#sometimes i sit down and feel like saying things for some reason

[helioswritings]

“Hey,” Hinata asks you one day, as you both sit on the bed in your dorm, “have you ever been kissed?”

The sudden question startles you, causing you to raise your eyebrows at him. “Huh? What brought this on?”

He shrugs. “Eh, Atsumu talks about kissing sometimes. I’ve never done it.”

“I haven’t either.” You tell him a little quietly. It’s always been a spot of insecurity with you, your lack of experience, especially since people say college is supposed to be the perfect place to experiment and have fun.

You haven’t done any of that, and the only person you hang out with regularly is Hinata, and he’s not too keen on partying either.

“Maybe we should.” Hinata says, a bit obviously.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, okay Hinata. Let me know when you find someone, and then come back and set me up too.”

He nudges you playfully. “No, I mean maybe we should. You and I. Kiss.”

Feeling like you’re dreaming, you pinch yourself a bit, then turn to him with wide eyes when you don’t wake up. “You want to…kiss each other? Why?”

“Practice.” The tone in his voice indicates that it should’ve been obvious to you, but you’re still not convinced you haven’t been asleep or in a coma.

But on the other hand, he’s right. And practice is good, because it’s be embarrassing if you didn’t know how to kiss. No other reason.

You set your textbook down and turn your body towards Hinata. “Okay. You’re right. Lay one on me.”

“Me? Why don’t you do it?”

“It was your idea.”

“But I don’t know how!”

“Neither do I!”

It takes about ten minutes of bickering and researching on the internet for the two of you to figure out what to do. It makes you feel a little silly, looking up how to kiss, but Hinata is looking at you with a fierce determination in his eyes that only rivals the look he puts on when he’s playing volleyball.

“Okay, are you ready?”

He doesn’t really give a response, as it were, he just…kisses you. He’s not bad, if you were being honest, not that you have anything to compare it to.

The two of you kiss for what feels like ages and when you pull away, Hinata’s face is flushed.

“I think we need to do it again.” He tells you. And you agree.

***

It becomes a thing. The kissing. Every time Hinata is over, he always wants to kiss. And you don’t argue! You like it, you do. But it’s also been stirring up feelings in your chest.

You know you like Hinata, you’ve always liked Hinata. You’re of the opinion that someone would have to be an idiot to not like him. But the fact remains that you don’t know how much longer you can take all of the kissing without shaking him so hard his brain falls out of his ears.

Like now. You’re kissing and his hands are sitting very politely on your waist, occasionally twitching and causing you to laugh because it tickles. Your hands are on his cheeks. The swelling in your chest is almost painful.

You pull away from the kiss abruptly and Hinata frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I understand for the first time. Maybe the second and third, too. But it’s been weeks since then, and we kiss almost every day.”

“I thought that’s what people who date do.” He tells you, a bit confused.

“What do you mean by that, Hinata?” You feel a bit dizzy.

“Aren’t we?”

“No! I don’t think so?”

You think back to every interaction you’ve had over the past few weeks, and more and more the pieces start clicking.

“Oh my god.”

Hinata hands you some water.

You take it, still a bit thrown. You’ve been dating him for ages.

“Can we kiss now?”

He’s lucky you don’t throw him out the window.

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐀𝐈𝐑, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 [𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍]

PAIRINGS – Violet Bridgerton x fem!Gardener!Reader

SUMMARY — Violet gets her garden tended to, both literally and figuratively.

WORD COUNT — 7.1K

WARNINGS — 18+ NSFW MDNI, just lots of longing and touch straved themes

NOTE — This fic I think may be one of my favourite things I've ever written. I don't want to say too much about it, but I hope it makes all you feel the same things it made me feel as I was writing it. A special thank you to @mystic-writings for beta'ing and cheering me on and @loveindiravarma for providing the video for the middle GIF

Violet never liked when she had to let go of staff, but sometimes it just had to be done. Anthony was tremendously busy (with his impending wedding to the elder Miss Sharma) and so in the end, the responsibility fell on Violet.

She had to say although the whole ordeal was rather unpleasant, she somehow seemed to be graced with an easy decision when it came to filling the position of gardener. 

Violet would admit she was a little surprised by how it all played out. First, she wasn’t expecting a woman to come and speak with her about the job, but every single quality she was looking for in an applicant was met. She didn’t waste her time in making a decision and decided to hire on the spot.

She found herself more willing to go out into the garden, to explore while work was being done, unafraid to get in the way or be curious because she never felt like she was imposing. She did know it was technically her family’s home, but there was something about watching someone while they worked that just seemed rather intrusive and she usually avoided it. 

“Lady Bridgerton,” your voice pulled her out of her thoughts and she looked up at you with a smile. “I just started pruning and was going to come and ask you a question about how you wanted the bushes. You seem to have saved me some leg work.”

“I’m much obliged, miss. How can I be of assistance?” she asked, coming closer to you and the bush of flowers you were working on. 

“I was thinking perhaps to pick a few peonies to put inside the house in vases and then trim down the size a bit so it isn’t overtaking the garden quite so much, what are your thoughts?” 

Violet pressed her lips together and gazed at the bush for a moment. The peonies did seem to be in such a bloom, reaching out on every side almost running completely wild. She supposed that was part of the reason she got a new gardener in the first place. 

“Trim it,” she nodded. “They do seem like they need to be…controlled.” 

You chuckled a little and clipped one of the flowers, handing it to her. 

“If I may, my Lady, I don’t think controlled is quite the right word,” you said. “Moreso…guided, manicured, taken care of.” 

Violet smiled at what you said, a nervous chuckle escaping her lips, “Yes, quite right,” she nodded. “Thank you.” 

“Of course, my Lady. Your company is always welcome.” 

She pressed her lips together and wished you a good day before continuing to walk through the gardens. 

As the day passed, Violet found herself carrying the peony you had given her to everything she did around the house, playing with the stem, feeling the petals between her fingers until in the evening she sat in her chambers, alone and dressed for bed the flower sitting on her vanity staring back at her. 

After staring at it for what seemed like hours she finally picked it up and brought it to her nose, inhaling its scent and perfume, closing her eyes and just letting her mind wander along with the intoxicating scent, feeling a warmth grow in her core, causing her breath to hitch and for her to abruptly open her eyes. 

She took in a couple of shakier breaths, placing the flower back down on the vanity and standing up, turning away from it, unable to justify her own thoughts in her head. 

She moved to the pitcher of water that sat next to a bowl and poured some of it inside, gently splashing her face with the water, before resting her hands on the table and leaning over the bowl, letting small droplets drip from her nose and chin back into the bowl. 

A pressure began to build up in her chest and all of a sudden she was taking deeper, more laboured breaths until she grabbed the towel and wiped her face clean with a certain roughness and frustration before letting her arms drop to her side while her back leaned against the table. 

She looked over again at the peony and licked her lips, her hand moving to her chest, rubbing back and forth to try and rid herself of some of this ache, or rather distract from it. 

It wasn’t much use, so instead she closed her eyes and took in a deep, shaky breath, discarding the towel on the table and moving towards her bed, slipping underneath the covers and begging for sleep to wash over her. 

—

“Mama, when are we going to join Anthony and Kate at Aubrey Hall?” Hyacinth asked one morning over breakfast.

“Soon, dearest,” she assured her youngest daughter. “Lady Danbury will be joining us there, I just have a few more things I have to arrange for before we can leave.” 

“I do not want to go to the country,” Gregory pouted. “We’ve been there three times already this year.” 

“The country air will do us all some good,” Violet told her children. “We will go spend time with your brother and his wife as a family and we will all enjoy it. Understood?” she gave Gregory one of her looks that wasn’t so much threatening as it was lovingly stern. 

“Yes mama,” Gregory nodded and looked back at his food with a sigh making his other siblings chuckle. 

Violet finished up her breakfast and excused herself from the table, going to take care of things with the staff who would be left at the house in their absence and going out for an appointment with the modiste, unable to do her own alterations at the same time as her daughters. 

When she returned she had one thing on her list to complete before finalizing all of the packing to be ready to leave tomorrow. 

She made her way to the garden and saw you diligently working away at pulling some weeds from the soil around the rose bushes and while she was busy admiring your work, you caught her gaze and welcomed her with a smile on your face. 

“Lady Bridgerton,” you stood up and bowed your head, removing your working gloves and tossing them to the side. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes actually there is,” she nodded. “As you know the family and I are going to join Anthony at Aubrey Hall tomorrow and I was wondering if you might join us to help tend to the gardens there.” 

You looked a little surprised at her proposition, but nodded your head. 

“I would love to, my Lady, but may I ask a question?”

“Of course,” she pressed you to go on. 

“I thought there was a gardener who took care of Aubrey Hall, it was my understanding that my responsibilities would not extend past Bridgerton House.” 

“Under normal circumstances they wouldn’t,” Violet agreed with your sentiment. “It is just that our other gardener has, like my son, recently gotten married and Anthony was in a generous mood and gave him time to spend with his new wife so the gardens there have not been tended to in some time. I feel as though the plants here could surely survive a while longer in your absence, especially since you have done so much work with them already.” 

“I see,” you smiled. “In that case I would be more than happy to join you at Aubrey Hall, my Lady.” 

“Splendid,” she let out a small relieved breath. “I have arranged for you to come in a carriage with my maid Mrs.Wilson. There are quarters for a gardener on the far end of the property that you will be most welcome to stay in during your time in the country. It hasn’t been used for quite some time as Mr. Henry lives in the village and walks to Aubrey Hall every day.” 

“Wonderful, I shall finish with these weeds then begin packing,” you motioned to the soil below you and Violet nodded her head with a smile before wishing you a good rest of your day and heading back inside to arrange some packing of her own (and make sure Gregory and Hyacinth in particular were doing the same…and come to think of it Eloise, Benedict, and Colin as well). 

She was content that evening to be stressing over her impending travels instead of allowing herself to drift into madness like she felt she had been doing so often these past few days. As she lay in bed, the blanket pulled up to her chin as she curled underneath the covers, she really did hope that the country air might provide her even with a moment's respite. 

—

“I never knew you to be interested in gardening, mama.”

Violet turned her head upwards at Eloise’s voice as she had caught sight of her staring out of the window at you while you took out some potted plants and re-planted them into the soil. 

“Oh, yes,” Violet nodded her head. “Gardening, it’s very…” her voice trailed off and she didn’t even attempt to finish her sentence, her eyes still closely watching you. 

Eloise gave her mother a look of confusion, trying to gather what was going on, but clearly not understanding the situation at all. 

“It’s very what?” she asked, pulling her mother out of her thoughts once more. 

“It’s an art,” Violet ended up saying, turning her head to face Eloise, a polite, albeit slightly strained, smile on her face. “To tend to a garden takes knowledge, care, and an eye for a certain…” 

“Je ne sais quoi?” Eloise offered and Violet nodded her head. 

“Exactly.” 

Eloise watched you with her mother for a moment before leaving her to her own devices so she could go read for a bit before playing pall mall with her siblings and new sister-in-law. 

Violet thought a little more to herself about what it took to take care of a garden. It was true that it required knowledge and care, but gardens also flourished with love and tenderness, with touch and air and sunlight. 

Just as she thought of the sun, it peeked out from behind the clouds, just for a moment shining in through the window and Violet allowed herself to bask in its warmth. Shutting her eyes and letting each golden ray envelop her and touch her skin and set it aglow. She took in a deep breath and let out a soft sigh, relishing that feeling of something against her body, some warmth. 

“Lady Bridgerton?” 

“Hmm,” Violet bore a soft smile on her face, her eyes still closed for a moment before she turned her head and opened them, seeing her friend standing before her. “Oh, Lady Danbury. You must excuse me I was just-” 

“Basking?” she asked with a raised brow, leaning on her cane. 

Violet chuckled a little sheepishly. 

“Yes,” she nodded. “Would you care to join me?” 

“I think I would,” she said as Violet moved over slightly so that she could join her on the small couch that faced the window. “Miss Eloise has told me that you’ve been observing the gardening that is happening.” 

“Yes,” Violet nodded again, she didn’t have many words to say as her eyes fell on you again, watching your every movement. 

“Or perhaps there is a gardener that has caught your eye?” 

“Yes-Wait Agatha!” Violet turned her head as soon as she’d realized how she’d answered, shocked her friend could even suggest such a thing. 

Lady Danbury’s face was not one of shock or even intrigue, she just let her hands simply rest on the head of her cane and continued to look out of the window. 

Violet was so flustered she could feel her cheeks growing more red by the second as she figured out what she was going to try and say to cover up her answer. 

Before she could think of something, Lady Danbury spoke again. 

“I suppose a gardener has many admirable qualities,” she began. “They are very meticulous, they know how to…tend to things.” 

Violet pressed her lips together, she didn’t dare look over at her, instead just focusing on her hands in her lap.

“You wouldn't tell anyone, would you?” Violet asked quietly. 

“What is there to tell,” Lady Danbury shrugged. “You are simply a Lady who enjoys her garden.” 

Violet smiled a little to herself and looked out of the window ahead into the field, placing a hand on her friend’s which still rested on the head of her cane. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

Lady Danbury nodded her head. 

“There is no harm in looking, Violet.” 

She continued to press her lips together, there may not have been a harm in looking, but what about when that fuelled some sort of desire she did not know how to control. 

Violet removed her hand from Lady Danbury’s and smoothed out her dress, standing up. 

“I should go. I think I can hear Hyacinth and Gregory arguing. Probably about something pointless.” 

Lady Danbury gave Violet a compassionate smile which she returned, but it left her face as soon as she turned away and headed towards the voice of her children. If she couldn’t seem to control her staring when you were around then perhaps she’d just have to make sure she wasn’t around you. 

—

When Violet was in the country and she found herself needing to clear her head she often sat on the bench next to her husband’s grave. She was usually better prepared, bringing flowers and maybe something special to leave there, but she didn’t have the wherewithal today to do anything other than sit.

Her children would all make their rounds eventually, especially the older ones, but often they liked to do it alone, taking the quiet moment as one of reflection, or perhaps they took the silence as an opportunity to talk with their father. 

Violet preferred to reminisce. 

To close her eyes and play through scenes in her head, a memory, a feeling until often she stopped herself before tears could stream down her cheeks. 

Today she felt her eyes flutter shut as the wind blew against her face, her breath was caught in her throat as she swore she could feel her late husband’s arms wrap around her. Ten years and she could still remember how his hands would mould to her sides, how his chin would rest against her shoulder from behind, the feeling of his breath like a gentle warm breeze against her cheek. 

She heard the crunch of twigs off to the side and she opened her eyes to see what had made the sound.

She saw you with your back turned to her and she frowned out of confusion for a moment before calling your name, encouraging you to turn around and face her. 

“I apologize, my Lady. I didn’t realize you were here,” you said quietly. “I just noticed there weren’t any flowers so I thought I might bring some by. The staff has told me you normally bring hyacinths.” 

Violet felt her lips pull into a sad soft smile as she nodded her head. 

“Yes…I was just a little preoccupied today,” she admitted. 

You tested the waters and came a little closer, and then a little closer until you could rest the flowers down by the large headstone. 

Violet watched as your hands moved to adjust a few things, not moving from your position until the flowers were perfect. 

When you stood up, you didn’t take the time to admire your work like you normally did and moved away to give Violet her privacy, and despite all that she had told herself a few days ago, she found herself speaking before her mind could catch up. 

“You could stay for a moment, if you’d like.” 

You paused and looked over at the Viscountess, she didn’t necessarily meet your gaze, her eyes still on the flowers you had brought. 

“I could stay if you’d like me to,” you said softly, not wanting to overstep her politeness. 

She nodded her head, her eyes still on the flowers and placed a hand on the empty spot next to her on the bench. 

You pursed your lips and clasped your hands behind your back as you walked towards the bench, lowering yourself down next to her and moving your hands to your lap. 

You didn’t say anything, simply watching Violet and waiting for her to make the move, to start a conversation if that’s what she wished, but perhaps she just wanted someone to sit in silence with her to offer a hand of comfort and before you realized what you were doing your hand had inched over towards hers that was still resting on the bench next to you. 

When Violet felt the warm touch of your hand against hers she had to keep her head turned for a moment, not expecting you to do such a thing. 

Confused by her reaction, you quickly retracted your hand in case you had overstepped, but as soon as the contact was lost, Violet turned her head back to you. 

“Is everything alright, my Lady?” you asked. 

She bit the inside of her cheek and nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak and instead looking straight ahead out into the field. She closed her eyes only for a moment, simply feeling the warmth radiate off your skin only for it to be blown away by the cool breeze. 

When she opened her eyes she noticed your hand in front of her, holding a handkerchief. She moved her own hand to her cheeks feeling the wet streaks against her skin. 

She took the handkerchief from you, with one hand, but then reached out with the other before you could pull away. You carefully brought your other hand and clasped hers between them. She could feel every callous along your palm, a rough exterior for such a gentle and caring touch. 

She sniffled and moved her free hand over her mouth, her fingers curled as if in contemplation. 

You stayed like that until you could hear the thunder rumble in the distance. You removed your hands from around hers, noticing how she almost shivered at the loss of warmth. 

“We should go before we get caught in the rain,” you said quietly. 

Violet nodded her head and watched as you wished her a good rest of her day before leaving and she sat there a while longer, looking down at her hands in her lap, the handkerchief still wet with tears, and she imagined that this wasn’t the last time this cloth, this piece of fabric would be witness to her sorrows.

—

Violet was never one to sneak around, but when the house was filled with her family and their staff on occasion she would find herself waiting for a moment where she could be away and for no one to know where she was. 

It was practically impossible to slip out unnoticed during the day, so she went through her usual evening routine with her maids, but sat at her vanity, waiting until the sun had just set and everyone was fast asleep to open the door of her room and peek down the hallway, stepping into it and making her way to the doors that led outside. 

The air nipped at her skin, making the hair on her arm stand on its end, despite the cover from her robe which she now wrapped tighter around her as she walked down the stairs and through the garden. She didn’t really think about what she was doing or where she was going, perhaps it was just simply away. 

Darkness fell upon the country and she appreciated the privacy it gave, but clearly it could only give so much.

It seemed as though she had walked all the way to the edge of the property where the gardener’s quarters were and there was still a shadow of a figure outside bent over what looked like potted plants. 

She watched curiously as she got closer and possibly hearing the squish of her feet against the wet soil, you looked up and saw her. It was safe to say you were a little confused at the sight before you and quickly dusted your hands off on a towel. 

“Lady Bridgerton is that you?” you called, squinting into the darkness, trying to get a better look. 

“Yes,” she called back. “What on earth are you doing gardening at night?” 

“I suppose I might ask the same of you and your promenade, my Lady,” you said. “These flowers bloom at night, I was just coming to take a look at them.” 

You beckoned her to come closer and take a look at what you were observing. As she came towards you, you noticed similarly to yourself she was dressed in a nightgown, only she had a robe pulled over top of her as well. 

It was interesting to see her in this light, or perhaps this darkness, her hair falling into loose curls on either side of her shoulders. There was no rouge on her cheeks, but the cold air seemed to do the trick regardless, welcoming a rosy colour on her skin. 

She bent down to examine the flowers you spoke of, gently touching the petals and smiling seeing how they reached up towards the moonlight. 

Before either of you could speak you were interrupted by the rumble of thunder and a trickle of rain which quickly turned into a downpour. 

You opened the door to the small cabin and ushered Violet inside, slipping in after her, lucky you were close by and did not get caught in the worst of it.

“I’m not sure it will be a good idea for you to go back, my Lady,” you looked outside. “It’s pouring, you’d catch a cold.”

You looked back over at her and she was wiping a few drops of rain from her face, but after seeing how hard the downpour was she came to the same conclusion. 

“I know it’s hardly as glamorous as what you have in Aubrey Hall, but you can take my bed,” you said. “I have a mat I can use to sleep on the floor.” 

“Are you quite sure?” Violet asked. “I know you did not plan on having a guest tonight, I do not mean to intrude.” 

“It’s not an intrusion, my Lady. Simply unconventional company,” you shrugged, pulling the mat out from where it was kept and laying a sheet overtop of it along with a blanket and a pillow. “Your family won’t worry about you out here?” 

“They don’t know I’m here,” she said. “I’ll be fine for one evening.” 

You nodded your head and sat down on the mat, watching as she followed your lead with the bed. 

The fire flickered a soft warm light into the room and you sighed, wrapping your hands around your legs. 

“Goodnight, my Lady.” 

“Goodnight,” she whispered and turned to lay back down on the bed and you allowed yourself to do the same. 

You tried to close your eyes and fall asleep, after a hard day of working outside usually you didn’t have much trouble. You stayed still with your eyes closed for what felt like hours before you really began to give up and open your eyes. 

When you did, you looked over at the bed and saw Violet seemingly in a similar predicament, tossing until she landed on her back, staring up at the ceiling, not noticing your gaze on her. 

It felt wrong to watch her, especially when she must have assumed you were fast asleep, but there was something that forced you to stare, to not turn your eyes away. 

You saw her hand reach out to touch her neck, like she was trying to remember a feeling. One hand rested just below her breast while the other hovered for a moment, hesitating to come down, but when it did, both hands wrapped themselves around her midsection as she turned back onto her side, facing the wall. 

You bit your lip and wondered how many nights she’d spent like this since her husband had passed away.

Alone. 

Aching. 

Lady Violet Bridgerton was a woman who the ton saw as constantly surrounded by others, but in the times you had seen her, you’d seen past the crowds of family and friends that encompassed her. You saw a woman who longed for something she didn’t feel she had the right to ask for. 

You turned onto your back and closed your eyes again, the sound of the rain crashing down on the house drowning out any further thoughts you might have, and as the smell of fresh soil, grass, and newly potted plants filled your nostrils, you closed your eyes and hoped that Violet would find whatever it was she was looking for. 

—

Violet stared up at the intricate design of her four poster bed frame. A kaleidoscope of shapes, diamonds and triangles carved into wood, dizzying in their patterns. 

She felt her hands move from where they rested against her chest, tracing along her skin before moving overtop of fabric, down her chest, towards her stomach where the fabric of her nightgown was already bunched up, having fallen from her knees down to her hips. 

She let her eyes flutter closed as she began to put pressure at the base of her stomach, gathering the courage to let her hands go lower. 

Just as her hand was about to slip past the point of fabric, to touch skin again, she felt someone gently grasp her hand. 

She opened both her eyes and her mouth to let out a gasp of surprise, but a finger came to her lips, quieting her.

“Shh, shh,” it was a gentle hush, her mouth unable to shut as she saw you lean over top of her, the shapes and patterns surrounding you from above sending her into a spiral. “Let me take care of that for you.” 

Violet could feel her bottom lip begin to tremble against your finger as she felt your other hand start its path from her ankle, moving up her shin, past her knee, and onto her thigh. 

She let out a light gasp as your fingers reached closer to her core, her own hand pressing against her stomach in some attempt to steady herself. 

She knew she had to do something while she still had her wits about her, so she lifted her other hand to wrap around the back of your neck, holding the side of your face, bringing you down so your forehead was pressed against hers, your noses touching as your fingers slipped inside her. 

She gasped with each movement, pulling you closer, her eyes closed, her nose scrunched, her mouth unable to shut, her breathing and quiet moans the only sound that filled the room. 

Violet couldn’t gather her senses, teetering towards the edge of something a long groan caught in the back of her throat.

Violet opened her eyes, taking in a gulp of air and quickly pushing herself up in her bed. 

She looked around her room, it was dark and empty. She looked up to her bedframe, the shapes causing her mind to spin as your face flashed before her. 

Her skin was sticky with sweat, the fabric of her nightgown clinging onto her as she covered her face with her hands for a moment, steadying her breathing before running her hands through her hair and pulling her knees to her chest, trying to ignore that pit of need in her stomach. 

She rested one arm across her knees, the elbow of her other arm using it as a rest while she ran her fingers through her hair, tugging at it, hoping the pain might pull her away from her thoughts. 

Moving on to pinch the bridge of her nose, she fell back onto the mattress, staring at the wall, too afraid to look up and be reminded of her dream, too afraid to close her eyes and let her subconscious gain control once more.

So she stayed like that, in bed, staring at the wall until the sun leaked into the room telling her she was finally safe, or so at least she thought. 

—

A few days had passed and Violet had barely left her room. She told her family she was feeling unwell and needed to rest, but in reality, she spent most of her time still dressed in a nightgown, sitting on the chaise lounge, looking out at the clouds that loomed overhead. 

When she opened the window to allow for some fresh air to enter the room, she could smell the rain in the air, the clouds making their way towards Aubrey Hall seemed to match her suspicions and she knew that evening she wouldn’t confine herself to her room any longer. 

Across the property, you had the Sunday off and used the time to enjoy the clear skies while they lasted, finding company in yourself, bouncing between a book and cooking a few things for yourself to eat while you mentally planned how the rest of your week would look like, assigning areas of the property based on priority and need. 

Gardening was hard work, there was no question about it. But the results were always worth it, every single time without fail. Looking at the finished product and being able to see beauty and order in something so wild and free. 

As the evening rolled in, and the grey sky was replaced by the deep navy that visited every night, you made your way back inside, boiling the pot of water for a cup of tea while you heard the rain begin to patter outside, drop by drop until it was continuous and loud against the roof of your cabin. 

You didn’t expect to do much else aside from sit and enjoy your drink, perhaps read a few more chapters of your book when you heard a knock at your door. 

Not knowing who was on the other side, you grabbed your robe and wrapped it around yourself before going to the door and opening it.

Your hand immediately flew to your mouth, “Lady Bridgerton…” your voice trailed off as you took in her appearance, in nothing but a nightgown, completely soaked, mud lining the bottom of it, her hair stringy and stuck to the sides of her face. You quickly opened the door wider and pulled her inside and out of the cold, closing the door behind you. “What happened?”

“Mistimed my evening promenade,” she said quietly. “I-I was closer to here than the hall…” 

You nodded your head and moved her over towards the stool in front of the fire, sitting her down and moving away to rummage through your things to find a towel, bringing it to her and wrapping it around her shoulders. 

She looked up at you, her lashes still dripping with water and you bent down next to her, tucking her hair behind her ears so it didn’t stick to her face, lifting the towel slightly to help wipe away some of the water that was still dripping down her face. 

You didn’t even think twice about the familiarity, unable to bring yourself to just leave her alone like that. And perhaps you didn’t think twice because she didn’t so much as flinch with your touch, if anything she leaned into your hand. 

“My Lady, you risk catching a cold in such weather,” you said softly. 

“I know,” she whispered. “I should be more careful.” 

“Does your family not know you have come outside?” you asked and she nodded her head. 

“I just needed a moment alone.” 

“According to your daughter, moments alone are all you’ve had these past few days,” you said. “Miss Eloise said you were unwell.” 

“I-I was,” Violet nodded. “What I meant is that I needed some fresh air after being in my chambers for so long.” 

You nodded your head and respected her answer, standing up from beside her and bringing her the cup of tea you had made for yourself in hopes that it would speed up the process of warming her up as the towel and fire helped to dry her off. 

When you saw her finally begin to get back to her normal temperature you realized there was no way she could stay in her current clothes, the bottom of her dress now caked with dry mud. 

You stood up again and went to the dresser, looking through a few things before finding what it was you wanted and bringing it to her in exchange for the empty cup. It was a nightgown, left in the cabin perhaps by a previous gardener’s wife, but it looked like it would fit Violet and it could do the trick for the night. 

She took it from your hands and slowly stood up, removing the towel from her shoulders before going into the small washroom to get changed. 

You hung the towel to dry by the fire while you waited and just as she exited the washroom with her dirtied nightgown in hand she saw you reaching for the mat you had slept on last time. 

“Why don’t you stay with me on the bed,” Violet said. “I could not impose on your kindness more than once.” 

You pressed your lips together and looked down at the mat in your hands. 

“I insist. It is big enough for both of us.” 

“Just barely, my Lady,” you looked at her just to make sure that she was absolutely certain. 

“Either we both sleep on the bed or I shall take the mat this time,” she said. “You’ve already done a lot for me tonight, I cannot possibly take your place of rest as well.” 

You chewed on the inside of your cheek and let go of the mat, sliding it back into its place between the bookcase and the wall. 

You motioned for her to take her spot on the bed, and she did so after folding her gown and placing it off to the side, sliding underneath the covers and moving to the side next to the wall. When she was settled you came in next to her, turning your back to hers, staring out the window at the rain pouring down on the property. 

The sound brought you back to that previous evening, under similar circumstances. 

You recalled the way she wrapped her arms around herself, how she tossed and turned and it made you think about tonight, how incredibly still she was lying, how she had melted into your touch. 

You felt your mouth begin to open and before you could stop yourself you asked, 

“My Lady, why were you outside tonight?” 

“I-I told you I wanted some fresh air,” she repeated her response from before. 

“What I mean to say…is why were you really outside?”

You could hear Violet swallow thickly. 

She fumbled over an excuse, her mind unable to give her a good enough lie to cover up. 

You turned so that you were on your back, now staring at the ceiling. 

“You must have known it was going to rain tonight,” you said quietly. “You saw the clouds and you still came out…” 

Your tone was not accusatory, but instead more of a query, like you were trying to figure out her logic, how this all worked out in her mind. 

Violet went silent at your comment, the only sound in the room was that of the rain coming down outside over the cabin. 

You are now turned fully, facing her back, the quiet intimacy of the moment giving you all the courage you needed to ask. 

“Why are you here? What is it you want, Lady Bridgerton?” 

When she did not respond to you, you whispered again, 

“Violet…What are you-” 

“Touch me…please.” 

Her voice was so quiet and strained, it was the most desperate plea you’d ever heard. 

Violet lay there, curled so tightly, the silence following her request so deafening, but anything was better than sitting like that for one more moment trying to figure out what to do with herself. She would rather sit in utter mortification than go another second with that fire burning in the pit of her stomach. 

And just as she thought nothing would come, she felt a brush against her neck, moving her hair back, over her shoulder, tracing a line that burned like hot metal on her skin. 

The hand moved back over her shoulder towards her chest, tracing a path that was so familiar, following every movement she had once done herself, from below her breast, across her ribcage until she felt a wall of warmth all across her back. 

Her breathing grew shakier with each prolonged touch, as an arm slipped under her waist, wrapping around her fully until she was held, until she could no longer feel that ache in her bones, that clenching in her heart. 

She focused on your hands, how they held her, how your body pressed against hers felt like sunlight. 

Your hand stayed where it was for a few moments, but before long, Violet felt it move from where it was draped over her waist and across her stomach, coming to her hip, your fingers gently grabbing the fabric and tugging upwards. 

One. 

Two.

Three. 

Four times. 

Four times was when the hem of the gown was finally between your fingers, when you could slide your hand between skin and fabric, making Violet shudder as you followed the curve of her body upwards, higher and higher until her breast was cupped in your hand and she turned her head towards you as much as she could, her breathing coming in heavier, needier. 

Your chin rested in the crook of her shoulder, your breath against her face felt like air. 

Your other hand, still wrapped around her, took advantage now that her nightgown was lifted so high, sliding lower, across the skin of her abdomen, under the fabric of her underwear, her breathing coming in anticipatory gasps until you finally reached where she was expecting, a moan escaping past her lips. 

Your touch felt like care, like water on the dry soil of a dying plant. 

You moved your hand in such a way that you could run your fingers along her before gently sliding them into her, you looked up at her, pushing yourself up, putting more pressure against her breast, her mouth open but nothing leaving but pants and sighs. 

You continued to move your fingers in and out, a slow rhythmic pace at first, watching with each movement how her chest heaved, how she moaned and whimpered when she wanted more. 

Your touch satisfied that hungry need in the pit of her stomach, but it also soothed the ache in her heart as you didn’t loom over her or sit next to her. 

You held her, her back pressed into your chest in a hold so familiar yet different it felt dizzying, especially when your thumb brushed against a sensitive spot as you moved your fingers prompting Violet to let out a loud gasp of surprise just as you moved your thumb back to continue its movement and pressure against her. 

Violet tried to find words, but none came out of her mouth, the only thing escaping was breathless want. 

Seeing her as she was, you could only think of the flowers you tended to, reared from mere bulbs into bright, colourful, plentiful bushes. How each year you would wait patiently until there was that one tipping point and the flower would open and from there it would bloom without bound.

Here Violet was, in that delicate stage, at that tipping point and you were ready to see the finished product. 

You pressed onwards, giving her more, listening as her moans and whimpers that she desperately tried to hold back came out needily, higher and higher until her eyes screwed shut, her nose scrunched, her mouth open as it let out one last sharp sigh before the waves of pleasure had finished washing over her and her face relaxed, her eyes still closed, lips still parted. 

You carefully removed your fingers, conscious of how sensitive she was, taking your hand out from underneath her, while the other gently let go of her breast, slipping out from underneath her nightgown to come and turn her face back upwards, towards you. 

Your hand was gentle in its caress, in its guidance, and Violet felt her eyes fluttering open as her head was turned. 

The fire crackled in the background, but its sound was drowned out by the rain, its light shining over Violet’s skin in a golden hue, every freckle illumined and sparking. The light that struck her eyes hit her irises in a certain way, giving warmth and life to their cool blue colour. 

You leaned down a little closer, admiring all these small things about the Lady that was lying in front of you. You leaned down until your forehead rested against hers and her eyes fluttered shut again, as did yours, her lips still parted, her breathing still heavy. 

You guided her chin up a little more, closing the gap with your own lips, pressing against hers so faintly. Everything about the kiss felt cautious whereas every other touch felt assured, that was until Violet lifted her head more, fully pressing her lips against yours, relying on your hand to hold her, to keep her steady until she could reach out with her own arms holding your neck, your waist, feeling the shape of you against her hand, her fingers. 

There may have been no harm in looking, but surely touching was much better. 

As your lips parted and you moved away only slightly to look at her once more, your hand brushing aside some hair that had come to cover her face. She moved her own hand to hold yours that was against her face, turning her head to kiss it. 

You moved to lower yourself next to her on the bed and she made the effort to turn and face you. From there it was easy for her to be wrapped up in your arms and to wrap her arms around someone other than herself. 

A few months ago Violet had hired a gardener, but little did she know that gardener would eventually tend to her.

[ariseur]

OKAY SO I SAW YOURE ALSO A LATINA AND , WANT REQUESTS; IVE ALWAYS HAD THIS THOUGT, what if Satoru and Suguru were BOTH dating a foreign reader (Mexican if you wanna be specific) idk I just though it’d be kinda funny when they remember the reader has an entirely culture than them!!

((btw that “BOTH” was about a poly relationship with satosugu, which you obv don’t have to do!!))

FOREIGN LOVE - SATORU GOJO

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes - decided to change up my formatting a little bit, just experimenting lol. but!! unfortunately i don’t write for suguru ( yet, i’m still trying to get a better sense on his personality n his character since i’m almost done w/ s2!! ) and i dont write polyamorous pieces!! so i just decided to write about gojo for now 🫶

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ warnings - intended lowercase, mentions of japanese culture that i’m not educated on so lmk if there’s more common stuff i could mention instead, lmk if i missed any warnings!!

✧˖° SATORU GOJO dating a foreign reader would actually be a pretty cool dynamic to experience — anon i like your way of thinking about how gojo ( and geto ) would sometimes forget how their foreigner significant reader has an entirely culture from them because .. they probably would lol

✧˖° if you’re not that well versed in japanese / asian culture and traditions, i feel like he would just like casually bring up certain things or events that go on in japan like obon or setsubun or maybe you’re unsure of certain common etiquette, so he’s confused when you’re like “???”

✧˖° but!! if you’re interested in learning stuff about japanese culture then he’ll be like “you’ve come to the right person” and i can just imagine GOJO making that one tiktok emoji face— like the [proud] one lol. he’d love to tell you all about it though, he thinks you wanting to learn more about his culture is just another sign that you love him, and he wants to know more about you too!! he’s willing to sit with you for hours on end and ask you questions about what you do for your culture.

✧˖° if you’re new to japan and you’re unfamiliar with certain places around town and stuff, i think one of the best things that GOJO likes to show you is the food around town. i dunno about you guys but i literally love takoyaki and yakitori and that’s not even relevant to the headcanon i just felt like sharing that for no reason it’s so good to me. but of courseeee!! we can’t forget about kikufuku, a small daifuku with mochi and we all know how SATORU recommends the edamame or cream flavor, so lord forbid you don’t like it — he’ll be so dramatic 😭

✧˖° howeveerrrrr—!! since anon mentioned about shedding light on reader possibly being a latina or mexican, let’s talk about a hispanic!reader with GOJO, yeah??

✧˖° i love the idea that he can’t handle spice, and i dont even know where it came from and i feel like he probably could handle somewhat spicy foods? but i just love envisioning GOJO freaking out over like a tiny lil poblano chilé or something like that. i’m sure he’d love the food but i feel like he’d be so confused watching you make foods from your culture. like, tres leches??? why are you just soaking cake in milk???

✧˖° i’d say SATORU is a somewhat good dancer .. when it comes to certain songs 😭.. he’s not the worst when there’s some spanish music in the back but he will def try to improvise and will make both of you trip. i think he’d like dancing norteñas but i can just see him doing all these unnecessary dips in the middle of the song because he’s just seen it somewhere. he might even give you a kiss when he dips down a little lower, usually towards the end of the song. and when you call him out on it, he’s just like, “what? i can’t give my baby a kiss?” like the bastard he is ugh i need him rn

✧˖° don’t even get me started on him speaking spanish. he swears he’s suddenly this suavé latin genius once he surprises you with a few words. i think he’d be like that with any language though honestly except i’m pretty sure he knows a little bit of english since someone said he traveled abroad?? but with certain languages, he’ll definitely butcher them a lot lol. in the end, you praise him for trying and that alone results in him giving himself a pat on the back.

✧˖° i dunno about you guys in hispanic households, but growing up the way to shush someone or like a baby or something would be like “ya”. it could also be used in like “ya callaté” which is like “shut up already,”? i’m not sure if there’s a direct translation in english but i think like the closest thing to it in english is kinda like, “enough”, in that context?? so im just imagining you saying it to a dog barking or a baby crying and he’s just confused all “wdym ya ya, are they a horse??”

✧˖° i think you and him would really bond when learning about each other’s cultures, though. it’s a learning experience for the both of you and you unlock a new topic in which you guys can both learn about. you can count on your tour guide, SATORU GOJO—!

𐙚 join my taglist here !!

𐙚 requests are open — june thirteenth, 2024

[v1si0n]

ch.7: CHAT CLIP THAT !!!!

“Okay, that’s it.”

You shift your attention from restocking the chip aisle to Donghyuck who stands behind the counter. He has both palms flat against the surface with his head hanging down, before he looks directly at you with furrowed brows.

“Do you hate me?” His voice fills the space before you’re both suffocated by silence again. Apart from the soft thuds of the rain, the silence that consumed the store was almost deafening, so you clear your throat.

“I’m-I-what do you mean?” you speak up, mentally face palming at the ridiculous question.

You knew that you’d been anything but pleasant since he’s gotten here. You had been avoidant, cold, sometimes even rude in an attempt to keep the feelings that had desperately been trying to come out at bay.

“Do you hate me? Or do we have some sort of unspoken beef I don’t know about?” He presses, eyes boring holes into the side of your face when you look away.

“I…don’t hate you? Or have a problem with you,” you speak slowly. You continue restocking the aisle until it’s full, and you carry the remaining inventory into the back room. You hear hurried footsteps behind you and you whip around to see a disheveled Donghyuck running a hand through his hair as he approached you.

“There has to be some reason you don’t talk to me. Or even look at me. Jisung told me you were super nice to him-“

“Donghyuck-“

“And how you spoke so much but you won’t even look at me! I know we have a little history and I might have been a dick about the whole confession thing but-“

“Dude-“

“But it’s been two years! And I’m really sorry I couldn’t say anything back then but it really bothers me that you won’t even look in my direction because I’m a little bit of an attention whore and-“

“Donghyuck-”

A clap of thunder shakes both of you from your focus and the room is drowned in darkness.

“W-what just happened?” You hear Donghyuck say in the darkness.

You could feel the warmth of his body in front of you, so you reach your hand out and place it gingerly on his bicep. He yelps at the sudden contact, making you choke back a laugh before reaching out for him again.

“The storm must’ve cut the electricity off again,” you state as calmly as possible, a small smile etching itself onto your face as you observe his frightened demeanor.

“This happens often?” He squeaks.

“Whenever it rains like this, yeah,” You laugh quietly and you feel him shift in the dark. He grabs his phone and shines his flashlight towards you, causing you to squint and put your hand up as a shield.

“What are we supposed to do? Oh my god, theres an intruder in the area and all the lights are off, what if this is him playing tricks on us? How are we going to contact anyone? How will we-“

You reach out and stop his rambling by grabbing his shoulders.

“Two things. One: you talk too damn much. Two: We’re going to be fine. I’ll call Doyoung and he’ll probably call the repair man. We should probably stay here for now, the store doors automatically shut down because they’re electronic so we’re locked in. We’ll be safe.”

He blinks a few times, registering the information he just heard before nodding slowly. You both fumble around in the darkness before sitting down on opposite ends of the couch Doyoung had the put in the back room for his naps.

Theres a thick tension in the air as you finish up your phone call with Doyoung. You look around the room and let your eyes adjust to the dark before turning to the boy next to you.

“Donghyuck?” You call out and he looks over at you.

The faint light from his phone dances on his features and you feel a twist in your stomach.

“I…don’t hate you because you rejected me. I’m not that petty. I just thought you’d be uncomfortable since the whole…y’know,” You trail off, cheeks warming up at the mention of your high school antics.

He frowns at your words and a strange feeling pricks at his chest when he realizes that you had been considerate of his feelings this whole time.

“I’m not uncomfortable. I wasn’t uncomfortable back then either,” he confesses.

“Oh.”

The room falls silent as you both look at each other, his lips showing the ghost of a smile before he breaks into a fit of laughter with you following suit. He laughs because he can’t believe it was that simple. You laugh just because you’re with him.

“So…we’re good?” He asks cautiously.

“We’re good, Hyuck,” You smile.

His feels a tug at his chest at the sound of his nickname coming from you.

“Great. We’re friends now,” He smiles back at you before sticking his hand out for a handshake. You let out a laugh but join hands with him and you ignore the churning in your stomach when you feel his large hand enveloping yours.

“First order of business as friends; your phone number and Twitter.”

wc: 864

ch. 8: not to alarm anyone

masterlist（＾＿＾）☆

notes: hello hello !!! we loveeee a good lovers in denial trope…..also lmk if you want to be added to a taglist ? i’ve seen some people mention it so i’ll add one to the next chapter :))

[goodluckclove]

Are You a Writer That Isn't Writing? Join Me Inside My Blanket Fort!

Hi! Welcome! It's so good to see you. i've just been hanging out here, kind of listening to my favorite podcast and drinking some green tea. I have another bottle here - do you want to try? It has lemon in it. It's sweet, but not too sweet. Just like I like it.

Yeah, so I might need to introduce myself. My name is Clover, but you can call me Clove. I've been a write for fifteen years and I've finished fourteen novels. I published one and I'm working on the sequel. I've written and produced plays, published short stories, and even worked as a copywriter and ghostwriter. That wasn't very fun. Actually, the writing was fun, but they brough in AI right at the end - it's a long story. Anyways, what I mean to say is that you could consider me a working writer. If you go through my blog I post a lot of snippets from what I'm working on. You can even Google my old pen name "Miranda Seaver" and find some columns and stories and I think a short play I had some strangers do over Facebook.

I'm not saying this to brag. I'm saying this because I've been doing this for a long time and I want you to have context to the work I've done as we keep talking to each other. If you read what I write and you don't like it, maybe you can decide that I have no idea what I'm talking about. That's fine. We can still be friends!

Okay, so you're probably here because you're having trouble writing. Either that or you just can't resist the allure of a blanket fort - that makes sense too. But assuming you're unable to write for some reason, I just wanted to speak to you in private. Because I know it's hard. I know it's disillusioning. And though there's this weird perception online that writers are supposed to hate writing, I personally believe the situation is a lot more nuanced than that.

Maybe you're scared. Or you're tired. Or the whole act of sitting down and writing feels so big and clumsy and unwieldy as it bounces around your head that you don't know what to do with it. The weight of it doesn't feel right. It happens - it happens to me too sometimes, and it never feels good. But it's a natural part of the creative process and it's more of a slight mishandling rather than massive sin or flaw of character.

It might not help that there's so much advice online, isn't there? It seems all these people have a set guide to how to do literally everything. There's some sort of odd binary to the creative process that some make it seem as if writers innately fall under. You're either a pantser that never outlines, or a plotter that only structures. Every draft has have a specific focus, and you must follow an arc to achieve any specific goal in your character or plot.

That's a lot! Isn't that a lot? I've been talking to a lot of new writers on here who find all of that information - especially the information that conflicts (A lot of them) to be deeply intimidating. If not intimidating, then just slightly...off. Potentially enough to make the act of opening a word processor and slamming out a few hundred words to not really seem like that much fun anymore.

See, there are useful writing resources on tumblr. People with unique experiences sharing their specific information in a public space where writers can benefit from it. How would a certain mobility aid impact a person's life? What are the physical ramifications of training on a sword? Look at this picture of some sickass gems of different colors! These are all super cool things that I find incredibly useful for both current and future reference.

On the other hand, the guides that speak structurally to writing? That try and tell you the exact steps to follow in order to achieve a certain result? A lot of them end their posts by plugging their ko-fi but don't actually show any of their own personal writing? They don't necessarily have the answers.

If you read some prompt list and it inspires you, that's cool and great! Our brains think of a lot of really innovative things based on the smallest spark of input and that's a truly incredible thing. But if you read someone who makes a list of ways to show a certain emotion and you're left confused and discouraged - consider that they're wrong. Or not wrong, not really. They just don't have the right story.

For other forms of writing advice, maybe they're right - only not in a genre you want to write in. That's the weird thing about all these writing blogs that don't actually say what they write or read. If I was looking for writing advice, I wouldn't go to someone who specializes in reading and writing political thrillers or mysteries. They're valid genres, just not what I specifically do.

You just can't make grand blanket statements about this kind of thing, and that's an unpleasant truth I think we all need to hear.

Every writing rule has been broken successfully. The Dharma Bums, and frankly anything else Jack Kerouac has ever written, has truly no plot. American Psycho chains you to a truly reprehensible protagonist. Naked Lunch was written in one long chunk that was then cut up and rearranged, and then that nonsense was published. If On a Winter's Night a Traveler takes YOU (literally you - half the narrative is written in second person) and sends you on a wild goose chase where every other chapter is a different book. Kurt Vonnegut has a literal self insert of himself that shows up as a side character in Breakfast of Champions and then takes role in the lead cast in Timequake. Read a Chuck Palahinuik book and he will lie to you three time at least. Read House of Leaves and you'll feel like you're wandering a contemporary art gallery. I can't fucking get past the first 60 pages of Ulysses but I've been TRYING for YEARS because the prose is BEAUTIFUL.

I'm rambling. What I mean to say is that - you know Monet? Manet? Degas and Renoir, and all the other painters of the Impressionist era? They make the kind of paintings you probably think of if I ask you to imagine a painting you'd find in an art museum. They're respected - idolized, even. People will dedicate their lives to painting in honor to the legacy of Impressionism.

This would be a great surprise to early Impressionists, who were mocked mercilessly for their work. The name itself - Impressionism - was a reclaimed dig at how their art style was an impression of actual art. The road for it to even be CONSIDERED art, much less respected AS art, was a long one.

I'm rambling again, aren't I? I had a lot of this green tea. I just hate to hear so many people refuse to develop the ideas in their heads for one reason or the other. Or, even worse, they circle the brainstorming stage over and over again, far past the point of usefulness. I agree that some people function better with some form of an outline. I outline in my own way, through short form bullet points or taking space to storyboard in my head to music. It can help! But even if you work better with structure, there's a good chance that you don't need that much structure.

You can't fail here. You truly can't, I promise you. If you finish listening to me and you crawl out of the blanket fort and write two paragraphs, nothing bad will happen. If it's not the strongest thing you've ever written, that's okay. We're writers, aren't we? If you write something that you don't like, you aren't a fraud. You aren't weak. You aren't a hack. You haven't failed. You don't lack creativity or imagination or motivation.

Here's the truth: If you write something you don't like, you're a writer who wrote something you don't like. It doesn't mean you're bad. It doesn't even mean the writing is objectively bad. That's it.

Writers tend to be dramatic. I know I am. I laid on the couch for an hour trying to wrestle with act three of my newest book, and as my wife tried to talk me through it I slowly sank off the couch and onto the floor. Much as a slug would. If you ever get into that mindset, that's just a thing that happens when you're an artist. I think in the Hemmingway days writers would drink or smoke until they had the strength to try again.

We've seen how that turns out though. So welcome to the new era of writers who - though occasionally neurotic - try again at some point. And everyone is welcome. As I said already, there are no real rules or guides to the structure of writing, only ideas. And if you don't like the idea, you can look or think of another one.

And you can think of another one. Assuming you don't just have a drastically unrealistic perception of how much societal clout you can achieve by saying you're a writer (Answer: nearly none), you clearly want to tell a story. I haven't met a single person with that dream that has it based on nothing. The situation is so much more vast and complicated than the internet will try to make it out to be. Did you see some variation of the Apple Test and decide that your Aphantasia means you can never be a writer? Consider reading up on the Aphantasia Network to get a better look at the condition and learn more about what it means for you. Imagination is nuanced and it is absolutely not limited to Overall Apple Clarity!

Okay, that's all I have to say. I just want to see more people here putting their ideas to paper because a lot of them are really good and interesting, and they deserve to be seen. The feeling of writing your story is so much more complex and rich than just thinking about it, I promise. I know you can do it.

Okay okay. I have to pee. This was a long talk! I'm going to scoot past you in the fort now, but I think before you go on with your day you should maybe check out a video I think you'd like.

Have a nice day, Friend!

oh and this too.

yeah nice

[ahsoka-in-a-hood]

The biggest argument that Anakin's story in the prequels is not about being failed by everyone rather than about giving in to your worst impulses is anidala. You could say that Obi Wan was too quick to give up on him, you can say he had a hard life, but can you really say that Luke was the first person to offer him unconditional love, knowing what he'd done, to tell him he could stop, to offer support? You can't, because Padme did all that. Anakin changed.

[hua-fei-hua]

i love to spend an hour composing a message in chinese to the people in genshin impact who see the name 小白雪花 on the north america server and believe me to also be living in mainland china, explaining that although i am but a lowly american-born taiwanese and therefore almost functionally illiterate, i know enough to respond to a request for help and also be able to kill things in two hits

[bladeofthestars]

.

[miniimight]

"S'NOT MY BIRTHDAY..." silly girl, thinking you need an occasion in order to be spoiled by them!

with gojo, nanami x fem!reader

notes trying out this writing thing again lol

in previous relationships, you had to deal with the bare minimum. a generic greeting card on valentine's day, a bunch of snacks for your birthday, and a necklace for christmas because 'that's what girls like, right?'

now, with him, it's different. he has no qualms about getting you anything your eyes linger on, no matter the price. he had so much money, he picked things up and swiped his card without so much as a glance at the cost. it baffled you sometimes.

it happened was early on in your relationship. you then quickly learned to just sit back and let him spoil you!!

GOJO

satoru's fingers were laced with yours as he swung your connected arms between you. he inhaled deeply, looking up at the high ceiling of the mall. "today's a good a day as any to throw some cash, don't you think baby?"

you giggle and squeeze his hand. "one or two things should be okay." that's what you budgeted for, anyway.

he rolled his eyes, scolding you for your tiny imagination before allowing you to pull him along to your favorite stores.

it wasn't long before your eyes spotted the store you loved but couldn't afford. your stare was glued to the window display, all the cute tops and pants and bags and shoes and bracelets and...

when he felt your steps slow, satoru glanced at you. you were laser focused on the clothing store—naturally, he sharply turned towards it.

"hey!" you squeaked at the sudden change of direction, and you hurried to match his pace again. "toru??"

"i saw you looking, baby, why didn't you just say you wanted to check it out?" he teased.

you looked over to the side, embarrassed. "i... i don't wanna tempt myself, cus i know i'll gaslight myself into buying something."

he narrowed his eyes, not in scorn but in confusion. "who said you were buying anything?"

"huh?" you chirped, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

gojo stared blankly at you. you really were adorable, thinking he wouldn't spend his last dime on whatever you wanted, regardless of how trivial it was. a smile pulled at his lips.

"my sweet girl," he cooed. "my sweet, slow girl..."

you gasped indignantly and poked satoru's side, earning a giggle from him. "slow?!"

"obviously, i'll by whatever you want, silly." he tugged you towards the entrance of the store.

"but..." you resisted his pull. "it's not my birthday or anything..."

huh? he pouted. "as if i need a special reason to get you stuff."

"but..." heat creeped up your neck as you reveled in the unfamiliar feeling of being spoiled. something inside you told you that he was just being nice and was waiting for you to shut him down, save him the expenses. "it's not fair, is it? i didn't get you anything so far..."

his face fell slightly as he pulled you away from the busy traffic of the moving crowds. satoru pulled your chin up to face him. "i dunno what's running through that pretty head of yours, but answer me this, okay?"

you nod.

"you want it?" he gestured towards the store.

you hesitated, eyes straying from his face. he quickly squished your cheeks, causing your eyes to widen and snap to his. "—!"

"don't overthink it, pretty girl, just tell me."

"yesfh." you answer dejectedly, muffled against his hands.

"then you'll have it." he told you. "i want you to have anything and everything you say you want. i wanna buy it for you. and being able to hear you say 'my boyfriend got this for me' is all i need in return." he grinned cheekily.

you pouted, looking unbelievably cute in his eyes. he despises the partners of your past for leading you astray, thinking you needed to do something special in order to be appreciated. don't worry, he'll fix that in no time.

he pecked your pursed lips before hugging you. "okay?"

you giggle. "okay."

"yay!! now let's go!!"

by the end of the day, he had to call ichiji to help carry all the bags to the car. he was so proud of you!

NANAMI

kento was your shadow as you glided through the store, picking up things and setting them down.

"oh, this is so cute!" you squealed holding up a tee for him to see.

he smiled, more because of your excited expression than the t-shirt. "it is. you should get it."

you hummed, in thought. your hands drifted over the material, picking up the tag before inhaling sharply. "nah, another time."

he frowned. you'd done this at every store so far, picking up things you said you liked but leaving them behind. he was bewildered. "but... you like it, do you not?"

you winced, hoping this topic wouldn't come up. "i do! it's just the price. out of my budget, you know?" you said, trying to be light. you burned with discomfort. might as well just say you're poor.

kento frowned. "oh..."

"yeah."

you quickly turned away, avoiding the confused look on his face.

"y/n." he called you.

"...yes?" you glanced behind you, seeing him standing over the shirts.

"are you under the impression that you would be paying?" he asked.

you blinked. "oh?" yes, you were, but you were surprised to learn that he had the opposite understanding. "well... yeah."

he frowned, disappointed with himself. "i'm sorry. i didn't intend to make you feel that way."

you stepped closer, rubbing his arm soothingly. "what are you talking about?" you laughed softly. "you didn't make me feel any kind of way. i'm not upset, if that's what you're getting at. i never expected you to spend your money on me."

his frown only deepened. oh, how he has failed. "why not?"

you faltered. how did you manage to make it worse? "i'm not sure i understand..."

kento shook his head. "have you been thinking you'd be using your own money for purchases? this whole time?"

"um..."

"sweetheart, i'm paying. for everything, at all times." he refused to hear anything else, cutting you off when you opened your mouth to retort. "we'll have to circle back to the stores we previously visited."

it was your turn to frown. "kento, it won't be my birthday for a few months! you don't have to get me anything right now."

"what does your birthday have to do with anything?" he asked, genuinely confused. "i don't mean to interrogate you, my love, but i think i am the one who doesn't understand."

"you'd get me anything i asked for?" you shoot back, spelling it out for him. "for no reason?"

"for one reason," he replied. "simply because you want it. it'd make you happy."

warmth spread across your face. "that's two reasons." you mumbled.

he clicked his tongue, exacerbating your bashfulness when he pulled you into his side. he kissed your forehead. "you make me laugh, y/n. i was so confused as to why you weren't getting anything. surely that's not how you usually shop."

he bought that shirt for you, as well as the many things you thought were cute at all the stores you stepped foot in. now, you shop without any hesitations.

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

[danveration]

Sleep well, amour.

Parings: Alastor x reader

Summary: You’ve been very intrested in Alastor ever since you met him. He invites you to see his recording studio, which you accept. Then you ask if you can stay and listen to him host! While listening, you fall asleep. How does he react?

Word count: 2844

Warnings: Ummm not really much? Alastor being Alastor! One mention of not being able to sleep sometimes, mention of seeing people in hell doing dr*gs, k*lling eachother, and fighting, mention of reader having bad social skills (?)

part two

A/N: UM!! this is my first time writing for alastor, so apologies if it isn’t the best. Please give me any feedback you want, I’d love to hear it! Also sorry for any spelling mistakes. I hope you enjoy :’)

Alastor the radio demon. You know of the things he’s done, you know that people are quite literally terrified of him. But for some reason... you feel a certain way towards him that you can’t describe, but it’s surely not fear.

You’ve had a some-what odd admiration of him since you landed in hell, only a few months ago. You got spotted by Charlie when you first got to hell. She noticed you looking around nervously and lost, and put two and two together that you must be new. She very kindly introduced herself which was refreshing because.. well.. it’s hell. Everywhere you looked people were fighting, doing drugs, and even killing each other. You were glad there were kind people even down here.

“Hi, you! Uh, you lost?” Charlie smiled you and waved.

“Um yeah! I’m guessing this is hell, huh?” You awkwardly chuckle. Social skills weren’t ever your thing, it seems they haven’t got better after you died, either.

“Yep! This is hell! You must be new? I’m Charlie! Charlie Morningstar. It’s so nice to meet you.” She smiled and stuck out her hand for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Charlie! My names Y/n.” You politely smiled back and shook her hand.

After that meeting, Charlie showed you to the hotel in which you eagerly accepted to stay at, her being the only sane thing you’ve seen down here. It was a pretty nice place, no 5 star hotel like back on earth, but it was something you’re very grateful for. Who knows what would’ve happened to you if you haven’t met her.

While she was showing you around, someone caught your eye. He was a tall man, very polite and respectful looking. He was dressed head to toe in old fashioned attire, with a cane to suit his charming look. He was smiling in a way that made you look at him like he was something you wanted to inspect under a magnifying glass.

He glanced at you and smiled larger, stepping over to you and Charlie.

“My, my! What do we have here? Charlie! You didn’t tell me that we’ve got more guests? It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear! The names Alastor!” He spoke politely.

His voice was sort of.. Radio-like? You found it soothing.

“Haha yeah! I found them wandering around on the street this morning! They’re a newcomer, their name is Y/n.” She spoke back, excited to introduce you.

“Y/n! Well, my, my. That’s quite a lovely name!” He said. “Say.. do you listen to radio? I host a brilliant radio broadcast that’ll give you some real insight on this place!” He said enthusiastically.

“Oh.. haha thank you” You smile. “I do actually! I love radio shows.” You immediately feel drawn towads him. You cant tell if it’s just the new scenery or what.. but you want to just sit and chat with him for hours.

Alastor perks up at that. “Oh you do, do you?” He smiled more.

“Yeah! Back when I was.. uhm.. alive, I actually had a whole playlist of them! What do you do your show about?” You ask.

Alastor is delighted to have you take interest in his show. “Well, dear, I do all sorts of things on there! Yes, yes, you think of it and I’ve most probably done it! Most commonly known is the souls I entrap and prison, as I broadcast their screams of horror all over this horrible place and people get to hear the noises of their never-ending torture and demise. But! I also just made a wonderful segment on my mother’s Jambalaya recipe!” He stated.

While part of those sentences gave you chills, you still seemed to take interest in him.

“Well,” you chuckle. “I will certainly check it out!” You smile.

“Ah! Wonderful news, my dear.” He said while he twirled his cane.

Charlie was watching you interact with him and noticed how you looked at him, as if admiring. She smile and said, “well! We better finish the tour.”

She motions for you to follow her and you do, waving Alastor goodbye.

He waves back and yells, “goodbye, sweetheart! Lovely to have met you.”

After that, you wanted absolutely everything to do with him. You’ve also got to know the other people staying at the hotel. Angel, Vaggie, Husk, Niffty, and Sir Pentious. They were overall kind people. Husk found your interest in Alastor to be no good.

“Yeah, no. That, whatever thing you have created in your mind about him, isn’t true. He’s vile, Y/n. Trust me on that.” He grunts.

Angel thought you had some kind of kink towards “scary, creepy men.” Which wasn’t true because you didn’t even find him scary. You found him charming.

“Ah.. Alastor? Fucking sexy weirdo if I do say so myself. He’s got some reaaal problems but hey, if you’re into that-“ You cut him off by saying it wasn’t like that & that you don’t think anything sexual towards him.

One day, you were talking to Sir Pentious about his “crush” on Cherry Bomb. He completely denied it but you could tell from his blush and his nervous demeanour that he was very interested in her.

You were caught off guard when you heard that radio voice coming up from behind you.

“Y/n, my dear! I have a question for you.” Alastor came and stood beside you, looking down from where you’re sitting.

“Al! Hey, what’s up?” You ask, containing your excitement.

Sir Pentious excused himself quickly, seeing one of his “egg boys” were being played with by Niffty. She isn’t one to be gentle.

“So, I know how you’ve been listening to my radio show as of late, and I was wondering if you’d like to see where the magic happens!” He states.

“R-really? I’d be honoured!” You say, smiling.

“Ah! Lovely. Come now, this way.”

You get up and he locks arms with you and chats about his new microphone that he got.

Once you guys arrive, you’re shocked. It looks very professional and comfortable. It suits him heavily. There’s a big open window, a desk, some chairs and sofas, a bunch of technical stuff on the desk along with his new mic that you recognize from his descriptions, and a deer coat hanger?

“Wow, Alastor. This place is so actually so sick. I love it. And the new microphone suits you!” You say. “Thank you for showing me, really.”

Typically, Alastor would never show someone something personal of his, including his studio, but you are an exception. He isn’t sure what it is about you but he doesn’t seem to hate you as much as he does with anyone else. At first he was weirded out, but now he just embraces it. He also feels protective of you. He doesn’t know exactly why you’re even down here. For as far is he can tell, you’re an angel. Always being kind even to those who aren’t kind to you, always saying “please” and “thank you,” all that jazz. Jazz! You even like jazz music, his favourite. He told you that he lived on earth the time jazz music was popular. The 20’s and 30’s. That explains his vocabulary and how he dresses. You just find it more interesting and take time to ask questions about what it was like in that time.

“Why of course, my dear! If I’d want to show anyone here, it would be you.” He says, giving you his iconic smile.

You have a thought. “Hey, Al? Would it be alright if the next time you do a show, I could stay and listen?”

You hope he doesn’t think this is odd.

Alastor raises a brow. “Why would you want to do that?” He asks.

You panic, thinking you went too far by asking and now he’s going to cut you off or something.

“Ha! Kidding, sweetheart! Of course you can. I love when my broadcast is wanted to be listened to. Though I love it as well when they don’t want to.” He says.

You’re relieved, a bit scared, but still relieved.

“Say!” He says. “I was going to make one tonight talking about this silly technology box that thinks he is better than me! You know, expose all his lies and secrets to my listeners, and unwilling listeners. Maybe broadcast it all throughout hell!” He starts laughing manically. Then calms down and stares at you.

“Would you want to stay and listen, hm? I can do it now! I didn’t have any plans today going forward and well, getting it out sooner is better than later, I always say.” He asks.

You know he’s talking about Vox when he mentioned the technology box. Him and Vox have a sort of rivalry going on. Though Alastor seems to not care much about him, Vox is sure obsessed. He’s even gone so far as to making posters about him. Which areee.. not much of a resemblance.

This offer strikes you and you immediately perk up. “Yes! I’d love to.” You say.

You don’t think Alastor knows this but whenever you’re struggling to sleep, you put on his radio show and his voice comforts you to sleep. You’re sure if you told him, he would find it weird.

Little did you know, Alastor already knew. He walked past your room one night and heard static sounds coming from your quarters. He immediately was intrigued and put his ear close to your door to hear his voice. He was surprised, but not weirded out. He found it delightful that you found comfort in his voice. It’s not everyday someone does. Usually it invokes terror and anxiety on anyone who hears. This was new, and he didn’t hate it.

“Lovely! Let me get all set up. You can sit wherever you feel the most comfortable!” He says, adjusting his mic and pressing a buttons on his table.

You find a spot and sit down. Feeling honored to even be in the same room as him, let alone HIS room.

“Ahem! Welcome ladies and gentlemen-“ He goes off into his introduction, before winking at you and starting.

After about 20 minutes, you begin to feel tired and put your head on the side of the wall, still listening but with your eyes closed.

Alastor immediately notices and smirks, knowing how his voice effects you. He continues on and after about another 20 minutes, he finishes up. You’re asleep, slightly smiling.

He walks over to you and looks down.

“My, my. You really are an interesting one, aren’t you?” He whispers. He smiles more softly than he usually does and looks around to find a purple blanket hanging on his deer coat hanger, and gently places it on you.

He feels his heart fluttering while looking down at you and he immediately shrugs it off.

“Mm well, my dear.. I guess you can stay here. I’ll just be over there, transferring my broadcast to the other radios around town.” He says and points to his table.

“Sleep well, amour.” He speaks softly.

[sunsetsimon]

random hc's i have about simon <3

he's definitely a leg shaker. you can never sit next to him on the couch for longer than 2 minutes before his left leg starts bouncing, shaking the whole cushion. he never notices it either, continuing until you decide you can't put up with it anymore and need to call him out, only to start again a few minutes later of course.

loves a cold glass of milk whenever he eats sweets, it completes the snack for him

made a goodreads account after you convinced him to keep track of all of the books he reads. he takes his ratings seriously too, sometimes leaving a short comment like - "Not his best work." or "Thoroughly enjoyed this, good pacing."

doesn't listen to a lot of music on his own, but ends up enjoying the things you play. one of his favorite dates with you is getting drunk at home after making dinner, nodding his head along to the songs you're playing on shuffle. he loves how you feel yourself to the songs, sometimes letting your body sway to it, it's so attractive to see you in your own world.

lowkey road rager. he's not going to instigate with anyone, but oh is he going to be talking shit the entire time when someone pisses him off. "you fuckin' piece of shit," he says angrily, getting over as soon as he has the chance just to get the satisfaction of passing them, leaving them stuck behind a slow driver.

prefers to work out in the morning to get him more energized for the day.

doesn't sleep with his socks on at night, it makes him too hot. but there's been a few times you've caught him napping on the couch in jeans, saying it doesn't bother him!

although he likes dogs more, cats are very attracted to him for some reason. there's a few strays around the neighborhood he befriends on his jogs, keeping a few churu on hand to treat them when he comes by. simon will bend down and give them pets, smiling to himself when they rub their heads against him, purring loudly in happiness. he makes sure to take good care of them <3

[chrollohearttags]

FIRE HYDRANT • portgas d. ace

ace loves his little squirter, perhaps a bit too much.

content + themes: firefighter!ace, firefighter!reader, choking, hate fucking, heavy squirting, he’s such a mean dom in this, mentions of oral sex, daddy is used, finger sucking, slapping, pet names are used (my love, babygirl, sweetheart), calls reader slut, missionary/mating press

📝: just a lil something to help me get my steam back. If it’s bad, you never saw it.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰───────✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰────

“Okay, okayyyy…take some outtt..fuck!”

“Don’t be stupid, now move your hand before I do it for you.”

he was relentless and had been for the past couple hours or so..it seemed like he had no intention of doing so anytime soon either. Perhaps this time around..your big ass mouth had bit off far more than you could ever chew. Hence why at the moment..he was fish hooking his fingers in the sides of your jaws. Prompting you to suck on them as a means to shut you up. Feeding you a light tap to the cheek to ensure so as well.

“Rookie..how many times do I have to say it, huh? You don’t run a damn thing. It’s been what..four? Five? Hell, I’ve lost count how many times you’ve come on this dick. It’s like you can’t get enough of me, my love. I already knew that much though.”

the words tearing through you like a serrated dagger, slowly but surely cutting you up. A reminder of your weak resolve. You hated it, you hated it so fucking much that the one man you despised got you wetter than any boyfriend or partner you’d ever encountered. That this bastard knew your body far better than you did sometimes. He could do things that you’d never even imagined..taking you to heights unknown and yet, all you could do was stare at him in disgust as his cock plunged within your center repeatedly. Slamming balls deep as they smacked against your puckering asshole; drenched in your sticky mixture from drumming it out of you. It was just as he said, you had come for him for about the seventh time now. Running on fumes and pure spite to keep going. Maybe you wanted to prove him wrong that you could take whatever he threw your way, including the dick.

“Haaaah!—shit! Not right there..I’m gonna—“

“I know, babygirl. I know you are so why fight it? Squirt on daddy’s dick. Feels much better than arguing with me, doesn’t it?”

or..you loved the way he fucked you and your pride wouldn’t allow you to admit it! It would explain the large puddle formed underneath the towels on his couch and the splashes surrounding his foot; the other planted next to you so that he could truly get in it the way he wanted. And here you were..in the last position you wanted to be! Folded like a goddamn pretzel with your toes wiggling behind your head and this asshole hovering over you with that same stupid grin on his face, those deep set eyes and his necklace dangling in front of your nose. He was enjoying this. Enjoying turning his stubborn little rookie into his personal fire hydrant. The tight, juicy grip of that cunt embracing him like a warm hug..tinting his tan hued shaft with a sheet of white essence before exploding into the sweet, delicious rain as he made you squirt yet again. He’d never had pussy like it and it was for that reason alone, he put up with your bad attitude or rather, calmed it down.

“Nnggghhh!..I can’t..” your words were barely even making it above a decibel. A lot more quiet than the shouting you did at him when you first arrived. Pissed off about your inspection results earlier in the day. Granted, that was before he hissed at you to sit down, shut the fuck up and be a good slut for him..before he snatched your sundress down to reveal those plump tits and sucked on those gorgeous brown nipples that go so erect for him as he fingered you. And well before pinned your legs back and damn near sucked the flavor from your pussy! Using those nimble fingers to get you to climax..it was then that he discovered your little secret:

“Ahhh..so you���re a squirter, rookie? Well that’s good to know.”

and hadn’t stopped exploring it since. So for the duration of your stay, he’d been stretching that pussy out and using you to his heart's desire. Pulling on your hair, smacking on that fat ass as he gave you vicious backshots. Even tossing the pillow out of your way so you had zero comfort. His punishment for waking him up. Using your mouth as his personal cock sleeve, making you eat him up until you made a mess, calling him daddy after rewarding you with a warm nut to the back of your throat and after that, the fun really began. He’d kept you like this..drawing out orgasm after orgasm; streams of clear juices reaching as far up to his chest. Pulling out, tapping that mushroom tip against your slit to coax out another right after. He was having too much fun!

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who can’t even keep her eyes open. Too bad for you..”

suddenly, you’d feel the hard clutch of his digits around your throat which prompted you to gasp for air whilst clawing at his forearm. Zeroing in on your face, he’d hiss through gritted teeth and smile before slamming your head back down: “we’re not done, so wake that ass up. ‘M gonna beat that little pussy of yours so sore, you’ll be lucky if you can crawl out of here when I’m done. Gonna fuck you until you’re empty, baby..”

and something told you, that wouldn’t be anytime soon!

[luveline]

would you do a james fainting fic 🙏🙏

—James doesn’t like you, but he’ll come to your rescue. fem, 1.5k The office is hot. 

James dabs at his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Remus rubbing his eye. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

You look up from the paper on your desk. When you realise he isn’t asking you, you look away, your lips pressing into a tight line. James tries not to show he’s noticed. 

“Fine,” Remus mutters. “Fucked off ‘cos of the portal changing again. I hate these long passwords.” 

“Are you hot or is it just me?” 

You clear your throat. Usually, unless it’s Remus who’s spoken first or James has said something you find ridiculous, you won’t interrupt. “I’m really warm,” you say, “do you think I can open the window?” 

“Like you can reach it, shorts. I’ll do it.” James jumps up from his seat. Whether you’re short or not has nothing to do with it. James is taller, and he holds it against you diligently. 

He rounds your desks. The sun is worse on his skin than the heat alone. He can’t imagine how awful you must feel to have it on the side of your neck all day; in the half minute he stands there opening the window, the heat makes him queasy. 

He tugs the blinds down enough to shield you. It’ll help the entire office, he thinks. Not just you. If you thought he was doing something nice you’d only interrogate his motives until you both turned irate, and that’s the last thing anyone needs today. 

James isn’t sure how you and he ended up not liking one another. He’s never met anybody he didn’t like that wasn’t a massive wanker, and you are but you’re not, not really. When you first started he’d actually thought you were cute, and funny, if a little quiet. It didn’t matter because James is used to quiet people. But one thing turned to another, he’d used your mug without washing it, you’d left him off of the department emails for the quarter, then the snipping started. Constant nitpicking and bickering. You make it too easy, and so what if he likes how you look when you’re mad? It doesn’t hurt anybody to put your mug in the stockroom and your lunch on a different shelf. If anything, he’s keeping you vigilant. 

You don’t look vigilant. You don’t say anything as James sits back down, even though he hits his knee for the hundredth time on his desk. You usually love it. Sometimes when you’re tired he does it on purpose to give you a reason to keep going till 4:30. 

“Are you okay?” James asks finally, eyeing your face. “You look funnier than usual.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?” He should stop being mean. You look like you’re gonna pass out. 

Remus peeks over his computer screen. “You don’t look well,” he says. 

“I’m fine.” You roll your seat back. 

James pushes back at the same time. “Wait a second–”

You’re standing before James can stop you, but he stands up anyways, and he takes your elbow into his hand though he shouldn’t. You give him the most peculiar look, almost like you’re enjoying his touch, just for those two seconds, before your chin dips down and your eyes squeeze closed, and all of you goes slack. 

James grabs you at the precipice of a bad fall. 

You’re still as a doll in his hands. He leans back with a quick sigh, his arm curling over the small of your back and upward. Your legs aren’t holding your weight, and you begin to slip. 

James could keep you up, he doesn’t go to the gym for nothing, but Remus rushes to his aid and pushes your chair back, helping him set you down on the floor. “What do we do?” Remus asks urgently. 

James puts his hand behind your head. You’re slack. When he touches your face, your skin is as hot as the heart of a furnace. 

“Can you get some water?” he asks Remus. 

James is peculiarly calm. He knows you’re just hot, it’s not uncommon for people to faint in high temperatures, and he’s honestly confident in his ability to look after you. It’s very sad to see you unwell, of course, and his heart is beating fast as he takes in your slack mouth. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, cupping your cheek gently. He gives your face a little shake, reluctant to be rough with you while you’re vulnerable, even if some force would help. “Hey, can you hear me? You’re okay, can you open your eyes?” 

Nothing. He leans down a touch to listen for your breath, and it’s fine, if a tad fast. 

Remus comes back with a cup of water and Sirius, which is predictable but not super helpful. “Jesus,” Sirius says. “I’ll call an ambulance.” 

“She’ll die of embarrassment,” Remus says. 

“She’s coming around,” James says, patting your cheek, thrilled when your eyelashes twitch. “I think we should go into the break room, is it empty? We can sit her on the sofa.” 

“You don’t think we should do something a bit more drastic?” Sirius asks. 

James feels rather defensive of you. Remus is right, you would die of embarrassment if they called an ambulance, and he’s sure you’re fine. You have to be fine. “She just fainted, it’s so hot in here. Go open a window in the break room and we’ll wait for her to come around.” 

Sirius glares playfully at being told what to do, but he goes, and Remus kneels down beside James with a cup of water. Someone from the front of the office asks if you’re alright, but James misses what they’re saying as you let out a whine. 

All of a sudden, his attention is fully yours. 

“Hey,” he murmurs. 

Your eyes open slowly, lashes heavy like they’re thick with honey. You take in a deep, deep breath through your nose, and you blink, and you turn into his hand where it’s holding your cheek with all the familiarity of a lover. “James,” you mumble. 

His stomach aches. He ignores it. “You okay? Can you look at me properly? I need to make sure you’re fine.” 

“I’m fine,” you say, face pressed to his hand. 

“Just look at me. Just for a second.” 

You pull yourself with clear annoyance from his hand and open your eyes properly. He can pinpoint the moment you realise who he is, how you're touching, and he can’t explain the pang he gets when you rush up and away from his touch. “Oh, fuck,” you mumble, dropping your head, your fingers to your forehead and your thumb covering your eyes. 

“Hey, don’t move around so much.” He continues to be soft. You might have realised who it is that’s trying to look after you, and you might not want him to, but he’ll be damned if he lets your bickering stop him from making sure you’re as okay as he’d claimed to everyone else. “Are you okay?” 

“Did I…” 

“You fainted. Don’t worry, I caught you. Take it easy, okay? Have this.” 

He presses the cup of water into your hand.

Somewhere behind him, Remus has moved away, and is seemingly fending off the masses of people coming to offer assistance. 

You see them looking at you behind him and cover your face. 

James shuffles forward quickly. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna let anyone see you. I’m saving this embarrassment all for myself. Please drink your water.” 

“Did everybody see me fall?” 

“They saw us engaged in a loving cwtch. It was very romantic.” 

You sip your water. In truth, you don’t look much better for passing out, and James can’t get the feeling of your face out of his hand. He wants to touch you again, his fingers hesitating an inch from your knee. 

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he says. “You don’t control the weather. Do you?” 

“Of course I don’t.” 

“Then why are you sorry? It was alright. You have nothing to be sorry for, okay? We just want to make sure you’re okay. Sirius wanted to call an ambulance,” —you visibly baulk— “and I told him no, don’t worry. Then all the attention would be on you, and not me for my valiant rescue.” 

“Was I heavy?” you ask, your mumbling nearly friendly. 

“I can bench press two twenty.” 

“That… doesn’t mean anything to me.” 

“You’re nothing I couldn’t handle, shortcake. Do you think you can stand up? I’ll take you into the break room. You can lay down on the sofa.” 

You make a soft sound James won’t soon forget and put your hand out for his help. He doesn’t have to force you. You don’t have to ask. He helps you stand and keeps an arm behind your back, shielding you from the worried and curious gazes of your coworkers. 

You press your cheek to his chest. 

Remus looks at you both like you’ve been body-snatched, but it’s too late to wuss out now. 

[talkingattumble]

Hi guys! Here’s some advice from a cane user on how to spot a fake cane user/disability faker!

YOU CANT

You can not spot a “fake disabled” cane user. You can not know if someone’s “really disabled”, much less by just looking at them. Here are some common misconceptions.

“Cane users always need their canes. If they walk without it or put it away when it’s inconvenient, they’re faking”: WRONG! Many cane users are what we call “ambulatory” cane users. This means they don’t always need their canes to walk. I’m an ambulatory cane user, and I experience really horrible leg pain on the daily. However, I don’t always use my cane, and when I don’t need to walk or stand a lot in a certain place I don’t use it. And when I do use it, I may lift it off the ground or carry it in places that are sandy, gravelly, or otherwise hinder my cane.

“Cane users walk abnormally without their canes, someone who walks normally without their cane is faking”: WRONG! Many ambulatory cane users can walk in a way that seems “normal”. This doesn’t mean they’re not in pain, or not “really disabled”. This just means that their condition doesn’t cause a noticeable difference in walking, and likely manifests in a different way.

“Cane users always need their cane, someone who doesn’t use their cane at home is faking”: WRONG! Cane users may not use their canes at home, because at home they may be able to do things like sit down wherever and whenever, regain more spoons, and use other mobility aids. Additionally, some ambulatory cane users only need or use their canes when they are doing something physically taxing, like going on a hike or standing in a long line.

“My cane user friend told me this person looks like they’re faking, so it must be true”: WRONG! Being a cane user doesn’t immediately make you an expert on all different conditions and experiences. Your friend does not know the random cane user walking down the street, they are going off looks and stereotypes. Disabled people are not immune to being ableist.

“They enjoy their cane too much/they’re too happy/they decorate their cane, so they can’t actually be in enough pain to need a cane” WRONG! We’re people like everyone else, and we experience positive emotions too, even if we go through a lot of pain. To me, customizing my cane is like getting a tattoo or putting streaks in my hair, it’s a way of self expression. And we deserve to be able to talk openly about our full experience, which include the parts we’re neutral or happy about.

“They’re one of those cringey teenagers who name themselves arson and like dsmp, so they’re probably faking” WRONG! Do I even have to explain why saying someone isn’t disabled because of their name and interests is messed up and also stupid? Or did you already know that and just wanted to make fun of a disabled teenager?

“They’re too young to be using a cane, so they must be faking” WRONG! there are lots of disabilities or injuries that can cause young people to need a mobility aid. For example, I use a cane for my fibromyalgia.

“They only use it in private places, and never in places where people recognize them, so they must be faking” WRONG! In a world where anyone can just randomly take out their phone, take a picture of a cane user, and post them online to be made fun of, it can be stressful to use a cane in public areas. Also, they may not want people to ask questions, or they may feel embarrassed about it.

“I saw them switch hands, so they must be faking” WRONG! There are different reasons a cane used might do this, but I’m going to use my experience as an example. My fibromyalgia is not consistent. Sometimes one leg hurts more then the other. But as I said, fibromyalgia is inconsistent, and sometimes my other leg will start to hurt more or need more support, which is when I switch hands. And when both my legs hurt equally, I may switch my hand if it’s getting too sore.

“They told me they feel like they’re faking when they use their cane, doesn’t that mean they don’t really need it?” WRONG! Imposter syndrome is strong in a lot of disabled people, especially when for a lot of our lives we were told by doctors that we were fine and just being dramatic. Anxiety is also comorbid with a lot of physically disabilities, which only strengthens this. To add to this, something that I’ve felt and seen other disabled people talk about it, when their disability aid lessens the pain, they start thinking “well I’m not in that much pain so I don’t really need it” even though the reason they’re not in that much pain is because of the aid. I know it seems dumb, but imposter syndrome can be that strong and affects disabled people a lot.

“They don’t have a diagnosis, so they must be faking” WRONG! First of all, diagnoses are expensive. On their own they’re often already expensive, but counting the tons of tests you have to take to confirm the diagnosis? Absolutely ludicrous. Some may also choose not to get a diagnosis, so that they don’t have to deal with the prejudice and setbacks of being diagnosed. Also, some people use a cane for injuries, and for stress or fatigue related pains.

These are only a few of the things I commonly hear from fakeclaimers, and I wanted to just put out a reminder that fakeclaiming hurts the disabled community much, much more than it does ableists. Next time you see someone with a cane switch hands, or someone with a wheelchair stand up, or someone with crutches put them down, before you immediately call them out to a friend, take a picture, or write a post: does your fakeclaim rely on stereotypes? Are your reasons things that apply to ambulatory aid users?

If so, just stop. Be mindful. Please.

[gojoux]

Reaction of the JJK men (Gojo, Toji, Nanami, Choso) when you fall asleep waiting for their return !!!!

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍

Gojo. Geto. Sukuna. Nanami. Choso. Toji. Megumi. Itadori. Yuta.

◈ — 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

Gojo is a busy man with missions, so when he's very busy, he'd often come home after a few days or the very least he could do was come home late. When he notices you, the first thing he does is let out a small smile. “My baby was waiting for me, hm?” He walks towards you and sits beside you as he admires your features, brushing the back of his index finger on your cheek, “You look so cute even when you're asleep. I think you know that already.” He chuckles quietly before joining you to sleep on the couch as well, wrapping his arms around you and pressing you close to him, mumbling, “We have a lot to catch up on when you wake up,” before closing his eyes.

◈ — 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

It was a bit late at night since he had some business to do with money-collecting monkeys. “Oh, my love is asleep. What should I do?” He talks to himself in a lighthearted tone before sitting down next to you, and placing your head on his lap as he caresses your head gently with a smile on his face like you're the only person he loves. He'd ask someone to bring a blanket and he'll drape it over your body. He doesn't know what strong will of a cursed spirit he consumes but he could stay in this position for quite some time just to admire you as you sleep. “Sweet dreams to you, love.”

◈ — 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

In his situation, let's say he just came back home from doing... whatever you imagined. He's too immersed at the moment that he doesn't realize it's already late and now, he already has someone waiting for him at home. “Hmm? Already asleep? I didn't think I took that long.” He'd toss his robe to the side and sit down in front of your sleeping body, “Look at you, willing to stay up for me until you fall asleep.” He chuckles. “We have quite a few things to do once you wake up. Until then, dream of me.” He then sighs when he sees you probably fall off the couch, “I don't want to sleep on the floor though,” as he lifts your body and walks towards the bed.

◈ — 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

It's always the same case with him if he comes home late, overtime. He'd feel sorry for not coming home earlier since you must have been very sleepy just to wait for him. His shoulder slumps as he closes the door and loosens his tie as he walks towards the couch to see you already asleep. “You must be tired waiting for me.” He'd sit beside you and hold your hand, caressing the back of your hand with his thumb. He immediately notices the position you're sleeping in and lets out a sigh again, “That can't be comfortable,” as he lays your body down. He'll join you to sleep, resting his back on the couch's pillow and placing a hand on your body.

◈ — 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎

“I'm home.” He'd be worried and concerned when he came home and saw you sleeping on the couch alone at night but he'd be relieved when he saw that you had at least a blanket wrapped over you. He'd just sit beside you, staring at your peaceful face in deep slumber. “I'm sorry I came back home late, I have something to do.” He'd caress your arm, apologizing for whatever reason he's late even when you're sleeping. “I'm afraid I'll wake you up if I lift you to the bedroom.” He makes himself comfortable on the couch as he tries to think of a few things he can do to make you a little happy later on once you wake up.

◈ — 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

“Hmm?” He'd be confused when you're not there by the door to greet him like usual. He walks close towards the couch to see you there, already fast asleep. His eyes glance towards the clock to show the time that indeed is already late, and he immediately figures that you must be asleep waiting for him since you're not in bed as usual. “You shouldn't wait for me when you're already sleepy, I told you this. You're so stubborn sometimes.” He says to himself with a shake of his head, a small grin appears on his face, as he kneels to look at your face better. “I'm glad you're willing to wait for me though.” He chuckles to himself as he caresses your head.

◈ — 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈

Megumi would stare at your sleeping body on the couch, hugging his dog plushie with no blanket to be seen, and then glance at the clock, showing that it's not that late yet, before letting out a soft sigh. “(Y/N).” He carefully shakes you awake, feeling a bit guilty as he does so since you must be feeling sleepy to fall asleep quite earlier than usual. Once your eyes slowly open, he'll hold your hand gently. “You shouldn't sleep on the couch like this just to wait for me... you'll catch a cold.” He cares so much for you and he's trying to show it with his way. “Next time, just wait in the bedroom. Now let's go to bed. You can continue to sleep there.” He squeezes your hand in his. “I will join you after I shower, okay?”

◈ — 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈

“Why are you sleeping on the couch?” He asks your sleeping body before kneeling in front of your laid down body on the couch. “You look so cute.” He mumbles as he admires your face. He sleeps on the couch sometimes, he doesn't mind a bit of soreness since the couch is not exactly as soft as the bed, but he doesn't want you to feel the same. “(Y/N)... (Y/N)...” He pokes your cheek with his index finger gently to wake you up. “Let's go to bed? I'll give you a nice, big cuddle.” He grins widely as he waits for you to open your eyes when you start to stir in your sleep from his constant poking. “Let me help you get up, you're still sleepy.”

◈ — 𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀

Yuta would be surprised that you're willing to make yourself sleep less comfortable on the couch waiting for him. “Eh? Why are you sleeping here?” He walks towards you, only to see your eyes are still closed in deep slumber. “You should be asleep on the bed...” He mumbles as he caresses your cheek with his thumb as gently as he can since he's afraid he'll wake you up. “Did I come home too late?” He asks himself quietly, not quite keeping up with the time. “Did you overwork yourself alone?” He then asks your sleeping body as he checks for any signs of fatigue. He'll join you to sleep after adjusting your position and blanket, making sure you're as comfortable as you can on the couch.

I shall write for all (for satisfication purposes) 🫡

[erwinsvow]

𝐫𝐜 - 𝟐:𝟏𝟏𝐩𝐦

you slept at tannyhill every night now.

it was commonplace to see you making breakfast in the kitchen, by the pool with sarah or inside watching some silly movie with wheezie. that was only sometimes though, since all your time was usually spent with rafe.

he liked having you around at tannyhill all the time—he thought it was cute. you wait for him to get back like a little housewife, looking pretty and pampered and tan, like he wants.

he doesn’t like waking you up early when he’s leaving for the day. you used to set your alarm to get up and drink coffee with him but he’s started turning it off—you don’t have any reason to be up that early.

sweet and always compliant, you do as he says, sleeping in. rafe presses a kiss to your forehead in the morning before he leaves, day filled with meetings and business things that he doesn’t always tell you about in detail. you just know that he’s gone.

“stoppin’ by barry’s and then the club with kelce. we’re playing golf with-” you listen to rafe while he puts on his watch and his rings, but you drift off half way through. you feel the warm press of his lips on your skin and the sound of him saying goodbye.

you’re not sure when it happened—you used to get up early and get ready for the day, filling your summer days with friends at the beach and your books by the pool and never going more than an hour alone. but now that you’re with rafe, it’s so easy to sit around and wait for him. you don’t even want to see anyone, you just want the hours to pass until he’s back.

maybe it’s not healthy. you don’t really care much even if it’s not.

you fall back asleep, and wake up when the sun is pouring in between rafe’s dark curtains. you stretch and debate going downstairs to eat something, but after brushing your teeth you crawl back into rafe’s bed. the sheets smell like him and you stare awfully long at the pillow he sleeps on. shifting the pillow to lay on it, you fall back asleep, not waking up until you hear the door to his room open.

rubbing your eyes, you glance up, hoping it’s not ward looking for him since you’re just in one of rafe’s shirts and nothing else, but the shape in front of you gets closer and clearer.

“what’s this? been in bed all day, kid?” you yawn again.

“what time is it?” you question, laying back down against rafe’s pillow.

“two in the afternoon.” he comes and sits by the edge, stroking your hair while you melt into his touch. “got any plans to get up today?” you shake your head.

“your bed’s comfy. and it smells like you.”

“that’s cute, kid. gotta get up eventually.”

“you’ll have to make me.”

“that can be arranged.” you giggle, lifting yourself up to give rafe a hug, head resting on his shoulder. "but i like you like this. don't have to lift a finger, do'ya?"

“no," you agree, nodding your head. maybe you could get used to this. "missed you.”

“i’m back now. nothin’ to miss.”

“i still do.” rafe presses another kiss to your forehead, and you nestle in further. “i could fall asleep like this.”

“yeah, no.” in one motion he scoops you up, placing you on your feet. you yelp in surprise, fighting against his grip.

"i'm still tired! i thought you wanted to spoil me, this isn't spo-"

“shut up. c’mon, we’re gonna go shower.” that shuts you up right away. 

“okay,” you sing sweetly, suddenly compliant. 

“yeah, i knew you'd get out of bed for some dick. little freak.”