#it might be unnecessary to tag all of them but all of them are here so *shrug*

[whysperingwoods]

Fear-mongering and herbalism

Herbalism is a crucial element for many practitioners of witchcraft, and lately I've seen a lot of fear-mongering in the #baby-witch and #witchblr tags that it's raising some serious red flags. Caution is necessary, yes, but over-simplified warnings against herbs that have a very long history and tradition of safe and effective use can rob people of accessible, beneficial ways to take an active role in their own health and wellbeing.

True: People absolutely need to be cautious about what they are putting in their bodies. True: "Natural" does not equate to "good" or "healthy". True: You need to speak to a medical professional regarding medical issues.

All these things being true do not mean that you cannot find plants that are safe to ingest, and that can benefit your health and support you. You can use herbs safely and you do have the power and ability to find information about them.

I've literally seen posts that say not to ingest any kind of herb because "you don't know what's in them" and "you don't know dosage, so it might harm you".

This lack of nuance is precisely the type of thinking that breeds misinformation and unnecessary fear, as if there is not enough of that to go around! It seems like because MAGA and anti-vaxx folks have been using the line "do your own research!!" so much, people are associating research with... right wing conspiracy theory? Somehow? Don't forget that being capable of doing good research also means being capable of evaluating your sources, and thinking critically about what you're reading.

Here are some of the misconceptions I've come across in the last couple days:

Laypeople can't safely use herbs

Fear of toxicity in herbs is common and rational, but herbs that you can find in your kitchen are food-grade and widely available. You don't need to eat them in enormous quantities to experience their benefits.

For example, thyme can help support the lungs during cold and flu season. Ginger tea is great for minor digestive upsets. These are things you have access to and can provide a safe means of relief.

Local apothecaries are very knowledgeable about where they source their herbs and what dosages are safe. They are also able to tell you if their herbs are pesticide-free, organic, etc.

Where you want to be cautious is ordering herbs online, especially places like Amazon or Etsy where there is no control whatsoever. Even supplements have been found to frequently not contain what they are said to contain, and you really have to do research about the company you're buying from beforehand.

If you don't have a local apothecary, you can still buy herbs online! Just make sure you are using a reputable website such as Mountain Rose Herbs where you can get bulk herbs.

Lesser known herbs require more caution, but there are fantastic books about herbalism and they provide information on dosage and various ways the herbs can be used responsibly. Your local library is almost guaranteed to have several books about herbalism, and if you aren't sure about a particular herb, look it up in multiple other resources to see if their information matches up. You can even find information about many commonly used herbs on WebMD.

Also, don't forage herbs that you plan to ingest if you are not experienced. This is a recipe for disaster, and incredibly dangerous. I'm not going to go into super huge detail about this, because it would merit its own post, but seriously, just don't do it until you have experience. Plant identification apps are not sufficient to identify herbs you plan to ingest.

Herbal remedies cure major illnesses

Herbs can play a supportive role, but it's crucial to recognise their limits. Herbal medicine should complement, not replace, medical treatment for severe chronic conditions. Clinical herbalists are trained to assess what's appropriate for herb-based support and when a situation requires immediate medical attention.

Herbs are not a panacea that will cure every ailment. Every person is unique and any single herb can have wildly different effects on the body. Some people might find incredible relief, while another person may find no effect at all, or may even find an herb doesn't agree with them.

Herbalists think they are medical practitioners

Because there is no federally regulated body for herbalists, people sometimes think it's the wild west out there and anyone can do anything, but that's not the case. Herbalists are not exempt from the law, and no one is legally allowed to practice medicine if they are not licensed to do so. Period. No amount of traditional knowledge changes that.

While the herbalist profession is not regulated federally, there are regulating bodies that are run by herbalists and that set standards for what is expected and permitted. If you search for "herbalism guild Canada" you will find the Canadian Council of Herbalist Associations which has tons of information, and some provinces also have their own guilds. Most guilds will have a list of reputable herbalists that you can access and they have strict requirements for being added to those lists. You can find these requirements on their websites and gauge them for yourself.

Part of training to become a clinical herbalist is knowing you are not a medical practitioner. You are taught not to diagnose people, and how to recognise when something is outside of your scope of practice.

From the CCHA:

9. A registered herbal practitioner will  offer interdisciplinary collaboration with other health professionals

Herbalists focus on holistic, complementary care, rather than taking on the role of medical practitioners. A qualified herbalist works alongside them to support the body's systems, rather than attempting to independently treat or diagnose medical systems. For example, they might work with clients to ease side-effects from medication, but they won't independently treat serious conditions like infections.

Herbalists are anti-vaxx and anti-science

The vast majority of clinical herbalists are not anti-vaxx or anti-modern medicine at all, and focus on combining traditional knowledge about plants with modern science. Are there herbalists out there who are anti-vaxx? Absolutely, just like any demographic you can find people who are spouting nonsense, but that is not the norm.

Thankfully, herbalism schools and herbalists are pretty up front with their beliefs. The CCHA has these requirements for herbalists in the guild:

3. Herbalists have an extensive knowledge base combining traditional wisdom and modern scientific perspective       [...] 7. A registered herbal practitioner is trained in herbal safety, drug interactions, and possible contraindications [...] 10. A registered herbal practitioner is accountable  to a professional organization, must maintain annual continuing education and must abide by professional standards 

When I was looking for a clinical herbalist myself, I always checked their website information and whether they were registered with a guild, and what the requirements for that guild were. The herbalist I chose also had a clear section on her website where she stated that she had experience working with people on psychiatric medications.

You can also often find their stance on other things such as LGBTQIA+ issues (such as statements on their website regarding their approach to HRT).

The school I ultimately selected for my education was one that had explicit information about how they integrated new science into their curriculum, and how frequently it was updated.

If you are not finding the information you're looking for, just ask! It's completely acceptable and not rude to contact an herbalist and ask them what their approach is on the things you are concerned about. They will be happy to answer these questions and give you any information they can to help you decide if they are a good fit for you.

Conclusion

Herbalism is not about replacing medical care or promising miracle cures. It's about tapping into centuries-old knowledge and combining it with modern insights. Embrace herbs with curiosity, responsibility, and respect, and you can have an incredible and beneficial relationship with them.

I'm sure there are plenty of points here that I have omitted or not sufficiently covered. I hope readers will take this as an indictment of the author, me, rather than one against herbalism as a whole.

[mouwuma]

so i might have started inanimate insanity so uhhh doodle dump from when i was watching it

currently just finished s2ep11

[prettyboykatsuki]

✮ tags ; pwp, fem + afab!reader, dubcon (reader is drunk af), dirty talk, rough-ish sex, the liiiightest yan undertone. 18+

✮ a/n ; im not a kiri fucker but i . had a thought in the shower

Kirishima fucks like he has something to prove.

That part of him hasn't changed, you think. It's a bad time to be reminiscing about such a thing, especially since your brain can't think of anything other than how good it feels to have such a thick cock buried in your sore, weeping cunt.

Kirishima has stopped briefly, just to bottom out and press his navel to your sex - so your brain has a little space to think. You don't know exactly how you've ended up here after thinking about it for a long time. The alcohol is making your head feel fuzzy and your lower half is weak, might melt into Kirishima's nice king size bed if you're not careful.

An hour ago, you had come off of work and joined some friends in an izakaya. Kirishima was there too, seemingly with his own friends. You hadn't seen him since middle school, when he shorter and more negative. You had a crush on him then, back before all the hero stuff.

It was refreshing to see a boy your age obsesses over something like being a perfectly chivalrous man. You were friend though not closely, and had a dopey school girl love affair that never came of fruition. You didn't speak to him after that, weren't close enough to ask - and watched him grow into a hero through televised events and news.

He's a pro now. He was much bigger than you thought he'd be. You didn't think men could get that big, unless they played basketball or something. He was shorter than you in middle school but when you saw him again in person, he was double your height. You had to crane your neck up just to get a good look at his face. Defined jaw and rugged, boyish charm that made your cheeks warm like you hadn't grown out of being a girl.

You thought he wouldn't recognize you since he's basically famous now, but he did. Flagged you down and whisked you away for drinks and catch up time. Your friends pushed you to go, so you did. You drank and spoke about nothing in particular and Kirishima seemed so enraptured with you - you thought the alcohol had fried your brain. Thoroughly tipsy and giggly, you admitted to having a crush on him in long and unnecessary detail. That you liked him, and seem to still if this feeling is anything to go by.

You hadn't expected anything of it. But he kissed you in the corner of the bar and asked if you had anywhere to be, hauled you into a taxi when you said no and made out with you on the way home. Put his hand underneath you shirt and squeezed your waist, said something about how cute you are. Always have been.

No one seemed to think anything of it when you left. Pro-Hero's escort drunk girls all the time, but you wonder if it's normal to fuck them? You wonder if Kirishima has practice in bring home drunk girls who are too big for their boots and too needy to be anything but sincere.

He's so good at fucking you, you aren't sure you'd mind that being true. Not like this.

He didn't give you any time to adjust to what was going on, every breath had him chasing more of you like he'd run out of time if he didn't rush. He carried you inside, licked your pussy while you laid against his kitchen counter and finger fucked you until you could take all eight inches of him. Was he always this relentless? You know he was never kind, no matter how much he seems it. He was always critical and cunning, but you didn't expect him to be so ruthless.

He doesn't let you off of his cock after he gets you on it. Makes you wrap your arms around his shoulders even though you barely can because he's so big. Makes you wrap your legs around his waist and tells you to hold tight as he walks you up the stairs with his cock still twitching. The whole thing makes your eyelids burn with pleasure, your body yearning to keep him inside of you for as long as you can stay conscious which is barely when you're this wasted.

He dropped you in his bed and fucked you in missionary. You think in the span of a few hours, you've spent more of it feeling his cock throb inside of you longer than you've spent without. He's too big, and fucks mean. There's no chivalry in it, just pure primal desire behind weight and heavy thrusts that make you gasp involuntarily.

You haven't stopped cumming. You've never done that so much in a row. Your body feels nearly numb as you think on it. He's been keep you like this for so long and the alcohol is making you lightheaded. You can barely understand what he's saying except that he's loved you for so long. You wonder if that's true. Your pussy likes it though, clenches every time he groans into your neck after the headboard hits the wall with his thrusts.

He fucks you like he wants to prove something to you. You don't know what exactly. You're drunk and floaty and you can't stop cumming and you can't think of anything other than how much you want him to fuck your brains out. How much you want him to cum, so deep in your pussy you'd have to push it out to get rid of it. How much you want to cum around his cock until you get so fuckdrunk you pass out on it.

A little pleasant catching up and now you can't unfurl your spine from the way it's raised, and your toes hurt from how tight they've curled. You feel ditzy with it. Didn't know cock could make you cum so much you turn stupid and babbling. It's all you've been doing and Kirishima doesn't seem to mind it all. Just laughs at your nonsense words and kisses you with sharp teeth and fucks you.

And fucks you and fucks you and fucks you, with your knees to your ears and your eyes blurry and hazed.

"Kirisihima-kun," You gasp at him, breathless and hot.

"Eijirou," He corrects with a nip to your mouth. "We won't leave each other now. Not anymore."

He punctuates with the promise with a thrust so deep you can't do anything but agree. You wonder if all this is trying to prove his love for you, but how you could that be true? It's been years.

Another thrust makes your lower belly clench, and something squirts out of you mid thrust. You're too hazy to feel self-conscious of it and Kirishima only laughs.

You close your eyes and let him have you. Again and again and again.

[chanranghaeys]

🚪 svt when they don't open the door for you when you knock

a/n: weirdly specific but i was triggered by this recently hence; not properly proofread word count: 3.8k tags: comfort!svt, gn!annoyed+emotional!reader, reader described to be smaller than svt, fluff, pet names, emotional tears, some raised voices (to and from minghao)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Seungcheol — immediately stands up when he hears just the keys jingling at the door. He runs to reach it before you turn the knob but he’s too late.

But before you could even start complaining, before you could even glare at him, Cheol immediately embraces you and says “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t hear your knocks, I have no excuse.”

In this instance, all his pouts are not to annoy you, but to beg you to get rid of your annoyance at him. So try as you might to stay annoyed at him, how could you when he’s got you locked safe in the embrace of his strong and secure arms?

(i’m sorry cheol’s is so short because……..i think this is the most accurate i can get him honestly it’s just really straightforward like this for him)

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Jeonghan — immediately walks out of your shared room to greet you as soon as he hears the door open.

“You’re home—” he says with arms outstretched, but you cut him off instantly.

“Why didn’t you open the door for me?” He stays silent, a questioning look on his face. “I knocked so many times, but you know we can’t knock too loudly right? I was waiting for you to open the door, but you didn’t.”

You roll your eyes and steam off to your room, sidestepping him and his efforts to talk to you. When you emerge and settle on the couch, he sits beside you but at a slight distance because he knew better than to keep pressing when you were like this.

When he sees that your breathing started to regulate and your expression seemed to neutralize, that’s when he reaches for your hand and laces his fingers in yours. “How was your day, my angel?”

You just look at him. He persists, kissing the back of your intertwined hand. “Come here, I know you need a hug.”

Reluctantly, you lower your pride and scoot closer to him, settling on his chest. “Now, what’s bothering my angel? I know it’s more than just the door, and I’m really sorry that hurt you. But it’s more than the door, isn’t it? How are you really?”

You fight back tears because you know he’s right. It just wasn't your day and nothing went well, and you feel so bad that you projected your unnecessary anger at him.

You hug him tighter and mumble out an “I’m sorry Hannie,” to which he replies, “I’m sorry too, it’s okay. Hannie is here to listen, I’m here.”

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Joshua — doesn’t realize his mistake at first and greets you like normal: with a smile, a hug, and a kiss on the cheek. He quickly realizes that something was off when you don’t return the said hug and kiss as enthusiastically as you usually do, and your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. When you only gave one word replies to him asking how your day was, alarms flare in his head.

He stops whatever he’s doing and does the same to you, taking the few groceries you were packing away from your hands and replacing them with his. he looks you in the eye, the alarm and guilt so palpable in his.

“I’m sorry,” he immediately prefaces. “What did I do? Or what did I not do? I’m so, so sorry.”

At his apologies, you started feeling bad as you saw him so helpless, but you also couldn’t hold back the whining tone from your voice as you said, “You knew I went to get some groceries. Why didn’t you open the door?” You feel bad, yes, but you’re also still annoyed.

He sighs in realization and frustration, before he looks back to you and caresses your cheek, then wordlessly pulls you into his chest. He strokes your head and smooths down your hair, a gesture that never fails to comfort you.

“I’m sorry, love. I’m really sorry. I really didn’t hear the door, I promise I didn’t mean to.” You stay like that for a while, just holding each other before he breaks away, saying he’ll be right back. When he emerges from your room, he had a light jacket on to cover his tank top.

“Let’s go.”

“What?”

“For a walk. And a snack. And because I know something else is bothering that pretty head of yours,” he says with a kiss to your forehead. “Really tell me about your day, love. I want to hear all about it.”

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Junhui — plays along with your annoyed air at first, mocking your tone whenever you said “Why didn’t you open the door?” with his own mischievous smile.

When he saw that you didn’t just glare at him once or twice—it was five times to be exact—he slowly tones down, then fully stops when you stay silent. That’s when he realizes how seriously annoyed you were at this miss.

He isn’t very physically and verbally expressive of his love, but he wordlessly proceeds to set the dining table for you the moment you sat there, cautious of how you were going to react. When he was done, he sat down with you, stealing glances at you as you proceeded with dinner. When you asked if he had eaten, he shook his head silently.

As some time passed and there was a slight lull while you were eating, he grabs your hand and looks you in the eye with intent and remorse. “I'm sorry I didn’t open the door for you. I’ll be way more attentive next time.”

For the first time since you arrived, the frown on your face melted because here was Junhui so straightforward and affectionate when he rarely was. The moment he saw that smile on your lips, he leaned in to kiss it. “There’s my favorite smile.”

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Soonyoung — at a loss for words as to how to make it up to you. But because it was Soonyoung, you couldn’t really stay annoyed at him for so long. After all, that was the first time it happened and he just happened to catch you on a bad day too, and you see that it never happened again.

But you also saw there’s more to it than that. Since then, he proceeds to open literally anything for you, from bedroom and car doors, to jars and cereal boxes, even the TV at one point, grabbing the remote from your hand and doing a simple push of a button for you.

He only stops when you ask him “Soonyoungie, I know how unbelievably sweet it is for you to open these things for me, but are you still doing this because of what happened before?”

He just looked at you and pursed his lips. He really didn’t want to make you feel anything negative, especially when he was the cause of it. He wordlessly gave you a sullen nod.

You melt at this and pull him in for a hug, repeatedly reassuring him that you weren’t annoyed at him anymore and that he could stop. Well, he didn’t completely stop, he realized that it was no big deal to do even the smallest things for you.

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Wonwoo — was always busy with his games whenever you knock at your door and no one answers. You were pretty used to it, in fact. It wasn’t everyday, but it happened often. On those days, you just go to him and kiss his forehead. Most times, he immediately stops the game and dedicates his time to you.

But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t make you a bit sad everytime he fails to greet you at the door. So when a time came that this happened for how many days straight, your sadness turned into frustration and then annoyance.

It reached its peak when he was so engrossed with whatever he was playing that he didn’t even look to you when you arrived, didn’t even greet you. You scoff, but it fell to deaf ears inside his gaming headset. You walk out and busy yourself with something, anything besides him. When he does finally come out, he greets you, but is given the cold shoulder. He notices it right away.

“Love?” Silence. “Baby?” More silence. He attempts to hold your hand, but you pull it away. Oh shit. He tries again, inching closer to try and hug you, but his advances are rejected as you move away from him.

He sighs with defeat, knowing that he won’t get anywhere when you’re like this. So the evening passed in silence. When you two were finally getting ready for bed, you try to find sanctuary under the covers for the hurt in your heart. You try to sleep, but it wouldn’t come. You feel Wonwoo’s side dip with his weight, and when he settled down, he finally got the chance to wrap you in a hug.

“Talk to me. Please. I think I know what this is about, so just talk to me. I know we won’t be able to sleep without fixing this problem. Please.”

You cave and face him, tears threatening to fall from your eyes. And he realizes how grave his mistake was.

Since then, he always came running to the door at the first few knocks, greeting you with a tight hug and a soft forehead kiss. You wonder how, and you find out that the sounds from his games were a little too loud whenever you arrived.

“Wonwoo-ya! Where were you? How could you abandon us to die?” You peek into his gaming room and hear frustrated voices coming from the speakers.

“Sorry! I had to attend to more important things,” he speaks into his mic with a wink toward your direction.

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Jihoon — was a homebody, and always answered the door without fail. That is, whenever he was home before you were, which was a rare occurrence. It was a different story for his perpetually locked studio. He never answered the door for anyone, not even you. So as long as he was inside and could unlock the door remotely, you entered quietly to not disturb his artistic process.

There was one rule, most especially applicable to him, and that rule is no work was to be brought home. He rarely took breaks anymore when at the office and in the studio, so home was a place for rest.

He followed the said rule religiously, until you experienced unanswered knocks similar to how he is in the studio. For the past few days when you open the door, you see him slumped over his desk with work, samples streaming from the speakers or strewn paper filled with various lyrics.

For the nth consecutive time this happens, you were fed up with him. Your efforts at knocking to get his attention proved futile, so you called. He answered on the second ring.

“Jihoon-ah. I’ve been knocking for 10 minutes. Why aren’t you answering?”

You were greeted at the door by a breathless Jihoon, confused and slightly annoyed, asking you “Why didn’t you just open the door?”

That did it for you. “Because we’re not at your studio, Jihoon. We’re supposed to be at home.” You pushed past him in frustration, and his actions slowly dawned on him.

The next day, you wake to a soft kiss on your forehead and a whispered “I love you” before Jihoon left for work. Your annoyance has mostly died down, but it was replaced by a pang of sadness, that was quickly replaced by shock when you exited your room and saw what was on the table.

It was a bouquet of delicate flowers in your favorite color, nothing grand, but something well thought of. You notice something glinting tied around the stems. It was a key. On the table was a note: “I will open all the doors for you, and leave them open for you and only you. Even the door to the studio will be unlocked for you. I’m sorry. - Your Ji”

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Minghao — doesn’t immediately understand what the big deal is about.

"It’s just a door."

That’s what you hear him say when he finally asks why you’ve been annoyed and cold the moment you stepped into the apartment.

“It’s not just a door, Minghao!”

“You don’t hear me say the same thing when you don’t open the door for me, do you?”

“But I apologize after! It’s like you don’t even care!”

“I care, but it’s just not a big deal for me.”

“Well then if it’s not a big deal, why couldn’t you do something so simple?”

“I didn’t mean to not hear you knocking! I just happened to be preoccupied then!”

“Wow, so you were too preoccupied to even greet me? To apologize to me?”

It was a bad day for both of you, and you ended up fighting fire with fire, bringing up even unrelated issues from past and present, until one of you reached your tipping point, all from a simple gesture not done.

At that tipping point, he is rendered silent. “Pause. I can’t do this.”

You nod. “Pause.”

After a few moments, he speaks again. “I’m sorry. You know how blunt I can be. I didn’t see right away that it’s not what you need right now.”

You nod. “I’m sorry. It’s really not my day. I just couldn’t understand how you could say that as if it’s nothing.”

He initiates contact, reaching for your hands and circling them around his waist, and you effortlessly lean into the embrace he forms around you. He presses a soft kiss on the crown of your head. His lips stay there when you hear him say, "It's not nothing. It's never nothing with you."

“Then please just open the door next time?”

He lightly chuckles, and you feel his chest move with it. “It really is just a door. But okay, I’ll make sure to always open it for you.”

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Mingyu — always opens the door for you. No contest.

But on the rare occasion that he misses to do so, and he caught you on a bad day at that, he just stands there like a helpless puppy as the gravity of his actions sinks in. Whether you say your choice words, or with no words at all, he will know what he did wrong right away.

You storm into your room and he quickly follows, but your body language made it clear that you didn’t want to be disturbed. Despite his height, you easily sidestepped him as you made your way into the bathroom to shower.

Mingyu was standing by the door of the bathroom when you finished. You tried sidestepping him again, but he stood his ground this time, catching you in his embrace, rubbing your back, then kneading your temples. He led you back to your room, helping you dress up, dry your hair, massages your hands. While you do your skincare, he combs your hair straight and with no tangles. When you’re done and you stop to look at each other in the mirror, he hugs you from behind, and you allow him to do so.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I won’t.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck and doesn’t let go until you finally give him a kiss on the cheek, one that was denied from him when you arrived. You tried really hard to stay annoyed at Mingyu, but you can’t, you just can’t.

So he always opens the door for you, without fail. He’d rather see your endless smiles if it meant doing something as simple as this.

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Seokmin — you knock at the door, knowing Seokmin is inside because you can hear him busy inside. It isn’t as usual for him to be home earlier than you because it was usually the other way around, so when he doesn’t open the door for you, your annoyance slowly grew with every knock.

You were just so tired and couldn’t wait to lie down but he couldn’t even open the door for you? You fumble with your keys, even dropping it in frustration, and he still didn’t hear you.

When you finally open the door, you hear music playing from the speakers and you can smell something…off. A panicked yelp confirms that yes, indeed, something is wrong, and you follow the scent to the kitchen, where you see Seokmin trying to save what was left of his bowl’s contents.

“Seokminnie, are you okay? What happened?”

His alarmed eyes met yours and were soon filled with disappointment. “You’re here. I didn’t even hear you come in. I’m sorry, I…I was just trying to make you something because I know you’re tired with all those messages you sent me and it was just the right timing that I could leave work early so I rushed home and then this happened and—”

You can’t believe you had the gall to be annoyed at him when he was the sweetest, most thoughtful man on earth. You take the bowl from his hands and hug him, resting your head on his beating heart. He molds himself into you and wraps you in his arms.

“I love you, Minnie.”

He kisses the crown of your head and rests his chin there while rubbing your back reassuringly. “I love you too. You can rest now, I’ll take care of this. Don’t worry.”

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Seungkwan — you were so ready to be petty and annoyed, you already had choice words in mind because you think this was payback for all the times you absentmindedly did the same to him, how he was left stewing but you secretly always took this chance to placate and soothe him because you knew he liked it when you fussed over him.

Nonetheless, you tried to be as obnoxious as possible while fumbling with your keys and opening the door. Seeing the back of his head leaned on the couch, you couldn’t even believe that he didn’t turn his head to you until you stood in front of him and was immediately silenced.

Seungkwan was fast asleep, deeply asleep that your noise didn’t even wake him. You slowly backtracked and remembered what his day was like today, how it was packed to the brim with schedules from one place to another, and you felt guilty as hell.

As quietly as you could, you brush his hair away from his face. You overestimated how deep his sleep was though, because his eyes flow open the moment he felt your touch.

“Wha—you’re home!” He grabs your hand and looks at you with sleepy eyes that closed again when he realized that “Ah no, I fell asleep. I was trying to wait for you but—”

You shushed him at that moment and said it was okay because this tired sleepyhead needs to rest already. You pull him up from the couch, where he wordlessly fixed himself against your side and kissed the side of your head as you walked into your shared room so you could tuck him in properly.

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Vernon — was watching a movie and was so fixated on it that he didnt even notice you were in until you opened the light.

“Oh—oh! Youre home!” He scrambles to pause the movie and brisk walk straight to you for a tight hug, even swaying slightly side to side. When he breaks apart and sees the slight frown on your face (that you quickly assembled after it got wiped away with that damn heartwarming hug), he tilts his head to the side.

“I know that face. What did I do? Is it because I didn’t open the door?” He widens his eyes in acknowledgment as it clicks in his head and lets out a defeated smile.

“I’m sorry” and while he still had you in his clutches, he kisses your nose.

“I’m sorry,” and a kiss on your cheek, another apology with another kiss to your other cheek, your forehead, your lips, your eyes, until you're smothered with his kisses.

He doesn’t stop until you were pushing him away, but he achieved his goal of making you smile. “Are you still annoyed? I’m not stopping,” He says, returning your smile with your favorite gummy smile of his.

“No, okay, stop! I’m okay. I’m not annoyed anymore…but don’t do it again.”

“Got it,” with one final kiss, a deeper one on your lips. When you both come up for air, he follows it up with “Come on, what do you wanna watch?”

───────────── ౨ৎ ─────────────

Chan — apologized as profusely as he could after seeing your annoyed face, hugging and kissing and never letting you leave his embrace until you finally said you weren’t annoyed anymore.

You let it go then, but you’re still a bit petty, and decided to do an Uno Reverse on him when the opportunity presented itself. You acted as nonchalant as possible when you heard him struggle with his keys, open the door, and finally face you from where you were seated.

When you look up from the book you were reading, you tried to act as surprised as you could. “Oh, Channie! You’re home.” You could see a sheen of annoyance masking his face, one he was trying to keep down.

“Didn’t you hear me knocking?”

“…No, sorry. I guess I was too into this book. I’m sorry Channie,” you say with the best pout you could muster.

You see his eyes narrow ever so slightly, before he smiles and leans down to kiss your forehead. “It’s okay, baby.” He wordlessly settles down beside you on the couch and pulls you in to cuddle and hold you tight.

You were dumbstruck to say the least. He wasn’t…annoyed? “You’re not annoyed at me?”

He pulls you in closer, nuzzling his cheek against yours before saying “No,” followed by a kiss to your cheek. “But I know you still are. And I’m really sorry. So I’ll just hold you tight until this hurt goes away.”

Your heart swells with pride at how he instantly saw through your seemingly tough facade. You melt against him, all sign of annoyance gone from you as you whisper a “Thank you, Chan.”

[candycandy00]

The Doll House - A Sukuna x Reader Fanfic Part 1

Covered in scars and left totally numb by your abusive previous owner, you’re considered an “unsellable doll”. That is, until the Doll House takes you in and Sukuna becomes your trainer.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Read Geto’s Part Here!

Read Toji’s Part Here!

Read Nanami’s Part Here!

Read Gojo’s Part Here!

Read Choso’s Part Here!

Note: Please remember that these stories don’t take place at the same time, or even one after the other! Consider each one its own timeline. So if you see Geto and Toji with other dolls, don’t be alarmed lol. I had to do it this way because if I don’t, by the time I get to the last trainer, there won’t be any other trainers left to interact with!

On the outskirts of town, there stands a particular shop called the “Doll House”. Inside its walls you can find a “doll” to match any taste you might have. All your desires will be fulfilled, no matter how depraved. Satisfaction is guaranteed! The dolls are exceptionally high quality, thanks to the skillful trainers who work with them twenty-four hours a day, molding them into perfect toys for your enjoyment.

Each trainer has a specialty that they focus on, and they all take great pride in their work. Their methods differ greatly, their approaches vary, but they all follow one rule: never get attached to a doll. After the training is complete, they hand the dolls over to their new owners, and never see them again. However, just once over the course of their careers, trainers are allowed to pick a doll they’ve personally trained and keep her as their own.

AU! Each trainer will get their own story! This is Sukuna’s. If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, let me know! You must be an adult to be tagged! Any feedback whatsoever is adored! I’m not keeping the same tag list as before, since this part deals with darker themes. I will resume the tag list after Sukuna’s part is finished! So if you want to be tagged in this one, please specify!

Note: Consider these parts AU’s within an AU. So you might see Geto with a different doll from the reader in his part, but just consider this an alternate timeline lol.

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. BDSM. Erotic Torture. Needles. Reader is covered in scars. Everything that happens between Sukuna and Reader is consensual but there is mention of abuse by a previous owner. Divider by @benkeibear!

“That’s all you’ll give me for her?”

“I think this is a generous offer, all things considered.”

You’re sitting in a plush leather chair in the office of the owner of the Doll House while your father argues with her about pricing. It’s been going on for thirty minutes now, your father growing more agitated while the owner remains calm and firm. 

“Sir,” the owner begins, leaning forward slightly over her desk, “there are two major issues with your daughter. For one, she has a previous owner. Most of our clients consider that a deal breaker.”

“She was just with that guy a little over a year!” your father retorts, his face slightly red. 

“I’m aware of that. But that leads us to the other issue.”  The owner pauses and glances at you. “Your daughter’s scars are quite prominent. They’re very hard to ignore.”

There’s a hint of an apology in her eyes. It’s unnecessary. You know better than anyone that you’re disfigured. Scars of various types and sizes cover over half your body, including a sizable portion of your face. 

Your father is sweating. “I‘ve heard some clients have weird  tastes, that they actually want… people like her.”

The owner leans back in her chair. “It is true that we sometimes get unusual requests. But it doesn’t happen often. She would have to be given highly specialized training, to emphasize that unique aspect.”

Your father’s face lights up. “Then do that!”

The owner looks from him to you, then says, “I need to speak to her privately before finalizing the purchase.”

“What? Why?” your father asks. 

“It’s a routine part of the interview, I assure you,” the owner replies smoothly. 

Your father hesitates, but then stands up from his seat. He gives you a stern look, a warning look, and then he’s out the door. 

The owner’s face seems to soften slightly. “How do you feel about this?” 

You shrug. “I don’t feel anything. I haven’t in a long time.”

The owner looks at a laptop sitting open on her desk. “Let’s go over a few things in your file first. It says here you were sold on the direct market on your eighteenth birthday. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“You were with your previous owner for sixteen months before being removed, during which time he breached the contract by doing permanent harm. Hence the scars.”

“Yes,” you answer again. 

“And I see that your father sued your previous owner, collecting quite the hefty sum for your suffering.”

You nod. 

The owner closes the laptop and looks at you again. “And I’m guessing your father already blew through that money, despite only two years passing. So he’s selling you again. How many other doll shops has he taken you to so far?”

“Three.”

“Any offers?”

“None,” you say, eyes lowering toward the floor. 

The owner sighs. “If I don’t take you, he’s going to sell you on the direct market again, isn’t he?”

“He already tried,” you tell her, “but he said the offers were too low. If no shop will take me, he’ll probably go back and take a low offer.”

The owner grimaces. “He’s a real sick fuck, your father.”

“I know.”

“Do you want me to take you on?”

You think for a moment, then say, “It doesn’t matter. I can’t feel anything anyway.”

“When you say that,” the owner says, “do you mean physically or emotionally?”

“Both. I’ve been numb for nearly three years now.”

The owner picks up a silk fan from her desk and lightly taps her chin with it as she regards you. After a few moments, she says, “Alright. I’ll take you. I’ll make a slightly higher offer to your father, one he would be foolish to refuse. And in light of your unique circumstances, I’m going to add two extra clauses to your contract. The first is that you will have the option to change trainers if the one I assign to you is too much for you.”

You nod. “And the second?”

“All dolls sold through the Doll House are allowed to come back within one week of being purchased by a client, if they provide sufficient reasoning. In your case, I’m extending that to two weeks, and you don’t have to provide a reason. I’ll take you back, no questions asked, if you feel like your owner isn’t right for you. However, I would advise you not to abuse this privilege.”

“I understand.”

“Alright then. Let’s get your father back in here and finalize the sale.”

******************

Sukuna grins when he sees the message on his phone: “I have a new doll for you to train.”

He’s at home, in his swanky, upscale apartment in the city. Though he enjoys his alone time, he very much enjoys his work at the Doll House as well. Unlike the other trainers, Sukuna doesn’t keep a near constant flow of new dolls. He understands why of course. His training produces a very specific sort of doll that only a specific sort of client wants. But he trains enough dolls to keep himself well paid, and the work is incredibly satisfying. 

The standard training time is six weeks, which is exactly the right amount of time for Sukuna to thoroughly enjoy each doll without getting too bored with them before they’re handed over to their owners. He can’t imagine why anyone would want to keep the same doll for ten whole years. He knows he’s not alone in this thought, which is why doll rental services have been growing in popularity lately. 

He packs a few things into a small duffel bag. He keeps plenty of clothes and personal items in his room at the Doll House, so he only has to pack lightly for the six week stay. He’s in a good mood as he turns off the lights and locks the door. 

When  he arrives at the Doll House, he finds a rather interesting young woman sitting in the welcome room. Interesting because half her pretty face is covered in scars, as well as what’s visible of her left arm. Just how far do they extend? He’s looking forward to finding out. 

She glances up at him, but gives no reaction. Strange. Most new dolls look terrified, or at least nervous, when they see him for the first time. It’s probably the tattoos that frighten them. Sukuna is well aware that they make him look like a Yakuza member, or some criminal from a past era. But he so enjoys the way people instinctively shrink back away from them. 

The owner meets him in the welcome room and ushers him into her office. All trainers are briefed on their new dolls, except in unusual circumstances. But the owner looks troubled today, meaning this doll has a story. But he supposes the scars made that obvious already. 

Sitting in a chair across the desk from the owner, Sukuna places one elbow on the cushioned arm and props his face up with his hand. “So? What’s the deal with little Miss gloomy out there?”

The owner is tapping keys on her laptop, then he hears his phone chime from his pocket. “I’ve sent you her file. You really need to read over it. She has a complicated history.”

“Give me the short version,” he says, making a mental note to at least skim the file later. 

“Previous owner who abused and tortured her, shitty father who’s sold her twice now, and… she can’t feel anything.”

That last part captures Sukuna’s attention. “What does that mean?”

“She’s completely numb, both physically and emotionally. I’ve read over her medical reports, and they’ve concluded that there’s no significant nerve damage. The scar tissue dulls her senses in those areas somewhat, but they don’t leave her totally numb like this. And she can’t feel anything in the unscarred areas either.”

“Meaning it’s psychological,” Sukuna says. 

The owner nods. “It’s clearly a defense mechanism. Her body and mind simply shut off all sensation in order to cope. And that’s going to be her biggest issue as a doll. There are plenty of buyers who would find the scars exotic, but a doll who doesn’t react to anything? No one wants that. And if we don’t eventually find a buyer for her, she’s going to get passed around from one scumbag to another on the direct market for the rest of her life.”

Sukuna had little interest in the doll’s sob story, but he was intrigued by the fact that she couldn’t feel anything. “So you want me to fix her? Make her feel again?”

“Yes. I figured if anyone could, it would be you. But be careful. She’s already been shattered. I don’t need you grinding up the pieces.”

Sukuna stands up and heads for the door. “Don’t worry. I’ll reforge her,” he says with a smile, “in a way that pleases me.”

***************

The man covered in strange black tattoos introduces himself as your trainer. He’s handsome, well-built, and dressed like a man far too rich to be working here. A few years ago, you might have been attracted to him. Your heart might have fluttered at the thought of him touching you. But now? Now you feel nothing as he tells you to follow him to his room. 

He opens the door and walks in first, turning on the lights as he goes. You follow behind him and look around. The room looks like someone converted a fancy hotel room into a dungeon. 

The deep red carpets and expensive looking furniture contrast with the various… devices around the room. There’s an X shaped table, harnesses and chains hanging from the ceiling, and a wall of leashes, whips, rods, and other such items along the left side of the room. 

Ah, so he’s this type. 

You’re not surprised. Actually, it makes sense. Give the girl who can’t feel pain to the trainer who tortures his dolls. 

The man, who said his name is Sukuna, is watching your face, looking for a reaction. He won’t find one. But instead of seeming disappointed, he’s grinning. 

“My specialty is probably obvious,” he says, to which you nod. Then he goes over to the wall of tools and toys, taking something small and shiny from it. When he returns, there’s a silver, claw-like item on his right index finger. Without a word of warning, he approaches you and quickly swipes the claw over your exposed right forearm. 

You look down, curious, to see a thin red line appear on your skin, small drops of blood beading along it before sliding down. You watch the blood with no expression for a moment before looking back up at Sukuna. 

His grin is wider than before. “You really didn’t feel that,” he says, not a question but a statement. He’s standing in front of you, staring at you, when he says, “Let me ask you something, and think hard about your answer. It’s going to determine how the training proceeds.”

You nod. 

“Do you prefer being this way to how you were before?”

You blink as the question settles into your mind. You’ve never really thought about it before, but do you prefer being numb? It’s helped you block out the hurt you felt upon being sold off by your father, being abused by your owner, but it also blocks out any joy. 

“I… I don’t know.”

He’s looming over you, looking down with an expression you can’t quite place. Is it desire? Pity? Disgust? Or have you lost the ability to distinguish them? 

“Do you want to feel again?” he asks, something about his deep tone telling you to answer honestly. The sheer intensity of his presence is overwhelming you. 

You can still remember when you felt things. You can remember a poor but happy childhood when your mother was still alive. Even after, when things got worse, there were still moments of happiness. Watching movies with a friend, eating cheap snacks from the convenience store down the street. A kiss from the boy you had a crush on in high school. You miss these feelings. And once you realize that, your answer is clear. 

“Yes, I want to feel again.”

“Even if what you feel is pain?” he asks. 

An emotion you haven’t felt in years bubbles to the surface, startling you so much that your voice cracks slightly as you reply, “Yes! I’d love to feel pain again. I’d love to feel anything!”

A smile spreads across his features, and his hands move to your shirt. “I’ll make you feel again,” he says as he pulls your shirt over your head and tosses it aside. “But it will only work if you want it.”

“I… I want it,” you say, realizing with some measure of shock that you’re already feeling emotions you thought long dead. 

He removes the rest of your clothes, leaving them strewn about the floor. Then he stands back to look at you. Completely bare before him, you don’t feel embarrassed. Shame is yet another emotion you can’t seem to feel anymore. But there is a strange prickling sensation on your skin as his eyes rake over you, taking in the scars that form a map of your suffering. 

“It’s like a work of art,” he says, his gaze lingering on the left side of your torso. The words make you feel something else, but you’re not sure what that is. Your own emotions have become unfamiliar to you. 

He leads you over to the X shaped table and lifts you onto it, then spreads you out on it like a meal. He slowly attaches the leather cuffs on each end to your ankles and wrists, still watching your face for any sign of fear. 

There is none. You’re starting to feel things for the first time in three years, but fear isn’t one of them. If he can bring back the girl you once were, one who could laugh and smile and feel, then you’ll accept anything he wants to do to you. 

Once you’re secured to the table, he stands back and unbuttons his shirt. When he slips it off his shoulders, you get a full view of the intricate tattoos on his body. They’re beautiful, the way they move and twist with his body’s motion. 

He steps back to the table and runs one large hand over your arm, trailing it down toward your chest, where he squeezes your scarred breast. You can’t feel it, so you don’t know if he’s squeezing hard or not, but when his fingers lightly slide over your nipple, a tingling sensation blossoms there. What was that? 

Did he notice that you felt something? You don’t think you visibly reacted in any way, but he’s smiling as if he knows. His fingers suddenly pinch your nipple, and you feel pressure, but little else. He maintains eye contact as he leans down and runs his tongue over that same nipple, then wraps his lips around it. You feel it again, that pleasant tingling. It reminds you of something, but you can’t remember what. 

His hand moves to your other breast, where his fingers grope and pinch. You feel this a little more, and your breathing quickens slightly. That’s when he stops abruptly and goes over to the wall again. This time he returns with a rolled up velvet pouch, which he unrolls to reveal a group of very long, very thin, shiny silver needles. 

He pulls one out and holds it up for you to see. “Let’s see how numb you really are,” he says. Then he grips your scarred nipple between his finger and thumb with one hand while using the other to bring the needle closer. He looks up at your face, perhaps still searching for a trace of fear. Finding none, he pushes the needle in, sliding it sideways through your flesh. 

Your breath hitches as a new sensation hits you. This… this is pain! You haven’t felt it in so long, you’d almost forgotten it. When he grips the other nipple, the one with no scar tissue to dull your senses, you almost flinch. He grins up at you, as if he’s reading your mind. He leans down and licks the nipple slowly, awakening it to sensation, before plunging the needle in. 

This time you gasp, your arms reflexively tugging on the restraints. You felt that! Not as keenly as a normal woman would, but far more than you’ve felt anything else in years. It hurt. It still hurts as his hand squeezes your breast, his tongue running over the needle imbedded in your skin. But you welcome the pain. It’s far more preferable to no feeling whatsoever. 

Then he steps back again, and walks around the table to the bottom, where he moves in between your widely spread legs. His hand moves to your pussy, kneading it gently for a moment before his fingers slip inside your folds, finding you clit. 

You draw in a sharp breath as he strokes it, feeling the pleasure so strongly that it’s almost as if you were never numb. Your previous owner had ignored your clit, having no interest in giving you pleasure, so these sensations were entirely new to you. 

When Sukuna uses his fingers to spread you open and leans forward to lick your quivering clit, your body nearly jerks off the table. He rises up and looks at you. “Not so numb down here, are you?”

You can only gasp out shallow breaths.  

His thumb begins stroking you again as he speaks. “I don’t care who your previous owner was.” He reaches over and pulls one more needle from the pouch, his tongue running over you again, making your nerves come alive. “I don’t care if you’ve had a thousand different owners before me.” His thumb and finger pinch your clit, holding it in position. Your heart races as you wait, now holding your breath. “Because now,” he says, gliding his tongue across the glimmering needle in his hand, “you belong to me.”

He pushes the needle into your clit from the bottom and out the top, so slowly that you feel every single bit of it. Your body bucks from the table, your arms and legs jerk against the cuffs, and a loud scream erupts from your mouth as you feel excruciating pain for the first time in three years. 

It’s wonderful. 

Tears spring to your eyes, and you cum on the spot, weeping and shuddering. You were certain you would never experience an orgasm again for the rest of your life, but here you were, riding out the insane pleasure while Sukuna’s tongue prodded your clit, licking over the needle stuck there. 

**************

Sukuna watches his doll as she sleeps peacefully in his bed. She passed out not long after the “training session” was over, just as he was unfastening the cuffs on her wrists. He carried her to his bed and laid her there, and now he’s looking over her scarred form once more before covering her. 

He’s surprised by the progress they’d already made, but he can’t get too comfortable. 

Because he noticed it. When he pulled the needles out of her, which should have hurt, she didn’t even flinch. He’d squeezed one nipple afterwards, before beginning to uncuff her, just to test it. This should have made her scream, given how sore she should be, but she had no reaction at all. 

Meaning she’s numb again. The awakening of her senses was only temporary, and wore off after she came down from the high of her orgasm. 

Sukuna smiles. He certainly enjoys a challenge, and it’s clear to him that his job is far from over. 

Tag List:

@akaotv 

[innerfare]

Zoro Fluff // Angst Compilation 

Summary: A compilation of Zoro angst and fluff from my multi character posts (You're Wounded, Brushing Your Teeth Together, Flowers, Type of Date, You See His Cabin, Fighting and Making Up, Paradise, Nightmares, I Love You, You're Jealous).

Genre: Fluff // Angst

CW: None // SFW

———

You’re Wounded: 

Lectures you on your fighting form, tears into you for taking any unnecessary risks, gets on your case about not seeking medical attention fast enough. Tells you to get some rest, sits at your bed side until you’re better, claims he’s not there for you and is just resting his own eyes. 

Brushing Your Teeth Together: 

Reaches for whichever toothbrush is closest. If it’s his, it’s his, and if it’s yours, it’s also his. He’ll also talk to you while he’s brushing his teeth and get annoyed when you can’t understand the muffled words. 

Flowers: 

He won’t really think to buy you flowers until one day you mention that camellias are pretty. He takes that to mean you like camellias, specifically, and not that you’d like to receive flowers in general, so he always buys you camellias, and you think it’s so sweet that you never correct him. He’s not actually a proponent of apology flowers because he thinks a ‘bribe’ cheapens it, but he will bring you flowers when he knows you’re having a hard day. He might also buy you a small bamboo plant that you two end up treating a bit like a pet, giving it a name and everything. 

Type of Date: 

He’ll take you to play laser tag, and don’t think for a second you’ll be playing on the same team. You’ll be on opposite teams, and he will not be going easy on you. Zoro doesn’t believe in letting people win. He’ll be briefing his team beforehand, drawing up a strategy because he is determined to win. If you beat him, he won’t propose, but he will decide he’ll be marrying you one day. Would also be content to go see an action movie. 

You See His Cabin For The First Time: 

Your first thought is, why does it smell so freaking good in here? You expected dirty laundry strewn around and the stench of sweat and maybe a hint of metal from those blades he was always sharpening. And sure, there is a hint of metal in the air, probably more from the many weights against the wall than his swords, but it also smells fresh, like laundry detergent. He has his own wanted posters on his wall- not just the current one, but the old ones, too, all of them lined up in order so you can see his increasing bounty. He also has a collection of unique booze bottles from all over the world, his equivalent of keeping a map with pins in the locations he’s visited. Oh, and there’s an anatomy coloring book and some markers that belong to Chopper that Zoro keeps in his room because sometimes when Chopper is having a bad day, he wants to chill with his dad big bro. 

Fighting and Making Up: 

Stubborn bastard. Refuses to admit that he’s wrong. You guys argue over lots of little things, usually directions, that don’t really require either of you two to apologize; there’s just some near-constant bickering in your relationship that is your love language. More seriously, you’ve fought because, for lack of a better term, Zoro doesn’t exactly have a bedside manner and can be overly blunt. You’ve also fought over the fact that so many women are clearly attracted to him and he’s completely oblivious. He’s not the type to flirt back, but it bothers you that he doesn’t notice because you feel like he doesn’t shut it down when he should (though he argues that by not noticing, he is, in a way, shutting it down). Not one to apologize with flowers because he feels that cheapens it, a bit like a bribe. He’ll just say sorry and that’s that. Sometimes you end up fighting again because he was ready to apologize but you weren’t ready to hear it and he thinks you’re being childish by giving him the silent treatment. 

Paradise 1: 

Waking up to fresh powder blanketing the ground and jumping out of bed, barely getting your boots and one of his coats on before you’re outside, romping through the snow. Falling into a snow bank with your arms out, giggling as you make a snow angel, grinning even wider when he surprises you by laying down beside you and doing the same, letting his inner child show through for a brief moment. 

Paradise 2: 

Tossing and turning in bed, waiting for the clock to strike midnight, sneaking out as soon as it does and meeting them at the spring just inland. Stripping out of your clothes and diving into the warm water with him, splashing each other and floating on your backs, losing track of time and hurrying back to the ship when the moon dips below the horizon. 

Nightmares: 

It was an accident, and he watched it happen. If he’d been just a little stronger, a little faster, a little better, it never would have happened. It was an accident, but it was his fault. He stared down at your lifeless shape covered by a funeral shroud, grinding his teeth in rage at the sight of all those flowers left by mourners. You would have loved to have seen those flowers, to have picked them up, buried your face in them, and inhaled deeply. You would have loved the weather that day, too, bright and sunny, as though the universe was taunting him. When he wakes up, he’s in physical pain from the amount of tension in his muscles. 

I Love You: 

To your surprise, it was Zoro who said it first. Though Zoro seems the type to bottle up his emotions, he’s actually not, he just doesn’t seem emotional because he’s really good at dealing with his shit. And he knows all too well how temporary arrangements can be, how quickly life can be snuffed out, how easily the people he loves and cares about can be taken away from him. So one late night when he’s alone in the shower, washing his hair (using Nami's expensive shampoo and conditioner because she left it in the shower and Zoro just uses whatever's within his reach) and thinking about you, he realizes how he feels, and he doesn’t even consider not telling you. He climbs into bed afterward in just his boxer briefs, his hair still damp and smelling extra good, shakes you awake, kisses you a few times, and mutters that he loves you in your ear before passing out, not even waiting for you to say it back. He doesn’t say it often after that because he doesn’t thinks actions matter more than words, but he always says it when one of you is injured or after an argument. 

You’re Jealous: 

He didn’t mention Perona was also at Mihawk’s castle for those two years until a few months after the crew gets together. He tells a story that features her, and you realize there was a woman keeping him company. Your heart drops into your stomach. Zoro insists he didn’t mention her because he didn’t think she was relevant; the only thing Perona did those two years was annoy him. He’s actually the one who won’t let it go, not you (even though you are pretty jealous). Whereas you’d prefer not to talk about it, Zoro is wracked with guilt because he’d never considered the whole thing in a relationship context. Him fretting constantly over it actually heals your jealousy because you realize you’ve never seen him panic over the prospect of hurting anyone else’s feelings.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[voxsmistress]

Mama Didn't Raise No Bimbo part FOUR!

lets see what else is in store for y/n ... you didn't think Velvette was just going to let her get away now did you?

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve / Part Thirteen / Part Fourteen / Part Fifteen / Part Sixteen

Seems Velvette had tagged your photo on her story with the hashtag #newmodel? Flicking your gaze back up to an amused Angel.

“Well toots … you might as well collect all three than just two. Here’s to you babe - you are so fucked”. He raised his glass. Raising your own you blink in shock.

Fucked was right.

It had been a few days since your exciting little adventure to the Vee Tower, coupled with the fact Velvette had not only shared your post on Sinstagram but followed you was helping you gain thousands and thousands of new followers and likes. But like your tequila, you took this with more than a pinch of salt. The Vee’s didn’t do anything for free. There was always a catch. You were waiting for this one to hook you sooner or later.

Unfortunately for you, it was sooner rather than later. You had finished your job for the night ready to head home, plus there was a bottle of whiskey and a hot bath with your name on it. Arm raised to wave a taxi you were distracted by your phone starting to buzz in your other hand. Unknown Number. Huh, weird. Deciding to answer it you lower your arm. What harm could it do?

“Hello?”

“Is this Miss Y/n?” Frowning at the unfamiliar voice, hmm you were rather selective about who got your number. So … who was this?

“Speaking…?”

“Ah Miss Y/n I am Velvette’s assistant, and she is insisting that you come in to meet her to discuss an opportunity that you really do not want to miss out on” huh. Okay. Was not expecting that.

“Uh huhh … and when is she wanting to meet?” Looking up at the darkening sky you had a horrible feeling you weren’t going to be going home anytime soon.

“Well, what are you doing now?” Ohhh nooo! Come on!

“I have just finished work and was actu-”

“Ah perfect so you are free. Come to the Vee tower now and we will sort everything. See you soon” your mouth opened and closed as they hung up on the phone. Right eye twitching you took a deep breath in before exhaling slowly. The bloody nerve! Grinding your teeth you raise your arm up again and wave at a taxi. Trying to calm your anger you shove yourself in the first one that appears, telling them to take you to the Vee Tower. Stewing in the backseat you think it must be nice to be an Overlord – just ordering small insignificant demons around. Shaking off the attitude you realise you need to tidy yourself up.

Looking down at your outfit, a sigh escapes you. Not exactly the outfit you’d want to meet the fashionista Overlord in – a leather bustier, leather pants and your customary neon pink accessories and heels matching of course with your favourite faux fur coat – but it was going to have to do. You didn’t exactly have time to prepare. Scurrying around in your purse to find your compact mirror, you quickly tidy up your eyeliner – snarling at the cabbie when he purposefully swerved nearly wrecking your makeup – and pop a new layer of dark pink lipstick on with a topping of gloss. A quick fluff to your blonde/pink hair and that was the best it was gonna get with such little time to prepare. Spying your perfume, you give a little spritz to your neck, wrists, and boobs. Noting that you’d need to get some more on your next outing as you were nearly out.

Thankfully you had just enough time to get all that done before the taxi pulled up at the tower, throwing the money at the demon you step out on the street. If possible the tower seemed even taller than before. Intimidating. Shaking your head you steel yourself for this meeting, how the last one went down with the other two is not what you want this time round. No unnecessary touching. No being cornered. And no flirting. Okay maybe a little bit of flirting, you were a demon after all. Wait – no! No! Bad thoughts!

Stepping in to the reception you check the board to see what floor Velvette was on, marching to the elevators you ignore the same receptionist who seemed surprised to see you again. Yeah, Bitch I’m back! In the elevator you press Velvette’s floor and breath deeply. It would all be okay. Perhaps they were just going to tell you how much they liked your post? Or they were wanting a thank you in person for all the followers? Or how surprised at how naïve and stupid you sounded. Shaking your head you groan softly. Of course it wasn’t doing to be okay, dealing with the Vee’s was never okay. Or safe.

At the soft ding you pulled your attention away from your depressing thoughts and instead to the scene in front of you. Velvette yelling at a load of models, other demons running around grabbing body parts off the floor and clothes being burned. Well. That was different. A twitch of your lips hid a smile – so the Vee’s weren’t as organised and poised as they’d like you to believe. Good to know.

Taking a step into what felt like the Thunderdome your movement must have caught Velvette’s attention, she suddenly was advancing on you and quite fast for someone so short. You thought you were small, but she only came up to your shoulder. Of course her attitude, energy and that amazing hairdo made up at least a foot, if not more. And living with the other two Vee’s she needed as much attitude and sass to keep up.

“Ah so you are Y/n, totally nice to meet you face to face. Saw your post girl and I am in love with them – that last photo dump was so gorgeous and hitting all the trends so good on you.” Linking her arm with yours like you two were old buddies she pulled you further into the room, her voice so quick you had to focus so intently to understand what she was saying.

“So … any who, guess you are wondering why I brought you here?” She gently shoved you down on the chaise lounge, a small ‘offt’ escapes your lips when you hit the seat. Steadying yourself you turn your body to face the Overlord who decided to take a seat right next to you. Your knees almost touching. Okay then.

“Yes, I was curious why…” a glass of champagne appeared in front of your nose – accepting it gingerly you carefully held it in your lap thanking the demon who passed her boss a glass.

“Look, your style is cute but I think with my influence your style can be out of this world – I am in the market for a new model” - a glance to the pile of body parts in the corner of the room made you gulp - “and with your figure and my style we could totally rock this Hell, making us a tonne of money and you a star so whatcha think – whatcha say I can sort the contract out asap no problem, no fuss”. Blinking in a bit of shock at the speed of what she spoke and what she was speaking about you had to hold your hand up to stop her for a second. Information overload.

“Uh – wow that’s real generous of you Miss Velvette-“

“Please call be Velvette, or Vel! None of this Miss business,” Her smirk was widening, her black lipstick was shining under the florescent lights above us.

“Well, Velvette, I am really touched that you think I could model for you as your fashion range is just fantastic and I love it – but if I am to sign that contract what am I giving you?” You pretend to take a sip from your glass. No liquid entered your lips. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d heard of someone being drugged and signing their soul away – you wouldn’t be one of those.

“Oh, nothing big really. Just something tiny. Teeny really. You wouldn’t even miss it.” She wafted one of her hands around as the other was typing away on her phone.

“Uh huh and what would that teeny tiny thing that I wouldn’t miss be?” You hedged her for the answer what you knew was coming.

“Just your soul babes – nothing big.” Yeah, to her maybe. To you it was a massive thing. And you’ll be honest, you didn’t have masses in this Hell but you did have your soul which was more than some have.

“Then the answer is going to be no, Velvette” you placed your glass down on the table. Her fingers stopped twitching across her screen, her red eyes focused solely on you. Now normally you were one to bow your head and not make eye contact, but you’d had enough of the bullying attitude of these Vee’s now – not one but two now have tried to contract you into losing your soul and you weren’t having it! Matching her glare with one of your own.

“No?” Keeping the eye contact you nodded.

“Not to say I am not grateful that you thought of me, or the fact you even took the time to speak to me. But my soul is non-negotiable. Plus, I have a job already. One which I love and want to continue. So, thank you. But my answer is and will always be - No.” You might have held your eye contact, but your hands were starting to tremble a little. Clenching them together in fists you keep your gaze on hers. A small sneer was pulling on her lips, and you were getting ready to be dismembered like the model before you. But it never came. Instead, she laughed. Laughed?!

Not like an evil MWAHAHA laugh. But a genuine laugh. Confused you wrung your hands together as she lightly slapped your knee and wiped a tear from her eye.

“You got guts girl; I’ll give you that.” A strained smile tugged at your lips, dead heart thumping in your chest. “Fine then. No soul contract – which is a shame we could have had so much fun” her expression darkened with mischief sparkling in her eyes pulling a little heat to your cheeks. “But instead let’s make a little deal? No souls just two businesswomen making a deal, whatcha say?”

Raising your eyebrows in interest you place your elbows on your knees leaning forwards: “what do you suggest?”

“Your socials are starting to take off, people are noticing you babes, and I am here for it! You are a rising star, don’t think I haven’t been paying attention and seeing that people are using your hashtags and your name when they’ve seen you at one of the clubs singing performing”, surprised she had even looked you could feel your blush deepen. “So, here’s the deal – you wear some of my designs, tag them in your socials, etc and you come and do a catwalk for me and sing?”

“You want me to promote your clothes and sing at one of your Cat Walks?” you clarify because this evening was not going the way you had planned or thought it would go.

“That’s it gorgeous – whatcha think?” You think this was probably the longest Velvette had been off her phone.

“And that’s it? No loopholes, no contracts, no soul-binding – just for me to wear your clothes, promote them on my social media and sing at one of your cat walks – that’s it?” You narrow your gaze at the Overlord, there’s got to be some sort of catch here. The way she was gazing at you like a cat that had caught the canary you were sure you were screwed in some way.

“That’s it honey. No catch, no loopholes, just good business”. Humming under your breath, you racked your brains to see if there was anything that could go wrong.

“Okay, how long do I have to promote your clothes for and when is the Catwalk show?” you ask, tapping on your own phone bringing up your notes and typing away.

“Shall we give it six months and see what happens from there? The next Catwalk is in a one month’s time” her smile only got bigger. You couldn’t think where or what could be a loophole, it seemed like too good of a deal. And your mama raised you to believe if a deal was too good to be true then it usually is. But then again. When did you ever listen to her?

“So far so good, but what do you get out of it?” Her smirk grew, well that can’t be good. She reached over and squeezed your leg softly, your eyes flitted from her hand to her smug expression.

“I get exactly what I want gorgeous, but honestly helping rising stars get their fame is mainly it” her charming smile didn’t win you over. She was a lying. But let her keep her lies for now. You knew how to play the game and so far, you hadn’t been burnt. What’s a little risk.

“Okay Velvette, you have a deal”. Raising your hand, she slapped hers into yours and gave it a strong shake – red and black smoke erupted from her making you jump back a little but was stopped from the grip she had. Her grin was terrifying. Her hair was waving around her head like it was full of static. But as soon as the smoke and lights appeared, they disappeared as if you had imagined it. Pulling your hand away, the tingle of electricity ran through your fingers, you knew you hadn’t imagined it. Not at all.

“Well then gorgeous now that’s all done – you can pop back tomorrow and we will get all your measurements and go through colour schemes, styles, etc so keep you day wide open yeah!” Finishing off her glass of champagne we leaned back against the chaise lounge – never once had she let her gaze off you.

Nodding in agreement you thank her while rising from your seat, it was time for you to go and drown yourself in that bottle of whiskey. “You can stay if you’d like?” A flush covered your cheeks at her racking her gaze up your body.

“Thank you, but I better get home. Big day tomorrow I want to be rested” you give her your best winning smile, slipping your purse under your arm. Rolling her red eyes at you she huffed a little, “fineee be boring babes”. Happily!

Before you could even think of taking a step towards the elevator the doors slid open. An unimpressed Vox stood in the middle tapping away on his own phone, not tearing his gaze away from it he steps into the room.

“So what unfortunate soul have you managed to convince to work with you now Vel?” His charismatic voice lacked his usual flare and instead sounded bored. Not something you usually would hear from the TV Demon.

Clearing your throat, you were frozen in place when his eyes connected with yours. Uh oh.

“That unfortunate soul would be me” you smile nervously at him, watching as his screen glitched slightly. That was weird. His bored expression disappeared with the glitch and in its place was his usual charming smile.

“Ah Miss Y/n what a pleasure to see you! What was that you just said?” Velvette appeared at your side, wrapping an arm through yours you watched his screen glitch a little again.

“She’s mine now Voxxie” she smirked at the glitching demon.

“She’s WHAT?!”  

Taglist: @tasha-1994 @azullynxx

[weirdsht]

Hi first of all i just want to say that I love your fics and second may I request a flirty workaholic reader x cale where the reader is isekaid to lofcf and told cale about it so the reader became the right hand person of cale who loves flirting with him anytime anywhere😙😙🤣🤣 but the story focuses on cale being curious how will the reader act to other people who is not part of the calefam, just someone who is a stranger. So he then disguises himself as a stranger to meet with the reader (who is experiencing day off the first time since becoming a servant because she argues that seeing cale's face, serving and flirting with him is what she considers as rest but the others didn't allow it this time since they are worried and tired of always seeing the reader work)

Then the reader 'accidentaly' bumped into disguised cale whose name is Bob and they became friends so nowadays the reader will set a little bit of their time once a week to meet with her new friend and cale is becoming jealous of his disguised self because the reader is always telling him about what she and 'Bob' does with so much joy in her eyes

Best Friend Bob - Cale/Reader

notes: thank you for liking my fics! Also, I'm not that versed in writing flirty personalities so I'm sorry if its bad huhu

tags: female reader, assistant reader, fluff, they didn't get together in the end sorry, but you can imagine that they did

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome

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“You’re sending me away? Do you not want to play with me anymore cutie?”

Cale grimaces at his fellow transmigrator’s words. He should be used to the flirting right now but for some reason, he still isn’t.

“It’s been years since you had a day off. You still work even when everyone is slacking off.”

“Just looking at your face is enough rest for me.”

_____ winked at him and Cale turned away.

“Anyways take this time to explore or something.”

“You wound me, but since you insist…”

With that _____ takes a day off for the first time since she transmigrates into this world.

‘What am I even supposed to do the whole day?’

_____ has always been an introvert and a home person even before she got sucked into this novel. Sure, at first she was curious about her new surroundings. However, she felt like she had seen enough since Cale was always on the move.

“Maybe I flirt with him too mu– owww”

The girl stopped in the middle of her mumbling as she bumped into a guy. He looks plain, but there’s this air around him that screams rich.

“I’m so sorry”

“Oh no, I should be apologizing. I wasn’t looking where I was walking.”

_____ waved her hands at the unnecessary apology from the man. She felt guilty that this poor guy was saying sorry when she was the one walking with her head in the clouds.

“I’m sorry for bumping into you. As an apology maybe I can treat you to something?”

The woman offered to the stranger. This particular looks familiar but at the same time, she’s sure she has never seen him before.

“If you insist. I know a great cafe around here. We can have some tea there.”

And so the two of them had tea at _____’s insistence.

“My name is Bob. What about you?”

‘Okay now this is suspicious’

_____ thought before quickly introducing herself to Bob.

‘Hmm, who could this be?’

She’s not an idiot. Bob is a rare name in this novel. It might have looked like it was common because of all the times Cale and his friends used it.

But there was only one recorded person who was named Bob.

Well, based on the novel none of the enemies ever disguised themself as Bob so _____ deemed it safe for now. However, they are extremely curious as to who could it be.

A few hours pass, Bob and _____ have become friends while exploring the town together. The woman is still suspicious and is trying to figure out Bob’s real identity but aside from that she thinks his pretty good.

“How was your day off?”

Cale asks as soon as he sees the workaholic enter the villa.

“It actually went great, I made a new friend.”

“Really now?”

The redhead inquires further, interested in his assistant’s social life.

_____ told Cale all about what happened the whole day. From how she met Bob to where they last went. She told him everything except for the part where she felt suspicious about his identity. 

…Of course, Cale already knows all of this.

His Bob afterall

A few hours ago he had asked Raon to give him a disguise. Something that _____ had never seen before so she would not recognize him.

Why one might ask?

It’s purely for experimental reasons. _____ kept flirting with him that he wanted to find out if she’d do the same to others.

Results showed that she doesn’t.

But they also just met so it might change.

So Cale continues befriending her under the guise named “Bob”. As he does, they surprisingly become good friends. It’s also good that the assistant now takes regular days off because of their meet-ups.

“I’m getting tired of this…”

“You’re tried human? How about we go rest for the day? We can’t get you sick because you’re tired!”

It was another friend's date with _____. They have been friends for about a month now but the girl still acts the same.

Meaning, that not once has she flirted with Bob.

Sure, she’s more comfortable with him but the way she acts with Bob and with Cale are so different.

Does this mean that his just special?

Cale isn’t sure.

But his tired of having to switch between identities when he's not even getting money out of it.

Okay, maybe he was a little jealous of how close Bob and _____ have gotten.

It doesn’t help that his assistant every single detail of what happened while looking all happy and excited.

However, no one needs to know about that.

But as much as he doesn’t like the current situation he continues it. It’s because he enjoys the look of happiness etched onto her face whenever they hang out together.

He just wishes that smile was because of Cale and not Bob.

“Bob, by now I think we can consider ourselves as good friends right?”

_____ asked one day while the two of them were eating street food after roaming the market.

Bob nodded his head in agreement. Inside, Cale rolls his eyes because how can she be so close to a guy she just met a month ago?

“I see. So who are you? Choi Han? Wait no that guy sucks at acting…”

Seems like the cat is out of the bag.

Cale would usually be irritated that someone saw behind his plans. However, he has been thinking as to how to put a stop to this so it’s beneficial for him.

At that moment

“Raon”

He states and the black dragon undones the magic alterations done on him, revealing his real appearance.

“Now, young master Cale why would you do such a thing? Did you not want me to go out of your sight so much? You only need to ask and I’ll stay with you 24/7.”

_____ winks flirtatously. Meanwhile, Cale just shrugged his shoulders. Indicating that he has no plans of sharing his plans with her.

“But seriously, did you through all this hassle just to make sure I take my day off regularly? Or did you find my social circle lacking?”

“No _____! He was jealous at how you and Bob got so close!”

…Okay maybe Cale should have briefed Raon about not exposing his feelings in front of _____.

[k-dokja]

johan x reader :3 for funsies

You wonder if you should chase him home... your boss probably won't like the fact you let your boyfriend loiter at the convenience store while you're working. Then again, you do remember the glare he gave your boss when the older man was going to reprimand you the other day...

At the back of your mind, you hope your part-time job will stick for more than a few months this time. Without Johan's intimidation, preferably.

"...Can you at least change into the uniform and pretend you work here?" You ask with a pacifying smile.

To your relief, Johan grunts before complying with your request, sauntering to the backroom to get a change of clothes. He is not the most personable one to have around, which is the reason behind his refusal to work here with you in the first place. Johan cannot fathom how you can stand on your feet all day and smile at the customers all the time.

For all his fault, however, at least, he goes out of his way to make your life easier whenever he can. You can find comfort in his care if nothing else.

As you daydream, a few customers enter the store. All male, some of them wear uniforms, but they're maybe a little bit older than you. "Welcome to [████]!" You greet them with a smile, raising your voice far louder than your normal one. In the beginning, it has been a strain for you to do that, but with practice, you've come to put on the customer service voice easily.

Some of them catch your eyes and you notice the telltale signs of interest gleaming in their eyes. You return their attention with an eye smile before diverting your attention away, not wanting to encourage anything unnecessary.

Supposedly, that's one of the reasons Johan doesn't enjoy these retail jobs. This reason is tailored for you, however. As it happens, you attract the attention of the other guys more often than not. You don't exactly know what it is that piques their interest... you never ask either, it'd probably be impolite to question...

"Hey."

You look up to see one of the guys have approached you. This one is taller than the rest. Athletic, you noted. His smile is friendly when he leans on the counter, "Do you go to school around here?"

"Hm?" You blink. "No."

You don't go to school at all if you have to be honest... but you don't owe a stranger that information.

"Ah, that explains why I've never seen you," he grins, "my name is Taesoo, and yours is—"

He glances down at the nametag on your shirt, but before the first syllable can escape his mouth, a familiar voice cuts in.

"None of your business."

In hindsight, the blue convenience store uniform deduces some of the intimidating points from Johan's overall appearance, but you have to admit, he has mastered the art of glaring. Maybe it's something about the perpetual frown he always has on his face. You can't tell.

The other boy flinches, but with his friends returning to the counter and backing him up, his confidence stabilizes again. "What are you, her boyfriend?"

"Yeah, what about it?" Johan crosses his arms, challenging the other boy to say something.

"...Whatever."

Thankfully, the situation diffuses without further complications. You breathe out a sigh of relief as you take the products his friends brought to the counter. As you check out their purchase, Johan maintains his glaring battle with the other boy until he's all the way out of your sight with the rest of his friends.

You jab at his sight once they leave, looking up at him with a pout when he glares down at you. "Don't offend the customers," you remind him gently, "it's bad performance to talk back."

"I don't even work here," he grumbles.

"If you're wearing the uniform then you are," you narrow your eyes to read his name tag, "shape up, Haneul."

The corner of his mouth twitches, "Fine, if I'm here I might as well help," he scratches the back of his head, "I'll go count inventory or something..."

You brighten up visibly, "If you do well, I'll speak to the manager about getting you a job here!"

"Pass."

Ah, well. It was worth a try.

[yelena-bellova]

Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter One

Chapter One: A Chance Meeting

Plot: Fresh off a sudden sacking, Y/n unexpectedly encounters salvation in the form of the kindness of two strangers. (Takes place between s2 and s3)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: language

A/N: Hihellowelcome. I had no intention to write anything for Ted Lasso, but this idea came to me as a migraine-induced dream and I figured I’d give it a go. I’ll leave it up for a day or so to see if anyone’s remotely interested and if so, I’ll do a full series.

I’m tagging it under the characters who will play central parts in the series, so no one come for me if I’m “tagging it wrong.” If anybody wants to be added to the (potential) taglist, just drop a comment.

Seriously, I don’t know what this is. I’m just following the Writing Fairy where she takes me. Enjoy!

————

There was no better place to be sad than at a bar.

Y/n swirled her second glass of white wine, watching the liquid spin and bubble slightly. She was in that comfortable space of numbness where the alcohol was mixing with her sorrow and diluting it enough that she didn’t know one from the other. Though she suspected that she felt she could have three more glasses and it still wouldn’t fully take away the pain.

This was the third job - the third job - she’d been fired from in the last two years. Where one might start to question if they were the problem, Y/n didn’t have to venture there. Either the companies had faced budget cuts and her position had been deemed unnecessary or they’d gone under. This time it was the latter. She hadn’t felt particularly passionate about the work, but that had never bothered her. Work wasn’t supposed to do anything more than keep the lights on and the fridge stocked.

And yet, at 5:02, as she packed up her bag and readied herself to head home, her boss had called her into his office and told her that her position was being eliminated. The world that had seemingly just settled back down was spinning once again.

Y/n sighed, pressing the rim of her glass to her forehead. She’d been walking London in a haze since 5:03 until she found her way into some posh restaurant. She’d managed to order her drink and not much else, too wrapped up in shame and confusion. Why was seemingly nothing working out? Why did she keep getting placed in these inevitably temporary positions? Was a business degree some cruel joke the universe had led her to and the punchline was repeatedly playing out?

Throwing back the last of the white, she figured it was worth a go to see if her answers lay at the bottom of another glass.

“Can I get one more?” Y/n asked the bartender, shaking the stemware a little to signal them.

A few feet and a world away, sat at a table were two blonde women, engrossed in their own conversation. During one of their natural pauses, both their eyes caught on the hunched figure sitting alone at the bar.

“That’s a picture worth a thousand words,” Rebecca mused.

“Right?” Keeley replied, “She’s been here since before you got here. Hasn’t moved.”

Rebecca hummed in agreement, there was some part of the woman’s sadness that was palpable. Her arms were crossed over the bar as if the shield herself. She was in no rush to finish her drink indicating that she had nowhere to be. This was shame and heartbreak and all other emotions that, while men were entirely capable of feeling, typically landed only on the heads of women.

Rebecca and Keeley turned to one another at the same time with the same idea.

Keeley slid out of the booth, the more extroverted of the two, and carried her drink with her to the bar. She approached the woman carefully, coming into her peripheral vision slowly as not to startle her. Though Keeley suspected the restaurant could spontaneously burst into flames and the girl would have barely moved an inch.

“Hi,” Keeley said softly, her voice’s cheery pitch raising slightly, “Can I buy your next glass?”

Y/n turned her head to the petite blonde woman smiling at her. It had easily been an hour since she’d had to say anything to anyone other than the bartender. She had to try and remember how to speak.

“Oh,” she started, slightly confused, “Um…I, uh-“

Keeley quickly held up a hand, “Oh, I’m not, like, hitting on you or trying to recruit you for a cult. Me and my friend, Rebecca,” she pointed back towards her and Rebecca’s table, “Saw that you’d been here a while and you looked sad and we just wanted to see if we could lift your spirits is all.”

Y/n looked over her shoulder towards where the woman was pointing, her finger aimed towards a taller and older blonde who gave a polite wave.

“Oh,” Y/n said again, unable to tell if the depression or the wine was making her feel so tired, “That’s very kind of you.”

Keeley raised an expectant eyebrow, “So can we?”

Y/n gestured to her glass that had yet to be refilled, “I suppose so.”

With ease, Keeley slid onto the barstool beside Y/n. When the bartender came around with the bottle, she patted the counter. “This round’s on our bill,” she informed the employee, pointing out their booth.

“Thank you,” Y/n said in as warm a tone as she could manage.

“We’ve gotta look out for each other, yeah?” Keeley replied with a smile, “Can I ask why you’re drinking alone?”

The whole point of not calling any of her friends or now former co-workers was to not have to talk about being let go. And yet there was something about the woman that Y/n trusted, that she felt drawn to even. Like she could tell her all her secrets and she wouldn’t bat an eye, but rather make her feel better about them.

“It wasn’t a guy, was it?” Keeley asked, “‘Cause if it was, you need something way more expensive that’ll get you drunk way faster.”

Y/n unexpectedly chuckled, “No, I got sacked today.”

“Oh, shit,” Keeley adjusted her tone to match the disappointment, “I’m sorry.”

“I wish I could say it was my fault,” Y/n continued, the wine stripping away a layer of self-consciousness, “Then there’d be a good reason at least, something I can fix. But this,” she tapped her pointer finger against the counter, “Is the third job in two years I’ve been let go from.”

Keeley’s eyebrows furrowed in shock, “Who the fuck are you working for?”

Another laugh escaped Y/n’s chest, “No one extraordinary,” she caught herself, “No one at all, at the moment. It’s not even exciting or anything, just boring business shit. They all go under or they all just implode,” Y/n lowered her voice, “And, for some God only knows reason, I’m always caught in the crossfire.”

“Hang on,” Keeley grabbed her drink and hopped off the stool, “You’re going to come and join us.”

“What?” Y/n looked to the woman, “No, I’m not interrupting your night with my bad luck. At this point, it might be contagious.”

“Absolutely not,” Keeley pushed back, wrapping her hand around Y/n’s wrist and practically pulling her off her stool, “You’re going to come and drink with us and you can bitch and moan as much as you’d like.”

The absurdity of it was tripping Y/n up and also drawing her further in. Strangers were never this kind and yet, the woman and her friend were both gesturing her towards their table and into their evening.

Relenting, Y/n grabbed her purse, her fresh white wine and followed the small blonde back to the booth.

“Success,” the older woman cheered as Keeley and Y/n arrived, “Rebecca.”

“Oh shit, yeah, I bought you a drink and didn’t even tell you my name,” Keeley laughed, sliding into the booth seat, “I’m Keeley.”

“Rebecca, Keeley,” Y/n repeated the names as she sat down, trying to put a polite amount of space between them, “I’m Y/n.”

“Y/n here’s been sacked today,” Keeley hit the highlights before Rebecca got the chance to ask, “Third time in two years.”

Rebecca’s brows furrowed in shock, “Bloody hell. What does a person do to get fired three times in two years?”

Though it was phrased accusingly, Y/n could tell there was no actual malice behind it. “Hitch your wagon to the wrong fucking horse.”

Keeley and Rebecca stared back in silence.

“Sorry,” Y/n apologized, remembering what continent she was on, “American expression.”

“That was my next question,” Rebecca replied, picking up her glass of merlot.

“I went to school here on scholarship,” Y/n explained the cultural difference, “After I graduated, I was so settled that I didn’t feel like leaving. Though I’m starting to question if that was the right choice…”

“I suppose you would,” Keeley agreed, “What is it that you do? What’d you get your degree in?”

Y/n took a sip of her chard before answering, “Business with a minor in public relations. I’m the person people pay to handle all the fine print shit they don’t want to deal with, but sometimes I’ve handled press for my companies.”

Y/n was unsure why Rebecca was nudging Keeley with her elbow, but there was clear meaning to it.

“You do PR?” Keeley asked, leaning on the table with her elbows.

“I can, yeah,” Y/n answered, feeling like what she said was under a spotlight, “I’ve been in more of a managerial capacity as of late, but yeah.”

Rebecca smiled into her own glass as she drank, as if all the magical pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t meant to solve were suddenly coming together.

“Well, shit,” Keeley exclaimed, “I think the universe brought us together tonight.”

Y/n squinted a little, “I’m sorry?”

Keeley excitedly scooted closer to the table, “I’ve just started my own PR firm. You should come and work for me.”

Now she was entirely convinced she was more buzzed than she thought. “What?” Y/n asked.

“It’s just a small start-up,” Keeley explained further, “We’re not that big yet, but it’s good work. We’ve already got some pretty big clients.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Y/n set down her wine, fully invested now in the conversation, “You just met me and you’re offering me a job?”

Keeley shrugged as if she was simply offering to buy lunch, “Yeah, why not? You seem lovely and you’re in need of work and it cannot be a coincidence that we met.”

Suddenly, it all clicked in Y/n’s mind.

“Holy fuck,” she half cried, half whispered, “You’re Keeley Jones, aren’t you? I saw you in Vanity Fair!”

Keeley’s admission was her toothy grin.

“And,” Y/n’s raised finger drifted to Rebecca, who seemed to already guess what was coming, “Shit, you own th-th-the football club!”

“AFC Richmond,” Rebecca filled in the missing title with a smile.

“Holy shit,” Y/n whispered, letting her back hit the booth. The night was taking an entirely different turn than she’d expected.

“My firm exclusively handles PR for Richmond,” Keeley explained, “Are you a football fan?”

Still in shock, Y/n managed to answer. “I mean, sort of? I don’t root for anyone, really. I dated an Arsenal fan for a while, but I don’t really watch it all that much, to be honest.”

“Oh, well,” Rebecca adjusted herself in her seat, “We’re going to have to change that.”

“But-“ Y/n brought herself back to the original topic, “How can you offer me a job? You don’t know me. I could be a terrible employee for all you know.”

“You said that the firings weren’t your fault,” Keeley stated.

Y/n shrugged, “How do you know I’m not lying?”

“Oh, please,” Rebecca mumbled over a bite of her appetizer, “You’re far too smart to be fired for a valid reason. I’ve known you ten seconds and I can already tell that.”

Y/n chuckled, this was the most she’d laughed in a long time and it was with strangers that were feeling less and less like strangers.

“Look,” Keeley spoke up, laying her hands out on the table, “You don’t have to say yes. You can forget this night ever happened…but I really don’t think you should.”

Y/n’s eyes darted back and forth between Keeley and Rebecca, weighing her options and the insanity of the proposition. These were women higher up in business than she’d ever aspired to. These were women who knew exactly what they wanted and what they were doing, and they were reaching down to offer her a helping hand.

All her life, Y/n had been adrift. Floating on a little raft that somehow managed to weather every storm. Nothing had yet to find her that felt like magic, nor had she ever sought it out. Attending school in England had been the most shocking decision she’d ever made, and thousands of people chose the same path every day. She had never taken a step fully into the unknown, and sitting across the table from Keeley Jones and Rebecca Welton was the first time she’d ever considered it.

It was that or the unemployment office.

“Y’know,” Y/n sighed and smirked, “If we were men, you’d be making me this offer over the urinals.”

The three women burst into snorts and laughter.

[floylia]

ELYSIAN ♫

05. Time is a bargaining tool

Time is a bargaining tool.

Scara knew that.

“You want me to feature on your album?” You repeated Scara’s words, beginning to doubt your ability to hear, “Do you realize how risky that is?”

Scara bobbed his head with pleased a expression etched on his face as if his words weren’t weighted with worry, “That’s why I asked you if you were ready to take a risk.”

You stood up, unable to sit still, now pacing across the room. Bambi must have sensed your unease, because he too, started following you while rubbing himself against your legs, “On a normal occasion, I wouldn’t mind. But you’re playing with two careers here. I might sound frustrating, refusing your offer, but don’t blame me for being realistic.”

“When have I ever cared about reputations?”

You fought the urge to smack him back into his senses.

“Never, but you’re in an industry where the public’s opinion can change the trajectory of the career you’ve established for years.”

And I don’t want you to go through that as well.

“We’re not puppets.”

“That’s debatable.”

Scara sighed, tousling his hair once again—his nervous habit, “We shouldn’t let them control us.”

It’s easier said than done.

But you understood where he was coming from.

You faced him, offering your utmost sincerity, “I don’t want to drag you in my mess. Nor do I want to cause more trouble than necessary.”

Silence engulfed the room. You glanced over at your friend. He’s deep in thought, gaze intense, expression unreadable. But you knew he was scheming, thinking of ways to persuade you—anything to assure you that all’s well, ends well.

Because what Scara wants, Scara gets.

“How long is your hiatus?”

You shrugged your shoulder and decided to sit back down. Bambi trailed you as he leaped up the bed and onto your lap. Clingy cats are the best, “I don’t know, but they’ll probably kick me out before it’s over. I have less than three months left, anyway.”

“What if we use this opportunity?”

“What do you mean?”

He crossed his arms, “Tell your story. Your silence leaves for more assumptions to grow.”

“I would if they let me use my voice. I was planning to wait until my contract is up to take legal actions.”

He tilted his head, “Why can’t you now?”

“Because they’re silencing me. Especially since my accuser is from the same company,” You deadpanned, stating the obvious, a detail he may have forgotten.

Scaramouche scoffed in disbelief, eyebrows furrowed as he shook his head in disapproval, “But they’re willing to throw you under the bus and take her side over you?”

“Which is why I don’t want to be responsible for ruining the career you’ve built for years. Even my friends are receiving unnecessary hate just because they’re connected to me.”

“So it’s a lost cause?”

You nodded.

“Can you…” Scara hesitated, wondering if he should continue, “Can you think it over some more? At least until your hiatus is up?”

You crossed your arms, failing to hide the faint smile creeping across your lips, “You sound desperate.”

“Enjoying my misery?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll win you over, just wait.”

Time is a bargaining tool.

You realized that.

Notes:

“We’re not puppets.” Haha so about that

another update cause i feel bad for ghosting 🫡

hope you all enjoy :))

i’m sorry if i couldn’t tag you (bolded = couldn’t tag)

Synopsis: After 7 years of enduring the media’s relentless pursuit of painting you as a villain, you’re forced to go through an indefinite hiatus with a tainted reputation on your head. However, just when you thought your career was over, a certain 5WIRL member wants you to feature on his solo career. Surely, this won’t affect your reputation once more, would it?

Scaramouche x fem!reader

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[cosmerelists]

If Cosmere Characters Were on Tumblr...

Sure, we blog about Cosmere characters. But what if they were here, blogging for themselves? Here is what I think it might be like...

1. Dalinar: Never changes the default icon

He gets blocked a lot.

Dalinar: How odd. No matter how many blogs I follow, my “dashboard” remains empty.

Renarin: I think they all blocked you because they think you’re a bot.

Dalinar: A bot? But I took your advice and chose a unique blog name: Big_D9762.

Renarin: ...

Dalinar: What?

2. Jasnah: Acts like Neil Gaiman

She comes on tumblr as a break from doing research and ruling, answers a few questions, and leaves again.

Anonymous asked: I love your work breaking down gender barriers in Alethkar by being queen and stuff! Do you plan to further erode unnecessary gender distinctions, like by letting women eat spicy food and show both hands?

Jasnah-Kholin: Wait and See.

3. Vin: Reblogs a thousand things in a mad fury and then disappears for days

She does not use the queue function.

Vin: Yeah...I don’t fuck with the the queue function. If you see me, you see me.

Elend: Hey Vin, did you reblog the crab rave like 15 times in a row?

Vin: I was feeling it.

4. Elend: Has a carefully curated queue

His “queue” tag is “Vin is a queue-T.”

Elend: The only exception I make are donation posts and political ones, since those need to be reblogged immediately.

Elend: But otherwise, the queue function is great for lovely, regular content!

5. Adolin: Runs a fashion blog

He has ALL of the Rosharan runways.

Adolin: It’s easy to let Alethi fashion dominate, but a REAL fashion blogger makes sure to have a wide variety of nations and fashions.

6. Shallan: Posts her art

And she tries not to be frustrated when her quick Kaladin sketch gets tons more notes than her very detailed sketch of the chasmfiend.

Shallan: It’s like, I get it--Kaladin fan art is ALWAYS popular.

Shallan: But that chasmfiend was very detailed!

Adolin: Maybe you should draw Kaladin riding it.

Adolin: Shirtless.

Shallan: ...

Shallan: I’ll take my three notes, thank you very much.

7. Tien: Always reblogs no-note art posts

And he always leaves a nice comment too!

Tien: The colors in this are so lovely!!

8. Navani: Considers herself a tumblr patron

She’s one of those bloggers who, if she reblogs your post, you know you’re about to make it big.

Navani: I don’t really make original posts, of course. I’m not a real blogger.

Navani: I just find other people’s clever posts and help promote them!

Navani (typing): "This...has...10,000...notes...to...me...”

Navani: You know they’re happy when they just respond “PLEASE NO”

9. Kelsier: Stirs up his followers with so. much. discourse.

Especially about Hoid.

Kelsier: Friendly reminder that Hoid (1) will let a planet burn to get what he wants; (2) beat up an innocent ghost (me) once; (3) is dating someone WAY younger than he is; (4) insults women.

Hoid: I insulted men too. I was the King’s Wit.

Kelsier: I’m adding you to my DNI.

10. Szeth: Very popular for his “shit posts”

Szeth, of course, is 100% sincere the entire time.

Szeth: It is odd.

Szeth: The vent post I made that simply said “my talking sword is a bad conversationalist” has like a million notes.

Szeth: ...

Szeth: Tumblr is a strange place.  

[lovelyflora21]

I hate everyone else in the world (but you)

Summary: Drunk and in pain, Leon had an affinity for saying things he might not have meant to. Twice he did so. One was able to offer solace and comfort, the other the opposite. 

Pairing: Leon S Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Tags: TW! Alcohol abuse, slight mentions of PTSD, depression. Angst. Hurt. 

A/n: Hello! So this is my first attempt at writing again after such a long ass hiatus and break! This is also my very first (and hopefully not the last) attempt on writing a fic for Leon lol, this one’s gonna be a bit angsty! I wrote this with Vendetta!Leon and DI!Leon in mind, inspired by that one TikTok audio from Euphoria’s Rue and Jules’ scene and her infamous quote with TV Girl’s Not Allowed, playing in the background. 

Hopefully you guys will like this one as much as I like writing it! Enjoy!

Wc: 1.5k

I hate everyone else in the world but you…

Was what Leon had drunkenly told her once. So lost in his drunken stupor that he’d blurted out those words in a brief moment of vulnerability and honesty. He might’ve as well said those three words instead. But it was the truth, and Leon S Kennedy was no liar. He was never good with lies anyways, why try now? And in response, she simply gave him that God-forsaken half smile of hers. Leon remembered vividly, despite being shit-faced drunk, how she simply shook her head then helped him off the couch to clean up. 

I know. She whispered, more like to herself than to him. Then everything else after that was a blur. 

It was sort of a routine. After that particular nightmare of a mission, Leon would drown himself in endless bottles of Jack Daniels or whatever alcoholic beverage he could lay his hands on. He was pretty much banned from the local bar he’d frequented so often, and no for the record, it wasn’t because he’d start up unnecessary shit–no. It was because of how much he’d drunk; to the point that the bartenders and keepers made it a point that they were concerned with the amount of alcohol he’d swallow in one seating. 

Concerned. Leon finds it rather funny and ironic, in a way that; bars made money from selling alcohol to anyone who would be drinking them and yet here he was, getting banned all because they were concerned with him? He was a regular, he didn’t mind burning his money on alcohol! They should have been grateful! He was a regular, a paying one at that and he doesn’t start up shit! They were making money! And yet, he got banned anyway. 

In reality, concerned was an understatement…

So he figured, what the hell right? He’s just gonna find an alternative, buy some from the local bodega or some shit and get shit-faced drunk in the comforts of his somber and dark, shitty apartment. 

The apartment was fine before all this, decorated it minimalistically so he didn’t have too much stuff piling up and it wouldn’t be too much of a hassle for him to look after; but after the–after it happened, he just didn’t care enough to look after the damn place. Hell, he barely looked after himself. Leon was barely even showering. He’d shower once every two or three days, and didn't even care at all if people were giving him weird and funny looks for how disheveled he looked. Leon used to be pretty active and social, he would go for a light jog every morning before work or in the evenings after work, then shower and have dinner or maybe go on dates with her. But now? Now, his routine consisted of waking up in the middle of the day, eat whatever leftover was in the fridge, go back to sleep, wake up again then get so drunk he could barely remember anything then pass out on the couch then wake up with the worst hangover and repeat the same damned thing all over again. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat. 

It wasn’t helping him at all that the DSO was putting him on a temporary break too. He’d honestly much prefer to be sitting on his desk working on reports than rotting and wasting away like this. 

But then she caught wind of this. This revelation. That the great, brave and strong Leon S Kennedy; the renowned agent that helped rescue the President’s Daughter and formed the DSO, has now become lessened to that of a drunk alcoholic. So jaded and bitter with the loss of his–no, no, he became jaded after, after…after it happened. That he resorted to alcohol rather than face his issues head on. Rather than see a shrink and work on it.

So the first time she came back around, it wasn’t easy. To have her, his muse, his flower, the only innocent and untouched being in his life, sees him this messed up and broken. He lashed out at her at first, then he broke down. For the first time. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was finally able to cry. 

It’s okay, cry it out, let it all out. I’m here. Nothing’s gonna hurt you. I’m not letting you go. I got you. 

Then he looked into her eyes and said it. 

I hate everyone else in the world but you…

And the rest was history.

Then it was another new routine for him. She was always there, looking after him…looking after the place. Made sure he was eating, made sure he’d get cleaned up, made sure he was sleeping properly. 

But he still couldn’t get over his drinking problems. Not anytime soon it seems…

Other people would have already abandoned him by now. Said it was all in vain, said he’d destroy her before he could ever get better. But she, she never gave up on him. 

Until one night…

Leon had promised her, for a day, he wouldn’t touch anything that has alcohol in it and he’d finally go to therapy. It was paid and provided for by the DSO, as they should be. But he didn’t…

He never attended that one session (or the sessions before and after, she should’ve known better), instead that afternoon he went to the nearest bodega and got himself bottles of Jack Daniels. Then he went back home and got shit-faced drunk. Again. Like always. 

And when she came over later in the evening, after she got off work; she was furious. More disappointed than furious, really. To find out that he didn’t go to therapy and he was drunk.

Then it was some back and forth arguing and Leon said some things he didn’t mean to. 

Typical of a drunk, how typical of Leon.

See, the thing is, she was one to believe that; whatever came out from someone’s mouth whenever they were drunk meant that it was the raw and most unfiltered truth they wish they could’ve said out loud sober.

So when Leon said, “What is this now, you think you could nurse me back to the old Leon?! You thought out of all the people in this whole goddamn world, you could be the one to save me from being, from being this?! I tell you what sweetheart, you never cared about me, what you do have is a savior complex!” 

It had been even uncharacteristic of Leon to say those things. And out of all the people he knew, towards her, too. 

Cruel would be an understatement. 

Leon wished he had stopped at that. Wished he had stopped and apologized to her after, but nope. He didn’t. Instead, when he saw her tear-filled eyes and her pursed lips, he went and sprinkle some salt on her wound. 

“What now, you gonna cry and run away? Gonna cut me off too like how you cut off your other friends and exes? Right, you do. Because that’s what you always do! Run away and cut off everyone whoever said an ounce of truth to you, not wronged you–no, the truth!”

Then there was silence, save for his hard and heavy breathing that filled the space. 

Leon remembers and forgets a lot of things. This is one that he’d hate to remember and unable to forget.

He remembered the way she stepped back, looked into his eyes and said it. 

I hate you. 

Then she disappeared from his apartment and disappeared from his life as well, after making it clear that she was done.

He tried reaching out to her, that very same night. Then the days that followed after, the weeks after. After Colorado. After New York. 

She disappeared. Just like that. 

So Leon gave up on looking for her. 

And after a year, he thought he’d already forgotten about her completely. Thought he’d moved on.

He thought, after going to therapy, talking to his friends more and avoiding alcohol as much as possible; he’d finally move past that night. Move past her.

But it seemed he was wrong. 

So when Leon was strolling down the streets of San Francisco during his free time, before his supposed mission–and he thought he’d heard a familiar voice, he couldn’t help but to look towards the source of that angelic voice. Could it be…?

And there she was. Gorgeous as always. Beautiful and bright, warm like the morning’s first ray of sunshine. A basket of flowers and groceries hung on her elbow. 

So she did move away. That’d explain a lot. 

Leon’s body had a mind of its own, approaching her before he could even process everything. 

Hey there.

And suddenly everything came flooding back to him.

I hate everyone else in the world but you

But you, you who I’ve hurt so much more than anyone else in the world. 

You who didn’t deserve the pain I had inflicted upon you. It was unfair. And I am so so so sorry. Wish I could take it all back. You didn’t deserve it. And then there was silence between him and her. Two birds, once of the same feather; and now? Now on opposite ends.

[celestie0]

hello, my lil smut for ch 10 enthusiasts!

i know most of you are here for porn without plot, with little to no care about the plot, but let me get something very straight to you: ellie has mentioned before that kickoff is a slow-burn, it’s in tags too (cue: go check them out).

you might be wondering what a slow burn is (i fully believe you have slow comprehension skills, it’s fine, i myself am dyslexic), but for your ease here’s a number of definitions of slow burn from google:

A slow burn is when the romantic attraction between characters builds slowly over the course of a novel or series.

— bookriot.com

If something is a slow burn, or if it happens on a slow burn, it develops slowly.

— collinsdictionary.com

The slow-burn genre in movies is typically characterized by deliberate pacing, restrained storytelling, and a gradual buildup of tension and suspense.

— collider.com

Slow burn love is a love that goes beyond the initial spark of attraction — it is, as the name suggests, a kind of love that requires time and attention, but that can also last.

— slice.ca

next time, i would suggest you all should use google to search for terms you do not understand the meaning of, or better yet when you do understand something (which i am sure you do), you must always consider it and the feelings of the writer before you send insensitive asks to them.

moving on, you all are in fact very horny and need to get laid instead of asking ellie or anyone to write you smut. ellie had specified multiple time that kickoff chapter 10 will not have any amount of smut in it. if you want to read smut jjk fandom is very horny there are at least 2000 smuts of gojo satoru on tumblr and ao3 alone, you should read those. very easy to find them.

anyways, here are the reasons why smut in chapter 10 of kickoff is bad idea:

reader is an introvert, she’s not weak, not insecure, she is an introvert. i am not saying introverts don’t hook up because they do so. but reader is not the kind to hook up the first chance she gets.

reader and gojo are not just two people who are lusting after one another, their feelings are both emotionally and sexually very strong for each other and they respect one another a little too much to jump in to fucking each other and ruining their relationship before it even begins. why will it be ruined? because they both have not bonded as much as you all would like to pretend they have.

it is one thing to have sex with a stranger or a friend you find attractive and not let it interfere with your relationship with a person than doing the same with someone you are interested in. when you like someone, there are emotions involved. there is a lot more that satoru and reader need to sort out before they should consider sex.

they want a long lasting relationship with each other, rushing into sex will hinder that, because when you rush into things you do not let them develop with the ease and smoothness that they would have had had unnecessary stress not influenced the they. for a relationship to be successful, the foundation needs to be strong. you do not build a foundation by fucking each other’s brains out but rather by doing other mature stuff like bonding through conversations and emotional and significant gestures.

remember when reader walked out of that washroom leaving satoru with blue balls? remember when satoru refused to touch her when reader when asked him to? yes, you are invalidating their entire personalities by asking them to fuck each other already.

they each have a personality, and neither falls in the bracket of fucking the person they want to spend their lives with without letting the relationship marinate enough to last.

they began fresh in chapter 9, where reader made it very clear that satoru needs to reassure her of his feelings. you are not reading the same fic that most readers are if you think they have been together for a long time now, because trust me the last 4 chapters have been anything but smooth sailing between them. if that is your definition of “been together for a long time”, maybe reconsider the relationships you have in your present lives because it requires revaluation.

when they established starting afresh, it meant they will rebuild their bond, which means that they will need to go back to square one and start to focus on one another in order to strengthen their bond and state their feelings in a more tangible manner.

when ellie wrote this fic, she created an outline of the plot, the events that would take place and their sequence; you expressing your disappointment will do nothing but demotivate her and it will definitely not make her write that smut for you.

this is ellie’s fic, and the plot in her fic does not allow her to write smut in chapter 10. done.

a bonus:

if you’re asking reader to make gojo jealous maybe consider the fact that they have indeed established semi-exclusivity, and in order to build the foundation of a relationship you need to act petty like pulling cheap stunts to make the other person jealous.

i need you to realise that kickoff is a rather realistic, non-toxic piece of fiction where two people who are into each other are not going to fuck before reassuring the other of their feelings.

wait patiently, and the good will come to you. if you can’t do so and would prefer to send ellie hate, send in passive aggressive messages to make her characters have sex, or give her backhanded compliments disguising your demand for the couple to fuck, you should:

use your creativity, your knowledge of english and write a smutty fic.

go ahead and read one of thousands of other gojo smut.

stay quiet and keep your opinion to yourself, kickoff is free for you. ellie is not your provider, she is sharing the fic with you. if you want her to do something that desperately, negotiate a commission.

anyways, kickoff has healed me.

some of you loudmouthed ones may not care about plot, just the smut, but most of us are here for the plot. we like the plot, we like knowing what’s going on in the lives of the characters. we enjoy their lives, we grieve their loses. let the experience be fun for us and ellie, and leave if you cannot behave in a civil manner.

the only things that’s acceptable of you readers are constructive criticism and love. if you don’t have either of it to give, kindly quieten yourself and close the tab. leaving the fic would be easier than being frustrated over it.

apologies for the mistakes, the ask was written and sent in absolute rage over a small fraction of you very insensitive people.

💌🫶🏼

flowie, i could cry. seriously idk how you manage to know my own story more than i do LOOOL but i swear every time that you reflect so deeply on kickoff, it has me in awe and in tears because i just feel so seen by you. and thank you SO much for standing up n making these points, because they are points that i've really wanted to make but was just too scared to, and i feel so safe to see that you've written this out for me in my defense 😭😭😭

those definitions of slow burn had me tearing up so bad idk why sdfkjdshfklj i think because they take slow burn as more than just "oh two characters wait long time to fuck" and make it into something more, and honestly even i needed to have that put into perspective for me! thank you so much :'')

your understanding for my characters 😭😭 i just i canttskfksjdf. i totally agree 100% w all your points, and they completely align w the creative direction i want to take w my story. i KNOW that sex can be spontaneous, and doesn't always need to be goody goody and within the confines of a relationship. i have enjoyed so many stories where sex is wild n toxic n crazy, because i just think it fits the VIBE of that specific story.

but i've tried to show time n time again w kickoff characters specifically that they aren't as inclined to act on their libidos, at least not when they truly care about someone else AND when they're trying to look out for themselves (like the examples you brought up, w reader putting her foot down during the bathroom sex scene. or when gojo refused to touch reader in the hotel room bc he knew that she would regret it in the morning)

i knowww that readers have different perspectives on these scenes, and i LOVE that. there's absolutely no right or wrong way to interpret a scene, because stories are inherently subjective and are meant to be enjoyed that way. i have interpreted scenes in my own favorite stories very differently from maybe what the author had in mind, or what other readers had in mind. but what i find really upsetting about people expecting me to include smut prematurely is that it makes me feel like you're not really reading my story for what is is, and rather you want me to make it into something that YOU want, disregarding all of my other attempts to really try n show my readers who these characters are. if reader was spontaneous or if gojo was careless, and these traits were shown in the story, then maybe i could understand certain expectations, but i've tried to put thought into showing their personalities, and for certain readers to entirely gloss over it and move straight to "SEXSEXSEX" is really disheartening, n yes demotivating for me as well.

there's a difference between "oh my god it would've been so hot if they fucked in that bathroom, but i guess it makes sense why they didn't...can't wait for them to slut each other out eventually tho!!" and sending me a direct ask that just says "i am so disappointed you're not gonna make them fuck in the next chapter, even though you've spent the past two months working on it and it's 80 pgs long and you haven't even released it yet but i'm still going to be passive aggressive n find fault w it because! me want sex!! me want sex!!"

i think deeply about my stories because they are personal to me. it's like journaling essentially LOL. i've mentioned before that kickoff is an ode to a painful situationship i had my first year of college, and i've also mentioned that reader is based off of a very close friend of mine who i love very dearly n i feel so bad that she doesn't believe in herself at times, and i wanted to show her how much i'm rooting for her through my story. i figured, well if i'm going to write a story, might as well share it w others and i'm a horny bitch so of fucking course there's gonna be smut.

like it's a win win situation for everyone i think?? i get to write what i want, i get to share what i want, n i get to entertain my lovely lil readers, n we all get to interact w eachother n make cute lil headcanons n talk about our days, n then we move on w our lives until next time?? why can't it just be like this, lol. i think if some people just really toned down their entitlement, then the writing community as a whole would thrive.

ANWYASY sorry flowie i didn't really direclty respond to your words, kinda went on a rant here, but tbh i think you said everything i wanted to say :'') so thanks bb <33 LOVE YOU SO MUCH

[thirteenis-myluckynumber]

Proposal - Nie Huaisang

Pairing: Nie Huaisang x f!reader

Word Count: 1669 words

Warnings/tags: none i think, the events leading up to the wedding, fluff

Notes: (C/N)-your clan's name, (Y/N)-your name

A/N: I planned this to be a one-shot but I got carried away, so the actual action *wink wink* will happen in the next chapter.

I did some completely unnecessary research for this (my adhd ass basically got distracted) but nothing specific. My cultural knowledge is from the show so I'm sorry for any possible mistakes regarding culture. This is my first time writing The Untamed. Also English is not my first language.

Part 2

You met Nie Huaisang at one of the cultivation meetings Jin Guangyao held in Carp Tower. You were a member of one of the smaller clans, so you didn't attend such gatherings in general. That one time your older brother insisted for you to come, as there were some issues to be discussed which might need your expertise as a healer.

During the many battles of the Sunshot Campaign, you actively participated in the healing of wounded soldiers, so many members from the bigger clans also knew you. So it was no wonder they were all pleasantly surprised to see you there at the meeting. After the greetings and toasts you were free to mingle, and almost everyone greeted you with a pleasant smile and grateful eyes. You also greeted them politely, asking about their family and health.

After a while you noticed that Zewu-jun were looking at you, wanting to invite you over to where he was standing with his brother Lan Wangji, Jin Guangyao and another finely dressed young man. As you walked over Lianfang-zun excused himself to greet the other guests. You turned to the remaining three men with a smile, and they bowed to you in return.

"(C/N)(Y/N). It's so nice to see you. What brings you here?" Lan Xichen asked with a small smile on his lips.

"Apparently, Lianfang-zun requires my help with something. And I took the chance to reunite with old acquaintances."

Lan Wangji stared at you in his usual way, not showing any of his emotions. You also wanted to ask what brought him here, but with a curt nod to you and his brother he also excused himself. Finally, you turned to the man now standing next to Lan Xichen. You had an attention to detail, so only a quick glance was enough for you to notice his handsome face and elegant clothing however, you didn't remember meeting him before.

"It's nice to meet you, Master...," you trailed off somewhat nervously as you didn't know how to address him.

He appeared lost in thought for a moment as he seemed to ever so slightly jump at your words. Still, he quickly schooled his expression into a calm and dignified look, but you could still see his nervousness underneath.

"I am Nie Huaisang. Pleased to meet you Lady (C/N)," he said as he bowed to you again, holding his fan in his hands.

As you realized your previous mistake, you were quick to return his bow.

"Ahh, please excuse my rudeness Clan Leader Nie."

He didn't seem offended at all as he glanced at you with a small smile, which appeared to be sad to you. You knew the story of his ascension to clan leader, after all his brother's death was still a widely discussed topic between cultivators. You also heard the various mean stories about Nie Huaisang himself, in which cultivators often referred to him as the Head Shaker or Good-For-Nothing. Stealing another glance at the man, he didn't seem quite as incompetent to you as these stories described him. He might not carry a sword and appear generally nervous, but you could also see the intelligence in his eyes. Right when you wanted to ask him about the situation in Qinghe, your brother called out to you to return to your tables. You exchanged bows with the two men again and returned to where your clan was sitting. However, you didn't seem to think about anything else that day but the handsome and mysterious Clan Leader Nie.

In the upcoming weeks you had the chance to meet with Nie Huaisang many more times, at political meetings and at night hunts too. You were not one to attend often, but as time went by you became more and more interested in the leader of the Nie Clan. As far as men go, he was the first one with whom you could always stir up meaningful conversations about various topics, not just politics or war. As someone who were always interested in music and arts, you found it exceptionally refreshing to listen to him talk about his passions, especially painting and his favourite fans. Looking at him, it always made you happy to see him quite relaxed during your conversations. After a while he even became bolder and started to show you his beautiful smile and laugh and you had to realize, that you, at the same time, started to fall in love with him.

Your brother always had a watchful eye on you two and he always let you know when he thought you spent enough time in the company of the clan leader. You understood his reasoning of course, so you always rejoined your family after a short conversation with Nie Huaisang.

After a few such meetings though, you started receiving gifts from him. At first you didn't know from whom they came from, but one time a messenger, who delivered some letters to your brother, handed you a neatly packaged hand-painted folding fan. It was the most beautiful thing you have ever seen, and you instantly knew who it was from. As you carefully traced the intricately painted lines on the fan with your fingertips your heart was beating so hard you felt it might jump out of your chest at any moment.

The next week your brother informed you that Clan Leader Nie requested a lunch with him and that you should also attend. Despite his reputation, everyone in your home made sure the preparation for the lunch were going smoothly. Everyone seemed excited to host such a high-ranking cultivator in your home. To say that you were nervous when the day finally arrived was an understatement. Actually, you thought you were never this nervous before.

During the lunch you were actually becoming calmer until your brother finally steered the conversation toward the actual meaning of the whole thing.

"Clan Leader Nie, may I ask the reason of your visit?" Your brother inquired after you exhausted all the general conversation topics.

Nie Huaisang seemed rather nervous too during the whole lunch, but looking at him now you were worried he might actually faint. Good thing you are a healer, you thought. For a few moments he sat there completely silent and almost motionless. Only his hands fiddling with his closed fan revealed his emotions. He looked up at your brother and opened his fan to hide behind it. The longer he spoke the quicker his hand moved the elegant accessory, and it seemed his face got redder by the minute.

"Clan Leader (C/N), as you probably noticed, we became quite well-acquainted with your sister. I would like to believe we became rather close even in the past few weeks. And you didn't seem opposed by my advances either. What I mean by all this is that...," he trailed off, even his ears were bright red by now. He appeared to be steeling himself for his next words. Finally he reluctantly lowered his fan and looked at you with frightened but hopeful eyes. God, you just wanted to hug him at that moment. But you couldn't, so you mustered your most encouraging smile and nodded at him. You were certain your cheeks were also red at that point. Nie Huaisang looked straight into your brother's eyes and said:

"I would like to ask for your permission to take your sister as my wife."

When he finally said it, it seemed like a huge stone was lifted off of his shoulders. His posture became more relaxed, but the fan opened again, only at his chest though, not covering his face. Now it was your turn to nervously glance at your brother. His face didn't show anger or disgust, only deep contemplation, which was a good sign, you thought.

"Clan Leader Nie, I am honored you think so highly of my sister. I have to say however, your bad reputation is not something I can ignore..."

"Gege!" You exclaimed, looking at your brother shocked and scared. Thinking back, you never thought your brother believed all those mean rumors about Nie Huaisang because he was just as good at reading people as you were.

"Meimei, let me finish," your brother said not even looking at you, a slight warning in his voice.

"Clan Leader Nie, as you said, I never opposed your relations with my sister. You seem to me an honorable man, and you never behaved inappropriately around her. But you have to understand, my sister's future depends on me. That's why I brought up your reputation. They say you are incompetent, but that's not what I see. I think you are very good at this whole political game. All I ask of you is to take care of my sister and don't let her reputation be ruined."

As he finished speaking you instantly turned to Nie Huaisang, who seemed to freeze, only his eyes turned impossibly big. His mind probably stuck to the same thought as yours, because that meant your brother actually agreed, right?

With his next sentence, he confirmed your suspicions: "I accept your proposal. If my sister agrees, she is yours."

You could only nod your head furiously as Nie Huaisang stood up and bowed deeply to your brother in thanks.

"Clan Leader (C/N), I assure you, your sister's happiness will always be my top priority. I will take care of her until my last day," Nie Huaisang said, his voice shaky.

As he straightened up, you could see his eyes glistening with unshed tears and you couldn't hold yourself back anymore. You basically jumped up, walked around the table and grabbed his shaking hands.

"I would love to be yours, Nie Huaisang," you said squeezing his hands.

He looked at you with that self-assured half smile you loved so much, and which he showed so rarely these days, but it always signaled some kind of mischief.

You didn't notice your brother looking at you two with a fond look on his face.

To be continued

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Got tagged for several sentence Sunday by @bigfootsmom @eowon @rewritetheending @eddiebabygirldiaz @devirnis @thewolvesof1998 @lover-of-mine and @daffi-990, as well as a lot of people for a lot of tag games all week. I was out of town and didn’t get the chance to respond, but I did scribble out this little fic in hotel rooms across the state. Tagging @shitouttabuck @malewifediaz @homerforsure @jeeyuns @rogerzsteven @wildlife4life if you have seven, or several, or, uh, however many sentences this is you’d like to share!

This isn’t the first and only time Eddie has found himself watching Buck’s hands. It's the variety, maybe, in how many ways he’s good with them that’s so captivating. Work, obviously, was the first time he’d noticed. Buck — and Eddie smiles whenever he thinks about it, now — had made himself so loud and blustery when they’d met. Eddie hadn’t doubted Bobby’s assessment that the man was a good firefighter, but he figured he was a heavy rescue kind of a guy, here for his brawn, someone to point at danger to terminator his way through it. Then, he’d held a box out for a bomb so steadily it saved all their lives; then, his grip was strong and sure in a collapsing hotel; then, on every call, no matter what, he moved with absolute confidence whether he was tying a perfect hitch knot or offering a hand to help a frightened vic to their feet. He’s good, he’s good at his job, he’s good with his hands, and still even years later Eddie has to remind himself to pay attention to his own task when Buck is at his side with a kind smile and reassuring chatter as his hands work carefully away.

The second place he’d noticed was with Chris. Buck understands lego diagrams that look like rocket science to Eddie, Buck wasn’t overseas or parenting a young child and so has played video games newer than Grand Theft Auto on a hand me down 360 sometime before 2010. He’s right there with the kid, always ready to advise on a tricky part of the diagram or give pointers for a difficult level, always ready to catch and support and comfort and protect, but the thing Eddie realized pretty quickly is how often he doesn’t do these things. Buck, from the beginning, had complete confidence in Christopher being able to figure out anything he puts his mind to. He doesn’t coddle, he never gets impatient and does something for him to get it done quicker. He’s just there to hand him the next requested lego piece with the same sort of awed smile Eddie knows is reflected on his own face when he watches his son.

Then, probably the kitchen. Eddie’s a better cook than he used to be, but he’d still rather watch Buck prepare food, diligently studying his hand on a knife or how he flips a pancake. When Eddie was a child and his abuela still lived in Texas he would watch her cook, how she would pour all her love and care for all of them into the meal, and Buck is just the same. Seeing him try the same dish over and over to get it just right makes Eddie wonder how anyone could ever think of this man as reckless, thoughtless. Being handed a plate by Buck is to be cherished in a way Eddie thinks not many people get to know.

Eddie has watched Buck’s hand on the small of Ali’s back, Taylor’s, Natalia’s. He’s watched them hold their hands, lead them in dances, seen how big his palm looked where it gently rested against their faces, wondered very quietly in some deep and hidden corner of himself what that kind of touch from that specific hand might feel like. He’s good with his hands and he’s got good hands, long fingers, little scars and freckles all over, a little bigger than Eddie’s own. He’d wondered — how could he not — quietly, and then louder and louder, and then-

And then Buck’s touches started to last longer, started happening with more frequency. A hand on his back as he passes him in Eddie’s kitchen, a room so familiar to them that the gesture is entirely unnecessary. A hand on his knee in the engine as Buck laughs at his jokes, Buck’s fingers curled gracefully around his elbow as they talk in a quiet corner of the station, gentle probing touches on every tiny scrape and bump Eddie accumulates on the job. Lingering, is the word for it, Buck’s fingers more and more reluctant to pull away, Eddie always leaning into the touch.

And now - a holiday party, full of folks from dispatch, the entire 118, Eddie’s pretty sure he even saw Ransone around the dessert table earlier. Buck’s got himself trapped behind the bar after he mixed a cosmopolitan for Karen and her delighted sound upon tasting it drew a crowd and endless requests started pouring in. So here Eddie is, too, the pair of them never far apart. He’s been perched on a stool for the last hour at least, watching Buck’s deft hands pour and mix and even do some fancy tricks with the bottles, tossing them in the air or behind his back. It makes Eddie laugh every time, and Buck’s responding grin makes him feel warmer than the alcohol could.

“You’re good at this,” Eddie says, which feels too obvious, or at the very least a vast understatement, and definitely something someone with a terrible crush would say, but something about the party and the way Buck keeps leaning towards him and, probably, the very good blackberry brambles that appear in front of him at regular intervals are all making him over inclined to share.

Buck’s grin is a little crooked, like his tongue is pressed against his teeth, and he winks, the bastard. Eddie’s probably turned a dozen shades of pink. “Bars I worked in had shit wages. Had to rake in the tips.” He nods towards Eddie’s glass, even this movement seeming extraordinarily smooth. “How’s the drink?”

Eddie snorts and takes a sip, like he needs to think about it. “You know it’s good. How come we just drink beers all the time when you can make shit like this?”

Buck laughs, head tilted back as he shakes a mixer full of Chimney’s piña colada. “Seems kinda overkill for a Tuesday night.”

Eddie grins into his drink, because Buck is at his house on Tuesday nights, and Wednesdays, and most of the rest of the week too if they can swing it. “Oh, I’m not a special enough occasion?”

“You’re plenty special, Eds.” Buck’s response is immediate, and his eyes have got all terribly soft and hard to look directly at, but the party and the leaning and the drinking have made Eddie brave, so he doesn’t duck his head. “I’ll make you a nice drink anytime.”

“Or you could-“ Eddie’s words catch, he coughs, he takes another sip of the bramble. Chimney leans against his side for a moment to grab the glass Buck’s poured his drink into, and Eddie remembers they’re not alone, they’re in a crowded room full of people who know them, he should probably go find water or breathe some fresh air, but then Chimney flits away again and Buck is looking at him expectantly.

“I could?” He prompts, with a smile that Eddie wants to fall asleep and wake up to, wants to taste.

Brave. He can be brave. Eddie rests two fingers on the back of Buck’s hand where he’s set it on the counter, looks up at him like his sister’s cosmopolitan magazines said to do. “You could show me what else you can do with your hands.”

Buck searches his face, taking big marathon runner breaths. “Eddie-” whatever he’s looking for he seems to find, because he nods, glances at Eddie’s drink, downs whatever’s left of it, and tilts his head towards the back door. It’s California, it’s not cold, but it’s winter and uncomfortable enough the backyard will be empty of party guests. Neither of them should get in a car yet, but this- this’ll work. This’ll do, in a pinch. Buck turns his hand palm up. “You wanna get out of here?”

Eddie takes Buck’s hand in his own, and they fit together just as perfectly as he hoped they might. “Yeah,” he grins, wide and goofy, unable to try and look cool about this at all. “Yes, please.” Buck is grinning just as wide, so there. “Your patrons might be upset though. Pretty early for a bar to close.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Buck says, tugging Eddie’s hand to start moving across the room. “You gave me the best tip of the night. I-“ he trips a little over somebody's toe, apologizes while Eddie giggles into his shoulder blades. “I’m retiring. They can make their own drinks.”

“Retiring?” Eddie’s impressed Buck gets the door open on only the second try. “What are you thinking of doing next?”

Buck turns around, bright against the dark backdrop of the empty yard and cloudy night sky, big dumb smile on his face. “I thought I’d become a firefighter.”

Eddie cackles, and chases Buck through the door. He stumbles a little but Buck’s hands come up to rest steady on his waist, catching him, easy.