#maybe you’re just fucking inept

[rottenlittlefink]

Ahhh like… vent in tags i guess (i said what i said :3c)

[fiapple]

everyone acting like the fact that some detr*ns people join transphobic movements after de-tr*nsitioning is a phenomena that’s the fault of trans people not supporting them enough & not, oh, i don’t know, their own choice to become a literal fucking facist, owes all trans people $1,000,000 each actually. usd too.

[vamph00n]

Facial ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹

ᡣ𐭩 mdni! femreaderxroomatehee

ᡣ𐭩 wc: 3k

ᡣ𐭩 synopsis: heeseung as a roomate? he’s fine, as a friend? better. it’s just heeseung, just the dude who happens to watch you fold and put away your underwear, and happens to watch you change when the bathroom door is slightly cracked open. he’s just your roomate. so what if he plays would you rather with explicit options occasionally?

ᡣ𐭩 smut tags under the cut.

ᡣ𐭩 consume what you can handle

smut tags: heeseung is a creep, reader is clueless, throat fucking, bj’s, facial duh, dubcon?, mentions of panty stealing and masturbation, mentions of bodily fluids, cum, cum eating, nasty make out, uses of the word angel,

lmk if i missed anything 🫶

enjoy!!

“no, not in a million years.” is what you said in response to a slightly unconventional question. but then again there’s no such thing between the two of you.

his arms rose in mock surrender, tilting his head at the validity of your reaction. “guess that type of thing isn’t for everyone.”

and it's not , he had just hoped that maybe you’d say something different. something to get his little computer fried brain working, running off of more than just the thought of an iniquitous act but an actual idea that was based in reality. that thing you’d hypothetically be doing. it would’ve fulfilled his nightly one handed habit better than using his left one to scroll through porn. knowing you’d do it? or have done it? that’s all he needs.

although met with disappointment, in that moment as you put away your neatly folded garments, heeseung captures a look of distaste and curiosity on your face. one that reads a lack of experience, not a lack of will. your nose scrunched at the idea, but the subtle way your lips pressed in a straight line told him. ahh it makes sense now. maybe it’s not that you’ve never considered it, but rather you’ve never tried it.

at your inconvenience, he’s still sprawled out on your bed despite demanding him to keep off. at times like this, you wonder, maybe it was a bad idea to find your roommate online, because you grossly underestimated how particular you were when it came to cleanliness. it’s not that germs freak you out, it’s that you’re rooming with a man. a recluse of one at that. yeah, he didn’t go out a lot and it’s not like he was rolling in a pile of shit; but you swore he wore the same sweater for two weeks straight without washing it, and used a three in one body wash. in a small apartment with one bathroom? those exemplar instances only lead up to future disagreements.

with the ability to ignore these minor quirks, you’d say that despite your differences you managed to become quite comfortable with him. so much so, that you seemed to brush off the fact that he was always in your room when you put away your underwear, how it went unnoticed by you when he lingered a little too long in friendly hugs, and smelled your hair a little too strongly when he’d ask what shampoo you used. cause why would you? it’s just heeseung.

maybe one of the biggest things you ignored was his odd game of would you rather. which is how we’re led up to the very question the man himself finds so interesting. initially you weren’t shocked by the ask, as he was just poking fun at how extensive your skincare routine was minutes prior.

“would you rather, not put all that gunk on your face or… let a guy give you a facial?

it’s not as outlandish as some other questions he’s asked, or as scandalous as experiences you’ve told him about. you already figured that he was just socially inept and thought nothing more of it. after all, he was an acquired taste. so of course you replied, and of course you would never because it’s nasty? at least maybe you thought it would be, because you’ve never tried it.

after lingering in your room for a bit longer, still pressing on about the question, it leads into a minor dispute. “seriously? why do you need that much stuff for your skin?” the boy sighs as he stretches out on your bed. you smack his face with a nearby throw pillow, and reiterate the same things you always tell him. maybe stuff like that didn’t matter to him, but to you it does because well, it makes you feel pretty.

whenever you talked like this, he couldn’t help but let his mind drift. if he could, and it didn’t mess up the established bond between you two; he would’ve totally told you how beautiful were.

but the idea of being “just heeseung”, a friend and a roomate; it was like a free pass to act perversely.

leaving him to his own devices, you wash up ignoring that the door was slightly cracked open. yet another thing you overlook, heeseung is a man. you knew that from the way he kept himself groomed, but otherwise? not so much. he knows how to get what he wants by being sneaky, and knows when not to be. although he’s starting to doubt that it’s just his scheming nature that’s aiding his desires, it’s the fact that you overlook everything he does.

his room, located at the nice spot in front of the bathroom, let his imagination run wild. the small gap in the door you left was occasionally big enough that he’d get a glance of your boobs in the reflection of the foggy mirror. those were nice times, and when you asked him to get you a towel because you forgot? even better. he watched intently and waited as you got out and dressed yourself in those pretty lace panties he held himself back from stealing.

pushing open the door as you lathered different serums onto your face, he couldn’t help but notice a certain resemblance of your white night cream. only making him wonder what else looked pretty spewed on your features. were you absolutely just in a shirt and underwear? yes but then again, it’s just heeseung. in the midst of your therapeutic regime, he starts fiddling with a bottle, confused with its contents.

“is this like water? what is it?” he says while sloshing the liquid around.

you snatch it from his grasp and say “it’s a toner.”

he nods placing it back where it was, and you take note of his hand placement. his arms snaked behind your back onto the counter locking you between his form. it’s nothing that you're entirely fazed by, it’s the intent stare he’s giving you through the reflection of the mirror as you look at the glowyness of your face that makes your heart jump.

heeseungs eyes darken, and he leans close to your ear still staring at your reflection.

“you said all this makes you look pretty, but I know a couple of other things that’ll look much better…”

you feel your heart stutter at the wispyness of his melodic voice saying suggestive things into your ear. in that moment he draws back his hand, and laces it through your hair grabbing it into a ponytail. you try to look over at his gaze from the side, but he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at your reflection.

“look at yourself angel, maybe it’s the face that counts, not what you put on it.”

as you watch through the glass, his lips tug at the corners, the sight of your hair fisted into a ball in his grasp not ever being something you thought you’d let anyone do. let alone have heeseung do it. his free hand grips your hip, and now is when you start to notice how underdressed you were before him. his hand travels down your lower half, groping your ass, then he plays with the band of your undergarment. he feels the slight raise in your skin, and a look of anticipation on your face tells him all.

he released your hair, and pressed his hips against your backside, trapping you in place. he smells your shampoo, and feels the softness of your skin. momentarily, you don’t know what to feel, the only thing you know is that the man before you has rendered you compliant.

you feel his hands grip your hips, as his roll into you. hard, and restrained, you feel his length through the thin material of your panties. taking your shaky hand, and feeling it, oh man. it’s hot, and heavy. heeseungs chest rises and his body flinches, he hisses at the feeling. grabbing you in a stern manner, he spins you to face him.

the way you comply, the way you just sit before him in fear and possibly regret, he takes his hand to caress your face. maybe he feels bad because tears are welling in your eyes waiting to fall, or because he hasn’t even touched you yet, your body is tense in his grasp, scared at the mercy of him. it’s something he doesn’t want to admit turns him on. not yet at least.

for a second you find yourself staring into his eyes, a weird feeling of fear and arousal course through you. heeseung, just heeseung. he weighs his hangs on your shoulders, pushing you to the floor in which you land on your knees. he backs up, locking the door behind him.

“hey what the fu-“

then, when you tried to rise to your feet, his hands hold you down at the top of your head as you wince. without much thought, he drops his pants.

maybe you’re the creep, but you’ve seen his cock once. passing by his room late at night to get water, he had it out as he stroked it with one hand. you’ve stored that memory in the back of your mind, thinking that you were the one being perverse. or maybe he wanted you to see that, maybe he saw as you watched and let you, hoping you’d come in to help him.

with that memory playing back, it’s much bigger than you remember. looking at his glistening tip, and veiny shaft, you just admired it. the hazy feeling this situation had you thinking “no way this is real.” wondering what’ll happen when you wake up from this wet dream. for a little longer you ponder whether you’ve ever actually thought of heeseung in any way like this. no, you haven’t, but will you pass on the opportunity?

his figure casts a shadow over you, he looks down at his dick, and back at you.

“are you going to do something about it?”

this isn’t a dream.

you inch closer to his hips, and take your shakey hands to hold his member. a little shudder down his spine and an encouraging nod paired with a low moan, you wrap your lips around the head of him. tasting the large amount of dripping precum as you swirl your tongue, he throws his head back, the sensitivity not only shocking you but himself as well.

so no, you won’t pass on the opportunity.

the sounds he elicits as you work your mouth on merely the very tip of his girth, it makes you think less of how you got here; but rather how you want to draw this experience out longer. your delicate fingers caress the remaining that hang out of your mouth, feeling the grooves and patterns.

it’s tantalizing the way you tease at his vulnerable state, him becoming a mess under your control. only, you can’t tell he is, you just keep going. the vicious mix of your saliva and the filth seeping from his cock were a display that he wanted to burn into his retinas. at this point, if you kept going he might—

then, in a second a small wave of delirious ecstasy wash over him as you take hold of his neglected balls, feeling them up as you lick the little slit on his tip.

knowing, and feeling a bit ashamed he wouldn’t last long if you kept going, he pulls away. leveling with you on your slightly reddened knees, the sappy liquid seeps from the corners of your mouth, and he pulls you in for a kiss.

all you can think is how crazy this is, how crazy you are for just… enjoying it more than you thought you would. him looking that attractive, moaning out little slews, and jumbled bits of your name while doing barely anything? oh yeah, you’re right to be on your knees. it had your panties clinging to the sticky uncared for mess brewing within you, that all you could do was hope he didn’t notice you grinding back on your heel. a kiss, a nasty one at that, tied with the mix of his secretions and yours as his tongue explored your mouth; it was like a porn like.

as he draws back, you see the little glistening string of spit, and he wipes away the residue forming on the corners of his mouth. as you tilt your head, like you didn’t almost rock his world; he fucking knows your enjoying this, and wants to shut you up before you start to get too cocky.

still hard and erect, he stood and you look up. the corner of your lips pull, and god heeseung knows he’s gonna have fun with you. he gives his length one small stroke before peering at your glassy eyes stare.

“think you can take this all of this in there?” he ask rasplily, as he brushing your lip with his thumb parting them.

with your mouth wide open, insistent you can; do you ever recall being so nasty? maybe there was a time, but really, did you ever think it would be with just heeseung? no.

a more than satisfied look casts on his face, as he lets the tip of his dick rest on your togue. the way you salvate in anticipation, and him enjoying it makes your cunt wetter, and throb more than any foreplay you’ve had.

it only makes you hope this isn’t all he’ll be doing.

sliding his member slowly into your mouth inch by inch, you wonder when it’ll stop. it’s to much, in girth and length. he’s maybe half way in when you feel the salty tears form in your eyes as his tip hits your throat. the garbled gag provoked by him, makes heeseungs jaw go slack in awe.

once you’ve adjusted to the monster, that is his manhood, you find it difficult to suck. with so much he had going on, you didn’t know what to do with all of it. yet with how slow each movement is, he seems to bask in it. the feeling of your mouth being stretched, and the feeling of your teeth grazing his shaft, all of it you enjoyed. letting out small hums as you lick, and suck.

“mm, so good at sucking cock,” he moans.

his hips press forward, shocking you a bit, causing tears to roll down your face.

“shh, shh. let me” he says before your life practically flashes before your eyes.

he starts to thrust into your mouth. it being obvious you can’t handle someone of his size, he takes the lead. you sit there, looking absolutely fucked as he ruts into you, you look up at his form.

it makes you so wet, you wonder how long he’s wanted to do this. how long it would’ve been till you thought about him like this. panted breaths draw from him, as he fucks your throat. all he could think as he moved is how pretty you were, how perfect you were.

thinking about how wet you are just watching him, knowing you have to be because he saw the discomfort in your panties. just that made him write. all these months he’s wondered why hasn’t he done this sooner, and wondering if your going to let him fuck you ever after this. he doesn’t know if that’ll happen, so he treats this like the last, even though it won’t be.

his thrusts become quicker, and your throat starts to hurt. his knees feeling like they’re going to buckle, he bites back a loud moan and you bask in his weakness. hoping he’ll be this way buried in your cunt, wanting to watch him as he falls apart trying to keep his composure.

heeseung feels the rise, and force course in his dick, aching for release. pulling it out of your mouth, and stoking it aggressively above your face he asks:

“youll let me cum all over your face right? just me?”

you nod, opening your mouth and closing you eyes wating for it.

he grunts, and strokes faster, the mix of saliva and precum keeping it lubricated. breathy pants are elicited from his dry throat, and his tip rages with a blushed red color.

“shit—“

he cums all over your face, it’s hot, and all that lands in your mouth gets swallowed. his chest rises and falls, and he looks like he’s just about done, but not before he fists your hair pulling you up from your weak knees.

he faces you towards the mirror, making sure you see yourself. your face painted white, all sticky with his semen, it arouses you, it's unexpected. it hurts how much this turns you on.

heeseung grabs your chin and playfully shakes your head.

“see, look how pretty” he smirks.

you want to roll your eyes and protest but you can’t. the brain fog you have because of how much your sopping cunt hurts has hindered you.

he continues to tease “hm, so not in a million years huh?”

you can’t think of anything else, and at this point your dignity is gone, but the need you have for him is carnal.

you pull him in close, and press his chest against yours. “i need you”

and just like that, heeseung knows this won’t be the last time this will be happening.

a/n: make sure to stream XO!! 😘

[kingkatsuki]

Old man Bakugou (who isn’t even that old, but god I want him)

Warnings: 18+, retired!Pro-Hero Dynamight, Bakugou is 50, reader is like half his age or more or less idc but Bakugou is older.

Bakugou retires at fifty. It’s much younger than a lot of other heroes that have paved the way for him, and yet he’s accomplished so much that it’s time for him to step aside for the future Pros. The ones that still have so much drive and energy, and are ready to conquer their dreams just like he was.

It gives up a place in the top five rankings for another younger, keen Pro-Hero to take his place. But of course Dynamight is still popular, and he’s still got a loyal fan base that continue to adore him even into his retirement.

Bakugou is still recognised when he goes out to restaurants and coffee shops, full of people trying to grab his autograph or share stories of how they grew up with him and watched him reach number one.

And then there’s you— he meets you one night at a bar when he’s nursing a beer, trying to adjust to having a free schedule instead of protecting the city. And he can’t help but notice the way your eyes glisten when you notice him, leaning against the bar beside his stool as you tilt your head inquisitively.

“No way, you’re Dynamight? My mom used to love you.”

And once again Bakugou is reminded of just how old he is, his blond hair now mixed with wisps of silver, the thick stubble that frames his jaw well on its way to being a beard, his muscular chest now curved with soft pudge and blond hairs and his back aches as he sits on the barstool.

“She had the biggest crush on you when she was younger,” You take a seat beside him as you sip at your own drink, “Had posters and figures up of you and everything.”

Bakugou doesn’t know how it happened— or why a pretty young thing like you wants anything to do with him. He’s gotta be twice your age, maybe more— but the casual conversation continues and you’re practically leaning into him now, pretty eyes glazed over as you stare down at his lips.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to fuck an old man,” You tease, but you should be careful what you wish for, “Can you even still get it up?”

Bakugou reckons he should have you over his knee for that comment alone, but that’s all it takes for him to have his beer bottle slamming down onto the bar as he grabs you by the wrist.

Barely ten minutes later Bakugou has your knees pushed up to your chest inside the dingy dive bar bathroom. Your knickers bunched around them to keep your thighs together as he rams his thick, hard cock inside your tight cunt. The ferocity of his thrusts unlike anything you’ve felt before and you’re certain you can feel him in your lungs. Your naive hole squelches around him, your essence leaking out of you and soaking his heavy balls as the only words that leave your lips now are incoherent babbles. Your hands cling to him for some semblance of reality, painted nails leaving crescent-shaped moons in his forearms. Your grip rough enough to break his skin and join the multiude of scars that already marr his body.

Your head knocks against the mirror with each cant of his hips but you could care less. The pleasure surging through your veins has your mind hazy, his hulking body practically folds you in two as he looms over you, burying his cock inside you to the hilt as you feel so full.

You’re positive you look debauched. Your pretty lipstick ruined as it’s smeared across your lips and cheeks, certain you’re drooling down your chin as he fucks you within an inch of your life. It’s nothing like the inept men around your own age you’d been with before. With age comes experience, and you’re certain you see heaven when a calloused thumb slips between your bodies to press against your puffy clit.

“Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” He groans, “This old man’s gonna have you gushin’ all over his cock.”

[alnilaem]

HELLO HELLO HI!!! just read your butcher!simon and i’m. in LOVE??? maybe you could continue about reader like. keeps running into him at the Worst Times (running late going somewhere looking like shit, barely awake or crying in the elevator idk LOL) and he’s just like 🤨🤨??? OR reader tries to make small talk with him since they usually get off work at the same time but simon being simon he’s just like. hm. or grunts HE’S TRYING! BUT HE’S JUST a bit socially inept… oRRR reader bakes and had some leftovers and decides to give extras to simon and he’s like. Okay . and pretends that he’s not amused but secretly loves it SO CUTE AAGHH can’t think of anything else but penny for your thoughts? teehee LOVE YOUR WORKKK

ARGHHHH socially inept butcher!simon is so cute. i wanna build a shrinking machine and zap him with it and fossilise him in amber <3

-

Dusk has eclipsed Manchester, draping a greyscale blanket over the city by the time you enter the laundry room with a hamper tucked under your arm.

That was fifteen minutes ago. And since then, you’ve been trying to get the damn washing machine to work.

It’s an old hunk of junk. Repurposed scrap metal with duct tape lining its corners and a dog-eared note hanging above it, reading, Do Not Overload! in crude writing.

You bend your thumb into the start button for the umpteenth time, but it’s fruitless. The feeble machine rumbles to life, sputtering, then has its embers killed as it fails to continue running.

You angrily huff. Your eye bags are as laden as your muscles, heavy and weighed down with the stress of everything piling up. Job hunting; the constant maintenance your neglected flat needs; the abrasive attitude of your new neighbours.

Fleetingly, you consider moving back home. But before the rumination snatches you, you snuff it out with a swift, irritable kick to the drywall next to you, your toes bending with the impact, the pain crawling up your marrow.

“Bit uncalled for, don’t you think?” Chimes from behind you, and you swirl around, coming face-to-mask with Simon. You hope he can’t see your dewy waterline.

“Don’t believe that wall ever did nothin’ to ya,” he tacks on.

The cellophane of the plastic bag he holds—which you presume carries his laundry—crinkles as he clenches his hand. He’s swathed in sweatpants and a compression shirt, slick with a wisp of sweat, and lets his curls sit freely, its tint somewhere on the threshold between rustic cocoa and gilded blonde.

Simon’s words belatedly catch up to you. You heed his attempt at a playful inflection, unsure if it was meant for you or for him, and flush when you see how expectantly, and bluntly, he’s eyeing you.

You listlessly gesture to the washing machine. “It isn’t working.”

His grunt is prefatory. Simon walks towards the machine, poises a fist over it, and brings his hand down on it in three, sparse punches.

The machine coughs out exhaust, then burgeons into a smooth run.

“Not broken,” Simon grumbles, his words barely lucid beneath his Manchester lilt, “just fucking old.”

“I see,” you mumble, “thanks.”

Simon steps back and begins unloading his own laundry. He stuffs wads of clothing, all imbued with blood and the scent of meat, into another machine.

A pinprick of gluttony tugs your stomach. To say something, anything, to keep the conversation warm.

“The mask…” you begin, “is the black mold in your flat that bad?”

Simon turns to you, his eyes deadpan. It sends icy humiliation up your spine, leaving you pettish.

The hum of the washing machine loosely offsets the thick embarrassment in the room. Loud and tinny.

Beneath the rumble, however, a small, barely-there chuckle crosses Simon’s tongue. “Ha,” he says. It’s charitable at worst and genuine at best.

“… I should go… while my clothes’re washing,” you mumble, your cheeks hot with embarrassment.”

You’re past the threshold, stepping into the corridor, when Simon calls after you.

Your lungs stutter and stop. You want him to ask for your number, ask you out to lunch some time, but when you turn around, you feel like you’re falling.

An ornamental pair of panties dangle from Simon’s forefinger. It’s lacy, gauzy, and should be lying on the floor of your flat.

You burn a searing molten as you snatch it from his hands, mortified, and sprint towards the lift.

You turned around before you could see it. A caper in Simon’s eye, the barest implication to something more than a maladroit interaction: an amused, titillating smirk beneath his mask.

[candycandy00]

Office Life (Shigaraki x Reader)

Just Shigaraki awkwardly fantasizing about the cute receptionist who works in the same office building as him. You guys let me know if you like this quick “imagine” format for when I don’t have a full fanfic idea.

Smut. 18+. Violence/Blood (not Reader’s). Gender neutral Reader. Dubcon.

Shigaraki, who never had much interest in sex before, when he was so busy with the League and the war. Sure he jacked off to hentai every now and then, but the thought of having real life sex with a real live person didn’t really enter his brain. 

Until now. 

Shigaraki, who is fresh out of prison and working a dumb office job as part of his “rehabilitation”. Who is ignored and avoided by most of his coworkers because of his very publicized past. 

Shigaraki, who just can’t understand why you’re nice to him, why you smile at him so sweetly, like he’s an actual human being and not a monster. Why you, the cute receptionist from down the hall, keeps coming into the office he works in with five other men, desks all lined up neatly. 

Shigaraki, who likes that you look at him and acknowledge him, but sometimes has the irrational urge to show you how terrifying and monstrous he can be, to make you fear him the way everyone else does.

Shigaraki, who sometimes has violent fantasies about you that he will never act upon. Like today when you come into the room to share cookies you baked and brought in to the office. You, having such an obvious crush on him that even a socially inept weirdo like him can tell, blush and smile shyly when he takes a cookie from the box you hold out to him. 

Shigaraki, who has no idea what you could possibly like about him, but feels a little smug that the rest of the guys in the office are clearly jealous. 

And as you move toward the back of the room handing out cookies, constantly glancing back to see if he’s eating his, as if wanting his approval, Shigaraki’s dark fantasy takes over again. 

He imagines standing up from his chair and moving through the room, decaying each man in turn, most of them still holding their dumb fucking cookies, only to reach the back, where you’re cowering in a corner, trembling with fear as blood pools around your feet. 

You turn around to look at him, terror in those big wet eyes of yours, and then the pleading starts. He imagines you begging him not to kill you, babbling promises to not tell anyone, confessing your love in some desperate attempt to win his favor. You’re still clutching your frilly pink box of homemade cookies in your shaking hands. 

In his fantasy, he has perfect control over his quirk at all times, and with no effort at all he can decay the clothes right off your body, leaving you naked and vulnerable in the room full of bloody chunks. And you drop the cookies in your shock, trying to cover yourself with your hands. 

He won’t allow that. He’s wondered what you look like under your clothes for too long. And so he roughly pulls your hands away, getting an eye full, before shoving your back onto the nearest desk, spreading you open and unbuckling his pants. 

In this fantasy, you always struggle at first. But after he starts fucking you hard, you begin moaning his name, wrapping your arms around him, looking up at him with teary eyes and blushing cheeks as he rails you. 

Shigaraki, who snaps back to reality when you walk by him, the scent of your floral perfume drawing his attention. You look at the uneaten cookie in his hand and a flash of sadness crosses your face. He hurries to take a bite, and tries to give you a smile that isn’t creepy. 

You smile back, and he knows for a fact he will never, ever act on his worst impulses with you. Because far more than his desire to show you how much of a villain he can be, he wants you to keep smiling at him. 

And someday, maybe he’ll stop being a fucking coward and ask you to go to a movie with him. 

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ tommy gets jealous | oneshot

♡ fandom; Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003/2006)

♡ characters; Thomas Hewitt

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡cw; mentions of kidnapping and violence, don’t date people who want to slash you irl not a good foundation for a relationship

♡notes; I put on my big boy panties and wrote something other than a bulleted list!!

I just love a good “i trust you but i sure as fuck don’t trust anybody else” type jealously trope. Also some Tommy doing ASL!! We love a (selectively?) mute king.

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

You were an oblivious person. Most of the time, anyways. You’d been totally shocked when Luda Mae didn’t let you leave the night you arrived at the Hewitt house, totally shocked when Charlie told you Thomas was obsessed with you, and more surprised still that Charlie had been right.

You weren’t stupid— you put two and two together that these folks were cannibals as soon as you saw the basement. You nearly talked Monty into letting you go, and you slipped your restraints a couple times before you were settled in. You’d done well in school and still could read a book in one sitting.

Maybe… socially inept was a better word, harsh as it sounded. It was only people that you had a such a hard time with. You trusted them, but you could almost never wrap your head around what they were thinking.

Like the customers that stayed too long . It happened a lot. Bikers and tourists and all sorts of folks would stop in when you were working in the convenience store, and usually more than once a day a man would stay leaned on the counter, chatting away until his buddies were about to leave him. Sometimes they’d be alone, and Luda would give you a break early and they’d go off looking all huffy.

It very rarely occurred to you that the men were trying to flirt. You didn’t think of yourself as someone that happened to- and treated all customers the same. Why would they think you wanted to bang em when all you did was smile? Being nice was part of your job.

Luda Mae payed no mind to the men or your conversations. If there’d been any cause for concern, she’d be able to quash it very easily. But she found it endearing, especially your confusion and apathy when they did get balls enough to be blunt . In her mind you were so devoted to Thomas that other men were just nuisances.

That’s why no one had mentioned it to Thomas. He rarely came up to help now that you were there to help Luda Mae, but today there was extra stock, and her joints had been aching from the weather. You were on register, Luda Mae relaxed in a rocker on the porch, and Tommy stalked the aisles and put out trinkets and canned food and all the other junk you sold. You were trying not to go distract him and stood leaned over the counter, doodling on some scrap paper between customers.

“Well hello darlin,” A man drawled, hands on his belt buckle. He was trying too hard to be a real Texan, but he wasn’t from up North like you. “You got any cigarettes back there?”

“Sure do! Let’s see… got Camels, Lucky Strike- I really like these ones, the Salems, they’re menthol-“

“You look too sweet to smoke. I’ll take the Camels,”

“Well, only do it on special occasions,” you shrugged, not paying much attention as Thomas stalked towards the front “Anything else?”

“Well. That depends.”

“On?”

“If you’re free or not tonight.”

You blinked, then furrowed your brow “You tryna ask me out?”

“Well I- oho shit!” The man laughed uncomfortably as he noticed Thomas right behind him “You scared me there big guy-“

He huffed and slunk behind the counter as the man nervously tried to get back on topic “Anyways… ahem…so about that date-?”

You huffed and out a hand on your hip “Well, depends?”

He perked up a bit “On what?”

“If you can beat my boyfriend in a fight.” On cue Thomas wrapped his arms around you from behind, growling as he hooked his chin on your head.

The man quickly turned tail and mumbled something about being out of practice, forgetting the cigarettes completely. You could feel Tommy relax and turned to let him pick you up and set you on the counter. Even then you weren’t eye to eye with the giant of a man…but it was closer, and you liked feeling tiny anyway.

“…hi baby.” You cooed and loosely wrapped your arms around his neck. He huffed and nuzzled you, as he often did as a form of reassurance. You giggled and pecked his mask “Annoying, right?”

He nodded and scowled, keeping his grip tight on your hips

“…what’s wrong?”

He hesitated but pulled back to sign ‘Mine. All mine. Right?’

You giggled again “Of course! All yours- always.”

He smiled softly- the sort of expression only you could coax out of him ‘Always’

[girlleon]

TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT

leon kennedy x fem!reader.

warnings: emotional incest (daddy-daughter), dead parent, Leon’s ooc and kind of a pervert and a very unreliable narrator, reader is just a little bit too.

tumblr shadowbans posts that use nsfw tags, ergo the only tags I will use are in the post. content is below the read more and you’re responsible for your own media consumption. read at your own risk.

Your dad isn’t a bad guy. He’s, you know, inept in the way sitcom dads are. He has to ask you how the dishwasher runs when he sees you do it and it takes a couple times, but he figures it out in the end. Same thing with the washer and not having to separate out your reds and whites so you don’t make pink.

Leon’s just… he’s just a bit lonely. Mom died a decade back and now he walks around with half his heart in his hands and stares at you a little too long ‘cause you look just like her.

He tried dating but every woman he went out with could see his broken heart from a mile away and it was like seeing a dilapidated house, nobody wants a fixer-upper.

It’s no surprise to you when he starts hanging off you when you’re cooking for the two of you, big arms wrapped around your waist and cheek on your shoulder. Mom always said he was so clingy and would laugh every time she said that as he pressed his mouth to every place he could reach.

That was another thing too, she’d get playfully annoyed when she was wearing a strappy dress for some sort of work function and he’d damn near glue himself to her—body and mouth. She could never take it when he’d give her that kicked puppy look and reluctantly let go either.

Like mother, like daughter, you guess. You don’t shove him off or squirm free when he clings to you like a barnacle on a ship and you don’t complain because you damn well need the comfort too, even if you guys end up sharing a bed more often than not.

Your dad wasn’t very touchy when you were little, save for when you two were wrestling and he’d go a little too hard and wouldn’t let you up. You’d scream and cry when he wouldn’t let you out from under him and more often than not went crying to mom when she’d walk in.

But, anyway, he has that awkward demeanor of a guy who never got a hug from mommy when he was little. Hence why you never went to him when you wanted comfort, and mom was softer anyway, except for maybe a handful of times.

He told you once that he liked when you were sick because it meant you’d want his comfort, which stuck with you for a long while, but you’re past that, you’re a grown girl now.

Well, okay, it gets a little strange one day when he wraps himself around you like a vine from behind, fresh out of the shower. You get a whiff of him and pause, the wooden spatula freezing in the pan. He feels you stiffen up and lifts his head up, about to ask what’s wrong when you ask, “Is that my body wash?” sounding extremely scandalized and shocked.

Fuck, he never likes it when you’re shocked or angry or anything but happy with him. “Maybe.” Leon replies elusively, tightening his hold on you.

“Okay, what the fuck, dad?” You try to turn around but he holds tight. You stir faster, some rice slopping over the sides of the pan to burn on the electric burner. “Did you run out of yours, or something?”

“No.” Leon shakes his head, nose dragging across your clothed shoulder. “I just like the way yours smells.”

You make a face, unsure how to really respond to that. “Weirdo.” You decide after a while, shaking more soy sauce into the rice and stirring it around.

“Your mom never minded.” He huffs, pressing his nose to the crook of your neck and fighting a smile when your shoulders jump.

Your brows furrow and you turn off the burner with a click. “I’m not mom.” Comes out harsh, the spatula banging on the side of the pan to get the stray rice off.

Leon frowns, pressing his mouth to your shoulder for a moment. “I know, sweetheart.” He mumbles, straightening up and loosening his hold on you when you reach for the plates.

You frown too, lips pressing into a line as you dish out the food for yourself. He can damn well serve himself, he’s a grown ass man.

Dinner is a stiff affair, but he’s nice enough to do the damn dishes for his number one girl. “C’mere.” He tells you when he’s done, holding his arms out. You come over, of course, cheek squishing against his shoulder as you sag against him. You can never stay mad at that old oaf for long. “I miss her.” Dad murmurs by your ear, pretending not to notice the way your arms flare with goosebumps. Sensitive ears, you got that from him.

“I know, dad.” You mumble back, nose invaded by the orange scent of your body wash on him and his sharp-smelling aftershave. “I miss her too.” Enough time’s gone by that your voice doesn’t crack when you say that, but your throat aches all the same.

He squeezes you closer, resting his cheek on the top of your head, kissing it before laying his cheek back on your head.

Leon’s not a bad guy. You’re just the closest thing he’s got to a wife. And he really needs to get a fucking grip because he can’t keep walking around at half-mast because you called him dad. Like, what the hell else are you supposed to call him? Leon? Fuck no. You’re his kid and kids don’t call their parents by their first names, except for that creepy kid in The Ring, but that’s fake.

God, there’s something wrong with him, he’s got a couple screws loose or something that makes him react this way. He made you. He remembers going to all the ultrasound appointments and buying the prenatals and the damn cravings. He remembers holding you when your mother finally pushed you out, kissing her sweaty temple when you opened your little mouth and started crying because the world was too loud compared to the comfort of the womb.

And he remembers when little thirteen-year-old you dragged his sorry ass into the house after he collapsed on the lawn in a drunken stupor. He was in and out for a bit after you finally lugged him inside onto the couch and had to chase after the cat for good measure and bring her silly ass back in.

When he woke up, it was six in the morning and he had one of the worst hangovers of his life. There was already a little bowl on his blanketed lap in case he puked and you were curled up in a ball on the furthest side of the couch, snoozing away.

He let you stay home for the day and had an intervention with himself as you played nurse. Maybe that’s when shit got fucked up and lines got blurred. Somewhere along the way, some wires got crossed and you started sitting where your mom did, in addition to sleeping in their bed too.

He remains awake as you snore contentedly with your back to him, his chest firmly against your spine and hips against his. See, that’s another thing you got from him, those hips and perky ass. The more he thinks about it, you’re all him in all the best and worst ways.

Best ways: hips. Ass. Definitely legs too. You got his nose and his dimples and smile. And that little spring to your step that reminds him of the days before he transferred to the RCPD and came out of Raccoon City worse for wear. You make the same faces he does—got that nearly permanent furrow in your brow that he smooths out with his thumb and warns you that you’re too young for wrinkles. Sensitive ears too.

Worst ways: clingy. It was worse when you were young and always wanted to be around him. Jeez, he gets that you were a kid and all, but wow. Is it normal for kids to cling onto their dad’s calves and tell them not to go to work? Another thing, you’re so damn sensitive. Just one comment will throw you off and he’ll be begging for you to get back to normal. One time when you were twelve, he tried to spank you and he got the silent treatment for the rest of the night after you wiggled your way free, tears streaming down your little face. He slept on the couch because he felt so bad.

There is one thing though… Leon can pat himself on the back for making the perfect girl for him. You just share half his DNA, which makes things a little sticky.

You shift a little in your sleep, your ass pressing against his dick and he has to damn near bite his tongue bloody so he doesn’t make a noise because you’re asleep. More often than not, he has to go rub one out in the bathroom and feel guilty because all that can get him off is thoughts of you.

He tries out dating apps again a couple days after that. “Honey?” He calls out as you’re in the kitchen putting the dishes away.

“What?” Ugh, he hates that, you should just come over here when he calls out for you. When he doesn’t respond, you groan so loudly he can hear you from two rooms over, walking over to where he sits on the couch with those bifocals. “What, dad?”

“Can you help me set up my Tinder profile?” He has to hold in a smirk when you do a double take and shift your weight between your feet, gaze falling down to your bare legs because you decided to torment him and wear those stupid bike shorts before he trains his eyes back on your face.

“Aren’t you… aren’t you a little old for that?”

You don’t mean any harm, but he winces a little for show, his hand over his heart. “Ouch, honey, that hurts. I’m your old man, you should be nice to me.”

You huff at him and plop down next to him on the couch, leaning so close he can smell your coconut body butter you insist on slathering yourself in after a shower. Just take them a little colder, you don’t need to boil alive to get clean. “What do you have?” You ask him, scratching the tip of your nose.

He hands his phone over to you and you hold it carefully, swiping through his pictures catalogue before you look up at him, distinctly unimpressed in the way only hot college girls can be. He finds himself asking more than a little defensively, “What?”

“You need better pictures.” And to not set your age limits at a grandma’s age and a college girl’s age. “Hang on, I have some good ones of you.”

“Did your mom take them?” He leans over to watch you swipe through your gallery.

You shake your head, selecting a couple pictures from a folder named ‘dad’ and texting them to him. “No, I caught a couple candids of you maybe a couple weeks back. And Aunt Claire always sends some to me when all you older folk go out.”

Leon gasps in mock scandal, notching his sharp chin on your shoulder. “I could sue you for that. Unlawful surveillance. What are you doing taking pictures of me without my knowledge anyway?”

You freeze before you go back to selecting the right pictures for his Tinder carousel. “Scrapbooking.” You answer quietly after a long, uncomfortable pause, your eyes on his phone screen. “I don’t have much of mom, so I take as many of you as I can.”

Oh, sweetheart. He wraps an arm around you and squeezes you tight as you help him finish setting upon his profile. See, a couple good ones: him holding a bass as big as his arms put together, one of him smiling unguardedly with Auntie Claire’s German shepherd mix on his lap insisting on pets—he’s smiling so wide his dimples are showing, his fingers buried in the long fur—another of him taking a picture of you taking a picture of him, maybe he can add more when he feels like it.

He squints at the screen, maybe he should up his prescription, “What the hell’s a bio?”

You snort, halfway amused and halfway bewildered. “Like, biography, dad.”

“Why don’t they just say that?” He says to watch you turn to look at him, your noses just this far apart.

You turn back around, face warming. “Because it was meant to be shorthand.”

“Oh.”

You show the phone to him. It’s got his Zodiac—Scorpio—in a tab along with his height and weight, marital status, whether he drinks or smokes or is ‘420 friendly’—which you tell him means whether he’s okay with weed, he says no and you change that—whether he’s a cat or dog person, all the really important things to consider in a potential partner. He adds that he has you, then hedges on whether he should mention the dead wife.

You veto mentioning it, so he leaves it out, then saves his profile.

A bit after you help your dad set up his tinder profile—apparently, DILFs are in—you get asked out on a date. Which, normally, would be cause for celebration.

You just feel anxious at the thought of telling your dad that you’re going out. Like, how is he going to respond? He was never overprotective, and isn’t really now, but you really dislike the idea of leaving him alone for a while. You keep it a secret until you come downstairs and he’s making dinner. He turns around when he hears your feet on the creaky stairs, eyebrows raising as he lets out a low whistle at your outfit.

Your face warms all the way up to your ears.

“Where are you going?” He asks, managing to not sound sleazy as he turns back around to stir the sauce in the pot, the only thing betraying his true feelings being how jerky his movements are.

“Out on a date.” You reply reticently, shifting from foot to foot at the bottom of the stairs.

“Okay.” He says after a tense pause. Then he glances back over his shoulder, waggling his eyebrows at you. “Play safe.”

“Ew, dad.” You say as you go get your shoes and pull them on where you sit on the stairs. “Not happening.”

He hums, eyeing you surreptitiously. Aw, blue underpants this time, not red or black. “Good. At least wait until the third date.”

“I’m going now.” You tell him emphatically, wrapping your arms around him from behind before you walk out, keys in your bag. Leon’s stomach flips when your hand lands on his stomach, body betraying him once again. He curses under his breath and hangs his head, willing himself to calm down and kill that jealousy rising in the back of his throat as he watches you pull out of the driveway and go on your date.

Well, you come home thirty minutes later, guilt eating at you for daring to go out on a date. Nevermind the fact that you’re a fully grown adult and can do whatever you want because you’re young and hot.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He’s at the table, eating by himself and painting a very sad picture of bachelorhood. “Did it not go so well?”

“Yeah.” You lie, getting yourself a plate and serving yourself some spaghetti and meatballs. You didn’t even make it to the restaurant before you took a u-turn and went home, making up something about an emergency coming up. “Didn’t like the guy, gave me bad vibes.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He gets up and scoops you into a hug, hiding his glee successfully. “Other fish in the sea.” He says blithely when you’re both sitting down.

You slurp up the last of your spaghetti before giving him a smile. “Yeah. Other fishes.”

Neither of you mean a word you say.

A month later, he gets to go out on a date with someone else. He tells you the day of, the very same way you did a month prior.

Turnabout’s fair play but your stomach still complains and you’re still jealous of this woman.

He tuts and flicks your nose when you’re silent for a little too long, grinning when you scowl at him and jab him in the stomach. He grunts and doubles over and gets you back, this little play-fight going on for a few minutes because neither of you matured past the age of twelve.

Eventually, you get away and watch him adjust his clothes that you helped pick him out, your arms folding as you pout and sulk on the inside. “Don’t pout at me, babygirl.” He tells you, giving you a wink that traitorously makes your stomach flip-flop. “I’ll be back around nine, you can bring the hammer down if I’m out past curfew.”

You still don’t smile, you feel a little like you’re being replaced. Then again, this mystery woman isn’t the one who gets to have him clinging onto her as she cooks or while you sleep in the same bed or on the couch watching a movie you picked out because Leon’s a big softie and can never say no to his favorite girl.

But she might, and you revolt at the thought of having a stepmother at your big age. You two made it a decade without a replacement, you certainly don’t need one, and lately, you’re not so sure dad needs one either. You’re a wife figure all on your own.

He leaves with a big hug and a kiss dropped on the top of your head, the door shutting behind him. You watch him reverse out of the driveway before you start on dinner and sulk the entire way through the oven cooking your chicken nuggets.

Leon comes home an hour later and scoops you into a hug, rousing you from sleep in your shared bed.

“What’s up, dad?” You sleepily nose at him, head tucked into his neck. “Did you not like her?”

“Nah. I didn’t even see her, I told her something came up.” He pets your head and you snuffle, one arm wrapping around his waist.

“How come?”

“Bad vibes.” He knows you know he’s lying. “Besides,” he shifts, scooping you onto his lap, “I’ve got my number one girl right here.”

[cu7ie]

big bro satoru ! ୨୧ — see: virgin killer, cherry popper — mdni!

( ˶ᵔᴗᵔ˶ ) — cw. perv!gojo, alcohol consumption (you're both drunk-ish). reader's a virgin. just some casual headcanons. pornography viewing! voyeuristic reader (sorta.) drabble at the end. vagina having reader.

imagine hanging around with your friend and they offhandedly mention they have an older brother. they don't talk about family much but he sounds just as cool as he actually is when you finally meet him.

you're out of highschool and you still don't have much experience with relationships. your friend on the other hand has had tons, and sometimes they're giving you lengthy talks about their past relationships or inadequate sex life and you just smile and nod through it luv. 

on the inside you're burning up! they tell you the raunchiest shit with no filter or padding, your virgin baby brain has grown ten sizes bigger with knowledge you honestly have no business knowing. 

leaves you all hot and bothered, grappling with these new feelings - maybe a desire to try it out for yourself? you shake your head. as of now, it’s not like you have many prospects.

you’re a stranger in college. nobody knows your name, and your bestie is only your bestie because they practically forced themselves into your socially inept arms.

so you put a pin in it, for the time being.

gojo only comes into the picture because your friend invited you to hang out with them both, and gojo didn't mind you in his house, so boom:

you guys are chatting. and siblings being siblings they have inside jokes and banter you can only laugh at!! then you're trying to contribute, but the conversation just takes the strangest turn .

your friend starts talking about their ain't shit ass boyfriend (again, they always do this) and gojo is a supportive sibling, so they take turns tearing the dude to shreds.

you can only quietly wonder why she’s still dating the guy, anyway.

you guys are passing drinks around at this point, and your friend , verrry tipsy, starts getting a little … provocative with the complaints. slurring their words, they look you in your eyes and just starts rambling.

"shrimp dick," , "can't fuck worth a damn", "shit head-giving ass"

gojo's mostly overhearing, but responds to everything she says. he’s just like: “can't relate. that’s soooo crazy. could never be me tho!” 

irritated by his interruption, more than a little drunk, they start to bicker.

friend: "nobody cares about your dick satoru!"

gojo: "hey hey maybe your friend does!!!  … been side-eyeing me all night."

!!!! the way your head snaps to look at him !!!!

because you did, but you didn't think he'd notice!

and plus it's not like that ?!! he's just very handsome man ,,

he is very pretty .....

but he really made you nervous !! you're all hot in the face and it's not cause of the alcohol and your friend is making a face at you now, a little dramatic disappointment curving their lip and it's just like,

bff: ew?? right in front of me????

you'd hide in your drink if you could.

you: uh n-no i wasn'- it’s not like that!

they don’t believe you, just roll their eyes and say:

bff: i know you don't get any but like??  calm down lol there's more fish in the sea, get out of your little pond, babes.

and you're embarrassed and can't come up with anything witty in response so you just lower your head and sip your drink while they just fall back into banter.

you guys end up watching a movie. 

your friend drank too much and ended up falling asleep! you're a little tired but gojo's wide awake and maybe he's drunker than you thought because he's slurring a lil.

gojo: heyyyy, pst

he slides a little closer to you, beer bottle in hand. wraps his arm around your shoulder and the contact jolts you out of any sleep you could have been having.

you: wah?

gojo: i said -

you: i heard you ... what did u want ??

he leans into your ear and whispers in it.

"i got a movie for you. way better than this shit they put on .. check it"

and you expect him to pick up the remote but he just fishes out his phone and pulls up a video from his gallery , and it looks blurry at first, but the camera comes into focus and,

your breath hitches.

it's a video taken of gojo, nose deep in some pussy. 

the video is taken by someone else clearly, his head in between their thighs just slurping up on that clit - it's so slick and wet and squishy and the audio isn't down so you are a few feet away from your friend on the couch , who's knocked

and you're just watching this, wide eyed and clutching onto this pillow for emotional support and gojo's hand on your shoulder feels heavier

you: hhhh satoru-san, i don't think i should be seeing this ... isn't it a little private ?

little is an understatement

gojo: well i don't mind showing if you don't mind watching ; )

you: ....okay

you whisper as you sink further into the chair.

he's showing you multiple videos.

there one where it's not his face - it's a girl's, about your age maybe - but he makes sure to point out that it is, in fact, his penis going into her mouth. it's so big she's tearing up. what you think is mascara follows tracks on her cheeks and you gasp at how sloppy the ordeal is. you wonder how she's even breathing.

then there's another one, where he's bouncing them on his cock so good they're crying, 

"deeper, deeper! harder - fuck!"

and that’s when you put your hand up to the phone and your cheeks are so hot they're numb. you feel like a voyeur !!! and you don't know if you enjoy it or are just shocked but something's getting to you !

gojo just points to the video , looks at you and says

"i think you'd look good in these kinds of movies. i think you're real pretty ..... n' well.... i'd fuck you."

and he giggles and pats your head and you're gaping like ???!!!!!????? satoru-san why are you speaking to me like that! 

you: "satoru - san. i .. i think you're handsome too but i don't ... i'm not ... "

gojo pulls your body closer to his, you're touching his torso with yours and

gojo: i really like the way you say my name. it's... kinda turning me on 

and you don't pull away when he grabs your hands and one onto his crotch, wraps your fingers around him until you’re cupping his balls and your thumb is grazing his clothed cock.

he's so annoying actually 😭

like satoru is cute !! you've told him as much several times !!

but your hand slowly traveling up hard cock is too too too much!

you: satoru-san! i've never umm.. really done something like this before ? please. we shouldn't, n-not here anyway.

gojo: we head up to my room ?

you: satoru-san ..... that's not what i meant..

but he's already picking you up easily and carrying you down the hall despite the little squeak of protest you offer!

he mentions something about being glad to "pop your cherry"

gojo: she's always on and on about how you've never had a boyfriend,,, ssssweird but that probably means you've never been fucked either right ???

you sputter and flush, satoru’s grin nearly reaching his ears as you tremble but don’t struggle in his grasp.

you: that's none of your business!! seriously what is -

he pushes his door open and you're cut off by him tossing you onto his bed, fumbling with his lamp until he remembers how to turn it on. 

your back hits his mattress and you sink into it immediately. satoru’s room is cool, but the situation at hand ensures that his decor is the last thing you’re interested in. the warm orange lamp light fades out the jewel tones of the night’s shadow, though gojo’s silhouette cuts into the brightness and for a moment his presence takes your breath away.

you feel like a mouse caught in cat’s teeth. “i know about your type.” the way he curves his words makes your ears perk up, your elbows propping your body up as you retort, “and what could you possibly know ‘bout m-me….?” your voice trails off as satoru clambers into bed beside you, overtaken by impossibly soft sheets, stare directed right at you.

“you wanna fuck. i know that look from a mile off. lucky for you, i can help you get off." he whispers in your ear, and you feel your pussy clench down on absolutely nothing. his hand brushes against your thigh and you quiver.

"hnn." you make a noise of indecision, the arousal pooling in your panties feels sticky and irritating, and satoru - the tease - stills his hand on your leg, and feels along your tummy instead.

"oooh."

"you like that baby?" he's disarmingly charming, coaxing you out of slumber into your grand sexual awakening.  "um.. i.." satoru pauses.

he mutters. "go on… use your words, precious." 

your resolve escapes you at satoru's teasing. he's already so experienced - his .. aptitude makes you confident that he'd treat you well, there's no reason why you shouldn't …

just be a little selfish.

"c-can we kiss?" gojo laughs a little softer than you're used to.

"what's so funny? i just want to-" satoru flips you onto him, gripping your hips and adjusting you so you comfortably lay atop his. 

"s'not funny, really. you're just as cute as i thought you'd be, though. wet pussy and all and you still just 'wanna kiss'." his second laugh is heartier, but not loud.

"watchu waiting for then?" he grins cheekily and you body grows frustrated. it's too hot in here.

 your hands are curled onto his chest, your head close enough to his that you can smell the alcohol on your breath - he could probably smell it on you, too - but you don't care.

he's hard beneath you. you feel his cock pressing into your ass and he uses his big hand to squish you against him. 

your cheeks burn.  "kiss me-"

your lips press to him with a fervent need. your inexperience is cute to him, so he lets you take the lead. you have spirit, the ambition of a slut - but no skill. you squeak and moan a little nervously as he deepens the kiss, his hands cupping your ass gently as he starts to play with it. he palms the fat in his hands and nips your lower lip before you pull back to catch your breath.

your body is hidden under your clothes and it makes gojo suck his teeth, trying to ascertain with his hands instead, those curves and planes of your body, starting at your hips and moving up. a whine gets caught in your throat as his hand creeps beneath your shirt and you realize just how cold he is.

"satoru!" you jolt, feel your nipples grow diamond tough in response.

"hush hush. they're still asleep, n' as far as they know, you were coming onto meee…" you look down at him, pupils blown and mouth parted and lips slick.

"you're a pervert, satoru-san. i-i'd tell them as much." satoru laughs louder and you can't be convinced he's not doing it on purpose, now.  your positions shift again.

you yelp as he flips you over suddenly once more, your back hitting a velvet duvet and your head gracing the soft, cool top of his pillow, your breathing more labored that it had been before. 

he whispers. "let me eat you out." he's already weaseled his way between your thighs, looking at your shorts like the idea of them offends him. "these shorts make ya ass look fat. but skirts are easier access. you ever wanna have a quickie again, take notes." he's already peeling them from your thighs, infernal heat pouring off you in waves. your panties follow in short order.

"oh wow." satoru's excitement renews unbidden, getting up close and personal with the pretty petals between your thighs and licking his lips like it's his last meal on earth.

you feel your nerves prickle. an uncertainty that pervades your chest cavity makes an uncomfortable heat rise. you can feel his every breath. your pussy throbs like it's your heart and for a moment, your unsettled. "hey!"

you clasp your hands over your mouth and satoru's eyes slowly drift up. "s-sorry. didn't mean to-"

"yell? 's fine. you still want me to keep going?" 

he looks unreal like this.

his hair sticks to his forehead a bit, swear dewing on his temple as he shudders and huffs, basking in this smell of you. is it sweet? his lip curls in hunger, and you know every instinct in him is primed to eat.

your hands find themselves tangled in his hair. you fold your fingers between the strands, flipping it up and out of his face. "yessss. please. i need this." you beg, and he gives in without ceremony.

the sensation is tantalizing. he curls his tongue in between your folds, gathering your slick on the tip of it. he groans, spreads your thighs wider so he can bury his whole face in your box.

first, it makes your spine twitch and your toes curl - the feeling so intense that your body wants to rip you away from it. your back arches; his lips wrap around your clit and you whine as he starts suckling on you. the sound of wet lips on wet pussy is obscene.

he slurps loudly, eagerly, not even paying mind to how quickly you've fallen apart in his arms. 

any mess he makes, he cleans up with his tongue. he laves the muscle over your precious pussy, teasing you with how deep he can go into the fold. 

you never noticed his tongue was so long. 

you're soaked. there's something coming - and you,

yelp just then, feeling the barest sensation of teeth against your cunt. "s-satoru!" (he chuckles into your muff and the sensation makes you groan.)

 even distracted, you can feel it. just stronger now. a coiled snake in the depths of you, beautiful and aching and eager to be free.

you've masturbated before - er, tried it. you're just a little awkward on your own, and it's never felt anywhere near this. incomparable in every sense of the word.

you didn't even realize you closed your eyes until you hear gojo say, "you squirt?"

the whole of your face burns. "i.." you're searching for breath you didn't notice you lost.

you shake your head. "i dunno-" 

"well, let's see." his hand leaves your thigh, and the pad of his thumb presses onto your clit molasses slow. the way he pushes and tugs at the nub nearly makes you cum on the spot.

your moan is broken and cracks, and you're too far gone to be embarrassed to ask for more. "you … are we going to h-have-" sex, is what you were going to say, but satoru interrupts, tearing his eyes away from your slick cunny.

"just say fuck. 'are you gonna fuck me'?" he mimics the lilt of your voice faithfully. "say it." he goads, urges you even, massaging your cute clit with his thumb. 

"a-are… are you gonna fuck me?" you mewl, and gojo's ministrations ease up. you don't know if you want to cry out in relief or desperation. your whole body feels like its throbbing. you need this so, so bad…

a mischievous glint in satoru's eye appears, sudden. you bite your lip.

"say my name." you don't hesitate.

"satoru-saaaan." gojo's breath catches. then he laughs at you. a question settles on your tongue - what's so funny - but you're shuddering and don't have a mouth to speak.

great thing that Satoru's observant.

"you're tryna be here all night, clearly." 

[ivystoryweaver]

3 Times Jake Lockley Tried to Kill You and 1 Time He Saved Your Life

Part 2 of 5: Gun

previous || Miniseries Masterlist || Main Masterlist || next

Pairing: Jake Lockley x f!reader

Summary: Jake creates a second chance to get the job done

Or: Will you get a new toy to play with?

Word Count: 1.8k

Content: Read all series warnings on the miniseries masterlist! nsfw, mdni, more below the cut

Part 2: Power imbalance, kidnapping, violence, language, stalking, very extremely dirty gun play, danger, masturbation, not beta'd

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A week passed before you left your penthouse.

Jake’s boss was not a patient man, but Jake convinced him that you were unreachable for a few days, and that he was on it. He sent new surveillance pictures to calm the man down, assuring him he would take care of the problem.

He wanted to wait longer. You were hurt, after all. No way you’d completely recovered from a stab wound, but you seemed determined to get back to your life. Of course, why did he care if you were fully recovered or still hurting if he was only looking for another opportunity to kill you?

Unfortunately, your inept bodyguards Dumb and Dumber added a third. So…Dumb and Dumber and Dumbest?

He only made things worse for himself for letting you live, but you got under his skin, plain and simple.

Another week passed before he could get you alone again, and it took practically 24/7 stalking to find his moment.

So…he had definitely descended into creep behavior.

Time to get this over with.

He found you in the park again, walking instead of jogging this time. Maybe your side still hurt.

The Dummies lingered close by, but Jake could handle a challenge.

He walked right by you with a nonchalant stroll, and pushed a gun into your (not wounded) side, ushering you into his car before your idiot bodyguards could react.

Despite your fantasies about this man over the past two weeks, terror flooded your body as he steered with one hand and held you at gunpoint with his other.

His clean shaven face momentarily distracted you - perhaps his first intelligent decision. He should at least try to hide from your father, and even a slight alteration to his appearance could prove helpful. His strong, sharp jawline and pliable lips made him seem simultaneously more approachable and somehow deadlier.

“Got your present,” he smoothly intoned. The corner of his mouth curled. “Brought you a new one to play with.”

“Okay. Okay,” you gasped, holding out your hands defensively. “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s working, all right? Just…do what you’re gonna do. You're scaring the shit out of me.”

Jake tutted, but kept his eyes on the road. “You really have a death wish, don’t you, Princesa?”

“Don’t call me that,” you spat. “My father calls me that. His princess.”

Probably not a great idea to bring up your father to the man who wanted revenge against him.

Jake held his tongue, driving in silence for another few minutes. Finally he pulled the car into a parking garage and drove down the bottom level, below street level, before turning off the engine and looking over at you.

“How are you feeling?” He asked you with a certain tenderness in his coffee colored eyes, as if he actually might care.

“What? Why the fuck do you care how I’m feeling?” You snapped. “You have a gun in my face and you stabbed me. I feel like shit. Like - terrified, impatient shit, thank you very much.”

“There it is,” he appreciatively chuckled. “I didn’t think one little stab wound would turn you into a damsel.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you clapped back, feigning courage. “Shooting someone is a hard crime to cover up. But I’m sure you know that because you look like the kind of asshole who does my father’s dirty work. You really want me splattered all over the inside of this piece of shit you call a car?”

Jake shoved the barrel of his gun right between your eyes. “You’re calling my car a piece of shit? That’s reason enough to pull the trigger, muñeca. We don’t all have daddy’s blood money to buy us toys.”

Despite your feistiness, a loaded gun between your eyes did give you pause. Your lips trembled as Jake dragged the gun down your nose to your mouth.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, tracing the fullness of your parted, panting lips with his weapon. “Shame I have to kill you.”

If someone paid you a billion dollars, you would never be able to puzzle out why you did it: but your tongue darted out to lick the barrel of his gun.

Jake locked eyes with you as you swirled your tongue around the cool metal. “You know how to use one of these, baby?” He purred, pushing the gun into your mouth.

You nodded slightly, body trembling as you wrapped your lips around the barrel, accepting it all the way to the back of your throat until you gagged.

Jake groaned, easing the gun back toward your lips, almost completely removing it from your mouth before fucking it back into your wet, waiting cavern. You started to bob your head, sucking the weapon like a cock, eyes locked on his as he shoved it over and over again…

…to the back of your throat, gagging you, to the front of your lips until drool spilled out the corners of your mouth.

“Good girl,” he rasped, finally removing the offending metal from you completely.

Your lust-soaked panties didn’t prevent you from collapsing in a small measure of relief after your wild but dangerous display. He could have blown your head off, even by accident, and still probably intended to.

“You didn’t answer me,” he chided, using the gun’s barrel to lift your chin back up, forcing you to look at him. “I can see you know how to use that pretty mouth, but do you know how to use this?”

Shaking your head quickly, you wanted to scream as he condescendingly chuckled. “Of course not. You are a princess. Here.” Shoving the thing into your trembling fingers, he made sure to turn on the safety. He reached for your opposite hand, correctly positioning your grip in his gloved hands.

“Two hands, like this,” he instructed. “No action movie bullshit.”

His eyebrows shot up, waiting for you to respond. You slowly nodded.

“It’s loaded, but - " Positioning your finger by the safety, he showed you how to use it correctly. “Safety first. Don’t ever take the safety off unless you have a plan to get rid of a body.”

“Why?” You gasped, your hands dipping under the weight of the weapon as he finally removed his own. “How do you know I won’t shoot you?”

And he smiled. “I don’t.”

“I will,” you huffed, shoving the gun into his chest. “I’ll do it.”

Jake wet his lips, his eyes darkening as he cocked his head to the side. “Take it. You need a new toy to play with tonight, when you’re thinking about me.”

“You asshole - "

“You started this,” he lowly growled, “by sending me that knife instead of giving it to daddy.” His voice dropped an octave as he leaned in, his breath ghosting your lips. “I bet you shove this gun in your pussy the way you let me shove it into your mouth,” he taunted, slowly reaching up to put his hand over yours before pushing the gun down between your legs.

You whimpered, thinking this was it. He was about to shoot you right now.

“Safety’s on, baby,” he leaned in and breathed on your ear, pushing the gun lower until it rested over your panties.

“You’re wet right now, aren’t you?” He taunted, slowly rubbing the gun back and forth.

“Dammit, I knew you were a pervert,” you whispered, unable to muster a convincing amount of guile.

Jake immediately removed his hands, holding them up as if surrendering. “I’m never going to touch you like that until you ask me to.”

“I’ll fucking kill you first,” You growled, shoving the gun back into his chest.

He easily disarmed you, pointing the gun right at your head. “Get out.”

Shit. Shit, this was it. “I-if those are my last words, I can do better.”

He actually laughed. “Get the fuck out.”

He waited until you opened the car door before deftly removing the magazine and tossing the pieces out behind you. “Keep it. Someone’s trying to kill you.”

Reaching over to close the door, he peeled out of the parking garage, leaving you there alone. And armed. Sort of.

“Asshole!” You screamed after him.

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You dreaded your bodyguards questioning where you went and why you suddenly had possession of a weapon. But when they finally got your call, you decided to turn the tables, letting them know that if your father found out you were missing today, on their watch, he would use the gun in your hand to put holes in the backs of their heads.

They left you alone.

You were reeling by the time you got back to your penthouse, but inevitably, nighttime came.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” The smooth velvet of his voice echoed in your head. “Good girl…I bet you shove it in your pussy…”

You weren’t about to shove a loaded gun anywhere in your body, so you left the magazine out and took off all your clothes, sliding under the sheets.

“Take it. You need a new toy to play with tonight, when you’re thinking about me..”

You dragged the barrel of the gun across your hard nipples, just the way you played with the knife. The simple memory of his voice had you soaked already.

“I fucking hate you,” you whispered into the dark, somehow wishing he could hear you as you plunged the gun’s barrel into your dripping cunt.

“Oh fuck…” The metal wasn’t as forgiving as one of your toys, but your pussy clenched and quivered just the same, knowing he predicted you would fuck yourself with his weapon - that he hoped you would.

With two fingers, you circled your clit, wishing you could pant his name as you writhed and fucked down harder, but…

you still didn’t know him.

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Jake waited a few days, wondering if you’d send the gun back to him, covered in your juices, but maybe you’d wised up. If you had any sense at all, you’d give it to the police, but he was certain you wouldn’t.

His employer was growing impatient.

And even Jake didn’t understand why he was dragging his feet...except that seeing you sent a thrill jolting through him he couldn't understand.

But time to get this shit done or it would be him at the bottom of the river. The fire in your voice as you snapped back at him like a wounded animal...the memory of the rise and fall of your breasts as you pretended not be afraid of him - the misplaced desire in you to be brave, even though no one in your life cared enough to teach you basic self-defense or how to handle a firearm... You were not the victim here. Your family made victims. He couldn't be your savior.

It was you or him.

So no more games.

next

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Jake Lockley-Centric stories

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[illiterateaffairs]

DISTRACTIONS V | A SLIGHT MALFUNCTION

pairing: jamie tartt x f!reader (ted lasso)

rating: T

word count: 5,901

summary: afc richmond is off to amsterdam for an exhibition match, but the problem with going on a trip with the team is that jamie is on the team. poor guy just wants to know what he did wrong.

A/N: if someone is out of character in this chapter, no they aren’t. pretend i’m a perfect writer!

distractions masterlist | previous chapter

So you’re definitely screwed - and not in a fun way.

The evening when Jamie came over to share pizza and watch Grey’s Anatomy with you ended with him spending the night. It was the first time he did so without sex being involved. The worst part was that you initiated it. You both let time get away from you - and Jamie became very invested in Meredith and Derek’s tumultuous relationship - so you told him he could crash since it was so late. You’d offered timidly, fearing he’d think it was weird since this wasn’t your usual routine. But he didn’t even hesitate in agreeing, and you didn’t turn him away when he followed you to your bedroom. 

Something shifted between the two of you after that. You actually felt like the friends part of your friends with benefits situation carried more weight. Now when he came over, instead of immediately jumping each other’s bones, you shared a meal, watched a show, or even played a game after Jamie noticed the few board games you had stowed away in your closet. 

And you talked more, too. He started telling you stories about his family; how close he and his mom were, and the strained relationship between him and his father. He never went into much detail, but you could gather that his dad was definitely not a great person. You liked that he trusted you enough, though, to let you in on even a tiny bit of his struggles. It made you understand him better. Naturally, you also started sharing more with him, such as how lost you felt before coming to the U.K. You’d confided in him about the lack of friends you had back in Chicago, since Mason practically isolated you from the world outside of his own, and how insecure that made you. “Well, now you’ve got a whole football club who’d do just about anything for you,” he’d whispered, gently running a finger across your cheek as the two of you laid in bed. 

At one point you almost told him a funny story about your childhood that involved Ted, but you bit your tongue and gave your uncle a fake name. Jamie cackled, though, as you described your Uncle Steve’s attempt at helping you with a science fair project that ended with baking soda shooting out of your fake volcano and into his eye. When you caught yourself musing that Jamie’s laugh must be the greatest sound in the whole world, you knew you were in trouble. 

You were fucking screwed. You and Jamie agreed: no feelings. The second one of you felt weird or that you didn’t want casual sex anymore, you’d stop. You never discussed what would happen if one of you felt more, because it seemed implausible. Yet, here you were.

The obvious solution was to call it off. Jamie probably wouldn’t care. On to the next. But the selfish part of you couldn’t do it. He was just so cute and sweet and he made you feel good. And not just in bed - in general. When you were around him, you felt confident and happy and safe. Mason, at least towards the end, made you feel anxious and inept and small. 

Maybe that was why you were feeling so over attached. You were used to the bare minimum from a guy, that now that a decent one was showing you attention and kindness, you were obsessing over him. 

But Jamie wasn’t just decent, he was…Jamie. And despite every bone in your body telling you not to, you really liked him. 

So, over the course of the last few days, you did what any reasonable person would do: ignore the problem until it just goes away. Unfortunately, the problem was Jamie and he was a little hard to ignore, since you worked with him. But you did your best to put some distance between the two of you. When he wanted to come over, you told him you had plans with Sam or Keeley. When he wanted to sneak away to your office, you told him Rebecca needed you. When he showed up at your flat with takeout from the Chinese restaurant you’d offhandedly mentioned loving once, to which he remembered, you fucked him on the couch and ate cold lo mein afterwards. But that was your only moment of weakness. 

You told yourself you couldn’t avoid him forever; just long enough for your feelings to dissipate. You were just in some sort of honeymoon phase, and once the novelty of him wears off, you can be normal about everything, until you both inevitably get bored of each other and move on. It was never meant to last forever. 

You have to ignore the way your heart aches at that thought. 

It’s because of your fool proof plan to get over Jamie that you decide not to attend Richmond’s exhibition match in Amsterdam this weekend. Something you hadn’t told Jamie, or anyone for that matter. Which is why you’re starting to feel particularly awkward as Ted sits across from you at your desk and goes on and on about the trip. 

“I was thinking when we get there, we could grab breakfast and sight-see for a bit before the game. Maybe Beard will tag along. What do you think?”

You’re pushing a piece of chicken around your plate absentmindedly when Ted looks up at you, and furrows his brows.

“What’s wrong, Kiddo?” he asks, setting his own plate onto your desk. 

You look up, with wide eyes, “Who, me? Nothings wrong. I’m great! Fucking fantastic.”

He tilts his head, fixing you a look.

Your shoulders drop as you sigh, “I just…don’t think I’m going to go to Amsterdam this weekend.”

Ted’s eyes widen in shock, “What? Why not? I thought you’d be excited! New country, new adventures. You know, Amsterdam is one step closer to Iceland.”

You huff out a laugh as you rub your temple. “I know, and I do want to. I’ve just been feeling kind of run down lately. I feel like life's been kind of go, go, go since I got here. Which has been great! But it’s catching up with me and I think I just need to unwind for a weekend by myself.”

While this isn’t exactly the truth, life has been a bit hectic, so you hope he buys it. Ted nods thoughtfully, as though he wants to ask more, but accepts your answer. 

This time you tilt your head and give him a pointed look, “What?”

“Nothing,” Ted’s quick to respond, “What you said makes sense. I guess I just haven’t checked in on how you’ve been coping with everything. You’ve seemed so happy since you’ve been here. You and Sam seem to get along real well, and Rebecca always sings your praises. But you are thousands of miles away from the only home you’ve ever known. Heck, I’ve been here for almost three years, and I still sometimes wake in a cold sweat craving barbeque sauce.” Ted smiles when you giggle. “All I’m saying is it's okay to miss home; to miss your parents, even to miss he-who-shall-no be named.” 

You're surprised when, despite Ted avoiding his name, the allusion to Mason doesn’t make your head spin. You snort, “Well, while I do miss my dads and deep dish pizza, I can assure you I do not miss Voldemort.”

Ted hums, “That’s good.”

“You’re right, though. I honestly have really loved my life here these past few months, but I think I made myself skip the part where I processed all the changes. So, I think some time to just be will be good for me.”

“I think so, too,” he nods, “But the team and I sure will miss you this weekend.”

You don’t have time to bask in the sentiment when a knock comes through your office door. Before you can respond, the door opens to reveal Jamie. 

You swear time stops for a second, as Jamie looks from you to Ted, and Ted looks from Jamie to you. You just blink, practically staring into the abyss. You know Jamie is scrambling for an excuse as to why he’s here, as you try to rationalize why either one of them is in your office. Thankfully, Ted has more than one brain cell and is able to play it cool.

“Hey, Jamie, what brings you here?” Ted greets cheerfully.

“I’m, uh, here to ask if I can see the videos we got today at practice.” Jamie makes up and you’re almost proud, “I have to make sure my public image is maintained.”

“Yes, he’s very stringent about that.” You add on, giving Ted a playful eye roll about Jamie’s ‘antics’, and he’s none the wiser. Ted gives you an amused smile. 

The older man gets up and starts gathering trash into the takeout bag to dispose of. “Well, I should get going. Thanks for dinner, Kiddo. Don’t tell Roy, but this is why you’re my favorite coworker.” Ted turns to you in the doorway and winks from behind Jamie. He pats the younger man on the shoulder, and as he leaves, shouts back, “Good night, you two.” 

Jamie shuts the door behind him, “Do you have dinner with Ted often?”

You shrug, “Sometimes.” 

Jamie nods, and you’re relieved neither of them were suspicious of anything. You’re still overwhelmed by the two of them crossing paths like that, that you’re late to processing that you and Jamie are alone in your dimly lit office which is exactly the type of situation you’re trying to avoid. However, Jamie doesn’t initiate anything like you’d expected. Instead, he flops down into the chair across from you, almost dejectedly. He beats you to the punch before you can ask.

“Why aren’t you coming to Amsterdam?”

That takes you aback, “You heard that?” You glance briefly in the direction Ted disappeared in, “Did you hear anything else?”

“No,” Jamie frowns, “I got here right when Ted said the team would miss you.”

You hold back a relieved sigh. 

“We will miss you, by the way,” Jamie adds, “Me especially.”

Your stomach flutters. What the hell did that mean?

“Really?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah,” Jamie nods, “Hotels are the best places to have sneaky sex.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, honestly grateful he’d snapped you out of your stupor. 

“Sure they are. Especially when you’re sharing a room with one of your teammates.” 

“Well, I could get us our own room. A private suite. Maybe with a jacuzzi tub.” Jamie reaches across the table, taking your hand and rubbing it gently with his thumb. “That is, if you come with us this weekend.

You stare longingly at your intertwined fingers and he almost has you. Luckily, you have a miniscule shred of willpower left. 

“I’m sorry, Jamie,” you reluctantly pull your hand from his, “I really need to stay in Richmond this weekend. I need some time to relax.”

“Well, I could help you do that,” Jamie scoffs.

“Jamie, please.”

You must give away how desperate you are in your tone, because Jamie’s playful expression changes to concern.

“Are you alright?” he asks, “Did something happen?”

“No,” you shake your head aggressively, “I promise. I just want some alone time. I feel like my social battery just needs to recharge, you know?”

After a moment, Jamie still looks unsure, but nods. You think he’s going to say something else, before he’s standing up. 

“I guess I’ll see you next week, then?” 

You nod, and then throw him an encouraging smile, “Break a leg this weekend.”

Jamie’s face scrunches in confusion as he juts back, “What?”

You squint, “You’ve never heard that saying?” he shakes his head, “It means good luck.”

“Why the fuck would breaking a leg be good luck?”

You stare at him for a few seconds before frowning, “I don’t actually know.” 

He shakes his head and continues to the doorway, giving you one last look as he wishes you a goodnight and disappears from view. 

Sourly, you realize this was the first time he hasn’t offered to drive you home since you’ve met.  Maybe that was for the best. 

Jamie Tartt doesn’t yearn. 

He’s liked plenty of women. He’s even loved a couple of them. But he doesn’t obsess over them. 

You’re different, though. Apparently. 

As soon as he left your office after finding out you weren’t coming to Amsterdam, he couldn’t stop thinking about you all night. It really wasn’t a big deal. It was two days. You weren’t even a couple. And yet, the idea of being apart for that long made his chest hurt. What the fuck was that about?

He’d been having confusing feelings a lot recently when it came to you. The two of you are closer than ever, bonding over little things between really, really great sex. At the same time, he felt like you were pulling away, and he couldn’t understand why. He thought you were having fun together. It really seemed like you enjoyed yourself, whether the two of you were just hanging out, or participating in your more extracurricular activities. But maybe you were getting tired of it. Maybe you were getting tired of him. 

Shit. What did he do wrong?

And why does it bother him so much?

It was all your fault, really.

You with your kind heart and sweet compliments, which didn’t feel earned but he appreciated. You with your safe and comfortable embraces. You with your absolutely addictive laugh, that he’d jump through hoops to hear over and over again. You with your fucking eyes and the way you touch him during nights together, making him feel so wanted. You’ve gotten him accustomed to a certain lifestyle, one that he’s never experienced before, so now he wasn’t sure how to go back to before you started hooking up. Maybe that was what unnerved him. He was afraid if you stopped the benefits, the friendship would also stop, too. A little bit was about missing the sex, but mostly he’d miss you. 

God, how you’ve ruined him. 

Now here he was, surrounded by his teammates, in one of the greatest cities in the world, as they all mourned yet another loss. Despite how soul crushing these consecutive losses have been, Jamie finds himself more upset by the fact that he can’t see you tonight. With that thought propelling him, he jogs out of the locker room and finds an empty hallway to call you in. He doesn’t care if this makes him seem weird or desperate. He just wants to hear your voice. 

“Hey, Jamie,” your soft voice answers after two rings. He clocks that you still sound a bit off, but it soothes him nonetheless, “I saw the game. I’m sorry.”

He manages to laugh, “Why are you watching football when you’re supposed to be relaxing?”

He smiles when he hears your own laugh through the phone, “I can multitask.” 

There’s a beat of silence before you continue, “How’re you feeling? How’s the rest of the team?”

“Everyone’s miserable,” Jamie says point blankly. 

“Wow, no hesitation there.”

“Yeah,” Jamie chuckles dryly, “Wish you were here, though.”

He listens intently as you sharply inhale. When you don’t respond after a few seconds, he calls out your name. 

“Hey, Jamie, I’m in the middle of cooking dinner and if I don’t hurry, half of it is going to boil over. I’ll talk to you later, yeah? Tell the team hi for me.” 

Before Jamie can even say goodbye, you’ve hung up. That doesn’t sit well with him. Not just because you ended the call so abruptly, but because he knew you really only cooked when you were anxious. Something was definitely up. Even if it had nothing to do with him, he finds himself wishing you’d at least want to confide in him.

Later that day, when the team has boarded the bus, the morale is criminally low. It’s so bad that it has Ted Lasso declaring that he’s revoking curfew and encouraging everyone to pull an all-nighter in Amsterdam. Suddenly, Jamie’s mood is boosted for the first time all week. A night of debauchery with his teammates was the perfect thing to get his mind off of their losing streak and you. Unfortunately, Roy has his own shit going on and decides that he needs to take it out on Jamie, by forcing him into an all night training session. Despite the disappointment, Jamie will take a distraction in any form at this point. 

So, he plasters on a smile and forces Roy on a running tour of Amsterdam. By nightfall, he’s annoyed the grumpy coach into admitting, one, that he’s never seen a windmill and doesn’t believe they exist, and two, that he doesn’t know how to ride a bike. 

Naturally this leads to Jamie teaching Roy how to do exactly that. After a series of attempts that are simultaneously humorous, frustrating, and endearing, Roy successfully manages to stay upright, and the two of them bike off in search of a windmill. 

For some reason, Jamie finds it in himself to apologize to Roy for making fun of him earlier. He’s also surprising himself when he tells Roy about his childhood visits to Amsterdam. The first involves a suppressed memory of his father taking him to lose his virginity, and the second with his mother, that he actually looks back on fondly. He’s never told anyone about either of these trips - even you. 

He supposes Roy could sense this, when he makes an admission of his own; that he’d been taking his anger out on Jamie because he’d found out Keeley has a new girlfriend. That’s all Roy says on the matter and Jamie doesn’t push him for more. 

Not long after that, they finally make it to a windmill. Jamie genuinely smiles, taking it as a win when Roy appears mildly happy. If Jamie could tell his childhood self he’s staring at a windmill in Amsterdam with his hero, that kid would probably shit himself. Now Jamie’s just happy they get along at all. 

Maybe it's because of the bond they seemed to forge that night, or maybe it's the sleep deprivation, but as they start biking back, Jamie finds himself confiding in Roy about something else. 

“Hey, can I get your opinion on something?” Roy doesn’t say yes, but he also doesn’t say no, so Jamie continues, “I’ve been sleeping with this girl-”

Roy groans.

“I know, just hear me out. We’ve been hooking up for a while now, and it's just casual, which is great, but recently she’s been acting weird. I think she’s making up excuses not to see me and it bothers me that she’s not telling me what’s bothering her. But we’re not in a relationship, so why should I care? I mean, I do care. Like, if she’s upset I want to know so I can help fix it. But I care as a friend, ya know? I guess what I’m trying to figure out is how to ask her what’s been going on, without fucking up our situation and making her think I like her more than I do,” Jamie explains in a rush. 

Roy discreetly rolls his eyes, “Well, it does sound like you fucking like her.” 

“What?” Jamie almost veers off the road, “I do not!”

“Yeah, you definitely do.”

“No, we’re just friends who occasionally have sex,” Jamie states firmly. 

“Alright, so if she told you she wanted to stop?”

Jamie hesitates, but eventually responds assuredly, “I’d respect her wishes.”

“And if she wanted to start seeing someone else?”

Jamie’s expression becomes pained. 

Roy chuckles as he shakes his head, “I fucking told you.” 

Jamie sighs, “Shit.”

“What?”

“I’m not supposed to…like her.” I promised myself. This was not the time for Jamie to spiral, but now his heart was racing. He knew he was too attached to you, but liking you? Romantically? And all it took was Roy fucking Kent to point out the obvious for it to sink in. 

“Well, tough shit,” his coach scoffs, “You like her, so what? You think she doesn’t like you? She must if she’s been putting up with you for however long.”

“Gee, thanks,” Jamie rolls his eyes, “And I have no idea how she feels, but that’s not what freaks me out. Its if she does feel the same way, it’ll be real, and when I inevitably fuck it up, I…I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ve never met someone like her, and the last thing I want to do is mess things up like I always do.” 

“So instead of the risk of potentially getting hurt down the line, you’d rather knowingly hurt yourself now by pretending like you don’t have feelings at all and hope they’ll go away?”

Jamie glances at Roy briefly before letting out a humorless laugh, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Roy nods ruefully, “Yeah. I know a thing or two about that.” 

Jamie sits with Roy’s admission. He assumes it's in reference to his breakup with Keeley, and he’s seen how he’s handled that. Maybe he should tell you, and maybe you’d live happily ever after. But there was still a chance you didn’t have the same feelings, especially with how you were seemingly avoiding him. That didn’t really give him a vote of confidence. After a few moments, Jamie’s brought out of his thoughts when Roy surprises him by saying your name.

“It's her isn’t it,” Roy asks, “She’s the girl you’ve been seeing?”

Jamie narrows his eyes, wanting to deny it, but not seeing the point, “How’d you know?”

Roy shrugs, “You’ve just seemed…,” it nearly pains him to say, “Happier, since she’s been around.” 

Jamie’s eyes soften, but then turns mischevious. He practically smirks despite the weight of this conversation, “You obsessed with me or something, coach?”

Roy grunts, “Shut the fuck up.”

“I have been, though,” Jamie admits, “Happier. Like I said, I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s so smart and funny, and so goddamn nice, despite some of the shit she’s been through. No matter how hard I try, I don’t think I’ll ever deserve her.”

Roy takes in Jamie’s words thoughtfully. “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit.” 

Jamie chances a glance at Roy, surprised by his words.

“You’re a good guy, Jamie. And she’d be lucky to have you.”

Jamie tries not to be touched by Roy’s compliment, but a small smile finds its way on his face. Not many people have said this about him - he’s not even sure he believes it himself. He doesn’t know how to respond to convey his appreciation, so he just softly says, “Thanks.”

Roy looks over to Jamie and gives him a meaningful nod. “But if you tell anyone I said any of this I’ll fucking deny it.”

Jamie manages a laugh. “Aye aye, coach.” 

Despite his insecurities, Roy’s belief in him is almost enough encouragement to want to tell you everything and see where it goes. You had been putting up with him - to borrow Roy’s words. More than that, up until recently, he felt the two of you growing even closer, so there could be a chance it was because you were starting to develop feelings for him, too. He was inclined to believe it was all in his head, but maybe he should start looking at the glass half full instead of completely empty. 

While he definitely wouldn’t be professing his feelings to you right away, he was allowing himself to feel something akin to hope. 

Wow. Losing an exhibition match, bonding with Roy Kent, and denying but eventually accepting his feelings for you all in one night. When in Amsterdam. 

The pair continue to bike down the street in comfortable silence. That is until Roy accidentally veers off the road into the woods.

“Fuck!”

Back in Richmond, you’re doing a horrible job of getting your mind off of Jamie.

You started your evening by watching their match, which definitely defeated half the purpose of not going with them to Amsterdam, but you used wanting to support the team as an excuse. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of Jamie, though, so by the time the game was ending, you were knee deep in making a whole-ass lasagna you definitely couldn’t eat by yourself. After their unfortunate loss, you sent Sam an apologetic text with a lot of emojis. What you weren’t expecting was Jamie to call you, and you felt like not answering would be rude. You thought you could handle a friendly conversation, but then he was saying something about missing you and you were panicking and hanging up before you could process what you were doing. 

You knew your tactics of avoiding him wasn’t exactly a nice thing to do. You just were not a confrontational person, and even though Jamie would most likely be cool with, well, cooling things off, you didn’t know how to express that to him. Jamie didn’t seem like the type to be angry at you for just asking for what you wanted, or try to convince you to change your mind, like someone else you once knew, but past circumstances clouded your brain, making it more difficult to try. 

So for now, you’d try to find the space to let any feelings go away on their own. Because that will definitely work. 

After over-indulging in homemade Italian food, you try to get invested in some good old TV. You try watching something new, not having had time to binge watch as of late, but you couldn’t focus on the plot enough to get invested. So, you tried watching Grey’s Anatomy, per usual, but even the iconic Cristina Yang wasn’t enough to keep your mind off of Jamie. As a last ditch effort, you threw on a trashy reality show but of course that reminded you of Jamie. 

Giving up on television altogether, you decide to Facetime your dads and catch up with them. Admittedly, you hadn’t had the chance to have a long conversation with them in a few weeks, only speaking to them briefly over text or quick calls between work and football matches. You were instantly comforted once their faces filled your phone screen, and you vowed never to go this long without speaking to them. 

Dad and Pops take turns filling you in on their life in Kansas, from work woes to neighborhood gossip. They also tell you about going to Henry’s soccer games and how well he’s been doing. It warms your heart that he’s most likely taken up this sport in honor of his dad. They also inquire about how work has been going for you (”it’s still really great!”) and whether there’s anything else of note to share (”nope!”). You wonder if they can sense the nervous energy radiating off of you through the phone. 

Then they ask you if you’ve been writing at all. For some reason this catches you off guard. It was as if you’ve never heard of the concept. When you first got to England, you’d try so hard to write during your off time. Rebecca has even encouraged you to do so when things were light at work. However, writer’s block was still plaguing you. And recently, all of your free time was taken up by team outings, dinners with Ted, and being with Jamie. But here you are, free from all of those things for the first time in weeks. 

After talking to your dads for nearly an hour, ending with a promise to do this more often, you’re hanging up and running for your laptop. You plop down on the couch and pull up a blank word document. To no surprise, you stare at the blank page for five minutes when no ideas come to mind. Normally, this would segue into you opening Google News to see if any little piece of media struck inspiration. When you do this, the first article you see is about AFC Richmond facing another defeat. 

You groan, closing the browser immediately. When you’re face to face with the empty page again, you aggressively smash your computer keyboard.

Fuck Jamie Tartt. 

For some reason, typing the words out on the page made you feel a tiny bit better, so you keep going.

Fuck him and his stupidly attractive face and his dumb, endearing jokes. Fuck him and his ability to invade my every thought, and the way he somehow knows exactly what to say to make me feel better when I’m sad. Fuck him and his surprising thoughtfulness and his sense of humor that perfectly complements my own. Fuck him for being so good at fucking me, that he’s probably ruined me for anyone else. Fuck. Jamie. Tartt. 

You stare at your stream of consciousness thoughtfully. It was like you were making a pro-con list where every con was just a pro you didn’t want to be true. These were all things that drove you nuts about Jamie - the way he became such a light in your life without you giving him permission to. He was supposed to be a safe choice because he was so unsafe. His reputation was bullshit. He wasn’t just someone you fooled around with until you got bored, or he did. He was someone you could see yourself being with forever without growing tired of him. 

Okay, avoiding him definitely wasn’t enough while these intrusive thoughts were circling your brain.

You reread the words on your screen one last time, as your hand hovers over the backspace. Before you click it, you find yourself amused by your chaotic ramblings. You even find yourself thinking…this would be a very intriguing first line of a book. 

It would take some fine tuning and obviously a name-change, but if you’d picked up a book and this was the opening sentence, you’d absolutely need to know more. 

Running with this thought, you start tweaking your words, while you simultaneously try to envision a circumstance for this story outside of your own. 

A friends with benefits storyline would be a little too on the nose, but enemies to lovers is always a good trope. Maybe after this first line, you could jump back in time, making readers wait until the book was halfway through to learn the context for this angry thought. 

Suddenly, you’re taking all your ideas and running with them. You switch between writing paragraphs, to writing ideas, outlining scenes, and jotting down incoherent thoughts that you’re not sure fit, but could honestly be enough of a thought-starter for a whole other story. No matter how it all fits together, you’re pretty dead set on a romantic comedy angle. You wonder why you hadn’t had the idea for one before, considering it was one of your favorite genres as a consumer. It probably has nothing to do with the lack of romantic-comedy-energy from your last relationship. And certainly there’s no correlation to being able to write one now with the current situation you were in.

Before you know it, it's the middle of the night and you’ve been writing for hours. You’re not sure any of its good, but its something. The one thing you know, as your eyes begin to droop, is that you’re not going to write anything of substance while your energy is sufficiently drained. 

You force yourself off the couch, managing to plug your computer in, before you crash on your bed. The next time your eyes open, its 9AM, and with barely seven hours of rest, you feel too wired to go back to sleep, anxious to start writing again. So, you put on a pot of coffee and fire up your laptop. You’re relieved you’d had enough of a brain at 3AM to save your document. 

You spend the whole day writing, only stopping for snacks and bathroom breaks. You only become aware of what time it is when someone pounds on your door as the afternoon turns to evening. You hastily save your word doc before sliding over to the door. You should be surprised that Jamie occupies the other side, but you really weren’t. What surprised you was how much he looked like a zombie. 

“Jamie?” you arch your eyebrow, as you move out of the way so he can cross the threshold, shutting the door in his wake, “Everything okay?”

“Guess what,” he says with a dopey smile on his face, “Ted let us stay up all night, so I taught Roy how to ride a bike and we saw a windmill.”

Part of you wants to laugh, but the rest of you is just really confused. 

“Wait, you didn’t sleep last night?”

“Mhmm,” he nods once.

“God, you should be passed out at home right now. Why are you here?” Your eyes widen, “Don’t tell me you drove in this condition.” 

“I ordered an Uber,” he explains sleepily as he takes your hand and tugs you to your bedroom.

Despite your plan to disengage in sexual activities - and all activities - with him, you don’t bother arguing knowing this wasn’t going anywhere while he was this tired. Still, you curse yourself for finding a sleep deprived Jamie very adorable. 

You giggle as he plops down onto your bed face first. He manages to hold onto your hand as you stare down at him from beside the bed. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” Jamie just mumbles incoherently into your mattress. Giving up entirely, you go to fold the comforter over him, having not bothered to make your bed this morning. “While you are welcome to nap here, I’m sure your fancy bed at home would be much more comfortable.” 

As you begin to tuck him in, he turns over suddenly, and pulls you onto the bed beside him.

“Yeah, but you’re not there and I wanted to see you,” he mumbles tiredly, his eyes fluttering up and down slowly. 

You allow yourself to bask in this moment, with your face a few inches from his. Sitting up slightly, you gently trace your fingers over his eyelids, coaxing him to sleep.

“Well, now that you’ve seen me, you can close your eyes and get some rest,” you whisper. His face nuzzles against your hand a little before he settles into your pillow. 

He mumbles something else, but then you’re pretty sure he’s fully passed out.

Sighing, you push yourself up and out of the bed. Per usual, he doesn’t stir at the movement, nor when you shut the bedroom door as you head back to the living room. 

Once you’re alone and back on the couch, you let out a long sigh and rub your face. He does not make it easy, does he? 

Even as warmth spreads across your face, Jamie’s words about wanting to see you echoing in your head, an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach. If you really wanted to get rid of the feelings you had for Jamie - feelings that were rapidly increasing by the second - you couldn’t avoid him forever.

You were going to have to end your “relationship”.

Suddenly, you’ve lost the motivation to continue writing a romantic comedy for the rest of the night. It was fun while it lasted. 

You’re not sure you mean your sudden ability to write again or something else. 

A/N: well that’s no good! lol, this was the hardest chapter to do, i rewrote some of it several times, so please let me know what you think of it!

Taglist:  @atabigail @boundtomyfate @sammysgirl1997 @lil-tracys @shephard17895 @alaspice @itsbarbraann @redpool @drmeghanjones @straightforwardly @alex-sulli @aiyaiy @artemismaximoff @roadtoself-love @theloud-yet-quietone @forcesofgrief @kirisimpster @geek-and-proud @grippleback-galaxy @lalla-04p @gabbycoady13 @royalestrellas @qardasngan @creationcitystreet-em @percysaidnever @emily-b @mrfitzsimmons @k-n-e @agentstarkid @legobatmans9thab @mrsprongs25 @escapismqueen @sokkigarden @for-fuck-sake-im-alive @dollfaceyourfear @dicgohargreeves @heyitz-julia @vampirodelascajas @grxcesmind​ @lizziel1410​ @a-sweet-little-fangirl @scaramou @beardsplitter @gcidrvsh @ringpopdust @marveltg365 @optimisticsandwichgladiator it wouldn’t let me tag the last few of you, let me know if its something with your settings, otherwise i can keep trying in future updates! <3

[gintrinsic-writing]

A Fuckless Year

It’s just a kiss, Legend tells himself. Just a kiss. One stupid, little kiss. This is, like, the least frightening thing I’ve ever faced. 

Oh hells, who is he kidding? This is terrifying. 

Ravio leans in ever so slightly. “Pardon? You, uh...” 

“What?” Legend blurts uncomfortably.

“You said good night, and then you…” Ravio clears his throat lightly. “You paused and looked at me. With your eyes.”

Legend almost laughs. Instead, he makes a sound like a dying frog, then waves both hands in denial. “How else am I supposed to look at you, idiot?” he asks, knowing exactly what Ravio meant. 

“Shrill,” Ravio accuses. Legend hopes the chain can’t hear them from the guest bedrooms. “You only ever sound shrill when you’re guilty!”

“I was—” Legend clears his throat and purposely makes his voice deeper. “I was not shrill. I’ve never been shrill in my life.”

Ravio pinches the bridge of his nose. The tips of his ears are endearingly pink. “Link…”

It’s just a kiss! You’re the goddess-damned Hero of Courage! Act like it! 

But instead Legend stands there like a loser, palms unreasonably sweaty, heart racing like it hasn’t since the last time fought that pig Ganon. He inhales slowly and counts to three, prepared to, well, do something, maybe, but Ravio suddenly holds out a hand. 

“Hey,” Ravio murmurs, expression soft and achingly affectionate, “let’s go to bed.”

Legend’s jaw drops before he can help it, and his entire face burns. “B-bed?” He yanks off his hat and runs a hand through his hair. He can’t seem to decide where to stare. “You—But I—We haven’t even—We should at least kiss first!”

Ravio’s face goes through at least four stages of grief, by Legend’s rapid approximation. Ravio slaps his palms together as if about to pray, then presses his fingertips to his lips. His eyes are comically wide. “Link, my hero, my best customer, my regular headache—what?”

“You were the one who said let’s go to bed!” 

Legend slaps a hand over his mouth as soon as he finishes shouting. They both wince in tandem, eyeing the stairs, but there’s no noise from the others. Legend just knows there’ll be embarrassing hell to pay come morning, though. He drops his voice to a whisper: “You said bed. Did you—Oh fuck, you didn’t mean…?”

“No!” Ravio whispers back. “I mean, not that I’m opposed, but.”

Legend’s throat is so fucking dry. “You’re not opposed,” he repeats dumbly. 

“Of course not! But just then, I meant sleep. Which people do in bed. You have a bed. Your own bed.” Ravio’s ears droop as his own dumb words catch up to him. “It was simply an invitation to retire for the night, separately!”

“But,” and Legend can’t seem to move past this point, Din burn him, “but you’re not opposed?”

“Ohhh my Goddess!” Ravio hisses. “What are you, some closeted creep? If you must know, then yes, I’m interested. I have been for a fucking year! Or should I say, a fuckless year, thanks to you and your stupid—your stupid—” He grips the air as if strangling some invisible menace. “You’re inept!”

Legend doesn’t think his self-esteem can get any lower at this point. “It’s not like you’ve been giving clues,” he begins weakly, but clearly that’s the wrong thing to say.

“Haven’t been giving clues? Haven’t been giving clues!” Ravio half-shouts. “The discounts? The lingering smiles? The robe slipping off my bare shoulder?”

Legend remembers that. He’s remembered it many, many times. “...Oh.”

Ravio throws his hands up in despair. “Oh, he says! Oh!”

The silence that follows is painfully, painfully awkward. At least on Legend’s part. “So…”

Ravio’s jaw works in silence for a moment. “Yes?”

Legend thinks dying must surely be less painful than this. “A kiss?”

Ravio holds up a finger threateningly. Legend wishes it wasn’t such a turn-on. “I swear to every Goddess in existence, after all you’ve put me through, if this isn’t the best kiss I’ve ever had, I’ll sell your hide for a single rupee.” 

“Wow,” Legend breathes. “You really know how to make a guy feel confident.”

“And I don’t need your stupid—”

Legend pulls Ravio in by his robe and slots their mouths together, kissing like each taste is a breath, like each spark is a measure of adoring warmth on an otherwise chilly night. He chases Ravio’s mouth and is chased in turn, until suddenly he realizes he's pressed against a wall and gasping from lightheadedness. 

“Rav,” he begins, having no idea what he actually wants to say. 

“Maybe…” Ravio takes a moment to simply breathe. “Maybe more than one rupee. Maybe fifty.”

“Fifty?” Legend repeats incredulously, then laughs. He hopes the others don't wake, but he doesn't really care if they do. “That’s it?”

Ravio licks his lips and presses closer. “Maybe a hundred, I’m not sure.”

“Sucked the math right out of you, huh?” Legend jokes, only belatedly realizing what an opening he has given the greedy salesman. 

Ravio’s grin is downright devilish. “Now there’s an idea.”

Legend prays. 

—

Part 2 (sort of nsfw)

[thatdeadaquarius]

Hallo! You know who is someone I don’t see many people appreciating? Ganyu! Imagine a neurodivergent creator reader who is the one that finds her when she’s going through one of her crises when she doesn’t know if she belongs with the humans or Adepti and reader can understand her because that’s how they feel as well about life?? And about their old world and sometimes this one??

I feel that they could potentially bond over that and maybe even realize Ganyu is also somewhat neurodivergent in some way?? Or she’s very socially inept in some ways and reader can relate and share in those worries so the two just sometimes sit together shoulder to shoulder and just not say anything and just relax and everyone is confused??? Anyways that’s all for me, keep up the great work! :D

-Bonk anon

GOD, NEURODIVERGENT ASKS, JUST HAVE MY WHOLE HEART IN YOUR HANDS 😭😭🤲🤲💙💙

JUST TAKE IT I DONT NEED IT-

ALSO LESSER ASKED FOR/LESS POPULAR CHARACTERS??

SIGN ME TF UP-

Ahhh, look at her... I would die for her, kill for her... either way, what bliss ✨️

also fuCK mihoyo, she’s fat and beautiful and so thats how she gonna be written. 😤

saw this in my mailbox forever ago and as i was workng thru them, was just like, “damn that Ganyu ask is so close im so excited to write abt her <33”

☆

Sun: Neurodivergent!Reader, Gender Neutral (they/them)

Orbit: tiny scenario +headcanons

Stars: Ganyu, my dearest.

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: talk of low self-esteem & Trigger Warnings: talk of low self-esteem, neurodivergent struggles, talk of missing meals (ganyu wants to schedule out her lunch-breaks).

when you’d initially explained to the (actually scarily strong irl) genshin characters who’d been claiming all kinds of wild stuff about you (”The Last Descender! The World Player!”)

you’d been in Liyue at the time, and out of everyone, the first you could see believed you were a mortal on Earth before (and not ruling it 💀) was Ganyu.

She’d looked shocked, like the others, but you could quickly see her get more and mire visibly twitchy and excited as you explained further

(rlly unlike the just,, utter confusion on Xiao’s, Zhongli’s, Shenhe’s, and Cloud Retainer’s faces, so convinced of your divinity there’s no way you could be human- even just acting like one-)

but you did, and Ganyu loved it.

you actually didn’t interact much for the first month you were stuck in a gacha video game (the other alloegenes, gods, adepti, and citizens, including international, pulling you around for opinions on this and that)

But one night you couldn’t sleep (the Qixing provided amble spacious housing in a temple already apparently dedicated to you, one you’d never seen in game)

It’d been… a rough day.

Everywhere you went, miscommunications followed, and you still didn’t really know how to mask properly around these just- well, since they were real, aliens

sure, they mimicked stuff about humans, but not the people/culture you’d mostly been around, (and the adepti had their own code of behavior, which was so complex you’re sure they should’ve made an actual social behavior manual by now)

but you just couldn’t escape the endless cycle, not only that, but your executive function had apparently forgotten to keep up with some important appointments or otherwise things you had needed to get done earlier, so you were scrambling to send a late letter to Fontaine inventors who needed to get the project started in 3 days, which is how long the letter takes to get there, oh gods, and you needed to check on Inazuma, apparently Seirai island is getting lightningy again and the Raiden Shogun wants you in person as soon as possible to aid her with it, but you need to attend a Knights of Favonius meeting in 2 days-

Yeah. You were stressed, and honestly? crumbling under the pressure.

So you’d snuck out of your rooms (dodging the patrolling guards) and went to the office of the one person who knew who’d understand

Ganyu. Scribbling and mumbling in her office to herself, late into the night

She’d jumped at you slipping in without knocking (avoid the Milieth at all costs, even tho ur literally god and you’ve been told you can do whatever you want mostly)

and knocked a whooooollleee stack of papers to the floor, scattering it everywhere 😭

you’d scrambled to start picking them up,, but then she stops you frantically saying “No, no, it’s okay, it’s not a big deal I promise, there’s no need to cry over these silly papers, heaven-sent!”

what??

oh.

oh no.

it’d just been one more thing you’d messed up on top of all of today (and tbh this whole month whirlwind of becoming some kind of god of the continent)

and Ganyu was, Ganyu <3

she was sweet and kind and so overwhelmingly helpful, how could you make a mess of her life too-

“Emperor? Huangdi?”

you’re just sitting on the floor now, but you startle when she gently holds your upper arms, calling your name very softly, so soft if she wasn’t saying you actual name you’d think she was talking to something else, something precious to her

the qilin guides you up, easily supporting your weight, she directs you to her couch, and manuvers you into laying your head across her plush thighs, the half-adepti’s pants aren’t as skin-tight like in-game, they’re actually the cosiest fabric you’ve ever laid on (or maybe that’s just a combination of your fragileness and her thick thighs)

she rubs your shoulder and back, offering a tissue (when did she get that-)

and that’s when you know you’ve chosen your first friend in Teyvat perfectly :)

◇

you sneak out nearly every night for those first few months in Liyue (not including travel, which you tried to limit or you’d both make an excuse why she needed to come with lol)

just to sneak into her office, and you’d nearly cried a second time on her when she offered some notes about both standard human and adepti behaviors (after all, she’s had to study them both to fit into both)

Ganyu learns to do your hair and you do hers 🥺 she can’t bring herself to trust anyone to cut her hair but you, and you always try to do styles that don’t get in her way <3

like buns with a braid wrapped around it, or two space buns (Keqing didn’t say anything but Ganyu gossiped to you about how she could see a little smile on her face whenever she ran into Ganyu that week, obviously cutely thinking how they matched)

While of course the first thing Ganyu did was propose to help you schedule/manage your time so you wouldn’t have to rely on your non-existent executive function-

you’d also made sure to literally plop ur chin over her shoulder to make sure you saw “break” AT LEAST once a day, now that she was incorporating herself a little into ur schedule too (Ganyu fought tooth and nail to get rid of that lunch-break, but then you threatened to also not eat, and she caved so fast LMAO)

(bc she’s a die-hard workaholic ofc she wants this, after you heard abt her schedule in-game you’d thought it was lucky she was not fully human or she would’ve dropped dead, but now even moreso watching that horror in real time 💀)

which!! she!! is so!! (at this point you usually just squeeze her round cheeks a little too hard before then wrapping your arms as far as they can go around her torso and squeezing even harder-)

After a couple of “your trauma 🤝 my trauma” nights, she honestly understood really well where your limits were so to speak, what you could and simply couldn’t do

and was the first one willing to explain to people you have executive dysfunction (and was quick to cut off any “just try harder/pull yourself up by your bootstraps/just believe in yourself” nonsense when if came to your disabilities, even tho those were few and far between moments if any)

afterall, people had expected the same from her, and she frequently fell into that thinking herself (it also didn’t help that as you tried to give her a normal schedule at first, which benefitted her human side more, it felt like the Qixing was stumbling to keep up with the supernatural workload now being distributed)

Ganyu knew it had been your influence originally that helped her when she’d had her workload lightened/then followed by the traveler when she ran off

(and regardless of the truth too, when you’d finally gotten the courage to tell her how you actually interacted with Teyvat, unable to steer actions from what the plot dictated)

she’d still attributed it to you, (”well, you could’ve always just picked up your things and left, yes? But even if it was ‘pre-planned’ like you say, you still wanted to follow through and were… ahem, h-happy for m-me, right?” you’d smacked right into her you stimmed so relieved)

You didn’t exactly know how to explain it, bc everyone was really accepting,

from citizens to nobles, officials and guards, to vision-users, gods and other supernatural beings that inhabited Teyvat

no one judged you for unmasking/stimming, but in that way that meant they didn’t really understand what was different about you, they just knew you were and they’d still decided to treat you with the same adoration anyway

but Ganyu,

she treated you the same but knew what stims you did when you were happy or excited, what ones comforted you, what your latest verbal stims were, and what your “classics” were (u never had to tell her, she just learned them quick and all on her own, bless this woman 🛐 )

Ganyu understood all the good and all the bad and saw you unmasked and still laughed so hard at your jokes she fell into your side and always asked another question about your hyperfixations/interests

you’d quickly realized there were a lot of neurodivergent overlaps between stuff Ganyu did and what you did

(whether or not she herself was, you just assumed yes based on what you researched, but there wasn’t any official testing in teyvat)

it makes more sense to you after applying the neurospicy filter to all her actions why she’s so obsessed with work (she hyperfixates on certain projects the Qixing has going, and has a long-term passive fixation on scheduling/stationary/related office work stuff)

but this also meant you understood why she was always asking for more about you, your mortal world, your time here, where you wanted to go in teyvat, what you wanted to do, how’d you feel when the game did this to someone, what about-?

needless to say you couldn’t (and didn’t have to 🥲) contain your stims at knowing you became a slight hyperfixation for her

she got all embarassed and blushy about it!!! <333😩 (and did that cute thing where she just kinda sways in place holding her hands together when bashful or nervous ✨💔✨)

unrelated to above, but your favorite thing (besides sightseeing or eating at yet another new restaurant in liyue) to do together is go do something childish

like playing children’s games (hopscotch, or hill sliding in ganyus case) from both ur childhoods

u thought itd be a good idea to get Ganyu to relax a little more and have more fun outside her job!

(again, unrelated bc idk im scattered with these headcanons, the cryo user loves when you help her pick new outfits at stores not bc she wants to impress u what)

ok last unrelated headcanon i promise,

Ganyu wasn’t overly affectionate before, honestly she was always going too fast to stop for those kind of casual touches (and when was there time in her old scedule)

but after a month of getting comfortable around each other, she subconciously gets up from her desk (mid-reading a file/carrying it with her lmao)

and sits on her office couch, making room for you to lay on her (and she is the perfect pillow)

(you dont point it out, you know she’ll get too embarassed, and you refuse to lose Ganyu cuddles <3)

☆

im so glad im not the only one who took one look at Ganyu’s problems in life and was like, “damn im neurospicy, ur so right, blue-frosty-magical-half-deer-secretary-woman”

btw it’s on the masterlist “turn on the background music?” but here’s really long playlist I made for sagau stuff!

mostly game music but also other fun songs i hope fit, mostly based of my blog so it’s not dark (as the other playlists under SAGAU search on spotify looked dark too lmao)

Safe Travels Bonk Anon,

💀♒

I mentioned making a kofi before, but I think I’ll start including it in posts too if u guys dont mind!

An iced coffee? For me?? :O

☆

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks

[heartfluttered]

🧷 WIP whenever o(=ω=)o 🎀

ty @forget-me-maybe for the tag!! 💕 i'll be tagging @savriea @lemonsrosesandlavender @kimberbohwrites !!

here's a little snippet of the next chapter of my fic the apprentice's affections!

─────────────‎ ୨୧⋅˚

Rolan is the first to wake; met with a cool morning breeze flooding through the narrow gap of his slightly–ajar window. His body is cold, unfathomly and unbearably cold, even though his head burns and burns. His forehead creases further as a shiver runs down his spine; skin prickling and stinging. He grunts in displeasure, shifting and squirming to his side in hopes of bundling up even closer to your warm, soft— 

His eyes fly open. Something heavy drops to his stomach. 

Your face is so close, so terribly close to his. Rolan’s heart immediately sets off pounding in his chest at the sight, the warmth, the intimacy. The drumming of his heartbeats could rival that of a bard’s rallying. Countless thoughts rush through his mind in the span of a single breath, all of them screaming: ‘How! What? Why?! She— WHAT?!’ 

His eyes frantically search the room for clues before landing on the bowl at the edge of the bedside table. It dawns on him, then: his apprentice had fallen asleep in exhaustion upon bringing him the stew she’d spent precious time reheating. 

A pang of guilt stabs at his heart. He shifts flusteredly, shifting his leg only to be met with resistance. Another shiver runs down his spine, and not from the cold this time. His leg is tangled around yours, and his tail is completely wrapped around your waist, almost as if—

‘As if she were my lover…’ 

You’re so close. Gods, he can see and commit to memory every little detail of your face he knows he never should’ve been granted the privilege to notice: your lashes fanned out prettily beneath your closed eyelids, your soft cheeks, your hair, your lips. 

‘Well, I’m certainly not freezing anymore, at the very least,’ Rolan thinks, averting his eyes and feeling his face flush hot from his cheeks to his forehead. 

He really should stop looking at you, but for reasons Rolan refuses to acknowledge, he can’t, especially not when he knows he’ll never get to see you like this again. 

His eyes fall back down to your lips. If he leaned forward, if he were yours, he could just—

Panic freezes him over as he watches your face twitch, and your eyelids flutter open. 

‘Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Gods. Fuck. Fuck!’ 

He wills his eyes to shut and his face to neutralise itself, praying he appears relaxed and at rest. Behind the darkness of his eyelids, he hears your yawn— again, it’s ridiculous how endearing the sound is— before you mumble tiredly: 

“G’morning…” 

Hesitantly, Rolan opens his eyes. Your eyes are shut once more; your expression is one of serenity. 

‘Perhaps I’m the one making a big fuss out of things… I’ve always been the socially inept older brother, after all. This may be another social norm that I’m unaware of…” Rolan hesitates, biting his lip in hesitance. 

 “…Good morning,” he settles on saying, still feeling awkward. 

There’s a pause, before your eyes open in shock. The tiefling gulps, his eyes darting between yours as he watches your expression of dismay double, triple—

[kirisaki-daichi-scenarios]

the boys as bodyguards

dedicated to absolutely no one. sure this is an asks blog - does that mean i have to actually answer them? i know i know bad admins bad admins whatcha gonna do whatcha gonna do when they come for you but i had a dream ages ago now that involved bodyguards, tsunamis, and also a shit ton of murder. don't ask. anyway, it got me pondering. and then it took literal months to write this so i figured i'd post what i've got so far, and maybe i'll update with the rest of the boys later, depending on how well this does/how much time i have

hanamiya makoto

hanamiya’s the package deal

he’s the chief advisor; he’s the doctor; he’s the bodyguard; he’s the sniper. just a right hand man in every way possible.

i mean, he’s not literally your right hand man: he’s the leader of a team, and often it’ll be one of his men there next to you at events, but he’s always supervising or coordinating or collecting intel

ie he’s dedicated to his job. he does like engineering spider’s webs after all.

having said that, he’s also an uncontrollable prick

he’s the best at giving you advice, both in terms of navigating high society and in terms of actual business advice, but is he going to give that advice without slipping in a snide comment about how you should really know all this by now? when you tell him to make sure to take a break some time, is he going to stop himself from saying “maybe if you weren’t so incredibly useless on your own, i’d be able to.”

and sure maybe he’s breaking the universal declaration of human rights with what he does to the people who dare to try harm you, but you don’t know about that

need to know basis type beat

you don’t even have access to the full floor plans of your own property, which includes a basement you’ll never know about, let alone step foot in. hanamiya keeps that information very close to his chest.

gotta make sure his employer has plausable deniability

gotta make double sure that you don’t find out about half the things he does - from the ways he sources his information, to his very dodgy organised crime links, to the number of people that have sadly lost their lives in the name of “fuck it, you’re pissing me off” - because he hates when you bang on about bullshit like “laws” and “morals”

after all, if everyone followed your beloved laws and morals, then you’d have no need for his services

as he always tells you, he’s just your pet necessary evil

yamazaki hiroshi

i reckon he only got into the bodyguard business because he spent his childhood wanting to be a samurai but, well you know, that’s not really a job opportunity anymore

what it does mean though is that he’s all about bushido: mastering his work, bravery, honesty, etc - and above all else loyalty to one’s employer

on a random thursday afternoon, he’ll tell you, completely nonchalantly, straight face, “i would die for you if that’s what it takes. on my life, i’ll always keep you safe.”

you’re staring at him like wtf and/or trying to stop yourself blushing, but he thinks that’s a completely normal thing to say cause he’s just following bushido

of course, late one night, he’ll wake up realise how weird that came across and he’ll spend the next week trying not to blush whenever you talk to him

just like the time he spent a week kicking himself after you walked in on him training, shirtless and rather sweaty, and when you told him he should take a break, he said “but i need to train so my body can be at its best for you”

again, at the time that sounded very reasonable, serious, and totally bushido to him. it’s only later that he’s freaking out in his room like why in god’s name did he say that.

but hey that’s bodyguard!yamazaki for you. a little weird, a little socially inept, but loyal to a fault

haizaki shougo

can you imagine the number of jobs that this man has lost for sleeping on the job?

he’s only got his current gig looking after you because his prices are cheaper and you were getting desperate to find someone in your budget

he’s a ...uhh… unique bodyguard? in the sense that he’ll get you out of harms way eventually, but "eventually" is the key word there

haizaki actively ignores intel that a certain location might be dangerous, because he really just wants to get into fights. sure you might get in the way occasionally, maybe even get some nasty bruises, but hey you get what you pay for.

you want a good bodyguard, save up some money, idiot.

literally the only reason he got into being a bodyguard is so he can beat people up legally (and because he got dishourably discharged from the military); he doesn’t care that much about the whole ‘protecting’ side of things

he’s also the type to ditch you the minute a better paying job comes up (possibly combat work as a mercenary). however he’s not as cold-hearted as he may seem, and he’ll happily spend a day of leave breaking into your penthouse

so that when you return in the evening, he’s there sat on an armchair, grinning smugly, “man your security’s turned to shit since i left.”

shortly followed by, “miss me?”

jason silver

jason’s the quintessential bodyguard, cause, after all, having a very muscular 6’11 man follow you everywhere you go isn’t exactly subtle

but he’s recognisable for other reasons as well.

like the fact that he’ll accompany you to formal balls, and he’ll be the only man there with an undone tie - it’s such a massive argument trying to get him to wear an appropriate suit instead of his usual hoodies and sweatpants, that can anyone blame you for not having the energy to insist he stops undoing his tie as well?

he’s also not exactly one for professionality. like you’ll be minding your business, trying to network, and suddenly you’ll hear a wolf whistle by your ear and a “wouldn’t mind me a bit of that”

“jason, that’s the ambassador to norway. we’re having her over for dinner next week, so, with all due respect, shut the fuck up. and whisper next time, for heaven’s sake! what if someone had heard you?”

“shit, is it a crime to like some nice tits in this economy?”

and when you glare at him, genuinely furious, he grins, puts his hands up, and says, “sorry, sorry. forgot you don’t like me having eyes for anyone else, boss.”

but don’t get me wrong, jason’s not all evil contra to fujimaki’s propaganda

he is an incredibly good bodyguard - those animal instincts really help him out when it comes to getting you out of a sniper’s line of sight, or saving you from a bullet, or just assessing a room for potential entry points. and he packs a mean punch if anyone tries to try something on you, a solid ko.

no one’s getting past him essentially

the only problem is that it’s incredibly difficult to thank jason for saving your life, cause the last thing he needs is an ego boost or feeling like you owe him.

“seriously jason. i don’t know how i can ever repay you.”

“usually the payslip’s enough,” he smirks, “but you know that little lady ambassador-“

unsuprisingly, he’s not invited to the dinner.

[gothghostiie]

currently thinking about Wesker maybe stalking a reader. He thinks you’re oblivious but you’re smarter than you look. And one night after dealing with maybe an abusive partner or a toxic family member or a parent who should never have had you, you open your window and beeline straight to where he’s hiding and watching you. It’s the first time you’ve directly interacted with him beyond maybe some creepy anonymous notes or texts.

You look up at him with tears in your eyes. You tell him you know he’s been watching you, and that now, you’d rather take your chances with him than with whatever plagues you at home. You beg him to take you, promise you won’t resist or run away or talk back, you just need to get out.

And he does. He takes you to your new home and gets you settled in the collar he bought for you and the cage he set up for you to sleep in. He tells you if you’re good he can bring you some blankets and stuffed animals from your house to add to your cage, then he turns out the light and gets into bed.

Wesker knows he made the right choice when his new pet looks up at him from inside their cage, a little shaken but trying to hide it, and whispers “thank you” with sincerity.

Totally not venting because I hate living with my inept fucking mom no what /s

much love baby, stay strong <3

cw: dubcon to con, stalking

hes so happy you came with him:((

seeing you all curled up in your cage in the morning, slowly waking up and looking up st him with big sleepy eyes, softly saying good morning:( his heart flutters so hard and he cant help but reach through the bars and pet you:(

he just wants to take care of you and love you :( once he's sure you wont run off you get to walk around with him, only some shackles around your ankles to make sure you'll stay

you get to snuggle up with him in bed, sit in his lap on the couch and between his legs under the dinner table as he feeds you :(

hell he even bathes you and dresses you up, you don't ever have to lift a finger :(