ihrtmyslf

hai!! i’ve been writing fics for a few years atp, but i’ve only started writing more recently. i strictly do lesbian/ sapphic fics. i myself am a genderqueer lesbian!1!1

do/ will write:

female, transgender (MtF), gender neutral reader

butch, stud, femme/ fem, stems, etc reader

smut, steamy, purely romantic, platonic, toxic ( but heavily depends )

genderbent

yandere, obsession, things of that nature

don’t/ wont write:

extreme/ gross sexual behavior ( certain kinks, actions, etc )

glorified/ sexualized DV, SA, or rape of anybody ( including people under the age of consent )

fandoms/ media i am not apart of

fandoms:

yandere simulator

jujustu kaisen

my hero academia

death note

DDLC

The Boys (i js started s2 so😀)

other favorite media:

crime and punishment

secretary ( 2002 )

but i’m a cheerleader! ( 1999 )

nosferatu ( 2024 )

bones and all ( 2022 )

girl, interrupted ( 1999 )

thirteen ( 2003 )

ayano aishi x GN/fem reader

TW: smut, masturbation, mention of stolen items/clothes

ayano takes her usual commute home; the route that takes nearly 20 extra minutes just to follow alongside you—more so closer to behind you.

it’s sweet, in a way. her everlasting devotion of watching you, following you, protecting you—she’s your guardian angel!

she tosses her bag onto the floor and takes a seat at her wooden brown desk. she doesn’t care about her work too much, it’s irrelevant.

but, she can’t exactly fail a class or else she won’t share classes with you!

just barely finishing english homework, ayano sluggishly stands up and makes her way to the kitchen. eating you out across from the benches in the courtyard is the world to her and eating without you is like the sun suddenly disappearing from the solar system.

sitting back at her desk with her microwaved broccoli and rice, she stares ahead at the wall with images and flashes of you crossing her mind a million miles per hour.

her food has remained untouched for a while now, a long while. partly due to the fact she has her hand roaming the space between her thighs while on her bed.

between the flick of time that was getting food to now, she’s undressed, crawled onto her bed, and is now with your stolen items pressed against her chest like she can align the atoms perfectly and force them into her body.

her breaths are staggering and come after beats past, her head is tiled back against the pillow, her back is arched against the bed, thighs split open and shaking, while her red panties are long gone on the floor.

“a-ah… fuck!” her moans are short and stanch, but sweet—at least that’s what she hopes you would think.

with a sock stolen from your locker in the shower room—something she knew would be meaningless to you and easily forgotten about— she presses it against her lips, as if to give your ankles a sweet kiss.

her mind reels as the soft fibers of the fabric tingle and tickle her sensitives lips that crave to be against yours.

a hot pool of pleasure starts to warm and spread throughout her chest and core as she starts to edge closer to her climax.

she throws her head back further onto the pillow while her fingers work magic on her clit. her thighs twitch and shake even more violently while her orgasm comes crashing down.

a guttural groan turns into a cry for you, calling out your name, howling like a dog in heat.

her breath is heavy, chest rising and falling, while her eyes remained closed with the image of you. the image is so detailed that she could zoom in endlessly.

your hair sprawled on the pillow, eyes closed, chest fluctuating with the same beat as hers, nipples still perked, all while you both bask into what is known as afterglow.

however, her heart aches at how it can’t be like that. it can’t be like that all the time, not even sometimes.

ayano aishi x fem(cis) reader

mentions of scars, but no specific mention of s/h, obsession, a itty bitty bit of smut ;)

sitting on the bench up top the akademi high school roof with papers bundled in your lap while you rapidly write down answers—dammit, why didn’t you do your homework sooner?!— she sits. it’s almost like she has super vision from how far away she sits while meters away. picking at the scabs on her wrist; she watches. she watches, and watches, and doesn’t let go. her gaze is penetrating you, your skin, your hair, your focused and rushed eyes, your hole, everything.

it’s been a hard day for little Ayano. sitting through hours of useless discussions on the mitochondria, how to find one inscribed angle with another inscribed angle, how to hold a brush correctly for chinese calligraphy, everything useless. useless, useless, useless! she doesn’t need it. she doesn’t need the uselessness that plagues her everyday high school life. she needs you. she needs every single bit of you. she needs your hands tangled in her hair, her lips pressed tightly and messy against yours, her body compressed roughly, teasingly on yours, needs to hear your moans slice through the silence of her room while her tongue and fingers delves deep into your forbidden hole made solely, only for her and—

“hey, ayano?…” she was so deep in her thoughts of being deep in you that she hadn’t even realized you had disappeared from your little area. you’re still frazzled with work and worry, but now you’re tapping her on the shoulder. you’re touching her. her face turns scarlet red at the sight of your perfect face and the rushing warmth of your fingertip grazing her uniform top, her heart races in her chest so much most would confuse it for a heart attack. “hi…” she replies meekly while trying not to double over the railing. “i know we both have chemistry together and i’m not getting… any of this—any of this!” the vibrations of your giggles is practically a shot through her heart; her aching, cold heart. she stumbles so hard that it’s obvious to everyone. embarrassing!

she scrambles for your paper and looks at it like she knows what she’s doing—news flash, she doesn’t. however, she calmly leans over and points out a small equation, “the carbon is what makes it explode.” she stares back up at you. her eyes and bold and boring into your eyes with a deep intensity similar to an erupting volcano. the ash spreads across her cheeks which forms a pink dusty layer on her face that matches her lips. her sweaty hands give you back the paper with a… blank expression. her emotionless face leaves you confused. for a girl whose palms are sweaty, knees weak, and wished she was eating spaghetti, she’s weirdly calm.

“oh, thanks ayano!” your soft smile and teeth that glow under the radiating sun almost confuse her that you are the radiating sun that lays a layer of light on the roof. she watches your shadow dwindle as you rush back down to your class as the bell obnoxiously warns everybody that they have three minutes to rush to their next class. she stays behind on the roof while everyone else walks, chats, and runs to the doors. it isn’t until she’s alone that she runs her hands over her scars with fervor for some comfort while her heart is seconds away from breaking free from her ribcage.

she sits by her bag and laughs—quietly—maniacally to herself. she eventually pulls herself up from the bench, slings her bag over her shoulder, and makes her way to the doors with a swooning smile and brooding surge in her chest.