppose I was pretty good.”

He lets out a dark huff of breath. Leaning back in his seat, he strokes his chin and runs a slow, all-seeing eye up your thigh and then over your chest. By the time it rests on your face, all of your nerve endings are on fire, lungs unable to keep up with your tense breaths.

“Show me.”

Your eyes widen, “What?” 

“Show. Me.” He repeats, expressionless.

There’s a chill that drifts through you. His face is completely void of humour, but there’s no way he can be serious…right? 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you straighten your spine, mustering your best look of indifference as you fix him with a piercing stare. “We’re in public.”

“We’re in my car, and it’s dark.” 

You swallow, “You want me to strip here?” 

He nods. 

“There’s no room.”

He reaches down beside his seat, and with a soft touch, it reclines, creating a large space between his knees and the steering wheel. He always has an answer to everything. You let out a ragged breath, butterflies erupting in your stomach.

"Jeno, I can't just strip for you—" you begin, your voice trailing off as he interrupts you.

"Oh, so you'll strip for random men, but when I ask, it's a problem?" 

You bite the inside of your cheek, meeting his intense gaze. "You're serious?"

"Deadly.”

"Fine."

The click of your seatbelt echoes in the quiet car as you rise, sliding into the gap in front of him, facing the windshield. He lets out a low groan, his hand finding purchase on your waist, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins.

As you slowly lower your body, the denim of his jeans rustles against the backs of your thighs. You shift your ass forward to his knees and arch your back. Your hands tremble, partially because you haven’t done this for years but also from the heat of his impatient gaze on your skin as you tease the straps of your dress down your shoulders.

With deliberate movements, you shift your hips, slowly, sensually. Your body sways in time to an invisible rhythm and you feel your lust and adrenaline rise.

His fingers glide along the contours of your back, and suddenly, an irresistible urge seizes you – to see the expression etched onto his face. It's a novel sensation, one that contrasts sharply with your previous experiences. In the past, when you danced, you avoided eye contact with patrons, but this is different; this is Jeno, your Jeno.

You decide to peer over your shoulder, and when you do you don't break eye contact with him. Taking a deep breath you slide the dress over your body, his gaze follows your every movement. From your ankles to the strip of your black underwear, his eyes trace your curves with a hunger that has your core setting a light. There is not a single trace of sweet Jeno left in his irises - the man looking back at you is hungry, needy.

Letting the fabric fall to the pedals, you lower yourself back onto his lap. The warmth of his thighs against your bare skin sends a delicious shiver down your spine, and you can't help but arch your back as you roll your hips, feeling the heat building between you. Soft fabric brushes over your clothed cunt and it makes your mouth water.

Holding onto the steering wheel, you arch your back and roll your ass into the direction of his groin. The guttural sound of his grunt is so animalistic it sends a shock of pleasure straight to your clit. You push further, sliding back until the tip of his swollen cock brushes against your ass. The realization of just how hard he is through his jeans sends a thrill coursing through your veins that triggers a wet heat to pool in your panties. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you move, each roll of your hips driving you closer to the edge from the brush of his growing erection. His ragged breathing fills the car, and when his rough fingers slide beneath your panties, the snap of elastic meeting skin elicits a moan from your lips.

"Can't believe you'd wear panties like this, in that dress, when I wasn't there," he grunts, his voice thick with desire.

Gasping for air, you tilt your head back, your breaths coming in short gasps. "Shut up," you manage, but your voice still trembles with need.

He laughs, before returning his hands to your waist. "Turn around for me, baby. I want to see your face."

Too breathless to refuse, you rise on shaky legs and turn to face him. And when you meet his gaze, you're unprepared for the intensity you find there. It's a stare so intense it's almost violent, burning as it trails over your body over your thighs and stomach. You’ve had plenty of sex with Jeno and the way he studies your body so carefully will never not leave you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“Prettiest fucking girl in the world,” he mutters the words more to himself than to you, but still, you shudder beneath the weight of them.

You grip the back of his headrest and slowly lower yourself onto his lap. Jeno leans forward to meet you. His hands, hot and greedy, slide behind your back to steady you. A smile tugs on your lips as you roll your hips against his throbbing cock just enough to wake up your clit — not that you needed to. Then, his fingers slide underneath the band of your bra and he looks up at you through his thick lashes. 

The snap as he drags his thumb out from underneath the band sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your pussy, and you can't help but arch your back in response. His eyes roam over your body, tracing the line of your throat before settling on your lips.

"I want to take this off," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

"That's not how lap dances work, silly," you giggle, a smile playing on your lips.

Another animalistic groan comes from him forcing your pussy to clench around nothing. Your fingers dig into his headrest, and his raspy breaths tickle the dip of your chest. You rake your teeth over your bottom lip as his fingers find the base of your hair to yank your head back.

"You take it off then," he growls, his voice thick with desire. "I just want it gone. Now."

With a mischievous grin, you slide your bra off, tossing it in his direction. As it lands on his face, you see a slow breath escape his parted lips, tension tightening the line of his shoulders as his hungry eyes take in the sight of your bare breasts. His eyes trail over your curves, the hunger in his gaze almost palpable as he flexes his biceps, adjusting his hands behind his head.

"Don’t let me stop you," he murmurs cockily.

Your pussy throbs with anticipation as you lean back, gripping his knees as you rock your hips forward once more. One particularly hard roll of your hips elicits a moan from deep within you, the friction building with every movement.

"You're so wet, baby. I can see you soaking through your panties," he whispers

Flustered, you whimper in response, his gaze sliding down to where your panties meet his jeans.

"Can I pull them to the side?" 

You're too lost in the moment to argue, too caught up in the pleasure and the heat between your thighs. So you nod, permitting him to slide your panties to the side as you grind hopelessly against his leg. Your body is flush and sweaty yearning for him, craving more pressure every time your clit brushes against his bulge. 

“Fuck,” he whispers close to your ear. 

Your hands slide between his bent elbows and your fingers lock behind his headrest; allowing you to have a better position to grind down on his body with even more fervour.

“You’re gonna cum on my thigh aren’t you?”

You're consumed by heat and desire, completely hot and desperate, and the windshield is now fully fogged up as a result. Lost in the throes of pleasure, you're unable to respond to him, but words are unnecessary. He can see the way your eyes clench shut with each roll of your hips, an expression of pure ecstasy. It's all the encouragement he needs to take action, flexing his thigh beneath you.

The sensation overwhelms you, causing you to buckle under the pressure against your clit. Unable to contain yourself, you sink your teeth into Jeno's bicep and he hisses. But you can't help it because waves of pleasure wash over you as you ride out the orgasm that courses through your body.

After what feels like an eternity of bliss, your high begins to ebb, and you find yourself melting into his chest, spent and content.

It's only when the intensity of your climax subsides that you snap back to reality. Neither one of you has moved – you’re just attached to eachother, panting heavily that you might as well share the same breath.  The sensation of Jeno’s cock poking your ass is still tangible, and even though you are practically exhausted from the intensity of the orgasm he just gave you, you figure it’s only fair to return the favour.

Your gaze remains fixed on his as you reach down to fumble with the buckle of his jeans. He offers no assistance, his eyes entirely focused on you. After all, this is your show, and you get to call the shots. 

You free his cock from his boxers, skipping the rest of his clothes in your eagerness to please him. His hands find your waist as yours find his shoulders, and you revel in the satisfaction of his eyes fluttering shut as you sink down onto the entirety of his length. 

He hisses in pleasure, unable to resist a teasing remark. "You know, for someone who was so hesitant to strip in public, you sure don't mind taking my cock in public."

"It's dark, and we're in your car," you retort, satisfied with your quick comeback. 

But before you can say more, he thrusts his hips, driving his cock deep inside you, where he belongs.

You feel every edge of him as he pounds into you, knotting your stomach and causing you to tighten your grip on his shoulder. The force of his thrusts threatens to push you back against the steering wheel, but you manage to hold on, whining in pleasure as he mutters curses under his breath.

"You always feel so good for me, baby," he coaxes, his hand tangling in your hair and pulling it back to expose your neck.

You hum in agreement, shamelessly lost in pleasure as he peppers your skin with wet, open-mouthed kisses. You pant like there is no oxygen left in the car as his thrusts become sharper and more reckless.

“Fuck Jeno.” 

You gasp, feeling his grip on your waist tighten in sync with the coil of pleasure in your stomach. He pushes you down to nuzzle into his neck, eliciting a cry from you at the angle. He takes your hands from his shoulders and locks them behind your back, giving him full control to drive every inch of him deep inside your pussy.

“Shit..” you whimper into his neck. You can feel his lips against your jaw, nicking it with his teeth. 

“Take it, baby.”

The restriction of your hands paired with his powerful thrusts have you completely submissive to him - which is funny considering you were supposed to be putting on a show for him. He uses his hold on your arms to pull you back and forces you to look at him. 

“Wanna see your face when you cum pretty girl.”

He knows your body so well because you’re at the beginning of your second round of bliss. His forehead falls lazily to your collarbone as he kisses the skin, sending trembles down your body and causing your mouth to fall open as you meet the edge. 

And your whimpers only spur Jeno on, as he rocks you through your orgasm, his own release not far behind. He shakily moans out your name with heavy breaths, his pace staggering as you both climax together. Both your stomachs jitter from the stimulation and your chests huff until your bodies shake with the intensity of the pleasure.

As you come down from your high, you feel Jeno's final thrusts, his eyes squeezed shut and sweat glistening on his brow. The collar of his shirt is damp with exertion, and his tongue pokes out at the side of his mouth as he catches his breath.

You’re like a limp puddle too, but Jeno stays clung to you, your sweaty bodies tangled in one other. Then, you slip off of him and drop into the passenger seat, tugging on your bra and dress that were previously disregarded on the car’s floor.

Jeno fixes his jeans as you dress. Then he starts toying with the car’s keys and revs the engine. As the car comes to life, the headlights glow yellow and the radio picks up. His warm, firm hand finds your thigh as you fasten your seat belt and glance up at him.

"From now on, every time we have sex, you owe me a lap dance."

 "Shut up," you say with a scoff of laughter.

“I'm serious," he insists, " We gotta make up for lost time since you kept the fact you're a sexy ass stripper hidden from me."

[bellsbookshop]

i owe you a black eye and two kisses

frank castle x reader

warnings: fluff, a sprinkling of angst, will they won’t they finally becoming something real, a hint of suggestiveness throughout, canon typical injuries

authors note: my first fic on this blog !! i’ve seen a whopping two edits of frank with ethel cain’s crush, and obviously i had to do something about that. enjoy, and any feedback [likes, comments, reblogs] are always appreciated ! reader isn’t explicitly gendered in this

wc: 1023

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

i owe you a black eye and two kisses

tell me when you wanna come and get ‘em

it’s a warm night, the barest of breezes ruffling the curtains from your open apartment windows. frank would huff at that, jaw set in that pissy little way you like as he bitches about you being safe. you’d snort, swatting at him lazily as you remind him you’re on the sixth floor. his grumbled complaints would go ignored, your eyes rolling every time you catch a word here and there through the mumbling. but frank’s not here, hasn’t been around in two weeks, and you’ve left the windows open nearly every night in a silent act of protest.

he never tells you what he does but you’re not an idiot — the split knuckles and blood tinged treads of his boots make it clear enough, and you’re sure that if you ever got the opportunity to peek under his layered shirts and jackets, you’d see an array of scars, begging to tell you a story. the pair of you have been dancing around each other for months now, neighbors in the sense that frank sometimes sleeps in the apartment down the hall from yours. you’re not sure where he rests his head the rest of the time, but a few days a week you can usually find him there, fixing something.

your first meeting was funny in the odd way, trying to lug a heavy furniture box up to your apartment. the elevator hardly ever works, so you’d chosen to tough it out, sweat dotting your brow as you dragged it up the stairs. between one second and the next the weight has all been lifted from your hands, and he was resting it easily on one broad shoulder with only a quiet “gonna break your back like that. which door ?” he wouldn’t hear a word of thanks either, just set it down where you’d told him and disappeared down the hall to his own apartment. it had taken a lot of work — frank was like a half feral stray, all teeth when you tried to befriend him — but over time you could comfortably call him a friend, always willing to help you with whatever issues your run down apartment was having.

i only want him if he says it first to me

i wanna ugh him in the back of his mom’s mercury

the attraction was immediate, a white hot flame curling in your stomach just at the sight of him; strong jaw and stronger arms, features rough in the handsomest way, and the low rasp of his voice was enough to bring you to your knees the first time you heard it. the feelings came later, little pinpricks of affection at the hidden softness that lurked behind every harsh face he made. you’d caught him feeding the strays out in the alley more than once, big hands impossibly gentle when he pet them, and you never really stood a chance, not when he’d fixed the loose lock on the lobby door because you’d admitted it made you feel unsafe.

but you’re careful, wary like you’re treading through a minefield; you can’t tell him everything running through your head, not if you wanted to keep him. he was a runner, obvious in every little thing he did, and you couldn’t scare him off for fear you’d never forgive yourself. you let him come to you, set the pace as slow or as fast as he wants — you’d only tell him how bad you wanted him if he wanted you just as badly first.

he looks like he works with his hands and smells like marlboro reds

it makes me so ugh and i can’t get enough of it

you’ve been missing him though, a soft ache in your chest that only grows larger every day he’s gone. you’ve kept your fingers crossed that whatever business he’s tending to hasn’t killed home before you’ve gotten the chance to care for him the way you want to, and that he’ll stain your doorway with his bloody boots soon. it’s a little ridiculous, pining for a man you know next to nothing about, but there’s something in his eyes that tells you he’ll be worth it, even if he doesn’t believe it himself.

as if he could sense your thoughts, there’s an all too familiar knock on your door, and despite the late hour you can’t help the smile that spreads over your face. it feels like every step takes forever, moving in slow motion till you’ve unlocked the door and there he is, a fresh black eye and a cut above his brow. he still manages to look unfairly handsome, especially when he pins you with that half smirk, lips curled around your name.

“doorframe still stickin’ ? i gotta take a look at that in the morning,” he says in lieu of a greeting, eyeing the rusting hinges with the sort of intensity he does everything else. it’s almost endearing, and you raise your brows at him with a quiet laugh. “is that what you came over for ? i don’t see you for two weeks and it’s the door that draws you in ?”

his resounding laugh is quiet but genuine, leaning against the doorframe to take you in. “nah sweetheart, not the door. was wondering … i could fix that for you. and that window frame that keeps rattling. install some better blinds, for privacy.”

you cross your arms, mimicking the way he’s leaning against the doorframe; like this you can really admire him, one hand coming up to gently trace the scrape above his brow. “kind of sounds like you’re staying this time,” you hum, and the smile you get out of him shines brighter than anything you’ve ever seen.

��was considering it. you offering to keep me ?” he asks, a cheeky streak to his tone, and all you can do is laugh, tugging him down by the collar of his jacket.

blood and scrapes and split knuckles be damned, you were keeping him. for as long as he’d let you, frank castle was all yours. ⋆˚࿔

[monotonesmile]

Damian Wayne Headcanons

————————————————————————————————

[General Headcanons:]

Damian knows a lot of languages so he can and will use them to confuse his siblings (and once on Bruce. Note: This did not work, Bruce started speaking the same language.) in arguments. He will fully switch to a completely different dialect in the middle of a sentence, he’ll go from English to fluent Latin.

Damian definitely isn’t a touchy-feely person or a praising man, so he usually expresses himself through quality time or acts of service. He does care, he’s just had the aspect of “showing emotions is weakness” so beaten into him that he’s just doing everything subconsciously.

I feel like Damian does take time out of his day to actually hang out with his siblings, whether by (begrudgingly) going out with Dick or hanging out with Jason in one of the many libraries in the manor in silence. He does want to be around his siblings, he just won’t admit it as stated before.

Damian is always happy whenever he gets to have authentic food from where he was raised before arriving at Wayne Manor, it makes him smile a bit when Alfred makes it for him, even if it has to be changed a little due to his vegetarianism.

Damian, as Robin, is both a strike first, ask questions later type but also a strategist at the same time. Nobody understands how.

[Romantic Headcanons:]

When it comes down to romantic relationships though, he will definitely not be any different in the first few months of dating, he’ll be cold and blunt as ever but there is a hint of softness to everything he does, plus you’ll find honestly beautiful portraits and drawings in your bag or room at times.

After a few months of dating he’ll let you actually hold his hand in public, although he definitely doesn’t look happy about it (he’s happy, he just has a resting bitch face).

Damian definitely doesn’t tell you about his night life as Robin for a long while, he’s afraid you’d look at him differently and be scared off by it. It takes him probably more than a year, maybe even two, to actually tell you of his secret identity, and even longer to tell you about his true past with the League of Assassins for the same reasons he was afraid to tell you about his life as Robin.

He absolutely has petnames for you in different languages.

If his multitude of pets love you, you’ve just become absolute wife/husband/spouse material in his eyes, especially if you also love animals.

Damian is low key really sweet towards his partner, but it really doesn’t look like that from an outside perspective, from someone else’s POV, Damian looks uninterested and cold towards you, but you can see the small things, the way his thumb runs across your knuckles as you hold hands and how he is keeping his eyes on you.

Damian would be hella embarrassed if you traced any of his scars, it is absolutely one of the best ways to get him to shut up or blush brighter than a tomato.

Damian likes listening to your heartbeat, it’s like he’s reminding himself that you’re real and actually with him. He’s afraid of losing the people he loves and cares for so he does certain things to remind himself that it’s all real.

To leave off on a soft note, Damian’s kisses are always soft and sweet, like he’s savoring every moment of it, he always involuntarily smiles into kisses as well.

[noredemptionhere]

"you know i'll keep you in my locket-just come here, then we can settle down." ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ farmer!abby x fem!reader

this fic is only two chapters, click here for chapter two. this fic also has a sevika [arcane] version (the abby one was the original—i just postponed posting it.)

warnings: psychological horror, unsettling themes, hallucinations (?), emotional distress, mild body horror, paranoia-this has actual terrifying themes. do not ignore the warnings.

life was so good.

morning came slow and golden, the sky a quiet canvas of pale blues and soft, melting oranges. the house was still, the warmth of sleep lingering in the corners. you stretched lazily, the scent of fresh earth and sun-dried wood seeping in through the open window. somewhere in the distance, the wind played through the cornfields, making them whisper and sway. It was peaceful. the kind of morning that made the world feel soft.

and yet, something sat heavy in your chest.

you rolled out of bed, feet padding quietly against the wooden floor as you made your way to the kitchen. the old farmhouse had its quirks—creaky floorboards, chipped counters, the lingering scent of fresh bread from the night before—but it was home. your home. yours and abby’s.

you trailed your fingers along the worn edge of the counter, eyes flicking to the unopened letter still resting beside the fruit bowl. a thick envelope, its corners slightly curled, the words harvard university stamped across the front. you already knew what it said. you’d known for days. but telling abby… that was something else entirely.

you exhaled slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. not yet.

still dressed in nothing but a white tank top and a pair of blue jeans, you pulled your hair up, letting the cool morning air slip over your skin. coffee first, then maybe you’d wake abby up. she had been working herself to the bone lately, her hands rough from labor, her body aching from the long hours spent tending the crops. She deserved to sleep in a little.

you were just pouring your coffee when a sound shattered the quiet.

a deep, rumbling engine.

your breath hitched.

the sound wasn’t unfamiliar—it was the kind of thing you’d hear from a passing vehicle on the main road—but this wasn’t passing. It was approaching. fast.

your eyes flicked toward the kitchen window just as a truck came barreling through the property, crashing through the fence abby had built with her own two hands. wood splintered, the earth kicked up in thick clouds of dust, and before you even had time to think, your body was moving.

the coffee cup slipped from your fingers, shattering against the floor, but you didn’t stop.

you grabbed the baseball bat from where it rested against the back door and shoved it open, storming outside with nothing but rage burning through your chest.

you already knew who they were.

marvin and john.

businessmen. greedy, impatient bastards who only ever showed up when they wanted something. abby had been forced to rent the cornfield from them, and every few months, they slithered onto the property, demanding their cut. you had seen them before, their fake smiles, their arrogant way of speaking, like they owned everything they touched.

but this? this was a whole new level of disrespect.

the dust settled just enough for you to make out their smug faces as they climbed out of the truck. marvin, the taller one, adjusted his coat, looking entirely too pleased with himself. john, the shorter of the two, scanned the fields like he was already counting how much profit he could steal.

neither of them had the right to be here.

“you crazy sons of bitches—” you stomped toward them, gripping the bat so tightly your knuckles ached. “who the hell do you think you are?”

marvin sighed, like you were nothing but a mild inconvenience. “you know exactly who we are, sweetheart.”

sweetheart…?

your fingers twitched.

abby had warned them before. had made it very clear that she didn’t want them anywhere near you—had nearly broken marvin’s jaw the last time he got too close. but sevika wasn’t out here right now, and they knew it.

john took a slow step forward, hands in his pockets. “we’ve been patient,” he said, tilting his head like he was trying to sound reasonable. “abby is late on her payment. we can’t wait forever.”

the rage boiled over.

you stepped forward, jabbing the bat toward them. “so what, you think you can just—just crash through our property like a fucking imbecile? you think that’s gonna make us pay you any faster?”

marvin shrugged. “you weren’t answering our calls.”

“then maybe you should’ve taken the hint”

you barely saw him move, but suddenly, he was too close.

marvin leaned in, a smug smirk curling his lips. “listen, you li—”

the sound of a shotgun cocking froze the air.

marvin stilled. john stiffened.

a familiar voice, dark and dangerously calm, sliced through the tension.

“you take one more step toward her, i’ll paint my fucking porch with your blood.”

your heart lurched.

abby.

she stood a few feet away, hair loose, eyes sharp with the kind of warning that made your stomach flip. she wasn’t even dressed properly—just a pair of sweats slung low on her hips, her arms still bare, the curve of her muscles tense with anger—but none of that mattered.

because she had a shotgun.

and she was aiming it straight at marvin’s head.

a slow, suffocating silence settled over the yard.

marvin’s smirk faltered. he lifted his hands, like that would somehow protect him from the barrel of a loaded gun. “hey, now—no need to get violent.”

abby’s jaw flexed. she adjusted her grip on the shotgun, stepping closer, her voice dropping into a low growl.

“then get off my damn property.”

marvin looked at john. john looked at marvin.

neither of them were brave enough to test her.

they backed away slowly, muttering curses under their breath as they climbed back into the truck. the engine roared to life again, and just as quickly as they had come, they were gone—tires skidding over the dirt, leaving behind nothing but a cloud of dust and the ruins of the broken fence.

you exhaled. Hard.

your pulse was still pounding.

abby lowered the gun, letting out a sharp breath. she turned to you, eyes scanning you up and down, as if checking for any signs of harm.

you met her gaze and scoffed. “took you long enough.”

a slow smirk tugged at her lips. “thought you had it handled.”

“i did.” you shot her a glare. “but you made it way more dramatic than it needed to be.”

abby shrugged, setting the gun aside before grabbing you by the waist and pulling you in. “you love it.”

you rolled your eyes. “i was about to beat his ass.”

abby chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i know, pretty thing.”

your eyes were glued on the—now— busted fence, before you knew it, tears were filling your eyes. abby worked so hard on this, you two didn’t deserve that.

she held you for a moment, hands warm against your back, but it did nothing to stop the sting in your eyes.

the fence was ruined. abby built it with her own hands, spent weeks working on it after long days in the fields, just to make sure the farm felt like home. and now, because of them, it was gone.

your chest tightened. “i’m sorry,” you choked out, gripping her shirt.

abby exhaled, her jaw tight as she looked past you at the wreckage. but then her hand was on the back of your head, pulling you closer.

“don’t,” she muttered. “don’t do that to yourself.”

but you could hear it in her voice—she was just as angry. just as hurt.

Three days passed.

the fence was already half-fixed, abby throwing herself into the work with that quiet, stubborn determination she carried in everything she did. mornings bled into afternoons, afternoons into nights, and she barely stopped. her hands were raw, bandaged where the wood had splintered into them, but she didn’t slow down. didn’t complain.

and you… you just watched.

you watched her work until she was too exhausted to do anything but sit on the porch, you watched her pick at dinner, watched her let out those quiet, heavy sighs when she thought no one was listening.

you should have told her that night. or the night before.

but you didn’t. you couldn’t… not until now.

you stepped onto the porch, your heart in your throat. the evening air was thick with the scent of moist soil, the distant rustle of wind in the fields filling the silence between you. abby didn’t look at you right away. just kept sipping tea in a white mug.

“…you need something?” her voice was quieter than usual, rough at the edges. tired.

you swallowed, settling beside her on the wooden steps. “no…” a pause. then, softer, “i need to tell you something.”

that was when she did look at you. eyes sharp, brow slightly furrowed. “…alright.”

the words stuck in your throat. your fingers curled into the fabric of your dress.

“i got accepted,” you said finally, barely above a whisper. “harvard. the program. it’s—it’s in. i’ll have to leave. for a year. maybe more.”

abby’s grip on the mug tightened. but she didn’t move. didn’t blink. didn’t say a damn word. somehow, that was worse than yelling.

the silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

abby didn’t move. didn’t breathe. she just sat there, her jaw tight, eyes unreadable.

and then, slowly, she placed the mug down.

“…a year?” her voice was quiet. too quiet.

you swallowed, nodding. “maybe more.”

she exhaled sharply through her nose, rubbing a hand over her face. “you didn’t tell me.”

“i—i wanted to,” you rushed to explain, shifting closer. “i just didn’t know how.”

abby let out a low, humorless chuckle, shaking her head. “right.”

something about the way she said it made your stomach twist.

“i wasn’t hiding it from you,” you insisted. “i was just… scared.”

she finally looked at you then, and God—you wished she hadn’t.

because fuck.

abby had always been hard to read, but now? she looked gutted. like you’d punched a hole clean through her chest and left her there to bleed.

you reached for her hand. “please don’t be mad—”

“i’m not mad.”

you stopped. “..you’re not?”

abby scoffed. “what’s there to be mad about? you’re leaving.”

your heart lurched. “i’m not leaving you—”

“aren’t you?”

the words weren’t cruel. there was no heat behind them. no accusation.

just… quiet acceptance.

like she had already made peace with it.

like she had already lost you.

tears burned at the back of your throat. “abby…”

she sighed, moving a gold strand of hair a away from her face before leaning back on her elbows. “it’s your dream, yeah?”

you hesitated, then nodded.

a slow exhale. “then go.”

your breath caught. “just like that?”

“just like that.”

it should have made you feel better. that she understood. that she wasn’t trying to make this harder.

but it didn’t.

because abby had always been like this. too good at letting things go. even when it was killing her.

at least thats what you thought..

a few days passed, heavy with unmoving guilt. the tension in the air felt almost one-sided, and it drove you mad.

you spent more time with abby than usual—too much time—seeking some kind of assurance. that she wasn’t mad. that she wasn’t hurt. that maybe, just maybe, she’d consider coming with you. giving herself a break.

but her answers never changed. always soft. always steady. always full of quiet acceptance, cutting off your attempts at discussion with kisses and affection.

and somehow, that made you feel worse. selfish. evil.

so you let the days pass as they always had. fixing the fence. stealing moments in the heat. pretending the air around you wasn’t growing thicker.

August the third — 10:12 PM

abby sat at the kitchen table, her expression unreadable. the lamp cast a soft glow over her face, highlighting the soft cut of her jaw, the tight set of her mouth. you leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her.

“they messaged again,” she said finally, voice low.

you already knew who she meant. “and?”

“they’re threatening to break the contract.” she said in an almost bored tone. “little shits want their money now.”

you frowned. “i thought you told them the fifth?”

“i did.” she paused. “but you know them.”

something about the way she said it made your stomach twist. “you don’t think they’ll show up early, do you?”

abby gave a humorless chuckle. “wouldn’t be the first time.”

a beat of silence passed.

then you noticed the folded piece of paper beside her on the table—her list.

your chest tightened. “you’re still going into the city?”

she nodded. “need to settle the bills, pick up a few things… bank’s expecting me, too.” she leaned back in her chair, exhaling deeply. “i won’t be gone long. should be back before they even get here.”

“they’re not stupid enough to try anything,” abby added. “not while they know I’m coming.”

you swallowed, shifting your weight.

“and if they do?”

she met your eyes, slow and steady. “then you don’t open the door.”

you let out a breath.

abby sighed, gripping her right shoulder and sank her fingers in softly. “look, it’s just a few hours. you stay inside, keep the doors locked, and wait for me. you don’t have to deal with them.”

but you would. because they would come early.

and this time, abby wouldn’t be there.

August the fourth — 12:00 PM

the men made themselves comfortable, as they always did. marvin slouched back in the rickety chair like he owned the place, boots caked with dirt kicked up onto the table. john leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes flicking to you every so often with that amused, knowing smirk.

“didn’t think we’d have to wait this long for our money,” marvin drawled, picking at something between his teeth. “your girl always this slow?”

you kept your hands folded neatly in your lap, swallowing back the unease curling in your gut. they were early. abby said she’d be back before they arrived, but that clearly wasn’t happening. you should’ve made them wait outside, but when marvin started pounding on the door, calling your name like he had every right to be here, you panicked.

she was going to be so mad.

at 12:30 pm, you finally caved and called her. the second the line connected, you knew it was a mistake.

“yes, baby?” abby’s voice was sharp, raspy, and the moment you hesitated, she pushed. “somethin’ happened?”

“they’re here,” you admitted, voice small. “marvin and john.”

a long, tight silence. then—

“you let them in?” her tone dropped, quiet in the way that always meant trouble.

you opened your mouth, then flinched when she snapped, “i told you to wait. fucking hell—are you serious?”

“they were knocking— i didn’t know what to do—”

“you don’t fucking open the door!” there was a rustle, a deep exhale. “how long?”

“half an hour.”

another silence, but this one wasn’t empty. you heard the wind, the roar of her truck’s engine, the unmistakable way she was pushing it too fast.

“don’t do anything. don’t say anything,” she ordered, voice clipped. “i’m almost there.”

and then the line went dead.

August the fourth — 1:06 PM

john exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his eyes. “you do realize we’ve got other things to do besides waiting for your dyk—”

his words stopped, strangled mid-syllable. his entire body stiffened.

and then—

—you saw it.

the world around you shrank.

the air thickened, pressing in from all sides like invisible hands closing around your throat. your heart, a fragile, frantic thing, slammed against your ribs so hard it hurt.

it was there. behind marvin.

no—on him.

a figure crouched in the shadows, half-melded with the darkness itself, its skin a sickly, flayed red. eyes—white, bottomless, wrong—locked onto you with a gaze so paralyzing it might as well have reached into your chest and squeezed. its mouth, too wide for its face, curled into a grin so jagged it split its cheeks apart.

it saw you. only you.

you couldn’t breathe.

you couldn’t blink.

the longer you stared, the more it changed. its lips peeled back further, exposing blackened gums and too many teeth. its fingers—long, bone-thin, twitching like a spider’s legs—reached toward you.

a sound.

it was going to speak.

and you—

you couldn’t even scream.

the golden light in the room dimmed. shadows deepened unnaturally, stretching long fingers across the floor. the cicadas outside went silent. the very air in the farmhouse thickened, pressing against your lungs, the walls leaning in, the ceiling pressing lower.

it hovered.

its body, flayed and raw, was too thin, skin stretched tight over protruding bones. its limbs twitched, fingers curling and uncurling, too many joints bending the wrong way. its face—

its face.

white eyes bore into yours, empty, endless. and its mouth—

its lips were splitting apart, curling up at the edges, stretching wider. and wider. flesh peeled, cracking, opening.

it was grinning. and it was looking only at you.

your breath shuddered. your fingers dug into your arms. the room around you felt distant, like you weren’t really sitting here anymore, like you were trapped somewhere else entirely.

the grin kept widening.

too wide.

your pulse skyrocketed.

a noise filled the room—a wet, peeling sound, like skin being torn from muscle. the grin reached further—beyond its cheeks—beyond where a mouth should end—splitting until it nearly touched its ears.

you didn’t move. you didn’t breathe.

and then—

a single breath came from its throat.

a shift. a sound.

it was going to speak.

and suddenly, your body snapped.

a scream tore from your throat, raw and strangled, splitting the thick silence like a gunshot.

you scrambled back, kicking over the chair, nearly crashing into the table—but the thing—

the thing didn’t move.

didn’t blink.

didn’t breathe.

it just grinned.

the shadows around it grew longer, swallowing the space behind marvin, curling toward you, creeping closer and closer and—

“HELP ME—”

your voice shattered the air, desperate, frantic, but John wasn’t moving—wasn’t breathing—marvin was still slouched in his chair, oblivious—

until suddenly—

August the fourth — 1:08 PM

the door slammed open so hard it nearly flew off the hinges.

a storm of heavy boots, the scent of sweat and city air, and then—abby.

she took one look at you—your trembling frame curled in on itself, your hands fisted in your own hair, your breath coming in short, wet gasps—and her blood ran cold.

“what the fuck—” her eyes snapped to the men first. john, still as death. marvin, pale as a corpse, a shaking hand half-raised. abby moved before thinking, rage roaring up inside her. she grabbed marvin by the collar and threw him back against the wall. the entire house seemed to shake with the impact.

“you touch her?” her voice was low, dangerous. she barely sounded like herself. “you make her scream like that?”

marvin barely managed a choked breath, but john—john didn’t move at all. his eyes were still locked on the space near the door, the place where it had been standing. abby’s grip tightened. “ANSWER ME”

“n—no!” marvin coughed, hands raised in defense. “we didn’t—she just—she just lost it—”

abby turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at you again. you hadn’t moved. you hadn’t even reacted to her arrival. your eyes were fixed on one place, wide and so full of something unnatural—pure terror, like you weren’t even here anymore.

she let go of marvin, letting him drop to the floor like a rag doll. she was at your side in seconds.

“baby.” her voice softened in an instant. rough hands cupped your face, warm palms against clammy skin. “hey, hey—i’m here. i’m right here. look at me.”

nothing. your breath hitched, your lips parted, but no words came. your body jerked violently, barely holding itself together.

abby swallowed hard. she pulled you into her lap, her arms a firm, grounding force.

john and marvin were still rooted in place, silent.

the house was silent too.

too silent.

abby exhaled slowly. the air felt…wrong.

a weight in the room. not a sound, not a shadow, but a feeling. like something had just been here. something massive. something watching.

“shh, it’s okay,” she murmured, pressing her lips to your forehead, feeling the tremors in your skin. “i’ve got you.”

abby’s arms were solid around you, grounding, but the world still felt too distant—too unreal. your breath hitched in sharp, shallow gasps, your fingers curled so tightly into her shirt that your knuckles ached.

you opened your eyes.

and—it was gone.

the farmhouse was bright. sunlight streamed in through the old, dust-specked windows, spilling gold across the worn wooden floors, the table, the untouched oil lamp. the air smelled like dirt and sweat and something faintly floral from outside. normal. everything was normal.

john was still backed against the wall, his face pale, his hands shaking. marvin hadn’t moved, either, his jaw clenched so tight it looked locked in place. and abby..

abby, who had always been unshakable—her chest rose and fell unevenly, her breath warm against your temple. she was holding you too tightly, like she wasn’t sure if letting go would send you crumbling.

maybe they had felt it.

maybe they didn’t.

your throat burned as you swallowed, as you tried to make your lips form the words, but all that came out was a whisper, fragile and barely there,

“it was here.”

abby stiffened against you. her hold on your trembling form tightened, but she said nothing. not yet.

marvin and john didn’t say anything either. they couldn’t.

john was still against the wall, his chest rising and falling too quickly, eyes darting around like he expected something—someone—to reappear. marvin, for all his usual bravado, looked like he’d been gut-punched. his lips were slightly parted, his face drawn and gray, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple.

no one spoke. no one moved.

the farmhouse was drenched in golden daylight, the warmth of the sun creeping in through the open windows, but it didn’t reach any of you. the air still felt thick, wrong, like something unnatural had brushed past—like it could still be lingering, just out of sight.

abby was the first to break.

her voice was low, almost a growl, but there was something underneath it—something raw. something close to fear.

“what the fuck just happened?”

neither john nor marvin answered immediately. john swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing, his fingers twitching at his sides. marvin opened his mouth, hesitated, then exhaled sharply through his nose.

abby turned her head, pressing her lips to your hair, her grip still secure around you. then, her gaze snapped to them.

“start talking.”

silence.

then—

“she just—” john cleared his throat, voice hoarse. “she just started screaming.”

abby’s entire body went rigid. she pulled back slightly to look at you, her brows knitting together. concern flickered in her dark eyes.

“baby, what happened?” she asked, her tone was soft and deeply concerned.

you parted your lips, but your throat closed up. how were you supposed to say it? how were you supposed to describe what had just happened?

the demon. the thing that had been there—had been watching you—had smiled at you.

that unnatural, impossible smile.

your body trembled harder.

abby swore under her breath. she cupped the back of your head, keeping you close. “it’s okay,” she murmured, voice softer now. “you’re okay.”

but you weren’t.

and neither were they.

john still refused to move, and marvin finally, finally spoke again, voice hushed like he was afraid of being heard.

“there was something in this room.”

abby’s jaw tightened.

john swallowed again. “did you see it?” his voice cracked slightly at the end.

marvin exhaled through his nose, rubbing his palms over his face like he was trying to scrub the memory away. “i don’t even know what am i right now.”

abby’s arms tensed around you. she was trying to steady herself. to think.

but there was one thing she did know.

whatever it was that had terrified you—had left you gasping and crying in her arms—

it wasn’t fucking human.

abby didn’t waste time. she threw a wad of bills onto the table, her voice low and edged with warning. “take it. get out.”

marvin barely hesitated, snatching the money up like he couldn’t leave fast enough. john lingered for half a second, eyes darting between you and abby, before he muttered something under his breath and followed marvin out. the farmhouse door creaked, then slammed shut, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing.

abby exhaled sharply, running a hand down her face before crouching in front of you. “c’mere, baby.” she lifted you effortlessly, setting you down on the table so she could look at you properly. her hands were warm, steady, but her eyes—her eyes were searching.

she studied your face, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “talk to me.”

abby barely had time to sit before the words started pouring out of you, frantic, shaking, tumbling over each other like you couldn’t get them out fast enough.

“it-he was there—abby, i swear he was there,” you gasped, gripping at her arms like an anchor. “behind marvin, he was just—just standing there, staring at me, and his face—”

your breath hitched.

abby’s hands tightened on your waist. “what face?”

“his smile—” your voice cracked, and your fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt, desperate. “it just kept getting wider. it wasn’t normal, abby, it—it went all the way back, behind his ears, like his skin was tearing apart, but there was no blood, just this—this empty—”

a shudder wracked through you, and abby pressed a hand to your back, grounding you. “hey, slow down, baby. breathe.”

but you couldn’t.

because it wasn’t just the smile.

“he was still. so still. he didn’t move, he didn’t blink, but i felt him, like he was—” your voice dropped, barely above a whisper. “like he was waiting for something.”

abby’s jaw clenched. you could feel the tension in her arms, the way she held you just a little tighter. “waiting for what?”

you shook your head violently, eyes wide, glassy. “i don’t know. i don’t know, but the second he started smiling, i—” your breath stuttered. “i lost it. i lost it, abby, i couldn’t move, i couldn’t think, i just—”

your words choked off into a sob, and suddenly, you were burying your face against her chest, fingers fisting into her shirt like you’d disappear if you let go. “i was so scared.”

abby’s arms came around you fully, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other firm against your back. “i know, baby,” she murmured. “i know.” her voice was soft, too soft,

too understanding. far too understanding.

August the fourth — 10:32 PM

abby hadn’t left your side all day.

she stayed close—closer than usual—her palm a steady weight on your back, her voice a quiet anchor pulling you down from whatever abyss you had nearly drowned in. when she wasn’t touching you, she was watching you. her sharp, very understanding gaze followed your every twitch, every shuddering breath.

she made sure you ate. made sure you drank. made sure you were okay.

and she stayed.

but eventually, night crept in, stretching its cold fingers over the farmhouse, swallowing the golden fields in black. and at some point—without you noticing—she left.

August the fourth — 3:06 AM

the silence woke you.

the absence.

you turned over, reaching instinctively, but your hand met cold sheets.

abby wasn’t there.

your pulse stammered. the weight of the dark pressed down on you, thick and heavy and suffocating. you swallowed hard, sitting up, trying to shake the unease curling in your stomach. she wouldn’t just leave. she wouldn’t.

unless…

the fence.

she’d mentioned needing to finish fixing the fence earlier that day. maybe she thought you’d be okay on your own for just a little while.

your breath hitched, a tremor of panic racing up your spine, but you forced yourself to move. forced yourself to climb out of bed, step into the dimly lit hallway, head toward the back door. toward her.

it was there.

just standing in the doorway of the next room.

still. silent.

grinning.

the breath left your lungs all at once.

your body locked up. every muscle seized, every inch of you screamed to run, to move, to do something—but you couldn’t. you could only stare, wide-eyed, as its lips peeled back, stretching impossibly far, splitting the corners of its mouth apart.

and then—

you ran.

abby. you had to get to abby.

the fields. that’s where she’d be. if you could just reach her—

but—

as you bolted down the hall, your bare feet slapping against the wooden floorboards, the shadows around you shifted. deepened.

and you saw it again.

in the kitchen, slouched at the table, its head lolling to the side like a corpse with a snapped neck.

in the parlor, standing before the mirror, its reflection absent.

in the hallway—closer now. so close.

it didn’t move. it didn’t lunge.

but it was everywhere.

your breath came in ragged gasps, your heartbeat a wild, thrashing thing.

the back door—just a few more steps.

you reached for the handle, hands shaking, fingers barely brushing the wood—

and then—

a breath.

right behind you.

the scream shattered the night.

abby froze, her entire body snapping to attention. the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and crushed stalks, but all she could hear—all she could hear—was that voice. her name.

raw. choked. you.

she was already running.

the cornstalks lashed against her arms as she tore through the field, her heart hammering against her ribs. hat scream—that scream—it didn’t stop. it kept ripping through the air, high and desperate and broken—

and then she saw you.

you were sprinting toward her, your nightgown billowing behind you, your bare feet tripping over the uneven dirt. your eyes—God, your eyes—were wide with a terror abby had never seen before.

abby didn’t hesitate.

she caught you, arms locking around you as you nearly slammed into her chest. you were shaking so hard she felt like she was coming apart at the seams.

“baby, fuck—what happened? what—what the fuck happened?!”

abby’s voice was frantic, desperate. terrified.

but you—you really couldn’t do this anymore.

the air was thick. suffocating.

it clung to your skin, heavy with summer and something worse. something wrong.

the farmhouse loomed behind abby, dark windows gaping open like empty eyes. the wooden door—wide open, just as you’d left it—squeaked. a slow, aching sound, shifting with the weight of something unseen.

and abby—abby—wasn’t getting it.

“why would you leave me!?” the words ripped from your throat, raw, frantic. your hands shook as you hit her chest, again and again, but she barely budged.

she wasn’t moving.

she wasn’t running.

“why would you leave—why—why—” your voice kept cracking, breaking into itself, slipping between your sobs. your throat burned, your body burned, your mind—

abby’s hands shot up, grabbing your arms, holding you—but not in the way you needed. not in the way that made the air move again, not in the way that made the thing inside that house stop waiting.

“what happened?” she barked, her own voice pitching higher, tight with something she wasn’t letting break through. “why are you crying!?”

“it was there” you jerked against her grip, twisting to look back at the house, at the door still moving, at the rooms where it had been, where it had watched you run. your lungs seized, body locking up. “It was in every room i saw it—i swear to God—i saw it—”

abby shook you. not hard, not to hurt, but to ground. to force your eyes back to hers.

“what did you see!?” her voice cracked—just a little—but it was enough.

and that broke something in you.

your lip trembled, and you hated it, hated the way it made you feel helpless. “it was—” the words wouldn’t come out right. the moment you tried to describe it, your tongue felt heavy, foreign, as if the thing had already sunk its claws into you, muffling you.

your breath shuddered.

abby’s grip tightened. “It was what?”

a deep inhale.

your body trembled.

you opened your mouth.

the door creaked again.

you both snapped toward it.

a gust of wind should have come through, should have made the air shift, should have rustled the dry corn stalks standing like shadows in the night.

but there was nothing.

not a single leaf stirred. not a single breath of wind. the heat sat thick and unmoving, waiting.

abby went still. her chest heaved, jaw clenched. her arms flexed around you, protective.

and in that moment, you knew.

she felt it.

even if she couldn’t see it.

even if she’d never see it.

she felt it.

and that was enough.

her voice was quieter now, lower, edged with something she wouldn’t say out loud. “we’re going inside.” your stomach lurched. “no.”

abby’s hands burned against your skin. “we are going inside.”

the door was still moving.

still creaking. still breathing.

you swallowed hard.

abby pulled you close, and neither of you looked away.

“you left me— you fucking left me�� you yelled.

the words ripped out of your throat, raw, shaking, unhinged. you barely even heard them over the sound of your own pulse hammering against your skull.

abby spun around, her eyes wild, her chest rising and falling like she’d just run a mile. “i was right there! i was—”

“you left!” you hit your own chest with both fists, hard enough to jolt yourself back a step. “i woke up and you weren’t there! you weren’t there, and i—” your breath cut short, catching on a sob. you turned in place, scanning the darkness, watching the distant farmhouse where the doors still hung open, the faint squeak of wood shifting in the night.

she was grabbing at you, rough hands trying to pin you still, but you couldn’t be still.

“he was there,” you gasped. “he was there, abby, i saw him—”

“who? who the fuck are you talking about?”

but she wasn’t asking like she didn’t know.

she was asking like she didn’t want to know.

and that terrified you even more.

you shoved at her chest, frantic, needing to move, needing to get away from the thick, unmoving air of the field pressing down on you. “it—he was everywhere. i ran, and—he was there! every room! everywhere!”

abby’s hands clamped down harder. “there was nothing there—”

“you don’t fucking believe me!” your voice cracked, shrill, desperate. “why don’t you ever believe me?!”

abby flinched like you’d struck her. her grip faltered for just a second—one second too long.

you tried to bolt.

she caught you before you could take a single step.

a sharp gasp tore out of you as the ground vanished beneath your feet. you fought her—kicked, shoved, slammed your fists against her back—but abby was stronger. she threw you over her shoulder with an ease that made you sob in frustration, her arms locking you in place as she started toward the farmhouse.

“no—no, put me down, please—”

“we’re going inside.” her voice was tight, like she was holding her own panic on a leash.

“he’s in there!” you screamed. “he’s in there—abby, please—”

she didn’t stop.

didn’t even look back.

the farmhouse loomed ahead, the open doorway stretching wide, waiting to swallow you both whole.

the door groaned as abby shoved it open with her shoulder. the farmhouse yawned before them, its wooden floors creaking under her boots as she stepped inside. the air swallowed you whole, thick as molasses, pressing against your skin like unseen hands.

you kicked, struggling, but abby held firm, her grip unrelenting. with a sharp breath, she dumped you onto the kitchen table, hands immediately gripping your waist, pinning you in place—not hard, not hurting, but enough to ground you.

she was now kneeling in front of you, checking you over, trying to get you to focus. “where?” she asked, scanning the room like she was expecting to see something herself. “where did you see it?”

the oil lamp on the counter burned low. its light barely reached the corners of the room. the doorway leading into the hall gaped open, a black mouth leading into nothing. every window felt like an eye.

and the air—

it was wrong.

heavy. dense. refusing to stir, like even the wind was afraid to move. the fire’s glow didn’t flicker. the night outside stood abnormally still, not a single leaf rustling in the trees.

abby looked around, eyes sharp, scanning the room, the door, the unlit corners. searching. hunting.

your breath shuddered out of you, uneven, shaking.

you clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms. your voice came out low, unsteady.

“you’re trying to tell me that you think this air is normal?”

chapter ii

[tteokdoroki]

ೀ⋆OCT 8TH 2 FAST 2 FURIOUS ━━ yoichi isagi + overstimulation !

୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. yoichi isagi + overstimulation. if winning a street race means getting ravaged by your ex boyfriend over the hood of your car then… move bitch! get out the way! (5.6K)

୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, characters aged up to 20s, street-racer!au, exes to lovers, toxic relationships, overstimulation, scratching, fingering, sweat kink, pain kink, food play (candy), dry humping, multiple/forced orgasms, oral sex (f!recieving), public sex, possesive sex, unprotected sex, street racer + fem!reader, ex boyfriend + street racer!yoichi isagi.

୨୧ — director’s note. slay! the third kinktober installment is here! i hope you guys like this one, isagi makes me so dizzy...i think he has the bes dirty talk!! enjoy mwah mwah! - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧

there’s something about street racing that just…gets you off. 

you’ve always enjoyed its thrill, the way having control over the wheel makes you feel when you push yourself to top speeds. adrenaline becomes your new dopamine. like a drug injected straight into your veins — driving makes you feel high. more alive than anything.

the glamourous pink S2K that you drive is your lover, the unpredictable twists and turns of the race course — your best friend. you adore beating men at their own game and looking absolutely fucking stunning at the same time. though, what you love the most, is the thrill of chasing after yoichi isagi.

next to you — your on and off boyfriend, isagi, is probably the best street racer in town. an unpolished gem of untapped potential and a beast of a driver. though with a man like that, competitiveness between you both comes easy — like a third party in your own relationship. its been that way since you met, the two of you falling into the toxic cycle of, racing, winning fucking and breaking up.

and as bad as it sounds, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“you lose tonight, precious,” isagi wipes the grease from his knuckles with a rag as he approaches your car, cocking his head to the side with a smile so twisted it sends a pang of heat from your head to your core. together or not, he’s always had this effect on you — like a fog sweeping over your mind or the oceans waves pulling you under. “and we get back together.” 

“boy, don’t you know i have a race to win?” leaning over the hood of your car, it’s your turn to tilt your head to the side — like a puppy dog, mocking him. your lashes flutter against your cheeks as you peer up at him, the pink of your tongue wrapping around finding a centre point for the bubblegum you’re blowing. it pops on its own. all the while,  a flirtatious confidence seeps from your bones into the night air, luring isagi into your usual game of cat and mouse right before you’re due to race. “i don’t need any distractions, ‘ichi.” 

you can’t help but revel in the way that he shudders upon hearing your name drip from his lips, like the finest and purest form of honey. out of all the girls he’s ever known, you’re the only one who gets him riled up like this without even trying — activating his raw instincts, that carnal desire he always has for you that he keeps locked away whenever you’re not together. 

“baby,” crouching down to your height, isagi smirks as your predatory gaze follows his actions like a vixen in the night. “you know i’d never mess up a race of yours on purpose.” one of his elbows comes up to rest on your hood, the glittery vinyl stickers reflecting against the deep ocean blue in his eyes. your ex lets the weight of his head rest in his palm, a faux pout on his lips as he speaks to you. “how about it, wanna make a bet?” 

you inch closer, close enough for isagi to catch a the whiff of strawberry candy in your breath over the thick sexual tension brewing between you both. “wha’do i get if i win?” you hum slyly, blowing another bubble into the face of your ex lover. 

yoichi mirrors your movements, sliding closer to you so that he lick through your bubblegum, landing a breath’s width away from your sugar-coated and syrupy lips. “you win, ‘n i promise to leave you alone forever.” he rasps, pushing past the lustful tone lodged in his throat. 

standing to your full height, you ruffle his midnight locks with a condescending air about it. “oh baby, you’re so silly.” the superlicious murder slips from between your perfectly glossed lips before you even think to stop it, accompanied by your light laughter. testing your man’s patience has always been your strong suit. 

but before you have a chance to walk away, isagi hooks his fingers through your belt loops and tugs you flush against his tone frame — chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis. “what, you don’t like those terms?” he huffs. “i thought they were perfectly reasonable.

“it’s just that… it’s cute that you think winning me back works that way.” shaking your head, you fail to let isagi have the last word and finally manage to pull yourself from the tendrils of his grip before you become putty in his arms and a mess under his gaze — that twisted mix of annoyance and desire already turning within your stomach, oozing into your nether regions in the form of liquid lust.

“fuck me,” a breathless and playful chuckle resounds in isagi’s throat like a tune base boosted on the stereo, only interrupted by a slick statement that serves to frustrate you even more. “so you’re sayin’ you don’t miss playin’ with my joystick?” he calls out to you while you’re still in eyeshot of his cerulean orbs — the ones that track the sway of your hips as you walk away from him. isagi wants nothing more than to dig his fingertips into the fat at your waist, pull your hips over his hardening cock as blood pulses through it and make you eat those words. 

but he also knows, and from experience, the more pissed off you are — the better you’ll race and the more you’ll want to fuck him later on. 

“i’ll start missing it when you get the right set of tools.” you sing back, sending a wink his way as you hope into the driver's seat of your precious pink baby, shooing off the girls who’d helped you prep your S2K for the race. he watches as you wave to your competitors, buttering them up with your charm before you leave them in the dust. 

and even though he has no right to be jealous — especially when you’re broken up like this, isagi can’t help but want admit to you how seeing you race makes him feel. like now — how you drive right up rin itoshi’s ass and curse at him  to ‘bend over’. everything has sex crazed hormones rushing to his cock and his head gets a little dizzy like he’s been inhaling car fumes and diesel for too long. you fuck him up like no girl ever has before — he’s completely obssesed with you, the ups and downs and fall out of your messy relationship. 

he wants you. feverishly, carnally, and in every way possible and as you pull up in first place after the race — isagi realises, it’s not the race that makes him feel alive.

it’s always going to be you. 

“you’re so fuckin’ frustrating.”

the cash prize isn’t the only good thing about winning your races, it’s the way isagi lives to devour you whole afterwards. 

dark ocean eyes drink in the way your back arches from the hood of your car and it’s cool metal surface — chasing isagi in the heated and humid air, while his hips rock against your cunt almost in tune with the music in the background. the tune of your celebrations. “am i?” you grin, wild and delirious and breathless. “it’s not my fault. thought i told you to quit chasin’ me, yoichi.” 

you giggle, earning a delicious twitch of his dick between your panty-clad folds, spreading a delicious layer of arousal over his clothes. your rival racerpretends to ignore your antics, knowing that he’ll only get riled up and instead focuses on tugging down your flimsy tank top to reveal your sweat shined skin. 

“you could never get rid of me, baby.” you’ve never been immune to the charm of isagi’s hypnotic voice paired with his teasing rows of pearly white teeth that coast over your flesh until goosebumps rise over its expanse. your ex has a way about him, a way that makes it hard for you to shut him out and easier for you to hold your breath and deprive it of the oxygen you need to think clearly. 

to think about escaping this toxicity. 

sloppy kisses to taste the salt on your skin turn to little bite marks, barely there whilst leaving a warm shine to your throat — the temperature proving to be a lustful contrast to the cold metal of your car. he licks and sucks at you possessively, even when other racers pass by and in the back of your mind you briefly recall bachira hollering at the two of you loudly.

just as you reach out to him and wave back, yoichi grabs your wrists in one rough palm and pins them above your head — chuckling into the trail of wet smooches he drags down to your tits, followed by a wild whine that resonates deep in his chest when his cockhead catches on your rock hard clit from behind the many barriers of your clothes. you huff at your newfound restriction. 

a slow, cocky smile spreads over the film of isagi’s lips as if he’s remembered something about your body, that only he knows, in your time apart. how it anticipates and tingles while waiting for his every move, craves to be ravaged and torn apart by him. “focus on me, baby. don’t miss what’s most important to you.” he drawls, gentle notes of condensation slipping into his usually chipper voice. “me.” 

lifting his head from your chest expectantly, being a gentleman and waiting for your consent to kiss. another laugh escapes him when you writhe desperately in yoichi’s grip and wrap your legs around his taut waist to drag him closer for the lip lock you deserve. your prize for being such a winner. he follows your lead, selfishly trapping your lower lip between his teeth before toppling into a hungry kiss — his devious tongue delving it’s way into your mouth to claim it’s every inch possessively. the more you kiss, the more it knocks the lollipop on your mouth about.

all the while, isagi never stops grinding against you — cockhead oozing precum over your cotton decorated pussy lips and budding clit, painting you in the early signs of his arousal. the heat in the air only carries the scent of your sex and mingled notes of diesel fuel — enough to make you dizzy and crave more friction from the street racer as he ruts between your thighs. you’re growing delicious, letting ecstasy trickle through your veins and onto the hood of your car while yoichi drags his cock through your silken slit over and over again until his clothes and his erection are dripping in your sweet juices.

“didnt plan ever plan on… on g-gettin’ rid of ya, pretty boy.” you say through thready breaths, using the strength in your thighs to squeeze isagi close. maybe it’s the adrenaline from your racing high or the fact that isagi cages you in against the car, using his free hand to pinch and pull at sensitive parts of you while he humps at your fluttering and sopping mound — whatever it is, you can feel an orgasm approaching faster than you can register. 

tucking your lollipop into your cheek, you gaze up at isagi with glassy, angel eyes — your mouth open as you pant his praises like a common whore. “did you miss me? i know he did.” then, your eyes shoot down to the rough outline of his dick as it makes you shudder, sex clenching over the veins on his shaft while you practically ride your ex’s precum loaded tip. your dirty talk earns a hearty moan from isagi, his tongue rolling out of his mouth like a dog in rut while he laps at the sweat bearing on your collar bones and neck. “missed my cock so much.” you goad adoringly, a little sick and a little twisted. 

your possession over him fills isagi’s body with concerning amounts of desire and only serves to make him feral — snapping his hips into you faster and harder. his blue eyes drown in an ocean of mirth as they hone in on the light bounce of your chest, his tongue drips in the taste of your light perspiration while he finds his voice over your salacious bump and grind. 

“missed you too baby. missed my fuckin’ pussy,” yoichi grunts selfishly, breathing heavy against your skin and adding to your chorus of shared high pitched moans the closer you get. with one hard thrust, isagi has your unused little hole drooling and your head flying back onto the car’s hood, banging against the metal. the pain only fuels the expanding fire of desire burning bright in your lower tummy — raising the temperature between your bodies. “she’s so sensitive, guess you haven’t fucked anyone while i’ve been gone.” 

his voices oozes condensation, messes with your mind and drags you under the control of your toxic and selfishly possessive ex. it’s like he lives for the the way your thighs quiver around his waist and give all your neediness away, you can’t hide anything from him. he puts your pleasure under a microscope. 

“you’re gonna cum, aren’t you?” isagi grins evilly, letting go of your hands as he watches you tremble and spasm and twitch beneath him. rendered useless against the very car that got you to win your race. 

he’s not wrong, however, for the knot that had been tightening up in your lower tummy begins to unravel too fast for your own liking. an orgasm crashes down on you like a heavy storm that’s escaped isagi’s deep blue eyes and he bucks into you monstrously through it all — hardly giving you a second to breath. your release pours out of you in a clear stream, your eyes disappearing into your skull and your shaky fingers into the roots of your ex’s hair as you tug on it to ground yourself. 

it gets everywhere, seeps through your ex boyfriend’s clothes, splashes against your S2K and gathers in a pool beneath your shaky ass. yoichi coaches you through it with soft, loving praises as if you’d never been broken up. kisses that make your knees knock and breath hitch. you cum so fast, so hard and so soon that your lollipop rolls out from between your swollen spit slicked lips, but isagi is quick to grasp the sugary treat dragging it over your them and down your body. 

he follows it’s sticky trail over your clothes, sucking its flavour from the planes of your skin. the sound of tearing fabric flies under the bustling crowd and revving engines — isagi having ripped off your shorts to expose your temperate, glistening mound to the night air and gleam of car headlights. 

“h-holy shit, ichi! wait—!”

your nails sharply rake at the racer’s scalp in surprise, shocked at the warm-ish sensation of your lollipop pressing against your budding clit as it throbs between the slickness of your folds. “awh, is it sensitive? good.” he tuts down at you menacingly, his voice lowers scratching at the patch of your brain that controls your lustful drive. with the sweet treat still in his grasp, isagi rubs tight circles into your pleasure centre and grind to himself when your thighs instinctively jump apart to give him a better view of the even sweeter dessert between your thighs. 

he knows you. inside and out. 

knows what you even with how on-off your relationship is — as if he’s always been genetically programmed to make you feel good, get you that same high racing gives you. yoichi crouches, no longer standing over you so that he can get a whiff of your scent — the musk of your sex more dizzying than the fumes of gasoline throughout the track. “wanna taste you gorgeous, while you’re still cummin’ for me.” he groans, deep and hungry like he’s been waiting to eat a good fucking meal all day. “that okay?” 

“please…fuckin’ hurry.”  comes your impatient reply, bucking your hips up into the humid air as you chase the friction of the candy against your clit. you feel as though you’re seated right on the edge of another orgasm, inches away from crumbling off of the cliff of euphoria. “you’re so slow,” you heave again, head lolling to the side with your drool oozing onto the hood of your pretty pink car. “see you never learned how to use your…oh—! tools!”

your voice escapes you, shock intertwining with the electrical spark of desire running down the length of your spine to the heartbeat in your pussy. you’re surprised once more when isagi gently nudged the lollipop past your entrance to tease you — ripping it away when you gush like you’re about to cum.

sitting up and resting on your elbows, you glare down into mischievous blue eyes as he pops the candy into his mouth. “mother fucker.” 

“alright, watch it.” the corner of isagi’s lips quirk up into a cocky smirk, enjoying how you writhe against cool metal in contrast to how hot your skin is to the touch. like a furnace, burning from the inside out. 

“you said you wanted to taste me!” you whine, auffovating in the humidity and anticipation. you want him to touch you, but the ghost of kisses he presses along your inner thighs just aren’t enough. 

“i didn’t say i was gonna eat you out though, pretty girl.” isagi whispers, pushing the lollipop into his cheek so he can focus on sucking an array of marks into the swell of your to leave his claim on you. the pointed edge of his teeth sink into the doughy flesh, imprinting a ring of bite marks in place as well. “dunno, don’t think you deserve it.” 

he simply rolls his eyes in response, grunting as he spreads you even further — revealing the webs of cloudy slick that tie your shaky limbs together. yoichi drags a finger through your puffy pussy lips, it’s tip dragging on the silken strings of your arousal until he’s able to circle it over your clenching entrance. 

you let out a defiant whimper, hips rising from your car while a trail of your sweet juices ruin the paint job on your car. “hate you.” comes your weak whisper, trapped in the lodges of your throat while isagi pressed further into your tight little hole and stretches you open. 

“yeah whatever.” he grins lazily, warm breath fanning over your pulsating mound while his nose nudges your sensitive clit. “that’s why you keep coming back to me, precious.” 

the sensation makes your hips buck up, chasing the delicious friction of your ex’s fingertips against your soaked ribbed walls as they ripple around him.  but isagi lives to punish you, make you work for your pleasure or torture you with it for leaving him the dust each and every time. his free hand splays over your navel, pinning you to your own car as a second finger joins the first inside of you — instantly curling to bare down on your spongy g-spot.

the cry that escapes you is raw and powerful, louder than any engine in any model of car — serving to remind isagi of where you are, how on display you are for the hungry eyes of his competitors. he takes this as a chance to remind everyone of who you belong to. no matter how much of a hot shot racer you are, you’ll always belong right underneath yoichi isagi. 

he does nothing to soothe your whimpers and cries, thrusting his fingers deep into your squelching pussy as it echoes into the parking lot in a sweet symphony with your moans. you drool into the seat his palm, thrash on the hood of your car and squeeze down on him with a grip so tight isagi fears that you’ll never let him go. 

“you’re so tense, baby. relax for me,” the man mumbles darkly against your sex. “what’ll make you feel good? should i play with this cute little clit too?” pressing a loving and syrupy kiss to the pleasure nub, isagi moans at your arousal as it pearls on his eager lips. “oh i knew you’d like that. my girl always likes it when her man plays with this messy pussy.” spitting onto your cunt, a sick laugh rumbles in yoichi’s throat as he fucks the frothy mixture back into you, drinking in the way you whine and writhe about the place. all for him. “c’mon, louder baby. let the people hear how pretty you are. how good i’m making you feel.”

saliva coats your tongue, making difficult to breathe between the languid push and pull of isagi’s fingers as they stroke at your insides. he has you ruined, for any other man—  sticky and sloppy between the thighs. the both of you know that only he can get you like this. 

and the sick part about it all, is that you’re fucking enjoying it.

the thrill of being watched by your fellow racers makes you act up, has you crying and moaning a little louder than usual — putting on a show for your ex as you fall back into your toxic routine. those sweet salacious sounds spike higher and higher the closer you get, the more isagi sucks on your clit and scissors his fingers around to press up against sensitive spots along your gummy walls. 

“that’s it pretty girl, give it to me. louder. good girl, good job.” he coos into you oh so condescending, face coated with a crude mix of spit and slick that glistens under the artificial light from the street lamps above. a blistering sense of pride lodges itself in yoichi’s chest when you scream his name, tugging on the roots of his hair once more. “you can do better than that, louder.” 

“ohmygod—! yoichi!” you yelp sheepishly, throwing an arm over your heated face. though it’s not in shame, you can hardly bring yourself to feel embarrassed about gushing on your ex’s face in front of your fellow racers and racing crew. the pleasure he gives you has you too far gone, like a smoke screen over your hazy mind. “g-god i’m… y-yoichi i’m close!”

“yeah?” he laughs breathily, flicking his tongue over your budding clit, pulling the lollipop from the confines of his greedy mouth to slap it against your quivering pussy as well. “you gonna cum?” it’s far too soon, far too much for you to be reaching another orgasm. but there’s been a steady pressure bubbling up just below your navel, tightening and tightening until it threatens to snap. 

you shake your head pathetically, the metal of your car creaking below your hips as you try to run from isagi’s fingers wildly pumping in and out of you. “c-can’t!” 

“can’t? you don’t wanna, hm.” he sucks his teeth, the sound layering softly over the lewd slushy noises echoing from between your thighs. “too bad. i don’t care. cum for me, precious.”

its like your body has a mind of its own, wilfully ignoring the pain of overstimulation as you cum for isagi once more. milky white runs down your ex’s arms in a boiling hot stream, squirting from your abused and used sex. white spots blur the edges of your vision and you shake violently all throughout your second high, the stacks of ecstasy isagi had been building up within you coming crumbling down and leaving you suffocating in your own dust-cloud of lust. 

the rest of your arousal burns a trail down your pudgy thighs like fuel that’s been set on fire, and you can’t even tell what’s up or down anymore. “c-cumming! ‘m…fuck, yoichi.” you scream, chest heaving, head rolling to the side— pressed against your car’s cool surface. “please, i can’t.” 

“already? you were talking so big before your race now look at you. s’all too much… poor baby.” isagi works you through your orgasm, controlling your every twitch and every aftershock until you damn near pass out. 

you’re almost too far gone to register the sound of rustling clothes and the feeling of your rival (and ex) pressing himself over you. but then he’s patting your cheek lovingly, drinking in your sweet and tired expression with big blue eyes full of adoration before slipping his lollipop into your drooling mouth to pacify you. 

“‘ichi…” you bleat, exhausted. 

“yeah, yeah. i know, precious. but i think we can manage one more, yeah?” he asks you softly, a little more tender than before as he kisses your forehead, licking up a bead of sweat that runs down it. no matter how many times you break up, he’ll always be good to you. always check in with you. make you cum as many times as you can manage while still making you see stars. “need to show all those fuckin’ losers who you belong to. need to make you mine again.” 

weakly lifting your head, you notice the slight audience of racers you’ve gathered while letting isagi fuck you publicly. all the men you’ve beaten in races over time, staring at the way your man ravages you like the sight is a cool glass of water. it would be a lie to say that the feeling of being watched didn’t send another spark of lust shooting down your spine. 

“one more?” you question him and pout around the lollipop that tastes like you, big bambi eyes blinking up at your ex boyfriend. 

“one more.” yoichi confirms, pressing his forehead to yours in order to coax a kiss out of you. “don’t worry, you can take it.” there’s reassurance hidden in his lustful tone as he lines his drippy cock up with your ruined entrance (having pulled it out earlier). he pulses to life against you, the blood rushing through his shaft teeming with desire for you. isagi lets you sit up on your elbows so that you can watch him bully his cock past your fluttering entrance. 

isagi’s eyes gloss over with debauchery while you swallow him down, brows creasing in the centre of his forehead when he bottoms out inside of you — both of your mouths hanging open in hot moans. only adding to the humid air. blindly, he fumbled for your pretty throat, squeezing it gently with each clench of your slippery walls around his aching shaft. 

“you won’t break, baby.” he tells you, drawing his hips back from the snugness of your cunt to set a slow roll to his thrusts. the feeling makes you cry out, hoarse and needy before being soothed by isagi’s leaking tip pushing along every pleasure spot he knows by heart inside of you. “try a little harder for me.” 

his words leave you breathless and dumbfounded, every logical thought and smart-ass retort having escaped you while isagi’s milky, bulbous tip churns up your insides. your sexes slot together perfectly, his girthy dick wrapped in gorgeous blue and green veins keeps you nice and full and reaches the spots you couldn’t dare to reach on your own. isagi hands over you, supporting his weight on one hand, with his lips a breath’s width away from your own. 

the both of you are love drunk on the sex-crazed hormones buzzing in the hot air between you — particles of lust smashing together the more your bodies start to sync up and move together. yoichi devours you, takes parts of your body and claims them with his teeth and tongue and hand gently squeezing around your throat. he fucks you with vigour, so hard that your car shakes beneath your ministrations and you nearly lose the candy in your mouth once more. 

you return the favour, clawing up and down isagi’s back while his dark hair tickles your forehead, cascades down to your neck as he kisses you wetly and laps over the salt on your skin. everything about you never fails to pull him back into your toxic cycle. where he loves you, fucks you and breaks you. a satisfied groan takes root in his chest like a sturdy tree at the taste of you, his hips still pumping into you at a rapid pace, painting you with thick layers of opaque white that cling to your swollen pussy lips and clit. 

“you’re mine, f-forever. not gonna let… mhm.. anyone else touch you.” he slurs menacingly into the junction between your neck and shoulder, finally letting go of your throat so he can push your knees into your chest — forcing his heavy cock into your cunt as deep as it can go. “never gonna let you go again, precious. never gonna let you go without my cock this king again. you’re fuckin’ mine.”

“all fuckin’ yours,” you drawl back with a delirious smile, dizzy from the new angle. your pleasure mounts once more but with the addition of a spark of pain from the overstimulation. yoichi knows your limits, he knows how much his precious girl can take but delivers it in the best of ways — sinfully bucking down into you so hard that his heavy breeders balls smack rhythmically against the curve of your ass. he succumbs to the tight grip your iron hot core has on him, begging him to stay and to never leave you ever again. 

you have one another in a choke hold, falling into a synced up and salacious bump and grind against the hood of your car. every time isagi ruts into you, you clench down, gushing on his dick and covering him (and your car) in an early release. 

“that’s right baby,” isagi seethes through gritted teeth, blinded by white and the stars from up above as he gets closer and closer to his high. he can no longer stave it off for the benefit of overstimulating you, strung along by each twinge of pain he feels from your nails forming crescent moons in his shoulders and drawing blood. “say it like you mean it. scream my fuckin’ name for all these people, yeah? you want me. the only man who’ll ever make you feel this good.” 

you will yourself to speak but barely have the chance to with the way isagi fucks you sensless.  you choke on air, following your biological instinct to rut up into him, whilst you’re reminded all the reasons why your rival racerwill always be the only man for you. he fucks you like he’s never loved you, like a stranger he may hate but he moans and mewls against you like you’re the only person he’s ever loved. 

isagi doesn’t care about the racing, or the money or the people watching him ruin your sluice sex over and over again. 

he only cares about you.  

“c’mon baby,” he goads, licking up your cheeky nastily. “you can do it, tell me how much you want me. how much you love me, precious.” each syllable that he purrs out shoots straight to the winding, orgasmic knots in your belly. making them tighten painfully. “god, you’re fuckin’ milking me.” 

so you wrap both arms around isagi’s neck, yank at his hair, rip through the skin on his back with your nails (because you know how much he likes it when you hurt him) and say. “i need you, ‘ichi. y-you’re the only one i’ve ever wanted!” 

and that’s all it takes, to give isagi that last burst of energy to make the both of you really feel it. after one, two, three more thrusts — you’re both sent flying over the edge in unison. “m-‘my precious baby, fuuck, all mine. gonna cum…you better cum for me.”thick waves of viscous white cum floods your puffy folds, whilst yoichi bites down hard on your neck to state his high pitched whines, fucking his seed deeper into you until he calms down. 

you’re in no better condition, squirting so hard that you almost lose your grip on reality. a world of colours flash behind your darling eyes when you cum for the third and final time that night, static ringing in your ears alongside the sweet symphony of your ex boyfriend’s moans and the groaning metal from your car. 

you’re sure the paint has been completely tainted with cum by now.

by the time you finally come to and stop spasming around isagi’s softening cock, he’s peeling your sweaty skin away from your car to coddle you in his chest — shielding you from the hungry eyes of your competitors. “keep your eyes to your fuckin’ selves.” he snarls with teeth bared, despite how gently he holds you. 

“easy there tiger,” you sigh, snuggling against him as exhaustion settles into your fucked out bones. “i think they know who i belong to now.” grabbing at his neck, you pull isagi  down for a sloppy kiss — mewling happily at the taste of sweat, sex and sugar on his tongue before passing him the lollipop once more. “guess the money wasn’t the only thing i won tonight.” 

“you’re kinda sick, you know that?” he laughs in response, but before he can kiss you again — the racing crowd starts to scramble at the sound of police sirens.

still curled into your (ex? oh what the hell) boyfriend, you crack a tired smile. “looks like we gotta split, boy.” 

“you comin’ back with me this time, precious?” a smooch is pressed into your hairline while isagi gathers you into his arms fast — bundling you into the passenger's seat since you’re clearly in no state to play get away driver. he doesn’t bother with your clothes. 

“you know that you can’t get rid of me, baby.” you got the keys into the ignition in time for isagi to slip into the driver’s side — steering you away from the scene of the crime. “i’m yours forever, remember?” 

he only chuckles at that, wild blue eyes reflecting the blue and red cop car lights as he looks to you while speeding away.

“god you drive me crazy, i love you. you fuckin’ maniac.”

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Bat out of hell

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 5

Prompt: Winter Sports

Rated: M

Tags: Sports AU; Winter Olympics; Figure skating; Figure skater Eddie; Figure skater Nancy; Coach Steve; Past Stancy; Getting together; Sexual Tension; Making out; Angry kissing; Nudity; Fade to black sex

Notes: This bitch knows nothing about Olympic figure skating. Changing your song last minute probably isn't even allowed. Bear with me, suspend your disbelief. 😅

“Steve, you made it!” 

Nancy throws herself at him the second he sets foot into the athlete's area, getting purple glitter all over his training suit. It's enough to tell him she's nervous. Nancy hardly ever shows physical affection like this. It's one of the many reasons things didn't work out between them. 

“Sorry, the press conference went forever,” he says, patting her back and glancing over at the flashing cameras, making sure his hands stay in non-compromittal territory. 

The newspages have been exploding ever since the opening of the Winter Olympics, speculating about a love revival between them. Steve must admit it would make a good story. Nancy, set to finally win that figure skating gold she's had her sights on for eight years. Himself, three gold medals under his belt, returned to the coaching team after the injury that marked the end of his career. It's the stuff that goes down into Olympic lore. 

It's also never gonna happen. 

“I thought you'd be done already,” he frowns, casting a glance at his watch. Nancy shrugs. 

“We started half an hour late, some problems with the music. The men are just about done, there's only Eddie left.” 

She has hardly said it when the hall goes dark, bar for a single spotlight illuminating the center of the rink. Right in its middle is a figure, dressed in black from head to toe, dark curls pulled into a messy braid.

The music starts. 

The fans in the stands go wild. 

Steve's jaw drops. 

“Nonono, wait,” he squawks, surging forward and white-knuckling the banister while, out on the ice, Eddie flies into movement. “That's the stupid Bat from Hell song. Eddie? Eddie, stop it right now!” 

But it's too late. 

The song swells, guitars and basses filling the hall, and Eddie flies into his first jump, a black blur with bits of ice spraying all around him like a glittering cloud of diamonds. 

It's a once-in-a-lifetime performance, Steve can see as much even after the first few seconds. Eddie skates with an erratic energy and single-minded focus. Each of his movements is calculated and controlled, raw passion and force funneled into leaps and jumps and pirouettes. 

He's skating like the blades are an extension of his body. He's skating like he was born on the ice. 

He's skating to the exact song Steve told him not to skate to. 

“He's unbelievable,” Nancy mutters somewhere by his ear. “He's going to win gold for this, he has to.” 

“I know,” Steve groans. His eyebrow is twitching. “And he's never gonna shut up about it.”

*

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. By the time Eddie has accepted his gold medal, Steve is still seething. He doesn’t have any time to act on it though, because then it's time for Nancy to enter the rink and deliver another mind-blowing show. Between the award ceremony, the fans clamoring for autographs, and the press dragging him off for approximately twenty different interviews, he doesn't catch Eddie alone for hours. When he finally manages to tear himself away, staff tell him that Mr. Munson has already left for the hotel. 

*

Eddie’s smile goes wide and toothy as he opens the door to find Steve looming outside. He's fresh out of the shower, dressed only in a towel slung around his stupid, tiny waist. His hair is loose and wet, cascading around his face in dark, chaotic ringlets. There's still black glitter smudged in the corners of his eyes. 

“Big boy,” he cheers. “I've been waiting for you to show up! Two gold medals in your first year of coaching, you must be-” 

“Cut the crap,” Steve sneers. Eddie’s smile doesn't slip as he brackets him between his arms and the doorframe, but his towel does, a little. “I specifically told you not to use that song. The judges are a bunch of conservative assholes, it could've cost you everything.” 

“But it didn't,” Eddie shrugs. “You gotta learn how to relax, coach.” 

Steve growls. “Maybe I'd be more relaxed if you weren't trying to push every single one of my buttons all the damn time.” 

Eddie sways forward, lifting his chin defiantly, the same stubborn fire smoldering in those dark eyes that has been driving Steve insane for weeks.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to push your buttons so much if you'd stop being such a fucking coward and just admitted what you want.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Steve says, and surges in. 

It's not so much a kiss as a violent clash of lips - all of the pent-up nerves and adrenaline and rage of the past few weeks finally breaking themselves way. Eddie growls against Steve’s mouth, biting down on his bottom lip and grabbing the lapels of his jacket to bodily haul him into the room. Steve has just enough time to kick the door shut behind them before he's shoved into the nearest wall, Eddie’s arms around his shoulders, Eddie’s legs around his waist, Eddie’s tongue in his mouth. The towel hits the ground with a soft thud.

“You want me to shut up, Stevie?” Eddie purrs, nipping and sucking at his neck, grinning against his skin when he's rewarded with a gasp. “How about you make me?” 

“What?” Steve laughs around a hoarse moan, cupping Eddie’s ass so he can carry him over to the bed. “You actually doing what I tell you to? That would be a first.” 

“Well, aren't we both lucky?” Eddie says, pausing his kisses just long enough to let himself be lowered onto the bed, pulling Steve after him with greedy hands. “Looks like it's gonna be a night of triumphs for both of us.” 

More holiday drabbles

[heartfullofleeches]

[Violence, mentions of weed]

Tired Bear Hybrid Darling and Unhinged Bee Hybrid Yan (Robbie my love. My angel. My-). Just a bear with a resting bitch face who is probably not so bad once you get to know them and their tiny protector who would have a criminal record - if they ever got caught for their crimes. Darling is challenged by random folks for a fight, but they really couldn't be bothered less and if there's anyone they should be afraid of it's the tiny menace who has broken the locks on their apartment for the fifth time this week.

Wait wait wait. Stoner Bear Hybrid Darling and Unhinged Bee Hybrid Yan who slides them infused honey to gain assess to their apartment without Darling call the cops again. (They don't anymore after the officer who came down last time laughed at them for being scared shitless of the bee they can easily throw out of a window.

It's the best of both worlds. Darling can even turn a blind eye to the screams of the last person to provoke them as their ankles are broken in three different ways.

God, I love Robbie.

-

"Wanna fight? I saw you eyeing me from across the way."

Bear Hybrid Reader: Gonna stop you right there. First off, that's just how I look. Second, if you take one swing at me that little nightmare will stop at nothing to make you wish they had killed you.

[The stranger shoves Reader]

"Ha!- You think that's gonna scare me off?"

[Bear Hybrid Reader sighs, pulling their emergency supply of honey from their bag as a blur zooms by from the bushes - screams echoing as they turn their back accompanied by this loud crunch of bone]

-

Robbie: Huuuuuney Bear~ The police came by my place again. Would you do your little bumble bee a favor and let me hide these brass knuckles in your closet again?

Bear Hybrid Reader: Got the goods?

[Robbie drops a bag full of several jars of honey in their arms]

Bear Hybrid Reader: Come on in.

[lavender-bun]

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿🎀✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You were boiling with jealousy. You just wanted to have fun drinking and smoking with your friends and boyfriend and everything had been fine until you got a glance of some kook bitch flirting with JJ, batting her lashes at him stupidly and you already had your fist clenching by your side. Your grip tightening on the red solo cup, chugging down the rest.

Kie, Sarah, and Cleo followed your gaze and all knew it won't take long until you snap. You trusted JJ, it's just that you can't stand the fact that many girls or past flings on the island still tried making their shot even though they knew he's not on the market anymore.

You could see the annoyance on JJ's face but he was still being nice about it, which you cherish him for but also wished he would just walk away from her and leave her there dumbfounded.

You were really trying to keep your cool but then she had the audacity to touch his arm. That was it. Throwing the cup on the ground and ignoring Kie's scolding you marched over to where the boys were standing.

Pushing the girl's hand off JJ not so gently you stood between the two, your arms crossed over your chest while JJ wrapped his arm around your waist.

"Stay the fuck away from my man and go look for some kook dick instead of using pogues just so you can feel some type of power." You glared at her.

"Oh really? And that's coming from someone whose mom had practically slept with the whole island. I don't doubt you're any better-" Your fist made contact with her face before she could finish her insult, and you watched her fall onto the sand.

The boys shouted in surprise and you didn't let it end there, getting on top of her and grabbing her by her shirt with one hand.

"You ever take my family in your mouth again imma make sure you won't leave the hospital for a while, got that?" You whispered to her before feeling JJ wrap his arms around your middle to hoist you up and off her.

"Easy now, mama. Think she heard you loud and clear. C'mon, let's go." JJ carried you away while you kept cussing at the girl, making sure that the others on the bonfire see what happens when they mess with you.

After your little altercation, everyone decided it was better to call it a night and make your way back to the Chateau.

JJ went to hold your hand but quickly let go when you hissed in pain, instead he grabbed your wrist holding it up to look at your bruised knuckles. He smirked, kissing each of your knuckles gently.

"All that trouble for me, huh?" He teased and you rolled your eyes but smiled at him.

"Shut up. You would have done the same if any guy had approached me."

"True." He chuckled and when you tried to get out of his hold he stopped walking, pulling you against his chest. "I gotta admit, what you did there was pretty hot."

You smirked, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into a heated kiss while his hands went to squeeze your ass. Your little make out session got interrupted by John B clapping his hands to get your guys attention.

"C'mon, you lovebirds. You can mingle later, there are people who have a busy day ahead."

"Oh and you are one of them?" You raised an eyebrow at the brunette.

"Yeah, someone has to take care of your hangover asses tomorrow and that's probably me as I'm the most sober one here." He flicked your forehead and you slapped his hand away laughing.

"Better be careful bro or you'll be her next victim." JJ warned with a smirk placing his arm over your shoulders, kissing the side of your head.

"I think I broke her nose-"

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿🎀✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Requested by: @tracymbcm (I'm so sorry it took me so long to get to this 😭 hope you still like it the way it came out)

Taglist

For everything:

@lokigirlszendaya @buckymydarlingangel @superlegend216

For JJ Maybank:

@tracymbcm @spideysimpossiblegirl @chiaraanatra

[theereina]

Bad News Pt. 3

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC "Bella"

Wordcount: +1.7K

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, no smut, heavily dialogue-centered, mental health mentioned (anxiety), *emotional distress*, angst, heartbreak, health conditions mentioned (c*ncer, PCOS, endometriosis), infertility, verbal and physical ab*se mentioned

A/N: I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

Bad News Pt. 1=> 😢

Bad News Pt. 2=> 😢

Masterlist: 🔥🔥🔥

Over A Month After Mike's Funeral

“He said he'd leave the door unlocked, so I can just go in and get the rest of my stuff,” I said getting out of the car. “My legs hurt so damn bad,” Shante said bending over. “Old ass!” I laughed as I walked to the door.

As I lifted my hand to turn the doorknob, all of the memories from the night before I left came flooding back. “You good?” Shante asked as she walked up behind me. “Yeah, flashbacks whoopin’ my ass. I can't believe that… Fuck!” I said sobbing. Shante’s arms wrapped around me. “Oh, Bella. You'll be okay, mama. You know me and Mama gotchu,” she said swaying from side to side.

This was the first time since the day Terry called that I had realized how much life had changed. The surgery was “successful”. Testing showed no more immediate signs of cancer. The possibility of me getting pregnant was slim to none and would take a miracle, but I was trying to be as optimistic as possible about the situation.

“I'm fine. I promise,” I said patting her hands. She slowly released me from her embrace. “You’re strong, ya’ know. You always have been,” she said playfully bumping my shoulder. “Thank you for that. Honestly, I wish I didn't have to be. What's the reward in it?” I said reaching for the doorknob again.

Upon entering the house, I noticed that everything seemed to be untouched. It was as if Terry had barely stayed here since then. “Has he even been here?” Shante asked spinning around and taking in the scenery. She seemed to be just as confused as me. “I don't know. I didn't really ask. We only text about me coming to get my stuff,” I said walking further into the house.

The longer I stood there; the more I felt an overwhelming sense of dread, worry, and something I couldn't explain. It seemed off. It was almost as if this wasn't anyone's home anymore.

“Let's just go upstairs,” I said shuddering. As I turned to go up the stairs, I heard the sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway. “I thought his bitch ass wasn't coming while you were here,” Shante said barreling towards the door. She grabbed the doorknob and swung it open. “That's what he…,” I started to say.

To my surprise, it wasn't Terry pulling in at all. I saw his mother climbing out of her small sedan. “Shit! It's his mama. What the hell?” I said palming my face. I hadn't prepared myself to face any of them— not Terry or his parents.

I could see her smile before she even reached the door. “Hi, honey. May I come in?” she asked looking at me. Her hands gripped her purse strap so tight that her knuckles turned white. “Yes… yes, ma'am. How are you?” I asked turning to meet her in the living room. “Good, how about you? I haven't spoken to ya’ since ya’ left,” she said walking up to me. She looked at Shante and mouthed a silent hello.

I didn't know what to say to her. Did I tell her the truth? Did I lie about what happened? Was I supposed to protect Terry? Should I even fucking care?

“I've been fine,” I said trying to stifle my emotions. I knew that my face and body language always gave me away. I wore my emotions outwardly like a second skin or a mask. “Don't lie to me, baby?” she said grabbing my hands. I looked down at the floor. “Bella,… maybe you should just… y’know,” Shante mumbled while shrugging her shoulders. “I've asked that boy a million times. He's as stubborn as a mule. He didn't hurt you did he?” she asked stepping closer. “No, but… Yeah, but not physically. Then again, every word he said felt like a punch to the gut. He…,” I said as the tears began to fall.

Before I knew it, I had told his mother everything— what happened that night, the next day, and what happened to me afterward. I even told her about the surgery and diagnoses.

“I'll be the first to admit that we missed the mark with Terry when it comes to emotional intelligence. His father was so set on raising a man that he just couldn't let the boy feel things. Y’know… he couldn't cry, be upset, or… Or, else. Yes, Terry is a grown-ass man, but… I don't know,” Terry's mother grew silent. It was like she had become lost in her thoughts.

“All I wanted was an apology. If he would've just… just heard me out and listened. But, I guess I wasn't worth it. I get it. Mike was in trouble, but I felt like I was fighting for my life… by my… by my damn self. He wasn’t talkin’ to me. He wasn't communicating with me at all. He was just telling me what he was gonna do, and that was it. I… I… I tried my hardest to let it go, but he had already said too much. There was no turning back after what he said. Whether he was angry, overwhelmed, or not; he hurt me!” I said leaning on my hands on the kitchen counter.

“I know. I'm sorry, honey. That's why I'm gone tell you this, and leave ya’ ‘lone. Okay? Listen to me, and listen to me good,” she said holding my face in her hands. “That's my son sure enough, but that's his father's creation. Don't make the same mistake I did. Run. Don't wait on him. He won't change. They'll tell you they will a million times and never will. They just keep feedin’ ya’ lies to tire ya’ out ‘til ya’ settle. And once you do that… It only gets worse. So, go up those stairs and get your stuff. When ya’ do, leave and don't eva look back. Ya’ hear me?” she said pulling me into a bear hug.

“And I know you said he isn't hitting you now, but if he's anything like his daddy, it's only a matter of time. Baby, don't even think ‘bout it… Lord… Just don't go back. Promise me that,” she said rocking me back and forth.

4 hours later

“That's it. We're done! Let's go. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I ain't in the mood. Girl, this was a helluva day,” Shante said walking out the door. I made sure that I had all of my stuff before leaving. I looked down at the set of keys in my hand. His mother was right; this was it. I wasn't turning back. I fumbled with the key ring and removed Terry's house key. I placed it on the kitchen counter. There was no reason to have it because I was NEVER using it again. I turned and began walking out the door locking it from the inside. Closing that door felt like ending an entire chapter of my life.

I walked to the passenger side of the car. Opening the door, I got in and slumped into the seat. “Alright. The hotel is only a thirty-minute drive. Let's go!” Shante said starting the car. Even reversing out of the driveway felt odd. It was as if every move from then on was solidifying just how done I was. Shante drove out of the neighborhood and turned onto the main street. The two-lane boulevard went straight through the center of the small town. I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. I was exhausted as hell.

After a few minutes, I felt the car come to a stop. I opened my eyes to see where we were— the town center. It was the only stoplight in the city limits. “The fact that there is only one stoplight is insane,” Shante laughed. “Aww, don't be mean. That's not nice,” I said giggling into my hand.

As we were chatting, the red light changed to green. Shante eased into the intersection. I looked out the window, watching the scenery. It was heartbreaking, to say the least. This was supposed to be the start of my perfect life— small town, family home, a husband, some kids, all of it. It was like I lost it all in a night. My thoughts were drifting to a poisonous place, and I knew if I stayed there too long I wouldn't be able to climb out of that hole as easily. I let my eyes scan the small crowds outside the window. This was a normal Thursday night for everyone else but me.

We were nearing the edge of town and slowly approaching the city limits. All we had to do was get to the highway. This was the first time this drive felt so daunting. It was as if I was being forced to reconcile with every decision I made before today— the good and the bad.

Out the window, I could see the small bar that Terry frequented. It wasn't busy but small groups were still lingering out front. As we grew closer, I noticed Terry's truck parallel-parked out front. Of course, he was there. Where else would he be? This was where he went to run. I leaned my head against the glass. The side of my face flustered from the temperature of the cool glass. As we started to pass the back of Terry's truck, I could see his figure in front of the truck. He was leaning with his back against the hood. I sank back into the seat. I honestly didn't want to see him. I waited until we were completely past the bar before sitting up again. I didn't look back. I kept my eyes glued on the passenger side floorboards. What was the point? I wiped a single tear that was making its way down my face. I breathed out a deep sigh of relief.

What would life have to offer now? Genuine happiness. Healthy and reciprocated love. Self-discovery. Less bad news. Yeah, that's what I pray for— for God to finally give me enough space to breathe and grow.

Taglist: @brattyfics @avoidthings @5headsupremacist @creartivefairy @cocooned-butterfly @ariiijestertheklown @miyuhpapayuh @megamindsecretlair @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @nayaxwrites @jimmybutlrr @nayaesworld @gg-trini @vivaalenaa @slutsareteacherstoo @kirayuki22 @skyesthebomb @blowmymbackout @blackerthings @mymindisneverhere @androgynousgaz @becauseimswagman1 @gwenda-fav @poektiou624 @keyaho @pocketsizedpanther @sageispunk

@onherereading @blyffe @beenathembo @helloncrocs @thiccc-c @curvyambitions @insidefeelingofanadult @theglamclosetsl

@charismablu @4ftwonder @4pfsukuna @writingsbytee @babybratzmaraj @pinkpantheris @honeytoffee @talkswithdesi

@thabiddie23 @disc0fairy @persethegawd @iburias @episodes-ff

[thebearer]

what about reader coming to the restaurant before family cause she had a bad day and carmen was pissed off about something wrong that happened but when he sees you looking up at him pouting, his demeanor switches so fast

"Fuck, Richie, can you quit fuckin' with me!" Carmen roars, slinging the bowl with a hard shove.

"Cousin, I'm not doin' shit to you, alright?" Richie seethes, rolling his eyes as the other chefs- the new hires- avoid eye contact. Carmen doesn't act erratically often, tried not to for his reputation's sake, but today was a bad day.

"Hey, cousin, you need to chill the fuck out, alright? Get it out of your fuckin' system now before dinner rush because those people," Richie pointed through the window, where there was an empty dining room- for now. It would be filled by six o'clock. "Will fuckin' see you actin' like a jagoff."

"I wouldn't act like a fuckin' jagoff if you would do what I fuckin' ask you to!" Carmen roared, eyes bulging and vein by his neck protruding.

"Hey, relax, alright." Richie grit, breathing deeply out his nose. "Go fuckin' take a break. We got it. Go see your girl or somethin'. Get that stress out, for fucksake."

"The fuck are you talkin' about-"

"Your girl has been in your office for this past twenty minutes while you were actin' like a moron." Richie snapped, Carmen's demeanor suddenly faltering. "Yeah, get embarrassed, cousin. She heard all that shit."

"Just- shut the fuck up, alright? Fuck you." Carmen huffed, stomping towards the office.

"Don't fuck me. Go fuck her. Get some of that fuckin' attitude out, holy shit." Richie snarled, rolling his eyes.

Carmen ignored him, walking through the door of the office. You sat at his desk, mindlessly scrolling though your phone, barely looking up when he walked in. "I swear to God, Richie's a fuckin' pain in my ass." Carmen started in, ignoring your solemn expression. "Fuckin' wise ass. Thinks he knows fuckin' everything, and you know what? He- What's the matter with you?" Carmen stopped his ranting and pacing, skidding to a stop to look at you. Your sad eyes and long face.

"Nothin'." You muttered, looking up at Carmen gently. "What did Richie do?"

Carmen shook his head, sitting on the desk in front of you. "Not important. Tell me what's wrong, hm? What's goin' on?"

You faltered for a moment, deciding to shake your head and ignore your emotions. "It's nothing, Carm-"

"-You're lyin' to me." Not a question, a fact. Carmen's raised brow to you that. "Why are you lyin' to me?"

"I'm not, it's just..." The shaky breath you took in, a strangled, watery gasp had Carmen's heart lurching. "I just had a really bad day." You hated the way your voice cracked, wobbling and wavering with emotions. You'd cried all the way here, the freshness of the tears coming back to you again, flooding your waterline.

"What happened, baby?" Carmen's tone dropped into a coo, a soothing balm over your teary demeanor.

"It's just... I don't know, I felt like I couldn't get anything right today, and-and I just... I'm really tired." You admitted with a small quake in your tone. "I just want this day to be over."

"Did someone say something to you?" You'd bitched a few times about a coworker making off handed remarks to you, and Carmen was more than happy to say something to him. He didn't mind at all, insisted on it, in fact.

"No, it wasn't Toby." You rolled your eyes at the mention of him. "He wasn't bad today, actually, which made it worse. I just, I don't know, my mind was all over the place today and I-I'm just stressed."

"I'm sorry, baby." Carmen rasped, hand on yours, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles.

"It's ok." You pouted, exhaling deeply. "I just want to go home and not have another fucking thought for the rest of the day.

"Wish I could help you with that." Carmen grinned, playfully, proud to see that you smirked, shaking your head at him. "'m serious. You need me to do anything?"

"No." You shook your head. "I'm starving, so I'm gonna eat and then go home. Sit in the bath until I dissolve." You grin lightly up at him.

Carmen smiled, leaning over to kiss you sweetly, hands cupping your face, tasting the saltiness of your tears still lingering on your lips. "Are you hungry now? I can get you somethin' to eat real quick, baby. What do you want?"

"No, Carmy, I'll be alright-"

"Hey, Marcus," Carmen was sticking his head out already. "You got any focaccia ready?"

"Yes, Chef, I have a few prepped-"

"-Gimme one, please. Thanks, Marcus." Carmen nodded, taking the bread, and passing it over to you.

You frowned at him. "I was fine, Carmy. Could've waited until family." You pouted, but you were already tearing the bread basket open, mouth watering at the sight.

Carmen grinned. "I know, but I don't want you to go hungry. Had to taste tonight anyways. Tell me what you think." He muttered, watching you tear off a piece.

[garbinge]

GOOD MOOD

Leroy Jethro Gibbs x F!Wife!Reader // Word Count: 1.3k Summary: Gibbs comes home in a good mood and you decide the best way to break some not so 'good mood' news to him. Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. liiiiight angst. liiiight fluff. Smoking Weed/Being High. Mentions of losing a job, violence, punching. No use of Y/N. Reader is a private investigator, married to Gibbs, and has a teenage child in this fic. A/N: Been rewatching NCIS from the beginning and I just simply forgot how much I love this show. Grew up watching some episodes when they'd be on tv running reruns but never watched from season to season before and I just jkshjkhf love it so much. So now I'm adding another fandom and character to the roster!

“You know I’m a federal agent, right?” Gibbs’s voice came from behind you along with the sliding of your back porch door. 

“Yea, but I’m not.” You smirked, holding the joint in your hand as you blew the smoke out that he was clearly smelling as he joined you in the backyard. 

“What’s with the new recreational activity?” He still had his work clothes on as he turned the patio chair around so it was next to yours. 

“Rough day at work.” You exhaled. 

“Being a private dick will do that.” He had a hint of humor in his voice as he said it. Teasing your occupation the way he would if it was anyone else.

“Investigator.” Correcting him with a smirk on your face, you continued talking. “And what can I say, there were no more special agent openings at NCIS.” 

“You’d fail the drug test anyways.” He was looking over at you, a smile wide on his face. 

“You’re in a good mood.” Your eyebrows raised, your face matching his humor. 

“Better than usual.” He shrugged and kicked his feet up on the bricks that surrounded the fire pit in front of you.

“Hm.” Turning your head back forward, you looked at the fire that was starting to die down. 

Gibbs’s face turned into a frown as he questioned you. “What’s that?” 

“What’s what?” You teased him, taking advantage of his good mood. 

“What’s with the hm?” He mimicked the noise you made. 

Letting out a laugh you dropped your head on your shoulder, “I’m debating if I want to ruin your good mood.” 

“Ah.” It was his turn now to look away and towards the fire pit. “How bad?”

“Eh.” You shrugged. 

“That’s like a 5, that’s not bad.” He was joking but his face was serious which is what made you laugh out loud slightly before deciding to spit out the news. 

“I lost my job.” 

Gibbs didn’t show any emotion on his face, just a slight nod as he acknowledged you. “Who’d you punch?” 

It never should have surprised you when Gibbs knew things without being told, but it always did. 

“Your knuckles.” He was getting up to feed the fire as he said it. 

Your eyes looked down and saw the red bruising finding it's home around your knuckles and closed your eyes as you rested your head against the back of the chair, joint still in your left hand. 

“My private dick of a boss.” 

Gibbs smirked slightly at that as he dropped a few more pieces of wood into the fire. “Enough was enough, huh?” 

“That and he called me a bitch.” That was a statement which earned you a look from him, he froze in his steps and stared up at you through his brows. “Don’t worry, I clearly took care of it.” You flashed your hand to him. 

He went back to feeding the fire as the silence fell over you two for a few minutes. Coming back to the patio chair, he sat down and placed his hands behind his head. 

“All things considered, that’s not too bad. Never understood why you worked for that asshole.” 

“I told you, NCIS wasn’t hiring.” While it was a joke, Gibbs took you seriously. 

He pointed to the joint. “I could get you in. Just have to wait a couple weeks.” 

“Nah, I’m goin’ back to my roots. Investigative journalism.” Your eyebrows raised. 

It was how you met Gibbs all those years ago, you were working on a big story, one that brought you to the NCIS headquarters during Gibbs’s first year on the job as special agent. The rest was history. 

“And now I have an in at the Naval Criminal Investigators offices if I find myself with a big Navy scoop.” 

“Pretty sure you had an in when you first stepped onto those offices.” He was smiling now, staring at you. 

“You’re still in a good mood.” You smiled back at him, both of you looking at each other as the orange tone of the fire reflected off his skin. 

“Told you, wasn’t that bad.” 

“Hold onto that feeling.” You scrunched your face up while his own face dropped. “Aren’t you going to ask me where I got the weed?” 

Gibbs's mind started running, trying to think of an answer that made sense. Putting that special agent brain to work as if it wasn’t overworked enough all day on duty. He was coming up blank, which automatically put him a few points lower on the good mood meter, stumping Gibbs wasn’t enjoyable, for anyone. 

“Where’d you get the weed?” He asked, knowing you wouldn’t tell him unless he did ask. You knew better than to interrupt Gibbs when he was working a case, interrogating someone, or even just as simple as working through a thought. 

“Your daughter.” After you said it, you took another hit from the joint, knowing you were gonna need it for his response. 

“What?!” He kicked his feet off the fire pit bricks, his arms were next to his body which was sitting up now, bent over his legs as he leaned forward all while turning to look back at you, shock–or anger, all over his face. 

“Got a call from the school today, she got caught smoking in the bathroom. The school apparently doesn’t discard of the herb on their own so they gave it back to me.” You let out a giggle at that, clearly the weed starting to work its wonders on you but also laughing at the strange policy. 

“Where is she?” Gibbs was still concerned. 

“In her room, where she’ll be for the next two weeks. I told her how her father is a federal agent and she can’t have this shit in the house.” 

Gibbs’s face twisted up in a smile at that comment. “So you, her mother, clearly are out here setting the example for her.” 

“I had to get rid of it somehow.” You lifted your hands in innocence. 

Gibbs let out a laugh. “You too high to help me with the boat?” 

“Never.” You were getting up, tossing the joint into the fire. “You gonna talk to her?” Now you were standing in front of your husband, his eyes were moving away from yours at the thought of needing to scold his teenage daughter. 

“Depends. What else you tell her?” 

“That I was still deciding if I was going to tell you or not.” 

It was the most you saw Gibbs smile in one night in a while. He was in a good mood. 

���That’s good, that’ll keep her guessing.” 

“Ain’t my first rodeo.” Your shoulders raised as you bragged, humbly. 

It was then that he placed his lips on your forehead, giving you a quick kiss as his hand moved to your hand that was littered with the memory of your awful day. His thumbs lightly caressing the bruises on your knuckles.

“You knock him out cold?” 

“I told you, it ain’t my first rodeo.”  That made Gibbs good mood turn to a great one, he never liked the guy you worked for, he didn’t like private investigators at all, but for you he tolerated them. But this not only meant he was done tolerating them but that he’d get to live with the mental image of you knocking the jerk out cold. 

“C’mon, I’m almost done with the hull, have a feeling this story is gonna get me through the finish line on that.” 

“Eh.” You scrunched your face up again. “I am high, so probably through the rest of the hull and the start of the bow. I get kind of chatty.” 

With a laugh, Gibbs tossed his arm over your shoulder and planted another kiss to your temple. Yea, he was still in a good mood.

Dividers by: realitycanbewhateveridesire ♡ 🕵️ NCIS Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 (let me know if you’d like to be added! I'm using my all writing taglist right now!)

[imaginedreamwrite]

Rival daughter’s reader trying to tell John she has very big news 🤰 but someone stops her from getting in contact with him

“He’s busy.” The door shutting in your face was deliberate, and the alpha on the other side was sparing no second thought of you standing there waiting.

You stared at the door, blankly wondering if you were actually seeing what you were seeing. Did this asshole really have the audacity of shutting you out when you had news for John? Did this guy really think John wouldn’t want to hear your big news instead of being shut out?

You raise your fist and knock again, your knuckles rapping on the door. You wait for a few seconds and knock again, standing there waiting for someone to acknowledge your existence. When you try to knock a third time, you feel those dead eyes casted upon you for the second time.

“I said he’s busy.” The dead stare and the unimpressed tone have your annoyance spiking, and with an unimpressed retort building on your lips, you’re ready to snap at him.

“Omegas need to know their place.” His dead eyes shifts into a hasty glare that’s meant to be intimidating, and if you were any other omega you might have cowed down.

But being with a man like John, and being in the position you were as his mate and lover, you had the assurance that you could get away with almost anything. And this asshole in front of you wasn’t going to be given any quarter once John found out that you were being blocked from speaking to him.

“Know their places?” Your eyebrows furrow and you have a moment of disbelief, as if you can’t believe this dick actually said that to you. “And where exactly are their places?”

“He’s busy, go play dress up with the other alpha’s wives.” The door is slammed in your face and you almost walk away, deciding the fight isn’t worth your time. The last word that slips out of his mouth changes your mind, as the “dumb bitch” is muttered under his breath.

You stop yourself from brushing it off, from letting it go, and instead you let it fester. You could, like he said, so spend time with the other alpha’s wives, you liked the other omega’s you really did, but no—you couldn’t let this one go.

You waited for a moment and then turned on your heel, walking directly toward the kitchen where your phone was charging. You had swiped it from the counter and immediately dialled John’s number, smirking when it only rang twice.

“Mrs. Price.” His voice was crooning, only for you, and you found yourself naturally eased by him. “What do you need, love?”

“I was trying to speak to you, I have some big news to share. But omega’s need to know their places, and I’m a dumb bitch who can’t disturb you.” You relayed the information, your big news, to John and even through the phone you could feel the impact.

The anger was palpable, the fact that you were kept out of his reach because some alpha thought he was more powerful than he was, would not sit well with John. And you could feel it, you could detect the swelling anger that his mate was kept from him.

“I understand,” John’s voice deepened with animosity toward the man who kept you from him, through his voice and the bond you shared, “it won’t happen again, sweetheart. Why don’t you come see me in half an hour and we’ll talk?”

Half an hour to clean up after he dealt with the obstacle in front of him—that alpha that called you a dumb bitch was going to be dealt with swiftly. That idiot should’ve just let you in, should’ve just let you see John but no, he had to be a dick about it.

You hang up the phone and set it back down on the counter before you lean against the cupboards. You rest a hand on your stomach, patting it twice.

“We’ll tell him soon.” You speak to your baby, as if they can understand you. “Once he’s done taking care of the problem.”