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jhyoos · 2 months ago

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Fight For You

boxer!abby x model!reader

summary: you meet abby at a high-end party.

mentions: fame au, modern au, everyone is alive, mentions of ed, smoking, drinking, romance, angst, smut, fucking in the bathroom, oral & fingering (r!receiving).

author note: suprisingly this was highly requested ! very long fanfic so get something to eat!

You were a model—not a household name, not a face plastered on every billboard in Manhattan or Paris—but you walked. You moved. You made it somewhere. You’d been in a few Vogue spreads, dimly lit behind the star of the page. You’d walked Victoria’s Secret runways, wings stitched to your back like borrowed dreams. You weren’t the centerpiece, but you were there, shimmering in the glow of flashbulbs and eyes that didn't always see you.

As much as girls romanticized it—modeling was war. Polished smiles in front of the camera, but behind the scenes? It was elbows out, lips stitched shut. A competition of bone counts and measurements, where praise sounded like “you finally look thinner” and love came in the shape of hunger.

When you first started, your manager had you on diets so strict they felt like rituals—punishment masked as discipline. Celery sticks for breakfast, water for dinner, shame for dessert. There were nights when your body rebelled, when you’d throw everything up until your vision blurred and your ribs ached. You smiled anyway, because that’s what pretty girls did.

Then came the miracle.

Victoria’s Secret reached out. They wanted you—a new Angel. And God, you flew. You cried in the back of your Uber, mascara bleeding into your palms. When the official post dropped on their Instagram, your phone lit up like a Christmas tree. Follows. Blue checks. Brands. People cared.

And yet... people commented.

Under the glowing announcement, buried between the fire emojis and “she’s perfect,” came the venom. “She’s too thick to be an Angel.” “She doesn’t have the face for it.” “Bet she slept her way in.”

You told yourself not to look. You did anyway. You always did.

And you tried to brush it off. You liked the positive comments. You reposted the good ones. You told yourself the hate came with the fame. That it was just noise. But even angels have soft spots under their wings.

You weren’t famous-famous. You were known. Seen. Not always remembered. But in a world that wanted you to be skin and air, you were something real. And that, maybe, was enough.

Abby Anderson was everywhere.

Her face graced the cover of every major sports magazine—ESPN, Women’s Health, Boxing Monthly—always front and center, gloves slung over her shoulder like royalty, like muscle wrapped in silk. When competition season rolled around, her image lit up city billboards like neon prayers. Times Square. L.A. Live. Hell, even Tokyo had her gritted smile above the skyline.

She wasn’t just known—she was inevitable.

Her Instagram was a force of nature. Millions of followers, all eyes on her knuckles, her callouses, her workouts, her smirks. The caption could be two words—“Try me”—and it’d break the algorithm. Her fans called themselves the Anderson Army, flooding every comment section with love, awe, thirst. Her fights sold out in minutes. Pay-per-view numbers shattered records. Even people who didn’t watch boxing knew who she was.

Abby was a beast in the ring. Some called her a bull—not because she was reckless, but because she was unstoppable. Every match she walked into, she didn’t just win, she dominated. Her fists moved like poetry written in blunt force. Her footwork was tactical, brutal, almost unfair. Opponents fell before the second round like they knew what was coming.

And she looked damn good doing it.

Viral TikToks caught her mid-punch, sweat-glossed and godly, jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds. There were fan cams edited like music videos. Tweets that said, “Abby Anderson could knock me out and I’d say thank her.” Gym clips turned into thirst traps. She didn’t try to be hot—she just was.

She had the fame, the fans, the money, the muscles, the girls who lined up for a chance to be close. And her team? Top-tier. Nutritionists, trainers, publicists, stylists. Everything about her life looked like it was curated for a champion, and it was—because she earned it.

Every scar, every bruise, every early morning and broken rib—it paid off.

Abby Anderson had the world in a chokehold, and the world loved it.

Your friend was the kind of model who didn’t just walk runways—she owned them. Her name alone got invites to the most exclusive parties in the city, the kind of places where no phones were allowed but everyone knew everything that happened anyway. You were surprised when she asked you to be her plus-one.

“Please come,” she’d said, voice syrupy over the phone. “Some other friends are coming, but you're the only one who doesn’t drink. Help me make sober choices, yeah?”

You laughed softly but agreed. You couldn’t say no—not just because you cared, but because deep down, you wanted to see it. That other world. That forbidden, neon-lit underbelly of the elite.

She helped you pick out a dress, too—that dress. A black, sequined slip of a thing that clung to every curve like it had been sewn on with whispers. The neckline plunged like a dare, held up by the thinnest black straps. A small silver clasp cinched the cutout just beneath your chest, the only thing keeping the whole thing from unraveling completely. It was short—dangerously short—and it shimmered with every breath, every turn, catching the light like stars stuck to your skin. Paired with simple black heels and your hair down in soft waves, you looked like temptation bottled.

The party was already in full swing by the time you arrived.

It was hot—humid with bodies and bass, sweat and perfume clinging to the air. The kind of party where everyone was somebody. The room reeked of status, of secrecy. Celebrities you once idolized were tucked into dark corners, drinking like they were trying to forget their own names. Others were laughing too loudly, eyes glassy, pupils blown wide. The scent of weed, champagne, and something chemical lingered everywhere. A haze of smoke floated near the chandeliers like a ghost.

If only the paparazzi saw this. The unfiltered version of fame.

Your friend tugged you by the wrist to a booth she had rented out—elevated just enough to overlook the dance floor like a throne. You sat down, pressing your thighs together on the cold leather couch, the sequins of your dress crackling faintly. You nursed a single drink, barely sipping it as the others around you knocked shots back like water.

Laughter. Slurred voices. Someone snorted something off a phone screen. You stayed silent, posture poised, eyes scanning. Watching.

Eventually, your friend stood, swaying just a little. “I’m heading to the dance floor with them,” she said, already halfway gone.

You nodded, a little uneasy, but you understood. This was her scene.

Now it was just you. Sitting alone in a storm of sound and sweat, the only one not drunk, not high, not tangled up in the mess. Just quiet, calm, and breathtaking in your dress like a still frame inside a film reel spinning too fast.

You lasted longer than you thought you would—sitting pretty and still, the only clear head in a room full of beautiful chaos. But it was starting to crawl under your skin. The sound, the heat, the way the air felt like it was breathing you in. Your nerves were humming too loud for comfort. So, with a quiet sigh, you got up from the booth and decided to make your way to the bar.

Eyes followed you the moment you stood. Like hounds catching a scent.

You kept your gaze low, trying not to make contact. You weren’t here to mingle with the rich tweakers and chemically confident heirs of nothing. Every time someone tried to strike up a conversation, you gave them a single word—“No.” “Sorry.” “Taken.” Short. Sharp. Enough to cut without bleeding.

Then someone touched you.

A hand, too firm, closed around your arm. You stopped cold. Turned.

His face was familiar—he might’ve been in a movie, or maybe the son of someone who was. But his pupils were so wide they swallowed the color of his eyes, and the whites were streaked red like cracks in glass. He wasn’t just high. He was gone.

“Hey…” he slurred, breath sticky. “What you doing all alone?”

You flinched at his tone, at the sway of his body. Your stomach twisted, but you managed a polite, strained smile. “I’m not alone, sir. I’m here with my friends.”

“Mm,” he grinned, like he didn’t believe you. Like he didn’t care. He tugged your arm, pulling you closer like you were some party favor to unwrap.

Your heart skipped in fear and instinct—your fingers grabbed at your arm, trying to yank free.

“You got a boyfriend?” he asked, voice low and greasy.

“I—”

Before you could answer, you felt a heavy hand on your shoulder. Solid. Protective. Warm.

“Fuck off,” a deep voice growled behind you. “She’s with me.”

The guy froze. His hand dropped like he’d touched fire.

You turned your head—and there she was.

Abby Anderson.

She stood tall, her shadow swallowing the guy whole. Muscles carved into her like she’d been sculpted, not born. Her jaw clenched just enough to say try me. The air shifted. The guy muttered something, barely audible, then backed off into the crowd like a kicked dog.

You exhaled for what felt like the first time in minutes.

“Thank you so much,” you said, voice still shaky with adrenaline.

“No problem,” Abby replied, eyes steady on yours.

Then she looked you up and down—slowly, deliberately. Her gaze lingered at your dress, lips twitching in approval. “You want a drink?” she asked.

You nodded. “Yeah... I was on my way to the bar.”

“Perfect,” she said, her hand brushing your lower back. “Let’s go.”

The dance floor was a different world entirely—smoke in the air, lights strobing in pulses of red and gold, bodies packed so tight you could feel the music in your bones. It wasn’t dancing, not really. It was moving, grinding, existing too close and not close enough all at once.

Abby held your hand as she led you through the crowd like she knew exactly where to go. Her grip was firm, grounding. She stopped in the center, surrounded by heat and rhythm, and turned to face you with a look that was half playful, half something deeper.

You bit your lip. “So this is the part where you pretend to dance?”

Abby chuckled, hands already settling on your waist. “Nah. This is the part where I let you lead and pretend I’m doing something.”

The bass thumped through the floor, into your heels, your spine. You started slow, swaying your hips to the beat, your hands brushing up Abby’s chest to hook behind her neck. She followed your rhythm effortlessly, bodies pressed just enough to tease, but not quite enough to satisfy.

She was warm, solid, her scent sharp and clean beneath the smoke and sweat. Her gaze didn’t leave yours—not for a second. Not even when your thighs brushed, not even when your hips tilted forward in a soft, suggestive grind.

You felt her breath catch. Yours did too.

You tilted your head up, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Still pretending?” you whispered.

“No,” she breathed. “Not anymore.”

Her hands slid down to your hips, pulling you flush against her. Every motion was slow and deliberate, like she was trying to memorize how you moved, how your body fit into hers.

Your hands were in her hair now, fingers threading through the strands as your mouth hovered near hers, your noses touching, foreheads brushing.

And then—

She kissed you.

Right there on the dance floor, under a flickering red light, while the whole room spun and bodies crashed around you. Her lips crashed into yours with a heat that left no room for second thoughts. It was messy and perfect, her mouth tasting like whiskey and victory. Her hand slid up your back, cradling the base of your neck like you were something precious, and the kiss deepened—tongues brushing, teeth grazing, everything hungry and real.

You kissed her like you were tired of pretending. Like the night belonged to you both and everyone else was just noise.

By the time you pulled away, breathless and dazed, her forehead was still pressed to yours, eyes half-lidded, lips slick from yours.

“Still wanna call it one dance?” you asked, voice husky.

She smirked, lips brushing yours again. “Nah. I’m not done with you yet.”

“Come with me,” she murmured, her voice like gravel and silk.

She took your hand again—firmer this time—and pulled you through the crowd. Past the dancers. Past the bar. You barely noticed where you were going, but when she pushed open the heavy black door and the cool tile of the upscale bathroom greeted your heels, it hit you—

This wasn’t gonna be a quiet conversation.

The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the chaos outside. The room was dim, bathed in golden light from crystal fixtures on the walls. Too pretty a place for what was about to happen.

You turned around to face her, but Abby was already close again, crowding into your space in the most delicious way. Her hands found your hips, then slid around to your lower back, pulling you against her like she needed you there.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” she whispered, leaning down, lips brushing over your jaw. “Walking around like that in that little black dress…”

Your breath caught as her mouth ghosted along your skin—cheek to jaw to neck.

“I didn’t know I’d catch a boxer’s attention,” you teased, voice barely steady.

Abby’s teeth scraped lightly against your throat, just enough to make your knees wobble.

“You caught a lot more than that,” she growled. “You think I was just gonna let you sit there alone, looking like that? Not a chance.”

Her lips met yours again, but this time it was rougher—needy. Her hands explored your back, your sides, fingers grazing bare skin as she pushed you gently until your back hit the cool tile wall. The contrast made you gasp, and she took full advantage, deepening the kiss like she owned your mouth, like she’d waited too long already.

Your hands were in her hair again, tugging gently, nails dragging along her scalp. She groaned into your mouth, one hand sliding down to your thigh—lifting it so it rested against her hip.

You moaned softly as the pressure between you built, your bodies locked together in this stolen moment of heat and hunger and want.

“Say the word,” she breathed against your lips, her hand hovering, waiting.

“I want this,” you whispered. “I want you.”

That was all she needed.

Her lips brushed yours—not a kiss yet, just the idea of one. Soft enough to make your breath catch. Her nose nudged yours, foreheads touching. You could smell her—warm and clean beneath the sweat and cologne, with a faint trace of whiskey still on her breath.

Her hand slid up your thigh, knuckles grazing the hem of your dress. “This is driving me insane,” she whispered. “You in this little thing, walking around like you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

You grinned, high on the rush. “Maybe I do.”

Abby groaned, a low sound in the back of her throat that lit you up from the inside out. Her mouth met yours in a kiss that melted all the air between you. Her lips were soft but firm, her hand gripping your waist, dragging you into her as if she couldn’t bear even an inch of space left untouched.

You whimpered into her mouth when she pressed you harder into the wall, thigh slipping between yours, nudging upward with steady pressure.

“You’re already warm,” she whispered against your lips, voice thick and ragged. “And fuck—you’re shaking.”

You were. It wasn’t fear. It was anticipation, trembling like your body already knew what was coming.

Her hands moved with purpose—sliding up your sides, over your ribs, finding the zipper of your dress and pausing. “Can I?” she asked, voice low.

You nodded.

The zipper purred down, slow and deliberate, as cool air kissed the skin of your back. Your dress slipped from your shoulders like it was made to fall. Abby let it, guiding it down your arms until it pooled around your feet.

The way she looked at you then—

Like she was starving. Like you were everything.

Her hands roamed up your thighs, trailing goosebumps in their wake. Her palms were rough, used to wrapping around gloves and landing punches, but they touched you like silk. Her fingers splayed across your stomach, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra as she leaned in and kissed the base of your throat—slow, reverent.

“You’re unreal,” she murmured against your skin.

You tilted your head back, a soft moan escaping you as her lips traveled down your collarbone, every kiss a promise, every pause a test of restraint. She took her time, building you up with touches and kisses so gentle you felt like you were going to come apart before she even got there.

She dropped to her knees, lips ghosting over your stomach now, her hands gripping your thighs again. You looked down at her—this powerhouse of a woman, a boxer with bruised knuckles and fire in her eyes—kneeling for you, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Abby…”

“I got you,” she whispered. “I want to take care of you.”

And the way she said that?

It didn’t sound like a pick-up line.

It sounded like a promise.

Her mouth pressed a kiss to your hipbone. Then another. Then lower.

You threaded your fingers into her hair, back arching as you felt her breath where you needed her most, every nerve ending screaming awake, your whole body aching for her.

When her mouth finally met your skin, hot and slow and deliberate, you gasped—and that was when you stopped thinking altogether.

You were hers. In this moment. In this heat.

Your breath hitched, when you felt her mouth on your heat, exploring you.

She picked up on every whine you made in certain spots and attacked them with her tongue.

"Fuck you're so sweet," she mumbled against you which made up moan.

She was slow, at first. torturously soft licks and kisses on your clit that made your knees buckle. Then deeper—pressing and sucking in a rhythm that felt otherworldly. You gripped her hair, fingers tangling in her golden strands, moaning shamelessly as she devoured you like it was the only thing she needed to survive.

She worked you open like a prizefighter dissecting her opponent—calculated, relentless, skilled. She knew exactly when to add pressure, when to ease up, when to slide her two thick fingers inside you and curl them just right, making you yell out her name in pleasure.

She sucked on your clit as she continued to finger you. The sound of your arousal filled the bathroom as she fingered you. "Fuck Abby," you moaned out.

The sound of your voice moaning out her name only made her more determined to make you cum. Her fingers got faster and your moans only got louder.

You heard loud knocks on the bathroom door and a few voices, but that didnt stop Abby as you grew closer to your climax.

Abby pulled her mouth away and stood, her fingers still inside of you as she kept a steady pace. Her thumb rubbing your abused and swollen clit making you tremble. She used her other hand to grab your throat, gripping it with just enough pressure. "Are you gonna cum?," she whispered.

"Yes...fuck yes. I'm so close," you whined.

"Be a good girl and cum all over my fingers," she commands.

After a few more pumps of her fingers inside of your cunt. You came and hard. Abby kissed you muffling your moans as she slowed her pace, helping you calm down from your high.

The silence after the storm was thick and golden.

Your chest was rising and falling fast, dress wrinkled and hanging low on your hips, hair a wild halo around your flushed face.

You both stayed like that for a few heartbeats—no words, just the sound of your breathing and the muted thump of the party outside, miles away from the moment you were in.

Then, slowly, Abby's big hands gently slid up your sides.

“You good?” she asked, voice hoarse and low, her thumb brushing along your jaw.

You nodded, still breathless. “Yeah,” you murmured, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Very good.”

She let out a soft laugh, something cocky and proud warming her expression. “Yeah? Scale of one to ten?”

You leaned back against the wall, eyes twinkling. “Ten. Maybe eleven.”

“Damn right,” she said, grinning now, stepping behind you to pull the straps of your dress back over your shoulders.

Her fingers moved deftly, pulling the zipper up in a slow, smooth line that sent a fresh shiver down your spine.

Then you turned around to face her and—

“Oh my God,” you giggled, pressing a hand to your mouth.

“What?” Abby blinked, instantly alert. “Did I mess up the zipper?”

“No,” you said, biting your lip to stop from laughing. “You’ve got lipstick all over your mouth. Like… everywhere. You look like you fought a tube of MAC and lost.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”

You nodded, laughing now, reaching up to wipe her face gently with your thumb. “You look ridiculous. Hot, but ridiculous.”

Abby grinned, totally unfazed. “Badge of honor.”

Then—bam bam bam—a sudden knock on the bathroom door, followed by the obnoxious giggle of some drunk stranger.

“Yo, hurry up in there! We gotta piss!”

Abby rolled her eyes and looked at you with a smirk. “And just like that… the moment’s gone.”

You both burst out laughing, quietly, like a shared secret. She reached for the door handle, pausing just before she opened it.

“You wanna get outta here?” she asked. “We can go somewhere quieter. Talk. Or�� not talk.”

You tilted your head, smiling soft, still feeling the fire she left behind glowing low in your belly.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d like that.”

The bathroom door swung open and the two of you stepped out, back into the chaos.

The music hit first—thick, heavy, vibrating through your chest. Then came the blur of heat, perfume, weed, strobe lights flickering off mirrored walls. People pressed in from every side, some dancing, some spilling drinks, all of them moving like they were floating through honey.

But you weren’t really paying attention to any of it—your focus was still wrapped around Abby, your skin still buzzing where she touched you.

Then—

“Baaaaabe!” your friend slurred, suddenly appearing from the crowd like a glittering, unhinged fairy. Her dress was sliding off one shoulder and her mascara had migrated halfway down her cheek, but she was grinning ear to ear, holding a bottle of something pink and dangerous.

She threw her arms around you in a sloppy hug. “We’re leaaavinggg,” she declared, then looked up at you with wide eyes. “I want Whataburger. Like now.”

You blinked. “You’re hungry?”

“I’m starviiing,” she drawled, stumbling a little in her platforms. “I want fries. And a honey butter chicken biscuit. And you’re drivinggg.”

Of course. You should’ve known. Mom friend mode: activated.

You turned back to Abby, who stood there watching you with that low smirk that made your knees weak. Her hair was tousled now, lips wiped clean, but her eyes still held that same heat from the bathroom. That want.

You hesitated. “I’m sorry,” you said, stepping closer, keeping your voice low. “I gotta take care of her. But I’ll—um—I’ll add you on Instagram. And we can text. Set something up. Soon.”

Abby nodded, the smirk shifting into something softer. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll be waiting. Don’t leave me on read.”

You smiled, heart fluttering a little. “I won’t.”

And even though it wasn’t a kiss goodbye, there was something electric in the way your eyes lingered on each other just a second too long, like the universe wasn’t done with this yet.

Then your friend yanked on your hand. “WHATABURGER, BITCH.”

You laughed, throwing one last look over your shoulder at Abby before diving into the crowd, one arm wrapped around your intoxicated bestie, guiding her like a lighthouse through a sea of chaos.

Your phone buzzed in your purse.

A follow request from Abby Anderson.

Your friend was still tearing up her Whataburger like it was a competition and she was winning gold. Honey butter chicken biscuit? Gone. Fries? Vanishing. Drink? Half-empty and clutched in her glittered claws like she was fighting dehydration and heartbreak.

You? You were in another world, sipping your diet coke and staring at your phone like it had just whispered something sinful.

[1 notification] abbytheanderson sent you a follow request.

You blinked. Already? You hadn’t even left the damn parking lot. She was good.

You tapped accept, and no lie—your stomach flipped like it was performing stunts. Not even thirty seconds later, another buzz.

abbytheanderson 🥊: hey beautiful

You bit down on a smile, typing back before your brain could overthink it.

you: hey you :)

Buzz.

abbytheanderson 🥊: couldn’t let you disappear like that. you left me wanting more.

You swore your pulse skipped. This woman had a black belt in flirting.

you: good thing you found me then

abbytheanderson 🥊: definitely. hey, random—but you free this weekend?

Your heart sped up. You took a quick sip of your drink to cool down your face, fingers dancing over the keyboard.

you: yeah, i think so. why?

abbytheanderson 🥊: there’s a film showcase downtown. some sports doc screening, bunch of celebs. got an invite +1, and i figured it might be more fun with you.

A movie showcase. That was not casual. That was dress up, flashbulbs, maybe a red carpet territory. Your stomach turned into champagne bubbles.

you: you want me to be your date?

abbytheanderson 🥊: unless you’ve got another famous boxer in your dms rn 👀

You laughed into your drink.

you: nope. just the hottest one.

abbytheanderson 🥊: damn right. i’ll pick you up saturday. wear something that’ll make me stare the whole night.

You locked your phone with a sigh, brain short-circuiting. Your bestie looked up from her fries with ketchup on her cheek.

“Why do you look like you just got proposed to?”

You smiled into your straw. “I’ve got a date.”

Your best friend stood behind you, clutching a makeup brush like it was a wand. "Sit still or I’m gonna make your winged liner look like a lightning bolt."

You giggled, sipping your iced coffee while she dabbed a warm highlight onto your cheekbones. “If Abby sees me and combusts, I blame you.”

She winked. “That’s the goal.”

The dress was hanging up on the door like it needed its own spotlight.

It was the dress—like Aphrodite and red carpet royalty had a baby and named her “divine.” A shimmering champagne gold that sparkled under even the faintest light, clinging to your curves like it was sculpted just for your body. The fabric was sheer but layered in all the right places, ruched along the hips and gathered at the waist in a delicate knot that accentuated everything. Strapless and sensual, the neckline cupped your chest softly and dipped into a subtle sweetheart shape, drawing the eye upward—no necklace needed, just collarbones and confidence.

The choker was a sheer mesh ribbon, soft and romantic, tied in the back like a little secret. And in your hand? A small velvet clutch that looked like luxury.

"Okay," your friend said, stepping back and crossing her arms like a proud stylist. "You look like you're about to walk into a movie and walk out with the star."

You turned to the mirror and exhaled. You looked… expensive. Golden. Ethereal.

And somewhere out there, Abby Anderson was probably trying to tie a tie and not think about your lips.

“Okay,” you said, smoothing your dress down, trying not to ruin your makeup by grinning too hard. “Let’s go melt her brain.”

The car door clicked shut behind you, heels clicking on the pavement like your own entrance music. The showcase was already buzzing—paparazzi lights flashing in bursts, guests in tailored designer looks pouring into the venue like liquid silk and velvet. Your driver looped back around, and your friend gave you a quick squeeze on the hand.

“You got this. Go make that boxer wish she had a mouthguard.”

You grinned, rolling your eyes and walking toward the entrance, that golden dress shimmering with every step like you were dipped in honey and starfire. The fabric clung just enough to whisper with movement, catching the camera flashes even when they weren’t aimed at you. Heads turned. People stared. And somewhere near the doors—

She saw you.

Abby was standing near the carpet, talking to some guy in a sports jacket, but the second her eyes landed on you? Conversation dead. Her jaw? Slightly dropped. Like someone had just uppercut her with Cupid’s fist.

She looked… good. Too good. A tailored black suit, no tie, but the first two buttons of her shirt open to show a bit of her collarbone and that stupidly strong chest. Her hair slicked back like she stepped off a Vogue Homme cover, one hand in her pocket, the other holding a drink she no longer remembered existed.

You saw her lips move—"Holy shit."

You floated up to her like you were gliding, heels clicking like punctuation to her stunned silence.

“Hey,” you said, giving her a smile that would’ve won wars. “I clean up alright, huh?”

“‘Alright’?” Abby shook her head slowly, eyes never leaving you, and damn if there wasn’t a glint of something primal in them. “You look like a damn goddess.”

You blushed, biting your lip just a little. “Not bad for a plus-one?”

“I’m upgrading your title. You’re the main event now.”

She reached out, offering you her arm like some old Hollywood gentleman, but the smirk on her face was all Abby—cocky, smooth, a little dangerous.

You took it.

The two of you walked the carpet together, and the cameras noticed. Photographers subtly turned toward the tall boxer and the glowing mystery girl on her arm. Whispers floated like perfume: “Is that Abby Anderson’s date?” “Who is she?” “She looks like a star.”

Inside, the lights were dimmer, the ambiance expensive and dramatic—velvet seats, champagne trays, and a giant screen waiting for the showcase to begin. Abby guided you to your seats, but not without sneaking glances at you like you were illegal and she wanted to get arrested.

“So,” she murmured, leaning close once you were seated. “What are the odds I get you to be my plus-one again? I was thinking… a real date. One with dessert and less paparazzi.”

You looked at her, still glowing from the lights, the crowd, the adrenaline.

“I’d say the odds are pretty high,” you whispered back.

She grinned, and you swore your stomach did a little backflip.

The movie hadn’t even started, but you already felt like you were living in one.

The afterparty was on the rooftop of the venue—elevators opening to golden lights strung like constellations, sleek white lounges, and a panoramic view of the city glittering below like a spilled jewelry box. The music was mellow, expensive-sounding. People sipped cocktails like they were made of stardust and name-dropped producers like prayers.

Abby got swept into a circle of suits and sharp smiles, people clapping her on the back, toasting to her latest win, asking questions with ulterior motives. She smiled through it, charming without trying, but you could feel her eyes flick to you every few minutes.

You wandered off to the ledge, the wind teasing your hair, your dress still glowing faintly under the rooftop lights. You leaned your elbows on the glass railing, the city stretching out like a promise, the hum of nightlife pulsing below you like a heartbeat.

Your drink was cold in your hand, but your skin still buzzed from earlier—her arm on yours, the way she looked at you like you were art in motion.

“Hey.”

Her voice came soft behind you, lower now, free of the public version of herself. You turned and found her there, hands in her pockets, her suit jacket open just enough to make your pulse trip.

“You done charming the VIPs?” you teased.

She gave a low chuckle, stepping up beside you. “They were boring as hell. I missed this view.”

You raised a brow. “The skyline?”

“No,” she said without hesitation, her eyes dragging down your profile like a caress. “You.”

That earned her a quiet laugh from you, heat rushing up your neck. “You’re really laying it on tonight, huh?”

“I’m just saying what I’m thinking.” Her shoulder brushed yours. “So… what do you do when you’re not breaking hearts in golden dresses?”

You hesitated for a second, still looking out at the city. “I model. Victoria’s Secret.”

That made her blink. “Wait—seriously?”

You nodded, a little sheepish. “I mean… I’m not like, one of those Angels. I’m usually backup. Fill-ins. Commercial stuff. They don’t exactly put me on billboards in Times Square.”

Abby looked at you for a long moment, her head tilted. “That’s wild.”

“What is?”

“That there are people out there who didn’t put you on a billboard. I’d hang a photo of you in every damn room of my house.”

You turned to her with a laugh, playful and warm. “Wow, romantic and a little bit stalker-y. Impressive.”

She grinned, closing the small space between you. “Tell me where the line is, and I’ll try not to cross it.”

You looked at her. Really looked. The city lights caught in her eyes, and something about her felt safe even in the middle of all this chaos. You smiled, heart softening.

“There’s no line,” you murmured.

Abby’s smile shifted, gentler now. She looked at you like you were something to be unwrapped slowly. “Then I’ll keep standing right here.”

You turned toward her fully now, leaning your hip against the railing, one hand cradling your glass while the other played with the condensation on the side. The wind tugged gently at the fabric of your dress, making it shimmer even more in the light. Abby was looking at you like you were unreal, but she blinked when you spoke, brought back to the present.

“So…” you tilted your head, curiosity playing in your voice. “Why boxing?”

That made her smile, and not the kind she gave the higher-ups—this one was smaller, more personal, like a story lived too long in her chest.

She shrugged a little. “I used to watch it on TV with my dad. Every Saturday night. He was always busy at the hospital, but when there was a fight on, we were synced. Like… we got each other.”

You nodded softly, listening.

“I started wrestling in school—figured it was the closest I could get. Got recruited, did alright. But it never felt like mine, y’know? Then I tried boxing. First time I landed a punch clean, everything clicked. I was like—this is it. This is the fire.”

You bit your lip, something warm blooming in your chest. There was a sparkle in her eyes now, not from the city lights, but from the weight of meaning behind her words. Passion always looked good on people—but on Abby? It was devastating.

“That’s hot,” you said, softly but truthfully. “Like, actually hot. You knowing who you are like that.”

She huffed a little laugh, rubbing the back of her neck, suddenly sheepish. “You’re the first person I’ve told that to in a while.”

You shrugged, eyes twinkling. “Well… you picked the right person. I’m an excellent secret-keeper. They don’t let just anyone model underwear, you know.”

That made her grin wide, her eyes roaming your face like she was trying to memorize it. “You really gonna keep talking like that and not expect me to kiss you again?”

Your breath caught a little, heartbeat fluttering as the tension curled tighter between you like a string pulled taut.

“I mean,” you whispered, leaning in just an inch, “I wouldn’t be mad if you did.”

She didn’t rush. Abby leaned forward slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted—but you didn’t. You leaned in, too, until your lips met in a soft, barely-there kiss. Not like the heated one from the club. This one was warm and lingering, like a question you already knew the answer to.

When you finally pulled back, both of you smiling, you rested your head lightly against her shoulder, looking back out at the glittering skyline.

“So…” you murmured, “You planning on knocking anyone out tonight, champ?”

She smirked. “Only if they try to take you from me.”

The car ride back was quiet in a good way. Abby drove with one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally brushing your thigh like she just had to remind herself you were really there. The city outside the window melted by in a blur of neon and soft shadows, and the gentle beat of the music wrapped around you like a lullaby.

By the time you reached your apartment, the air had cooled down to a soft breeze, lifting the hem of your dress and brushing over your skin like a whisper. Abby parked and got out before you could even reach for the door handle. She walked you to your door like a proper date, her hands in her pockets, her steps slow—like she didn’t want the night to end just yet.

You turned to face her at your door, heels clicking softly against the concrete. “Thank you for tonight,” you said, your voice warm and low, your smile a little sleepy but no less sincere.

Abby looked down at you with that easy grin of hers, one side of her mouth curling higher than the other. “No problem, angel,” she murmured. The nickname settled on your skin like velvet, making your cheeks heat in the soft moonlight.

You turned to unlock your door, keys jingling—but something stopped you. A quiet little nudge in your chest. You turned back around, heart kicking up a notch. She looked surprised at first when you stepped toward her, but she didn’t ask questions.

You leaned in and kissed her.

This one was slower. Softer. There wasn’t any club music thudding behind you this time, no crowd, no chaos. Just the two of you and the buzz of the porch light. Her lips tasted like the mint gum she always chewed, yours like sweet gloss and maybe a little bit of stardust.

When you finally pulled away, her eyes fluttered open like she’d been floating somewhere far off.

She smirked and licked her lips, clearly feeling the gloss residue.

You laughed quietly, hand brushing her chest as you stepped back toward the door. “I put on just lip gloss this time… so it’s not hard to take off.”

She grinned, something a little cocky flickering behind her lashes. “You planned that?”

You winked. “Maybe.”

“Smart girl,” she murmured, biting her bottom lip before taking a slow step back. “I’ll text you when I get home.”

You nodded, your fingers resting on the doorframe, reluctant to let the night end. “Okay. Drive safe.”

“Always do,” she said, and then—one last look, one last smirk—she turned and walked back toward her car, the night gently folding around her.

You leaned against the door with a quiet exhale, smiling to yourself like a fool.

an : i don't want it to be too long...so part 2 coming soon!

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backfliips · 7 days ago

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As someone who admittedly has attention issues of my own, I think it's important to talk about how attention is a skill that can be learned and often requires conscious and focused effort to build. I think a lot of people despair over the current state of media --- short-form algorithm-driven content that is built to snare and lure and diminish people's attention spans for profit --- and while that despair is certainly built off of legitimate concerns, I want to stress that the damage being done is not irreversible.

Over the course of the COVID-19 lockdowns I fried my brain so intensely with tik toks and instagram reels that I was getting bored 2 seconds into a 5 second video and was finding myself scrolling so quickly that I wasn't even watching anymore. I was lethargic and unhappy and though my mood was definitely simultaneously impacted by the hovering doom of COVID-19 and living in complete isolation for months at a time (I don't recommend that, BTW), I found myself losing passion for the things I loved doing: drawing, reading, and writing. I felt miserable and useless and incredibly guilty for leaving my productive and fulfilling hobbies behind while I chased... not even happiness. Just something to occupy my brain and turn it into mush.

As time passed I realized that I wasn't even having fun on tik tok anymore. I'd see funny videos and get a rush of endorphins, and then the next second I would have completely forgotten what I just watched. I was refreshing social media pages to see numbers I didn't even care about. Everything was an endless loop of swapping between different apps, just time passing and passing and my attention span dipping lower and lower until I would go for days without feeling any sense of joy or accomplishment.

And this was most definitely aided by the fact that I was unemployed and stuck in a terrible worldwide epidemic, but as soon as I deleted the tik tok app and put harsh time limits on instagram (15 minutes a day, which I rationed compulsively) I suddenly wanted to draw again. I started reading books again. I started writing and spending time outside and getting inspiration from the world around me.

Now, years later, I work with teenagers whose lives are dictated by their phones. My coworkers often lament the state of the world today --- which, again, is a valid stance to have --- but in the few months after my workplace implemented a no phones policy, I watched disengaged students bounce back to productivity. Instead of scrolling during lectures they paid attention and asked questions and engaged their peers in conversation. During lunch they played board games and talked to each other. Students even told me about how they didn't even want to go on their phones when they got home from school!

It isn't perfect, and I'm not advocating for a world devoid of phones, but I just want to highlight that these neural pathways can be built and exercised. People's brains are resilient and fascinating and much stronger and more adaptable than many people are willing to give them credit for.

I've expanded my time limits across more apps on my phone, setting days where I can't even access social media at all from my phone, and in that short period of time I've found myself far more engaged with the world around me. I've been zipping my phone up in a bag instead of keeping it in my pocket, adding a step to access it, and I've found that that alone is keeping me from using it to a huge degree. I'll toss my phone across the room when I find myself on it when I don't have any reason to be scrolling. And it's helping!

My main message here is that it's never too late to focus on your focus. Change and improvement doesn't happen until you make an effort on your own.

#im ranting

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hi-itsanniemarie · 1 month ago

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You Keep Smiling Like That

Pairing: Bella Ramsey x You

Rating: Fluffy one shot

A/N: This was a request from the lovely @girrrllidkuhh1 :) Love a little Bella moment! Enjoy <3

Bella didn’t have any social media. Like, none. No Instagram, no Twitter, not even a burner TikTok account. They said it was for their sanity, and honestly, you respected it. Admirable, really. That didn’t stop you from sending them approximately seventy-five links a week, though. Even if they never opened them.

Because while Bella was out here being beautifully mysterious and offline, your For You Page had basically become a 24/7 Bella content machine. Interview clips, behind-the-scenes bloopers, fan edits with dramatic music and devastating slow-mo transitions. But there was one TikTok, the one with them doing that thing that and smirking at the camera, that had literally made you drop your phone every time you saw it.

You didn’t even realize you’d been giggling at another one until Bella looked up from the book they were reading beside you on the couch.

“Okay, what is it?” they asked, eyes narrowing slightly, but with a smile tugging at their lips. “You keep smiling like that.”

“Like what?” you replied, quickly locking your screen as if that would erase the edit now permanently burned into your brain.

“That smug little grin. The one that usually means you’ve seen something ridiculous or chaotic or… slightly illegal.”

You shrugged, trying for casual and missing by a mile. “It’s nothing. Just… TikTok being TikTok.”

Bella raised a brow. “Was it a cat dressed like Shakespeare again?”

“No.”

“Lizards wearing tiny hats?”

“Nope.”

“Then it’s one of those videos again, isn’t it?”

You blinked. “What do you mean by those videos?”

Bella smirked knowingly. “The ones where I walk into a room in slow motion and some trending song plays like I’m the second coming of a Greek god.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wait, you do know about the edits?”

“Oh, I don’t see them,” they said, flipping a page like this was no big deal. “But I’ve been around you long enough to know the signs. The sudden silence. The suspicious smile. The blushing.”

“I do not blush.”

“You’re literally doing it right now.”

You groaned, burying your face in a pillow. “They just keep showing up on my FYP, okay? I don’t ask for them. The algorithm just… knows.”

Bella laughed, warm and low. They set the book down and shifted to face you.

“You know,” they said, nudging your knee with theirs, “you could just watch the real thing instead of all those edits.”

You peeked at them. “What, like follow you around with dramatic lighting and a sexy song playing in the background?”

“No,” they said, leaning in slightly, “like look at me like that when I’m actually here.”

They were close now, close enough that you could feel their breath, soft and slow against your cheek. Their eyes flicked to your mouth for just a second, and it was all the permission you needed.

The kiss wasn’t delicate. It wasn’t sweet. It was heat and curiosity and months of pretending you hadn’t been imagining this. Their lips met yours with intent, firm and steady, like they already knew exactly how you’d taste. You parted for them without thinking, the kiss deepening fast, messy in the best way. Their hand slipped to the back of your neck, fingers dragging just enough to make your skin buzz.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t practiced. But god, it was good.

When you finally broke apart, your breathing was uneven, and Bella looked completely unfazed, like they hadn’t just short-circuited your entire nervous system.

“Better than a thirst trap?” they murmured, lips still close enough to brush yours.

You laughed softly, dazed. “Unfair question.”

They tilted their head, eyes glittering. “Why’s that?”

“Because the thirst trap never pressed me up against the couch and made me forget my own name.”

Bella grinned, slow and dangerous. “Well then,” they said, “maybe you should stop watching them… and let me give you something better to replay.”

And just like that, your heart was racing again, but this time, it wasn't from some video on your screen. It was from them. Right here. The real thing.

#bella ramsey #bella ramsey x reader #bella ramsey x you #bella ramsey fluff #bella ramsey fic

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burreauxsss · 4 months ago

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its over, im sorry

background: y/n a wag for the chiefs who is dating travis kelce of 3 years finds out he cheated on her. she assures herself that she'd never watch the nfl nor date another nfl player, until a convincing quarterback hits her dms.

(all pics from pinterest/ all tweets are fake this is a 2 part series fyi)

notes: posting twice in a day because my x account gets unsuspended tomorrow won't he do it!!! anyways warnings: none??

joe burrow x reader x ex!kelce smau

duexmoi

❤️ 420,494 💬 33,000

Liked by: tmz

duexmoi: ladies!! what do we think?

username_1: bro she deserves so much better.

username_2: i hope she upgrades

username_3: about time.

username_4: i need to hear about her experience with him fr.

username_5: my favorite wag????? seriously!!

*load more comments*

y/n_handle

❤️ 84,100 💬 5,000

Liked by: yourbsf and others

y/n_handle: the world is finally healing.

username_6: wym by that..

username_7: so its healing because of you leaving that man.. oh!

username_8: rule 1, dont date a athlete, got it.

username_9: you deserve better.

*load more comments*

joeyb_9

❤️ 755,111 💬 87,915

Liked by: lahjay10 bengals and others

joeyb_9: keep fighting.

lahjay_10: joey b is back.

bengals: we missed 9.

username_10: yall sucked this week, pull it together against kansas city.

username_11: that man was scared and we all know it.

username_12: who dey as always!

*load more comments*

y/n_handle 📍kansas city, mo

❤️ 82,100 💬 6,987

Liked by: yourbsf

y/n_handle: with yourbsf

username_13: my algorithm is messy since that tweet.

username_14: i wish he wouldve just broke off the engagement and been done with it.

username_15: shes so pretty, he fumbled.

username_16: her friend is a bengals fan, is she going with her to the game this sunday?

username_17: i fear travis is beating himself up about this rn.

username_18: who did he even cheat on her with, thats the million dollar question.

*load more comments*

bengals 📍kansas city, mo

❤️ 900,777 💬 120,337

Liked by: lahjay_10 joeyb_9 and others

bengals: business trip.

username_19: if this business trip doesnt involve a dub then i dont know what.

username_20: joe actually looks nice today.

username_21: hes so fine its unreal.

username_22: chiefs been deadass silent on insta since last week..

username_23: travis talking 💩 on his podcast as usual.

username_24: yk what would be crazy... travis's ex showing up to see travis lose.

*load more comments*

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

conversation between joe and y/n on instagram dms

joeyb_9: saw one of your pics, you're very beautiful.

y/n_handle: thank you. 🤍

joeyb_9: i also see you're travis's ex.

y/n_handle: yeah, crazy story. i know you hate kansas city but

joeyb_9: i heard what happened, therefore ive always seen you on tv and loved how well you carry yourself.

y/n_handle: if this is you asking me out, i promised myself i wouldnt date another athlete.

joeyb_9: maybe it is, but i promise you if this "stage" doesnt work you can block me and we'll forget about eachother. deal?

y/n_handle: so basically this is a talking stage.

joeyb_9: i mean we've dmd eachother every once in awhile to congratulate eachother so... we know about eachother.

y/n_handle: deal.

y/n_handle: i need to admit this also, you're very handsome.

joeyb_9: i appreciate it.

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

y/n_handle posted a story

caption: im here for the orange team. w/ yourbsf

duexmoi

❤️ 350,823 💬 12,920

Liked by: tmz and others

duexmoi: blind alert!! according to a spectator fan at the bengals vs chiefs game cincinnati bengals quarterback joe burrow ended up flirting with travis kelces ex?!?!?!?

now this is awkward after y/n just confirmed the cheating rumors with the engagement speculations.

username_25: this has to be crazy

username_26: she deserves all the love she can get.

username_27: and the bengals won?? oh honey i wouldve hard launched right then and there.

username_28: her bsf is a bengals wag so that might be a connection.

username_29: you could tell travis was pissed as hell that his ex girl showed up lmaoo.

username_30: long distance might be even worse for her..

*load more comments*

y/n_handle posted a story

caption: flirting with the don julio

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

conversation between joe and y/n

joeyb_9

❤️ 667,009 💬 78,403

Liked by: bengals lahjay10 y/n_handle and others

joeyb_9: another week, another dub

bengals: hes him!

lahjay_10: f the chiefs.

username_31: y/n liking this post might be insane knowing whats going on..

username_32: i love jamarr's comment so much lmaoo

username_33: travis kelce crying in a corner rn??

username_34: joe has to have the most insane villain arc ever to be hitting travis kelces ex fiance

username_35: kermit 🤮 who dey!

*load more comments*

note: crazy ending, possible friend zone, possible rejection idek... sike yall know damn well

#joe burrow x reader #joe burrow #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow insta au #joe burrow smau #joe burrow x black reader #✦ its over im sorry au ✦

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mangocheesecakes · 8 months ago

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View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Layla Ashoor (@only_one_lulu)

instagram

If you answered 'Yes' to the poll, please click on the link above, watch @mohamedmoner1994's video in full or loop it a few times if you can, like, save, comment supportive words, or talk about what TV shows you've been watching lately on the comment section to help boost the post in the algorithm (I'm also genuinely looking for recommendations :))

If you answered 'No', but are willing to create an account, please create an account, and do everything I mentioned above afterwards

If you answered 'No' and can't be bothered to make an account, below is Mohamed's gfm link. Please send at least £5 to support a cancer patient who hasn't received treatment for over a year, and whose loved ones are now terrified thinking they may lose her if she doesn't get any treatment soon.

And if you did everything I said above AND gave a donation as well, I hope good things happen to you all throughout this month, and that you receive pleasant and welcome surprises. You can also send any amount you can to Mohamed's paypal to help them afford everyday expenses:

[email protected]

#free palestine #palestine #mohamedmoner1994 #Instagram

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chryblsm24 · 3 months ago

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Jikook Introduction to New Army

Hello to whoever reads my post. Still new user to Tumblr and figuring things out. This turned out to be a longer post than I anticipated.

I am new Army (late 2023) and still learning about BTS music and them. I joined Tumblr after watching AYS and wanted to join a community to learn more about Jikook. :)

Just wanted to share my BTS and interconnected Jikook introduction to give an insight on how people are fed algorithms after being interested in BTS. My first BTS videos on my Instagram (which I joined to follow my son's sports teams!!) were of RM live where Jimin sweetly interrupts him, clips of Hobi's JITB party, Taekook dancing together, Jikook giggling away. I thought JK and Tae looked so cute dancing, Hobi and NJ looked so handsome, Yoongi was so pretty and Jin looked like a model. But once I saw Jimin in a BTS live performance (I think it was Idol), he was my favorite. His voice sounds like crystal bells to me: don't know how else to put it. And the more I found out about him: his dancing, his personality, his jokes, his silliness, his kindness, his attitude he was my bias. My favorite songs of his are Letter, Lie, and Serendipity.

I am older so I do view him more as a cute and super-talented marshmallow rather than an idol to look up to. :) I like all the BTS members and their music which surprised me since their solo work was so different. I enjoyed their albums and songs very much. My first song to binge listen to was "The Astronaut". Love Jin's voice. Everyone’s voice really, and Jimin’s feels ethereal.

Anyways, my point is as soon as I saw a few clips of BTS clips on IG, I started getting tkk content. A deluge of it! No Jikook content mind you. I was a Taekook believer really (I didn’t know idol shipping was a thing) but with a strong Jimin bias. Ha! I saw the same few clips over and over in my feed. I was happy for Tae and JK and utterly believed the edited tkk clips because why would anyone lie about real people! :) I did eventually see early BTS content and my heart broke for Jimin seeing how much he liked JK and was rejected (or so I thought). He was so young, clumsy, loud, cute but above all earnest and sensitive. Oof, some of the clips are hard to watch.

What I am trying to say is that somehow tkker reals target new BTS almost immediately, as soon as you show interest in the group. For someone who doesn’t delve any deeper, this becomes the reality and why not: V and JK are friends and interact plenty with each other! Cut and paste works wonders and not everyone will have the time and patience to watch original videos.

I was few months into the BTS fandom and then we had news of the youngest four’s enlistment, Jikook going as companions. That sparked my curiosity about Jikook and after reading some of the comments on some early BTS videos where people were mentioning RB and GCFTokyo, I watched some of original content (slowly). One comment from a tkk account said “The fact that Jimin and JK enlisted together proves that they are not together.” That was so ridiculous and made me do a double take. Because why would you say that? Why so defensive? Why are Jimin and JK going to the military together? Why isn’t JK doing a buddy program with his boyfriend Tae? Could it be that Jikook are closer than the tkk acknowledge?

Watching original content and some Jikook compilations, I was primarily ecstatic for Jimin. Jungkook, the young and shy boy appreciates and loves Jimin. I still have doubts about the true nature of their relationship, because we don’t know them personally. AYS, GCFT and GCFSaipan all seem to indicate something so strong that it's clear whatever the nature of their relationship, they love, value and trust each other the most out of all the members. Having Tae on AYS actually proved to me that there is nothing romantic between JK and him. Tae seems more attached to Jimin than JK. Anyways, these are just my opinions. Nothing more!

I have liked and loved reading all of the Jikook and BTS posts. Thank you! Hope the boys all come back safe and are welcomed back with love (esp. Yoongi) with a more mature fan base. Some of the toxicity in the fandom puts me off but I just don’t engage in those spaces. Kudos to the warriors who fight for decency and common sense!

#jikook #ays #jimin #jungkook

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romanoffsbish · 2 years ago

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Seed of Romanoff

Dark!Natasha Romanoff x Innocent!FReader

Request | A redhead spotted you in a cafe, and nothing was gonna stand in her way of getting to you | WC: 3,376

Warnings: Non-Con (Trafficking — By parent) | Abusive Mom | Drugs | Toxic Natasha |

You were hesitant, hands sweating, and teeth grinding levels of nerves raced throughout your entire body as you finally entered your house with Wanda, your new classmate turned friend. The girl had made it clear that she liked you, and the truth was you thought you might like her too, but you needed others approval first.

Your mom was really easygoing, most would say neglectful, but you figured that would probably work in your favor. It was Natasha, her youthful wife's approval that you craved, and for some reason, you never got.

——

"Hey mom," you greeted her with a hopeful smile, "I have someone I want you to meet." This caught Natasha's attention immediately, she sprung up from the couch and met the lot of you in the kitchen. You were so engrossed in letting Wanda introduce herself to them to notice the way your mom winced at your step mothers touch, her grip vice-like on her hips.

"It's lovely to meet you Wendy," Natasha replied, a cordial hand extended her way. The brunette chuckled awkwardly, shaking her hand out of respect, but you could see the way her demeanor had changed. It made you sad to see Nat likely didn't approve, because you were honestly running out of options at this point.

"Wanda," you politely corrected your stepmom, then went on in the same breath, "and I will be going up to my room now. We have an exam to study for this Friday." The way you rushed off, with her hand in yours, in a fit of giggles made the redheads blood boil.

"It's time," was all she offered your mother, the spineless woman nodded then set off to her bedroom while Natasha watched you walk into your own with the live footage now pulled up on her phone.

You were just too cute for words honestly, the way you plopped onto your bed with a silly smile made her swoon. Then she felt her mood fall when Wanda sat next to you, the strawberry brunette's hand brazenly laid on your bare thigh, and the jealousy was back as if it'd never truly left. Because it didn't, anytime someone so much as looked at what was hers she fumed.

You didn't know, but you were hers, she ensured that ages ago when she met your mom in a nightclub and tricked her into believing she was interested in her.

Natasha was well off, and your mother poor. It was easy for her to convince your mom to give her you. Your father left her when you were just a tike, and she resented you for taking her youth. As if you'd asked to be born, but regardless of the circumstances you were dealt, you were just so good. The kindest creature Natasha had ever seen, an obvious innocence that stemmed from neglect radiated from you, it was what attracted the redhead to you in the first place. When she saw you smile for the first time she was hooked.

Natasha, who was much closer to your age than your mother's, caught sight of you on campus one day. You smiled warmly at the barista, and she felt a darkness envelope her heart since it wasn't directed at her. She took a photo of you, but remained out of your eye line as she ran your face through an algorithm. Confirming to her that you were a bit younger, and so damn cute, the naivety radiated off of your instagram account.

All she knew after you left the coffee shop with a hum was that she had to have you. It was her final year of her doctorate while it appeared to only be the third of your bachelors. She knew better than to just approach you alone, you were far too delicate for her gruff, relentless demeanor. So she set out to learn all about you, and the life that led you to where you were now.

Then one day, when your mom was desperate for a fix, Natasha struck a hell of a deal. It was illegal in every single sense, but your mom took it without even a second thought to your safety or happiness. An endless supply of drugs and a home in Miami in exchange for you, her only child. The concept was sinister, and sadly fit her well. It wasn't even her first time considering it.

Fortunately, you got Natasha instead of the sleaze that propositioned her months prior. In this case, you were at least going to experience love, even in a twisted way.

Everything was finally falling into place for Natasha, your mom didn't seem to want to call it off, not that she really cared if she had. Now she could only work out if she handled Wanda first. No way was she about to let that slut have her way with you, your virginity was the redheads. She quite literally paid for that and your child bearing abilities, your genetic predisposition to fertility a cherry on top of the perverse sundae.

Your mother had vacated her womb enough times to confirm to Natasha that was the case. Surprisingly though, the redhead would've been fine if you were only able to carry one. As much as she wanted to breed you endlessly, until your body forgot how to be barren, she also was fine with one heir and the trophy wife.

First though, before she could embark on her fantasy, came the removal of the obstacle. Wanda, the younger redhead, who shared characteristics with the elder that made her want to laugh. Even in your conquest for love elsewhere did you find someone who resembled her. Whether it be her green eyes or red hair, there hadn't been a time where you brought someone unlike her home. It was a perfect reminder of your looming fate.

"Hey! Open this door right now!" Natasha shouted as the side of her fist pummeled into your locked door, "No closed doors in my house!" The action shook the walls surrounding you and startled you out of the horny girls grasp. Wanda glared at the shaking door and you just sat there with a delicate frown. Natasha had never so much as shouted at you before, so the sound actually left you feeling like a wounded puppy.

Your precious Natty, the light in the darkness that was your previous life with your mom was someone you didn't recognize at all today. It hurt your heart, because she'd never had an issue with you closing the door when Peter was over before. Though deep down you knew Wanda was harmless, your body began to regard her as a threat since your stepmom, who you adored, had clearly despised her. The cycle continued on.

"You should probably go," you sadly spoke up, "I-I really do need to focus on my study guide."

Wanda frowned, but with one look into your eyes she realized your daunting predicament. It was clear you were the mouse that'd collect the cheese, and Natasha was setting her trap. If she thought she could help she would, but deep in your gaze she could see you contently fell prey. The woman reluctantly nodded, standing to collect her bag just as she heard an ominous sound of metal scraping just outside the door. You stood up, and opened the door first, walking out to meet the fuming woman. Your soft hand settled onto her arm, and she lowered the hopefully empty gun.

"Are you okay detka?" You kindly smiled up at her over the concern, appreciating it and failing to see the way that her lips were fighting to keep from amusedly lifting. "Did she take advantage of you my little dove?"

"No," you sighed, smile falling ever so slightly, "We were just talking, she is leaving though." Wanda put truth to your words as she passed by in a rush.

"I'm sorry," Natasha solemnly said after a moment of awkward silence (she wasn't), "I just need you to be more careful sweetheart." Her lips gently pressed to your temple, and you melted into her, no discomfort present even as her pistol pressed into your back. "You are too pure, you'll never know who has ill intentions."

Oh how right she was... You'd never know.

With your front flush to hers she felt her cock twitch with anticipation for the upcoming day that she finally got to claim you, in totality. Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough. "I love you so much, my precious girl."

——

The following day you woke up to a knock, it was a simple two beats, so you lazily got up and once presentable headed downstairs to eat. However, instead of a table of delicious food you found your mom stood by the door with a suit case by her side.

"Mom?" The middle aged woman smiled, but it was weak as she opened her arms for a hug (a goodbye). It held an apology you didn't see; it was better that way.

"Hey kiddo, I'm headed off for a bit," she pinched your side and smiled, but her eyes looked sad as you met them. "Why? For how long?" She sighed, "A month."

"Natty too?" You cringed, you didn't mean for it to sound so obvious that you cared more about her, but it was always obvious. Charlotte never had the time of day for you, but Nat always did. Natasha found it hard not to laugh at your mom, whose face looked sad.

Natasha found the moment perfect, the way you were about to be all hers was beyond exhilarating. It was also a shameless way to check you out and disgust your vile mother. How dare she sell you... Like you were filthy trash... Fortunately you were left to Natasha, she'd never let you go, you were safest in her arms.

"Nope detka," Natasha sang from behind you, the sound of jingling keys followed her. "We're gonna take your mom to the airport, and then we'll get breakfast."

No one offered you more, not where your mom was going, nor the unsavory reasoning, and truthfully you didn't care to ask. Alone time with Nat was your favorite, every other time your mom left you alone with her you had the time of your life. This time would prove different though, you felt it when she kissed your lips as she entered the car after eating at the diner.

"Na-Natasha," you stuttered out her name, she found it amusing the way you were about to resist her advances even though your eyes had yet to flutter back open. "Don't worry detka, your mom is gone for good now, so we can finally be together. No more other people..."

"No, s-she said a month," you whimpered, both from the proposed betrayal and her hand on your thigh. "Your mother is a liar Y/N, you'll see that I'm not..."

The car ride home was quiet, except for the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears as her hand settled on your thigh, her grip possessive, and confusing. It was just as quiet when she guided you back inside the house, but it didn't remain as such. Natasha pushed you up against the door, with a gentle force to show you she meant what she said before, and you believed it when her lips and hands began to roughly roam.

"You're married," you tried to deter her, but she only shrugged and continued to kiss down your jawline. "That wasn't real, I only married her to have you."

"What?" Natasha pulled back, lips upturned as she saw the fear in your eyes and hot spurts of white coated the tip of her cock and spread all over her boxers. It was apparent to her that you were going to resist some, so she threw you over her shoulder and tossed you onto the bed that she shared with your mother. "Don't worry dove, we never slept together, daddy's all yours."

You cringed outwardly, but much to your shock, you felt as your heart fluttered at the twisted truth, and your virgin cunt dampened with her chosen title.

"I'm doing this for your own good," she informed you as she tied your hands to the posts of her bed. "It would be a shame if you tried to fight destiny."

"Natty," you whimpered, feelings disgusted as your core pulsed in need. “I-I.” For a brief moment she softened. "This is wrong, y-you're my step mom."

"I'm your daddy actually," she chuckled darkly, "I'm here to turn you into a mommy, so get comfortable."

No words left you as you tried to understand your fate. It wasn't until you felt the chilled tip of a blade on your bare skin that you realized you were now naked. "My mom won't be happy, you are not supposed to do this."

Natasha ran her blade down the side of your neck, a whimper left you as you felt the blood trickle down your skin and into the sheets. "Oh, you are just as naive as your mom is a filthy deviant; she gave you to me."

"N-no," you cried, you didn't want to believe her, but it wasn't like you didn't know your mom was a disaster.

"Your mother wasn't worth a sack of shit," she gritted against the skin of your neck as her hands roughly caressed your concealed womb. "But you, I just know that you'll be everything our kids will ever need."

"Kids?" You gulped, her words were clear moments ago, but yet you seemed confused until now, and the redhead chuckled, "Mhm, gonna fill you up until you are begging for more Y/N, my personal cum dump.”

Natasha smirked as your walls clenched around nothing in direct contradiction with your pleading words and persistent attempts to shove her away as your lower body pitifully tried to thrust her off. You were torn between the pleasure you'd craved for years, and the strangely alluring promise of becoming her pretty little housewife to push hard enough. "I'm not sure I want to be a mom Natty," you finally whimpered loud enough and she just laughed in your face as she pushed her cock inside of you without preparation.

The sight of your eyes crossing and mouth opening had her prematurely ejaculating, truly sealing your fate.

"Don't worry my little dove," she coo'd while stilling her hips, reluctantly allowing your untouched body a chance to get used to her twitching intrusion. "You'll be nothing like her, I promise, you'll be the perfect mom."

"I don't want to be," you cried, hands pulling at the restraints, but your words of protest were negated as you moaned like a filthy whore with a simple jolt of her hips. “Daddy isn’t in the business of caring detka.” You whimpered, heart shattering at the coldness you were not expecting from the woman you’d adored, but in the same breath you were incredibly turned on by it all.

This idea of being her filthy whore; just a hole to fuck and a womb to fill, was exciting you greatly. “That’s right detka, let daddy do all the thinking for you.” Her speed picked up in response. Your faux display of disinterest only spurring her on to show you just how much you wanted this too. It was a dual need.

With every thrust you could feel her tip twitch, and a spurt of her essence would follow. It alarmed you the more real it became that she was genuine about breeding you. Desire as you might to be hers, you were still in the process of your final year in undergrad, and had every intention to start your masters child free.

“Natasha please,” you cried, legs trying to squeeze shut, and your cunt was slick enough that it nearly pushed her back out but she thrusted against you. Her hips forced yours back onto the bed, and the way in which her tip slammed into your cervix made your mind go blank, and pussy flutter uncontrollably.

"Nice try slut!" Her fingers caressed the bump protruding from your abdomen in awe, the outline of the tip of her cock clear as day. "Your walls are working overtime to suck me dry, don't you feel it detka?" She grinned wickedly as her hand pressed firmly into your abdomen. "The urge to be full of me? My perfect little whore to breed. You'll never be hollow again."

You sobbed, it was gut wrenching, but not to Natasha. This was just par for the course, you needed a minute to see that this was always how life was meant to be. Natasha was your soulmate, you didn’t need anyone else, and she knew with time you’d be okay with that.

“Shh, stress isn’t good for baby making detka,” she scolded you as she pulled her cock out and kissed your lips with a tenderness, giving you emotional whiplash. Natasha slid a plug inside of you, it was efficient in keeping her cum inside, but purposefully short enough that you couldn’t derive pleasure by humping it. Your fate was indeed sealed; Natasha was a lot of (terrible) things, but she was never a liar. Her seed painted your fertile insides white, and every day since she's done the same. Sex with you had become a fast addiction, it took you only a minute to accept the reality. You sorta loved it, your stretched hole ached for her cock the entire time she would be away, you'd become insatiable too.

She wondered if it was the pre-natals she'd been slipping you every morning in your special smoothies that increased your need, but she liked to believe it was just your natural, insatiable attraction to her. Either way, she indulged the both of your carnal desires.

Before work she'd wake you up with her cock between your tits, you no longer wore clothes to bed because you never woke up in them anyways. After giving her head just like she wanted, with your once virgin mouth, she'd allow you to get her to the edge, but she'd always make sure to save her release for your womb.

Never one to waste an opportunity to fill you.

On the weekends she'd bend you over the coffee table, fucking you raw from the back while she caught up on her favorite shows. It was a mindless means to ensure you were carrying her kin, but at night she'd give it to you with more passion than before. There was a new toy at her disposal every single time, you wondered if the tellers at Kiss-N-Tell knew her by name now.

Natasha was a multi-millionaire, no cost was too much if it meant she could see you writhing with a pleasure only she could offer you. The redhead succeeded in ruining you for anyone else, and there was never much hope for another anyway. Not only were you stupidly in love with the woman, but you knew your only hope at freedom was her wife—your mom, who was gone.

That doomed hope of yours fizzled out fast. The month had come and gone, but in the end the only mother present within the four walls of your house was you as you held the test between your shaky hands. Two red lines, prominent in nature, flashed right up at you.

Natasha, the cause, was at work while you were crying in the bathroom. Then you heard the alarm on your phone. The oven was ready... You set two prepped buns on the pan, and zoned out as the sliders warmed. How hilarious and ironic as the two lines weren't the only pair at play here... Soon enough you'd understand.

Your heart soon cracked as Natasha held your son, Xavier, while your daughter, Inez, laid on your bare chest after a successful feeding. It was almost domestic, especially when Natasha kissed your lips with an unfamiliar tenderness.

"I can't wait for our family to keep growing," she grinned against your lips, feeling the way they shook as you gulped down your fear.

What a silly girl you were to hope for love...

#natasha romanoff #dark natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x y/n #gxg #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha x you #natasha x fem!reader

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csuitebitches · 2 years ago

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Brainwash yourself with good habits. You need to do it the way you would train a dog - fetch the stick and get a treat.

I love listening to music but I also wanted to start listening to podcasts. I have to go to work everyday, and I prefer to drive myself to work and back.

I know that if I make myself listen to podcasts both drives, the habit will last not more than 3 days.

But if I make myself listen to a podcast on the way to work; and listen to my favourite music on the way back home to de-stress and relax; now that’s a healthy compromise. And it works for the long term.

The same goes with social media. I deleted all social media from my phone. I don’t have Facebook, Instagram, or even tumblr on my phone. The YouTube account that I keep on my phone has been very consciously kept; I only allow the algorithm to show me educational stuff like podcasts, history videos, news, psychology, stuff like that. Absolutely no entertainment. I keep all my social media (and my “fun” YouTube account which is basically Korean mukbangs and all sorts of useless beauty hauls that I honestly love to watch) on another device - my iPad, which I use for work. I check out what’s happening on tumblr or YouTube or Pinterest when it’s my lunch break or a coffee break. That’s another healthy compromise that works for me.

Going cold turkey with anything - stopping something addictive like smoking or drinking or suddenly starting a plethora of new habits- doesn’t work. You’ve restricted your mind and body so much that you keep remember the good old days where you drank like a whale and sat on the couch watching rubbish and you glamorise, romanticise and reminisce those times. Now you’re in that dangerous red zone where you know that if you see that bottle or the packet of chips, your body is going to reach for it before your mind can intervene.

Aim for long-term, sustainable albeit small habits, rather than complex overnight habits.

#c suite #powerful woman #strong women #ceo aesthetic #personal growth #that girl #productivity #getting your life together #balance #habits #sustainable #how to be disciplined #discipline #inconsistency #Social media #social media detox

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norriszn · 18 days ago

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"𝐖𝐄'𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐉𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝟏. 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄" And perhaps only in Japan - land of ceremony, restraint, and polite indifference - could the most talked about man on the F1 grid saunter through a city, hood up, without a phone being shoved in his face. Well, until I whip mine out to show him a photo from the first time TopGear inter-viewed him, back in 2019.

"S**t, would you look at that!" he exclaims, unleashing his trademark helium giggle.

Back then, he was a 19-year-old prep-ping to become the youngest British driver ever to start a Grand Prix. Now, 134 GPs later with a neck like an oak trunk he's visibly stronger, more con-fident, but still fantastically lucid and funny.

"Time flies and it's mad to think it's my seventh year in Formula One. It felt like not long ago I was trying to get to Formula One. Don't get me wrong, everything still feels crazy, but more normal now - like Formula One is my everyday life, rather than feeling like I've got an everyday life and then I do Formula One."

But we're not in Japan for the F1. Quite the opposite. We're in Tokyo - 250 miles from the pad-dock in Suzuka - so Lando can take his new car for a midnight spin. A very much not a McLaren, 600bhp Liberty Walk R32 Nissan Skyline - Lando's first JDM car to join an ever-growing and increasingly juicy collection.

"I had the Gumball 3000 Top Trumps cards when I was a kid and always remember the Nissan Skyline. Back then, I also played Gran Turismo, and I remember racing around the streets of Japan - it just looked awesome. So I've always wanted to see what that's like in reality."

Tonight is that make a wish moment for Lando. And as we make our way to rendezvous with his insane kaido racer inspired GT-R, he fills me in on his increasing love for road cars.

"I just love to drive. I know Lewis [Hamilton] has had a lot of cars, and probably has a better collec-tion of cars, but I really love to drive."

Something Instagram's algorithm loves too. When we first interviewed Lando, he was driving a diesel Mini. Nowadays, he's seen rocking up to lunch in Monaco looking like the card-board cutout of cool in his knuckle-bitingly beautiful Blu Julie over orange leather, gold wheeled Lamborghini Miura P400.

"My Miura is my favourite. It's the first proper, proper car that I bought, and probably my favourite in terms of looks. And it was all Because I watched the Lam-borghini movie. Growing up, I was more into modern cars - I think most young kids are. But I've definitely switched to vin-tage cars because I've changed quite a lot. I know myself a lot more now - what I like, what I don't. And when I first had my own money to spend, I was just getting crap. I was like, why on Earth did I ever buy those things?"

With a Ferrari F40, AC Cobra, Carrera GT and Fiat 500 Jolly all having taken up space in his garage (plus, naturally, the greatest hits of modern McLarens, including a 765LT Spider, P1 and Senna) that Top Trumps pack has morphed from card-board to actual bits of metal and carbon fibre. It's an eclectic, con-sidered selection, with a McLaren F1 and Mazda 787B still being the ultimates to collect. So why has he bought and modified a two-door 1990s Japanese coupe?

"If I could, I'd have a collection of Skylines. But the R32 is the one that you don't see as much - it's not as obvious and as noticeable."

Until you put a Liberty Walk widebody Super Silhouette race-car bodykit on it. Liberty Walk might be one of the most polarising tuners on the planet. It has become notorious for bandsawing the arches off a multitude of exotic supercars, only to then rivet supersized bodykits and fit slammed air suspension setups in place. For good or bad, people will always have something to say about it. And when Lando, someone in tune with street culture -wanted to collaborate through his motorsport inspired lifestyle and apparel brand Quadrant, there was only one company he wanted to speak to. In person, the car is even more extreme than pictures. The stance is off the scale, with step-like side skirts, fat arches and massive rims shod in steamroller spec semi-slick Yokohama rubber. Then there's the bespoke bonnet extending out like a peaked cap, a 'jutta' chin spoiler below, and a bumper slung oil cooler in between - it's as JDM wild as it gets and a throwback to Japanese circuit racers of old. It also makes for a potentially spicy combination when paired with the uprated Garrett single turbo (the size of a wheelie bin lid) that's been bolted onto the side of the iconic RB motor for over 600bhp.

To add more jeopardy into the mix, tonight it's raining sideways.

#this is part 1 !#lando norris #lando x top gear #<- great day for annoying ppl #*i

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whorbidmore · 1 year ago

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okay, so, I've fallen victim to the leon kennedy brainrot steadily overtaking me, following me from Tumblr to Pinterest, to Instagram and even the absolutely fucking dreaded application of TikTok. I don't even use it that often??? and the algorithm is just like 'wow, yeah, this little fuckers gay as hell send in the 40 year old meow meow!!' and having watched Death Island fairly recently, I'm gonna have my opinions on what this dude would be like. Cus my brain loves to rationalize shit and think ab 'what if this mf was someone real?' so... fuck it.

Leon Soft Kennedy Headcanons

SFW

accidentally bigoted. - im sorry but let's be so fucking real here. he's a 40 something year old man who spent the majority of his life in either the military, a police training academy in the 90's, or otherwise working under the U.S Federal System with minimal/no time between missions to unpack absolutely everything he's got going on... the guys gonna have some problematic tendencies. Obviously that doesn't mean he means any of that or is incapable of change, etc. etc., but I know for damn certain this dude would laugh a little at Bill Burr's borderline to blatantly misogynistic material and has probably chuckled unironically at the attack helicopter jokes. But, he's not a complete dick, and would definitely become more critical of those kinds of jokes if it's pointed out to him.

honest to God, Dad Without Kids™ - it's not simply enough for me to leave it at 'but it's the vibes!!' so, I'm gonna break this shit down. Leon is absolutely Gen X incarnate. I can fucking guarantee you that on his off days he accidentally ends up dressing as an undercover cop; I'm talking cargo shorts, light blue button up, those fucking standard issue boots cus "they're perfectly good shoes" and those stupid ass sunglasses... you know the ones I'm talking about. Let's say you're living with him, right? And you're... you, and you wanna watch something on TV. This dude would strain himself getting up like a turtle fallen backwards on its shell, stand up, walk right in front of the TV screen and stand there with his hands on his hips. It doesn't matter that he had to piss, he needs to get a better look of what's happening! Does those really loud, obnoxious coughs and sneezes, absolutely blows his back out doing one at least five times a year.

Only watches British Reality TV - Considering he's canonically a film buff, I'll say that this is purely for whatever he gravitates towards on general streaming services. I honestly don't see him being the type to regularly tune in to standard American cable TV, or only does so under specific circumstances like American Ninja Warrior or maybe Forged in Fire if there's absolutely nothing else. It's not something that's exclusive to Americans, — I'm from New Zealand and I do this too, — but Leon absolutely falls into the category of watching British Reality and Game shows purely because of the accents. I'm talking Jeremy Kyle, The Big Fat Quiz of Everything, Taskmaster, The Great British Bake Off and so on and so forth. It doesn't matter that baking isn't his forté or a passion of his, if Josephine curdles her buttercream by over mixing, his hands are in his hair in utter disappointment. 100% tries to mimic their accents too. We all do it, don't lie.

Has... very dated music tastes - I don't know if you could guess, but the last paragraph included me calling myself out and name dropping some shows I watch anyway or grew up watching, and I'm just saying that this is gonna be no different. If anything? This'll be worse! Since I'm very passionate about the music I listen to and have the inability to keep my interests separated from the other, of course my love of particular bands will bleed over into my interpretation of Leon's character! Anyway, all that for me to say that Leon fucking LOVES 90's grunge musicians, specifically Pearl Jam and Soundgarden, as well as early nu metal bands like Korn (their dubstep phase did not happen.), TOOL, and Rage Against the Machine — and no, he unfortunately doesn't see the irony of him being a fed and listening to Rage, — but would also have a soft spot for psych rock, post-punk and shoegaze. My man's definitely laid awake at night, sobbing without expression as he struggles to accept that Ada never really wanted him like he wanted her while listening to fucking Slowdive. My hottest take here is that he doesn't really listen to Deftones. Like he'll occasionally blast My Own Summer, Change, Bored or Rosemary, but anything outside of those? He just didn't listen to 'em. My second hottest take is that he does NOT like Slipknot, which kind of pains me 'cus I do, but I fucking bet you this dude would actually adopt one piece of "Gen Z lingo" or whatever just call them cringe. Though admittedly he would've been jamming the fuck out to Psychosocial and The Devil in I when they came out. Went off the deep end in Vendetta, obviously, and drunk-cried himself to sleep on the couch listening to Linkin Park.

Very confusing spending habits - On one hand, we all understand that Leon came from money, — he was implied to have been born into a mob family from my understanding? And I doubt he'd ever really had to worry about being fully, irrevocably broke, — but I'm sure that growing up in the U.S Foster Care System made him at least a little more cautious of where his money comes from, where it's going, what he's spending it on, etc. So, on the one hand, he's apprehensive to spend recklessly, particularly on perishables. But also, if he can drop over $100,000USD on a motorcycle that got absolutely fucking cheese grated into the road, and spend a perceived, metric fuck ton of money on designer leather jackets and massive watches, it's gonna be hard for me to call him 'financially conscious'. On one hand, he gets apprehensive on spending more money than he needs to on food since he's "just gonna shit it out later", but if he sees a cool watch or a nice suit in a shop window? Money's suddenly not an issue! Not because he's materialistic, but because the one thing he really maintains a sense of control over in his life are his possessions and the way he dresses. The D.S.O can call him in for another months long mission whenever they please, and all he can realistically do is allow the government to tug on his leash and put him where he's needed. He may as well spend their money on things he wants!

Gets out... enough? But also, not really? - So, personally I've pegged Leon as more of an introverted person, — amateurly typed his MBTI as possibly ISFJ? — so he doesn't really feel the need to go out and meet new people or really hang out with anyone. If somebody invites him out? Sure, he'll go. Otherwise, it rarely occurs to him to meet up with friends or colleagues at a cafe or anywhere. I think he'd prefer to just go there alone, mostly for the sake of having somebody else cook for him as opposed to actively seeking out the atmosphere. It's pure convience in his mind. And remember when I said in the beginning about him accidentally being at least a little misogynistic? Yeah, that was me trying to say that he regularly tries to hit on younger waitresses. Not because he actually wants anything to do with them, but simply because it's an ego boost. He likes that he can make girls half his age blush or offer him their numbers, because it tells him that he's still desirable, and ultimately, that gives him the power to reject them politely and go about the rest of his day. If they don't reject him first, of course. Admittedly, Leon's audacity towards women peaked during Infinite Darkness.

Since I'm planning on posting more NSFW headcanons for this guy, — and more NSFW kinds of posts, — here is the obligatory Minors DNI attachment. For your own safety, I don't care if what I have to say is tame so far, you can hold it off I promise.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #resident evil #resident evil leon #leon kennedy headcanons #babyfangs.txt #fangsfic #idk man im literally talking out my ass on all this 💀

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