#like she goes back to her place sometimes

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Hello! I don't know if requests are open, I'm sorry, but I have a request 🥹 You can ignore it if you want!

Imagine the reader dyeing her hair, and Logan doesn't really understand the concept, but thinks she looks really pretty, and then she asks him to dye the back part where she can't see 😭❤️‍🩹 just cute and loving

My requests are always open!

Logan always loved your hair. He thought you always had it so pretty, even when you just woke up and it was all over the place. He loved whatever shampoo you used it always made it so soft and smelt sweet. You changed your hair often and it always turned out amazing, Logan just assumed that you went to the salon to get your hair done, he knew that you did your nails at home you said it was too expensive to go out and get them done professionally so you just did it at the house. He hated the smell of the polish, but he did love seeing you having pretty nails, so he put up with it and sometimes he even helped paint your right hand. However, he had just assumed you got your hair done professionally, he never saw you do your hair at the house at it just looked too well done for an amateur.

He has been getting upset with you lately, and he didn't know how to tell you.

He always wanted to be the one who took care of you. He wanted to provide for you, no matter the cost or what it was. He just wanted you to have whatever you wanted in life, but you kept denying his offers to get your hair done. He was about to just make an appointment at some random salon and drive you there for it so you would stop arguing with him over dumb stuff like money.

.

.

He just got off work and was walking into the house, ready to not back down from the fight he knew was coming, but as he was walking into the house, a strong smell overwhelmed his senses. He groaned and scrunched up his nose "the fuck is that smell??"

You nearly jumped out of your skin hearing Logan so soon. "Logan! You weren't supposed to be home for another hour!" You rushed back to the bathroom to try and clean up some of the hair product you've been using and to open the window to air out the room as best as you could.

"What is that smell?" Logan asked again, still not knowing what he was smelling. You cringed slightly and turned to him with the bowl of hair dye in your hands. "I was doing my hair, just a touch-up, but I-I thought you weren't going to be home for a while, so I thought I'd have time to air the house out. I know you're sensitive to smells and just assumed that the dye would be too strong for you."

Logan felt his heart swell slightly, hearing that you took his enhanced smell into consideration. "Do...do you need help?" He asked sort of bashfully. He took the bowl from your hand gently and mixed the dye with the brush. He cringed slightly from the smell, but he was ready to push through it to help you.

"Could you get the back for me? I don't think I got all of it" you turned around and showed him the back of your head and he bit back a laugh when he saw you missed a section of hair.

"Yeah, I got it, baby." he just told himself that he was painting... sort of? He really didn't know what he was doing, but he didn't want to mess up, so he just really lathered the dye on your hair and tried to not get it all over your skin. When he was done, he set the bowl down and tapped your shoulders, "Okay, I think I'm done now what?" You explained that you needed to set a timer and that you'd wash it out after it goes off. He nods and sets the timer for you.

He likes to think he is a patient man after living all of his years, but those 30 minutes felt like 30 years. Once the timer finally went off, he helped you wash your hair and watched as you dried and styled it. He was always excited to see how you ended up doing your hair but this time he was even more excited to see how it turned out and once you showed him how it turned out he couldn't help but feel pride knowing he was the one who helped you.

Taglist:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

[tealottie]

What are your headcanons about Della?

I have so many, but tbh my favorite headcanons have to do with her having PTSD - so i can't promise this will be a fun post

MASTERLIST OF DELLA HEADCANONS BELOW:

Appearance:

Scars from the Moon

One across her beak on left side

Scars on her arms and legs

Other markings

Stretch marks especially on her tummy and butt

A few stretch marks on her chest and thighs

Freckles on her beak (because she had triplets and ducks IRL sometimes get freckles after pregnancy)

Other

Chubby pear shape

DD cup size

Squishy belly

Big eyes

Fluffy unkempt feathers (she's bad at preening)

Thin hair (also bad at taking care of it)

Short beak

Queer Headcanons:

Homoromantic

Bisexual

Prefers to just call herself a lesbian

Ciswoman (doesn't mind they/them pronouns and probably finds it entertaining if she's referred to as he/him)

Supports all of her queer babies

She also does not actively seek out romance, but she isn't offput by the idea entirely

Mental Health and Neurodiverse Headcanons:

PTSD

Hates being alone at any given moment and had to ask Donald if she could room with him in the houseboat for a few months

Genuinely cannot look at her reflection and will be needing exposure therapy

Does not like the feeling of movement underwater because it reminds her of the moon's gravity

Terrified that she'll never be fully capable of being a mom because of the 10 years she missed

Cringes at any moon or space themed items now - sometimes triggers her on a bad day or if she looks at them for too long

Her hair being too long is a trigger for her, so she always keeps it shoulder length or above

She ALWAYS feels cold even if her body temperature is normal and sometimes it drives her crazy

Lots of nightmares about what-ifs - what if it was my kids instead of me, what if it was my brother instead of me, what if i didnt have oxychew, what if i never met the Moonlanders, etc etc etc

The taste of black licorice will genuinely send her spiraling, and because it lingers - it wrecks her for days (she hates similar flavors such as rootbeer)

Finds a lot of joy in warm places so she now loves to be out in the sun

Had a period of time where she wasn't really talking with Penumbra because of the severity of her triggers/ptsd

Both finds peace in dead silence, but it also brings her back to the moon as well - she has a very complex relationship with isolation

Prefers silver over gold (even though she doesn't wear jewelry, she likes silver on others and silver on things such as zippers and buttons)

Spent quite a few years terrified of flying after the horror of her own trauma set in, but it threw her into a big depression since piloting is her passion

Hates taking care of her stump because she doesn't like taking her prosthetic leg off - she sees it as her own, so she hates taking it off even though she knows she needs to when sleeping or showering

She has a hard time looking at her stump and scars because on one hand; sick as hell battle wounds, but on the other; damn was that the worst time in my entire life

Depression and Anxiety

Even before crashlanding on the moon, she dealt with depression and social anxiety

She has a bit of a hard time keeping her room tidy and taking care of herself, but she's phenomenal at putting other people first

Feels as though she's not attractive enough

Wants to be a ray of sunshine in other peoples' lives

She's very scared that she won't be enough for people and therefore she must put 110% into everything she does for others

ADHD and Autism

Her sensory issues tend to directly conflict with her PTSD issues - like she hates silence because of the moon, but sometimes she gets overstimulated by noise and needs the silence or alone time

She does not sleep until her body physically passes out because the change in activity is hard for her to deal with

Goes insane if she feels understimulated because her brain begins to shut down and she dissociates

Many, many stims (sometimes doubles as grounding with PTSD): bouncing her leg, various hand motions, feeling the fabric of her clothes, physical affection with her loved ones, playing with the tightness of her prosthetic (loosening and then tightening it over and over), shaking her head to feel her hair around her shoulders (and solidifying that what she's feeling is earth gravity)

Really hard time understanding social cues that makes her come across as rather ditzy

Special interest in aircraft technology and was a top student at her flight school

Love/Hate relationship with reading because if she enjoys what she's reading she gets invested, but if she's understimulated, the words jumble together in her mind

Not good at math for a similar reason

Fish are a huge sensory nightmare for her; the scales, the smell, the taste, etc

Is generally pretty sensory-seeking, but has a few Hard Nos on textures (such as slimy scales)

Other:

I headcanon Della having compulsive sexual behavior disorder, and her libido especially spiked after being on the moon for 10 years, and it makes her feel really gross at times

Due to said hypersexuality, she gets intrusive thoughts that piss her off

Because of the moon not really having a clear indicator of night and day, Della lost her circadian rhythm and struggles with a Hell combination of non-24 and ADHD insomnia

The lack of general sleep makes it hard for her to lose weight and so she's insecure about that

Physical Disabilities:

Because she was on the moon for so long, the zero gravity and lack of proper breathable oxygen took a huge toll on her, physically

She developed really bad asthma and will likely be recovering from it for the rest of her life

Her lungs can only intake so much oxygen at a time, so she also struggles with shortness of breath

Upon returning to earth, her body was really broken down from the cold atmosphere - causing her to not be able to regulate her body temperature properly

Her bones were weakened upon arrival, so she has to spend years recovering physically from it

Her stump is irritated a lot because she doesn't like taking care of it properly

She owns crutches for when she needs to take breaks from her prosthetic just because of the discomfort when wearing it

She is not afraid to hit Donald with a crutch BTW

IF THERE ARE ANY OTHER SPECIFIC HEADCANONS THAT YOU ARE CURIOUS ABOUT, SHOOT ME AN ASK! <3

[fortheloveoffanfic]

What if this is the last time I see you?

Hozier x fem!reader

Author's note: I'm sorry that I haven't finished one angsty story before forcing another onto you. But this one is shorter, I promise.

Summary: A chance run-in between exes at the farmers market leaves Andrew wondering if he’ll be okay never seeing Y/n again. Part 1 of 2.

Warnings: ANGST

At first, Andrew thinks his eyes must be playing tricks on him. But the longer he stares, the more it makes sense – and the more it makes sense, the more he is convinced. A pop-up farmers market, a fruit vendor selling an assortment of brightly coloured, sure-to-be sweet, freshly picked fruit. Or so he says.

She’s wearing a jacket that he swears he’s seen before, but it could’ve very well been on a mannequin in a store front and not in her closet – or on her body.

But he’s certain that its her. She’s carrying the basket in a way that’s all too familiar. She’s looking at strawberries and those are her favorite in the summer. It must be her.

So it must be divine intervention that he drove past the farmers market and decided to stop, because Andrew usually gets his produce at the grocery store, on the occasion that he’s home for long enough to do his own shopping.

Setting down the bright, glossy apple he’d been holding onto for a criminally long period, he inches towards her little section of the booth, debating what he should say. ‘Hi’ doesn’t feel like enough, but he fears that if he takes a chance with anything more he might stomp all over their impromptu reunion. He doesn’t want to be too much;

What a funny thought, he thinks. Considering the whole reason for their end was because he wasn’t enough.

Well, that might be a bit of an unfair distribution of blame. He’s pretty good at playing the victim where the demise of their relationship is concerned.

By the time he reaches her, Y/n has already placed a few strawberries into a plastic baggie and is looking for a few more to round off her purchase. And he settles on the very measly and shamefully uneventful; “hey.”

Surprised, Y/n jumps slightly and twists to face him, eyes going wide. “Andy, oh my gosh, hey.” She hesitates for a moment before reaching out for a hug that becomes quite a clumsy endeavor. They don’t seem to know each other as well as they used to; he can’t tell if she’s reaching for his neck or midsection, so their limbs get tangled in a strange manner. “Sorry,” she mumbles bashfully when the whole thing goes on for longer than any ‘I haven’t seen you in five years’ hug should take.

Shrugging off the unwarranted apology, Andrew stuffs his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans in an effort to keep himself from touching her again. “How have you been?” He tries to sound nonchalant, but his gaze drips to her left hand, looking for any sign of a ring. And when there isn’t one, he feels a knot in his chest loosen a little.

“I’ve been….” Y/n trails off, as if the question is the hardest one she’s been asked in a while. In some ways, she supposes it is. Is she supposed to lie to Andrew? Tell him she’s fine and happy and her life is going fantastically well when the truth is she hasn’t been able to scrub the memory of him from her mind and she still buys his favorite brand of tea because when it brews, the smell makes her house feel a little more like home. “I’ve been alright,” its something between the truth and any lie she can tell; she is alright. Alive and healthy, if only a little sad sometimes – but who isn’t, right? “You?”

Andrew fumbles with his words, he’s not sure why but the question feels almost taunting. Why would she throw that back to him? Why wouldn’t she just assume that she’s stowed the best of him into a box and taken it along with her? Everyone else sees it, they tell him he hasn’t looked the same since she left, that he talks differently and he’s truly a little depressing to be around sometimes. “I’m…..okay.” Just okay – not good, not bad, but somewhere in limbo, surviving.

At his response, Y/n nods absently. God, he wishes he knew what that meant. He wishes he still knew her well enough to know what anything she does means. There used to be things that only he understood about Y/n. There’s a version of her in his mind that still whispers in the dark, even if they’re the only people in the room, and ensures all the cutlery in the drawer is packed in the same direction. There’s a version of her that might have tilted her head at his response, and told him that she knows that ‘okay’ is never just ‘okay.’

But this is someone else, someone he doesn’t know. But he loves her anyway.

He’ll love every version of her. But at least he’s only lost one.

“You’re probably the last person I’d expect to run into, here especially,” but maybe she doesn’t really know him that well anymore. Maybe he goes to the farmer’s market every Sunday now and they’ve just been missing each other.

Maybe he goes with his girlfriend - a wife even -and right now she's at another vendor. She's going to be back soon. And she'll be beautiful and Y/n will think; no wonder he let me go so easily, because he knew there was better was out there.

Shaking off the unsettling thought, Y/n adds, “you used to get everything at the grocery store.”

“You used to grow everything yourself,” he notes, not maliciously though. It's really just an innocent observation; he wonders why she stopped.

“I guess…..we’ve changed,” Y/n muses, and a little sliver of her wonders if they’ve changed enough to make it work for a second time around.

“Not too much, I hope,” but what he really means to say is; ‘I hope we’re still the kind of people that can love each other.’ “Ehm,” he clears his throat softly, and finally gathers the courage to ask what he’d been thinking about since he discreetly examined her finger, “seeing anyone?”

What a question! Simultaneously, it makes her want to laugh and cry. “Not right now, no.” Of course, she’s seen other people since their break-up, but nothing ever sticks, and that might be because every man is now measured to Andrew; does it taste the same when they kiss her? Hold her hand the way he used to? Do they tell the same sort of jokes or thread their fingers through her hair before falling asleep? “What about you?”

Andrew waves his hand dismissively, “no one serious,” there isn't really anyone at all, but he doesn’t want to seem like he’s a complete wreck and one more white lie can’t hurt.

“Good,” the word slips out almost without thought, and Y/n quickly shakes her head when Andrew arches a brow. He isn't supposed to know that she's relieved; that he just quashed one of her biggest fears - that there's another woman that knows him as well as she does, but couldn't love him half as much, “well....not good. Just you know….you’re good at being on your own,” he was pretty damn good on his own even when they lived in the same house, “so I’m sure you’re doing good,” god, she wishes she had stopped talking three minutes ago.

Hesitating, he bites his tongue as the urge to tell her that he's not okay and it's all her fault wells up. Didn’t she see the lie in his eyes when he said he was okay? Is he that much of a stranger to her now?

Again, Andrew shrugs halfheartedly, “I’ve been okay,” he repeats before pressing his lips into a thin line. He doesn’t trust himself to add anything more, because then he’ll say he still misses her and its been far too long for him to still be mourning an empty side of the bed and the sound of her laughter in the drawing room.

He shouldn’t still go into his home studio and still expect her to come trailing after him, armed with a book with the intention of curling up on the sofa that gets just the right amount of noon sun. He shouldn't miss the way she looks while humming along softly to what he's working on, blanket draped on her folded legs, hazy light washing her face - he shouldn’t have left her blanket there after all this time.

He shouldn’t even be thinking about it, because the more he does, the more he wants to tell her. Beg Y/n to come back – to take him back because he’s really only half himself without her.

“I should let you –”

“You probably have –”

“Sorry.” Another clumsy, awkward apology, this one in aching unison. There’s silence for a while, and Y/n tugs her lower lip between her teeth. In a way, it feels like they’ve been standing there for too long, at least, like this. Not knowing what to say to each other, with the nails of her free hand digging into her palm so she doesn’t reach out to touch his arm. It shouldn’t be like this, she never wanted them to come to this; reduced to two awfully familiar strangers. “I should um….I have to….go…” She goes to say home, but the word doesn’t come, “I gotta go, Andrew.”

Swallowing the lump that’s been caught in his throat since he first saw fifteen minutes earlier, Andrew nods stiffly. “Of course,” he breathes. The last thing he wants is for her to leave, but he doesn’t really have any right to keep her. “I’ll leave you to it.” They both nod that time, shy and unsure but no one leaves. Not immediately. His eyes stay matching hers, and there’s a hundred things weighing down the tip of his tongue, but clinging to it like molten sugar.

I'm sorry I let you walk out, I'm sorry about everything. I still keep your ring in my nightstand, just in case. My mom still asks about you. I should've been better, let you in and I know that now. I'd do it now. I'm actually horrible on my own now, because you've ruined me in the best way - and the worst. But he doesn't say any of it; the moment is long gone and his pride does a pretty good job at keeping him quiet.

A shuddered breath escapes her lips upon realizing that she actually hasn’t moved an inch; Y/n doesn’t think she can be the one to bring herself to leave this time. She doesn't want to turn her back to him again. So she lingers, and she swears roots are sprouting from the soles of her feet, keeping her in place, staring into his eyes because lost in them is suddenly the only place she wants to be.

“I should go,” he eventually determines, glancing away. Though, the minute he says it, Andrew is lashed with immediate regret; he does not want to go. He doesn’t want to leave, but he suspects that this time its entirely on him to turn around and walk away.

“Right, right,” Y/n blinks quickly, then, just as he’s about to turn, she interjects, if only for the purpose of holding him there a little longer, “it was really nice seeing you.”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything, not right then. Though, when he turns away and starts retreating to the other end of the small tent, squinting his eyes at the midday sun, catching him square in the face, he pauses. Throwing a cautious backwards glance her way, he finds that Y/n has returned to picking out strawberries and on a whim, Andrew finally allows himself a singular moment of weakness – perhaps in a way of giving her what she’s wanted since their very last fight. “I’ve missed you,” he utters.

Y/n’s head snaps up just as she hands the bag over to the vendor for weighting, “what?” Her brows are furrowed and her lips are slightly agape.

Hating the sudden vulnerability that comes with those three little words, he shakes his head, “nothing. I’ll see you around,” he spares her a short wave, and she does the same.

After that, not a single word is traded between them again; Y/n pays, plops the bag into her basket, and walks off, and he watches her go. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest as she weaves her way through the busy market, and there’s a strange sort of finality in the moment where the last inkling of her green jacket disappears.

What if he never sees her again? What if that moment, in that tent, surrounded by fruits honeyed by summer’s warmth and the bitter heartache of something unfinished, constitutes the last fifteen minutes they will ever share?

What if she’s gone from his life forever and he’s damned to an eternity spent looking at her pictures and never hearing her voice again? Wondering what she’s doing and if she’s finally moved on from him?

Can he survive it? Truly? Without feeling like a shell just being shuffled around by the wind?

Returning to the assortment of ruby-toned apples, he struggles to escape the onslaught in his mind and Andrew finds himself unable to choose any, not even one, so he goes with strawberries instead.

To be continued.....

[thelonelyshore-if]

Yasmin nsfw alphabet please?

Okay I have finally finished Yasmin's alphabet I'm so sorry it took so long y'all. It's below the cut <3

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Sex hypes Yasmin up, and she’s not really a cuddler. She usually feels very productive afterwards so she might get right back to her day, but she isn’t opposed to cuddling, if that’s what her partner wants. Especially if it’s later at night and they can fall asleep together.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Yasmin likes her thighs and hips quite a bit. On a partner, she's a sucker for lips.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

She has very little opinion on cum on her own, but if it’s something her partner is into she’s perfectly willing to put on a show. Licking someone/a toy clean, tasting her own cum, or her partner’s–while it isn’t a turn on of hers, it can be plenty fun if the audience is into it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

There are a few people in town she occasionally sleeps with. There aren't any feelings involved–it's just some casual fun–but all parties agree it's best to keep this quiet. Once MC is in the picture, though, she doesn't really have a desire to see any of them anymore. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Very experienced! Yasmin enjoys sex. She's good at it, and definitely knows what she's doing. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

If she's bottoming she enjoys riding her partner or otherwise still physically being on top. When she's topping she prefers either missionary or doggystyle, depending on the day. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

She's very playful and teasing, but typically in a flirty/sexy way. She isn't so much into joking around in bed; but she isn’t deadpan, either. Sex is supposed to be fun!

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Depends on the season–if it’s summer she keeps her bikini line very neat and might even style further, if the mood strikes her; if it’s winter, though, she simply keeps things trimmed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Yasmin, for all of her ‘I only want to be friends with benefits’, is intense in bed. She can be lighthearted and sexy and teasing, yeah, but she gets into it in a major way. She can be very romantic when lost in the moment, but typically brushes it off afterwards. You were just having fun, yeah? Later in the story, though, if MC pursues a romantic relationship with her, she can be veeeerry romantic in bed. Doting and sweet, when she wants to be.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

She enjoys it, but not as much as sex. Touching herself is fun, and she does it well, but give her a partner any day. Still, it’s a good way to relieve some stress or have some fun if she’s stuck at home for whatever reason.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Yas is fairly dominant, and she loves being in charge and taking care of her partner. She’s into leather and some light BDSM and punishment and making her partner beg. She has a strap that she gets as lot of use out of. At the same time, she likes doting on her partner, praising them, etc. She’s flexible <3

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

At home…………in theory. She’s a private person, since her reputation in town is important to her, so if asked she’d claim that she’s only really into private sex. Now, that being said, sometimes the mood strikes you, and if your car is parked somewhere fairly hidden…well. What happens, happens ;)

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Passion and talent both really turn her on. She likes watching someone do something that they’re skilled at, especially if it’s something like a sport or performance. It’s sexy, when somebody cares about things. Also she’s just a flirty person overall, teasing one another also really gets her going.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Roleplay is fun in theory, but she can’t take it seriously in practice. She’s tried it a few times but as soon as either she or her partner started ‘acting’ she would just burst into laughter. It just kills the mood for her.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Big fan lmao. Yasmin’s favorite thing is watching someone suck off her strap, but she enjoys getting eaten out, too. She likes giving, as well, but does prefer to receive, generally speaking.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Whatever you want, babe ;)

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Yas loves quickies. Sneaking away for a quick fuck is exciting and hot, and it can be kind of fun to see what you can get away with. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

She’s down for experimenting and risk-taking! She likes changing things up, and is always interested in trying new things; though she is also comfortable sticking with the usual, for the most part.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

As many as her partner can handle. Yas is a big fan of multiple orgasms–giving, especially, if her partner is someone who can have them. At the same time, she’s a fan of quickies, as mentioned, so she’s perfectly happy with something short and sweet, as well.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Oh yeah she loves toys. She has a few straps she’s a big fan of, and a collection of other gear she gets a lot of use out of. She enjoys her own toys, of course, but also does really like using them on her partner.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Depends on how into it her partner is. Yasmin enjoys teasing, but if the person she’s with isn’t super enthused by the idea, she’d rather just get down to it. And she doesn’t enjoy being teased at all.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Oh Yas is super loud in bed lol. Like, she can be quiet and subtle–especially if she’s being a little irresponsible and isn’t at home–but she likes being able to talk and moan as she pleases.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Yasmin is a huge fan of marking and being marked, but only where nobody can see. It turns her on to know that either she’s been marked, or that she’s marked her partner, and they’re the only people who know. Like a secret little show of ownership. She thinks it’s hot (and also cute, in a way).

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Yasmin loves her body and isn’t shy about showing it off, especially to somebody she’s sleeping with. She’s curvy, with stretch marks on her hips, stomach, and ass. She has a few moles scattered across her body, and shaves off most of her body hair (unless it’s winter).

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Very. She likes sex, it makes her feel good, and she enjoys doing it as frequently as she can.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Yas basically can’t sleep afterwards. Instead she’s often energized. This can cause issues if she’s had sex right before bed, but she’s a big fan of taking a shower with her partner to wind down and then falling asleep together <3

[justaragdollysblog]

If I hadn’t Gone In

A new TADC fic that no one asked for! This actually uses an oc that I came up with a while ago. Her name is Marybelle, and she’s a wind up music box ballerina :))

TW: infidelity, suggestive, heavy angst

When Ragatha goes to collect her bunny for the feast, she notices he’s been acting strange.

———————————————————————-

Ragatha glanced nervously at the empty seat next to her. The feast simulated a warm and inviting scent, calling her to stop worrying and finally eat something.

Her and Jax had been together for about a year now. Ragatha was happy with him, but sometimes she found herself wishing they were closer. Affectionate, in the way she knew she wanted to be. Of course, she’d never ask for it herself.

It didn’t at ALL help that a new arrival had since happened. A porcelain wind up figure, with an ornate ballerina outfit and a golden winding mechanism out of her backside.

Her name was Marybelle, and she took a certain liking to Jax, and a certain disdain to the rag doll. It made her a bit worried and uneasy, to say the least. But she buried those feelings down and tried to offer the benefit of the doubt to the fellow doll. She knew she had to have been reeling when she first arrived.

Ragatha also had noticed that Jax was…acting different. Almost more distant. Ragatha felt the curiosity gnawing at her in the late hours of the night. She made sure to let her bunny know she’d always be there for him.

Ragatha suddenly stood up from the table. “Jax is taking a while, I’m gonna go check on him.” The dolly wrung her hands together. Pomni gave a small smile, looking up at her good friend. “Alright! I can get some food to you later if you need it.” She offered.

Ragatha couldn’t help but smile back. “Thanks, poms! I’ll be back.” She turned to leave, quickly making her way to the hallway that held their rooms. Jax said he needed to get ‘ready’ before the feast. It was strange, but Ragatha acquiesced and left him alone.

Ragatha wrung her hands nervously again. She didn’t know why, but a voice in the back of her mind told her to be on alert. She walked down the hallway and paused when she heard…voices. One of which was her bunny, and the other was another voice. Confident. Female.

She swallowed hard and approached the source of the sound, which happened to be Jax’s room. She softly pushed the door open.

“Bun? I didn’t see you at dinner-”

She stopped dead in her tracks as she took in the sight before her. Jax and the ballerina were both pressed against each other on the wall of his room. His fur was messy, and his hands wrapped around Marybelle’s waist. She did the same.

He quickly stood at attention when he heard Ragatha, looking at her with wide eyes. “Rags- It’s not, this isn’t what you think!”

Ragatha had a look of utter heartbreak and despair on her face. “You…what are you…” She breathed out. The ballerina simply scoffed and walked out of the room, brushing past Ragatha. She barely noticed.

“Ragatha, this didn’t mean anything! Come on, dollface, you know me.” Jax pleaded with her. Ragatha felt herself starting to cry, hot tears running down her plush face.

“I thought I did.” She whimpered, trying to stop her breaths from becoming erratic and frantic. She felt so absolutely heartbroken and cornered. The way his fur stuck out in multiple places from her, the same way his did when Ragatha would pet him.

And suddenly, it all made sense. Horrible, soul crushing, bleak sense. She turned to leave, but Jax grabbed her arm. “Ragatha, please, we can talk about this!”

Ragatha whipped her head at breakneck speed for anyone who wasn’t made of cloth. “You can’t have much to say, with the taste of her in your mouth.” She pulled away from him and ran into her room, locking it. She held herself so tight she was sure she’d rip her dress. She sunk down to the floor, sobbing hard. The last time she felt this overwhelmed with sorrow was when she first arrived.

By now, the feast was over. Everyone was on their way to their respective rooms. Jax was outside his room, pacing nervously and swearing to himself. Pomni glanced nervously at Zooble and Gangle next to her. Kinger had absolutely no interest in the situation.

“Where’s Ragatha? I thought she went to go find you…” Gangle asked meekly. Jax met her eyes with his, and ran a hand down his furry face.

“She’s in her room. I messed up.” He groaned out, sounding more annoyed than anything. Pomni sighed heavily. “What did you mess up this time?”

Jax looked at the ground with no intention of meeting their eyes. “She caught me with the new girl.”

Pomni heard him, but soon after, her teeth sharpened into points. “You WHAT?!” Gangle made a soft sympathetic noise. Zooble looked furious. “Why would you do that?!” They shouted.

“Look, I know I messed up! She- I didn’t think dollface was gonna find us!” He shouted back, somehow defensive, even after all this. Jax sighed. “I’ll go talk to her.” He said, sounding reluctant to even approach her door.

Zooble grabbed him roughly by his ear with their clawed hand. “OW!” He yelped, stumbling a bit. “You aren’t getting near her. We’re gonna talk to her, and you’re gonna stay the F$&@K out of the way. You’ve done enough.”

They finally let him go, and he held his ear tenderly. The two girls and Zooble looked at him with such contempt. And, he knew deep down he deserved it.

He walked slowly to his room and flopped down on the bed. It kinda smelled like her. Vanilla and a hint of linen.

The sheets had never felt so cold without her.

———————————————————————

WOSOWOWO I’ll probably write more of this if you guys want!

i hope you liked ittttt

[crybaby-bkg]

a slight continuation of this

no caller ID pops on your screen, pulling your attention away from your previous task at hand: not fucking up your eyeliner. you typically wouldn’t care if it was a little uneven, but you’re going on a date tonight, for the first time in so long, and you want everything to go as smoothly as possible.

which is why you groan when you end the call, and that same no caller ID pops right back up seconds later. you know who it is—who else would it be? you figured he’s already seen your story of being excited for going on your first date in a while, on the only app you hadn’t blocked him on. petty? perhaps, but it’s on him to be keeping up with you despite you cursing him out for wasting your time and then blocking him right after.

you watch it ring though, contemplating for a while longer than you should. you blocked him for a reason. no need to entertain his same shit that he always spews to you when he realizes that he might be losing you once more?

….but it doesn’t hurt to hear the hero beg for you.

“What do you want, Bakugou?” You sigh irritably as you finally answer his call, putting him on speaker as you go back to even out your eyeliner. You hear him huff on the other side of the phone at the use of his surname, but he doesn’t say anything about it, instead, quickly telling you what he’s been bothering you for.

“Who’s the fuckin’ loser that’s gonna drool over how good your tits look in that stupid green dress you love so much?” Bakugou grunts, and you instantly feel your face heating at his crude words. You glance over with a frown at that same green dress that makes your tits look good, where it hangs on your closet.

“None of your damn business, Bakugou.” You snap at him, wondering if it’s too late to find something else to wear. “Not like you ever took me out in my stupid green dress.” Your voice holds a level of bitterness that only he can bring out of you, and you hear his sigh through the speakers.

“I told you this before, I’m always—”

“Busy.” You cut him off, voice suddenly thick as you think back on the countless rejections he’s splattered at your feet every time you tried to further your relationship with him. “You reminded me of how busy you’ve been since you first started this whole situationship.”

“Situation—? Huh? We were dating!” Bakugou protests with a huff, and you can hear how he paces the floor quickly. You glare at your phone, setting down your liner to instead pick of your (his) favorite lipgloss.

“You’d have to ask me out to be dating, Bakugou. You’d have to court me to be dating, Bakugou. You’d have to make time for me and take me out on dates and not hide me to fucking date me, Bakugou.” You spit at him, venom dripping off of your lips in waves. You don’t know why you answered, why you even entertained him. You shake your head with a huff when the line goes quiet, eyebrows quirking up when your date sends you a text to make sure you’re still on for tonight.

“I’m sorry.” Bakugou mutters pathetically, his voice suddenly soft. You hesitate, for some reason, when it comes to texting your date back. Why do you always hesitate when Bakugou is around?

“Let me make it up to you, court you, and shit. I can take you to one of my favorite places, you can wear that pretty green dress and that gloss you know I love.” His voice is pleading, thickening and sweet and suffocating. You shouldn’t respond, should reply back a yes to your date.

“Please? You know how much you mean to me.” Bakugou mumbles, and you can hear the earnestness in his voice. Why haven’t you said yes to your date yet?

“I’ll do better this time. Just one more chance, sweetheart.” Bakugou’s voice is so soft, you’ve never heard him this vulnerable before. You sigh with a shake of your head, slumping back into your seat in defeat.

…

Sorry, I can’t make it tonight. Something came up. Maybe we can reschedule for another time?

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

job applications: this is entry level! anyone can apply!

job applications: ...as long as you've done at least six months of highly specific work, or have this exact degree, or if you kissed a chicken during the last moon of 2012-

[cedarw00div]

redeemed Gort au....He gets tadpoled instead of durge....hregrgrggrr...

[softquietsteadylove]

Hey. Had this idea of Thena being a billionaire and Gil being her private chef on her private little beach house in the Hamptons!

Maybe you can do something with that? 😊

Gil smiled as he plated the perfect omelette, gleaming yellow, nice loose scramble in the middle with a pristine outside. He sprinkled on some green onion for garnish; Thena acted like she didn't care about presentation but he knew she liked it when her food looked nice.

Thena was...interesting. She could be hard to read, maybe. He had been in the private cooking business for a while, and he'd had a variety of clients. But no one like Thena.

Thena had this old family house, basically a castle, way out here in the Hamptons--as antisocial as possible. She was in charge of her family's generational wealth, he was pretty sure they did business with historical...stuff. Or something.

Thena didn't talk much. The first time he interviewed for the position with her in the room he wasn't even sure if she spoke English. But her assistant - a very sweet man named Karun - assured him that 'the Madame' was perfectly nice. Just not to bother her.

But Karun was right: Thena was nice. Sure, she didn't exactly make small talk with him while she was eating or anything. But she had a nice smile, she was prompt with money, both for his pay and for any of the ingredients he needed. He always had transportation home, or he had a room ready for him if he was staying for a whole weekend.

Gil put the plate on a place mat at the opposite counter top. Thena liked eating in the kitchen instead of the cavernous dining room. She ate a a French style omelette, or if she was feeling adventurous, maybe a frittata, or he had even prepared omurice for her once. She liked fresh pressed grapefruit juice with a little natural sweetener in it. And berries picked from the gardens.

And he liked to add a little flower if there were any blooming on the strawberry plants while he was out picking.

Thena came in through the patio. She had already done her morning routine, then. A light workout, a shower, maybe a sauna. Her phone was in her hand but she famously didn't accept anyone speaking to her before 9 in the morning. She smiled and nodded to him as she took her seat.

She was in a good mood.

Gil turned around, carefully transporting the gold rimmed cup with his best cappuccino yet. He had even looked up how to make latte art to make a heart design in it.

Thena blinked, surprised as it slid into her view. She looked up at him.

He just nodded, encouraging her to take a sip.

She raised an eyebrow but did so. Usually he waited for her to ask for a specific coffee, since it could vary largely depending on the morning.

He shrugged; something about how beautiful the sunrise was had told him she would want something fun. It wasn't sunday, so she wouldn't want something as filling as a latte. But she only drank black coffee when she was already in a bad mood. Actually, now that he thought about it he ought to get more vanilla soy milk.

Thena sighed at her first sip, her shoulders lowering as she let the hot beverage soak into her. She really was in a good mood.

Gil just chuckled, keeping his comments to himself. He had come to respect the serenity Thena created for herself in the early mornings. He turned again to clear his dishes and fill the dishwasher.

He had to get soy milk, and a few other general weekend groceries. And he needed to get ingredients for a recipe he saw online, essentially a lemon cake tiramisu. Thena liked zingy, fresh flavours, and she enjoyed having something sweet on hand for if a craving hit her out of nowhere or after a hard day.

"It's perfect."

He tried to conceal the surprise he was feeling. But he couldn't help it; Thena had almost never commented on anything he made her, unless it was a brief line attached in an email. He turned, "y-yeah?"

She nodded.

He pursed his lips faintly. Back to silence--okay, sure. He peeked in the fridge to examine what else they had and what he needed. When he had asked Karun what Thena liked to keep on hand, he had merely stated that Thena was so bad at cooking, and so selective about food, that if left to her own devices she would probably just eat raw fruit forever.

"How did you know?"

He grinned. So, he was making progress! He had tried more actively in the beginning to get her to warm up to him. But he had come to accept that Thena didn't withhold her words deliberately. Still, he liked it when she did talk. "Just thought you'd be in the mood for it."

She raised her eyebrows at him from behind the cup being tipped up to her lips again.

He closed the fridge and moved back to the counter. "It's nice and mild out this morning, so I think you should have slept well. Stocks are looking good and you don't have to travel this weekend, right? I figured you would want something a little fun."

Thena smiled through his explanation. Maybe some of his observations of her would be a little much to some. But she nodded, looking down into her cappuccino, one leg bent and resting on her cushioned stool. "I assumed you would prefer when I travel?"

Gil blinked.

She set the mug down, as if this were a very important business meeting. "If I'm here, you don't get the weekend off. Or at the very least, you have plenty of work to do before hand."

"I don't mind," he shrugged easily. It was part of the job, and as far as clients went, Thena really wasn't all that demanding. She wasn't even that high maintenance, all things considered.

Food was easy to procure, either grown here or paid for out of her pocket. The only real stipulations of what he made was that she had to eat it. Karun was kind of like a worrisome father in that way. He had added specifically that she needed more vegetables, and that meant it was up to Gil to make them in such a way that Thena would actually like them.

"Do you ever think you may be too agreeable?"

"Hm," Gil ran his hand over his chin (he needed to shave). "I think it's more like...part of the job, y'know?"

"Hm."

Gil blinked at the new tone of the sound. She looked back at her breakfast. She sounded almost...disappointed. Disheartened, and now poking at her omelette like a dejected little kid. Gil leaned off the further counter and moved closer to her. "I just...wanted to do something kind of special for you."

She peeked up at him. She was awfully cute for some zillionaire old money type. Her hair was nice and soft from being gently blow dried, she didn't have any makeup on, fresh from the shower. Maybe all rich people were really, really pretty.

"You're not contractually obligated to be thoughtful," she smiled as she said it, but he got the impression that she didn't fully believe in her own joke.

He shrugged again, pushing the little flower closer to her, "call it my signature, then. Every chef has their own style--I like being a little sweet."

Thena smiled at the little white strawberry flower. She even reached out to it, but just barely let her fingers brush its soft petals, as if she would make it burst into flame. "Quite."

Gil inhaled, feeling better now that she was smiling again. She looked up at him, the sun behind her, making her hair glow. He blushed.

"Thank you, Gilgamesh."

He laughed faintly, feeling shy as she turned those siren eyes on him. He leaned back from the counter, sticking his hands in his apron pockets. "Hey, it's my pleasure, really."

"If you have shopping to do, Karun will call for a car for you," she added as he started slowly slipping - stumbling - out of the kitchen.

"Th-Thanks!" Gil squeaked out before reaching the hallway. He pulled his apron off and gripped it on his way to take it to the laundry room.

"You require transport, sir!"

Gil jumped at the sudden appearance of the man in question. "God, man, can't you walk a little louder!"

"My apologies, sir," Karun just chuckled. "The Madame walks lightly--as do I."

Thena walked around like a cat. She was silent, graceful, long legs...

"Sir?"

Fuck. Gil nodded, twisting his apron in his hands. He tilted his head as Karun shuffled closer, even waving him down so he could share something secretive.

"Excellent choice with the cappuccino, sir," he disclosed with glee. "The Madame has been trying to strike up a conversation with you for some time. I believe this was the perfect-"

"Karun!"

"I must go," he waved to Gilgamesh before dashing off to see to Thena's needs.

Gil felt a little stunned. It sounded like Karun was telling him that Thena had been wanting to talk with him. But that didn't seem right. Of all the times he had tried to chat with her, she had never bit, even once. And he didn't really think of her as the shy type.

He sighed, shrugging it off. He had groceries to get, anyway. Maybe he would try talking with her again, later.

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

i think one of the things that upsets me the most about velma and shaggy's relationship in sdmi--and boy there is a lot--is that not only is her constantly ''correcting'' him for minor, harmless, and usually completely reasonable things with physical and emotional abuse, well. abusive by itself. but so many of the things he does that she treats him that way over are very autistic things, and what she subjects him to is textbook abuse aimed at autistics in particular. (including the part where she gets more and more pissed whenever attempts at said emotional abuse fly over his head, because he's too bad at picking up cues for them to land fully.)

[cws: anti-autistic ableism, ABA, self-harm, physical and emotional IPV, victim-blaming, and abuse apologism. it's a lot and it's really fucking bad lmao]

-

like. there's a lot of examples there; shaggy's behavior coming across as autistic is worth a whole post of its own, and a lot of media depicts abuse targeted at autistic traits because ✨️hooray ableism.✨️but she straight up tries to Fix Him (read: force him to perform a Presentable Personality) by forcing him to wear clothes that are sensory hell, and trying to condition him to self-harm every time he does some small harmless, reflexive thing she thinks is Poor Socialization until he stops. and to catch himself doing it, and punish himself, without being prompted. i cannot fucking overstate how fucked up that is.

they even got down the fun little aspect of ABA where the methods of conditioning-through-pain are presented as toys and kiddish things: she gives him a rubber band to wear on his wrist, and tells him to snap it as hard as he can every time he says 'like.' 🙃🙃🙃🙃

like. this does not begin to scratch the surface of the abuse she puts him through in general. and again, characters being abused for autistic traits with the approval of the narrative is a common thing in media, which sucks. but holy fucking shit! they really took the 'violent ableism that is done to autistics irl' to the next fucking level here!

.......and it's portrayed as kind of cringey, immature teen drama on both sides. the self-harm, his dread over how much he knows it'll hurt, and the extreme pain it causes him to the point of screaming are all supposed to be funny. and her arc is all about learning to accept that she deserves better, because she was repressed and had low self-esteem and therefore putting him through fucking DIY ABA didn't make her happy.

🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃

anyway if you couldn't tell i can't fucking stand sdmi velma and i have a lot of words in me about it. when one of your main heroes would have made a way more compelling villain as they are, on a more mundane level compared to all the wild fantastical shit they go up against, holy shit go back to the drawing board you have fucked up. she could have been genuinely good representation of a marginalized person dealing with the trauma of her experiences in some shitty ways she has to grow past, and an interesting flawed character, without being absolutely despicable--hell, she'd have made a great foil to pericles if they'd handled him decently too. they have a lot of parallels, which only gain more depth when you add their respective parallels with cassidy into the mix. and it really fucking sucks that we got this instead.

[strangerwheelerthings]

I just read youe post about the way Robin and Nancy look at each other in s4 and come to lean on each other. You ever think about how as they start finding strength in each other's company that that they might feel trepidation about their own feelings? Robin bc obv she doesn't want a repeat of the Tammy->Steve situation (when from her pov that's probably what's happening) and for Nancy because she's still carrying around guilt for Barb (which is so recently refreshed when she presumably also thinks she got Fred killed) and I think you can see incredible concern in her eyes when she looks at Robin in Henry's lair in ep9.

Trepidation is an early ronance’s middle name. It’s actually one of the aspects I love to have explored in fics (because I’m a sucker for angst). Robin has plenty of reasons to be hesitant and worried about a crush on Nancy. They are living in a small town in the 80’s being the first and foremost. However, your point about the Tammy and Nancy parallels is completely accurate and valid. Nancy is literally well known around Hawkins High for her romance drama with two boys; not really a lot of reason for Robin to hope that she’s queer in the first place. My ronance!headcanon is that this is the reason Robin continues to keep all her hopes on Vickie in the end, because there appears (at first glance) to be more hope for reciprocation and she’s already a little less invested in Vickie and therefore there’s less risk. 

Nancy (whether bi or lesbian) is the epitome of compulsory heterosexuality. This girl could have the biggest crush in the world (she does), but it would take her a while to admit it to herself fully. You’re right, Nancy’s trepidation would be entirely focused on her trauma surrounding friendship and death, during the season. Nancy hasn’t really had an actual friend outside of Jonathan since Barb. Even before Barb, Nancy wasn’t the kind of person who is good at making friends, then you add a ton of trauma on top of that? Yeah, it would be a swirling pit of anxiety within her. Vecna activated every trigger in season four through murdering Fred while Nancy had brought him out somewhere, showing her Barb’s body and guilt tripping her, and then actively threatening all her living loved ones with gruesome deaths. All this is happening right at the same time as her developing friendship with Robin. 

The thing about both Robin and Nancy is that they don’t have a lot of secure relationships. Neither of them have great family lives, and their histories with friendships are not amazing. Both of them are literally making their second real friend in years (if you include Jonathan) in season four. As they grow to like and rely on each other, so too does their anxiety surrounding the relationship. They are starting to put trust in the other, but that gets so much harder once you’ve established an actual friendship with someone, that’s when you have to fight not to withdraw to protect yourself. 

Both of them have their own self-protective coping mechanisms. Robin’s is more barbed wire while Nancy’s is closer to a thick brick wall, but what’s interesting is that I think they’d both be especially good at overcoming the other’s barrier. In just the first couple days of knowing each other, Robin has already proven herself to be a safer person to give her thoughts and ideas to than anyone Nancy’s ever encountered before. Meanwhile Nancy keeps choosing Robin even though she’s already seen Robin at her most anxious and clumsy, and she seems to be so calm in the face of the strange and weird.

[zayadriancas]

[fromtheseventhhell]

since you finished asos, did you noticed a difference on Arya’s character? as in how george wrote her in this book. I feel like after rereading these books i noticed more and more and to me arya just was such a cliche-tomboy girl in this one,you know that type that antis love to say about arya? I felt that in this book which I didn’t in the previous ones. I don’t know but especially in the second book arya was so much more complex and deep and went through so much, and in asos for me it seemed like that went out of the window in a way, and just was portrayed in such a cliche way, without that emotional side and maturity that she achieved in acok. she is so young obviously but the internal thoughts and how she carried herself was a little more complex then in asos. don’t know if it makes sense.

So, I have to say I really disagree with this. Arya has never been written as a stereotypical tomboy and I think it really simplifies/reduces her character to say that she is. She certainly hasn't ever been written in the way antis, or the majority of fandom, claim she has. I'm not sure what measure you're using to judge but let's assume that it's the opposite of her being traditionally feminine. The real question is, where exactly does Arya have room to be more feminine? Her story in ASOS starts with her on the run and escaping Harrenhal, she subsequently gets captured by the BWB, and then by Sandor. The entire time she is traveling through war-torn land and in constant danger. Her behavior isn't her consciously deciding not to be "feminine" it's her adapting to her surroundings. TBH she has a lot more "feminine" moments than seems logical considering. She wears multiple dresses, bonds with Lady Smallwood and thinks about her throughout the book, she has romantic coded moments with Gendry, there's a romance song specifically related to her, and she even thinks of running away with Gendry like in the songs. This isn't specifically towards you but I would love it if people would stop labeling this little 9-11-year-old girl masculine. It's weird to try and judge her by such restrictive measures.

I also don't think she's any less complex, it's actually the opposite. I think this book does a lot more to show her state of mind and how things are affecting her. Arya is a character that George has always written beyond her years so I can see why some of her thoughts could be viewed as "childish" in comparison. Like you said though, she is very young. We really feel the weight of what she's been through and her desperation to simply make it back to her family. She is a very traumatized young girl and she's written as such. We still get to see her intelligence, her maturity, AND her emotional side. All of these things exist as part of her character but it doesn't make her any less complex. And how exactly does she go through less in ASOS? Was running for her life, being kidnapped, and witnessing the red wedding not enough trauma for her?

Hoping none of this came off as rude but because you didn't supply anything specific as to why you felt that way, I had to answer kind've generically. It just feels like Arya is held to a higher standard than other characters and criticized more harshly. Aside from Dany, I really never see characters being reduced and fit into restrictive boxes like she is. It's like people judge her based only on specific moments and don't look at the entirety of her character and development.

[dutybcrne]

Kaeya is rather touch averse, cringing away from casual contact people give him under the guise of being distracted or idle movement. He's used to it, the Ragnvindrs and Adenlinde got him used to frequent affectionate physical contact, but it can still be entirely Uncomfortable if he's touched by someone outside those he is close to or someone he's otherwise Allowed to touch him.

[designernishiki]

feeling things over the fact that haruka in y5 is in so many situations where people are mean and vindictive towards her and her whole life has been tragedy and people wronging her and etc and yet she still chooses to be kind and even when someone is spewing hatred at her she still sees them as a person; a person who’s hurting for one reason or another, but always a person nonetheless, and thus someone needing compassion and love and support and shbcbddhsjdnnfnn she’s really honestly too good for this world i want to buy her a starbucks cake pop

[sttoru]

sukunas fav concubine being bullied by the other concubines?? maybe they push her into the fountain 👀👀👀

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. being bullied because you’re sukuna’s favorite concubine is nothing out of the ordinary. when sukuna finally notices the harassment you’re going through, he doesn’t hold back.

wc. 2.2k-ish

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine! female reader. fluff, angst (hurt to comfort). heian era. bullying. one mention of d.ecapitation. vile language. reader gets called ‘brat’. beta reading? what’s that

“she’s got nothing going on for her,” “right? i don’t get what he sees in her,” “tch—he’s only using her for her body anyway,” “duhh. he can’t be pleased by her looks. i mean, she’s really ugly. i bet he thinks of her as just ‘nother hole to use. . .”

and the shushed gossips continue. the concubines hanging around the garden have noticed your arrival, though do nothing to stop badmouthing you. they couldn’t care less if you hear what they say.

you’re used to it by now. you’ve adjusted to this life of yours as one of sukuna’s concubines. his favourite at that—which automatically makes you a victim of verbal (and sometimes physical) harassment. the other women in the ruthless sorcerer’s harem can’t stand you.

your eyes are glued to the path you’re walking on. your lady-in-waiting doesn’t utter a single word as well, holding her head low as she follows behind you. you know that the concubines will immediately pick on you if you make eye contact with one of them.

it’s moments like these where you actually miss sukuna. his intimidating presence and (in)direct threats would immediately make the others fall silent. you wouldn’t have to hear them call you nasty names.

though, unlucky you, sukuna’s out on business. uraume is left as a temporary supervisor of the entire estate. to make sure nothing goes wrong. despite all of that, you still find yourself in an unfortunate predicament.

“hey. we��re talking to you,” a female voice rings from behind you. it isn’t your lady-in-waiting, but the brown-haired woman whom you recognise as one of sukuna’s concubines. her name. . . you can’t recall.

she forcefully pushes your shoulder with two fingers. you stumble backwards, nearly tripping over the material of your kimono. you look down at the hem and notice a subtle muddy stain on the cloth now that you’ve accidentally stepped on it.

you curse the woman out under your breath. the kimono is one of your favorites since sukuna had it made and tailored to suit your taste.

“my apologies,” you mumble politely. you do not wish to make a scene as much as you want to defend yourself. not in front of those poor servants who are simply minding their business and tending to the garden.

the lady scoffs. another one joins. soon, four of them surround you, leaving you no place to escape the situation. with every step you take back, they take one forward. it’s intimidating, though you try to make it seem like you’re not afraid of their words.

“tell me,” the blonde one speaks up and her hand trails up your arm. she twirls a strand of your hair around her index finger before harshly tugging at it. you wince, but she doesn’t budge, “tell me what sukuna sees in a worthless slut like you.”

it’s about sukuna every time. you’re getting sick of the way they treat you because of something you can’t control. you don’t know why he favors you out of all the other women at his service. the way you’re treated because of something that you cannot change is getting frustrating.

the brown-haired woman follows the other lady. she pushes you until the back of your shoe bumps against the edge of a fountain. the grande fountain in the yard that you always love to admire.

the tugs at your hair get stronger. your patience is wearing thin. you take some time to reply to the other concubines, hoping to silence them for now.

you look up at the group surrounding you—a grin tugging at your lips as you decide to taunt them. you scoff, “hah. you cannot blame me for satisfying my lord better than all of you could do together.”

audible gasps sound from the group of concubines. they can’t believe you had the audacity to talk back and be disrespectful about it. the comment you made clearly struck a nerve. or in this case multiple.

“oh, you slut!” the blonde one shrieks, clearly more than upset by your doubts about her services as a concubine. in a flash of rage, she gives you a firm push, sending you backwards until you fall into the fountain with a loud splash.

your lady-in-waiting is the one gasping this time. she looks at you with great worry in her eyes, not knowing if she needs to go fetch uraume or not. she doesn’t have much say in the matter either way.

you’re humiliated by this. you can feel the water seep into the robes of your kimono, staining the beloved material. your hair is wet as well, the water droplets falling off the ends of your locks.

“pah, you look pathetic,” one of the lower ranking concubines chimes in—giggling at the unfortunate situation you got yourself in. the others follow with their own high pitched laughs, “serves you right.”

you don’t even know what you should do. your body feels heavy because of the water wetting your clothes. your nails drag along the fountain’s surface, trying to compose yourself before you do anything irrational.

you grit your teeth and take a deep breath. you’re shaking, both because of the cold settling over your body as well as the anger simmering inside of you. you open your mouth to say something, only to be interrupted.

by someone you didn’t expect to see any time soon.

“enough.”

the deep tone sends chills down your spine. the volume of the male voice nearly shakes the ground. it’s powerful, dominant and quite aggressive. as if the owner of the voice is pissed. no, more than that.

the group of concubines freeze, not even daring to turn around and face the unexpected visitor. you notice your lady-in-waiting immediately falling to her knees, bowing at the man whom you know very well.

“my lord,” you stammer out, being the first to speak up and address him. you’re surprised to see sukuna back this early from his business trip. he normally stays away from the estate for days on end.

sukuna’s footsteps are heavy. his strides are menacingly slow. the aura surrounding him makes the others shake—one concubine being smart enough to bow to him. the king of curses is not one to be messed with, especially when he’s angry.

“tsk. have you lost all your respect while i was gone?” sukuna growls, seeing how the group of concubines are frozen in place with fearful expressions on their faces. the fact that they’re not bowing before him worsens his temper, “kneel.”

he raises one hand and they all knew what was going to happen. you squeal and shut your eyes, hearing that familiar and dooming sound of slashes around you. it doesn’t sound like they’ve hit anything, so you peek through your eyelashes.

you see how the group of women have dropped to their knees the instant sukuna raised his hand in that specific manner. everyone knew just what that meant; death to anyone who’s got their head held high in his presence.

you’ve all seen enough people get decapitated by that same action to know that the sorcerer was not playing around.

sukuna scoffs. he walks up towards you, ignoring the pleas of the other concubines that are begging for his forgiveness. his bottom set of eyes look down at them with disdain before focusing on your figure again.

he silently stands still at the edge of the fountain. his large frame looms over you and you find yourself struggling to get up from the water to bow at him as well. you keep your eyes on your lap, “i’m sorry, my lord.”

sukuna hisses at your apology. a warning for you to shut your mouth. you’re apologising when it’s not your fault and that irritates him more than anything. two of his strong arms reach down to pick you up from your vulnerable position.

the king of curses hoists you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. he’s not bothered by the fact that you’re dripping wet. in fact, both of his left arms wrap around your torso in attempt to warm you up.

“stay. you’ll all be dealt with accordingly when i return,” sukuna harshly orders your aggressors as he turns around and walks away from the group. he carries you in his arms, not sparing a single glance at his concubines.

he doesn’t even care that he stepped on one of the women’s hands as he passed by. the high pitched shriek only serves to annoy him, which you notice by the way he squeezes your waist in response.

it’s silent between you two for a bit. sukuna steps inside of the estate, his ominous aura making you hesistant to speak. you decide to stay quiet for the sake of keeping the peace. for now.

sukuna’s breathing is a little heavy. he’s trying not to lash out or say anything hurtful. he doesn’t like raising his voice at you—but sometimes he feels like he needs to. especially when you land in situations like those.

“how long has this been going on?” sukuna asks through a heavy sigh. his red eyes are focused on the end of the hallway, where his chambers lay. the veins in his neck look like they could pop out any second now, “and don’t you dare fuckin’ lie to me, y’hear?”

you gulp. you’ve never been so nervous to answer him, ever. you attempt to respond, “uhm, for quite a while, my lord.”

sukuna breathes in sharply at the revelation. the fact that you did not specify your answer only made him think that it’s worse than you’re making it out to be. he stops in his tracks, two hands on your waist as he forces you to face him.

your body dangles in the air as sukuna makes you look at him from up close, showing you that dangerous look in his eyes. you do not dare to avert your gaze from his as he speaks.

“you should’ve told me the moment they started disrespecting you like that,” sukuna grunts. another big hand grabs your jaw firmly, squeezing your cheeks together. you whine as it hurt a little. he scoffs and releases your jaw with a light push, “pathetic.”

you feel your body get thrown into your original position once more. your head is upside down and your legs hang limply over his shoulder. you try to defend yourself in a quiet tone, “i thought you were too busy. i didn’t want to bother you with such unimportant matters.”

it’s true. as much as you wanted to tell sukuna about the mistreatment you were receiving, you knew how busy he was attending to more urgent business. you didn’t want to annoy him with your own problems that you could easily solve.

if only you could stand up for yourself.

“nonsense,” sukuna raises his voice in a moment of weakness, though remembers that you’ve probably been through enough for the day. he doesn’t need to add to that by treating you like shit as well.

he simply sighs it off, “unimportant, huh? ‘s that how you think i view you?”

you raise an eyebrow at sukuna’s last sentence. you’re at a loss for words. you know sukuna values you more than any of his other concubines—it’s the main reason you’re getting bullied for—yet you never heard him speak to you in such a surprisingly soft way.

almost like he’s disappointed that you don’t realise the extent of his favoritsm. he cares about you more than you actually think he does.

“i-i’m sorry, my lord,” you stutter. you really do not have a clue about what to say. all you can do is apologise as you’re left overthinking that one little sentence he said.

“what a brat,” sukuna quickly regains his usual stoic and stern composure. he reaches his chambers and enters his personal bathroom before putting you down on your feet. he looks down at your short stature, feeling the warmth of your body leave his skin once you’re separated.

sukuna watches you shiver. he wants to get angry at you for not telling him about anything that’s been going on while he’s not present, though he simply cannot at the moment.

he’ll let you off the hook for now. but, he’s surely going to give you your own special scolding after he’s taken care of the other concubines. the man grabs a large towel from nearby and messily wraps it around your upper body.

sukuna turns around to walk out of his bathroom, looking over his shoulder once more, “get dressed into something else before you catch a cold.”

he calls for a couple servants to tend to you while he’s away to take care of those deviant concubines. sukuna watches the three maids rush to your service, preparing you a new set of clothes as well as trying to dry you off.

his gaze lingers on you for more than is necessary, his jaw clenching at the sight of you trembling from the low temperatures you’re experiencing. sukuna’s going to make sure those other women pay for what they’ve done to you.

he leaves the bathroom after that, though not without leaving you an order to follow;

“you’re staying in my chambers tonight.”