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wrotebymii · 12 days ago

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HOUSE FIEND | Date Everything gn!Reader

Summary: You are the friend of the Homeowner, they need you to house sit for a month. During the time weird things happen that you hope to ignore.

Warning: Fluff, banter. I named the homeowner ‘Homie’ cause I can’t keep calling them homeowner, Homie befriended everyone, no love plot.

PART TWO | MASTERLIST | READ ME

What you thought of Homie didn’t really matter, you were friends with them and Sam. Though, you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t think they were slightly crazy—since the group chat consisted of them ranting about their…household objects…and their relationship status with each of ‘em.

You’d also be a liar if you said you weren’t at least a little bit curious about ‘Dateviators’ especially now because they asked you to house-sit for them. You stared at the message blankly, not reading the entire paragraph of why they needed to be away from the house for a long period of time—something about making sure they aren’t on their trail about having the glasses…whatever that meant.

You type back “yap alert” then adding “sure”

Then going back to mundane work life, when your manager snapped at you for slacking. Hmm, maybe a month house sitting and working at home would be better.

You wouldn’t say you’re a hermit like Homie, but sitting somewhere that isn’t a cramped cubicle would be a nice new environment. And keep you from the itching that thought in the back of your head to resign.

After a few weeks of preparation and informing your bosses that you’ll be working from home for the time being, you grab your packed backpack and walk up to their home. You’re about to knock on the door with your knuckles but you notice the…rather small door knocker and gently use that instead.

Dorian was apprehensive at first seeing you, readying himself for an obnoxious pound at the door that would escalate to more knocking when Homie didn’t come fast enough, but no. You stopped yourself and used the actual door knocker and waited patiently.

He liked you already, platonically, of course.

Homie opened the door and not so gracefully dragged you inside. They looked paranoid looking you up and down with aviators as if you’re a spy—shaking their head they started explaining. Something about how their parents are finally talking with them again, and blah blah blah.

“I can’t take Sky- Er…the glasses with me cause they’d probably take her back, and these are like my prized possession…” Rightfully ignoring the feminine pronouns for the glasses, cause what? You tease them a bit.

“Good to know your bank will repossess…glasses instead of like? Your car or something to inconvenience you more” From behind you, the curtains hung up on a bronze rod ruffle. Homie glares at it.

“Okay, it seems to me that you need to spend some time out of this house…and…interact with humans” The stairs creak along with the walls—something from the living room shutters.

You don’t notice Homie muttering under their breath “they didn’t mean it like that…”

“Your house makes a lot of noise, huh?” You ask, they guide you around each room, they grab their luggage rushing out the door—waving at things…then turning to me as they’re stepping outside. The door groans as if displeased, causing Homie to sigh.

You ignore it, better for your sanity to place logical reason to it. They grab your hands firmly, then take off the glasses and place them in your palm—like it’s a sacred symbol.

“Take care of the house, I hope you get alo—ugh just be nice, don’t break things…or insult things.” They say with a wave of their hand trying to articulate their wishes best for you.

“Also, feel free to use the glasses…I think they—well maybe not all of them but new faces are nice, I think” They pause pondering the thought comedically. Their statements and backtracking is throwing you through a loop.

“Okay, I don’t have time to explain the glasses, but if you try them I’m sure Skylar is willing to help you—‘kay byyye!!” They skip away nearly tripping on the walkway payment to their car. You laugh which was more like a huff.

You placed a hand on the back of the door to close it but it quickly shuts on its own, and a click locks. You stand there processing the weirdness of that but to convince yourself you mutter.

“Must’ve been the wind…” Look down at the top lock that you knew you didn’t touch.

“…intelligent wind…” You felt a breeze caress your check—not wanting to stay and stare in one place that would likely make you lose it and probably talk to—you don’t know maybe the personification of dread, just spitballing. You take your bag and place it next to the sofa and the glasses on the coffee table. Deciding that you’ll be sleeping there after you plopped down and melted into the cushioning.

You rather not sleep in Homie’s bed after giving great detail about how the Dateviators worked and how most of their home appliances are frisky. They never said that they’ve slept with any of them but you couldn’t get the teasing comments you’d make with Sam about it.

Thus, sleeping on the sofa no matter how many kinks you get in your neck or sore spots you get. Now that you think of it. How many of your friend’s household necessities are sentient? Also, how does that work?

You look at the glasses on the table that felt like they were inching closer to you. If—hypothetically—you were to put them on in your home would it be the same set of people or different? What are the laws of their physics? Is the object their body—or does the glasses make them transform into a mirror person? Or maybe it just takes their consciousness and personifies it instead of the inanimate object—

You groan and log your head back against the couch, bringing a hand up to rub between your eyes.

First day you and you were already thinking of the impossible, becoming your friend.

You need to do something to keep your mind off it.

Maybe writing out some emails will help.

You pretend to not care about how you felt you were being watch but in a weirdly comforting—almost robotic way. Like a person looking out for someone they don’t really know but need to be friendly with.

Weird things have started happening that you refuse to understand or accept in anything other form than a vague logical explanation.

You were working inside the office, they allowed you to use their computer you ignored when they said “they’re friendly”

It ran faster than the company issued one in your cubicle, you were nearly done with a very long chain email to your co-workers when out of the corner of your eye something moved. You didn’t even glance at first thinking it was from the light coming from the windows behind you.

It happened again. You squint at the monitor forcing yourself to stay focused, then again, then—drop.

Something fell, hit the side of the desk making a wobbled thud and onto the rug. You snapped your head to the side, realizing that the red die was missing.

You get up and peer over, seeing it laying on the ground. Rolled onto a 20. You roll your eyes and snicker. Picking it up and placing it back where it was—sitting back in the chair to start typing where you left off only to notice that…it's completely finished.

You scroll through the email—your email and are completely bewildered by the perfect spelling and even creative suggestions for the upcoming events at the office. You slack your head into your palm, mouth agape as you read through it.

Homie did say…the computer was…friendly.

You take a few minutes to think about if you should scrap it or let it be and send it. Sighing with a reluctant hmm.

Mac takes it as a thank you.

You needed a break and a high dose of caffeine…or maybe something from that mini bar you’ve been eyeing—why did Homie even have a mini bar?

Through the walkway and into the kitchen, heading straight for the coffee maker. There were some cute decorative cups by it that you placed on the center of it. Tapping a few buttons and crossing your fingers that you didn’t break it. The air fills with the rich scent of coffee.

As you wait you glance at the cute cat clock on the wall thinking about what you’ll have for dinner soon. As the coffee continues you look around their cabinets and fridge noticing how it’s only junk/fast food minus the few rarities.

The coffee dings. Stopping your search for nutritional value foods. When you took the cup you stopped. The coffee was decorated with a chocolate wafer, a dollop of vanilla cream that spread out into a beautiful design similar to a leaf, and some speckles of caramel.

This was not your typical desperate espresso that the break room had…no…this was art—something you could shed a tear at.

It made you feel guilty taking a sip and ruining the artwork. It was packed with sugar but on everything that you owned—it was the best goddamn drink you’ve ever had. It literally made you moan a “oh shit—“

You slumped your shoulders letting the warm drink fill you, trying to ignore the positive energy that was radiating from the machine. Kopi was happy you enjoyed it. You were too preoccupied with the coffee you nearly trip on your way back to the office.

You look down. Your foot was on the arm of a clothes hanger. Stepping back you look up, eyes wide in confusion. There were multiple hangers hooked onto a vent, cold air flushing out.

You do something you’re not entirely why you considered it: You pick up the hang you accidentally stepped on, dusting it off annnddd…hooking it with the rest of them.

You stare at the hangers feeling stupid.

You question how the hangers got there but that’ll give you a headache. The only thing your dumb human brain comes up with is that there could be a ghost.

And honestly you’d take the ghost over sentient objects.

So, you’ll suck it up and deal with dancing around the fact your friend is in kahoots with their memorabilia and or ghost.

You had finished making dinner with the minimal ingredients that were in the kitchen and ate in peaceful silence before cleaning up.

You are hand washing them because the dishwasher gave you the creeps after you stared at it for a long period of time. You’re at the sink rinsing the plate, on with healed cracks and seams on it like it’s been meticulously fixed with delicate hands.

You wonder if Homie did this.

You smile at the thought. Daisuke smiles at you, appreciating your gentle touch to his dishes.

As you dry the plate and silverware finishing up cleaning. You turn, and there on the center of the table were the glasses…didn’t you put them on the coffee table?

Your brain couldn’t comprehend it—so much so you again choose to ignore it. Slowly walking away while maintaining eye contact with the glasses.

This is going to be a long month.

#character x reader #date everything #date everything x reader #gender neutral reader #x reader

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realestateassist1 · 2 years ago

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manifestobackshot · 2 months ago

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REPO REAPER — JAKE SIM

As a repossession agent, you’ve dealt with trouble of all sorts—anger, frustration, desperation—you’ve seen it all.

…Or so you thought, until you met trouble personified—Jake Sim. Though he misses his car’s cash payments by months at a time, perhaps he can arrange a different type of payment.

PAIRING: jake x afab reader

WORDCOUNT: 3.5k

TAGS: smut, porn… what plot?, outdoor sex, semi-public sex, oral (fem-receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, pretty filthy im sorry

A/N: it came to me in a dream. that’s all.

The street was quiet except for the low rumble of your tow truck’s engine as you pulled up to the shitty apartment complex, illuminated solely by the streetlights. 2012 Ford Focus. Owner: Jake Sim. The car was in decent shape—surprising, considering how far behind he was on payments.

You popped the trunk of your tow truck and hopped out, the heavy weight of your steel-toe boots hitting the ground with a thud. The leather of your repo gloves creaked as you flexed your fingers. You stretched, preparing to get this job done and over with. This part never got old—the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of reclaiming what was owed.

You hopped out and got to work hooking up the rear axle. You were seconds away from lifting it when the front door of the unit swung open.

"Hey, hey, hey—hold up!"

A guy stumbled out, barefoot and wearing nothing but a white tank and low-slung sweatpants that clung to his hips in a way that should’ve been illegal. His dark hair was tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed, and his grin was all trouble.

"You Jake Sim?" you asked, not stopping your work.

"Yeah, that’s me." He sauntered over, running a hand through his hair like he was in a damn commercial. You took note of his demeanor, confident… with a little something else, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

"Listen, I know I’m behind, but I’ve got a way better way to settle this debt,” he said, relaxing his stance with a sense of smugness that only the boldest of men would deliver. Trouble was practically a part of your job description, and you knew that, but you hadn’t met trouble like this before.

You let your eyes wander and rolled them upon letting your gaze fall. This guy. "We’ve given plenty of notices and more than enough lenience, so unless you’ve got three months of cash in those sweatpants, your car’s getting towed.”

He leaned against the side of your truck, close enough that you caught the scent of his cologne—something warm and stupidly expensive for a guy who couldn’t pay his car note.

"See, that’s the thing," he said, voice dropping to a sinful purr. "I don’t have cash. But I do have skills." His fingers brushed your wrist. "And I’m very good at… negotiating."

For a second, you questioned what he meant by negotiating. But who are you kidding, this type of desperation is lame. Why would you lose your composure over a man like this?

You snorted. "You think I repo cars for favors?"

Jake smirked. "I think you’ve never had an offer like mine."

“...And what would that be?”

Before you could react, his hands were on your waist, pressing you back against the tow truck. His body was all hard muscle and heat, and—fuck—he knew exactly how to move.

Jake’s gaze was entirely focused on you, persistent and hot, shifting from your eyes, to your lips, and back again. Through his lashes, he held eye contact as he bit his lip, tilting his head as a smirk reappeared on his lips.

Though Jake was the one who should have been showing desperation in search of mercy regarding his car, you found yourself in that position instead. Of course, only you would you be face-to-face with some accent-wielding, sweatpants-slinging personification of temptation. Your body writhed under his touch, taking you down from a repossession agent with some sense of authority to Jake Sim’s playtoy, just for the evening.

"You let me keep my car," he murmured against your ear, "and I’ll make sure you don’t regret it."

Your breath hitched. This was unprofessional.

This was against company policy.

Fuck. This was working.

You shoved him back—weakly. "One time thing," you said, trying to sound stern. "And if you’re bad at this, I’m taking the car and your dignity."

Jake’s grin turned wolfish. "Oh, baby. I never disappoint."

You yanked the hook free from his Focus.

The moment the tow hook clattered to the pavement, Jake’s hands were on you again, his grip firm as he backed you up against the truck. His mouth crashed against yours before you could protest—not that you wanted to. The kiss was hot, demanding, his tongue sliding against yours with a confidence that made your knees weak.

He tasted like mint and something darker, something addictive. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head back as he deepened the kiss, his other hand sliding down to grip your hip. You could feel the hard press of him against your thigh, the way his sweatpants did nothing to hide how much he wanted this.

Between the cool exterior of the tow truck and Jake’s warmth, you softly arched in response to the kiss. You could feel the skin above his waistband, tacky—sticky, even—with his sweat, as his tank rode up as he prioritized keeping you under him. He knows what he wants, and he knows how to get it. His hand moved away from your hip as he hooked his finger in the denim loop around your waistband, gently pulling your hips towards his own, softly moaning against you upon feeling the pressure.

“Fuck,” you gasped when he finally pulled back, lips swollen. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

Jake smirked, dragging his thumb over your bottom lip, careful to not break the focused gaze he laid upon you. “Not when I know what I want.” His voice was rough, his eyes dark with hunger. “And right now? I want you bent over the hood of my car.”

Your pulse spiked. This was reckless. Stupid. And yet, the heat pooling low in your stomach drowned out any rational thought.

“Not your car if this isn’t worth my time.”

“You know it’ll be, so behave.”

You let him spin you around, the cold metal of the Focus biting into your palms as he pressed against you from behind. Jake was unforgiving, putting the weight of his body against you.

His hands slid under your shirt, calloused fingers skimming up your stomach to your chest, teasing until you arched into his touch. He hovered his fingertips across your skin, making you writhe under him, aching for more. You moaned, feeling the soft drag of his fingers on your torso as he leaned into you, breath hot on your nape.

“That’s it,” he growled, mouth hot on your neck. “Let me hear you.”

His fingers flicked over your nipples, pinching just enough to make you whimper. You could feel his cock grinding against your ass, the friction maddening even through layers of clothing.

“Jake—”

“Tell me what you want, love,” he murmured, one hand sliding down to undo your belt with practiced ease. “Tell me, and it’s yours.”

You swallowed hard. “I want you to fuck me. Right here.”

His laugh was dark, sinful. “Knew you’d see things my way.”

In seconds, your pants were around your thighs as you stood embarrassingly eager to feel his touch again. Your hair stuck to your forehead, hot and sweaty from the encounter, as Jake placed his hand on your lower back, as to force a deeper arch from you.

“Please,” you pleaded, aching for more of him.

“Be patient,” he breathed, repositioning you against his vehicle. He moved his hand from your lower back to place both hands on your hips, squeezing the flesh of your ass, with his touch coming so dangerously close to your aching core—where you needed him most.

With one hand spreading you, Jake used his other to press his fingers into you, working you open with rough, eager strokes. You tensed around him, whimpering with every stroke that nearly molded your body to the contours of his knuckles. His fingers moved with intention—passionate, hot, and undying. The calloused tips of his fingers stroked inside you, building tension inside your already desperate core. You bit your lip to stifle a moan as he curled them just right, your hips rocking back against his hand.

“So wet for me already,” he murmured, nipping at your ear. “You been thinking about this since you saw me?”

You didn’t answer—couldn’t, not when he replaced his fingers with the thick head of his cock, teasing your entrance before pushing in with one slow, deliberate thrust, replacing your ache with a searing stretch.

“Fuck—!” Your nails scraped against the car’s paint as he filled you, stretching you in the best way. The drag of his cock as he slipped deeper into you left your mouth agape—gasping with every inch. He didn’t give you time to adjust, setting a punishing pace from the start, each snap of his hips driving you harder into the hood. He kept his rhythm as he used a free hand to push his tank all the way up, exposing his skin to the evening air.

“That’s it, take it,” he grunted, one hand gripping your hip, the other fisting in your hair. “You feel fucking perfect.”

He forced your body into a deeper arch, harsh as he forced your head back, pulling on your hair. His damp, calloused fingers were rough, gripping and digging into the flesh of your hip as he continued to pound into you, whimpering as he hit the apex of his thrusts.

The sound of skin slapping skin mixed with your ragged moans, the street still empty but feeling dangerously exposed. It only made it hotter—the risk, the way his breath hitched every time you clenched around him.

He indulged in the sight before him, taking in the way you involuntarily drove your hips back to meet him halfway. He saw—no, felt—the desperation and need in the way you fucked him right back, bending and curving your body to make him reach deeper, closer. Watching himself disappear inside you with every stroke and thrust of his pelvis made him groan, almost whimper, as he felt the ache within you coming to fruition. The sensation of you gripping around his cock, as if to milk him dry, from his base rolling all the way to his tip, forced his bottom lip between his teeth.

Jake released your locks from his grasp—placing both hands on either side of your hips with bruising force—to direct his focus on tearing into you, so deliciously deep that you’d do whatever he’d ask of you. He worked the soft flesh of your ass, using the demanding press of his thumbs to spread you, allowing himself to fuck into you deeper. He hissed, desperate fervor apparent as you pulled him in, forcing him to bottom out against your cervix.

“You like taking me, baby?” he asked, to which you could only whimper in response.

Jake removed one hand from your hip, raising it before striking down on your ass, causing you to clench around him again. He slid his hand, calloused and cold, up the small of your back and towards the nape of your neck. Jake leaned in, pressing his hips impossibly deep against your womb, maneuvering his hand around to your mouth, putting one thumb behind your bottom row of teeth to pull your head back, forcing an agonizing—yet pleasuring—arch in your spine.

“Answer me,” he growled, anticipating more than a lame whimper this time.

“I’m—”

“Use your words.”

“—Close,” you panted, the coil in your stomach tightening. “Jake, I’m—”

He swore, his thrusts turning erratic. “Come for me,” he demanded. “Let me feel it.”

His fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles just as he angled his hips to hit that spot inside you. The roughness of his fingers stroked and pressed against you—pace and force increasing—filling you with intensely growing tension. Your vision whited out as you shattered, his name a broken cry on your lips, twitching around him as to coax him into following suit. He followed right after, burying himself deep with a groan, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he spilled inside you.

For a moment, the only sound was your heavy breathing, the weight of him pressed against your back. Then Jake pulled out with a satisfied sigh, careful to not make too much of a mess, before turning you to face him. His smirk was downright smug.

“So,” he said, thumb brushing your swollen lips. “We good on that debt?”

You shoved him weakly, but you were already reaching for your belt. “One time thing,” you reminded him.

Jake’s fingers traced the curve of your hip, his touch possessive even now. His smirk deepened as he watched you fumble with your belt, his gaze dark with amusement and something far hungrier.

“One time thing,” he repeated, voice rough, dragging his knuckles down your stomach, “if you say so.”

The bank’s notice was glaringly clear: Final Warning – Repossession Authorized.

You sighed, crumpling the paper in your fist. Jake fucking Sim. Of course he hadn’t paid. Of course they were sending you back.

The memory of last month—his hands, his mouth, the way he’d bent you over the hood of his goddamn Focus—flashed hot behind your eyelids. You’d told yourself it was a one-time thing. A mistake. But the way your pulse kicked up as you pulled onto his street said otherwise.

His car was parked in the same spot, gleaming under the dim streetlight like a taunt. You killed the engine, gripping the steering wheel until your knuckles ached. Professional. Just do your job.

And professional you were, working swiftly in the quiet veil of the unassuming evening. Just procedure, you thought, everything’s normal this time.

You were halfway through hooking the tow when his accented, familiar voice cut through the dark.

“Back so soon, sweetheart?”

Jake leaned against the porch railing, shirtless this time, sweatpants hanging low on his hips once again, teasing you with a peek of his adonis belt. Even in the shadows, you could see the smirk.

“You’re three months behind,” you snapped, refusing to let your eyes drop lower than his collarbone another time. “Bank wants the car. Again.”

He pushed off the railing, strolling toward you like he had all the time in the world. “Funny. I was just thinking about you.”

Your breath hitched as he stepped into your space, the heat of him searing even through the night air. Jake’s mere presence reignited the pit of fire in your core, his stare scorchingly intimidating. His fingers brushed yours where they still clutched the tow chain.

“You gonna take what’s mine again?” His voice was gravel, rough enough to make your thighs press together, seeking pressure.

“Car’s not yours,” you responded, trembling and nervous from being in this familiar setting with a familiar face once more.

Jake progressed in your direction, closing in on you. “Are you here just to take from me, or?”

“Or what?”

“...Or you wanna negotiate?”

You swallowed hard. “There’s nothing to negotiate.”

Jake’s laugh was dark. “Bullshit.”

Then his hands were on your waist, spinning you until your back hit the car’s door, a familiar ache following. His mouth crashed into yours, all teeth and tongue, his hips pinning you in place. You gasped, fingers twisting in his hair as he bit your lip hard enough to sting.

“You give in so easy,” he said, breathless between hungry kisses, “I like that.” His body was hot, the slight sheen of sweat glistening under the dim streetlight. He was close enough to press against you, the sensation of his sticky skin against yours breaking any remaining composure or dignity you had remaining. His appetite for you was evident in the way he possessively held your waist, bringing your body closer to his as if to claim you as his.

“Missed this,” he growled against your mouth, one hand sliding down to hike your leg over his hip. “Missed how fucking desperate you get for me.”

You should’ve shoved him off. Should’ve just towed the car and left. But his palm was already cupping you through your pants, his thumb pressing just there, and—

“Fuck,” you whimpered, arching into his touch.

Jake chuckled, low and wicked. “That’s the plan.”

Before you could protest, he dropped to his knees, reminding you that you couldn’t even if you wanted to. Your breath caught as his fingers first hooked into your belt loops, forcing you closer to him with nearly enough strength to rip them off. He unhooked his fingers to close the gap by swiftly reaching for the waistband of your pants, yanking them down with your panties in one rough pull. The night air kissed your bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his breath between your legs.

“Jake—!”

His tongue dragged through your folds, slow and filthy, and your head thudded back against the car. His eyes were shut, brows knitted together as if to keep his composure—which was the last thing that could be true of him at that moment. He groaned like he was the one getting off, his hands selfishly gripping your thighs to keep you open as he licked into you like a man starving.

“Taste even better than I remembered,” he muttered, before sealing his mouth over your clit and sucking.

Your knees buckled. His arm hooked around your hips, holding you up as he devoured you, his tongue circling, flicking, driving you toward the edge with ruthless precision. Jake traced his tongue around your clit, pressure firm and unrelenting. His kisses to your core had intent, greedy as if he’s been without you for years.

Your taste on his tongue was intoxicating, driving him further into madness as he delved deeper into you, devouring you in every sense of the word. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, drunken in the flavor of you. Relishing every ounce of stress and frustration—most of which was his fault—made him wish you’d have a shitty day everyday, just so he can taste it on you. Jake held you closer, squeezing you to bring you closer to his face, to taste your sweat.

You tugged at his hair, torn between pushing him away and grinding into his face. Every pull of his locks elicited a whimper from him, prompting him to nearly give himself lockjaw with the way he ravaged you. The sight was deliciously alluring, Jake’s face buried between your thighs, his mouth latched on your core as he pushed against the force of you pulling his hair. His brows stayed furrowed, twitching as his cheeks hollowed before diving back into you, more desperate and frenzied every time.

“Gonna come already?” he taunted, pulling back just enough to watch you squirm. “That all you got?”

An aching moan—no words—is all you mustered as his nose rubbed against your clit again, allowing you to grind against him as he fervently made a mess of you. The auditory blend of lewd squelches, Jake’s whimpers, your gasps, and his mouth against your cunt was impossibly perverse, lust permeating every stroke of his tongue. You could hear your wetness by the lewd sounds coming from him, lapping, sucking, at your core with both desperation and control.

You whimpered, hips jerking. “Jake—”

Jake’s attention wavered for a second, taking in how pretty you looked with his mouth on you. He pulled back again, paying special attention to the way your mouth hung open and eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of his mouth. With a smirk, he heard you whine at the sudden absence of his mouth, he took special care to support and stabilize you against the car. He pried your thighs open, savoring your amazed gasp, as he spit on your cunt, diving back into your core to indulge in—to taste—the sin he loved so much.

His tongue was inside you, curling just right, making you involuntarily gasp in reaction. The sight was obscene—pornographic, even—as he mouth-fucked you so deep that you could see stars. Dazed with pleasure, you shattered with a cry, your fingers fisting in his hair as pleasure ripped through you. He didn’t let up, licking you through it until you were shaking, oversensitive and gasping.

Only then did he pull away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stood. His smirk was downright sinful.

“Now,” he said, crowding you against the car again, his erection pressing into your stomach, “you wanna talk about that payment plan, or is the third time the charm?”

You were fucked. In every sense of the word.

(And you definitely weren’t towing his car tonight.)

#enhypen smut #jake sim smut #jake smut #sim jaeyun smut #enhypen x reader #jake x reader

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piracytheorist · 7 months ago

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So about that grenade pin...

On first glace, this is certainly a top-notch proposal scene. A spy and an assassin, who are hiding their identities from each other, arranging their marriage for mutual benefit while fighting criminals, and the proposal ring coming out of a grenade pin, followed by an explosion from said grenade behind them? It's so absolutely badass and fun and as wacky as the story goes.

But I also like over-analyzing this story and making that everyone's problem, so I would like to share with you my thoughts on the symbolism of that gesture.

1. It's unconventional.

Twilight's original plan was to use the diamond ring from the repossessed artifacts to propose to Yor. In his mind, he wanted to create a family that's as conventional as it gets, in the hopes that it won't attract too much attention. Losing that diamond ring is a sign by the narrative that there was actually no chance this family would be anything but extraordinary. A grenade pin is not only unconventional for a proposal ring, it's also the result of impulsive thinking, of using what he has on hand.

Over time, this family will cause Twilight especially to act more impulsive than he's used to. All three of them will also be able to be themselves within this family, without putting any acts - Yor has already started feeling more confident than what she started as. There won't be any need for fancy diamond rings, or for any part of the family to be the perfect husband, wife or daughter. They will feel free to be themselves and know that they won't be judged for their secrets.

2. It represents the life of violence both Twilight and Yor are living.

Being in dangerous situations, protecting themselves from such dangers, and killing people is by now second nature to both of them. Throwing a grenade at a group of thugs after them is nothing out of the ordinary for them. It's very fitting to connect that with the thing that brought them together - the mutual need for a cover spouse.

But it also represents a truth; Twilight lies to Yor about the reason why he's being pursued by murderous thugs, and Yor lies to Twilight about how she became so good with self defence tactics. There's a TON more violence in their lives than they let on. The grenade ring is kind of a symbol of all that violence they're hiding from each other, and almost like an admittance of it, from the narrative at least.

3. Despite its catastrophic nature, it's a gesture of defence.

Twilight might have stolen back the stolen art pieces, but getting shot at by the first thieves was not a fair retribution. Plus, they weren't shooting just at him, they were also shooting at Yor, without knowing for sure whether she was an accomplice or not. She did kick a few of them unconscious but neither that nor taking the art pieces back guaranteed the death penalty. So he was acting out of defence when he threw the grenade at the people shooting at him AND Yor. Yor, on her own, only attacked a thug when she saw he was directly targeting Loid, so she was also acting in (self) defence.

And this parallels the reason behind their motivation for their jobs; Twilight wants to stop a war from happening and to avoid all the pain and casualties brought by one, and Yor wants to stop violent people from causing pain to her family or other innocent people. It is dirty work, without any consideration of their own innocence and well-being, but it's one they do for someone else's peace and safety.

That's what that grenade did. It killed the thugs, but it kept both of them safe.

4. They're a match of weirdos.

I don't think I need to point out how downright wacky it is for someone to propose with a grenade pin. We joke like "If my significant other doesn't propose to me like this they shouldn't even bother" or something, and it's a good joke, but in reality we would be horrified to see someone pull a pin from a grenade, throw it at a group of people, then propose to us with that same pin while those people are being blown to pieces right next to us. We would also be horrified at the prospect of us being the person to pull the pin and propose like that.

Yet neither Twilight nor Yor find any of this weird in the slightest. Twilight doesn't hesitate for a second to use the pin as a proposal ring while he's reciting his vows to her, and Yor accepts it wholeheartedly and even looks at him with admiration, not even worrying about the fact that this near stranger is holding her hands in his - a kind of proximity that would normally cause a violent reaction from her.

Not only is neither of them weirded out by the whole situation, not only do they not suspect the other might find this whole thing weird... their inner thoughts even match here. Cause the main feeling in that moment, for both of them, is a kind of relief that their plan for a cover spouse was successful, much faster and much easier than anticipated, and a security that they don't have to fake their feelings to each other. Until Twilight's mission and Yor's real job do them part.

I can't be certain how much of all that was intentional, but it was fun looking for what that grenade pin could symbolize. And I'm always down for an excuse to go meta on this story :D

(anime only here, don't spoil me for the manga)

#Spy x Family #sxf meta #twiyor #500

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burningembers91 · 6 months ago

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What Makes You Happy - Cho Sang-Woo x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

Biggest Regret

Synopsis: You confront Cho Sang-Woo about why he left. But when he has questions of his own, you can’t seem to answer them

You had a boyfriend now. Some American businessman who’d settled in Seoul after successfully expanding his marketing business. Sang-Woo had seen you a few times together, leaving restaurants and shops, smiling and holding hands.

He remembered when he used to make you laugh, when he’d hold your hand and pull you close, placing a soft kiss on your cheek. He’d never been overly good with words, had never been able to properly express emotion, but somehow with you, it came so naturally to him.

He’d tried to avoid you, had stopped going near the places the two of you had once frequented. But for some reason, everywhere he turned, you were there. You made eye contact a few times, your face falling every time you saw him.

Sang-Woo was working at his mother’s market stall now, spending his days filleting and gutting fish, coming home each day stinking of fish and regret. You’d come by a few times, and he’d always managed to sneak away and avoid seeing you.

You loved Sang-Woo’s mother like your own, and could never fully let her go, even after her son had abandoned you.

He was gutting a salmon one day, his hands and forearms caked in blood when you arrived. His mother was out, and he had nowhere to hide.

“Hello,” you said, your face stony and cold as you looked at him. Gone were his sharp suits and expensive briefcase. He was now wearing a faded t shirt and jeans, his glasses perched on his nose, his floppy hair falling into his eyes as he worked. Your heart still ached when your saw him, your stomach still flipped when you looked into his eyes. Despite the heartbreak he’d put you through, your body still responded to him like it had done when you were together.

“Can I get you anything?” He asked, his eyes not meeting yours. He was ashamed, ashamed of how far he’d fallen. “We have salmon on special offer today.”

“I’m not here for the fish, Sang-Woo,” you sighed. “I’m here for answers. You owe me that much.”

You knew he’d been running away whenever you turned up, had seen him hightailing it out of the market as you arrived. It was like he had a sixth sense; he always knew when you were nearby.

“Now isn’t a good time,” he muttered, indicating the blood and guts that covered his hands.

“I don’t give a shit!” You snapped, your eyes bright with tears. “You left me! I loved you so much, Sang-Woo, and you left me like I was nothing to you. Why? If you can’t tell me anything else, at least tell me why.”

You were wearing a green dress today, the colour complimenting your skin beautifully. Even when you were angry, even when tears stung your eyes, you were so stunning.

“I had money problems,” he croaked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“What kind of problems?” You were shocked, almost speechless. You’d spent two years assuming he’d found someone better than you, that he’d left because you weren’t good enough for him. You tortured yourself, went on every diet imaginable, changed your hair, your makeup and clothes to try and figure out what type of person you should be. But to find out he left because of money, it floored you.

“I had debts. A lot of debt. I had debt collectors knocking on the door, they were threatening to repossess my belongings. They were going to take our home, we’d have been out on the streets. I couldn’t do that to you. I left because you deserved better than me.”

You both stood staring at each other, the hubbub of the market behind you drowning out the pounding of your heart.

“And you didn’t think to talk to me about it?” You finally said, when you’d had time to wrap your head around his bombshell. “You didn’t think to tell me so we could sit down and work out how we were going to fix it?”

“There was no fixing it!” Sang-Woo yelled, slamming his fists down on to the metal countertops. “Even now, two years on, I have debts that I can’t pay back. I can’t get a house, I can barely feed myself. I didn’t want that life for you.”

“That wasn’t your choice to make!” You were yelling now too, your argument drawing attention from nearby stalls. “We were supposed to be a team, we were supposed to work things out together!”

His heart was racing, his breath ragged as he tried to control his emotions.

“Would you have stayed with me?” He asked, his voice now lower. “Knowing we’d be homeless, that I couldn’t give you the life you deserved. Would you have still stayed with me?”

Tears streaked down your pretty face, your lip trembling as you nodded fiercely. “I would have gone to hell and back with you,” you whispered. “I only ever wanted you. Even if we had to live in a cardboard box, I only wanted you.”

Now you were both crying, years of regret, heartbreak and anger swirling through the tension between you. Sang-Woo had been a fool to let you go, and now he was paying the price.

“Does he make you happy?” He asked you, his voice hoarse with tears. “Does he treat you well?”

“He treats me very well,” you nodded, knowing he was talking about your new boyfriend, the one with the bright blue eyes and shaggy blonde hair. The one who cared for you, and loved you.

“Does he make you happy?” Sang-Woo repeated.

You closed your eyes, your lashes wet with tears as you willed yourself to turn and walk away. It had taken you eighteen months to get up the courage to date again, and Jason was nice enough. He was a little cocky, a little stern, and he didn’t have the best sense of humour, but he treated you with kindness. But he did make you happy? He didn’t make you laugh like Sang-Woo did, didn’t make your whole body burn with desire when he fucked you like Sang-Woo had. He didn’t hold you close, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, didn’t make you feel like you were an unstoppable force of nature, not like Sang-Woo did. But he was kind to you. And you’d tried to hard to tell yourself that was enough.

“Does he make you happy?” Sang-Woo asked again, his voice more urgent this time.

You couldn’t answer him, couldn’t tell him that Jason didn’t make you happy, not like he had.

“Goodbye, Sang-Woo,” you smiled sadly, turning around and disappearing into the crowd.

He ran after you, pushing past people in the street as he tried to find you. But you were gone, melted into the sea of shoppers. He searched frantically, running down side passages and alleyways until his lungs burned in his chest.

When he returned to the market stall, his mum was about to shout at him for leaving her shop unattended. But she saw the hurt in his eyes, saw the way his shoulders slumped as he walked.

“He doesn’t make her happy, mum,” he whispered. “She couldn’t tell me he makes her happy.”

“Oh, son,” his mum sighed, opening her arms to him. Sang-Woo towered over his mother’s petite frame, and yet she hugged him with such force that he felt safe for the first time in years.

“How do I fix this?” He asked between sobs, his head buried in his mums shoulder like he did when he was a boy.

“I don’t know if you can,” she said. “She was broken when you left.”

He didn’t know how long he stood there, his mum stroking his hair and soothing him as if he were a child again. You couldn’t tell him Jason made you happy, and that broke him even more. He’d pushed you away, pushed you into the arms of a man who couldn’t give what you needed.

You looked so sad when you left, so broken. He needed to fix things, even if he wasn’t sure how.

As he lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling he wondered if you were thinking of him. He wondered if you thought of him when you were with Jason, if you pictured him when the two of you were making love.

You said your boyfriend didn’t make you happy. So maybe Sang-Woo could win you back. Maybe he could show you that he’d changed, that he wouldn’t ever run away again when things got tough. He’d regretted leaving you. He wouldn’t allow himself to regret not fighting for you.

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game fanfic #squid game x you #cho sang woo x reader #cho sang woo #Cho sang woo x you

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ssvnriise · 11 days ago

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— VIOLATION NOTICE

synopsis — you missed a car payment. he’s hot, rude, and repossessing more than just your vehicle. you’re not leaving without your keys—or maybe another round.

content warnings — NSFW/mdni, rough, semi public, power play, dubcon, degradation, dirty talk, spanking, light choking, size kink, brat x cocky dynamic, enemies to situational fuckbuddies???

you should’ve known the day was cursed from the start. the sun was shining too damn bright, the kind of cruel optimism that makes you uneasy. you’d made it to work on time — suspicious. your car, the rickety metal heap that usually died halfway through intersections like it was staging a dramatic exit, decided to behave. for once. no sputtering. No rattling. not even a wheeze.

everything was just a little too smooth.

and then, after an exhausting shift where your soul clocked out three hours before you did, you figured you’d treat yourself. something greasy and hot in a paper bag to keep the hangry demons at bay before crawling home.

you were mid-scroll on your phone, mentally arguing over nuggets or a burger, when something in your peripheral caught your eye. outside the window. someone was near your car.

is that… your car?

being hooked up?

to a tow truck?

no. no fucking way.

you shot up so fast your phone nearly flung out of your hand. your half-formed order forgotten, you shoved past a group of teens loitering by the soda machine and stormed outside like a woman possessed.

“absolutely not!” you snap, voice slicing through the fading evening air like a whip.

the man beside your car — tall, broad, all coiled muscle and cocky nonchalance — barely flinches. his scarred lip quirks upward in the most irritatingly smug half-smile you’ve ever seen.

“evenin’,” he drawls, like this is some friendly neighborhood stop-by. “payment didn’t go through. tough break.”

“you’re joking.” you stalk closer, pushing past him to get to your car. “I’m about to pay it. right now. just—”

he lifts a hand like he’s swatting a fly. “yeah, yeah. heard that one before. ‘just about to,’ ‘just missed it,’ ‘just one more week.’ classic.”

“this is my car. my barely running, mostly held together by prayer and duct tape car. you can’t just swoop in like some jacked-up vulture and take it.”

“uh,” he drawled, stepping closer, “I literally can. that’s kind of the job description.”

you round on him, hands on your hips. “wow. do you come with a pre-recorded script, or is this just your natural personality — dead-eyed and morally bankrupt?”

he snorts, amused. “damn, sweetheart. you always this mouthy, or am I just lucky?”

you narrow your eyes. “i’m not your sweetheart.”

he steps toward the driver’s side, ignoring you completely. “look. you can contact the office and work something out with them. i’m just the muscle.”

“oh, we noticed,” you mutter, not even bothering to hide the way your eyes rake down his arms. “you really play the part. all brawn, no brain, huh?”

he pauses, hand on the door handle, then glances at you over his shoulder. “funny. you’re real talkative for someone getting their ride jacked.”

“funny. you’re real smug for someone who’ll be limping if he touches my car again.”

that earns a full laugh from him — deep, shameless, annoyingly hot. “damn. you threatening me now?”

you fold your arms. “promise. not a threat.”

his eyes flick down your body, slow and unbothered. he doesn’t even try to hide it. “you’re feisty. I like that.”

you roll your eyes. “good. maybe you can chew on it after I kick your ass.”

and for a second, it’s a standoff — heat shimmering between you, the tension thick enough to slice with a knife. the way he looks at you changes just a notch, and it sets off something warm and furious deep in your gut.

“you got a name?” you ask finally, arms still crossed but voice a touch cooler now.

“yeah,” he says, smirking like he knows exactly where this is going. “toji.”

⸻

turns out maybe your luck hadn’t run out after all. not entirely.

because now you were on your hands and knees in the backseat of his truck, cheek pressed to the leather, moaning as he fucked you from behind like he was claiming every late payment with a thrust. his name—toji, apparently—had been growled against your neck somewhere between “get in the truck” and “I’ll give you something to ride.”

“look at you now,” toji grunts behind you, voice dark with amused disbelief. “mouthy little thing earlier — now you’re just dripping for me.”

his hips slapped against your ass with unrelenting force, big hands gripping your waist like you were something he’d earned. his cock dragged deep inside you, stretching you so good you saw stars—or maybe just the fast-food sign flickering through the fogged-up window.

his hips slam into yours again, a sharp slap echoing through the cab. you gasp, but your back arches into it, greedy for more.

“you like this shit, huh?” he growls, smacking your ass again, harder. “smart-ass little brat. bet no one’s ever fucked that sass outta you.”

“still here, aren’t I?” you snap, breath catching, “still mouthing off, even with your dick—ah—”

his hand snakes around to grip your throat, not squeezing, just holding. just reminding you who’s in control — and who’s letting you pretend you have some.

“you keep clenching like that, I might think you’re grateful I towed your car.”

you don’t give him the satisfaction of a reply — just a moan, strangled and sharp, as your eyes flutter back and his name slips off your tongue like a curse.

your breath stutters as he presses deeper, burying his cock to the hilt, and for a second your mind blanks — white-hot and trembling. but even now, with your body betraying every smartass word you’ve ever said, you grit your teeth and reach for some leverage.

“f-fuck—” you groan, digging your nails into the seat, grounding yourself. “after this—you’re giving me my car back. I swear to god, toji—”

he chuckles — low, dark, almost fond. the kind of laugh that says you poor little thing.

“you makin’ demands now?” he pants, rolling his hips slow, deliberately, like he knows exactly how hard it is for you to concentrate when he’s fucking you like this. “while I’m splitting you open back here?”

you turn your head just enough to glare over your shoulder, breathless but not backing down. “yeah. I am. I’m not leaving this truck without my keys.”

toji grins — wide, wicked — then leans down over your back, pressing his chest flush to yours, one hand tangling in your hair to yank your head to the side, exposing your throat.

“you really think you’re in a position to bargain, sweetheart?”

“I know I am,” you bite back, even as you shiver beneath him. “i’m letting you do this. that’s gotta be worth something.”

he groans at that — deep and filthy — and ruts into you harder, like he’s trying to fuck the attitude right out of your mouth.

“god, you’re such a brat,” he growls, breath hot against your ear. “but i’ll play. sure. you take it all like a good girl, I might give you your shitty little car back.”

might.

the word makes you clench around him instinctively, and he feels it — grins wider against your skin.

“you like that?” he taunts. “like when I dangle what you want right in front of your face? bet you do. bet you’d let me fuck you on the hood of that rust-bucket just to keep it.”

you whimper, equal parts furious and turned on beyond reason.

“i’m not begging you,” you snap, voice shaking. “i’m not.”

“didn’t say you had to,” he says, driving into you harder now, relentless, the truck rocking under the force. “but keep talking like that, and i’m gonna make you come so hard you forget why you needed the damn car in the first place.”

your mouth opens, some kind of retort on the tip of your tongue — but then his fingers slip between your legs and find your clit, rubbing tight, ruthless circles, and whatever you were going to say dissolves into a gasp.

“oh, fuck—toji—”

“that’s it,” he mutters, lips grazing your ear. “cum for me. right now. let me feel you squeeze my cock and maybe, maybe, i’ll toss you your keys like a good little prize.”

you want to curse him. bite him. slap that cocky smirk off his stupid handsome face. but what actually happens is your body tenses and the climax rips through you like a wave, sharp and blinding and humiliatingly loud as you moan his name.

he groans, low and hungry, hips slamming into you one last time before he spills inside you, deep and hot, hands bruising your hips as he holds you in place, owning every inch of the moment.

the truck goes quiet save for the sound of your breathing — ragged and uneven. his weight stays over you a moment longer before he finally pulls back, breathless.

“…so?” you rasp, still on your hands and knees, trying to gather the pieces of your ego. “keys?”

toji chuckles — then reaches into his back pocket and dangles them by the keyring in front of your face.

“I keep my promises,” he says. “but maybe next time, don’t mouth off to the repo man unless you’re ready to fuck your way out of it again.”

you snatch the keys and scowl up at him. “you act like I lost.”

he leans down, gives your ass one more slap, then kisses the curve where it stings. “sweetheart… you did.”

the inside of the truck smells like sex and sweat and faint cigarette smoke. the windows are fogged, one of your knees is going numb, and you’re pretty sure you just left your dignity in a puddle somewhere under the seat.

you shift slightly, wincing as you pull your panties back up — not that they’re doing much at this point — and start looking for the rest of your clothes like it’s a crime scene.

toji’s still half-sprawled across the backseat, shirt halfway unbuttoned, smirking like a man who just won a very private, very dirty game.

“you walkin’ back out there like that?” he asks, nodding at you lazily while you shimmy your pants up with as much dignity as possible. “gonna give the poor drive-thru kid a heart attack.”

you fix your hair in the smudged rearview mirror, ignoring the mess of your lipgloss, the flushed cheeks, the i-just-got-railed-by-the-repo-man glow you can’t quite wipe off.

“you’re assuming I give a shit what anyone thinks,” you mutter, tugging your shirt into place.

“feisty and shameless,” toji says, stretching like a big, smug cat. “no wonder you’re broke. got too much pride to admit you’re in over your head.” (who’s he to talk?)

you whirl on him, half-dressed and still simmering. “i’m not in over my head.”

he grins like he’s already heard the punchline.

“oh no?” he asks, voice low, eyes flicking down your body. “remind me who was begging two minutes ago?”

your cheeks flush hotter. you shove your shoe on harder than necessary.

“that wasn’t begging. that was—mutual satisfaction. you got something out of it, too, asshole.”

he shrugs, cool and unbothered. “sure did.”

there’s a beat of silence. he leans forward, picking something off the floor — your phone, dropped during the chaos — and hands it to you. his fingers brush yours on purpose. he holds your gaze a little too long.

you snatch it, eyebrows raised. “thanks. thought maybe you’d repo that too.”

“tempting,” he drawls. “might’ve left a video or two worth saving.”

you scowl, but you’re fighting a smirk.

he gets out first, and you follow — walking stiff-legged with your thighs still sticky and your attitude half-fried. the cool night air hits your skin and you realize just how flushed and wrecked you really are.

your car is still hitched up to his truck.

you turn toward him, arms crossed. “you said you’d unhook it.”

he whistles low and walks to the back, tossing you your keys again — this time, with a wink.

“I said I might. but you earned ‘em. i’m a man of my word.”

he starts lowering the winch, methodical and smooth, while you hover awkwardly, still coming down from… well. everything.

when your car finally thuds back to the pavement, you breathe out slowly. crisis averted — kind of.

“you do this with all your clients?” you ask, testing the door to make sure it still opens. “or just the ones who argue back?”

he doesn’t answer right away. just watches you, arms crossed over his broad chest, head tilted.

“just the ones I like,” he says finally.

you blink.

something warm flickers in your chest, unwelcome and inconvenient.

“well,” you say, trying to shake it off, “congrats. you made a real impression. I’ll remember you the next time I fall behind on payments.”

he steps closer, tilting your chin up with two fingers. you hold your breath.

“you say that like you’re not gonna fall behind on purpose next time.”

you don’t deny it.

you just grab your keys, flip him off with a smirk, and climb into your car.

as you pull out of the lot, headlights cutting through the night, you glance at him in the rearview. toji’s still standing there — arms crossed, watching you drive away — and that crooked, knowing smirk is the last thing you see before you disappear into the street.

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji fushigro x reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro x reader smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #jjk toji #toji fushiguro smut #toji x reader #toji x y/n #jjk fanfic #sunrisewrites ﺕ

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b-does-yellowjackets · 2 months ago

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Yellowjackets at practice

based on pretty much nothing, just fun hcs!

my varsity and jv teams in high school practiced together so just pretend that's how whs did it too lol

Shauna: Focused, but a little spacey. Easily distracted by Jackie talking to her or by her annoyance at herself over a mistake. She has specific drills that she gets super into, but it depends on the day. During scrimmages, though, she's laser-focused. Not afraid to get physical, even though it's only practice. Big proponent of the "practice like you play" motto.

Tai: Locked in the entire time. No, she does not want to hear about Randy Walsh slipping in the hallway. The first person on the line for warmups and the first to react to instructions. She won't hush anyone for chatting during drills, but she will glare if she's in a mood. Excellent at shooting drills. PK champion and it makes Jackie the tiniest bit annoyed.

Van: Goofing off the entire time and somehow still making amazing plays. Tai will scold her for it gently and the coaches used to call her out on it, but after a while, they only say something if she's really distracting someone else because she manages to outperform herself every time. She'll go from choking on her water because Nat made a dumb joke to making a brutal dive to save a ball that Jackie booted from just outside the eighteen. Takes a lot of unnecessary hits and had to be told to tone it down a little so she wouldn't hurt herself before games.

Natalie: She's there, but she's not making any particular kind of effort. Sort of phones it in on warmups and individual drills, but the second she's paired with someone she respects, she's ready to play. Her and Jackie make a surprisingly great team for offensive drills and she'll always put in a little extra effort if she's playing up from Lottie.

Jackie: Kind of a selfish player, but not intentionally. She's better about it at games, but can get very focused on outdoing herself at practice and sometimes forgets the point of the team drills. Usually the first to strip down to her sports bra when it gets too warm and will dump water over her head whenever it's even remotely appropriate.

Mari: Gets hyped over others' good plays. She's not always the star, but she's the first to let out a cheer when Jackie strikes the top corner of the net perfectly or Tai makes a clean tackle and repossess the ball easily. Can get frustrated with herself if she messes up and a few mistakes will often lead to a rough practice for her.

Lottie: Hair-braider. Often late to the line for warmups because she was pinning Van's hair back for her or fiddling with Natalie's bangs. The coaches stopped trying to berate her for it when she didn't help anyone with their hair before a practice and they had no less than six on-field collisions because people couldn't see. Always has a few extra water bottles and is always down to break for a snack.

Gen: The absolute best person to be paired with for partner drills. She's so reliable with the amount of effort she puts in, which is a healthy 85%. Almost never criticized by the coaches, but also can be overlooked for her strengths because of her quiet consistency.

Melissa: Excellent player, but can be timid about it. When she's not nervous, she makes incredible plays and has great field vision, but is usually intimidated by Tai and Shauna's aggression. When they're more chilled out or when she's feeling particularly into it, she often gets an excited whoop from the coaches.

Misty: 110% every single day. Cheering and watching attentively for injuries, even though she usually gets shrugged off. Keeps a water cooler full, despite most of the team opting to use their own personal bottles and sometimes shows up with snacks. They're always odd, though, like sliced limes instead of oranges and everyone's like "??" but try to be appreciative enough when they get a pointed look from Jackie.

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets headcanons #yj season 3 #van palmer #natalie scatorccio #shauna shipman #taissa turner #jackie taylor #melissa hat #gen yellowjackets #misty quigley #they're a soccer team and i wish ppl talked about that more

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danithy · 5 months ago

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Davesport codependency

Speaking my truth because it's my tumblr and I've yet to be stopped!!1! Davesport - to me at least - is a codependent relationship, regardless of whether you see them as platonic or romantic.

Although not the cause of their codependency, it is also important to note that there is a connection through the way they are united in their situation. Whereas other springlock victims had their heads replaced with phones and their memories erased, Jack and Dave survived as living corpses with their memories intact. Both regularly received comments on their physicality; Dave most often on his purple skin, and Jack most notably on how he looks soulless in Peter’s speech towards him in the legacy route of dsaf 2. While this isn’t verbally addressed, I do imagine it gives them a sense of companionship which already ties them together.

Now, for their actual codependency: for Jack, the absence of his soul plays a major role. As Henry said in the found cassette tape: strong emotions manifest in the soul, and these determine the magnitude of a soul. With this I don’t mean to say Jack is emotionless; he still exhibits emotions in several scenes such as regret when redeeming himself as Legacy towards Blackjack, but I do imagine it messed up his already repressed emotional palate because Blackjack is a strong soul considering he was able to drag Henry towards the void. We also never see Jack (seriously) cry, outside of joke endings like soapy ending, but even in the dsaf 3 route he doesn’t cry: the little emotions he does experience are repressed. Dave, in contrast, functions merely on the remnant of his soul which repossesses his corpse and therefore harbours primarily strong emotions. Because Jack’s lack of a soul limits his feelings and emotions, I imagine he experiences them through Dave since the intensity of his soul more easily conveys onto Jack. He depends on Dave to feel alive and human; he is the soul to his heart.

Now, as for Dave; he depends on his devotion to Henry and his legacy to be able to repossess his corpse, as also speculated by Henry in the joy_2 tape: “My current theory is that he repossessed his own body out of desperation.” To an extent, Dave tries to fill the hole where Henry once was in his life with Jack, exemplified in little ways such as Jack wearing the Fredbear suit and Dave even mentioning that it was Henry’s at some point. Now, there’s a noticeable shift between dsaf 1 & 2: in dsaf 1 Dave doesn’t view Jack as much of an equal, their conversations being impersonal and transactional, along with Dave calling Jack condescending nicknames such as kid. In dsaf 2 this changes; Jack is now exclusively called old sport, Dave follows him on several occasions, and from his diary entries we can see that he’s pretty crazy about Jack. I think this is because, somewhere in Vegas, Dave realised he made a friend who he could sympathise with, instead of a replacement for Henry. This, in my eyes, is what caused part of Dave’s devotion to shift towards Jack. Again, there’s a lot of things that show Dave’s attachment towards Jack is unhealthy; from his diary entries to Davetrap persistently staring through his window. Additionally, Davetrap doesn’t repossess his corpse when Jack decapitates him in dsaf 3’s bad ending, despite technically being able to. This shows that Jack turning on him is enough to finally make him abandon his vessel, and his soul’s devotion relies at least partially on Jack.

Generally, Dave is more dependent than Jack; he needs Jack to be alive, whereas Jack only needs Dave to feel alive. I think this is also what allowed the 30-year gap between dsaf 2 & 3 where they didn’t see each other to happen. Dave had to be sealed in the saferoom to be kept from Jack, while Jack could manage on his own, although it likely made even more miserable. Doomed apart and doomed together. Basically; I hate them !!1!

#dsaf #dayshift at freddy's #dayshift at freddys #davesport #dsaf dave #dsaf jack #Danny screams loudly at his screen #sorry this is so long

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