#and how the hell do you KNOW how much to request a loan for...without that

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hi !!!! I’m sorry if this is bothering you and if so you can totally ignore this but…

I’ve been thinking about how Ghost would react to reader gradually pulling away from him because she gained some weight and is self conscious and ashamed and doesn’t want to be seen by him, so sculpted and beautiful… but of course he’s feeling low because he wants to be close to reader and so he asks and she finally explains it to him (ready to be broken up with…)…. And I’d love to read your take on it !

You can make it female or gender neauteal I don’t really care !!!! Thank you anyway ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Wildflowers Grow in Ruins

(Ghost x F!Reader, word count: 5 k)

Summary: Reader tries to break up with Ghost because she thinks she's not good enough for him.

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, soft sensual smut 🔞, hurt/comfort, light angst, Jealous!Ghost, Soft!Ghost, self-loathing & self-body shaming. Good girl talk/praise kink. Reader is female and wears a skirt for smut plot purposes.

A/N: I hope you like this take & I hope you don't mind that I tweaked this request just a little bit!) Also: JFC I'm wordy. The "I need to explain why they're fucking!" meme comes to mind every time I write anything.

Wars are exhausting. 

You know fighting for something can empower people. Fighting against something usually just depletes your strength.

But waging a war against yourself… 

Now that is pure hell. 

It started somewhere in your youth. You thought adulthood would take it away; that reason and tolerance would take it away. You were supposed to feel more confident in yourself, more positive about life. And for a moment, you thought you might just succeed.

But standing beside a god of war is no easy feat.

He came into your life like a walking myth, swept you away, and you only laughed as you went. It was fun at first. He was supposed to be your savior, the solution to all your problems. If a man like him found you attractive, perhaps it was the world that was crooked and not you.

But then you got soft: you started to gain pounds. Meanwhile, he became even more magnificent. It reminded you that it had all been just a dream.

Perhaps it was his eyes that seemed to worship you, that seemed to look past your every flaw. Perhaps it was the hands which never seemed to get enough of your skin. Whatever it was, it was too much. And at the same time, never enough.

The day has finally come to let him go.

You think yourself heroic. It's like it should be: it's only right that you finally release him to someone better than you.

But inside, the noble feelings twist and turn and curl around your throat and stuff your stomach full of ice - the kind they fill glasses of mojito with. The drink you'll always remember him by because he teased you about it: that you wanted an ice-cold summer drink even in the middle of winter.

Now you feel cold all over, and wish he could warm you like he used to. 

You would forsake all the mojitos of the world to keep him. You would renounce the whole drink if it came to that; if you could make him yours.

But he's not yours. He never was: he was just on loan to give you a taste of what it would be like to have a man like him. That taste should be more than enough for a lifetime. You should feel grateful.

So why is it so hard to let go?

The key on the front door turns, and your heart shoots up your throat: you're supposed to settle this thing once and for all. You're supposed to let go of him today. 

And still, when he arrives, you can't find the courage to say what you need to say. The words are stuck in your throat, but tears are not. He should already be a memory, but you find yourself suffocating on memories as you cry. You've learned to do even that in silence, like the rest of your suffering.

You take a few deep breaths, wipe the tears away, shove the rest of them down your throat – you save them for later, later, when he's far away and you can finally curl up and cry your heart out without no one there to look. Fucking later.

Good. 

Good.

Great.

You put your heaviest armor on. It protects weak and soft flesh because you can't meet him all bare. Then you step forward with the knowledge that you’re a thoroughly wounded guerrilla while he is a seasoned, well-rested veteran. The fight is nowhere near even, but it's ok. You are not meant to be in the presence of immortals anyway.

The man looks at you warily as you finally enter the room. That haunted look has followed you for some time now as the distance between you has grown. 

It should be easy, what is about to come, because he hasn't touched you in weeks. You haven't wanted him to.

Or you have… But it's not easy to have his hands on you when your body is only a vessel you hate. How can you even think about pleasure when all you think about is how it must feel for him to caress something as awful as this?

The man is a vision, and he settles for a peasant. It should be against the law, but it's not… so you figured a some time ago that you should simply find the strength and grace to do ii: do what's right.

"I need to talk to you." 

Your voice comes out neutral, and it makes you more confident, if only for a second or two.

He lifts his chin: already knows what's coming, because he's not stupid. You've been shutting down for weeks, and he hasn't done much about it. But when the thunder rolls in, he doesn't flee. Probably because he fears nothing.

"Go ahead then," he says, equally as neutral, equally as icy. Got his armor on, too. 

This should be easy…

It's really not, so you decide to rip the band-aid off in one yank.

"I think we should go separate ways."

The following inhale from across the room pierces the air like a bullet. You can hear his breaths gain depth and speed all the way to where you're standing.

"Ok."

It doesn't look or sound like he's ok. If anything, he looks like he's trying to process the sudden storm. 

"Ok…" His eyes are on the floor as he rubs the back of his neck. Then he starts to pace around the little kitchenette you've shared for almost six months, just before you started gaining weight.

He stops to look out the window, then turns to you, and the hurt in his stare comes through like a thousand needles pushing through skin.

"Is it because of my work?" 

"No."

"What is it then?"

Your breaths are getting out of hand, too. He looks like a lost, tired creature in an abandoned animal shelter for a moment, and it breaks your heart. It squeezes the organ inside a flaming fist until it shatters like it has never been nothing more than ice.

Your lip starts to tremble, and he notices, as per usual. Nothing escapes this man, except perhaps the true reason for your anguish.

"Hey. Hey."

He comes to you and hugs you like it's the only thing that matters: to comfort you when he sees you're about to cry, no matter how crushed he's feeling himself. The sudden warmth, the intimacy after weeks and weeks of pain is knee-buckling. 

"Is there anything I can do to change your mind?"

His voice is soft, so soft… The tears rush forth now; there's no way of stopping them. What the hell can you even say to a question like that? That you wish he could grab a magic wand and turn you into someone gorgeous, the woman he deserves?

His embrace feels good, kind of. It also feels smothering because your self-hate makes you want to disappear from existence entirely. His eyes are equal to physical touch, a probing scan that sees every little flaw, not to talk about massive faults, the ones which make you feel like you're simply disgusting. His touch only reminds you how you must feel like to him: soft, too soft, weak.

And he must hate weakness.

"What do you need me to do? I'll do anything," he tries with a parched throat, then swallows. 

It's fucking horrible. This isn't going at all like you had imagined.

"It's not about you," you struggle out of his hold, and he lets you go with reluctance. You have to basically fight your way out of a bone and steel prison. Why would he even want to hold a pathetic woman who's on the brink of ugly crying on top of everything?

"What do you mean?"

He's slightly breathless – and restless as fuck. He's usually so calm; nothing can get to him, nothing can rattle the tower of raw strength. Now you've not only pierced some invisible armor; you can hear pieces of it falling on the floor.

"Have you found someone else?"

What the…

"No." You put as much weight on that word as you possibly can. To imagine that he thinks you are cheating… Fucking cheating on someone like him. "Jesus Christ…"

He takes a deep breath and sighs deeply, sighs out relief, perhaps. Then his razor-sharp stare fixes on you again, and you can see the fear turning into something akin to concern. You suspect you have to tell him the truth, otherwise he will dig it out of you. 

"I'm just…" 

Jesus, this is just humiliating. 

"I'm just not your type."

"What the hell are you talking about," he mutters, the impending fury giving way to momentary surprise. 

He gets intense sometimes. This time, the ferocity is born of barely concealed distress. He's broad and magnificent, even in despair. He’s just so fucking fine… The perfect man, someone you had never even imagined yourself with. Pulled down to the world of puny mortals, evidently stressing about losing one. 

Losing you.

"If you have someone new, you can just bloody well tell me."

"It's not that. You don't understand–" 

"Try me."

"I just…" A tear escapes down your face as you finally break for him. "I'm fat. Okay? And ugly. And–"

"Stop right there."

The look on his face is just… It's priceless, you suppose.

"Bloody fucking hell…" 

He looks at the floor, then runs his fingers through the short cut hair on top of his head. You've yanked those blonde strands more times than you can count, nearly every time he's been between your legs, and you miss it – you long for it, like fallen angels long for heaven. 

And if there was a time this man was rendered speechless, you would say you were witnessing that moment right now. His brows knit together, then he looks up at you again with blaring disbelief.

"You're serious?"

"Yes."

"This is the reason you wanna break up?"

Ugh.

"Yes?"

His voice grows rougher with every question until it resembles thunder, and you suspect this is the commanding tone his soldiers are used to hearing. 

But you're not: it's gravelly, harsh, and betrays the feeling of having been insulted. You feel even more devastated with yourself – it appears you can do nothing right.

"Where has this… idea even come to your head?"

"I don't know." 

"And you never thought to ask my opinion?"

"Would you please stop yelling," you whisper and blink back some putrid tears. His mouth is snapped shut, his head pulls back just a little as he realizes what he's done. 

"Sorry," he says with a half-whisper, and you catch the strain in his throat. You've never seen him cry, but now his voice is suddenly thin and frail. "I'm sorry."

He takes a step, then another, places fingertips on the counter as if to take the faintest support.

"Can I touch you?"

You don't really want him to do that, but you feel pity for the man. He's trying to find a way through this mess, and you want to help him.

"Yes," you whisper, and he immediately comes and takes you in his arms again. Hot tears disappear into his shirt, and you sniff a few times. He feels so good, so safe, even when you're about to lose him. His hold tightens around you, and the kitchen is silent; the whole world is silent. You don't know if you're being put to a grave or if you're in a deaf womb, waiting to be reborn.

"Now I don't know who's said this shite to you but ugly is the last fucking thing I'd call you," he declares above you. As if it was some bully whose fault it is that you were this way, a bully he could deal with with his fists or a gun. If only things were that easy…

"Have I said or done something? To make you feel this way?"

Then the blade is turned against himself. The man desperately searches for a culprit so he can deal with them.

"No," is the only thing you can say because it's true: he has never done a thing to make you feel like you weren't good enough; quite the contrary. But then again, he doesn't have to. It's enough that he exists and resembles a god.

"Then why do you think you're not my type?"

"Because you're so perfect," you hear yourself wail, no, cry into that shirt that smells of sweet safety and familiar musk – his scent, another thing you have missed like it's the only way to heaven.

"That for sure ain't true."

"But it is."

He seems to have the utmost difficulty in grasping what the issue here is. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head with a rusty, laborious creak.

"Can't believe you wanna break up because of this," he finally says. You've chipped his pride, the ego that lives off of pleasing the ones he loves: the few chosen ones who he wants to give his whole life to. 

"To me, you're perfect," he then says, and you simply… You stop breathing. "You're like… my dream woman. Ever thought about that?"

It can't be true, even if you vehemently, desperately want it to be. You reach out to his words like they're precious food after years of famine. Like they're sun and spring rain after being buried in the cold, dark soil whole winter.

"No…?"

"Never occurred to you that I might find you fucking beautiful?"

"Stop," you whisper, because it's too much to take in. He sounds so serious, so sincere.

"No, I don't think I will."

He pulls back a little and cups your face. Brushes away a tear, looks at you with so much love that it physically hurts; you feel like it's a lance that slowly drives through your heart.

"How about I kiss every part I love about you?"

You let out a soft little whimper. Fuck, that you want him to… 

It would also be uncomfortable as hell. To try and let him love you and your body, which you have grown to loathe.

"It's gonna take all night, though. Wanna be as thorough as possible."

"Simon–"

"Love. I want you. Thought I'd made it pretty clear, but apparently I haven't. If you only knew how much–"

He sighs deeply. The man is frustrated with his shortcomings, thinks that this is all his fault. You cry a tear or two just for the sake of how absurd it all is. 

"I don't want you to go. I fucking love you. Everything about you."

For the second time this afternoon, your lower lip starts to tremble as if this was some stupid, romantic movie. He can be so soft when he wants to, more romantic than the soft-spoken gentlemen in Jane Austen's novels. It doesn't even require any effort: underneath the cynical surface, there's fiery emotion, so powerful and raw that it almost bleeds out of him. Fuck… Does he even know what he's doing to you?

"I love you too," you whisper back, and the warmth that starts to bloom in his eyes is an entire sun on its own. It's hope, and you believe him, almost believe him.

"Then I'd say it's a bloody bad idea to break up."

You chuckle while few more tears push through to the surface.

"Simon…" You sigh and look back up at him, your armor falling to the floor too. "I feel like a wreck."

You allow him to see the pain, all of it. His breath is sharp as it hits him, but he still doesn't waver.

"Then let me help you."

The arms around you gain more strength, and you're crushed against a chest made of power. He tries to turn shit to gold, and threatens to succeed. You allow yourself to soften in his hold. How good it feels to be supported – no, loved.

"You don't even let me touch you anymore."

It's a filed complaint, but also heart-rending, soul-wrenching longing. You have evaded him for weeks now – hell, this shit began months ago and has escalated gradually, stealthily, until the moments together were a rarity, the space between you was full of frost; and not the crispy, happy summer drink kind.

"I thought you'd found someone else. Could've found out if that was the case in minutes, but honestly, I didn't wanna know."

Oh my God…

Has he lived with a growing suspicion and dread all these months? 

That would explain why he has avoided you too…

He has allowed you to go to your supposed lover, has given you space to be alone and without too much attention. The man has shielded himself from pain. 

Jesus fucking Christ.

"I'm so sorry," you say with a strained little breath. "I swear it's nothing like that. I just… I feel like a mess."

"Never seen such a gorgeous mess." 

He speaks on your skin, the kiss on your forehead feels like an absolution. 

Then you notice it's not only his words which try to assure you. He's growing harder by the minute against your stomach, just from a simple hug. Just from being pressed against you like this, after weeks of dry, bitter longing.

"Miss your taste," he murmurs to your skin, his voice like sand wrapped in burning velvet. "The sounds you make when you want it hard."

Oh God–

"Miss your smile when we go to shower after."

"Hmh…"

"Don't wanna live without that smile."

You don't have to. 

God, you don't have to…

"How about we make a deal," he draws fingers down your chin, coaxing you to look up at him. His eyes are stripped from the cold distance that greeted you just moments ago: now they are filled with warmth that spreads to your chest and belly and bones. You drink him in like summertide.

"You come to me every time you feel bad and I'll make you feel good. Alright?"

"...Ok." 

He tilts his head a little to the side, not entirely satisfied with your shy little answer.

"Come on. Make me believe it."

"It's a deal," you say with more grit to it, even if you're nearly crying again, this time from relief.

"That's my girl."

Oh fuck…

He knows exactly what strings to pull, the good girl talk being one of the things that instantly makes your legs feel like jelly. 

And why does he always have to use that voice when he calls you a good girl or his girl, that sultry smoke that makes you want to swoon until he catches you and carries you to bed?

The man seems to be a mind reader as well, because he sweeps you off your feet and does exactly that: carries you to your bed which has mainly seen silent tears and painful sleep last months.

"Poor thing doesn't even know how lovely she is."

He sounds amused in the face of your darkness: sees it in full and still doesn't fear at all. He's ready to battle your demons for you, and you feel like shaking: from his touch and that voice, from the stress and loneliness that starts to release as he lays you down on the bed.

He looks so different from the man that has haunted this place for the past months, the complete opposite of the reserved soldier retreating into the shadows.

He moves to kiss you, and it's been – what? Weeks since your last kiss? And even that was only a quick peck, nothing like this… Wet, and desperate; a devouring. It makes you clench around nothingness, and you finally surrender. 

No one can fake such fervor.

You try to accept it: accept the fact that even if you hate yourself, he does not. For some reason, he adores you. His breaths hit your face hot and urgent, and he can't keep his hands to himself anymore. They wander over your waist and hips, they even risk to steal a feel of your breasts, and then he groans in your mouth.

"I've missed you. Fuck, I've missed you..."

You taste notes of burning leaves; tobacco, his only weakness. You fantasize on the thought that you might be another weakness, too.

"Remember when I fucked you in my office?"

"I've missed you too," you utter softly in between the kisses that threaten to turn into a sloppy mess. "So much..."

He smiles at that, and it makes you weak, even when lying down like this.

"Yeah…?"

"You were so loud I had to put a hand over your mouth."

His voice is thick as he laughs a short chuckle. Your inner walls clench again at the sound, you throb among the warm syrup surrounding you.

"Never seen you so wet. Almost dripped all over my gear."

"It's that stupid mask you wear," you hear yourself breathe like you've just been underwater. Feel yourself throb some more, feel a burning sensation in the nether areas from the scorched desert turning wet again. You want him so much that it actually hurts down there.

"Knew you'd like it. That's why I kept it on."

If this man keeps talking, your underwear is going to be utterly ruined. And of course he does; of course he continues to pour more love in your ear.

"Everyone looked at you like you were a queen," he grunts in your ear, sounding almost… pissed.

"Don't be ridiculous," you try to form sensible words. It's only a faint breath, really, but he huffs at your modesty. 

"You don't have eyes in the back of your head, love."

Wow… He is a bit pissed.

Had they checked your ass out when you visited him? 

It was the first and, what you thought, the last time you got to visit him at his workplace… but you never would have guessed the reason for him not asking you to visit again would be jealousy. 

"Don't worry. I put those fuckers in their place after you left." 

Whoa. 

Ok…

First, he had fucked you senseless in his office – a highly inappropriate move for a man in his position – then got jealous because some soldiers had checked you out as you left with his cum practically dripping from your cunt.

You put yourself in his shoes for a moment: he's had to live with thoughts of you running to some other man's arms when he's not home, and then watch you waltz around his workplace after making what was supposed to be the last effort to make him love you… When he has loved and adored you this whole time, has watched the sway of your ass with the rest of those home-deprived, horny soldiers, thinking you had fallen out of love and were on your way to go see some other guy.

Had he invited you there to try and win you back, too? By showing himself to you in all his puffed up, masculine glory? A desperate man in a skull mask, hoping to get love from you…

There's so many misunderstandings; they rip your throat. A sob escapes, and he stops his caress.

"Love… Tell me to stop if you–"

"No. No, I don't want you to stop." 

Your request comes out with such demand that he hesitates only a second or two. Then he moves on top of you and tugs your skirt up. You don't even have time to realize what is happening before he has worked himself out of his pants.

He's hard and heavy between your legs, and your eyes go wide as you realize he's not going to bother to take your briefs off. He just slides a hand under the skirt and draws the fabric aside, and the fat tip of him is pushed in the middle almost clumsily. It's hot, and slips down to your opening with ease.

Oh f–

"Been jerking off to you nearly every night at the base," he says just before he pushes himself in. 

"Uh–...."

Your thighs spread wide as he fills you slowly, inch after inch. The sound that leaves him is starved: a dry, painful sigh. He's been waiting for this for god knows how long, and you're just as hungry to take him in. He seems endless, the way he finally works himself fully inside, spreading you even wider as the thickening base of his cock reaches its end. 

"Thought you were getting railed by someone else while I only get to fuck my hand."

"Oh god…"

There's really nothing else to say as his balls press against you, heavy and taut. He's not going to last long.

"Yeah. Imagine that," he admits, breathless like you. 

You look at him with what must be the most helpless stare of longing in your eyes. Then he moves, and you want to grip him to keep him inside. The first thrusts are divine, they're pure heaven, and your head sinks deep into the pillow as you try to get enough air, try to not scream from pleasure already. Somehow, all you are able to utter is a desperate little whisper.

"Simon–"

His cock is good enough to bring tears to your eyes. You're starving too, you're pulling him in with fierce hunger, and he groans, then nearly falls forward, his weight pressing against you, swallowing you, until you feel like you're an idiot for thinking that you're too big. The thickness of his chest rubs against you as he makes love to you with passion that echoes the first times you did this.

"Just wanna adore you, love." He's panting desperate somewhere above you. A god and a man, both furious and gentle. "I wanna adore you. Just like this."

You answer him with what must be those sounds he told you about, the sounds you make when you want it hard. 

You want him to fuck you, to wreck you after weeks of loneliness and hate. To love you until you break into a million pieces.

"Simon," you whisper. "...Love me."

He halts, huffs in your neck. It's almost a sob. There's so much emotion and desperation in the air that it could be scooped up and sold in the streets.

"Always," he rasps in your ear, then moves to kiss you again. "Always."

The promise echoes around you, it coats your lips as he loves you with all he has. It's been so long, and he feels so good that you nails dig into his shirt, his shoulder, you try to hold onto him even though he's the wave that rocks you.

"You feel that?" He goes deep; he's out of breath and desperate, even more desperate than you. "That's love. You feel it, yeah?"

"Yes," you sob in his shoulder, tears trying to escape your waterline as you're going dumb from the pure sensation, the sensuality of it all. 

"That's it, love. That's a good girl," he turns to your neck and gruffs in your ear as you whimper and moan. "Always such a good girl."

Shit…

"I, I'm gonna…"

Your legs wrap around his middle, your muscles twitch and your hands reach and grab – they claw and yank and tug everything they can: his back, shoulders, shirt, something sturdy to keep you from drowning in a glorious orgasm.

He laughs in your neck and continues to grind you through your climax even when you're shattering, sighing, moaning, writhing under him. He just laughs, the man who never laughs: from witnessing you respond to him calling you a good girl.

Fucking bastard…

Lovable, infuriating bastard who knows you to your core. 

You're an overstimulated heap by the time he comes as well, not long after you, but long enough to make you feel like you're only a tender bunch of nerves. Your legs have fallen to the side, he has open access to take what he needs: you, your love, all of it.

His whole middle goes tense as he cums, he groans and swears somewhere deep into your neck, rolls his hips over and over again like it's a must that his balls press against you with every thrust that shoot his load. 

Then he falls slack, nearly collapses on top of you, reminding you of what it feels like to be small under a giant like him. You're throbbing together, you're full and fulfilled, and he is still lodged deep inside you, panting and broken in a sweat.

"Jesus Christ…" 

He sounds dazed. 

Relieved. 

"Should've done this weeks ago."

You laugh at seeing him so done – a man in love, torn by jealous yearning, finally taking what's his. You stroke his neck, his back – it's so good to have him finally there… So close, with no barriers in between.

"I should've talked to you weeks ago..." 

"Yeah. You should have."

"Are you going to punish me?" You giggle a little – the flirt is light and frees your heart further from its recent jail. He moves to look at you with all the tenderness there is. It's too much... His love is too much. But you won't run from it anymore.

"Nah. Think I'm gonna spoil you some more."

He spoils you right away with a kiss. You surrender to his treatment with happiness: happy tears, even. 

The medicine to your anguish has been the exact opposite to what you had first tried, what you had originally thought. The true remedy for your sickness is mercy. Perhaps some spoiling…

And love.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost fluff #soft simon riley #simon riley imagine #ghost x you #simon riley x you #fluff and smut #call of duty

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

Wild Horses

Part 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Doctor!Reader

Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

A/N: Just a little idea I had after seeing all the TikToks and now I am yanked onto the Ghost train. I used to watch my brother play the game but that was a while ago so bear with me here. (advice or little pointers are much appreciated). I also might make this into a short story or add another part to it, let me know y’all. Comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

Summary: Imagine being the new physician assigned to the team and a certain masked individual takes a new keen concealed interest in you. The two of you are too awkward to function.

Warnings: language, fluff, angst

You were assigned to the team as their personal physician, as requested by the higher ups in order to make sure the soldiers stayed in best health, both physically and mentally. You used to work at your local hospital before you were offered the position.

You knew the dangers and the risks involved, but you were in debt and had student loans that needed to paid. So after much hesitation, you accepted the offer, eventually being convinced by the fat paycheck.

You remembered the day you were first introduced to the team, the way everyone's eyes glued to you like a hawk, their large forms towering over your small frame in the room while you picked at the skin around your nails in nervous habit.

They were curious to say the least, wondering what the hell someone like you was doing in a place like this. And since when did they get the chance to have a full on doctor to treat them, usually they were offered combat medics. You had guts, that's for sure.

You on the other hand were nervous, frightened even, with the thought of living in the same quarters of men wrapped up within the tumults and afflictions of war without a single clue as to their current psychological state. You had seen the worst of men and humanity growing up and you no idea who these soldiers were, what they were capable of, or what their intentions might be. Maybe you should have requested that briefing before you hopped on that plane.

Amongst all of their gazes, you had failed to notice a certain masked individual in the far back of the room, his form shrouded amongst the others as he studied you. His eyes, hidden underneath the grooves of his mask that only seemed to be darkened by where he stood blocked by the only source of light, watched your every movement, from every gesture of your perfectly manicured fingers to every smoothing of the lint-free fabric of your sweater to the way you kept shifting your weight from one foot to another.

One thing was apparent; during the entire length the high ranking officer next to you introduced you and debriefed the men on what was expected and such, you had not uttered a single word, minus the small polite and somewhat strained smile on your face while your eyes told another story. Why the military truly hired you, he may never know.

After being shown your little office and workspace including your room, you were quick to settle in, decorating the area to the best of your abilities with what you had taken with you from back home in order to bring some life into the dull and two-dimensional area. If anyone questioned you on it you would just say that your own sanity is extremely vital in order to ensure quality treatment for your patients.

Once everything in your office was set up, you threw on your white coat and retreated yourself to your office space, sitting at your desk and hastily going over the files that you had completely forgotten about that were given to you regarding the soldiers' previous health before they come pouring in reporting symptoms of god knows what. Best be prepared. Jesus how many bullet wounds can a single individual have.

The soldiers were advised to do their routine physical examinations with you so the first one to come waltzing in through your office door was none other than Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, a cheeky grin plastered on his face and much too excited for his own good. That boy's got a crush on you I swear. To be honest I'd be lying if I said the whole team didn't have a schoolboy crush on you.

The men were quick to warm up to you, relieved to have a gentle soul in their midst after all the shit that goes down outside, you were like breath of fresh air. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to bring a doctor on board, as quiet and reserved as you were. They speculated you were just shy, the reason why you never spoke much, not knowing that you just couldn't hold a conversation if your life depended on it, especially around those you weren't close with. At first they couldn't tell because of your major rbf.

During their routine check-ups or whatever issue they had going on, they would do most of the talking, which was a good thing on your end because it helped you to piece together their temperaments. Thank the lord no one is a psycho murderer. Oh wait.

Soap is the most chattiest of them all. Boy wouldn't shut his mouth when he sat in your office. He's super flirty. But not as flirty as Alejandro.

Ghost on the other hand was reluctant to step into your office for his check-ups. After all he was usually the one to tend to his own wounds or just push through whatever it is that is going on, so he did not know what all the fuss was about in having to get his health checked. So when you call out his last name more than once might I add, clipboard in hand and scanning the area for whoever looks to be headed in your direction, he can't help but heave out a sigh, trudging over to where you stood, your clean white coat a stark contrast to the rest of the environment as you leaned against your door to hold it open.

You muttered out a small hello to which he let out a small huff as you moved aside to let the man enter, watching him walk into your office and seat himself down. That man intimidated you a bit not gonna lie. Not only could you not see his face but he had also not said a single word to you. And not to mention he was absolutely huge as compared to you, even more so in person. You also had heard a lot of stories from the other guys.

"How is your day?" You ask, shutting the door behind you as you briefly read over his previous but extremely short records on your clipboard. There's barely anything on this man. Does he not get ill?

Ghost is quiet at first, watching your eyes scan over the clipboard and curious to know just what is on those papers before your eyes flit up to meet his and catch him off guard, which causes him to answer abruptly. "Fine."

"Okey dokes." You give a quick smile.

Did you just say okey dokes.

Clearing your throat, you go over to where he sat and set the clipboard down on the table next to you beside your laptop. You didn’t have to read his body language to know he did not want to be here at all. So you were going to do him a favor and make the appointment as quick as possible.

"So do you have any allergies to any medications, any allergies I need to know of?" Your fingers hover over the keyboard of your laptop as you turn to face him, only to be met with an expressionless skull of a mask and the expressionless eyes beneath. Oh boy this session was going to be something. You had heard of how he had never shown his face, so you made sure not to question on it.

"No ma'am."

"Are you currently taking any medication?" You ask the same standard set of questions you have asked every single patient of yours, typing as you go.

"No ma'am."

Any previous illness? Disease?"

"No."

The more you ask him questions, the more he strangely finds it easier to answer. Your voice is surprisingly soft, warm even, like the start of autumn, and he finds it comforting to listen to. Or maybe it's just some technique doctors learn during training in order to relax their patients.

"Do you have any history of smoking, alcohol, or illicit drug use?"

".......sometimes I'll have a smoke, and a glass of bourbon." He's almost waiting for you to hand him a pamphlet about the dangers of smoking.

"How many times would you say?" You ask for details, your eyes still glued to the screen of your laptop as you await his answer.

Ghost is a bit confused by the amount of questions you ask, but he also has not been to the doctor's so how would he know. "Um I don't know."

"A rough estimate is fine."

"Not much, maybe 2-3 times a week or so when I'm not on duty."

"How many times a week do you exercise?" You feel silly for asking this question to a man like him but it's all part of the procedure and you almost pray he doesn't hate you for it.

"Every day." So no pamphlet?

Jesus this man has more discipline than you. You can barely get up in the morning.

"Okayyy." You mutter out, more to yourself as you enter in his responses.

Ghost finds himself watching you from his seat on the chair, his eyes tracing over and studying your features as you type away on your laptop. He thinks you're really pretty but either doesn't want to admit it or just flat out does not know that he finds you attractive.

There are certain details about you that he can't help but find himself intrigued by, like the small black outline flower tattoo on your hand that was located near the area of your thumb, running along the curve to meet the knuckle of your forefinger. He's curious as to the meaning behind it, if there was one. He wanted to ask what type of flower it was, perhaps it was your favorite? It would give him an idea as to what flowers to get you.

"Have you ever been hospitalized, had any surgical procedures done or been treated for any chronic conditions?"

"No." Ghost shakes his head before remembering his wounds from combat, wondering if that is something you should know. "Just the bullet and knife wounds from combat. Nothing too serious."

Jesus fucking christ. You were willing to bet he treated those wounds himself.

Ghost is not a fan of hospitals. Pretty sure this dude just looks up YouTube tutorials on how to fix himself instead of just going to the doctor like a normal human being.

"When was the last time you visited your general practitioner.......or just any doctor in general?" You ask the last question, willing to bet it never.

There was silence on his end as you looked towards him waiting for an answer, the clicking of your keyboard coming to a stop and only loudening the silence. Ghost could not remember the last time he had been to a hospital or even scheduled a visit. And as you looked at him, your eyes almost staring into his soul, still waiting for a response, he could not help but feel a tad bit embarrassed, as if you were judging him for not being a responsible adult. Also it didn't help that you were goddamn pretty.

"I'm gonna take that as a very long time, the last time being the prehistoric ages, correct?" There's the slightest hint of a tease in your voice.

"Uh.......yes ma'am." Ghost squints his eyes at you as you go back to typing on your keyboard. Did you just.............did you just call him…..He does not know how to feel about that. Did you just try to crack a joke? He always thought doctors were the serious type.

"Okay then." You straighten up, grabbing your sphygmomanometer off the table and turning yourself to face him. "Is it okay if I check your blood pressure?"

The man is stunned. No one has ever asked his permission for anything before. He's so used to either taking orders or giving orders that he doesn't know how to respond and stares at you for a moment, forcing his brain to process what to do next before eventually giving a nod.

"Is it okay if you take your jacket off so I can get a clearer reading?"

He nods again, still in shock as he takes off his jacket, leaving him in his black long sleeve thermal. He's almost thankful he wasn't in his full tactical gear, having to imagine you standing there waiting for him as he removes every single piece of equipment off his torso.

"Thank you." You give him a short smile, placing your hand under his tricep and gently lifting his arm in order to wrap the inflatable cuff around his bicep. You almost blush at the mere size of this man's arms. "Now you're just going to feel a slight pressure okay."

Ghost can't help but feel a slight warmth spread to his cheeks at the way you handle him with such care, as if he were the small delicate thing and not you. Now he knows why the others were so giddy after leaving your office.

As you place your stethoscope on his forearm near his elbow to listen to his blood pumping through the artery, your other hand pumping air into the cuff using the inflation bulb with your eyes glued to the numbers on the gauge, he can't help but to notice the old Donald Duck watch that sat at your wrist, the ones with the moving arms and the vintage style black leather straps.

And as he further investigated your attire, he noticed a few other details, like the colorful glittery badge reel in the shape of a pill container with the words "licensed drug dealer" printed on it that was attached to your scrub top, the glitter sticker with the words "I'm nicer than my face looks" as well a few Disney character stickers and the little frog looking keychain that hung off of your badge. He was wondering what the hell that thing was. Your accessories were awfully colorful for a general doctor. Something was telling him you either used to work with families or children. Whatever the hell managed to bring you to such a drastic change.

You brought him out of his thoughts as you shifted from your position, unwrapping the inflatable cuff from around his bicep and placing it back on the table before typing the results into your laptop. "Okay," You adjust the ear pieces of your stethoscope back into your ears as you turn back to him, "I'm going to perform some auscultations, which is just listening to the sounds of your heart and your lungs so if you could just sit up straight and relax that would be wonderful."

Simon straightens up his posture as you place your free hand on his shoulder, at this point you're not sure if you're steadying him or yourself, your fingertips just barely grazing across the bottom of his neck. He doesn't know why but, it's as if your fingers are directly touching the skin underneath, despite the fabric of his mask that separated your fingers from his skin. Your hands feels hot, like really hot and he has no clue why.

The soldier only feels his cheeks warm up even more so now as you inch closer to carefully place the diaphragm of your stethoscope on his chest, your head tilted and your eyes lowered to the floor as you listen for his heart beat. He gets a whiff of your perfume and he finds himself drawn to it. You smell like something along the lines of jasmine petals, geranium, myrrh, frankincense, and a hint of sandalwood. Now he definitely knows why the others are fawning over you. Poor Simon is praying you don't hear how his heart is nearly racing. He does not know why he is feeling this way and it slightly bothers him in the way that he has no clue what it is he is feeling.

He catches how your brows slightly furrow at the center and his heart skips a beat. Now he's fucking embarrassed and this man rarely ever is embarrassed. Maybe he's even starting to panic. Can you tell? Do you know? You open your mouth to say something but he quickly interrupts he just got back from a run so you dismiss it with a shrug, placing the diaphragm on his back now and asking him to give you a couple of deep breaths.

"Okay. Take a deep breathe in, breathe it out. Breathe in, and out."

He complies with your instructions, breathing in slow and deep breaths as you go from one side of his back to another.

"Good job." You remove the earpieces and let your stethoscope hang around your neck as you go back to your table, recording in more info. Hang on did you just, did you just tell a grown 6'4" man good job.

Even Simon is confused. Like bitch.

"Okay, so we're all done with that." You inform him, before going over to one of the drawers and sliding it open. "Now if you don't mind, I would like to have some blood work done on you, just to make sure there are no underlying issues that need to be taken care of."

Simon is silent so you turn to him. "Is that okay, Ghost, is that what the others call you? Would you like me to call you Ghost?"

Goddamn you're too polite. "That's fine by me ma'am."

"Perfect. Now is it okay if I take your blood sample?"

Ghost nods, so you grab the tools necessary and place them on the table next to you.

"Could you please roll your sleeve up and make a fist for me? Thank you." You ask him once you sanitize your hands and throw on a pair of fresh gloves. You grab the tourniquet and catch sight of the tattoos that cover his forearm as you tie the tourniquet around his arm above the elbow. You're curious to know the story behind them but you have a feeling he's not one for storytelling or just talking in general so you remain silent. You tear open the small packet of the alcohol wipe and apply it to the area. The chemical is cool against his skin as you sanitize the area before letting it air dry. Simon can't help but notice how small your hands are.

Simon watches you intently as you work, the way you are so focused and so precise with each step, and yet so gentle. It's almost cute.

"You're just going to feel a little pinch." You tell him in a soft tone, a tone you were used to using on all your little patients before inserting the needle into his vein. As if the man hasn't been shot or stabbed and god knows what multiple times before.

At this point Simon doesn't even notice the needle in his arm, he's too focused on the details of your face. He can sense that you're nervous around him and he feels bad. Even though he's just met you, the last thing he wants is for you to feel scared or unsafe around him. And even though this whole situation is awkward for him since he never was a fan of visiting the hospital, you're their physician, and at the end of the day you're there to patch them up. So he comments on your dark circles, thinking you haven't gotten any rest since you arrived here. "You look tired."

"............that's just my face." You give him that distinct smile, the same smile you have given anyone who ever commented on them as you connect the vacutainers to the needle to draw his blood, your eyes glued to the dark red liquid seeping through the thin clear tube before pouring into the sample tube.

If you thought it was quiet before, well you are most definitely wrong because the silence is absolutely deafening now.

Simon nearly punches himself for his stupidity. Why in the bloody hell did he say that of all things. He wanted to tell you he liked your dark circles but decided to bite his tongue instead. Now he's definitely not going to say another word. Better yet, once he leaves your office, he's not coming back. He's just going to avoid you at all costs in order to save both you and himself the embarrassment. He's willing to bet the others handled this way better than him.

"But I suppose I am a bit jet-lagged though. Haven't really gotten any rest since I got on that plane." You add. "I appreciate your concern."

You most definitely said that to make him feel better about himself, Simon thinks to himself as he stares at the wall and avoids your face. There was no other reason.

Once your done drawing his blood you ask him to hold the piece of cotton pad down onto where the needle was punctured as you open up the drawer where the gauze is located. "Do you have a favorite color?"

Did you just ask him his favorite color? Simon stares at you blankly. Were all doctors this odd?

"I'm guessing you like black?" You pull out the roll of black gauze, displaying it in front of you with the most deadpanned expression possible.

You've got jokes. Simon thinks to himself. If he had looked a little closer he would have noticed the ghost of a smirk on your lips.

"You should see the colors the others picked." You tease as you wrap the gauze around his arm at the elbow, making sure it isn't too tight but also not loose enough to the point where the cotton pad underneath slips out.

Simon narrows his eyes at you. Bloody fucking hell. The others picked a color?

You're pretty sure Gaz requested you get an Elmo print one he saw online once somewhere. Soap asked if there a print of the Scotland flag available. The look of hurt on his face when you said there wasn't so you improvised and gave him both the blue and white gauze. You gave him a Dum-Dum lollipop to make him feel better. The others may have also gotten a lollipop as they left your office, especially after seeing the special treatment that Soap received. Were they jealous? Maybe.

Once you tell the man he is all good to go and that you will call him once you're done getting the results from his blood sample, he nearly jumps out of the chair and bolts out of your office. He prays some unknown miracle happens and that his blood sample magically disappears so that he doesn't have to face you, firmly believing he insulted you and that you thought he called you ugly when that is not what he intended. I am telling you this man does not know how to compliment. They should make a guidebook for dummies specialized just for him.

You watch him disappear out your door with a quirked brow. Well that was fucking weird.

When Simon leaves the area he finds Soap lounging about on a chair with a sucker in his mouth.

"The hell is that?" Simon squints at the sergeant.

"Mph mph." Soap's voice comes out muffled.

"What?"

Soap pauses and turns to see Ghost looming over him. "It's a Dum-Dum."

"A fuckin what?"

"Y/n said they're called Dum-Dums." Soap pulls it out of his mouth, twisting the stick of the lollipop around in his fingers as if he were inspecting it. "This one's a cotton candy flavor."

"She gave you a fuckin lollie?"

"It's pure dead brilliant I tell ya. Why, did she not give ya one?"

More silence. Simon would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't a tad bit butthurt.

"Maybe you scared her." Soap jokes.

Simon lets out a grumbled incoherent huff and walks away.

Soap just shrugs and pops the lollipop back in his mouth.

Simon has a feeling he is going to go to bed thinking about his actions.

Part 2

#cod #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost headcanons #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #ghost x oc #ghost x female reader #ghost x reader #ghost x f!reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x reader #simon riley x oc #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost imagine #simon ghost riley imagine #soap x reader #soap cod #soap x oc #soap x you #john soap mactavish #john mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #cod headcanons #cod mw2

[legiblyloathed]

Ain’t He Darling? (Chapter 2)

Yandere! Wally Darling x Reader

A/N: This has gone from a oneshot to a twoshot to what’s now shaping up to be at least a five chapter story and for that I apologize. The “date” with Wally was only meant to be half a chapter and now it’s a full one. I will, in fact, learn nothing from this and will continue to accidentally increase my workload in the future. Many thanks for the kind comments on chapter 1, and I hope you enjoy chapter 2!

People who requested to be tagged; @whynot5243 @tikosan @itsyellow @twerkingnutella18 @azoart Y’all keep me going, I wish you the best.

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You know, maybe it was hasty to imagine Wally killing me as the worst case scenario. I think I’d take getting murdered in the woods over the uncomfortable silence I’ve been stewing in all afternoon.

Or at least, the silence is making me uncomfortable. Ever since I dragged myself out of the house to paint with him like I promised, I’ve spent damn near every minute avoiding eye contact like it’d kill me. Not that it seems to be working, as every time I glance up from my painting, I can see him out of the corner of my eye, and without fail he’s always focused on me. How he’s managed to finish his own drawing in between these moments is beyond me, but the way the easels are laid out, I can’t see his canvas anyway. There’s every chance it’s blank, and he just coerced me out here to stare at me without interruption.

But now, the sky is shifting to a myriad of colors, and I send up a silent thank you to the heavens for the excuse to leave. “Well, this has been fun,” I start, wiping the excess paint on my hands onto the apron he loaned me. “But I don’t wanna have to walk home in the dark, so I’d best be off.”

“It has been fun, hasn’t it?” After who knows how long of complete silence, his voice makes me jump slightly. Wally takes a few slow, measured steps in my direction, stopping just a little too close to my personal bubble. His eyes glued to my messy painting of the woods, and his eternal smile seems to widen. “You’re good at this.”

I manage to let out a laugh. “Not really, but I appreciate it.” I glance over my own art at the back of his easel, morbid curiosity eating away at me. As much as I want to see what the resident weirdo drew when he wasn’t trying to burn a hole in my forehead, something tells me it’s better not to know.

Wally’s head turns slightly, following my gaze to his own artwork. “Oh, do you want to see mine?” he asks, not waiting for my answer as he walks over and grabs it off the easel. He stares down at it for a moment, as if ensuring its quality, then turns it around and holding it up for me to see. “I worked hard on it. What do you think?”

Upon examination, I think I should have chosen a different neighborhood to move into, one with less terrifying residents. Staring back at me is a portrait of none other than myself. I’m sitting on a bench, which, after a moment, I recognize as the one under the apple tree where Wally had been the day prior. I look relaxed, leaning back and resting my weight on my hands behind me, my attention drawn to something off to the right. As I scan it over, I note that I wasn’t drawn with the clothes I wore today, but the ones I had on yesterday, down to finest of details. It’s beautiful, and I hate it.

I’m left frozen in place, gawking at the perfect recreation of my likeness in silence. The man doesn’t seem to mind, content to let me take in the details of his piece as he in turn observes my reaction. When I manage to pull my attention back to his face, I stammer out, “That’s…” A hell of a red flag? My worst nightmare on a canvas? A fear I’d have deemed laughable before this moment? “…incredibly realistic.”

Wally turns the painting back to himself, looking down at it with an air of fondness. “I suppose it is. I can’t take all the credit, though.” His eyes look up at me, his head unmoving. “I had a very inspiring model.”

At this, I can feel the two sides of my brain start to feud. The optimistic side makes a good effort to insist that this explains the staring, that he just wanted to get the details right and I was wrong to treat it like a problem. The more realistic side then slaps the optimistic side upside the head and points out that no amount of staring could explain the sheer level of detail in clothes that I’m not even wearing today.

My thoughts continue to conflict with each other, the turmoil so strong that I don’t even register Wally getting closer until he’s barely a foot away from me. I jolt back, nearly falling over. He seems unbothered. “Say, neighbor, would you mind helping me carry all this back to Home? The paintings are delicate, I don’t want them getting crushed.”

Part of me really wants that painting getting crushed, but I don’t dare admit that out loud. Instead, I nod. “Alright, but we gotta hurry. It’ll be dark soon.” Already the sun is casting long shadows, obscured by the trees to the west. Wally and I pack up the paints and fold up the easels, and I balance them all in my arms while he holds the canvases to his chest. Together, the two of us set off towards the house in the center of the neighborhood.

No words are exchanged as we journey through the town. He seems content with the silence, and I’m content to not have to talk to him. It seems the rest of our neighbors have called it a day, Wally and I being the only two people out and about. The weight of the supplies makes my arms ache, but if the alternative is carrying a piece of art that feels just a little too haunted for my taste, I think I can tolerate the discomfort. I don’t know how the hell he managed to drag all of this junk out in the first place.

The sun has sunk down past the horizon by the time we make it to Home, painting the sky a myriad of purples and deep blues. It takes all I have left in me not to collapse upon the porch, made all the worse by Wally’s continued nonchalance as he opens the door and beckons me inside. I brush past him into the living room, dumping my armload of supplies onto the coffee table. With a weary huff, I throw myself down onto his couch to catch my breath, my eyes drooping shut.

“You feeling alright, there, neighbor?” The sofa sinks ever so slightly as he settles down beside me. When I don’t reply, too busy staring at my eyelids and regulating my heartbeat, he speaks with what almost feels like genuine concern, “If you were getting tired, you should have spoken up. I’d have been happy to take a break.”

I shake my head. “Fine, I’m fine. Just need a minute before I head home.”

There it is again, that damn laugh. “What do you mean? This is Home.” The sound of a door squeaking registers in my periphery, and I let my eyes open, squinting against the bright colors of his house. I take a glance out of the corner of my eye, and sure enough, his own are glued on my face with a smile that registers as a little too suspicious for my tastes.

An increasingly familiar sense of unease overtaking me, I push myself up and lean away from him, hoping he didn’t notice, yet knowing he did. “I mean yeah, it’s your home, Wally,” I say, “but I have my own home to get back to.”

He lets out a soft hum, and I swear his smile wavers for just a moment. “I suppose you do,” he murmurs, sounding like he was talking to himself more than me. Risking another glance, I’m surprised to see his eyes not on me, but focused on the paintings that he had leaned against his armchair. My portrait, with its flat, distracted gaze, seemed to be staring back at us from the angle at which it stood.

With this newfound distraction from his observation, I move to push myself up off the couch, snapping him out of whatever stupor he’d been wandering in. I make sure to speak before his mouth catches up to his brain. “Well, today’s been… fun, but I think I’m gonna head out.”

I feel a hand clasp around my forearm, and I barely bite back a yelp at the contact. “It’s pretty dark out there, neighbor. Are you sure you don’t want to just sleep here tonight? I think you’d be safer.”

Nope, nope, nope nope nope. I pull my arm away, praying it didn’t look as panicked as it felt. “I appreciate the concern, but I’ll have to pass. It’s not that long a walk, I’ll be fine.” I step away towards the door, and my stomach sinks when I hear Wally get up as well.

As I prepare to head out, the same hand settles upon my shoulder instead. “Well, if you’re sure, I won’t stop you,” he drawls, a trace of emotion I can’t quite name evident in his tone. He slips past me, opening the door himself. He tilts his head, eyes locked on mine. “Let’s do this again sometime. Won’t that be nice?”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was a challenge. Straightening up, I stand in the doorframe and meet his stare as evenly as I can. “I’m sure it would be.” The evening chill washes over me as I exit Home. “Good night, Wally.”

“Good night, neighbor. Sleep well.” My steps are steady and even as I walk down the porch stairs, and the light still pouring out as I walk away tells me that the door is still open. That he’s still there, still watching me. I hurry along towards my house, being sure to break out of his line of sight as soon as possible. It doesn’t help with the paranoia, but I pretend it does.

Tears nearly stream down my face in relief as I enter my own home and close the door, leaning back against it and sliding down to the ground. I don’t bother getting up, not to eat, not to shower, nothing. I just sit there, alternating between keeping my eyes closed to try and relax and opening them when I see those horrible eyes taunting me in the inky black. As I feel myself drifting off, one final thought crosses into my mind:

I never got my painting back from Wally.

#yandere wally darling #wally darling x reader #yandere wally darling x reader #yandere x reader #yandere welcome home #male yandere #tw yandere #obsessive yandere #yandere #x reader #horror #ain’t he darling

[wannaeatramyeon]

Hi~ can I request "committed relationship with lookism boys" headcannons (such as samuel, jake, gun, eli)? Sorry if it's too much and thank you in advance! 💙

Hi anon, thanks for the ask and sorry for the delay! Of course you can but how dare you leave off our Goofy and also Viiiin. I've got quite a few hc floating around (latest one here for almost everyone). Let's do committed committed though.

Do I have to mention that I hc most of the Lookism guys as romantics in their own way?

Lookism Boys in committed relationships (longer term etc.)

The usual - Sammy, Jake, Gun, Eli, Goo, Vin

Samuel Seo

Being in a committed relationship, or really a relationship at all isn't something he has thought much about but with the right person it can work.

He wants the whole thing - engagement, marriage, kids.

Proposal would be something more traditional and romantic than you would expect.

Likely booking out the fanciest restaurant, enjoying a candlelit dinner followed shortly with Sammy down on one knee with a diamond ring the size of your fist.

Honestly, everything would be a little bit of a spectacle. Used as much to express his love to you as well as his power and status so it's not going to be quiet or chill.

Wants someone that will stay by his side and wants all the formalities to go with it.

The piece of paper saying you're legally married, in sickness and in health, for better or worse would mean a lot to him, though he would never express it.

As always with this guy, fingers crossed he's had a buttload of therapy especially before any kids come along.

Jake Kim

Hmm, let's leave anything longer term until after he retires from Big Deal.

Obviously a romantic, though he does not want a repeat of his dad, where he leaves you at home and he's off gallivanting doing gangster shit.

It goes without saying but to clarify: Jake is a one woman man. If he's in a relationship with you, nothing will ever make him turn his head.

Like Sammy, wants to experience everything with you by his side. The marriage, the kids, the growing old together.

As the head of Big Deal though, he knows that he would not be able to give you the attention you deserve.

Doesn't ask you to wait for him, he could never get in the way of your happiness though he desperately wishes that you would.

And of course you do, it's Jake!

Meeting his mother, that force of a woman, wife of Gapryong Kim, might be the most intimidating experience of your life. You leave in awe and a little in love with her yourself.

Gun Park

Actually did think marriage would be on the cards, although one of convenience rather than love.

(It would come as a very pleasant and welcome surprise that his life turns out that way.)

If it was an arranged/convenient marriage then you'll barely see him tbh. And he would expect an open marriage.

If Gun loves you, then this guy is traditional as hell in a committed relationship, and a romantic too.

Will get you a gifts sent to your work, bouquet of roses, or just buy you something because it reminds him of you. Remembers anniversaries and make sure there is something special prepared.

That antique necklace you said you liked in passing? It's on your pillow the next day. That place you said you wanted to see? You're going that weekend.

Yes to engagement, yes to marriage, yes to kids.

The proposal would be something very specific and sentimental to you both. The wedding, less so. He has a lot of customs he would need to follow being head of the Yamazaki Clan and Gun being who he is.

With kids, doesn't matter what gender, Gun would mould them to be his masterpiece.

Eli Jang

Quite honestly didn't expect a long term or committed relationship to be on the cards. (He should really be focusing on Yenna instead of gallivanting around playing loan shark with 5A - ahem).

Most responsible parents would take a while before introducing you to their kid, but with Eli - has the vibe that oh shit something has come up with 5A and will dump Yenna on you.

What can I say, it's been obvious that this guy's logic and critical thinking isn't his strong point.

Doesn't really care for all the formalities of long term relationships, the expectation of marriage but isn't opposed to it. Besides, it would be good to have the extra bit of added stability for Yenna.

Would have a small intimate wedding with just the nearest and dearest.

Likely to also get a couples tattoo too (have you seen the H on his FOREHEAD? That guy is BOLD.)

Can't imagine him actually wanting more kids, the first time round was traumatic enough.

However, if you really want more then he will consider it. Especially because it would be pretty cute for Yenna to be the older sis.

Goo Kim

Hard to get this guy to commit to you in the first place. He generally only has one thought: mind on his money and money on his mind.

Will be hard for this guy to admit his feelings for you, and whether he truly misses you or if it's just his clingy nature.

Once in a relationship, expect to be spoiled. What's the point of making all this if you can't enjoy it? And even though the gifts might not be to your taste (and in all honesty, pretty ostentatious), it's the thought that counts.

With long term plans, Goo is pretty easy-going and happy to go with the flow.

If you want to get married, just say the word. A little backyard wedding or hiring the most expensive wedding in Seoul - go for it.

Want a lil sparkle on your ring finger or none at all, also fine too.

Hint: best wedding present for him? Get him some swords.

Fence-sitter with kids, but if you want them then he can be swayed. Let's just enjoy more of our youth and our freedom first.

Vin Jin

Ahhh he's a secret cheeseball. Although maybe it's not so secret. He is SOFT for you, in his own standoffish way. Thinks he's cool about it but it's obvious to everyone.

Doesn't think too much long term and doesn't feel the need to get married. He's committed to you, he shows you, he tells you and feels that that's enough.

More likely for you guys to get hitched with a quickie wedding where you may or may not be drunk.

And then the morning after and nursing a hangover, Vin thinks huh. This is sorta nice.

You guys don't really do the engagement ring or wedding ring thing. There'll be something just as sentimental like a couples necklace.

Besides, who wouldn't be able to tell you're together with your constant couple outfits.

Kids? Ehh. Vin likes the idea of them but not the responsibility. If it'll happen, it'll happen.

#lookism #lookism x reader #lookism hc #gun park #gun park x reader #samuel seo #samuel seo x reader #eli jang #eli jang x reader #jake kim #jake kim x reader #goo kim #goo kim x reader #vin jin #vin jin x reader #wannaeatramyeon

[macsimagines]

can I request Headcannons with taiju, Kisaki, and koko wjere there darling wants to spoil them? like pay for them and everything, gift them things, stuff like that! and it’s not because they don’t think they can’t provide for them, it’s just their love language! Please and thank you!

TW: YANDERE BEHAVIOR, MINORS DNI, MANIPULATION, POWER DYNAMICS

Yandere!Taiju Shiba

He met you after he left the Black Dragons and his sordid past behind. He wanted to be a changed man, he wanted to be better... And then you, an angel came along and just shifted and changed everything for him

Taiju honestly felt so small when he was around you, he kind of was at rock bottom, but you had helped him back on his feet and were taking care of him.

"Y-Y/N, please I don't deserve-" "Quit bein' dramatic and let me love you Dummy!"

He lets you love him all you want, but don't think it's a one way street. Taiju is a man on a mission to make you his wife and as soon as he does you're not ever leaving his side.

You gave him a taste of heaven, don't think he's going back to hell without dragging you there with him.

Yandere!Kokonoi Hajime

Lets you and gets back at you tenfold. Its almost like a cute couples contest between you two.

Wanna pay for dinner? He's already bought the restaurant. Bought him a nice watch? He's got the latest luxury jewelry line bought out for you.

He thinks its cute how you try to spoil him, but he's the only one that does spoiling here darling. But he does let you do some things for him.

Laying on his back and letting you have your way with him, riding him like your life depends on it in the lingerie he bought you. Ya, you can spoil him like this all you want.

Its actually a power trip for him, because even when you do buy him things its still his money. He's the one that actually owns your company and signs your checks. You just don't know it yet.

Yandere!Kisaki Tetta

Fucking hates it when you do it. You've been doing this ever since you went to high school together. Always buying his lunch, making him bentos or even trying to loan him your coat when he forgot his.

It makes his heart ache to be loved so much baby. He wants it as much as he loathes it trust me.

The only thing Kisaki really wants is for you to just give him all of your love he doesn't need the gifts! But the way your eyes shine when he wears the silk tie you bought him, or the way you smile at him when he's got on the special made order suit you had done for him makes it hard to refuse you.

But you don't get very far with all the presents. Kisaki has a funny way of making sure you only need to rely on him, and soon you're loosing out on deals, then loosing your job and suddenly you're not on equal footing with him anymore.

"Its alright baby. You don't need to work, I make enough for the both of us. I just need you to stay at home and I'll be happy."

A small piece of him does miss the way you lit up presenting him with something, but an even bigger piece of him likes knowing you're completely dependent on him.

#yandere tokyo revengers #yandere kisaki tetta #yandere taiju shiba #yandere kokonoi hajime

[eightysixed]

surprise! new car

After they moved to the Valley, being carless became impossible. In Silverlake it was somewhat doable, walking the twenty minutes from Joe's or anywhere they needed, but their new place was so far from everything, commuting became impossible. Almost a month of that and Tyson caved and bought the first car he found at the local used car dealership: a bug green 2011 Ford Fiesta SES with dents on the side and one of the mirrors missing, but it was cheap. Less than $1,100 and it was theirs. Tyson would soon come to regret that decision as the piece of shit would break down more than his old car, which he almost began to miss in the light of this new dumbfuck. Every week it was something. One time, it got stuck on the highway and he ended up having to push it, with Sasha at the wheel, all the way to the nearest auto shop. That had been the deciding factor. He started up saving.

And save he did. He wasn't ultra smart about it, because their credit wasn't great. But he decided he'd fucking do it, with loans from here and there, their personal bank of friends instead of the actual bank. They deserved a good car. It wasn't a luxury in a place like Los Angeles. It was a necessity. A part of him, for all of a moment, felt bad for making such a big decision all on his own, without Sasha's input, but he wanted it to be a big surprise. If she didn't like it, he'd take it back to the shop and get another. That's how much he cared for her opinion and happiness and hell, half the reason he was doing it was for her. It was their car. But he believed he found the right one. Something about it had just felt right when he jumped in for a test drive.

He came early, a quarter to six, fifteen more minutes until Sasha could clock out — Allen, their manager, was strict as shit about these kinds of things. He parked and got out, and once he was inside he scanned the place for sign of his wife. She was manning the deli, and a big, wide grin settled on his features as soon as he saw her. He didn't make his way toward her though, since there were still customers. Just gave a little wave and then hung back by some other aisles.

"Oh, hey," he was greeted by Zack stocking up. "What's good, man?" Tyson smiled and nodded, "Nothin' much. Picking Sasha up." He and Zack were alike in many ways, down to the tattoos. In fact, newer coworkers asked if they were brothers sometimes. The only things that separated them was Zack being much younger and a not very tall 5 foot 8. Other than that though, it was uncanny. "You got your request for tomorrow off by the way. I'm filling in."

"What, for real? Sick." Tyson's face brightened, this was good news indeed. He had wanted the day off to do things with Sasha. It had been a minute since they'd both had one off. He hadn't been banking on getting it, but now he was extra happy. "Yeah," Zack replied. "I'm trading you for next Friday. Cuz you know, that's the day."

Tyson looked confused, but then quickly got it and nodded. "Oh yeah. That's sick. You gonna show her around LA? Show her the sign?" Every now and then, he would poke his head from out the aisle and look at Sasha, anxious for the minutes to tick down and make it six already.

#tyson #tyson.sasha #tyson.sasha.038

[sparrowhero]

shy! singer w/ shigaraki, dabi, and hawks??

I can do that! Since you didn't specify, I'll do headcanons for just someone who loves to sing but is shy about it, regardless of skill level

Shy! Singer Reader x Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks Headcanons under cut

Shigaraki

His main music choice is usually stuff like game OSTs and midi fighter stuff. He doesn't really know anything about what singers do or their training, but whatever you can do is a hell of a lot better than he can croak out, so you have his respect for that.

That said, he might scare you by asking what you're doing if you sneak away to try and practice on your own and shows up on you mid warm-ups. He doesn't know WHY you ran off, since he was just asking you a question. Weird. After that, he just assumes that it's a secret of yours for some reason.

He'll never say it but your voice relaxes him. Since you're shy about it, he won't call you out on it, but sometimes he'll linger nearby and listen to you sing through the thin walls of the hideout or your room. Sometimes it gets stuck in his head, and if you notice, it's his turn to feel shy.

Once you're dating, he'll sometimes request for you to sing him to sleep. It isn't often due to your shyness, but there are times when his brain is so loud that your voice is the only thing that can calm him down, that can silence all of the other voices and memories that bother him. He sleeps with his body curled around your midsection and head on your chest so he can feel the vibrations.

Dabi

Music snob, he's going to be a little (or a lot) critical at times, but (un)fortunately, he gives good advice. He never gives out praise that isn't genuine, though, so any time he compliments you, it's real.

He's kind of insistent on listening to you after he finds out why you sneak away. Dabi likes to scare you a little since you have a big reaction every time. What's the big deal? Does it matter if he's there to listen, so go ahead and sing. It's half fun, and also he's trying to get you to get a little more confidence. If you can sing in front of him, you can sing in front of anyone.

As I've said before, sharing music is a way Dabi bonds, so he's going to loan you vinyls and stuff and ask you for your opinions on their technique and what you hear-- what do you think gives the best sound, the most energy. He's got a decent voice so occasionally, if you ask real nicely, he'll sing with you. Dabi likes it more than he lets on, but he'll never give you more than a song or two-- just to keep you wanting more.

If, no matter what, you don't want to sing in front of others, he'll keep your secret for you. Anybody asks, and he'll just shrug and say he's keeping watch. Once they've left, he knocks twice-- a silent signal for you to continue your practicing. If you want to perform just for him, then who is he to say no?

Hawks

Hawks loves that you have a hobby that you're passionate about, even if you can't share it. He loves music himself, likes to hum a lot. He's not really a bad singer, but also not necessarily a great one, but you can hear how much he likes it. No matter if you're dating or just friends, he wants to hype you up.

He might (definitely) record you without your knowledge while singing to yourself because it's sweet! It's so nice to see you in such a natural, relaxed state without worrying about anyone listening. However, he always gives himself away and has to (begrudgingly) delete it. He occasionally sneaks in a fierce feather to listen to you if you won't let him be there in person since singing to the feather just...feels different than the look on his face.

He doesn't judge you for your skill level or lack thereof. It's enough to see you happy and enjoying the music, especially if he's given the chance to share it with you. If you do allow him, one of his favorite pastimes is to sing your favorite songs together in the kitchen while doing dishes or something. He'll try and goad you into singing with him by starting it off, nudging you with his wings to carry the tune with him

Contrary to popular opinion, unless you actually have a bird quirk or are otherwise quirkless and enjoy it/ask him for it, he won't call you his songbird*, but he'll give you a plethora of other endearing nicknames about it-- from "How's my rockstar?" to "Is our star accepting flowers today?" depending music genre preference. He does, however, call himself YOUR songbird when singing together.

addendum*: if you wanna hc that he does that be my guest you don't need my permission, just my humble opinion teehee

#bnha headcanons #bnha x reader #mha headcanons #mha x reader #hawks x reader #dabi x reader #shigaraki x reader #keigo takami x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #gender neutral reader

[xzho-writes]

congrats on 500 followers! very well deserved :D can i place a request with diluc + “i didn’t know where else to go.”? also love the new theme, its very cozy ☕

shelter

pairings: diluc x gn!reader

genre: mainly fluff i think? some comfort?

summary: what do you do when the infamous darknight hero comes tumbling into your abode?

wc: 1k

warnings: mentions of blood and injury

a/n: aaa thank you sm for your words and request! i’m very happy that the cosy vibe of my blog is being well received :) i hope you enjoy this one!

if you'd like to participate in the event, my inbox is open!

directory

- ✦ masterlist - ✦ event info - ✦ event masterlist

something startles you from your once-peaceful slumber. initially playing it off as another ruckus caused by the neighbouring cats, you slip back under your covers in an attempt to fall back asleep only to hear a much more deliberate sound.

was that… glass? more specifically, glass shattering?

you decided there and then that this situation wasn’t something you could simply sleep away as if it was just another tuesday evening.

who the hell even attempts burglary at three in the morning, you grumble, only to conclude that there are, in fact, many people who’d attempt to rob innocent sleepers at the dead of night.

with practiced silence thanks to your years of combat knowledge, you grab hold of your nearest weapon and slowly make your way out of your bedroom and into your hallway. the weapon in question was a heavy book loaned to you by lisa, but beggars can’t be choosers.

tiptoeing into your tiny corridor you’re immediately met with the form of a stranger lying in a fetal position on your hardwood floors. their identity is hidden by the black cloak they’ve wrapped around their body, but you don’t care enough to check before battering them with your weapon of choice.

“who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?!” you screech in between each attack to the stranger’s head, and you’re greeted with none other than the pained groans of a familiar voice.

“would you stop that?!” they yelp, protecting themselves from your attack with their arms as they cover their head.

the book you were just beating them with lowers in confusion.

hurriedly, no thanks due to your savage beating, they lower the hood of their cloak and the first thing you notice is the mop of red hair.

“…diluc?”

“yes,” he winces as he breathes out his reply. “archons, if i’d known you’d attack me like that with some… some book,” he gestures to the item in your hand, “i wouldn’t have barraged into your home uninvited.”

you blink owlishly at him with your novel still clutched tightly to your chest. after confirming that this stranger wasn’t indeed a stranger breaking into your home, you slowly crouch down to diluc’s level and put the offending item away.

after raking your eyes over his body it didn’t take long to notice the faint traces of blood on your floor and on his clothes. his breathing is laboured as he tries to suppress the pain in his body. carefully, and with gentle fingers, you pry away at the blood-soaked fabric to inspect the damage with more scrutiny.

diluc is pliant below you. he doesn’t fight when you’re basically stripping him of his upper clothing. instead, he pushes himself up off the ground slightly to lean against the nearest wall and sighs in relief once he does so.

“what happened to you…?” you ask quietly, but diluc doesn’t miss the concern in your voice.

the man sighs before clearing his throat. “had an unexpected run in with another abyss mage,” he starts. “there were more than i expected.”

you’re silent as you wipe away at the blood staining his midriff with the gauze on your nearby table, then glance at the disinfectant next to it before chancing a look at diluc. he nods in agreement.

one would question why you had such medical equipment at the ready, rightly so, but you didn’t know how to answer without coming off as crazy.

minus his grand entry, this… thing had developed into something routine for the both of you. whenever diluc had an unfortunate scuffle whilst on his darknight-hero duties, he’d always come stumbling to you for help.

and you’d patch him up every single time. without fail.

though you do often wonder why he wouldn’t go straight to the manor where you knew he had loyal people ready to tend to him. people who were far better at giving medical attention. you wondered why he, someone so independent and insistent on working alone, would go to you of all people for help. especially when it meant being so exposed and open to scrutiny.

you speak before you can even comprehend your actions.

“why do you always return to me?” the gauze in your hand turns redder with each passing bout of stillness.

it seems you had caught diluc off guard for it takes a while for him to formulate a response.

when he does, it’s no louder than the whispers of the four winds.

“i…” he clears his throat. “i didn’t know where else to go.”

for a moment you think yourself daft for having misheard him, but one look at his face tells you all you need to know.

only sincerity looks back at you as you gaze at his porcelain face.

didn’t know where else to go…? surely there were other people that could offer him better treatment-

diluc’s voice cuts off your thoughts before you could continue to process his words.

“i don’t feel safe when it’s not you.”

and you’re left stunned.

shellshocked is what you must have been for quite a while; stock-still as you looked at him with your mouth hung agape.

you don’t notice how your hands have stopped their repetitive motions. although you don’t notice it thanks to the night’s natural darkness, diluc’s face flushes warm with embarrassment.

what finally brings you back to teyvat is the feeling of his gloved hand tugging your wrist to place your own against his injured torso.

he starts speaking shortly after.

“although i do hate feeling vulnerable like this,” comes his hushed tone. “i hate it far less when it’s with you.”

you pray that he doesn’t notice the similar flush painting your cheeks, and you find that you couldn’t be more grateful for the cover of the night.

“you’re an idiot,” is all you can manage.

but he does.

and he thinks you look lovely like this.

diluc huffs in amusement as you eventually continue to dress his wounds. the moon shines on the hardcover of the book laying discarded by your side.

the title reads, ‘of yearnings and tender hearts’.

taglist

- ✦ @tellerluna-stories , @irethepotato , @gloomybow1 , @pinkuberii , @fiannee , @umiwu , @byeol-ssi

published on 26/05/22

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #genshin diluc #genshin fanfic #- ✦ ☕️ 500 event

[calestialmusings]

The shit show that is changing your first & last name

Back when I was in my PhD program, before I quit (unrelated: I do love being a 4.0 drop out tho), I had a friend we’ll call G. G was real cool and honestly the level of progressive that I was hoping to get to but couldn’t quite reach then.

 Anyways, while we were in class one day it came out that G had changed their name years ago. I knew very little about the world, nor what “clocking” met and how that was what I had been doing. He didn’t look Trans or whatever [obviously what I thought Trans looked like in my early 20s] so I just thought he changed his name because he wanted to. Because he was cool and wanted to be his own person. I tried to pry a bit but could quickly tell that he was becoming uncomfortable and that i was doing that to him, so I dropped it. I figured he was just being mysterious and interesting and I was envious that him and his partner decided to do something so “progressive.” Not to mention, people change their last names all the time so first names must have been just as easy. 

Fun fact #1: First name changes are not as easy as last name changes and changing your first name is confuses a looooooot of people and breaks so many fucking systems. 

In a system that is heavily designed to have women be property of men and join their husband’s identities (The number of times I was called Mrs. Partner first & last name oof), society is really well adjusted to handling those changes in a quick and simple way. When I got married and changed my last name it wasn’t even a thing. I put it on my marriage license, went to the SS office to get a new card, new license without much questions or required paperwork. If something had the wrong last name, it was pretty chill. 

This gave me a super unrealistic idea of what a “full name change” would be like. The first thing that happens is that people don’t actually hear what you have to say. If you give them your name, or say that your name changed most people will automatically just think “last name.” Meaning they will just kind of do a hybrid of your birth first name and your last name. Even if they heard what your name was when you first talked. They just kinda throw that name out the window. It’s fucking stupid but becomes a huge issue when its things like medical records or medicine. Especially if your shit is controlled. 

Buying a house was also a huge thing. My partner and I bought a house about 8 months after we changed our names and that was a whole ass thing. The mortgage companies loved our wonderful credit attached to our previous names but our new names had no credit 🙃 Though everyone knew we were the same people, their systems were ONLY designed to handle a new last name. So we were denied a loan until we could get the name change worked out with the credit bureaus. 

Fun fact #2: the credit bureaus honestly don’t seem to do shit lmao. One of which denied our requests for changing our name three times because there wasn’t any documentation provided, that note was attached to the documentation that we provided. 

Getting our mortgage became the carrousel of hell and it only ended when I forced them to submit the request to the ACTUAL people who approve/deny loans (can’t remember their title rn). They happily accepted our request and just required everything be done in our previous names which sucked but was a win-win for both parties. 

It’s a frustrating situation though and only worked out for us because we were financially privileged. Would they have agreed to approve this mortgage if we didn’t have such good credit, or if my partner wasn’t a tech worker, or if we didn’t live in a place where houses were so expensive? No, they probably wouldn’t have. If I hadn’t worked at credit union for 6 years, didn’t know how mortgages worked, and didn’t have a parent who had been a CEO of a credit union things would have not worked out well in my favor just because I had the audacity to change the birth name I had been given. 

Fun Fact #3: Organizations that you are associated with will get real nosy about why you changed your name. They will require legal paperwork showing the name change happened but also want you to walk them through why. 

I’m very open about my gender and sexuality but it rubs me the wrong way when questions seem invasive and irrelevant. You are legally required to provide paperwork showing your name is changed. To get that legal paperwork you must talk to the courts about why you want to get your name changed and the courts decide whether or not to grant you with the name change. So for an organization to require that paperwork AND still have a client/customer discuss their name change is really invasive. Knowing why I changed my name will not impact the fact that my name was changed and that you have the document showing that. Having that information on record is just unnecessary information that can open up your client/customer to discrimination- and that is why one of those fucking places has my “reason for name change” as “because.” The customer representative then laughed and said “just because?” and I was like “yep.”  

#name change #queer #buying a house

[adelindschade]

Rover Rant. 

I’m a professional Dogsitter on the side of my other job(s). My pricing is reasonable, average or below market because it’s not a hassle on my part, though I am looking into increase it as I’m getting more business amongst my circle of clients (their friends tell their friends, and all of them are very well funded). More business, more demand, means more upcharging since I’m losing the convenience of a hobby and taking on full time hours, you know? 

It’s through my fancy country club job that I got a good connect with the bulk of my very reliable, well-to-do clients. One job pays the bills, the other lines my savings and retirement. Hell, it paid off my car and my loan hasn’t even reached a year mark yet. Good deal, and then some. 

However, I’m out of commission from the club until Reno is finished, so I’ve been taking the 3 month opportunity to reclaim my evenings and relax a bit, while putting more hours at my morning job (doggy daycare.) 

I sign onto Rover on a whim just in case I get restless and want some extra cash because more money never hurts, right? 

8/10 Rover is convenient. Easy people, easier dogs, pay is a bit delayed because they use a third party for direct deposit but eh, my bills are paid regardless. 

Here’s my beef. 

I set filters and make it clear in my description box what I can and cannot do. Where I can and cannot go. Sure, I have a car, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be commuting 15-20+ minutes when I have a job (conveniently 5 min drive away) and a cat at home that requires daily trips. Living in the center of the capital is spoiling - but even then, St. Paul still has its many neighborhoods, and some are better/closer than others. Highland Park? Sure - Np! Frogtown?? Fuck no! 

I also prioritize my existing clients because first come, first serve, and my reputation is built on more or less being their dog sitter on retainer. (Someone else’s quote but makes me feel prestigious). That means two weeks notice for anyone else not already established in my client book. 

So tell me why Rover continues to push me with out of city gigs, or last mine (two days, less than a week) despite my preferences. No, I won’t drive 30 minutes to the suburbs. No, I do not feel comfortable having to pack up and prep for a 4 day home visit with 2 day notice for a stranger. At least do a meet and greet! This person might not vibe with me or vice versa! 

And God forbid I get these requests when I’m at work or driving, and don't respond in the first 10 minutes, Rover sends me some guilt heavy notification “they specifically chose you! Give them a courtesy of a response!” I WILL - WHEN I’M OFF THE CLOCK OR SAFE AT MY DESTINATION!!! 

also: people who send messages without any personal touch. It sounds callous and indifferent. “Are you available x and x?” How about you sell me how much of a opportunity you are instead of thinking I’m in the one in need of money? I’m not desperate. I have a right to be choosey. Why should I prioritize you over others? I hate going in blind and having to fish for more information about the circumstances, pets, or more likely, how this individual operates. High maintenance (aka micromanaging?) 

The joys of dealing with strangers online. Ugh. 

[holidaywishes]

you finally made sense

  Requested: 👍

  Summary/Request: So Jacob Markstrom idea for whenever you’re ready. Because I am simple and just love the idea I would love to see how you would write friends to lovers but where Jacob has known for a while that he wanted more but the reader is much slower to come to a realization. Like maybe she realizes when someone makes a comment about how they are such  a cute couple or something.

  Warning: Google Translate, fluff, maybe some language?

  Author’s Note: For some reason, this GIF doesn’t come up in the GIF search but I love it too much not to use, so I believe it’s from @droppedgloves​ and I want to thank them for it. It’s beautiful, thank you. Fun fact: I forgot what the ‘plan’ was after I wrote “here’s the plan” because I had to save it as a draft and do other stuff 😂😂 I’m not super familiar with Markstrom, so I had to spend a good full day scrolling through YouTube to watch videos and interviews of him to get a sense of his personality so I could figure out how I wanted to write him and, here’s another fun fact: I didn’t realize that video of the goalie playing with dolls (you’re the better goalie, you’re the better goalie) was actually Markstrom so that made me giggle when I was watching stuff. @mandypants95​ I hope this gives you a little bit of what you were looking for. Friends to Lovers is fun to write because of all the cliché’s that come with it so I hope everyone enjoys it, even just a little bit! It’s quite long, like I told mandypants, it kind of got away on me, so just prepare yourself 😂Stay golden, loves! <3

  P.S. The names of Marky’s friends are not real people, -- he might have friends with these names but I have no idea, -- I just needed to make up some names for his friends 😜

  P.P.S. If you keep seeing this appear after you’ve liked it, I’m sorry. Sometimes edits need to be done because of grammar (I hate when my fics have bad grammar) and if I do it on the app, sometimes the title doesn’t save so the link gets we-- it’s a whole thing.

 masterlist

 the other masterlist

xx

  You met Jake his first year playing with the Canucks but it wasn’t a natural friendship like he usually explained it to everyone. He was sweet, sure, but he was also very cocky; like he knew how good he was and was eager to make sure everyone else knew. It didn’t take long, though, for him to charm his way into your life.

  “JAKE!” you called as you walked through his front door

  “What’s up!” he yelled from the top of the stairs

  “Here’s the plan:” you started to explain, “we’re going to this bar, you’re not going to run off and leave me alone with all these strangers, we’re gonna leave when either of us decides that we’re done, got it?”

  “It’s a party, (Y/N),” he laughed, “we have to interact with them”

  “I know and it’s your birthday,” you added, “I’m just saying, I don’t know your friends. You can read me, I can read you, so just help me out a little, okay?”

  “Fine” he sighed sarcastically before running down the stairs to meet you, bumping your arm lightly with his shoulder before walking into the kitchen to grab a glass of water

  “Good” you smiled

  “Great” he teased

  “Look,” you sighed, leaning against his counter while he practically chugged his water, “don’t be weird. Don’t wear a suit and make me feel under-dressed, just wear jeans and a t-shirt”

  “It’s my birthday party...” you scoffed

  “I know, so just be comfortable” you grinned and he shook his head

  “God, you’re so demanding today” he joked

  “I have to be or you won’t listen to me”

  “You know me too well, I guess” he smiled, forcing an exaggerated eye roll from you before you turned on your heels to make your way home. “Wait, you’re leaving?”

  “Yeah” you scoffed

  “You just came over to boss me around and leave? Like this couldn’t have been done over text?”

  “I have to go get changed!” you laughed

  “What?” he chuckled, “you just told me to dress casual”

  “I know because I know you,” you admitted, “you’ll still show up looking like you’re going to some fancy event. Even in ripped jeans and a ratty t-shirt”

  “I won’t” he smiled

  “You will. Just let me go home and put on a dress. I’ll meet you there”

  “You’ll text me when you get there?”

  “As soon as the Uber turns the corner” you smirked

  “Okay, see you there.”

xx

Jacob’s P.O.V

  You waited outside the bar for (Y/N) to show up for your birthday party that your friends from Sweden came in for but she was taking forever

  “Where are you?” you asked impatiently

  “I told you I’d text you when I was there” she sent back

  “Yeah, but you were supposed to be here like 20 minutes ago!”

  “There was traffic. I can’t control the traffic”

  “Oh I’m sure you could if you tried”

  “Yeah well, maybe next time”

  “Are you close?”

  “The car is just turning the corner now”

  “Finally” you watched as cars paced by the bar until one black Lexus pulled up in front of you and (Y/N) stepped out slowly. Your eyes couldn’t help but follow her as she walked toward you, completely enthralled by the deep blue colour of her dress as it swished side to side. “Wait” you stopped her from walking into the bar, ahead of you

  “What?” she sighed as she stepped back in front of you

  “Why are you allowed to dress like that,” you gestured to her before gesturing to your outfit, “and I have to dress like this?”

  “Because,” she started, a smile creeping across her face, “these are your friends. They’ve never met me before and I want to make a good impression”

  “But it’s not like they need to approve of you,” you smirked, “we’re not dating”

  “Oh I know,” she scoffed, “but if I look good, that makes you look good. They’ll know that you’re not failing over here because you hang out with awesome people like me” she turned and walked into the bar, grabbing your arm so she could drag you in after her. Her laugh, paired with her warm touch, sent your heart racing and you hoped she would hold onto you longer but as soon as your friends greeted you, she let go

  “GRATTIS PÅ FÖDELSEDAGEN!” they shouted, grabbing you and practically tossing you back and forth between them before you noticed (Y/N)’s uncomfortable expression. You moved your hand to rest on her back

  “Guys, this is my friend, (Y/N),” you said, pushing her forward so they could see her, “(Y/N), this is George, Niklas, Ollie, Sam, Malcolm, Dustin, Eric and Corey”

  “Wow,” she exhaled with a laugh, looking at you as she tried to think of something to say, “forgive me if I mix up your names. Jake moves a lot faster than I do”

  “Guess that’s what makes him a good goalie?” Ollie joked and (Y/N) nodded

  “So you guys are just friends?” Dustin pried

  “Yes” (Y/N) was quick to answer and you hoped that none of the boys noticed your face fall

  “Let’s get some drinks!” Niklas exclaimed, directing (Y/N) to the bar while the rest of you followed behind them

  “Så är du verkligen bara vänner?” George started, speaking Swedish so (Y/N) wouldn’t be able to understand

  “Ja” you scoffed

  “Av eget val?” Corey asked

  “Så klart det är” you countered

  “Ja? Din eller hennes?” Dustin teased

  “What are you boys gossiping about?” (Y/N) laughed before you could answer, catching your eyes and a pathetic smile as the group sat at the bar

  “They’re just asking when I’m gonna win the cup” you lied

  “Did you guys meet here? In Calgary?” Ollie asked her, ignoring your lie

  “No, actually we met in Vancouver,” she admitted with a smile, “in 2016?”

  “Yep,” you added, “the end of 2016. We were instant friends”

  “No we weren’t” she laughed

  “What?!” you said, shocked at her confession

  “Ooh, Jakey, what did you do?” Malcolm teased

  “Nothing! I was a complete gentleman” you tried

  “No he was,” she laughed, placing her hand on your arm to reassure you, “you were. He was very sweet but he knew I knew who he was and I didn’t really wanna give in to it, you know what I mean? But we kinda stayed in touch for a couple days, had lunch with some of my friends, he got us tickets to a game and made us feel welcome and all that. It was all very sweet”

  “So what was the issue?” Malcolm asked, as if he knew something had changed

  “I got a job in Calgary. I had moved to Vancouver for University but I was about to graduate and the island was a little too expensive to live on after having the loans I had. So when I moved back to Calgary, we just kinda couldn’t really become friends” she replied

  “But obviously you did” Corey added

  “He found me on Instagram and added me,“ she laughed and you could feel your face fill with heat, “then he just wouldn’t leave me alone”

  “And then he got traded here” Sam finally added, earning a round of laughs from everyone when they realized he hadn’t said anything

  “Then he got traded here. During a Pandemic, in the weirdest season of Hockey I’ve ever witnessed” she laughed

  “She flipped when I told her”

  “I hadn’t kept up with the trade deadline” she added

  “So she was in the middle of a Zoom call or something” you continued, the two of you now telling the story together

  “When I get this text”

  “I wrote, purposely very cryptically, I’m coming to see you”

  “And I was obviously very creeped out”

  “But she still replied”

  “Well, I had to figure out what the hell he was talking about!” she laughed, pushing your shoulder playfully

  “Sure but you could’ve just been like ‘this is a joke’ and left it at that” you teased before she rolled her eyes

  “Anyway…” she smirked, “I sent back a message asking what the hell he was talking about”

  “So I told her I got traded and she sent a voice note practically screaming”

  “I was excited”

  “I was nervous but I was happy that I’d have a friend in the city outside of hockey”

  “So I asked him when he was going to get into the city, to see if we could meet up”

  “I told her”

  “But then Alberta went into a weird quasi-lockdown and I didn’t want to get him in trouble”

  “So we FaceTimed”

  “Which we’d obviously done a million times over the years”

  “We caught up”

  “Planned to get together”

  “Which we did, pretty soon after, and now here we are”

  “Here you are” George interjected, leading you and (Y/N) to laugh awkwardly before each taking a sip from your respective drinks and Niklas pointed out a booth where everyone could sit and talk without having to crane your necks. After a while, and a few more cocktails, everyone seemed to be getting along which, honestly, made you smile; something that Ollie was all too quick to notice.

  "I'll be right back" (Y/N) said with a smile before she started to push you out of the booth, leaving you with your friends and their very obvious questions

  "Before you say anything," you smirked, "just don't"

  "Come on" George laughed

  "If you already know what we're going to say, why don't you answer the question?" Sam added

  "Come on, Jakey" Malcolm teased

  "Säg det" Corey added

  "Säg vad?" you played dumb

  "Kom igen..." Eric continued

  "Ingen aning om vad du pratar om..."

  "Hur länge har du älskat henne?" Dustin finally asked

  "Hey!" you exclaimed when you saw (Y/N), trying to get them to forget about the question

  "Hi," she said, caught off guard by your excitement, "everything okay?"

  "Yeah" you answered, letting her back in before you squeezed in next to her

  "You sure?" she said, furrowing her brow

  "Yeah! We just wanted to get another round but wanted to make sure you were here before we did..."

  "You're a terrible liar" she laughed, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and exposing her neck

  "Så... ska du berätta för henne att du älskar henne eller måste någon av oss göra det?" Sam said, causing (Y/N)'s head to ping pong back and forth between the two of you, as if she was trying to understand what he said to you

  "What did he say?" she asked you, leaning into you, causing your cheeks to flush with heat

  "Nothing," you said, distracted by her peach-scented shampoo and the way she didn't move away from you, clearing your throat when you realized that you were almost moving toward her, "they're just teasing me. You all have that in common”

  “Yeah, something tells me that’s not what he said” she smirked, her eyes dancing between yours before she sat back up and continued talking with the guys; they told her stories about how you were as a kid, she laughed and said that you hadn’t changed at all.

  “It was nice to meet you, (Y/N),” Malcolm said, “take care of him while we’re gone okay?”

  “I will” she smiled

  “Take care of yourself, too” Corey added

  “Thanks”

  “And you,” George pointed to you with a smirk, “you take care of her”

  “Yeah yeah yeah” you joked

  "Vi är seriösa, J," Niklas said, "Hon är för bra för dig men om du tar hand om henne ..."

  "Då vet du..." Sam added, raising his eyebrows as (Y/N) called a cab

  "Allvarligt killar, sluta" you sighed

  "Du älskar henne" Ollie whispered

  "Berätta bara för henne," Dustin said while Eric nodded his head

  "Det är inte så enkelt" you sighed, watching (Y/N) continue to try to hail a cab and fail, dropping her head in annoyance

  “Come on!” you heard her yell, earning a scoff from you

  ”Har jag varit kär i henne i ungefär två år? Ja," you confessed, "spelar det någon roll? Nej, för hon känner inte samma sak om mig och jag tänker inte tvinga henne att känna något hon inte gör”

  "Tycker du inte att hon förtjänar att veta det?" Sam asked

  "Vi såg hur hon såg på dig," Ollie grinned, "Jag tror att det finns några känslor där"

  "Jag tror inte det" you sighed once more, looking over at (Y/N) who had successfully hailed a cab

  “Jake!!” she called excitedly, a huge smile spread across her face, “come on! It was nice to meet you guys!” she called to your friends and they waved her goodbye, “Jake, I can’t keep this guy waiting forever!”

  "Du bör gå" George laughed

  "Hon är så bossig" Corey joked

  "Ja, det är hon" you smirked, looking at her calling you to the small yellow car and telling the driver to wait just one more minute. ”Okej killar, jag måste gå. Tack för att du kom in för att önska mig en grattis på födelsedagen,” you smiled, “Ha en säker flygning tillbaka”

  "Kommer att göra, Jakey," Malcolm said

  “Hallå!” Niklas interrupted one last time, "Berätta bara för henne"

  “Adjö” you shook your head before smiling and waving them goodbye

  “Geez! Took you long enough!” (Y/N) whined, hopping into the backseat of the cab with you close behind

  “Relax, I had to say goodbye. They came a long way” you replied

  “Such a good friend,” she said, “can I just stay at your place tonight? I’m exhausted”

  “Yeah that’s fine” you agreed, letting your hand fall next to hers, brushing her skin with your pinky and waiting for someone to break the silence

  “Where to?” the driver finally asked, bringing your attention to him before giving him your address

  “Your friends were nice,” (Y/N) added wearily, “they didn’t really like to talk in English though did they?”

  “Their Swedish is better”

  “That’s fair” she yawned, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the window. You smiled as thoughts of how your life could be with her — falling asleep next to her, caressing her skin as she slept, pushing her hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear so you could kiss her softly — but you knew she didn’t feel the same, so all you would ever be was friends.

xx

  You fell asleep in the cab next to Jacob but you could swear you felt him watching you. He did wake you up, gently, when the cab pulled up in front of his apartment.

  “(Y/N)?” he whispered, “hey”

  “Hi. What’s going on?”

  “It’s time to go inside” he smirked

  “Oh” you scoffed, pushing yourself across the bench seat and stepping out of the cab, stumbling into Jacob when you finally stood up

  “Whoa” he chuckled, placing his arm around your waist to keep you from falling

  “I’m sorry,” she whined as you both stepped into the elevator, leaning back against the cold metal and away from Jake. “I didn’t think I drank that much but I guess I couldn’t keep up with you guys”

  “It’s okay,” he laughed and you started to drift off to sleep again, “hey, we’re almost to my place, don’t fall asleep here okay?”

  “Okay” you hummed before he started to keep you awake by telling you jokes. “Oh my god, Jake, stop!” you laughed, “your jokes are awful”

  “Hey! My jokes are pure gold” he countered

  “Sure they are” you scoffed. When the elevator finally opened, you slowly walked out, swaying and stumbling through the hallway before Jake eventually placed his hands on your waist and guided you to the door

  “Alright, here we are. Come on, drunky”

  “Why aren’t you more drunk?” you finally asked, only now noticing that he seemed very sober

  “I’m twice your size,” he laughed, “I can manage a bit more alcohol than you”

  “Yeah but you’re like… sober. Like you didn’t drink at all” you questioned before stumbling into his chest

  “Oh-kay, let’s just get you to sleep,” he said, carrying you to his bedroom

  “Hey mister,” you slurred, “what do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m putting you in bed” he said

  “This is your bed, I don’t know what kind of ideas you have in your little Swedish brain”

  “Don’t worry, kid,” he scoffed, setting you down on the firm mattress before tucking you under the covers, “I’ll be in the guest room”

  “Wait!” you called as he started walking away, “happy birthday” you smiled, realizing you hadn’t said it to him nearly all-day

  “Thanks,” he whispered and you saw him smile while he began closing the door, “now get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” The next morning, you heard him in the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible, rummaging around the cabinets

  “Hey sleepy head!” he exclaimed

  “Oh wow,” you replied softly, rubbing your temples, “why are you yelling like that?”

  "I'm sorry," he whispered but it still felt like yelling, "am I annoying you?"

  "What are you doing?" you asked, glaring at him while you sat down on the stool at the kitchen island

  "I'm making pancakes!" he smiled

  "You can't cook" you groaned, still rubbing your temples in hopes that it would cure your hangover

  "Wow, rude," he joked, throwing a metal spoon into his sink and you shuddered at the ringing of the steel that echoed through the room, "do you want some aspirin?"

  "Yes please" you smiled gratefully

  "Here" he said, handing you a glass of water and two small pills

  "Thank you," you said and he saluted you lazily, earning a scoff from you, "so what's going on today? Post birthday plans?"

  "My mom is calling in soon and then I have to go to practice, we've got a game tomorrow. In Vancouver, so we're flying out this afternoon," he replied, keeping his eyes on the food in front of him while he spoke, "so the day is pretty much set..."

  "Oh," you said, clearing your throat as you finished your glass of water, "okay. I'll just... leave you to it then"

  "What?" he scoffed, "I didn't mean it li-- you're not gonna stay and talk to my mom? You know she loves you more than she loves me"

  "Well, I am very lovable," you teased, smiling at him until your headache forced you to stop, "but I don't want to intrude or anything. I'll just grab my phone and get an Uber so I can head home"

  "Stop it," he huffed, turning off the burner and walking over to you, "I'll drive you home later, just stay and chat with me and Mom" he placed his hands on your arms before his eyes focused on your own and you found yourself unable to resist his insistence; your pursed smile giving it away before you could

  "Fine," you finally said, "I'll stay."

  "Good" he smirked, turning back to grab you a pancake, practically tossing the plate to you. When his mom finally Facetimed him, he was in the other room so you were forced to greet her first

  "Hey, Lena!" you exclaimed

  "(Y/N)! Darling! How are you?" she asked, her smile so much like her sons

  "I'm good, how are you?"

  "I'm good! Thank you for asking," she smiled, looking past you for Jake, "now, where is my son?"

  "He's probably off puking somewhere," you joked, "he really can't handle his alcohol in his old age"

  "His tolerance must have lowered since moving to Canada"

  "Especially when the actual alcohol percentages are so low compared to Sweden"

  "I'm disappointed in him" she laughed

  "Me too!" you added, laughing with her before Jake finally walked into frame, standing behind you with his arms on either side of you and his chin resting on the top of your head

  "Alright you two," he smirked, "stop making fun of me"

  "It's your fault," you teased, tilting your head so you were looking up at him directly, "not being in the room and all"

  "When will I learn?" he joked, looking down at you before making a funny face

  "Never. You'll never learn. You're impossible" you laughed, sticking your tongue out at him as he pushed your shoulder and sat down in the seat beside you

  "You two are so sweet" Lena smirked

  "Ma..." Jake sighed

  "We are sweet, aren't we?" you replied, noticing both Lena and Jacob shake their heads; granted, with different expressions on their face

  "It's not--" he started, exasperated after having clearly had this conversation with his mom more than once

  "What's wrong?" you asked, confused

  "I think you're the most adorable couple I've ever seen, honestly" Lena admitted and you scoffed, a blush creeping into your cheeks

  "Oh, whoa," you smiled, "Jake, have you been going around telling your parents we're dating?"

  "No" he sighed, closing his eyes lightly as if he was embarrassed

  "I've been trying to get him to ask you out for months now but he won't do it" she teased

  "Well, he wouldn't," you said, looking between the mother and son, "because we're just friends. He wouldn't want to ruin that"

  "Alright mom," he said, over the back and forth, "enough of this conversation. I've got to take (Y/N) home, okay? Love you, thanks for the chat"

  "Hey, Jacob!" Lena yelled before he could end the call, "we haven't spoken, don't hang up on me like that"

  "I'll just.. go wait outside" you whispered, watching him sit down in front of his computer to await the disappointed words that his mom would soon say to him. You waited outside for a few minutes before checking if his truck was unlocked, sitting on the step when you saw that it wasn't and realizing that if you tried to open the door, the alarm would go off. It was another hour before Jacob finally came outside to meet you

  "Sorry about that" he sighed

  "That's okay. She called to talk to you, I'd be upset too if someone tried to hang up on me when I specifically called t--"

  "Yeah, I get it," he said through bared teeth, "let's just go, okay? I have to be at practice soon" you furrowed your brow but got into the passenger seat, looking at him take a deep breath before starting the car. You thought about the words his mother used when she spoke about you and Jacob. You two are so sweet, the most adorable couple I've ever seen, I've been trying to get him to ask you out for months. It was all kind of odd to you. Not only that Lena had said it, or that she and Jake had clearly had the conversation before, but that he was so irritated by the whole interaction. Why was he so upset? you thought to yourself. Did he think you were embarrassed? Did he think that you would be hurt that he had never agreed to take you out on a date? Or was there something that he had said to Lena that he didn't want you to hear?

  "Jake?" you said, as he drove through the city silently but he didn't respond. Soon enough, he pulled up outside of your apartment building and you hesitated before finally jumping out of the car, with just enough time to clear the door before Jake sped away from you. What the fuck? you scoffed, heading inside in hopes of clearing your head. You spent the day racking your brain about what could have gotten Jake so upset but nothing came to mind; nothing you said was rude, or at least you didn't think it was, and everything was true, so what was his deal?

  "Tell me exactly what happened?" your friend, Susie, asked from the other end of the phone after you had explained the morning to her

  "Again?" you whined

  "Yes, again, I need to know if you're missing something"

  "We went for drinks last night, for his birthday, with his friends. We all laughed and had a good time. I drank too much, stayed at his place, in separate rooms. When I woke up, we joked around like we always do, he gave me some aspirin and made some pancakes before his mom called from Sweden" you exclaimed, smirking to yourself a little while you thought of the conversation you and Lena had before Jake came back into the room. "She loves me, so we joked about Jake a bunch but then he came into the room, stood behind me and rested his chin on my head. I looked up at him and we teased each other a bit more. Lena said we were sweet, I said yeah of course but Jake seemed to.. argue with her? I don't know, Lena kept going saying that we made a cute couple but I corrected her, saying we were just friends. My exact words were to Jake 'have you been going around telling your parents we're dating?' to which he said No and then Lena said she's been trying to get him to ask me out for a while but he's always said no"

  "And what did you say...?" Susie interjected, her tone telling you that she was hearing something that you clearly weren't

  "I said that he wouldn't ask me out because we were just friends," you replied plainly. It was the truth, what was wrong with that? "and that he wouldn't want to ruin that"

  "He wouldn't?" she questioned with a scoff before continuing, "fine. What happened after that?"

  "Things got weird and tense. I let them talk alone and then he drove me home in a weird mood. He barely talked to me, he barely even looked at me!"

  "(Y/N)..." she sighed, "(Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N)..."

  "What? What? What?" you scoffed in reply

  "HOW ARE YOU SO BLIND?!" she shouted through the phone, forcing you to pull it from your ear for a minute

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I've seen it for years," she said, "but I always thought you knew. But you really don't, do you?"

  "Know what? What have you seen for years?"

  "The way you'd stop everything when he called, the way you'd schedule FaceTimes like clockwork, the way he knows your favourite colour as it changes from week to week. The fact that he could have anyone he wanted, who would want him back, but he chooses to ask you to hang out with him all the time, from a different province? A different time zone?" she explained but you were still lost

  "We're friends. We like hanging out with each other and we can't really do that in person because of what's happening now. Plus, he's so busy..."

  "(Y/N)!!!" she yelled again, "COME ON!"

  "JUST SPIT IT OUT! I'm clearly not gonna get what you're trying to get me to get..."

  "He's been in love with you for years. Probably since the two of you started really getting to know each other," she said and the words hung in the air as you tried to grasp them, "but when you said that you were just friends? He probably thought that he was never going to be anything more than that to you. Maybe he thinks he's wasted his time all these years"

  "He's not in love with me" was all you could think to say

  "Yes, he is," she laughed, "and you're in love with him"

  "Now, hold on," you scoffed, "I'm pretty sure I would know if I were in love with somebody"

  "Would you?"

  "Of course I would"

  "Fine," she replied, seemingly dropping the conversation, "but he is in love with you and I think you need to talk to him about it"

  "And say what?" you asked

  "I don't know..." she said, her smirk ever present on her words, "but I'm sure you'll think of something"

  "Susi--"

  "I gotta go," she interrupted, "keep me in the loop. Love you, bye!"

  "WAIT!" you shouted to a now static line, "well what the fuck...?" you said to yourself. You were left alone with the thought that Jake might have feelings for you and the words that Susie tried to convince you were true

  "You're in love with him, too" it was nonsense. You couldn't love Jake... It was Jake. He was Jacob Markström. Was there a part of you that found him attractive? Yes. Yeah, sure but were you in love with him? No. No, there's no way.

  "FUCK!" you shouted to your empty apartment, as you paced through the living room, "why would she say that? It doesn't matter. I don't love him. I mean, he's Jake. He's just the guy who teases me for literally every move I make. So, he knows that my favourite colour changes every week, who cares? That doesn't mean anything. Sure, you knew that he loves Country music more than he's actually confessed in his interviews, but that's just what happens when you're friends with someone. And, yes, when the light hit him just right, he looked like he was covered in gold but that's not him. That's the sun... It's not like he's a god or anything, he's just got blonde hair and the sun does stuff to blonde hair..." you could feel yourself making excuses but you had to because maybe you didn't want it to be true. You couldn't be in love with him, could you? "Fuck" you sighed.

xx

Jacob's P.O.V

  You had been ignoring (Y/N) for almost a week at this point. You weren’t sure what to do or say to her knowing now, for sure, that she only thought of you as friends but you hated not having her around. She had become such an integral part of your life and not having her there just felt... wrong

  “Jake, talk to me, please!” she texted and you sighed, staring at your phone and contemplating an answer but you just couldn’t think of something to say, “JAKE! I know you’re getting these messages. Just let me talk to you please. If you don’t want to say anything fine but I need to talk to you”

  “Are you gonna leave me alone if I let you talk?” you finally gave in

  “Yes,” she sent back, “but I need to see you to say all of this...”

  “Seriously?” you scoffed

  “Yes. Seriously. Please?”

  “Fine. When are you free?”

  “Right now!” she replied quickly

  “I can’t right now. I literally just walked into the locker room, how about tomorrow?”

  “How about after practice? I can meet you at the Dome...”

  “Fine” you huffed to yourself

  “Everything okay?” Tanny asked when he heard your exasperation

  “Yeah” you sighed, holding up your phone to let him know that it was something on there

  “Great!” (Y/N) added, “I’ll see you at four?”

  “Yeah sure, fine” you tossed your phone into the shelf in your stall and rubbed your face in frustration

  “Yo, Marky...” Chris continued, noticing your stress, “seriously man, what’s going on?”

  “(Y/N) wants to meet up and ‘talk’” you replied, putting air quotes around talk

  “The girlfriend wants to break up huh?” he chirped and you scoffed, shaking your head in return

  “I’ve been ignoring her for like a week. I don’t know what to say to her... I’ve been able to hide my feelings for her for so long but she finally said to my mom, on my birthday, that all we’ll ever be is friends and, I don’t know, I just don’t know what to say to her. I don’t know if I can hide how I feel anymore”

  “She has feelings for you, too” he said

  “Yeah.. she thinks of me as a big brother”

  “No,” he countered, “she has the same feelings for you as you do for her. She’s just scared to admit it”

  “Why would she be scared to admit it?” you said dumbly

  “Because,” he smirked, “it would mean admitting that guys and girls can’t just be friends. That there’s always some kind of attraction and that sex gets in the way”

  “Sex?” you blushed

  “I’m not saying you’ve had sex or that you’re going to,” he admitted, “I’m just saying, I’ve met (Y/N) before and she’s always said that she doesn’t agree with the idea that guys and girls can’t be friends because someone always wants to sleep with someone else. But if she admits to having feelings for you, then all of that becomes... hypocritical”

  “She wouldn’t be that petty...”

  “I wouldn’t call it petty,” he said, heading back toward his stall to continue putting on his gear, “I would call it stubborn.” By the end of practice, you were looking for (Y/N) everywhere but there was no one in the stands and you figured she must have wanted to meet you in the parking lot so you could drive her somewhere private. You took a quick shower and packed up your bag, looking at your phone quickly to see if there was anything from her but your screen was clear, forcing your brow to crease in response

  “Take it easy, guys” you smiled as you made your way out of the locker room, waving to the team before catching Tanny give you a head nod. You practically ran out of the building to find (Y/N) when you saw her arguing with a security guard

  “Oh, Jake! Finally. I’ve been arguing with this guy for like an hour. He wouldn’t let me in!” she explained through gritted teeth

  “It’s fine. Thank you,” you said to the guard, pulling her away from him and toward your car, “what is wrong with you? You can’t argue with Security, you’re tiny. You’re not a threat, you just look like a chihuahua”

  “Ha ha” she replied sarcastically

  “Am I taking you somewhere to talk or what’s going on?” you spat

  “Do you wanna go somewhere?” she asked

  “I wanna know what you wanna talk about and then maybe I can decide if we should go somewhere” you admitted, stomping off to your car

  “I wanna talk about us” she whimpered as she caught up to you. You caught her eye for just a second before shaking your head

  “Get in the car” you scoffed and she did as you told her. The two of you were silent for a while before (Y/N) tried to get you to start talking but you shushed her, keeping the ride silent aside from the radio until you got to relatively empty part of Prince’s Island Park. “Alright,” you said sternly as you slammed the door shut, “talk”

  “I...” she hesitated, closing the door lightly

  “What?”

  “I never--”

  “Never meant to hurt me?” you interrupted thinking you were finishing her thought

  “I never wanted to be with you...” she admitted and you scoffed in return

  “Wow... thanks. Glad we could have this talk”

  “No, wait, Jake, stop,” she sighed, “I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t realize how you felt until like a week ago. Apparently, everyone else around me knew but I was too stupid to see it. I thought we both wanted the same thing”

  “And that was to never be with each other?”

  “I thought we just wanted a friend”

  “Because I can’t get my own friends?”

  “Because I didn’t think you thought of me like that” she shouted

  “Why not?” you exclaimed

  “You never really did anything to make me think otherwise!”

  “Sure I did!”

  “Jake... come on. You never did anything differently...”

  “I drove you places” you tried and she scoffed

  “Oh no, you’re right,” she teased, “how could I not have known?”

  “How about me calling on Valentine’s Day?”

  “How was I supposed to know that was anything other than you having a day off?” It was a fair point, actually. She knew that you’d often lose track of days when you were on the road and, sometimes, you’d miss holidays altogether

  “I never forgot your birthday!” you said as if that proved something

  “And?”

  “And... you should’ve known then”

  “Jake, it doesn’t matter,” she sighed, “the point is that I didn’t notice until now.”

  “So what?” you asked, “you wanted to talk to tell me that you never wanted to be with me? I don’t get why you couldn’t just wait for me to come to you or why you had to stop everything for this”

  “Jake..”

  “I mean no, you didn’t stop everything but you might as well have”

  “Jake...” you heard her say, trying to get you to stop but you continued rambling

  “But that’s what I do. For you. I drop everything as soon as you call or text because you need me and I like that you need me, so I stop and run to you”

  “Jacob!”

  “WHAT?”

  “I LOVE YOU, TOO” she shouted over you, her eyes closing softly when she realized how loud she was. “I didn’t realize it until I looked back at everything and I didn’t think it was actually how I felt because, I mean, it’s you...” she chuckled, “and it’s me. We couldn’t be an ‘us’ but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted there to be an ‘us.‘ I knew you were mad, you weren’t taking my calls or responding to my texts -- even though I saw that you had read them -- and I didn’t want to make things worse but I hated not having you around to tell me that I burnt my pizza, again, or that I should eat more fish or that I was a terrible tour guide. I hated not hearing your voice everyday or seeing your smile,” you began walking toward her as she continued to ramble, your heart warm with each word that left her lips, “I was always confused why you weren’t with anyone and why I was happy that you never were but when I figured it out, everything made sense. You finally made sense...” she stopped when you stood in front of her, closing any space between the two of you

  “You done?” you asked with a smirk

  “I-I think so...” she stammered as your hands crept to the sides of her neck, your thumb pushing her chin up so you could lean down and capture her lips slowly. She welcomed your lips as if they had been missing from hers for a lifetime but her arms stayed at her sides for a minute longer until it was too much for her and she let her hands clutch your wrists while your tongue glided across her lip to gain access inside her mouth. She let out a small moan when her mouth opened, earning a smirk from you before your hands fell from her neck, down her body, until they cupped her ass and you picked her up; her legs instinctively wrapping your hips, mirroring her arms wrapping around your neck. You set her down on the hood of your car while your tongues intertwined with each other and her fingers tangled in your hair. It took a while for either of you to break the kiss, leaving her chest heaving as she tried to her breath

  “I’ve wanted to do that for so long” you laughed as her head fell against your chest and you kissed her forehead

  “And?” she asked, lifting her head back up to look at you

  “It was better than I thought it would be”

  “Gee,” she scoffed, pushing your shoulder playfully, “thanks”

  “I think we just need to keep doing it” you teased

  “I can do that”

  “Good” you whispered, leaning back in to press a kiss to her lips as she smiled against your lips

  “Maybe we should go somewhere private” she whispered

  “Sure” you replied, distracted by the feel of her skin under your fingertips, before you moved your lips to her neck, eliciting small whimpers from her

  “Jake...” she moaned and you hummed against her skin, smirking to yourself, “somewhere private...”

  “Fine,” you smirked, reluctantly agreeing with you before picking her up again to carry her back into the passenger seat. You sat in the drivers seat but didn’t make any moves, half hoping that she’d pull you into the backseat and say that this was ‘private enough’ but she didn’t do that. Instead, she leaned across the centre console and kissed your cheek

  “Let’s go” she whispered in your ear, making you smile before your hand found its way to her knee, stationing itself there throughout the drive. She stopped you from moving your hand further up your thigh by grabbing it, holding it with both of hers

  “Hey,” you whispered, bringing her hand to your lips, “we’re gonna have a lot of fun together”

  “Yeah,” she smiled, “I think so, too.”

#Jacob Markström #Jacob Markstrom #Jacob Markstrom Imagine #Jacob Markstrom fic #Jacob Markström Imagine #Jacob Markström fic #NHL #Hockey #Calgary Flames #Hockey Fic #Hockey Imagine #Vancouver Canucks #Flames #Canucks #Friends to Lovers #masterlist #the other masterlist

[fandom-scatteredthoughtsonpaper]

Hi hi! i think you said asks were open in your newest post? If not feel free to ignore this lol

I would love to see headcannons of an MC who, though acting brave, gets very scared of the brothers

example after lucifer and the grimoire and such? like MC slowly becomes MORE scared of them, and tries to hide it, but it's getting obvious that theyre scared if that makes sense lol 💖

Ahhhhh, sorry this took longer than it necessarily should have! I feel like I was much closer to what you wanted with this request than the other, so hopefully you'll enjoy it too ❤️

GN MC THAT PROGRESSIVELY FEARS THE BROTHERS

Living with demons is hard, especially when they're the rulers of hell, err, the Devildom.

Sure, there's the implication they're not supposed to hurt or do anything harmful to you, as you have the safety of being an exchange student, but that veil of ignorance was quickly lifted before even the two week mark of living with these brothers.

You've tried getting along with them, and for the most part you've been successful, but a few circumstances have arisen that have reminded you that these boys are dangerous demons... and you're the human that keeps poking the three-headed dog while it sleeps.

Mammon:

You're not so much scared of what Mammon could physically do, but you're paranoid that he goes into your room and rummages in your belongings and personal keepsakes. Your room is the only thing you have that you can claim as your own, and it's your sanctuary, despite it being in the brothers' house.

Of course, the brothers will periodically just barge in without alerting you by asking or knocking, but you've grown okay with that. You're at least in your room and able to see what they do in there. There are a few occasions Levi or Satan might mention going into your bedroom to retrieve a video game or book they had loaned you, but you make sure to put their item on the dresser by the entrance, so they don't have to venture too far in. You're okay with that.

You're not okay, however, with Mammon when he goes into your room unannounced. Hell, you're not totally comfortable with him being in your room unattended if he does give you a heads-up.

You know how kleptomaniac Mammon can be. You've heard enough complaints and stories to know how relentless Mammon can be in his search for anything that could give him a few Grimm from his brothers. You've talked with this greedy demon about items he's stolen, witnessed thefts a few times too.

So, you feel something akin to victimized when Mammon goes into your room without your permission or you being there. Your room emits this vibe of disturbance, and it bothers you because you don't know what might be missing or "borrowed". It troubles you more because now your room feels foreign again, like the atmosphere was plagued by essences that you know aren't yours. Your anxiety swells with paranoia, fear, and mistrust again.

Leviathan:

Oh, for the most part, you don't have much conflict with Levi anymore. Once you made a pact with the otaku demon he relaxed a lot more and invited you to hang out in his room to play games or fuss about animation qualities in animes or gush about his favorite manga characters.

It's just that after that contest of who was the bigger TSL fan and Levi, enveloped by jealousy and fury, came at you with the intent to seriously harm you, you've had this overly-suspicious fear in the back of your mind, itching your paranoia that it could happen again.

You've learned that Levi's demon form is easily triggered by extreme feelings, rather that's excitement, irritability, or the emotion he avatars over, and you can't help be irritationally cautious when that happens. It's a reflex from the panic that engraved itself into your psyche for self-preservation.

If you weren't so anxious about another envy-fueled incident involving your life you might find Levi's excitement for the stuff he loves more endearing and cute.

Beelzebub:

If you hadn't seen how destructive Beel's tantrums over food firsthand could be you might find it hard to believe this relaxed and mostly uninvolved brother would have such a temper... but you did experience it, so you do believe it.

It was a custard! They're so easy to get more of, but Beel immediately flew off the handle and wouldn't see reasoning, lashing out and destroying the kitchen. If Mammon hadn't pulled you down with him to the floor as Beel started his outraged tantrum you're positive you would have been collateral damage too, like your poor room that was unfortunately placed on the other side of the kitchen wall.

It was a terrifying sight to behold, seeing the kitchen torn asunder and reduced to broken walls, obliterated cabinets, and smashed counters, with kitchen utensils and ruined cookware being sent into flight and raining down, razor-sharp and shattered into broken edges that could easily pierce flesh.

That moment of destruction lingers, along with the intense emotion of fright, triggered whenever Beel complains about being hungry or when he meets your gaze at the table during times to eat. You immediately offer your unfinished plate to him, which he happily accepts and consumes in seconds, to appease the Avatar of Gluttony's temper.

Asmodeus:

Asmo's promiscuity and salaciousness are what unnerve you the most. He's the Avatar of Lust, so obviously you were already on your defense, but you've seen glimpses beyond the surface level to what Asmo can be like. That's what intrigues you about him, and you try to focus on those bits that slip past his perfectionistic lifestyle and narcissistic personality. At the same time, however, this is the cause of your near downfalls when Asmo tries to allure you with his physical prowess.

He's tried a few times to charm you, and you feel this invasive power trying to persuade you to give into your raw and sexual temptations, or this tugging sensation that tries to attract you beyond what you feel is comfortable. The repulsed response is usually what repels you from the power Asmo tries to flaunt over you.

He usually huffs after his failed attempt but quickly rebounds by placing his hands around you and trying to embrace you himself, which Mammon, prompted by his denied feelings and jealousy, usually intercepts in your honor.

There's a few times you've worried yourself nauseous Asmo will corner you, and you won't be able to save yourself from his lustful persuasion. There's also the couple of times he's mentioned eating your heart, so that's also worrisome.

Satan:

There's no questions that you secretly fear Satan, more specifically his wrath. You slighted him once before, and the threat he imposed upon you while you were trapped between his demonic form and an over-stuffed bookcase was enough to brand itself to your soul as a reminder.

As docile as Satan may appear with his affection for cats, deep interest for detective shows, and shared affinity of books he could and, possibly, would rip you apart and lavish in the blood that wept from your lacerated flesh and tension of your bones rebelling before snapping satisfactory in halves and thirds.

Other than that, Satan is much easier to hang out with compared to his brothers, except when he gets that cruel temperament to torment Lucifer, which you exempt yourself from if the pranks are too excessive.

Belphegor:

Terror has never seeped into your soul like this before. Your anxiety spikes to levels you've never experienced before when Belphie plops down next to you on the couch or tries to start up a conversation. Your fight, flight, freeze, or fawn system goes haywire, and you become petrified, unable to respond properly.

You either stay away from Belphie altogether or stay glued to one of the other brothers, Mammon or Beel preferably. Just in case.

Just in case Belphie's lament arises again in the form of murderous hate, gleeful contempt clouding his eyes, as his hands find their way to your neck that remembers the tight embrace his fingers engraved into the nerves of your throat, the ghostly suffocating that chokes you up sometimes if you become too immersed in the memory of a body that hadn't belonged to you.

You're also sure you remember an aching in your ribs and spine that causes you to shiver sometimes, but you're not sure if you experienced that in a dream or illusion of the timeline merging. It still bothers you all the same.

For such a sweet face and quiet voice, Belphie is a demon that decieves, and you're better off staying away from him until you're over your PTSD. If that's possible.

Lucifer:

How many times has he almost killed you? Twice or three times? Enough to be too many and to penetrate your core with panic and trepidation whenever you see that sly smile that forms on his lips. It doesn't have to be directed at you, but it's enough to launch you into a panic attack that you barely keep under control.

That safety guard of being a representative from the human world and exchange student mean nothing when you test it by being a busybody in affairs that definitely don't involve you over and over again, especially when it's the pride and dignity of Lucifer being tested.

You hear your lesson but never learn, and unconsciously you must be masochistic for how many times you've brushed death with Lucifer's anger, but you keep pushing the limits.

You can't help going to Mammon's defense when you feel Lucifer is only targeting him for personal reasons or standing up to his ego when you feel he's going over his limits. Your bravery is stupidity though, and you feel your courageous backbone turn into a central nerve system of adrenaline and fear. You're just too stubborn and self-righteous to let Lucifer do as he pleases, but that doesn't mean you're not scared out of your wits.

You've gained an intuition for when Lucifer is approaching or silently comes up from behind you, and it sends a shiver down your back almost every time you're alone together.

If you have any headcanons that you want me to write, please send them my way! I enjoy writing these out. NSFW is okay, but please know I might not do it if I don’t like it. ❤️

#obey me #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me levi #obey me leviathan #obey me beelzebub #obey me satan #obey me headcanons #things from the inbox #jess writes #obey me requests #simpfortheseven

[theyscreamjade]

Jade booo 🥺 Can I request how Izuku, Kiri, Mirio and Bakugou approaching a black reader who they’ve been eyeing in the club all night?

Hugs bc tumblr is being a bitch to you 💜

Start Off With A Dice Roll

So, THANKS TO TUMBLR and something a glitch?! My inbox was..YEETED INTO A UNKNOWN OBLIVION AND I CANT GET IT BACK. I emailed tumblr and tried to find the emails of when I received them..and that’s not even working. So, if you had a request. I’m so so sorry, I don’t know what happened. Please forgive me. Let’s go though.

Disclaimer: Possible Drinking, Smoking and Cursing. (You know this is what I do.)

* Damn it’s been a minute since I’ve spoke about my broccoli boy.

* Let me tell you the number one thing with Deku, Even if you two been eyeing each other all night, even if he’s the number one hero, EVEN if he’s a BIG ADULT!

* he’s still a shy boi at heart and you expect him to approach that melanin all smooth?

* Honey, it’s going to be more like chunky peanut butter, smooth in some parts, awkward in others.

* Why do I see him taking the advice of Kirishima or Denki while there?

* Make the poor boy give the worst pickup line yet just to make you give him a look as if you’re asking ‘you okay?’

* ‘If you were a Transformer, you’d be Optimus Fine.’

* He’ll apologize afterward and say his friend recommended it and if you smile or giggle, yeah. That relaxes him.

* After getting the normal stuff out the way, if you say anything about what do you like. You know what you finna get.

* A whole hour of Deku talking about All Might or hero’s, you may leave the club knowing so much about heroes that you could take a quiz on BuzzFeed or some website about it.

* It’s cute how you are just chilling and just randomly slips up by asking for your number before turning into an embarrassing mess.

* He’s gonna call later that night to make sure you’re okay, safe and at home.

* My little sunny side up ball of sunshine couldn’t help but admire you.

* From the moment you walked in, it was like a magnetic reaction. If it was your clothes or how your hips swayed to the music or even your laughter of your friends shenanigans.

* He didn’t want to seem creepy by staring even Tamaki had to pester him a bit for staring.

* You were just intoxicating, he didn’t even know you.

* So when he approaches you, he gives you the corniest joke known to man.

* ‘Are you a bank loan? Because you got my interest.’

* Your smile and uncontrollable laughter just makes his heart flutter at you.

* He’s only a bit tipsy from his drink but you got him drunk from you.

* Even though the booming music, his focus is on you and ensures he can hear you.

* The way your skin sparkles from the club lights or the sweet smell of your leave-in conditioner in your hair. You had him hooked!

* All night, he just makes you laugh until you’re nearly dying of laughter. You cant even finish your drink at his adorable vibe he gave off.

* He asks for your number so smooth, you don’t even realize you gave it away until you’re home.

* You receive a text message from him that instantly makes you smile.

* Kiripima! I love this man! I really really do!

* So, Kirishima didn’t spot you until it was nearly time to go.

* He spotted you in the crowd and he was speechless. His jaw dropped when he glanced at you, taking a double-take just to be sure he wasn’t full-blown drunk.

* Yes, you were possibly sweaty, twerking, or even dancing your heart out but you gave the best impression.

* It was obvious you didn’t care and let loose, it had to take your friend to tap your shoulder to let you know he was eyeing you.

* You giggled softly and yep, that was it. He walked over to you.

* It slick started awkwardly, he gave you a good impression and gives you an adorable pickup line that makes you melt from his words.

* ‘You’ve got a lot of beautiful curves, but your smile is my absolute favorite’

* (He asked for it.)

* Big red smooth with it too honey, he trying to reel you in but you know he’s trying a bit too hard so once the basics were out the way.

* You adored his true adorable self and offered for his number before he could ask for yours.

* Oh, Just so you know. He takes you home, that’s not manly to let you go home without some protection.

* This bastard isn’t going to admit his infatuation with you, but he is though.

* He can’t describe what it is, but something about you.

* If it was your hair, outfit or something; hell, homeboy didn’t know.

* He couldn’t stop staring at you and that hardly ever happens with him.

* If it was how you rejecting guys left and right or how your body moved with the booming bass of music. Hell, you didn’t even stand out but to Bakugo.

* He could eye you from any damn crowd.

* He may not approach at first, cause he attempted a few times but often talked himself out of it.

* Third times a charm right?

* He approaches you and actually causally talks to you, getting the basics out of the way.

* BUT LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT HIS SMOOTH ASS okay?! HES A BIT TIPSY BUT THAT PICKUP LINE SLIDES LIKE BUTTER FROM HIM. Hits you with that.

* ‘Are you as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside?’

* BITCH, YOU PAUSED HOW HE JUST LIKE...BITCH?! HOW IN THE FUCK?!

* You can’t even react and he just smirks at your silence while casually continues on with the regularly scheduled program.

* If you don’t give him that number, I’d fight you.

* Once you’re home, he’ll send you a message to make sure you’re okay but make it seem as if he’s not checking on you.

#my hero academia #bnha fanfiction #my hero academy fanfiction #i hope you like this #my hero academia fanfiction #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha izuku midoriya #bnha mirio togata #bnha eijiro kirishima #eijiro x black reader #bakugo x black reader #izuku x black!reader #mirio x black!reader #bnha imagines #bnha headcanons

[i-mushi]

Omg I don't know what the hell I'm doing, I've never written anything quite like this before. This chapter is downright tame, though the rest are in no particular order and many are just isolated scenes. No idea how much I'll keep posting, but I love the Salesman/reader stories so I just have to add my own Salesman/OFC to the mix. Sorry not sorry for being a wildly self-indulgent, bizarrely dark, degrading fic.

Cumpounding Debt

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35264440/chapters/87882790

An international student in Seoul falls on hard times and lands a job cleaning for a certain salesman, who decides to help her with that pesky debt for a price: a live-in pet and housekeeper. She doesn't have to like it to survive, but she likes it more than she expects, though it's not all sunshine and roses.

The dress: https://imgur.com/VJKCvYF

#

She got the job because Granny K vouched for her.

Ivy didn’t know her as Granny K back then though. She was just the grandmother of Kim Sun-Hee, her roommate at the prestigious foreign language department of Seoul University, just someone Sun-Hee occasionally chatted to on the phone.

It was all a bit of a mess from start to finish. Ivy had been an international student at the university until she’d gotten a confusing series of phone calls and then some formally stamped letters. As they were in high-minded, legalize-Korean she hadn’t know what they meant, not until the director of the international student program requested her presence.

Her parents hadn’t paid the tuition. They’d taken out student loans in her name, private not federal because she was an international student, and credit card debt to cover her costs. They’d told her she’d had a scholarship, that’s why they’d indulged her dream, even though she should have seen the signs: the lack of interest in the details of her college career, the vague “you’ll do great” cards without any other message, no “are you sure?” questions when she spent Christmas in a different country on the opposite side of the globe.

Her parents had told her it was fine, they’d been saving for her college and she’d pay them back in their old age. Apparently not though, at least not when things started bouncing back and her mother had that DUI and car accident. Now Ivy was thousands of miles away with over $100,000 in student loan debt, not dischargeable even in bankruptcy because her parents had taken it all out in her name to cover their own misdeeds and recklessness. Apparently she also owed the school itself money, since some of those loans hadn’t covered fees and housing, and her parents had promised to pay in installments and hadn’t. The director had told her she wasn’t permitted to leave Korea without either paying off what she owed the school—roughly $50,000—or some guarantee she would.

She’d been too distraught to ask a lot of detail, horrified by the gaping pit she’d been dropped in. Ivy didn’t have a job, she was on a student visa that explicitly denied her the ability to get one. She didn’t have a degree either, being one year from finishing, so getting any work that wasn’t low-paying would be even harder. How could she pay off this debt? How could she look her parents in the eye knowing they’d done this to her without any warning or thought to her future?

Immediately after that meeting had been a blur. Sun-Hee had been the only person she could turn to her, too embarrassed to tell the other international students what had happened and too removed from everyone she’d grown up with in America. Sun-Hee had been there when she’d come back to their room white as a ghost, shaking and crying. She’d wrapped Ivy up in a blanket, given her hot tea and one of her grandmother’s special cakes she’d been saving for after exams, and let Ivy blubber the whole story out in broken Korean.

With Sun-Hee’s grandmother’s help and Ivy’s meager savings from the spending money she’d been given—all a lie—they rustled up enough to cover her housing the rest of the spring semester, and so long as she didn’t fail all her classes she could keep living in the dorms. But after the semester the school wouldn’t let her continue to take her classes, and she was only allowed to stay even now on the grace of the director and the promise that she’d make the payment installments here parents had not.

Ivy still didn’t know how she was going to do that, especially with the first one looming three weeks away, but she had the first paper of the year to write and a thousand more tears to cry while she figured it out.

#

She picked up jobs at the tutoring center for English first. Her Korean was passable enough that she could manage even with the younger kids, so Ivy snapped up as many of those jobs as she could. It wasn’t really fun work for her and it paid like crap. The cushier private tutoring gigs Sun-Hee texted her ads for wanted proof of her worth: references, glitzy teaching jobs, a bachelor’s degree. Ivy applied to them all, and she even got a few interviews, but only landed one. The boy, also a college student at another upstanding university Ivy was 90% sure he got in because of his parents, seemed mostly to pity her more than anything, especially when her stomach growled during lessons. Her cafeteria money had been taken back toward her debt so she subsisted on cheap ramen, Sun-Hee’s generosity, and whatever free food was on campus.

Every time Han-Gyeol looked at her like that when her stomach interrupted their practice conversations she wanted to shake him. He paid her in cash for the lessons and was otherwise fine though, accepting of her stumbles as she learned how to teach him as much as actually teaching him. He could have been brattier given his excessive wealth, but he mostly just seemed so ignorant to her situation. Even so she dreaded going to his lessons.

Ivy paid the first installment by the skin of her teeth. When she started googling whether Korea let people sell plasma she knew her options were getting more and more dire. She was young and blonde, and at least she’d had sex before. The internet told her there was a market for foreign escorts, assuming she could stomach it.

Her third, maybe fourth, session with Han-Gyeol to help him read an American newspaper for class, Ivy spent speculating if someone like him would hire someone like that. He did seem attracted to her, when he wasn’t shooting her pitiful looks. He wasn’t bad looking either, even if his sense of fashion was so fashionable it bordered on weird. Then she saw his father as she left that night, biting her lip with shame as she accepted the rice ball and the wad of cash, him trying to be generous, her trying to escape as fast as possible. His father had a politician’s perpetual frown and heavily wrinkled forehead, stomach bulging a little over his belt, hair graying as he pulled a beer out of the fridge. It was more likely someone who looked like him would want a pretty blonde prostitute to hang off his arm at a skeevy “upscale” bar. Ivy cringed internally even as she thanked Han-Gyeol and started the walk home. It took an hour because she didn’t dare waste her little money on a bus ticket, and she passed more than a few questionable clubs and bars, but she didn’t look up and didn’t consider it. There had to be something else out there, any other work.

Then she was offered that job.

Granny K cleaned houses for a living, despite being 75 years old and looking at least 100. It was the job that put her children through school, though she’d slowed down now so she only worked on Wednesdays. At least that’s what Sun-Hee told Ivy, though she hadn’t been able to weasel any details out of her grandmother. Granny K had told Sun-Hee she might be able to get Ivy hired at the agency she worked at, and Ivy was so impossibly grateful for even the option she’d actually burst into tears when Sun-Hee told her. Since that lesson with Han-Gyeol and seeing his father she’d been struggling to pick up more tutoring jobs, especially since she needed to pass her classes too, and she had one more week before her next installment was due. If she didn’t rustle up the money they’d kick her out of the dorms. Ivy had been forced to go back to wondering if escort work would pay until Granny K made the offer. If she had to be on her knees to beg for money to get rid of his debt she’d do it, but she’d rather clean a thousand floors on her knees than suck a thousand cocks.

Sun-Hee coordinated their meeting at Granny K’s house, and at Granny’s insistence Sun-Hee went to class instead of skipping to help translate. Ivy wished her friend could be here to smooth things over, especially since Granny K was difficult to understand, at least until they got past the pleasantries to talk about the job.

“He is dangerous,” the older woman warned, setting down a bowl of soup in front of Ivy, enunciating every word.

“Dangerous?”

“Ask no questions, don’t speak about anything you see.”

“Um,” she chuckled nervously. “Granny, maybe I don’t understand but what—“

“Sttt!” She snapped her chopsticks in Ivy’s direction. “No questions!”

Granny K was old, and from what Ivy could figure out she wasn’t employed by a cleaning agency at all but a single person. Her employer had told her to train up a replacement. It was clear whoever she worked for wanted discretion because they were dangerous, and someone like Sun-Hee had all the world at her fingertips. Granny K’s granddaughter wanted to be a lawyer; Ivy wanted to eat more than once a day this week.

“All you do is clean the house?” she clarified, grateful for the meal even if the thought of this job made her queasy.

“Every Wednesday,” she nodded. “No questions, no speaking.”

Ivy had a class Wednesday morning, but she wasn’t going to get her degree anyway if she couldn’t pay up by next week, so it hardly mattered.

“Can I come with you tomorrow?”

#

That first day Ivy could feel her breath coming quicker than usual as Granny K showed her the private elevator that led to the penthouse suite. It was a fancy building in a fancy neighborhood somehow only a bus ride away from the school but a million miles in income. They didn’t enter by the front door but the underground garage, which was full of cars that gleamed made by brands Ivy didn’t even recognize except they all made sports cars.

Granny K knew him only as the Salesman in her ancient flip phone, and she was clear he was to be referred to as “sir” whenever they had to speak, which was very little. He texted Granny K what he needed outside of cleaning, usually picking up dry cleaning or sometimes small errands, and she did it, no questions asked. Ivy desperately wanted to ask if the house cleaning involve blood, bodies, or a sex dungeon, but Granny K’s most important rule she would not bend on: do not ask; do not talk about it; be blind to everything in the Salesman’s business and go home with a fat check.

In another life Ivy wasn’t sure she could live like that, working for a shady man who’s name she didn’t even know. Things had changed drastically.

At least he wasn’t there that first day. He was working as he often was, so Granny K only rarely saw him. As she’d warned Ivy while they got on the bus, the house was almost definitely bugged. Head down, no questions, Granny had told her, and Ivy didn’t dare do otherwise.

The penthouse was stunning as soon as the elevator doors opened. Sleekly modern, with a hefty grey couch and massive central fireplace backlit by a wall of windows and the Seoul skyline. To the left was a piece of woodwork doubling as a dining table, a long wooden bar with a full set of glassware for every type of drink imaginable, and a massive open kitchen behind it with state of the art cookware. Behind the kitchen at one corner of the building was a balcony shrouded in neatly groomed bushes complete with small hot tub. Indoors, right of the fireplace was a sunken TV set up and couch, then closed doors that led to a corner office, two guest rooms, and bathrooms bigger than Ivy’s dorm room. The master bedroom commanded almost an entire side of the building in windows alone, with a closet big enough for a car, and an attached private gym. The whole apartment was absurdly plush with nearly a 360 degree view of Seoul and so much marble, mahogany, and crystal it should count as a small palace.

It didn’t even look like it needed to be cleaned, but that was, Ivy supposed, the magic of routine cleaning every week and an occupant who was gone more often than not. She wondered if he hosted parties, and if there was extra cleaning for that, or a locked room for the sex dungeon or dead bodies.

Mid-gawp in the foyer, Granny K put a broom in Ivy’s hand and indicated the entranceway. “Clean!”

They cleaned the bathrooms, kitchen, entryway, and living room. The guest rooms got a cursory dusting, as did the expensive looking modern art piece that stood in one of the windows off the living room, and the office was also dusted and vacuumed. Unlike the other rooms in the house this one had a little personality, with two huge computer monitors, a locked set of filing cabinets, and a wall of knickknacks from all over the world, including a whole series of elaborate masks, from Japanese Noh to Italian Carnevale ones.

There was almost nothing to clean in the kitchen except a few mugs and small plates, but they put the sheets in the washer, fluffed the pillows, wiped down the windows, and took out the trash. Granny handled the laundry while Ivy packed suit after suit, some European brands some Korean, in colors from charcoal to slate to midnight black, into dry cleaning bags. It was a lot of work for one person, Ivy had no idea how Granny had managed for so long.

Around 1pm the bell chimed and Ivy jumped from the kitchen counter she’d been scrubbing, but Granny K tsked and went to retrieve a box of groceries, which they packed away neatly into the fridge and cupboards. Ivy only had her hand slapped a few times when she moved to put things in the wrong place.

By 4pm they were done. Everything was swept and shined, polished and placed just so, and the home could have doubled for an interior design magazine. Everything was either modern art, museum worthy, or that weird in between that interior designers thought looked cool but had no actual purpose or didn’t seem designed for humans. It had been stunning at first, but after a long day of work Ivy found she didn’t much like the place.

Two days later Granny K called her to say she’d be paid a quarter of her salary for 6 months to be trained with an advance—already in her bank account despite Ivy not giving Granny K her account details—and then the details could be worked out from there. Apparently she’d passed whatever test the Salesman had put her through.

Creepy as the thought of being watched and the direct deposit she hadn’t authorized was, when she heard the figure from Granny K she had to make her repeat it. It was enough to cover her installment and keep her fed. If she scrimped and still worked tutoring jobs the rest of the week, along with eating ramen and rice most of the time, she’d be at least she’d have enough to rent a small, seedy apartment until she got the full salary. Too many ifs really, but that was a lifeline of hope Ivy desperately needed, no matter how sketchy the man who held it.

#

Ivy didn’t meet the Salesman until her fourth month cleaning the apartment.

The semester had ended and Ivy hadn’t been able to get an apartment despite saving up enough for the cheapest listings she could find. No one wanted to rent to a foreigner with no credit history and a student visa on the verge of expiring. She was in talks with the school to change that, but she didn’t exactly have gainful, legal employment. Her direct deposits for the work kept coming every week and there were no taxes, physical checks, or questions, but also no paper trail and not even a name to put on a resume. Right now her gig with Han-Gyeol and on-campus tutoring were the only things she could legitimately point to for work experience.

At the moment her pay—with help from the tutoring jobs—was enough to cover a week at a hotel that didn’t advertise itself as a love hotel but almost definitely catered to the hourly spender. It didn’t come with a kitchen, so Ivy had gotten a little portable outdoor grill, a cooler, and bought a bag of ice every other day, and only cried herself to sleep sometimes. Whenever she walked past a homeless person on the street though it reminded her that she wasn’t at that point yet. In two more months her money would quadruple too if she was lucky, and then she would be able to afford something better. With enough money in hand someone would rent to her, she had to hope that.

She and Granny were quite the team now cleaning the fancy apartment. They each had their separate chores, and Ivy was learning the monthly and bimonthly chores too. She almost felt comfortable as she did it, cleaning being a relatively mindless activity. However, this Wednesday was the second time Ivy would be handling the day alone. Granny had another appointment with the physical therapist, but she really needed to talk to a surgeon. Her hips just weren’t what they used to be, and Ivy had insisted she take more breaks or at least do the less physically laborious work, like sitting down to fold the clothes.

The first time Ivy had gone to clean the apartment alone she’d been a nervous wreck up until she’d realized she was alone, at which point the urge to snoop had become almost unbearable. Only that intimidating quiet and the sense she was most definitely being watched had shut that down. She’d done her job and gotten out.

This time the elevators opened and Ivy carried her bag in, replenishing some of the cleaning supplies, and quietly thinking to herself this was the week to flip the master mattress and change the guest room bedding, not that Ivy had seen any sign of their use. There were no parties or guests at all really, she’d only seen two glasses of wine left in the sink once, but the guest bedrooms had been untouched. Probably the Salesman worked too much, or just never had people home. Maybe because he was a germaphobe or a neat freak—

The clink of a plate in the sink startled her to stillness. Oh fuck…

“Hello,” a man’s voice greeted in Korean, coming around the corner from the kitchen. Ivy sucked in a sharp breath, caught somewhere between instant attraction and utter horror at meeting her employer without Granny K beside her. Of course he had to be stupid wealthy and stupid hot.

“Uh, um—“

“You must be Ivy.” He was still speaking Korean, but her name would have jumped out at her even if she didn’t understand his words. That smile was all charm and good looks, one eye crinkled just slightly more than the other. He stood there in casual sweats, socks, and a grey v-neck sweater holding a coffee mug.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She stumbled over the formal Korean and dipped the most awkward bow she’d ever done, suddenly doubting every rule of the culture she’d ever learned.

“Would you prefer to speak in English?” he asked with an accent, switching languages effortlessly and that smile never wavering.

“Oh! Only if you’re comfortable,” she said, speaking a little slower just in case he wasn’t totally fluent. She was surprised at all that he spoke some English, though depending on what sort of business he did he might use it. He didn’t look like a hitman or a member of the mafia, but maybe that just made him more dangerous.

His dark eyes swept over her attire critically and Ivy felt a dull red fill her cheeks. She didn’t dress nicely to clean someone’s home obviously, but the small stains on her sweatpants and the slightly tattered cuff of her secondhand sweater made her feel embarrassed. He was so put together and his home so well-heeled she felt every inch the street bum.

“Hm, I had wondered why Soon-ja recommended an American,” he said still in English.

“I intend to work very hard,” Ivy said formally in Korean, another phrase she’d perfected while trying to find any job that would take her.

He smiled at her, head tilted slightly. He had to know what a weapon that smile was. “I’m sure you will. Please, continue your work.”

Ivy felt a weird buzz in her head at the way he said that. She stood very still as he walked by her to the office, his hair cut short on the sides and swept as neatly as a model’s, the sweater he wore some fine cashmere that hinted at an athletic frame. She couldn’t help the quick glance at his butt in those designer lounge pants before hurriedly opening the cleaning closet for the broom and pan. If she was lucky that was all she’d ever see of him again.

#

“You can’t tell me anything?” Sun-Hee whined at dinner Friday night, both of them seated in a cozy corner booth of a nice BBQ place to celebrate her big job offer. She was going to work as a secretary at a law firm for a year while she prepped her law school application. “Granny K never says a word but I know it has to be a famous person. Why else would it be so hush-hush?”

“I know, but I really can’t. It’s Granny’s biggest rule.” Without a name Ivy couldn’t google the Salesman, but she was sure he wasn’t an actor or politician. Dangerous was right, and she didn’t want to jeopardize this job. She needed the money, the love hotel she was living at came with a lot of weirdos, and she was just glad that the front desk was basically automated or she didn’t know how she’d look a receptionist in the eye—or Sun-Hee, if she ever found out the dire straights Ivy had been forced into.

“He’ll never know, I swear to never tell a soul.” Sun-Hee made a cross over her chest.

“ ‘Three may keep a secret if two of them are dead’,” Ivy quoted, badly translating it into Korean and grateful the waitress came over with their food right then.

Sun-Hee grumbled good-naturedly, distracted by the spread of meat to BBQ. “At least it’s money. Look, you have a safe place to stay, right? You know I have a single room this summer and could sneak you in.”

“Thanks, Sun-Hee, but I’m okay.” It wasn’t the most convincing based on her friend’s expression. Ivy slumped over her drink. “You’ll get in trouble if I’m caught and we can’t do that. I should be full time in two months, I’ll be fine.”

“We can be roommates when I graduate,” Sun-Hee offered, smiling brightly. “Then we can get a great place!”

Ivy bit her lip. She was so tempted to live with her friend in some cool high-rise apartment, and they’d go all out decorating it. But Ivy had so much debt, the last thing she could afford was a high rent. Even split, the cost of rent in Seoul was no joke, and Sun-Hee shouldn’t have to live in a crappy place if she could afford better.

“Let me get all the paperwork done first,” Ivy said instead. “Plus, who knows how things will go with this boy?”

“Oh please, he’s cute but there’s no way I’m moving in with a guy as soon as I graduate!”

Successfully distracted, Sun-Hee launched into a story about her new boyfriend and Ivy swallowed down the jealousy and sadness of how carefree she was. It felt like she spent all of her spare time either tutoring, applying to jobs, or ignoring her growling stomach to sleep, even though less than six months ago she’d been as hopeful and fun as Sun-Hee.

#

The next week Granny couldn’t make it on Wednesday again, her doctor insisting the cleaning job was too much physical labor for her. That meeting with the orthopedic surgeon loomed closer as Ivy rode up the elevator. She was nervous for Granny K and the potential surgery, but also anxious about whether she’d see the Salesman again. Last week had left an uncomfortable feeling in her belly.

Ivy stepped off the elevator and took off her sneakers, glancing up to see the Salesman sitting on the living room couch by the fireplace. He looked up and they made eye contact, her’s wide and surprised, his pleasantly amused. She almost felt a bizarre urge to ask him if he lived here, given Ivy thought she might come here more often than he did.

“Uh, hello, sir,” she greeted awkwardly in English, giving a half bow after freezing like a deer. His piercing gaze fixing her in place for a moment before that snake-oil half smile softened his features. No wonder he was so rich, people probably bought whatever he was selling when he looked like that.

“Did you get caught in the rain?” he asked, gesturing to the windows. A few droplets had hit them now and the sky was noticeably grayer.

“No, I must have just missed it,” she murmured, uncomfortable and unsure about this small talk.

“Ah, that’s good.”

He kept looking at her like he really had nothing else to do, and maybe he didn’t but Ivy did. Maybe he was off work today or not feeling well, though he looked perfectly fine. What on earth did he do in his downtime? The TV remote had never been moved as long as she’d been cleaning here, and there were no other visible hobbies. That computer setup definitely wasn’t for gaming.

“Um, I’m going to clean now,” she announced, heading to the closet with the supplies.

“When you’re done I have another job for you.”

She paused with the closet door half open. “Another job?”

He looked amused at her, that smile on his lips again. “Finish this one first, won’t you?”

Ivy was thankful for the closet door to hide the burn in her cheeks. It hadn’t really been scolding, but his tone had just the right mix of condescending and knowing that made Ivy feel transparent. When he’d said another job her first thought had been a bonus paycheck, maybe enough to squirrel away for a down payment and a treat for dinner.

He probably had no idea what it was like to live paycheck to paycheck like she was now or deal with the bureaucratic nightmare that was her visa closing on her like a noose. She may not be in a position to ask for much but she did have needs, and she didn’t need some rich snob to shame her about that.

It took her a few hours to work through the house, the Salesman disappearing into his office mid-morning. He stepped out to make some kind of quick stir-fry for lunch that smelled wonderful and forced Ivy to spend extra time cleaning the master shower so he couldn’t hear her stomach grumble. Normally Ivy paused to stuff a rice ball or some other convenience store snack into her mouth but her stomach was all twisted up today and her egg salad sandwich paled to whatever home cooking he was doing. She wondered if he cleaned up the pots himself and that’s why they were never in the sink for her and Granny K to scrub.

He eventually settled back down on the couch with a book, and Ivy had to keep crisscrossing the living room for supplies, half her mind on him sitting there. He wasn’t doing anything, she chastised herself, so why couldn’t she stop stealing looks? She tried to ignore him but he might as well have loomed as large as Michaelangelo’s David in the room: big, beautiful, and staring. He watched her with that same vaguely curious smile, eyes following her every movement even when she was sure he was looking at his book. She skipped vacuuming the living and dining rooms and was almost grateful to be done wiping the kitchen counters down, one of the last chores.

She may have dragged it out a bit, but eventually she had to carry a bucket of sponges and rags back to the closet, the first signal the shift was done. What was the other job? Did she need to ask or would he say something? What could it possibly involve? She should have asked Granny K more details about those side jobs she’d done.

“How is your Korean?” he asked in the language, closing the book in his lap to look at her with expectant curiosity.

Ivy’s free hand was outstretched for the cleaning closet door, the other holding her bucket of supplies. “Um, I am still learning all the time,” she said hesitantly. When she dared to meet his eyes his eyebrow was slightly raised. Ivy felt unaccountably unnerved by that look. “I can understand more than I can speak.”

His face broke into a smile and the small wrinkles at his mouth and the crinkling of his eyes were unfairly beautiful. “That is the way of the learner. Would you like to learn about the new job?”

Ivy squeezed the handle of the bucket. “Yes please.”

His smile got a little fuller at that. “I am going to a formal dinner and need a date.”

“A date?” Surely she hadn’t heard that right.

He tilted his head and quirked his lips, and then his eyes ran over Ivy slowly, undressing her. It shouldn’t have been hot, but Ivy felt a shudder run down her spine just the same. No one had ever looked at her like that before.

“Yes. I think you’ll look very good.”

Her cheeks betrayed her, flushing red. There was no way he didn’t know his effect on women. His smile became a smirk and he nodded his head at the garment bag hanging from a hook over the front closet door that she hadn’t even noticed, so consumed with cleaning under his watchful gaze. “Try it on.”

Ivy hesitated, but he waited patiently, like a cat waiting for the mouse to creep out of its hole. She put away the bucket and went over to the other closet, unzipping the bag to reveal a black dress inside with sheer, ruched sleeves. It was hard to get a sense of the style but she saw heels also tucked into a front pocket. There was no label, but considering the rest of his home this probably wasn’t cheap.

“Use the guest room to shower and get ready,” he instructed. “You have three hours.”

Ivy zipped the garment bag back up slowly, so many questions flying through her head she didn’t even know where to start. This was… was he implying…? Or was it some foreigner thing? Did he want her to listen in on something? Spy or prostitute?

She was thinking too much and he knew it. She heard the soft snap of his book shutting and then the rustle of clothes as came around the couch.

“You need this work, Ivy,” he reminded her in English, coming so close she could smell his cologne and natural musk. He took the garment bag off its hook and handed it to her. “You’re a quick learner, otherwise you wouldn’t be so successful in college.” Her eyes went wide as he tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, acting so familiar and so unperturbed by it. “Now go get ready.”

She knew the Salesman had done some kind of background check before hiring, but it was alarming how he knew such personal details. He had to know about her debt, didn’t he? What about the visa difficulties? Did he know where she was living right now? Shame and horror mixed together noxiously in her throat as Ivy shut the guest room door behind her, garment bag in hand. And what had that been with her hair? Her cheek burned where his palm had barely brushed it. A man like that could have anyone; she had to be reading into it too much because she hadn’t had sex or felt remotely interested since her last boyfriend, before all this horror had started.

Actually, why did he need her for a date? If anyone could hire a foreigner escort it was him, or even just ask a model. Whatever the Salesman was doing with this dinner Ivy had a bad feeling about it. He was clearly using her because she needed the money, as he’d said, but there had to be an ulterior motive.

She’d already taken the dress though, and she fully expected it would fit well, so it was really too late to say no to this dinner. If she walked out of the apartment right now she’d be out of the job that paid for practically everything she had right now, and she’d be back to square one. She had enough to cover a week more at the hotel before she’d be begging Sun-Hee and Granny K for a place to stay, and then it would be the streets. Either that or show up at the embassy and risk being caught in the middle of a political or diplomatic incident—or more likely thrown in Korean jail.

That thought got her feet moving. Ivy stepped into the familiar bathroom and opened the drawers, finding what she’d always known was in them because once a month she dusted them: shampoo, conditioner, hair dryer, curling irons, and, to her surprise, a drawer of makeup and a waxing and shaving kit. That hadn’t been there before.

He’d been planning this obviously, but he’d waited until the night of the event to tell her. Red flag, as though everything else about him wasn’t.

Ivy had never gotten to use the shower before though she’d cleaned it a million times, so that was exciting, and three hours gave her some time. She washed her hair and body with the expensive shampoo and then spent most of her time waxing her legs and, because she was the level of bush that was the stubbly time between trimmed and shaved, she shaved her vulva too. Feeling clean and soft and a little readier to tackle the evening, she stepped out with one of the super fluffy towels she’d washed but never used before, only to realize she had a small dilemma.

Her bra was a sports bra because cleaning did sometimes get to be sweaty work, but even more importantly was her underwear.

She was freshly showered so she didn’t want to put back on the dirty underwear she’d worn all day, and it was one of her “cute”, fun purchases before she’d known how much debt she was in. This pair was a boy brief style with Pikachu on them, which absolutely did not match the green and black sports bra she was wearing or the formal dinner she would be attending. The drawers in this guest room were all empty, but maybe…

Ivy unzipped the garment bag and took the dress out this time. A form-fitting, short black dress of expensive material, it had sheer, bunched up sleeves and a low neckline with a heart-shaped design. The shoes were four-inch high heels with red bottoms, her size of course. An investigation of the other pockets turned up nothing though.

Okay, one problem at a time, she thought. Get ready first.

Ivy blowdried her hair, put in a little product to make it bounce, and, after a little experimentation, did her makeup as well as she could. She didn’t have any jewelry, but considering the cut of the dress no one would be looking at that anyway.

When she stepped into it Ivy couldn’t help the burst of excitement as she pulled the tight dress on, not quite able to zip the back up. Even so it cinched at her waist and accentuated the shape of her hips, but it sat very high up on her thighs. Ivy was a little alarmed how short it was, especially how much it rode up when she was sitting. With the low neckline and wide shoulders she couldn’t have worn a regular bra anyway. As it were, she had to adjust her boobs a bit so she didn’t flash a nipple, the center v of the cut dipping quite low. Ivy had never worn anything like it, but when she crossed her legs to test the length she could feel the wetness between them. She was soft as a dove there too, and without panties this was going to be a little too hot.

Ivy checked every drawer in the room and bathroom again but found nothing, and rechecking the garment bag too also came up empty-handed. She either wore her old panties or went without.

Biting her lip in the mirror, Ivy slipped on the black high heels, tightened the straps, couldn’t believe how outrageously comfortable a pair of heels could be, and said fuck it to underwear. If she was going to sleep with him anyway might as well skip the embarrassment for the last night of high-rolling fun she’d probably ever have.

#

He was waiting in the front hall adjusting his cuffs when Ivy stepped out just shy of three hours later. It had seemed generous at the time, but she’d gone back and forth over her hair and makeup for a good chunk of it, not to mention fretting over the dress itself. His head came up slowly, gaze sharp and then molten hot as he ran it over her body. “You look beautiful.”

Ivy flushed. He looked absurdly good too in a three-piece suit in a dark black that accentuated the effortless cut of his hair and the lines of his fine jaw and cheekbones. The low-grade arousal that came from a fresh shave was not helped by the look of the Salesman. This was going to be a long night.

“Um, there is a button and a zipper,” she murmured, pointing to her back. He moved immediately, gliding over the floor to sweep her hair aside and pull the zipper up tight, the smell of him making her dizzy as he buttoned her up. One hand just skated the curve of her waist as he stepped back.

“Ready?”

#

He drove a Maserati of course, and Ivy wondered how many of the cars in the garage were his. The dinner was at the top floor of some outrageously stunning hotel somewhere in Seoul. She had no idea what the name of the place was, overwhelmed by the valet, the doorman looking at her legs in appreciation, and the Salesman’s arm snaking around her waist to hold her tight to his side as they walked in.

Ivy didn’t know a single face or remember a single thing from the night except that she ate well, he cut her off after two glasses of wine, and she wasn’t the only one staring at him all night. Sometimes his hand was on her low back or hip, guiding her around, thumb occasionally rubbing her side, chatting in fast, business-jargon Korean to whoever these wealthy people were. Ivy wasn’t expected to say anything beyond a hello or two in English, a doll on his arm, but his hand burned where he touched her. Every tilt of his head that moved a lock of hair, every smile and smirk, those appraising eyes that looked at her every now and then, it made it hard to focus on everything around her.

She escaped once to the bathroom where one of the woman there had made some offhand comment about only a few good-looking men here to her friend. Ivy felt a bizarre possessiveness and pride to be on the arm of the one of those few, even though he was twisting her’s to be here. She didn’t want to feel that way, she wanted to get this night over with, ease the craving between her legs and sort through her confusing feelings in the morning. When a different drunk women left without her glass of whiskey Ivy downed it in front of the mirror. If she was fucked up in the head at least she could blame the alcohol tonight.

When she’d stepped back out, whiskey still burning her tongue, he’d been like a beacon in the crowded room, pulling her in while others stared. When she sat down the Salesman didn’t seem to notice, turning to answer someone across the table, but his hand slipped over her thigh, hot against her bare skin. Ivy stiffened a moment, surprised, then relaxed. Her knees were firmly together only because her pussy was wet and tingled and the tight cut of this dress made spreading her legs uncomfortable anyway. The Salesman’s hand didn’t move, but Ivy did notice the man directly across from her was staring, his eyes firmly fixed where the dress began on her breasts, bare centimeters from her nipples. She glanced at the Salesman who didn’t look her way.

Through dessert his hand stayed in place, and as the night wound down and people began to say their goodbyes the Salesman stood up, offering Ivy the hand that had been on her thigh. It was warm and surprisingly soft, and he tugged her to his side, arm sliding around her waist. He led her over to the front table and offered their thanks to the host, some older man who grunted in incomprehensible Korean. Then the Salesman guided her out the door, squeezing her hip.

They didn’t speak as they waited for the valet to bring their car around, too many others from the dinner around still chatting with each other, though with noticeable slurring or over-enthusiastic tones. If he was touched by alcohol at all Ivy couldn’t guess, he’d nursed drinks all night and she wasn’t sure he’d sipped a single one. When his Maserati pulled up the Salesman opened the door for her.

She got in, glad his body blocked the possible flashing as the dress rode up nearly to her hips. His teeth were white in the dark before the door shut, and then he got in on the other side.

“You were perfect tonight,” he complimented as he pulled the car away from the curb.

Ivy blushed, trying to even her breathing out. “Thank you. Um, what was this?”

“A dinner to close a deal,” he said, which explained almost nothing. “Did you have fun?”

Fun? Half of her attention all night had been on not rubbing her thighs together, having spent the evening on edge, and the wine and atmosphere had only made it worse. Now they were back in the car alone, heading to his apartment. Fun wasn’t how she would have described it. Aggravating? Hot? A blur of arousal and confusion?

“Yes.”

He glanced at her as he stopped for a signal, the glow of the late night lights throwing his handsome face in sharp relief. He seemed to see something in Ivy’s expression because he started to smirk at her, eyes sliding down her body before he was pulled away by the light change.

“Did you like the dress?”

“Yes.”

“I think you’re forgetting something,” he murmured, expression still that aggravatingly teasing look even as he drove.

Ivy immediately thought of her lack of panties and pressed her thighs tighter together. Gods she hope he couldn’t smell how wet she was.

“What?”

“Sir,” he said silkily, and Ivy blinked, startled to realize she’d forgotten that rule—and that he wasn’t talking about her panties.

“Yes, sir?”

“Good girl.”

Fuck, forget the smell, she was going to leave a wet spot on the leather seat.

#

The rest of the drive was quiet, but the smell of his cologne and the casual closeness of sitting in the car together made Ivy hyper aware of every breath she took. Her foot itched but she didn’t dare move, playing the velvety way he’d said “good girl” and the pleasant jolt that had shot through her on repeat in her head. She’d never felt like this about a man before, intoxicated by his attention.

Despite time seeming to ooze by with every breath they were pulling into the underground garage before she realized how far they’d driven. The Salesman parked seamlessly into a space between a Corvette and a Land Rover then turned off the engine. He didn’t say a word as he got out, but Ivy had barely opened the door before he was there, holding it for her.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, his look saying he had some idea already.

The empty space between her legs felt more obvious than ever as Ivy followed him out from between the cars to the elevator. “Um, it’s late, I don’t know what time the buses stop.”

He looked down at her, still taller despite her four inch heels. His fingers stroked over her hair for a moment before he wrapped a fistful and gently but forcibly tugged. A startled gasp escaped Ivy as the sensation shot down to her cunt and his smile was positively wicked. “I won’t repeat myself again.”

“Sorry sir,” she said quickly, and he released her hair, some of the golden strands sliding through his fingers slowly as he pulled his hand away.

“I have two guest rooms,” he reminded her, “and I’m the one keeping you out late.”

“This is part of the job, sir,” she murmured, not very convincingly. The elevator chimed and the doors soundlessly opened. She stepped in but he waited a beat, standing outside.

“Mm, and you are a hard worker, aren’t you?”

He didn’t look at her in the elevator as it rode up and up, but the tension between them was overwhelming. He looked so unbothered, not even shifting his weight, while Ivy swore she could feel her pulse in between her legs.

The elevator was too efficient. They were at his floor before Ivy could figure out what to say in response, and then the Salesman was striding out into his home, toeing off his expensive shoes and peeling off his jacket. It was unnecessarily sexy how he tossed the jacket aside and rolled up his sleeves, still in the matching vest, on his way to the liquor cabinet, part of the bar that separated the living room from the kitchen.

“Wine?” he called as Ivy unstrapped her heels and placed them by the exit. Her old, beat up sneakers still sat there, appallingly out of place.

“Sir?”

He was smiling when she rounded the corner, pulling down two dangling wine glasses Ivy had hand-cleaned at some point. Had he boozed and smiled at another woman here just like this, the way he was with her? Had she washed those glasses out and made his bed without realizing someone else had lain in those sheets?

Those were ugly thoughts that she tried to banish as he expertly popped the cork and poured out generous glasses. He offered one to her, and the way he smiled made her unsure if he was happy or just enjoyed watching the fly fall into his web.

“To a successful night.”

“Geonbae,” Ivy murmured, hating the way her heart jumped at his pleased smile as she tapped her glass to his with the Korean word for cheers. He’s probably a monster, she told herself even as she sipped wine that probably cost as much as her rent, don’t let him talk you into anything you don’t want.

But he’d make it so good… the insidious voice in her head said, reminding her that she was standing with this handsome man without a bra or panty on. This dress sat so high on her thighs that if one of his long fingers dipped beneath it he’d know immediately that not only was she bare, she was wet.

“—Taste?”

“Hm?” Ivy asked, almost choking on the wine. She hadn’t fully understood whatever he’d said in Korean except the last word. Taste what? Her?

“Do you like the wine?” he corrected in English, looking amused as she looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Oh yes.” There was a beat of silence, his gaze so heavily on her. “Sir.”

He relaxed, setting his glass down and popping the buttons on the vest of his three-piece suit and shedding it, dropping it on the kitchen counter carelessly. He only undid the top buttons of the white shirt beneath, exposing creamy smooth skin.

“When did you move to Korea?” he asked, walking to the couches Ivy had cleaned a thousand times and been too afraid to sit on. She’d always eaten her lunch standing in the kitchen like the servant she was.

“Two years ago.”

“For university?”

He sat down like he owned it, legs spread, arm over the top of the couch, watching her as she tried to sit primly and failed because this dress was so tight and so short. The U-shape of the couch let them face each other over a coffee table.

“Yes, sir.”

“And your parents said they would pay for it.”

Ivy swallowed a larger mouthful of wine than she meant to. He held his glass lazily, eyes razor sharp. “Yes, but there were some problems, sir.”

“About $200,000 in problems,” he said, and Ivy’s cheeks turned red. “And American student loans have interest too, don’t they?” She couldn’t meet his eyes, mortified he knew not just about the debt but the extent of it. She was deep in the hole and not crawling out anytime soon. “Student visas don’t allow you to work either, do they?”

She shook her head mutely.

“Pity you have no one to confirm you are an upstanding citizen, that is the English, right?” Ivy couldn’t help looking up sharply at that, his smile most definitely a smirk now. He hadn’t touched his wine, the glass dangling in his hand, sex and sin seated on the couch. Ivy sensed the devil offering a deal.

“I don’t,” she admitted warily.

“What would you do with a full visa, Ivy? Would you leave Korea?” He leaned forward, watching her with something behind those eyes.

“No, sir.” She still owed money to the school, and she still couldn’t bring herself to speak to her parents. Her debts would follow her no matter where she went, it hardly mattered what country she was in. At least she’d chosen Korea and she had a friend here.

She waited but he didn’t interrogate her further, his eyes just taking her in. She fought not to squirm on the couch, his visible chest a tempting spot for her gaze.

“Take off your dress.”

Ivy lowered the glass she’d almost raised to her lips. She looked at him confused.

“What?”

“Tsk, forgetful brat.”

“Sir?”

He nodded meaningfully at her, crossing one ankle over his knee and taking a sip from his glass.

His smile was a challenge, expectation readily apparent. That smug looked riled her almost as much as the chaste touches all night. Her skin had been humming, wondering, wanting, and now he just wanted to order her around?

She drained the last of her wine glass.

“Is this part of the job, sir?” Ivy challenged.

He broke out into possibly the first genuine smile Ivy had ever seen on him. “Do you want to pay off your debt?”

“Yes.” She stubbornly left off the sir.

“Then go ahead.”

She opened her mouth, couldn’t find a way to phrase the million thoughts in her head, and shut it. His smile slowly widened.

“If you’d rather just clean this apartment for a pittance that’s fine.” He waved an arm to encompass the huge, cold space. “But if you’d like to pay off your debt, get your visa, and make something of yourself eventually, well…” He looked meaningfully at her and then gestured at the floor.

Take off the dress, get on your knees, and beg.

He was so unbearably smug it made Ivy angry, and the wine stoked the fire in her belly. “I want some ground rules,” she told him in English, and he laughed, eyes closed, head back, amused.

“I’ll negotiate,” he acquiesced, “but consider this an interview.”

It wasn’t much but she felt a little less manipulated if there was a discussion, and frankly she was still wet between the thighs. Ivy set her glass a little too firmly down on the coffee table and stood up. “Will you unzip me, sir?”

He sobered from his laughter quickly, lidded gaze watching as she walked over, turning around when she reached him. His hands on her waist pulled her down beside him to undo the top button and lower the zipper of her dress.

From neck to sacrum he exposed her bare back, the lack of bra immediately obvious, the lack of panties not clear until Ivy was stepping out of the dress entirely. She couldn’t see his expression since he was behind her, but his hands immediately cupped her bare hips, this time tugging her back so she was seated on his lap. He might have most of the power here, but she did have a chip on this bargaining table.

His thumbs caressed her hips and then the tops of her thighs, exploring the naked, unexpected terrain, as Ivy luxuriated backward. She felt ridiculous uninhibited, nude in an all-but-stranger’s lap, his expensive clothes rubbing pleasantly against her skin.

“All night like this? What a little whore you are,” he murmured, thumb finally reaching the softness of her totally bare mound. It didn’t take more than a nudge to coax her legs apart, her head falling back on to his shoulder.

“You forgot something sir,” she repeated, and he laughed, low and sexy, as his other hand cupped her breast. He tweaked her nipple as his lips trailed up her throat, and Ivy groaned, wishing he’d do more. She’d been worked up all night, and at this point had sold her soul, so at least she’d get a nice glass of wine and an orgasm for her trouble.

When she made to touch herself or perhaps even reach back and touch his undoubtedly silky soft hair, he made a tsking sound.

“Needy thing, you get what you want? I get what I want. And this body is mine.” He suddenly cupped her bare sex, startling a soft moan from her. “Now get on your knees.” The fingers that had been holding her cunt retreated, reminding Ivy that this wasn’t about her pleasure, she was merely a vessel for his. The thought shouldn’t have made parts of her throb but it did.

She stood up slowly then turned and sank to her knees. The Salesman’s eyes were all black, pupils blown, but his hair was still neatly parted, and her fingers itched to mess it up. He looked at Ivy with possession and expectation, his cock tenting his fine suit pants obscenely.

Some wanton sexual beast had taken over her, the same one that had been disappointed by her few partners in the past. She opened his fly and tugged down his black pants to find silk boxer briefs and a considerable erection.

Whoever had said South Korean men were lacking did not average in the Salesman. Flushed and heavy with arousal with a darker head filling with blood, Ivy actually hesitated at the sight of him. She’d only given a few blow-jobs in her life and never one that mattered so much, especially to someone with such high expectations. She took him in her grip but paused, assessing where to start.

“Go on,” he instructed, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, like he had earlier, out of place in such a lewd act. “Have you done this before?”

“I have,” Ivy said defiantly, squaring her shoulders. He hummed lowly, clearly amused, but didn’t say more, letting her figure out her way from here.

She ended up licking first, starting at the slit then around the soft head, discovering his taste and texture for herself slowly. She enjoyed the soft hitches in breath and the subtle thrusts of his hips when she hit a particularly spot just right. It was difficult though, having to be mindful of her teeth, mind on what her tongue was doing, jaw aching and drool starting to escape her. She tried to take him deeper and almost gagged. When she pulled back to catch her breath he was sipping wine, as though her efforts were barely holding his attention.

Nervous now, Ivy returned to his length, toying with the salty precum of his slit, pleased to hear the clink of the glass on the table at that. Her hand worked over the length she couldn’t easily suckle or swallow as she slurped around him, his knees pressed against his shoulders, breathing in his unique scent of cologne and clean sweat. She was unsure how to make this better or what to change until his hand landed on her head, tightening almost to the point of pain in her hair.

“Breathe through your nose,” he instructed, and when she obligingly took a breath he thrust up, pushing his length deeper into her mouth. Ivy jerked, surprised, but he grunted, and squeezed the back of her head, holding her in place. “Relax your throat, hollow your cheeks, that’s a good girl.” On his next thrust she choked, sputtered, and he waited another moment before pulling back, then thrusting again. The tip of him hit the back of her throat and she breathed out harshly before sucking in air. It took her a bit to figure out his rhythm and how to breathe, finally tentatively licking at his tip when he drew back.

His next few thrusts went deeper and then he started to speed up, using her mouth, uncaring of the tears escaping the corners of her eyes or the tight grip on her hair. “That’s it pet, such an eager fuck toy. Here I thought I’d have to make an effort for you, and yet you didn’t wear a thing to dinner under that dress, did you? Should have made you cum on my fingers while Jin Sun-Heon watched across the table. Were you wet then? Are you wet now?”

Ivy groaned because somehow she was, even though her throat felt raw and she literally choked with each slam of his hips. Her mouth was overfull of him, the haze of the discomfort from her knees to her scalp sharpening the edge of pleasure he’d been honing all evening.

He jerked his hips a final time and pulled back, a splatter of salty bitterness hitting her tongue and cheek before the rest hit the top of her bare breasts. He worked his cock in quick, efficient movements as the last weak spurts escaped, watching her as she unconsciously licked her lips clean.

Ivy’s breath was rough, her throat and mouth sore, eyes huge as her employer stared at her, his mouth slightly open, cheeks warm, and the hottest look in a man’s eye she’d ever seen.

“Stand up, pet,” he instructed, and Ivy barely registered the words, just staring at the sheer lust he was made of in that moment. She snapped to awareness when he grabbed her nipple cruelly and twisted. “Stand up.”

She did, and he wrapped one big hand around her left thigh and pulled it beside him on the couch, so she was awkwardly half-standing half-astride him. It opened her pussy lips enough that his inspecting hand came back wet. “You’re soaking, slut,” he commented, thumb lazily swiping at her clit to make her jump. “I should have you ride the corner of my coffee table for that sloppy blow-job,” he murmured, sending a jolt through her at the image. “But you have to learn somewhere,” he continued, petting her pussy casually, thumbs spreading her lips obscenely and then rubbing up her slit. Ivy desperately wanted to grab her own breasts or something, give herself some kind of contact beyond his fleeting, assessing touch. Her legs were trembling as she stood there for his inspection.

Two fingers unexpectedly slid easily into her soaking depths, and Ivy cried out, almost losing her balance. She grabbed his shoulder and he bit at her breast, a sharp pain that he soothed with licks. She couldn’t stand back up with the way his fingers thrust into her, thumb rolling her clit, and she was unable to stop rutting his hand. When he slapped her ass the sound resounding through the room.

“Oh!” she yelped, startled and impossibly more aroused.

“Do you want to come?” he asked, looking into her desperate eyes, his own hair finally tousled, so boyish with the face of the devil. “Beg me.”

“Please,” she tried, only to be slapped again, her foot on the ground trembling. His hands inside her found that delicate, sensitive spot and rubbed mercilessly, Ivy’s knees almost giving way. He spanked her ass again and she moaned.

“Please what?” He sucked her nipple into his mouth, worrying the bud with his tongue. Ivy’s leg gave way and her other knee hit the couch. He tutted, pulling his fingers free until he wasn’t touching any of her at all, and Ivy couldn’t stand it. She reached for him and he batted her hand away.

“Desperate, aren’t you? For such a little whore you are so easy, pet.” His voice was like sin, chocolatey and soft and dangerous, oh so dangerous. “Has anyone touched you like this?”

Ivy shook her head furiously, her cunt so empty it nearly hurt. The sting of his slap again felt so good, and she barely twitched, bliss so close to mind.

“Liar.” He sounded affectionate though, indulging, as his hand remained on her backside, caressing the flaming skin. She arched her back, breasts jutting up as she groaned. “You’ve never had it this good, never had someone give a cocksleeve like you what she needs,” he crooned. “I’ll make it good, love, just ask.”

“Please…”

His lips brushed the skin of her breast lightly, not enough, and his hand simply held her there. She felt the burst of his breath as he laughed when her hips canted forward instinctively, searching for his touch, her hands squeezing his shoulders. Ivy could feel her pussy clench on nothing. Gods, she never been so turned on her life, everywhere aching for him, so close to an impossible edge.

“Please sir, I need to come, please, let me come. Make me come, sir.” It didn’t feel degrading to Ivy as she blurted out the words, it almost felt uplifting, asking for what she needed. His hand was there immediately, fingers tracing the seam of her lips, shifting the hood of her clitoris aside to play with the bud.

“Good girl,” he praised as he sunk three fingers inside her, smirk widening as Ivy keened. The Salesman rewarded her with their first kiss, his lips caressing and soft, tongue tangling deeply with her’s. Ivy wanted to devour him but it was hard to focus when she was so overwhelmed with sensation. His hand was buried inside her, pumping deep, while his other held her hair pulled tight, his mouth ravaging her’s.

He drove the breath from Ivy’s lungs, fingers pounding up and into her, hitting that spot deep inside while his thumb caught her clit. Her breasts were bouncing as she rode his hand, utterly nude while he sat fully dressed on his couch, windows wide open, and it was too much, the whole night has been too much, and Ivy sobbed as she hit her peak. She shook as his fingers rolled and rubbed her clit, pressing mercilessly inside her as she came.

“Good girl, sweet whore, that’s my slut,” he was whispering as Ivy swam back into the real world, slumped against him and breathing hard, her thighs still quivering slightly.

When she opened her eyes he was looking at her with indulgence, and Ivy was too exhausted to fight the rush of pleasure at how satisfied he looked.

“Take this suit to the dry cleaner tomorrow,” he told her, caressing her cheek. “You got it all wet, pet.”

Ivy was sure of that, dripping wet and shaking from what he’d done to her. He kissed her softly, almost lovingly, hands trailing over her cum-splattered body. She hummed against his mouth, pleasure-drunk and exhausted, the wine and the stress earlier tonight capping it off.

It took a moment to register that she was being picked up in a princess carry, head lolling back on to his shoulder. Ivy barely recognized the hallway or the bed, only waking up a bit more as the Salesman pulled the blankets up, the ones she’d cleaned and made up the bed with earlier that day.

“Sleep,” he murmured, smiling face the last thing she saw before she drifted off to sleep.

#

The next morning should have been a harsh awakening, one filled with a horrible awareness of what she’d done, but Ivy just felt good.

God, she hadn’t actually had good sex in, well, ever. She’d also slept like a rock on a decent bed for the first time in a long time. It truly took her a moment to realize she still smelled like semen, she was naked, she was in her employer’s guest room, and breakfast was set up on a tray by the bed. The clock told her she’d slept late, almost past 10am.

A small note sat next to the plate of toast, a bowl of kimchi, and a smaller, covered one with rice and a fried egg on top, along with a covered mug of tea. In neat Korean characters Ivy read: “A reward for last night.”

Reward? she sounded out the word several times, trying to figure out his meaning. Was this breakfast a reward? Or would she find something else when she left the guest room? How long could she linger?

No matter what Ivy wasn’t leaving without a shower and a fresh change of clothes. She found a new set of stylish jeans and a light sweater in the bathroom, complete with a lacy pair of red lingerie and a matching bra. She hadn’t heard him come in and leave any of this, which was a bit scary.

The shower cleaned up the tacky spend left on her, and Ivy had a weird jolt in her stomach when she touched it. Shouldn’t she feel dirty? Used? She’d just whored herself out to “interview” for a full-time position as what? His personal escort and plaything? Why couldn’t she get properly mad at him for coercing her to have sex with him, calling her degrading things, and taking advantage of her situation? Was she that depraved?

How was she ever going to enjoy regular sex again?

The bra and panties were lacy and a thong, and wearing them under such regular clothes felt like an intimate secret known only to her and him. None of the clothes had tags on it but it was still her size, and she wondered if he’d gone to a shop and gotten these himself or had someone else on his payroll do it. A secretary? Maybe a courier delivered them?

Ivy brushed out her hair, fixed her makeup, and quickly ate the breakfast despite it being cold. She even found her phone charging beside the bed after she’d left it in the foyer last night, having no place to carry it while at the dinner.

There were no missed calls or messages when she turned it on, just a news alert about train delays. She refused to be disappointed, at least until her calendar reminder pinged, telling her she was about to be late for her next lesson with Han-Gyeol.

Ivy bit her lip. She couldn’t get across town to Han-Gyeol’s home in time, and the last thing she wanted to see was his face anyway. That fratty, well-off kid with no sense who had paid her in cash while staring at the hollows of her cheeks hungrily. He had no common sense but he meant well, though he had no idea how to do well. He was a boy in comparison to the Salesman, and Ivy just wanted to go home and process what she’d signed up for last night.

She texted Han-Gyeol: I can’t make today, I have a fever.

Please take care of yourself, he responded. Ivy almost expected another message, maybe about making up the lesson or her fee, but he didn’t say anything.

Done with breakfast and dressed, Ivy looked at the rumpled, dirty bed sheets. Should she wash them? She wasn’t technically on the clock, or was she? If she left them she’d have to do it next Wednesday anyway.

She stripped the bed and carried the sheets out almost like a shield, nervous about what he would say or do when she saw him. Would he act like it was nothing? Expect weekly repeats? But the apartment was empty and quiet, his bedroom door ajar, sheets rumpled, no sounds in the kitchen or office. He must have already left.

Thank god. Her nerves could only handle so much. Ivy put the laundry in, tidied up the glasses from last night and the… pan he’d fried the egg in. She’d never seen that before, and she felt touched by it even though frying an egg was hardly impressive. He could well have given her nothing except the boot, so to speak, or even just ordered something in.

While the laundry ran she made up the guest room bed again and then his, lingering an extra moment in his room. His scent here was nice, and now she knew it wasn’t just expensive cologne but also his shampoo and something else entirely him.

The sheets were moved to the drier as Ivy gathered his suit together for the dry cleaners, pausing in the foyer to get the jacket and vest parts, only to see her black dress there too. Should that be cleaned? She’d likely never wear it again but it shouldn’t be put away dirty. Figuring he could afford one more thing on his dry cleaning bill, Ivy put both outfits in the bag. Only when she was done with everything, washed sheets folded and lights off, putting her ratty shoes on after she’d put away the heels in the shoe closet, did her phone chirp with an alert.

New deposit!

Ivy opened the email, eyes widening at the number. That was… that was more than she made in two weeks cleaning this apartment. She didn’t need to make up Han-Gyeol’s appointment with a paycheck like that. Shit, she’d have the downpayment soon enough on a new place at this rate.

Maybe this was the reward that she’d earned with her body last night, she thought as the elevator closed on the apartment and the events of the last 24hrs. Finally Ivy started to feel some disgust with herself. She wanted to ask him what the night had meant, what he’d been thinking, and… did he want to do it again?

#

The first thing Ivy did with her bonus was buy steak. She hadn’t eaten beef in ages, but now she went to a restaurant and deliberately ordered it, paying the bill in cash just because she could. It was freeing, exhilarating, even if the rest immediately went to rent, groceries, and the next installments plus paying down the principle on her highest interest loan.

She wished there was someone she could talk to about that night. She didn’t dare tell Sun-Hee lest her grandmother hear about it, and there was no one in America Ivy was close to anymore. She wasn’t even sure she wanted next Wednesday to come or not, anxious and excited and confused by it all. Talking it all out would have helped, but for Granny K’s ultimate rule of discretion. Plus, Ivy had reasoned that if her phone wasn’t bugged she’d be surprised. In the days after that Wednesday night she’d taken to putting it in a pot in her apartment and always playing music so she could pretend at some privacy. Not that there was anything to hear.

Well… except at night. Ivy would leave her phone charging in the bathroom, heavy ceramic pot lid cracked for the cord to snake through with the bathroom door slightly ajar, while she settled on the bed with the absurd mirrored ceiling.

Buying the vibrator had been terribly embarrassing, the proprietor of the sex shop watching her a little too closely, but her fingers just weren’t going to do it now. The first night home she’d tossed and turned, unable to forget how uninhibited she’d been, how sexy, strange, and wonderful she’d felt on that couch with him. Despite being the one straddling him and usually the person who was asking her partner to do something different, he’d been in charge, not asking but taking what he wanted and giving what she needed. He’d pushed so many boundaries the field had been covered in red flags but she’d come so hard, and the most alarming thing was Ivy didn’t care.

I’m completely insane, she thought as she thrust the vibrator inside her, trying to hit that spot he’d found so effortlessly and failing.

I should hate him, I should feel violated, she thought as she folded her knees up and widened her hips, imagining how dark his eyes would be and how smug he’d look if he knew she was masturbating to him. She didn’t know how it’d feel to have him inside her but it had to be better than this.

I shouldn’t have liked that, she thought as she roughly groped her breast the way he had, trying to keep her harsh breathing down so no one would hear.

Gods I want to do it again, she thought as orgasm crashed over her, shorter and weaker than the night before but still worth it. She laid there with the vibrator switched off inside her, obscenely exposed, and wondered what he’d think if he walked in right now.

That I’m a desperate slut and he knew it.

#squid game #fanfiction #salesman x ofc #salesman/ofc #the salesman #gong yoo #salesman/oc #salesman x oc #cumpounding debt

[tamagoincident]

To Lure a Bird

arthur morgan x reader

summary: The Van der Linde Gang plans to rob a train, too bad you hit it first. You, being the reasonable person you are, coerce rough-looking men to run a job with you in exchange for the stolen money, and everyone gets more than they bargained for.

chapter: 2/10

link: AO3

Chapter Two - The Man Who Makes All the Decisions

Chapter content warning: brief encounter of sexual harassment

You awoke gasping in the night, heart pumping, heaving in lungfuls of stale air. The darkness of the Saints Hotel room pressed close. You’d dreamt about Emma and Henry again. 

Frightened as you were, you whispered to yourself that you were safe, that the dampness upon your brow was perspiration, and not the spatter of blood from Henry’s gunshot wound. That the screams seeping from the peeling walls were not Emma’s, but recalled from the etchings of your memory. You collapsed back onto the sheets and pulled the blanket over your shoulders, shuddering hard against the nausea prickling in your stomach and praying for sleep to find you once more.

—

Arthur stood at the bar in Smithfield’s Saloon, casual in the way he leaned over it. How at ease he appeared, unapologetic in his taking space. You choked on your envy, allowing yourself to wonder what it’s like to do whatever you wanted, wherever you pleased, unescorted. This feeling climbed as the man seated closest to the entrance pulled his chair out fully in your direction, reclining with his thighs spread. You tightened your grip on the handle of your travel bag and kept your revulsion from showing too much. Folk like that chased any sort of reaction, like they chased down drink after drink.

Ernest waved you over, having noticed how quiet the room fell when you’d walked in through the swinging doors. Arthur remained fixated on his glass despite the change in atmosphere, spinning it idly atop the nicked wood, taking more stock in it than in his surroundings. His voice cut across the idle chatter from the tables. “You even wash these?”

“Funny you ask,” Ernest said, wiping down the bar with a rag. “We’re in the market for a dishwasher. You look right fit for the job.” He abandoned his task at your approach to reach towards one of the dozens of bottles lining the shelves behind him, but you held up a hand to stop him. You needed your full wits to do something as illogical as you were about to, potentially letting a stranger lead you to God-Knows-Where to meet God-Knows-Who, with the pistol shoved in your right boot acting as your sole reassurance.

“So you’re a comedian now, mister? Didn’t realize I was getting dinner and a goddamn show.” Arthur knocked back his shot of whiskey and put the glass down on the bar. You set your bag at your feet and settled yourself in the space beside him. Through the aroma of decades of liquor soaked into the timber of the saloon, you caught a whiff of soap and freshly scrubbed skin. 

“Cursin’ in front of women,” Ernest said, acknowledging you. “Ain't your daddy ever taught you manners?”

“Say that again,” Arthur growled and smacked both palms on the counter, moments away from hopping over it. You cleared your throat before he could hitch a leg up. He turned and froze, as if it surprised him that anyone else was in the saloon at all, let alone you in your best (and only) dress.

The disturbance had caused a bit of rubbernecking your way. While Ernest rattling the clients was always an entertaining diversion, (and privately, you would have seized the opportunity to see Arthur try to throttle him, the mountain of a man Ernest was) an all-out saloon-brawl was counterproductive to anything you’d arrived there to do. The situation had to be defused, and fast.

“I’m not a delicate flower, I won’t wilt from a little profanity,” you said. “It didn’t offend me to hear him swear the first time we’d met, and it doesn’t offend me now.”

Arthur looked at you. His expression turned from confused to even more confused. Clearly he hadn’t recognized you from your previous encounter. Taking pity on him, you helpfully concealed your nose and mouth with your sleeve, resembling the scarf you’d worn when he met you. He rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. You dug four bits from your skirt pockets, sliding them onto the counter to Ernest. “For this man’s next drink.”

“Couldn’t tell it was you without the get-up you was wearing the last time,” Arthur grumbled, and accepted the second shot of whiskey, placated for now, “or without the rifle.”

The rifle wasn’t concealable, and it hadn’t fit in the bag with your other travel necessities, so you left it with Ernest. You’d come back to Valentine to retrieve it later, at the right moment, along with half of the train score you had hidden away in a lockbox. “Had to try to look somewhat respectable for a negotiation. If there will be a negotiation, that is. Didn’t want to show up in my dusty travel clothes.”

“You look naïve, and an easy target to swindle,” he said, sparing a glance toward Ernest, who only cocked an eyebrow in response. Arthur cleared his throat. “Not that I’d do something like that. You see, I’m an itinerant worker, laid off from a factory—”

“Save it, please,” you said. “I’m not interested in divining who you really are or where you’ve come from. What I am interested in is whether you can help me with that offer we discussed. From your countenance, I assume your friend decided to take me up on it, against your better judgment.”

“What’s wrong with my countenance?”

“You’re scowling.”

“I ain’t,” he said, scowling. You put your hands up, conceding.

“He said he’d meet with you,” Arthur said. He brought the glass up to his lips. “Still decidin’ if I want to spin him a tale that I came to Valentine, but you never showed. Or, I could just rob you. I don’t think he’d mind that as much.”

“You just said you wouldn’t swindle me,” you accused.

The corner of Arthur’s mouth twitched, as if he wanted to laugh, but didn’t wish to act on it for fear of appearing too amicable. “You said we’d get half the money upfront?”

“Yes. You’ll get half if we can come to an agreement, and the other half once Emma is home safe.”

“I’m gonna be honest,” Arthur said. “We already went through an ordeal with that train, risking our skin to come up empty-handed. Now you want to pay us to risk it again with the score which should’ve been ours in the first place. This might end up being more trouble than it’s worth even with the seventy dollars you promised on top of it.”

“Hey lady, how much for your company?” A grunting voice emerged from behind you. You ignored it, too immersed in assessing the value of all your worldly possessions, your rifle among the other trinkets you had stashed away in different locations. You didn’t own land or assets to sell or put up for a loan. The single thing of monetary value in your possession was Henry’s wedding ring, and you’d hang before pawning that off. It’d been his dying request to return it to Emma. They’d only been married for five months when he was killed.

“I said, how much?”

Ernest jabbed his finger at him. “You best shut your mouth and sit back down ‘fore I drag you out of here, you drunken fool.”

 “Weren’t talkin’ to you.” A hand clapped on your right shoulder, jerking you backwards. “I was talkin’ to this uppity bitch—”

You only had a brief moment to recognize the man as the one from earlier who’d leered at you. In the next second, he was flat on the ground, clutching his newly crooked nose. Arthur was towering over him, shaking out the soreness of the impact from his hand. He bent down and, without so much as a word, wiped his bloodstained knuckles on the howling degenerate’s shirt. Apart from his slightly mussed hair and the wild promise of barely restrained ire lurking in his eyes, an eerie calmness rolled off of him.

So much for preventing a brawl. 

“You broke it! You fuckin’ broke it!”

“Hey,” someone piped up from the cards table. “Ain’t that the feller who damn near beat Tommy to death the other day when Hubert was workin’?”

“That was you Hubert was talkin’ about?” Ernest said to Arthur. “You owe us money for the window you smashed through, my friend.”

“How much was it to replace?” you said. “I can pay—”

More wailing. “I’m gonna skin you alive!”

“You know, Tommy ain’t been right since,” another person called out. “He may be an imbecile, but he’s our imbecile! You think it’s fun beatin’ on all of us?”

People were getting out of their seats. “Yeah!”

“Let’s go,” Arthur barked at you amid the jeering.

“My bag—” you said, surveying around your feet for your belongings. In the chaos, Arthur had grabbed it for you and was heading to the door. You struggled not to trip over your skirts in pursuit, casting one last apologetic look to Ernest, who seemed like he wanted to go after you. 

Arthur stood outside, unhitching his horse from the post. The temptation arose to make a jest, to smooth the terse silence with something guaranteed to irritate him further. You swallowed it and instead listened to the bustle of wagons and barking of stray dogs. 

“Grab your horse,” he said. “You can follow me. We got a bit of a ride south from here. Can’t for the life of me figure out why he wants me to lead you to camp, but I’m tired of arguin’ with him.”

You wondered who exactly Arthur was referring to. At the Trading Post, he’d hinted at a leader of sorts, the one who had yet to be named. You thought to ask for it, but there was a more pressing issue at hand. “I don’t have a horse. Not since my last one ran off.”

“She doesn’t own a horse,” he said to no one in particular, a moment of exasperation to the universe perhaps, if you had to guess. “How the hell you been getting around? Hot-air balloon?”

“Much less exciting than that, I’m afraid. Trains and stagecoaches. Sometimes I borrow a horse from Ernest. Sometimes I ‘borrow’ from strangers and return their horses before they’re missed.”

“I’m not even gonna pretend all that trouble you put yourself up to makes any sense,” Arthur grunted in response, strapping your bag to his saddle. “Alright, then. Come here.”

You didn’t move. In your hesitation, you considered beginning your rescue plan anew, using the train money to pay for hired guns, which you had wanted to avoid. If the first meeting between the two of you had gone well, the incident in the saloon had gone every bit as astray. But Arthur had intervened on your behalf, which you appreciated, regardless of the issue it had caused. You thought if there was any chance of a man caring whether or not Emma made it back alive, he was it. And there was the small detail of the score you lifted off his hands. You imagined it wouldn’t go over well if you offered it to another group.

Arthur placed the tip of his boot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up and over the saddle. He lowered his hand. This, you accepted with thanks and up you went onto the back of the horse. At this proximity, the scent of soap you’d noticed in the saloon was stronger. You couldn’t remember the last time you met a man who bathed with any regularity, let alone bathed at all.

“Might want to hold on to somethin’,” Arthur murmured. Your hands scrambled for purchase on the cantle as the horse fell into a trot. 

And off you both went, past the gun shop and the train station, the muddy roads shifting into dusty trails the further Valentine receded from view. You were glad to quit the miserable little town if only for a moment, and though you hadn’t any high expectations for your destination, you hoped it smelled better.

“You mentioned you’re taking me to a camp. How big is it?” you asked.

“Suppose you’ll find out soon enough,” came the curt reply. 

“Then, how many people are with you? Besides you and your friend.”

“Ain't you full of questions,” Arthur said. The pistol hidden in your boot felt heavier. It might be enough to fend off several people if they decided to take back by force what they believed to be theirs, but an entire camp? You reprimanded yourself for not thinking this whole thing through.

The horse veered left. Though you sat quietly, your mind was rife with uneasy thoughts. The sun blazed high in the sky, but it would soon begin its descent. You wish you’d asked to meet earlier, having not considered where you would lay your head down tonight, especially if your offer was declined. In all likelihood you’d end up sleeping propped up against a tree in the good company of hungry mosquitoes. Or hitching a twilight ride back to the Saints Hotel with some shifty wagoner. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d done either.

Arthur said something, which you were too deeply absorbed in your misgivings to have caught. You asked him to repeat himself. “I said, it’s not too much further now.” 

The horse picked up its pace. Suddenly you were aware of the soreness in your biceps from straining to grip the back of the saddle. Squeezing your thighs harder to maintain balance, you wrapped your arms around Arthur’s torso. If the unexpected contact startled him, he did not show it.

“I never thanked you earlier,” you said.

“For what?”

“Quieting that fellow back in the saloon.”

“I reckon you could’ve done it yourself. One minute you’re firin’ a rifle in my direction. Next, you’ve gone all feeble and quiet.”

“If I rose hell whenever someone pestered me, sir, I wouldn’t be here to pester you.”

This earned you a laugh. You felt sorry you weren’t able to see it. “It’s Arthur Morgan,” he corrected. 

Arthur Morgan. You’d known to call him Arthur from that friend Marston of his, but now that you knew both names, you thought it sounded familiar. You racked your recent memory for it, coming up empty. It was a common enough name, anyway. 

“You ain’t told me your name,” he added.

“That’s right, Mr. Morgan. I didn’t,” you said. And that was that.

—

“Coming through,” Arthur shouts as the horse slows. You crane your head to see who he’s speaking to when you spotted a man stepping into the clearing, adjusting the bowler hat atop his head with his left hand and swinging a rifle with his right. Your arms slipped away from around Arthur’s waist, back to gripping the cantle for support.

“My my, what’s this? Returning with a girl before the sun goes down,” he says with a wide grin. “You’re getting romantic in your old age.”

Arthur groaned. “Do you ever shut up? You fill every waking moment with your nonsense.”

The grin grew impossibly wider. Tilting his head up towards you and Arthur, you were just close enough to make out this man’s freckles beneath the shadow cast by his hat’s brim. “I’ve plenty of time for peace and quiet when I’m six feet under.”

“Just another reason to hasten you there,” Arthur said, then, softly to his horse, “Come on, girl.”

“He doesn’t really mean that, you know. He loves me,” the man called as you passed by, “Isn’t that right, Arthur? Like an older brother, I’d say!”

The horse stopped at a hitching station just beyond the camp entrance. Off you went from the rear of it, lowering yourself until your boots hit the grass. “Quite the lively introduction,” you said to Arthur.

“That boy is too busy cracking jokes and chasing skirts to do much of anything useful,” he said, dismounting. 

“He’s amusing,” you said. “It’s a breath of fresh air from all the prickly folks around these parts. Look at them wrong and they’ll be twitching for their gun.”

“About as amusing as an insect buzzing in your ear.” Arthur led you to a table, gesturing to the folding stools. “You can sit here a moment. And don’t talk to no one.”

You peered down at the tabletop, noticing copper stains that had long seeped into the wood. “Is that blood?”

Arthur shrugged. “Or you can stand, if that’s your preference.”

You tracked him as he made his way straight to the center of camp, to the largest of the surrounding fixtures, a cream-colored tent that stood proudly over all the rest, watchful. He stopped at the entrance, waiting for the dark figure inside to turn towards Arthur as they stooped slightly, perhaps to grab something. 

The figure emerged finally, joining Arthur outside of the tent’s shade. Sunlight beamed against glittering rings on fingers wrapped around a smoking cigar. You squinted.

Oh God, you thought. That’s Dutch van der Linde. You read about him in the New Hanover Gazette. Your mind ran miles per second as you put bits of information together. You had passed his face on wanted posters during your travels, passed Arthur’s too, lingering above a five-thousand dollar reward for one of the largest heists in Blackwater history. A heist that had seen a dozen or more people dead. And now you were in their camp, a camp that bounty hunters across several states would pay a pretty penny to find.

Those wanted faces turned to you. Arthur waved you over. Your legs grew heavy, rooting themselves to the ground. You had a decision to make.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan/yn #rdr2 ao3 #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #reader insert #tlab

[bunchofstraydogs]

You asked for it :> So may I request the rest of BSD playing Genshin? 😘🥰

Darling, since I can't write that many characters in one go, I thought I should give you something special. I present... 💫 women 💫

Women of BSD as Genshin Impact players

tw: you're in bsd fandom, you know all the tw there are by now

Kyouka Izumi- Assasin in the streets, babysitter in the... Genshin Impact

Kyouka is that cute, stubborn kid that overfixates on things. Atsushi is things. Look, we all know Kyo-chan is mad intelligent and talented and it shows in her game play. Right off the bat she got the sense of the gameplay of every type of character and decided what works best for her. She knows what type of team she's going for and knows how to manage her materials wisely.

When she plays alone, Kyouka works towards bettering her characters and pushing through the storyline. Her favourite way to play the game is with Atsushi, whether alone or in co-op with others. Playing with Jinko is a huge win-win situation for her - she helps him beat up whatever he needs to take down and complete puzzles, he gives her praises and gratitude. And materials, but seldom does she take them.

Her main job, though, is to protect Atsushi and his world from the otherworldly evil known as the suicidal maniac, Dazai Osamu. She's fairly successful.

Main Team: MC, Klee, Keqing, Rosaria

Sub Team: MC, Qiqi, Fischl, Hu Tao

Mains MC, both for her flexibility with elements and because she likes being the little sister to Atsushi's male MC.

Yosano Akiko- retired nurse, now a terrorist

Did you really think she'd stay a healer without having the sadistic satisfaction of hurting people in grotesque ways? Nay. She doesn't have a single healer on team. She either has a teammate who's a healer like Haruno, or she wastes abundance of food until she can teleport to a statue of the seven.

Her game play is on crack, basically. She has several energy spurs, sometimes several times a day, where she rages through the game, before losing interest and going shopping. It's very possible with her that days can pass before she feels like playing again. Then she binges the game for hours and repeat.

When i say she acts like on crack i mean it. She has rage in her veins instead of blood. She tanks her characters and goes out looking for fights with worst possible opponents. Hell, she'll under equip her party just to see how many mofos can she take down in weak state. Spoilers, a fair few. She does die quite a bit, and is almost always out of food, but she's just as stubborn as she's crazy. Those two thing correlate probably. Which is why she made Azdaha her bitch. Her party consists either of strong, hot milfs women like herself, or twinks. You won't see someone like Childe disrespecting her vibe.

Main Team: Beido, Venti, Hu Tao, Rozaria

Sub Team: Lisa, Yanfei, Ningguang, Xingqiu

Beido and Lisa main. Bad bitches only.

Naomi Tanizaki- the fangirl player

She basically collects the cutest characters possible.. That's how she chooses her characters, based on cuteness. She went for the hot ones first to pull her brother but she got jealous and changed her tactic. You know she's spending her money on character skins and certain banners. She's insanely lucky tho?? She got Qiqi on the standard banner as her first 5*, pulled Klee on her banner in little over four 10 pulles and got Diona eventually anyway. Baraba and Xiangling were free and she mained Xiangling untill Klee rolled in. She spent some money on Venti and was already in pity when Ganyu came around. She's fully ready to whale for Kokomi though.

Now i know i said she's incredibly lucky, right? Yeahh that luck has to turn against something to keep the balance and well... she's still crying over Chongyun.

She usually co-ops with her brother, it's a daily ritual. Loves co oping with everyone though, mostly Haruno, Atsushi and Kyouka. She made online friends as well. Actually, there is one person she co ops with almost as much as she does with her brother. IchiGawa is her Genshin bestie and they talk about their crushes and infatuations besides the game itself. Her friend is the only secret she keeps from her brother.

Main Team: Klee, Diona, Venti, Barbara

Sub Team: Razor, Xiangling, Xingqiu, Qiqi

A Klee main.

Haruno Kirako- the healer

Literal angel. You need her, i need her, ADA needs her, the president needs her, just... yes. Her whole team consists of support- healers and crowd control characters. She was a f2p at first, but realised she earns her own money and can spend it however she wishes and she chose the monthly cards.

She's a necessity, point blank. She can get intimidated by new foe at first, but when backed up by her friends, she becomes determined and flexible. Pays good attention to her teammates, most importantly, their health bars, and acts accordingly.

The only reason most of them made it as far as they have, being as reckless as they are.

Main Team: Albedo, Barbara, Jean, Venti

Sub Team: Qiqi, Noel, Jean, Xinyan

Mains Albedo and Barbara

Fan fact: She's very fascinated infatuated with Albedo!! He's even her home screen and has posters and key chain of him.

Gin Akutagawa- that cottagecore assassin

You may be wondering what that could even mean. Let me tell you, she brought Animal Crossing to Genshin Impact. Sure she takes care of her characters and they're pretty powerful, but she kicks ass in real life as well. The game is her little getaway, especially since Serenity pot has been introduced. She's been making away her home for her and her brother characters. You can see her chop wood, collect materials, taking pictures with her friends and her brother, sometimes of pretty scenery and cute moments. A very wholesome player.

She's the type to help her friends explore their world and help them find oculi, open chests, shrines, collect flowers, mine... She's very patient, but if she sees her co-op teammates struggle with something, she'll jump in to help do it herself untill told to back off. In which case she will listen and silently give her support, usually with the cheering stickers in the chat.

She's f2p! Sure, she could get the monthly card at least, as Ryunosuke told her, but she really wants to enjoy the game on her own terms and have what she does through her own effort and hard work. It just feels satisfying to her and more personal.

Main Team: Jean, Ayaka, Diluc, Barbara

Sub Team: Doesn't have one! She just changes characters if certain elements are needed.

Jean main!! She admirers the relationship her and Barbara have. While she's the younger of the two, she's taken the mantle of the older sibling, in a way, and is looking after her reckless as heck brother and cares for him like Jean does for Barbara. Jean is also a wonderful person in her eyes and Gin harbours great respect for the blonde.

Higuchi Ichiyo- IchiGawa 🤡

I love Higuchi so much, but my girl is a mess and a half. Help her, please. No, really, she needs help. She's been over compensating for not being dramatic and eye catching in the battlefield, and has now found a new way to prove herself to her Akutagawa-san. Problem is, as soon as she sees a potentially powerful character, she has to get them and boost them to the havens... yeahh, good thing you can't do loans in the game, otherwise she'd have sharks on her ass for having a bill as dramatic and eye catching as Tsunade's from Naruto. Our girl out there turning heads for wrong reasons. She's definitely spent her pay checks on the game "oh no no, i just buy the monthly subscription, ehe" ehe my ass, you bankrupt bitch. Baal is coming and she's looking to sell a kidney. No, it's not her own and no, it doesn't have anything to do with the game. It's a mission, for God's sake.

But hey, the game is a good investment for her! She even made a friend, one that totally understands her how she feels!! They're very alike as well, ready to do anything for the person they love. The two talk about love a lot and have bonded over it. Higuchi is actually a jealous and a protective type of person, so she hides her friend from Gin and Tachihara like snake hides it's legs. If only they knew 🤡. But it's better this way as they both have a certain sense of normalcy and familiarity they were missing in their daily lives. (Higuchi and Naomi meeting scenario when?)

Main Team: Xiao, Fischl, Xingqiu, Diluc

Sub Team: Baal (soon?), Venti, Ganyu, Zhongli

She mains Xiao because he reminds her of Akutagawa-san and yes, she uses characters from her sub team when playing with others.

Fan Fact: when she was asked why her username is IchiGawa, she said she's like a river 🤡 No, it does absolutely not stand for Ichiyo Akutagawa.

Ozaki Kouyo- the husbando and loli collector

Don't get the wrong idea when i said loli collector. She just needs to adopt them and look after them. She also enjoys watching her precious babies kick ass like her Kyouka. But that's a two way sword, because she gets angry when they die. Savage.

And yeahh, the real reason she's playing the game... Mr Zhongli. She switches often between eng and jpn audios because she can't decide which sounds sexier. Also, Mr Diluc? Yes, she would like to be served one sex on the beach please and thank you! Ah, Mr Kaeya, a perfect window of opportunity, yes.

She has a huge spot for the teenager group as well. Razor, Bennett, Fishl, Xiangling, Xingqiu and Chongyun are also her kids. She just finds them very precious (don't we all?).

Main Team: Zhongli, Kaeya, Bennett, Diluc

Sub Team: Diona, Klee, Qiqi, Sayu

A Zhongli and Diluc main.

Bonus:

Elise- the evil lackadaisical player

Mori found out about the game from Higuchi and Tachihara and introduced it to Elise, telling her she should make a team of sweet little girls like herself and have fun going on adventures around Teyvat. In response, Elise made a team that, not only does it not have a single child in it, but is using it to gaslight and bully Rintarou.

"Why aren't you smart and inventive like Albedo?"

"Why aren't you as passionate and persistent as Sucrose?"

"Look how capable, loved and admired Ningguang is. You could never."

"I wish i had someone as strong, caring, handsome and rich like Childe looking after me. He would treat me like a real princess. "

Mori has been crying rivers ever since.

Thing is, Elise isn't even that interest in the story. Actually, she couldn't care less. Some characters are interesting to her and she likes the graphics, but other than that, she's mostly playing the game to torture the greasy doctor (as she should).

Main Team: Albedo, Sucrose, Ningguang, Childe

Sub Team: doesn't have one

Doesn't have a main either, she plays whoever she feels like playing.

I wanted to add Lucy too, but my mind wasn't cooperating ;-; Sorry about that. I do hope you liked this, Eli 💛

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #kyoka izumi #haruno kirako #higuchi ichiyo #ozaki kouyou #bsd elise #tanizaki naomi