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stylesispunk · 3 days ago

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"Our little mistletoe" day 2/4

no outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

summary: You got sick during the week of Christmas. Unable to leave home, Joel brings Christmas to you, and some feelings are confessed.

wc: 6,3>

warnings: just fluff. (Yes, no angst.)

a/n: welcome to the second day of my joel's fic christmas version event. Perhaps, PERHAPS I will add one more day to this mini event. Thank you so much for the love on the day one of this mini event! So glad you lived that one. ♥️♥️ It's funny that at the same time, I'm writing this, I'm sick, but instead of cozy blankets and cold weather, here it's hot. I need Joel to come and save me. I don't know if you're gonna like this one as much as the fic one, i hope you like it though. Happy reading 💌

By this time of the day, you would have been already on Joel’s house, helping him to get everything ready for tonight’s dinner. Setting some last-minute decorations with Sarah that he always had forgot to put on display inside the house.

You weren’t the biggest fan of Christmas or travelling during these holidays, but you always had put a show for him, especially for Sarah since she was a little kid.

And he loved that. He loved it so much.

The way you belonged to his house, the way your skin seemed to glow under the twinkling lights, the smile you grace when he was opening the gift you had delicately chose for him.

Or the way you smelled like sweet pastries

You, just you.

You were his favorite part of the holidays and of life itself. You were woven into every tradition, every memory that mattered. From the moment you stepped into his life, you'd filled spaces he hadn't even known were empty.

Joel watched as you carefully adjusted a wreath over the fireplace, your fingers lingering to straighten the ribbon just so. Sarah had darted into the kitchen to check on the cookies, leaving the two of you in the soft glow of the Christmas tree.

“Think it looks alright?” you asked, turning to him with a smile that knocked the wind out of his chest.

“Looks perfect,” he murmured, but he wasn’t talking about the wreath.

You laughed, shaking your head as if you could brush off his intensity. “You always say that.”

“’Cause it’s always true,” he replied, voice low and warm.

You turned back to the decorations, but Joel kept his eyes on you, taking in the way you fit into this moment as though you were meant to be here all along.

It wasn’t just Christmas. It was you. It had always been you.

Joel’s thoughts came back to the present moment as worry nagged him. He checked on his phone, the last message he had sent you remained there, not even seen.

Joel’s thumb hovered over the screen, his brow furrowing as he stared at the text.

You on your way yet? Sarah's been asking for you.

The read receipt hadn’t popped up, and that alone was enough to set him on edge.

You were never late, especially not for Christmas dinner.

The sound of laughter floated from the kitchen as Sarah shouted something about burnt cookies, but Joel couldn’t focus. His gut twisted with a sense of unease he couldn’t shake. He stood, pacing toward the window, glancing out at the driveway that remained empty.

He checked the time. It wasn’t like you to keep him waiting.

Pulling his coat off the hook, Joel stepped out onto the porch. The cold air bit at his skin, but it didn’t matter. He needed to do something, anything. The world felt too still, too quiet without you in it.

He dialed your number, pacing back and forth as the phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Then it went to voicemail.

Joel ran a hand down his face, gripping the back of his neck as his heartbeat picked up.

“Where the hell are you?” he muttered under his breath, glancing at his phone again.

Just as he was about to call again, the door behind him creaked open, and Sarah peeked out, a worried look on her face.

“Dad? Everything okay?” she asked.

Joel forced a smile he didn’t feel. “Yeah, sweetheart. Just...waitin’ for her. You know how the roads can get this time of year.”

Joel barely had time to answer Sarah’s question when the sound of tires crunching against cobblestones pulled his attention. He turned toward the driveway to see Tommy’s truck rolling in, headlights cutting through the early winter dusk. Relief warred in his chest.

Tommy stepped out of the truck, shaking off the cold as he made his way to the porch. "Merry Christmas eve, big brother," he called, his usual smirk in place. But it faltered when he got a good look at Joel’s face. "What’s with the long face? Something happened?"

Joel didn’t waste time. “I need you to stay here with Sarah.”

Tommy blinked, confused. “What? Why? Ain’t this the time we’re all supposed to be gathering’ ‘round the tree, singing’ carols or whatever?”

“I think somethin’ might’ve happened,” Joel admitted referring to you, his tone heavy with worry. “She isn’t here yet. Ain’t answerin’ my messages or calls, and that just...ain’t her.”

Tommy’s playful demeanor vanished, replaced by quiet seriousness. “Alright. I’ll stay. Go find her.”

Joel gave him a firm nod, patting his shoulder in thanks before grabbing his keys and heading for his truck. He was halfway down the driveway, his mind already running through the possibilities, car trouble, icy roads, something worse, when his phone buzzed on the seat beside him.

He swerved to a stop, snatching the phone up. It was you.

“Hey,” he answered, his voice sharp with worry. “Where the hell are you? Are you alright?”

There was a long pause on the other end, and then your voice came through, soft and raspy. “I’m so sorry, Joel. I overslept. I think I’m coming down with something.”

Joel exhaled sharply, a mix of relief and concern flooding through him. “Jesus, you scared the hell outta me. You could’ve called sooner.”

“I know,” you murmured, guilt laced in your tone. “I didn’t want to ruin your Christmas eve or worry you. I just...I feel awful.”

Joel’s grip on the phone tightened as he pulled off the road, parking his truck. “Ruin my Christmas eve?” he echoed, his voice softening. “You’re the only part of it I care about.”

There was a pause on your end, and Joel could imagine the way you’d be biting your lip at his words. “I’m sorry, Joel. I really wanted to be there, but I barely can keep myself up.”

“You don’t gotta apologize. You just sit tight, alright?” Joel's voice was firm but gentle, there was a lace of disappointment hanging there, but because of the thought of you spending all this night alone. "I’ll figure it out. Just rest, okay? I’ll check on you later."

You let out a tired sigh, tinged with a hint of guilt. "Okay. Merry Christmas eve, Joel. Tell Sarah I’m sorry."

Joel’s chest tightened at how small your voice sounded, the strength you usually carried replaced by exhaustion. "Merry Christmas eve, darlin’. Just take care of yourself, alright?"

He ended the call, staring at his phone for a moment before slipping it into his pocket. The engine idled quietly as Joel sat there, the glow of his truck’s dashboard lights illuminating his face. You might have been stuck at home, but that didn’t mean you had to spend Christmas Eve alone.

A plan had come up to his mind.

He swung the truck around, heading back toward the house with a sense of purpose. When he pulled into the driveway, Tommy was waiting on the porch, bundled in his coat, a questioning look on his face.

"Everything alright?" Tommy asked as Joel climbed out.

“She’s sick,” Joel said, already heading toward the front door. "Ain’t coming over."

Tommy frowned. "Then why are you back? Givin’ up that easy?"

Joel shot him a pointed look as he stepped inside. "Hell no. We’re taking Christmas to her."

Sarah popped her head out from the kitchen, her face lighting up when she saw her dad. "She’s not coming?"

"Not feelin’ well," Joel explained as he grabbed a couple of boxes of decorations from the living room. "But that don’t mean she’s missin’ out."

Sarah grinned, catching on to his plan. "You mean we’re bringing all this to her place?"

"Damn right we are," Joel said, already sorting through the things he’d need. "Grab the cookies, the rest of the food and some of the lights."

Tommy let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You’re really doin’ this, huh?"

Joel shot him a look that said everything. "All of us, Tommy. Come on”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, his smirk fading as realization dawned. “Wait, me too?

Joel didn’t even pause as he grabbed another box of lights. “You’re comin’. You’re part of this family, ain’t you?”

Tommy smiled, following Joel into the kitchen, where Sarah was already busy wrapping up the food with a determined look on her face. “Fine, but don’t blame me if I eat half those cookies on the way.”

“You do, and you’re walkin’,” Joel shot back, his voice teasing but his pace relentless.

Within minutes, the truck was packed to the brim. Lights, food, decorations, everything that screamed Christmas was crammed into the back. Joel stood by the truck, taking a deep breath, his hands on his hips as he looked over the load.

“Think she’ll like it?” Sarah asked, her smile lighting up her face.

Joel turned to her with a small smile, his tone soft. “She’ll love it, baby girl”

“Alright, let’s go before I change my mind about this,” Tommy muttered, climbing into the passenger seat.

As Tommy settled into the passenger seat, he rummaged through one of the bags he’d grabbed last minute from the house. A sly grin spread across his face as he pulled out a small sprig of mistletoe, holding it up between two fingers.

“Don’t forget about this, big brother,” he said, his tone dripping with mischief as he waved it in Joel’s direction.

Joel glanced over, narrowing his eyes. “What the hell are you doin’ with that?”

Tommy shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. “Figured you’d want it. Never know when it might come in handy. You will Kiss her tonight, brother”

Joel rolled his eyes, though the heat creeping up his neck betrayed him. “Tommy, don’t start.”

“I’m just sayin’.” Tommy leaned back, twirling the mistletoe like it was some kind of trophy. “You’re doin’ all this for her, haulin’ Christmas across town like some kinda lovesick Santa Claus. Might as well seal the deal.”

“Tommy,” Joel warned, his voice low and pointed. “This ain’t about that.”

“Oh, sure,” Tommy said, his grin widening. “Just about spreadin’ some holiday cheer, huh? Totally normal to pack up half your house for a ‘friend.’” He made air quotes with his fingers, earning a laugh from Sarah in the backseat.

“Uncle Tommy’s got a point, Dad,” Sarah chimed in, her voice light but playful. “I mean, you like her, right? Why not just go for it?”

Joel gripped the wheel a little tighter, his jaw working as he tried to come up with a response that wouldn’t give Tommy and Sarah even more ammunition. “Ain’t the time for that,” he muttered.

Tommy leaned forward, mistletoe still in hand. “Oh, come on, Joel. You’re already playin’ the hero tonight. Don’t tell me you’re gonna chicken out now.”

Joel shot him a glare, but Tommy just laughed. “You’re impossible,” Joel muttered, snatching the mistletoe from his brother’s hand and tossing it onto the dashboard.

“Just keep it handy,” Tommy said with a wink. “You’ll thank me later.”

Joel shook his head, but the teasing didn’t stop the thought from creeping in. The mistletoe sat there, a quiet challenge he wasn’t quite ready to face, as they drove toward your house.

You had just started to drift off, the ache in your head and the warmth of your blankets pulling you under, when a knock at the door jolted you awake. At first, you thought you’d imagined it, but there it was again, a firm, familiar rhythm that made your heart stutter.

Groaning softly, you pushed yourself up, wrapping the blanket tighter around your shoulders as you shuffled toward the door. The pounding in your head didn’t do much to help the confusion swirling in your mind. Who would be here at this hour?

You opened the door a crack, peeking out cautiously, only to have your breath catch in your throat.

Joel stood there, snow dusting his hair and jacket, his arms holding a box full of things that looked suspiciously festive. Behind him, Sarah and Tommy were standing by the truck, each holding their own share of decorations and food.

“Joel?” you croaked, your voice rough from the scratchiness in your throat.

“Hey,” he said softly, his eyes sweeping over you with concern. “You look like hell.”

“Wow, thanks,” you muttered, pulling the blanket closer around you. “What’re you doing here?”

“Bringin’ Christmas to you,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Joel took the opportunity to step inside, brushing past you gently as he carried a box of decorations toward your living room. Sarah and Tommy followed suit, grinning like conspirators as they set down their own loads of holiday cheer.

“Wait, wait,” you protested, your head spinning as you tried to keep up. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“No,” Joel said, turning to face you, his expression warm but resolute. “But I wanted to. You shouldn’t spend Christmas alone, sick or not.”

Sarah appeared at your side, holding a plate of cookies wrapped in foil. “We made these for you! Well, Dad baked them”

“Did you bake them?” You asked, recieiving the plate from Sarah.

“No, I bought them, really. I made Sarah believe I was baking” he replied, without giving himself credit.

“Such a fake” you said, but you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, though it quickly turned into a cough. Joel was at your side in an instant, his hand on your back, steadying you.

“C’mon,” he said, guiding you gently toward the couch. “Sit down. Let us take care of this.”

“Joel,” you began, your voice hoarse but filled with emotion, “you really didn’t have to—”

“I did,” he cut you off, his tone leaving no room for argument. His eyes softened as he looked at you, and for a moment, the chaos of the room faded into the background. “You’re part of this, part of us. Always have been. So, yeah, I did.”

You blinked at him, your chest tightening with something that wasn’t just the cold. Before you could respond, Tommy called out from the kitchen.

Before you could say anything, Tommy’s voice broke through the moment, his tone dripping with playful mischief.

“Well, look at this,” he drawled, stepping closer with the infamous sprig of mistletoe in his hand. “Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’. She looks at you like you’re her Christmas miracle, Joel. Might as well give her a reason to keep starin’.”

Joel groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tommy, don’t—”

But Tommy was already moving. With the precision of a man who lived to be a menace, he slipped the mistletoe into the back pocket of Joel’s jeans, patting it smugly as if he’d completed a masterpiece.

“There,” Tommy declared, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “Now you’re carryin’ it everywhere, just in case the moment strikes. Plus,” he added with a wink in your direction, “I think someone else here might be on board with this idea.”

Your face burned as the attention shifted to you, and you quickly glanced away, pretending to be fascinated by the pattern on the blanket you’d pulled over your lap.

“Tommy,” Joel growled, his voice a low warning.

“What?” Tommy said, holding his hands up in mock innocence. “I’m just tryin’ to help. I mean, come on, big brother. Don’t act like she ain’t got that same look you’ve been sportin’ for years now.”

“Tommy,” Joel repeated, but there was a faint flush creeping up his neck now.

You managed to peek up at Joel, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. Tommy’s teasing words might’ve been delivered with a smirk, but there was truth buried in them.

Joel caught your gaze, and for a split second, everything else seemed to fade.

“Alright, enough,” Joel said finally, dragging a hand down his face as he shot Tommy a glare. “Don’t you have somethin’ better to do?”

“Not really,” Tommy quipped, sauntering off toward the pile of lights he’d been working on.

As the room filled with Sarah’s chatter and the sound of Christmas music Tommy had turned on, Joel lingered by your side, looking equal parts exasperated and amused.

“Don’t pay him any mind,” he murmured, his voice soft enough that only you could hear. “He’s just talkin’ nonsense.”

But when you glanced down at the faint hint of green peeking from his back pocket, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, Tommy wasn’t entirely wrong.

As the evening wore on, the laughter and warmth filling your small home was everything you hadn’t realized you needed. The twinkling lights Joel and Sarah had strung up bathed the room in a soft glow, and the scent of cookies and food mingled with the piney aroma of the small tree Tommy had managed to haul inside.

But as much as you loved the idea of them bringing Christmas to you, the pounding in your head refused to let up. You tried to hide it, smiling and laughing as Sarah excitedly talked about different things, but she was too perceptive for her own good.

“Are you okay?” Sarah asked gently, her brows furrowing as she leaned closer to you on the couch.

You waved her off with a weak smile. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

Sarah wasn’t convinced. She glanced over at Joel, who was mid-conversation with Tommy about fixing the uneven lights on the tree. “Maybe we should let her rest,” Sarah said softly, her concern evident. “We can go back home. It’s been such a nice night already.”

“No,” you said quickly, sitting up straighter despite the dull ache in your head. “I don’t want you to leave. You’ve already done so much, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you packing everything up after all this effort.”

Joel turned his head at the sound of your voice, his eyes narrowing as he took in your pale complexion. “You sure, darlin’? You look like you could use some quiet.”

“I’m sure,” you insisted, though the words came out weaker than you intended. “You’ve made this place feel like Christmas. Stay. Please.”

Tommy smirked from where he was fiddling with the ornaments. “Guess that settles it. Looks like we’re havin’ a sleepover.”

Sarah’s face lit up. “Really? We can stay?”

You nodded, giving her a reassuring smile. “Of course. There’s plenty of room.”

Joel rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze flicking between you and Sarah. “Alright, but only if you promise to tell me if you’re feelin’ worse. I mean it.”

You nodded, touched by the concern in his voice.

“Well,” Joel said, clapping his hands together. “If we’re stayin’, how ‘bout a movie? Somethin’ Christmas-y.”

Sarah practically bounced in her seat. “Home Alone!” she suggested immediately.

Tommy groaned. “Haven’t we seen that one a hundred times?”

“Exactly,” Sarah retorted, grinning.

Joel chuckled and looked at you. “What d’you think?”

You leaned back into the couch, grateful for the blanket Sarah had draped over you earlier. “Home Alone sounds perfect.”

Sarah bounced up from the couch, eager to grab snacks and drinks for everyone. As she passed Joel, she flashed him a mischievous smile. "You can sit by her now, dad," she said, her voice teasing. "She's gonna need someone to keep her warm."

Joel gave her a mock glare, but there was a warmth in his eyes as he stood up and made his way toward the couch. He carefully settled beside you, just close enough that you could feel his presence, but not so close that it felt intrusive. He was getting really nervous about your company tonight in a way his heart seemed to explode at the thought of touching you.

“Comfy?” he asked quietly, his eyes scanning your face for any signs that you were still struggling. His hand rested on the couch cushion next to yours, as if he was just waiting for the right moment to reach for you if you needed him.

You smiled faintly, grateful for his care. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice still a bit rough. “Thanks for staying. This... this means a lot.”

He glanced at you, his gaze softening. “You’re not gonna get rid of me that easily, darlin’.” There was a tenderness in his voice that made your heart flutter despite the headache.

You shifted slightly on the couch, the warmth of his presence comforting, and without thinking, you leaned in closer, resting your head gently on his shoulder. You could feel the muscles in his arm tense slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted just enough to make sure you were comfortable, his warmth enveloping you like a protective blanket.

For a moment, you simply listened to the sounds of the movie and the gentle chatter of Sarah and Tommy, feeling the steady rise and fall of Joel’s breath beneath your ear. The headache was still there, pounding softly in the background, but having Joel so near helped ease the tension in your body, his steady presence grounding you.

Joel’s hand, which had been resting on the cushion beside you, slowly moved. At first, it just hovered near your shoulder, but then, as though asking permission, it settled softly on your arm. His touch was gentle, a silent reassurance that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

"Is this okay?" he asked quietly, his voice low, barely louder than the sound of the movie.

You nodded slightly, not trusting yourself to speak. His presence, his warmth, it was exactly what you needed, even if you hadn’t realized it before. You allowed yourself to sink further into him, feeling a small sense of peace settle over you.

Joel’s hand tightened just slightly, not enough to be uncomfortable, but enough to remind you that he was there.

I’m here, and I’m not leaving.

The steady rhythm of Joel’s breath, the warmth of his body next to yours, and the gentle hum of the movie in the background all worked together to lull you into a calm, peaceful state. Your eyelids grew heavier with each passing second, the exhaustion from the day and the pounding headache making it harder to stay awake.

As you settled deeper into the couch, Joel’s presence became the anchor that kept you grounded, and before you knew it, you drifted off, your breathing slowing into a relaxed, steady pattern. The last thing you were aware of was the comforting weight of his arm around you, pulling you just a little bit closer, as if he too was holding onto this moment, savoring the peace and quiet that you shared together.

Joel didn’t say anything as you fell asleep. He simply let you rest, his hand lightly stroking your arm as he made sure you were comfortable, his gaze softening as he looked down at you. His heart swelled with a tenderness that made him afraid of his feelings.

As you slept peacefully, nestled against Joel, the soft glow of the Christmas lights cast a warm hue across the room. The only sound was the low hum of the movie playing in the background and the occasional shift of movement from the others.

Tommy, who had been lounging on the armchair, glanced over at the two of you with a smirk. He was doing his best to stifle a laugh, but it was clear he couldn’t resist.

“Well, well,” Tommy teased quietly, “You look adorable together.”

Joel’s eyes flicked to Tommy, a mix of annoyance and something else flickering in his gaze. He could get used to spend every day with you like this. “Shut up, Tommy,” he muttered under his breath, but his tone was far from harsh. He didn’t want to wake you, not when you were so peacefully resting.

Joel shot him a warning look, but the corners of his lips tugged into a smile despite himself. “You’ve got a hell of a way of making things awkward,” he grumbled, but it was clear he wasn’t bothered by the teasing.

Meanwhile, Sarah had curled up on the floor with a blanket, her eyes already fluttering closed. She was tired from the day’s events, her excitement finally catching up to her.

Joel looked down at you again, his hand still lightly resting on your shoulder as if unwilling to move. But then he noticed Sarah, fast asleep on the floor, and a new thought came to him.

“Tommy,” Joel called quietly, nudging his brother once more. “Can you help me get Sarah to the guest room? She’s out cold, and I don’t want her sleepin’ on the floor.”

Tommy, not missing a beat, grinned widely. “I can’t believe you’re getting rid of your daughter to get a girlfriend,” he teased, winking at Joel.

Joel didn’t even respond to that, his attention already on you. “Just help me, damn it,” he muttered, trying to keep the playful teasing to a minimum.

With a sigh, Tommy got up and walked over to Sarah, carefully lifting her and making sure she didn’t stir. Joel remained on the couch, his heart still racing from the tenderness of the moment, silently praying that you wouldn’t wake up just yet.

As Tommy returned to the living room, he gave Joel a quick nod, signaling that Sarah was settled comfortably in the guest room. Joel looked down at you, still asleep on his shoulder, and a deep tenderness washed over him. He wasn’t sure if he could carry you without waking you, but seeing you so peaceful in his arms made him want to do everything he could to keep you safe and comfortable.

He carefully lifted you, one arm gently supporting your back and the other under your knees. His movements were slow and deliberate, trying his best not to disturb you. Your soft, steady breathing was a comfort to him as he began walking toward your bedroom.

Tommy, noticing the situation, gave Joel a teasing grin. “You sure you don’t need help, Joel?”

Joel shot him a look, his usual gruffness softened by the moment. “Just keep it down, alright? Don’t wanna wake her.”

Tommy’s grin only widened, but he stayed quiet, giving Joel the space he needed.

As Joel made his way into your bedroom, he gently lowered you onto the bed, making sure your head was resting comfortably on the pillow. He tucked the blanket around you, his fingers brushing against your skin for a brief moment. It wasn’t much, but the way you looked so peaceful made something inside him stir, and for a second, he just stood there, watching you.

His gaze lingered on your face, tracing the soft curve of your features, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Get some rest, darlin'," he whispered, as if the words could protect you from whatever might come next. "I’m right here."

Joel returned to the living room, his footsteps quiet but deliberate. Tommy, who had been half-leaning on the couch with his feet up, looked up at him with a smirk. Joel wiped a hand across his face, trying to shake off the quiet weight of the night.

“I’ll take the sofa,” Joel said, his voice low. “You can take the other bed in the guest room. It’s all set up.”

Tommy gave him an exaggerated shrug, as if to say he didn’t care where he slept. “Alright, alright. Guess it’s good to be the one on the couch for once.” He stood up and stretched, heading toward the guest room Joel had pointed out. “Night, man.”

“Night, Tommy,” Joel muttered, already turning back toward the bedroom.

Once everything settled down, the house was quiet again, save for the soft sounds of the holiday decorations swaying and the occasional crackle from the fireplace. Joel moved softly, making his way back down the hall to your room, checking the time briefly as he walked. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt the need to be near you, even if you were sleeping.

When he pushed open the door to your room, expecting to see you still sleeping peacefully, his heart stuttered in his chest. There you were, awake, your eyes wide, watching him from the bed. The soft light of the bedside lamp illuminated your face, casting a warm glow over your features.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, just taking in the presence of the other.

"Hey," Joel said quietly, leaning against the doorframe, his voice hoarse, like he was still trying to process the night.

You offered him a tired smile, but there was something else there too, an understanding, something deeper that only the two of you seemed to share “How did I get here?” you asked.

Joel stepped closer, his eyes softening. “I carried you to bed.” he confessed, his voice gentle. His gaze dropped to the bed, the warmth of your presence drawing him in. “You feeling better?”

You nodded slightly, even though you knew you weren’t completely alright. But there was something about having Joel near you that made you feel just a little more at ease.

“I’m alright now," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "But you should get some rest too. You’ve done more than enough."

Joel stood there for a beat, as if considering what to say next. Then, he smiled softly, a trace of that quiet tenderness in his eyes. “I’ll rest when I know you’re okay.”

With that, he pulled up a chair near the bed, sitting down so that he could keep an eye on you. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stay there, but he didn’t mind. He just needed to know you were alright.

You shifted slightly in the bed, glancing over at Joel, who was still sitting in the chair, watching you with that soft, protective look in his eyes. A small, tired smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you studied him for a moment.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper, the weight of the night lingering in the air between you. "You don't have to sit there all night."

Joel chuckled quietly, though it held a hint of disbelief. "I'm just making sure you're okay," he said, his voice low but reassuring. He leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees, never taking his eyes off you. "I told you, I’ll rest when you’re alright."

You could see the exhaustion etched on his face, his shoulders slumped with the weight of the long night, but there was still that protective energy about him. You couldn’t help but feel grateful, though you also felt a small ache in your chest seeing him so worn out.

“You can sleep with me, Joel," you said, the words slipping out before you had a chance to stop them. You quickly added, "I mean, if you want to. You don’t have to keep sitting there."

Joel’s expression softened as he took in your offer. He hesitated for a moment, the vulnerability in the air palpable between you two. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he finally nodded.

"Yeah," he said quietly, his voice a little rough with emotion. "I think I’d like that."

He stood up slowly, as if testing the idea, then moved to your side. You shifted to make room for him, pulling the blanket back slightly. As he lay down beside you, his warmth seemed to fill the room, and you could feel the tension in your chest loosen just a little.

Joel settled in beside you, not too close but close enough that you could feel his presence. His hand brushed yours, and you both let out a quiet, simultaneous sigh of relief. He shifted onto his side, facing you, his eyes scanning your face as if to make sure you were still okay.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The room was still, only the quiet sound of your breathing filling the space. Finally, Joel’s voice broke the silence, low and soft.

"You sure you're alright?" he asked, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand.

You nodded, your heart swelling with emotion as you glanced over at him. "I’m better now," you whispered. "With you here." You paused for a moment “What you did tonight…I can’t find the words to thank you.”

Joel smiled, a small but sincere curve of his lips, as he adjusted slightly, bringing you closer to him. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmured softly, his voice warm and reassuring. “You’re important to me.”

His words, though comforting, didn’t stop the weight of your emotions from building up inside you. The closeness, the warmth of his presence, and everything that had happened tonight made your heart swell with something deeper than gratitude.

Taking a deep breath, you lifted your head slightly, your eyes meeting his with a vulnerability you hadn’t shown before. “I love you, Joel,” you said, the words coming out softly but with a sincerity that made your chest ache.

Joel’s expression softened even more, his thumb still brushing lightly over your hand. “I love you too,” he whispered, his voice deep and full of emotion.

You frowned, a little pout forming on your lips as you shifted slightly. “No, you don’t understand,” you murmured, feeling the weight of the moment grow even more. “I love you. I’m in love with you.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, almost too heavy to breathe through. Joel’s gaze softened, searching your eyes as if trying to understand what you meant. And when he did, his expression shifted, becoming more tender, more real. Before you could pull away, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, hiding from the intensity of the confession, but also seeking the comfort of his warmth.

Joel’s hand gently cradled the back of your head, his thumb still brushing through your hair as he held you close. The room was filled with a silence that seemed to stretch on forever, and then, in the softest of tones, he spoke.

“Can you repeat it?” His voice was a little rough, full of longing, but there was a hint of vulnerability there too.

You shook your head, keeping your face hidden in the crook of his neck, trying to gather the courage to meet his gaze again. The weight of your own confession was still hanging in the air, making you feel exposed and raw. You mumbled against his skin, “I can’t. It’s too much.”

Joel chuckled softly, the sound warm and comforting. He shifted slightly, pulling you back just enough to tilt your chin gently upward, so you had no choice but to look into his eyes. The tenderness there was undeniable. “That’s bad,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “’cause I’m in love with you too.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you could only stare at him, eyes wide with surprise. The feeling of his words settled over you, warming you from the inside out, making your heart race.

“I—” You started, but the words stuck in your throat. The vulnerability between the two of you was overwhelming, and yet, it felt like everything had finally clicked into place. There were no more doubts. No more fear.

Joel smiled softly, the warmth of his eyes never leaving yours as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’re here now.”

The weight of his words hung in the air between you, a promise, a shared truth. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of his presence sink into your bones, the steady rhythm of his breathing grounding you. It felt like everything you’d hoped for was finally coming into focus.

Joel gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing the softness of your skin as he looked at you, his eyes full of tenderness and something deeper. His gaze was steady, searching for any sign of doubt, but all he found was you—vulnerable, open, and more than ready for what was happening between you two.

“You’re not alone,” he murmured, his voice low but full of meaning. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, with you.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, your heart swelling with emotions too big for words. “I know,” you whispered, a smile finally tugging at the corners of your lips. “I know now.”

Joel’s smile deepened, and in that moment, it was like the world outside of your little bubble didn’t matter. All that existed was the two of you, tangled up in something more real and beautiful than you could have imagined.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours with the softest of touches, as if asking for permission. And when you responded, meeting him halfway, the kiss deepened, both of you tasting the sweet vulnerability of this new chapter.

You pulled away slowly, your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling. “You’re gonna get sick now”

Joel chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’ll take my chances,” he murmured, his hands finding their way back to your waist, pulling you closer. “I’m not letting go now.”

You laughed quietly, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. “You’re stubborn,” you said, but there was no annoyance in your voice—just affection.

“And you love me for it,” he replied with a playful grin, his thumb tracing small circles on your back.

You smirked, rolling your eyes slightly, though your heart was full. “I do,” you admitted, your voice soft, the words carrying more weight than you’d ever thought they would. “I really do.”

Joel smiled, his expression softening as he leaned in once more, brushing his lips against yours, but you placed your hand up to stop him for a moment, hanging the little mistletoe over your heads.

Joel raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a grin as you held the mistletoe above your heads. "Where do you get that from?" he asked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

You smirked, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and mischief. "I stole it from you," you replied, your voice teasing, yet sincere.

Joel chuckled, the sound warm and full of affection. "I should’ve known," he said, shaking his head with a playful sigh. "You’re sneaky."

You shrugged, the mistletoe still hovering between you. "I had to make sure it was the right moment."

He chuckled again, and this time, his hands found your waist once more, pulling you close as he leaned in, his eyes softening. "Well, since you put it like that..."

With a grin, he pressed his lips to yours, the kiss deepening as you both shared in the quiet joy of the moment.

Joel pulled away just enough to look into your eyes, his expression soft and full of warmth. "You know," he said, his voice low and sincere, "you’re the best gift I could ever ask for."

You felt your heart swell, and a soft smile tugged at your lips. His words, simple yet heartfelt, made everything feel right. Before you could respond, Joel’s grin returned, playful yet tender.

"And," he continued with a teasing glint in his eyes, "I hope you’ll take care of me when I inevitably get sick from all this kissing."

You raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile forming on your lips. "Oh, don’t worry," you replied, your tone light but affectionate, "I’m more than happy to take care of you."

Joel chuckled, pulling you closer again, his arms wrapping around you like a shield. "Good," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

The warmth between you both felt like the perfect ending to a night full of new beginnings, and as he kissed you again.

And again.

And he thought he would never get tired of it.

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almondmilkcleanser · 2 days ago

Text

when I made a little mess, he told me to clean my act up....

└ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 `

synopsis - your friends are seeing less and less of you and all you can give them as an excuse is that between school and Sukuna your schedule is filled to the brim. Is tonight going to be any different? pairing - ryomen Sukuna x reader

content -Daddy dom sUkuna listening to - positions x ariana grande minors do not interact a/n - happy holidays everyone <3

Ping!

Come out with us for drinks! Its been so long since weve seen you since you started dating this guy. Whats his name again?

Ping!

Oh come onnnn! This is like the third weekend in a row that youve bailed on us. Sewriously, who is this guy anyway?

Ping!

Y/nnnnn! We miss you! Why dont you tell your little boy toy that you cant sit on his lap this weekend and actually come out with us~~~ love you talk to you later!

Ping!

Are you okay? We’re worried. Whats really going on? Everytime we try to invite you out you say youre with this Sukuna guy. Seriously who is he? Ugh! Call me later. Love you bye!

Ping! Ping! Ping!

“Tsk. you dont need those kinds of friends anyway. Nothin’ but a bunch of jealous girls. Isn't that right, beautiful?” You wish you could reply, but you were stuffed - practically down to your rib cage - full of Sukuna. He crossed his flexed biceps behind his head, a smug expression slowly creeping across his face.

Aggressively pressing the lock button on your phone, he tossed it clear across the room. He read the plethora of messages between your friends, how they complained about their boyfriends/dates - both seemingly interchanged between each other in some, very odd, sort of fashion - and how they were going to form a man hating group. Just for you to turn around and meet Sukuna. Mean old Sukuna. Curse destroying Sukuna.

Sukuna, your Dom. Sukuna, your boyfriend.

Sukuna, the one training you to take his entire dick down your throat as your first lesson.

He chose your hairstyle, two low ponytails that hung daintily down your back. He didn’t give a shit if you just got your hair done. He’ll pay to get it fixed once he’s done with you. He kept you pampered; your hair was done, nails were done, fresh pedicures, the works. So to hell with messing up a hairstyle, daddy Sukuna took care of it all.

The new choker he bought you complimented your skin tone perfectly. You always voiced your concerns on how the BDSM community never catered to darker skinned women as far as color selection, but he pulled the appropriate strings, so nothing on your beautiful brown skin looked washed out or ashy. The metal heart brightly polished - almost spit shined - and neatly rested on your throat. That pretty fucking throat that he had grown so acquainted it.

He hmm’d to himself as he reminisced, his eyes never leaving your innocent face as you stared back at him. Your plush, glossed lips, encircled around his dick. As you swallowed him whole, he thought back to the first time you rode him.

Your hips bouncing up and down at a hungered pace, his large hand wrapped around your neck, and his engorged dick french kissing your gripping walls, pulling him in deeper, deeper, deeper into the depths of your love nest to welcome his seed home.

Thank fuck for birth control. A mutual agreement between you two - but it was, in all honesty, the best thing you could have done.

His dark eyes flashed something so lustful, so salacious, that he almost sounded giddy upon sharing it with you.

“Y/N, sweetheart, Mmh, I have an idea.” your soft tongue flicked the pre-cum clean off the tip of his head, your eyes innocent and wanting. With your hands still wrapped around his dick, you continued to lick the head, your ears perked at his idea.

“Yes, daddy. What’s your idea.” Sukuna loved your obedience. If half of the idiots surrounding him on a day-to-day basis had half the brains and even a fraction of your pussy, then his days would go a lot smoother. But until then-

With an ever growing smile, he jerked his head to the side of him, making your eyes wander over his direction. In the corner was the suspension rig that he put together for play time.

The metallic poles glinted brightly under your living room lights - they almost mocked you, ready to hoist you in the air for all of Sukuna to see and galore in his own self of triumph - its black lapels sturdy, strong, shining. For you.

Sukuna read your eyes with triumph. Partial sadism and partial perversion intertwined themselves into one, forming at the root a creation that would sit-pretty in the back of his mind. Of course, you would look up at him, mouth stuffed with his girth, with such an harmless stare. You blinked - pleading almost - that his mind wasn’t affixed to the sight of you dangling there, helpless and pleading, pussy pretty, raspberry pink, and wanting to be split down the middle.

“Remember what daddy talked about last weekend? How if you didn’t get that A in your organic chemistry class that we’d be setting up our next little toy?” In what world was that fucking contraption little?!

“Y-yes, Daddy.” you stopped giving him head to look deeper into his eyes. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his upper thighs. He traced your bottom lip and smirked. His sadistic eyes shimmering brightly.

“I saw how you tried to turn that ‘C’ into an A. So I logged into your school account.” his voice simmered a mixture of amber and sweet tobacco. But you and your pussy knew that he wasn't anywhere near pleased. He fed you his thumb, and like an obedient plaything you opened your mouth, letting him rest on your tongue.

You suckled down, lapping your tongue around it, taking in the hints of your own juices from this morning’s requested “stuffing session”. You were a greedy little thing. Begging him for one finger, then two, all four, and finally his thumb. Your mind was still recalibrating from that orgasm even to this second.

“Baby, tsss, why did you lie to me?” he used his other hand to tiptop to one ponytail, then the other. Holding both in his hand, he tugged gently. You had no reason outside of being a brat. You hated organic chemistry. The teacher didn’t offer extra credit. And Sukuna, as hungrily devilish he was, he didn’t fuck around when it came to your education. You still remember how many times he edged you because you forgot to turn in a huge presentation for your English class. You already had an A in the class! But Daddy didn’t care.

You held his wrist with both of your hands, putting extra care into teasing his thumb. Taking it a step further, you nudged his hand to welcome two more of his fingers. You could taste yourself. A specially formulated nectar that practically oozed from your pussy, all dried up on his fingers. He knew what you were trying to do. But by fucking God did he enjoy falling for it.

He pulled on your ponytails, popping his mouth off of his hands and upwards at him.

“Sweetie, I asked a question. Why did you lie about your grades?” He took those same two fingers in his mouth and purposely slobbered on them. He scooted off the chair, his torso still towering over yours, and repositioned himself on his knees in front of you. He snaked his hand behind you and popped those same two fingers in your slicked opening. You welcomed him cheerfully, making him tsss at the sudden wave of wet warmth sucking him in.

He had to keep his composure. He had to keep his vices in tack. Otherwise he would turn you around and fucking throttle you for hours.

“Speak, Y/N.” he growled.

“B-because I didn’t want you to be mad, Suna~” you clenched your teeth, swallowing down a moan. “I fell asleep studying and didn’t remember half of what was on the test. But I won’t do it again- ah- I p-p-promise.” Sukuna stuffed you with a third finger but refused to move. He shook his head disapprovingly.

“Tsk tsk tsk. All you had to do was tell me the truth. But now-” the pressure of his thumb as it pressed against your asshole sent shivers across your body.

“We’re going to have some fun.”

✥✥✥

“Mmmm… look at that pussy.” Sukuna took a few steps to admire his work. You were dangling in midair, your ankles held up by two suspension straps and your arms held behind your back by another set of suspension straps. Your body lazily rocked back and forth in midair, everything exposed to Sukuna.

“And you were protesting this idea so much, Y/N.” Sukuna snorted, bunching all the straps in his hand to rock you back to him. “Look how wet she is,” with one finger, he scooped the inside of your pussy, whistling in wondrous regard at how sticky you were. “She’s fucking ready, princess. Are you?”

Your body was hot. You’ve never been this exposed by anyone in your life! If your friends were to get a glimpse of you - Ms. high-strung, always punctual, studious and practically perfect - strung up like a holiday ham about to get the shit fucked out of you, what would they say?

Sukuna pulled the holsters back, guiding his thick dick into your slicked entrance with precision. He growled aloud, seeing you so helpless as he stretched you open sparked something carnal inside of him. His pretty pillow princess, hanging in the air, submissive and so fucking sexy. All for him.

All for me

Slap! He moved his hips back and forth. Palming your beautiful ass, slapping each cheek as you rocked back and forth. Swallowing him whole.

All for fucking me.

Your pussy gripped around him, making him moan aloud. “F-fuck, baby. Your pussy isn’t letting up today. She’s a g-good girl~ she’s a good fucking girl~” he slapped your ass again, upping the pace. He gripped the holsters so you’d stay in place as he slammed into you. He made your pussy his home, claiming each available space as his. Your sloshed insides coated his dick with an opaque film that glistened every inch of him from tip to base, even dripping down his balls.

“S-s-suna-a-a-a~” Your pitched whines fed him. He fucked you harder, and harder, and harder. Your slutty pussy let him in each and every time. Its warmth enveloping his massive girth and nestling him home. With a grit of his teeth, he tried his damnedest not to cum, but you were just-

“Dammit, she’s so fucking good baby. Your pussy l-loves this”

“‘Ts so fucking tight.” He spit on his thumb, guiding it in your forbidden hole. “Sucha nasty fucking girl.” He pulled himself out of you to admire you. Your open pussy, slicked, wanting, welcoming. “Does daddy’s girl want to come?” He licked two fingers and pressed them on your clit. The electric shocks sending your back into an arch and your moans into a frenzy.

“Hm? I don’t think i hear you, doll~” he slapped your clit with those same two fingers, chuckling under his breath. Your eyes caught a flashing light in the corner of the room. It was your phone. Your friends were calling you again.

“Oh, that’s a shame.” his hand wrapped around your neck. He smiled into your neck, biting playfully on your shoulder. “Looks like others want your attention as much as I do.” He guided himself back into you. Your quivering pussy clenching down, refusing to let him go.

“How’s about this-” he kissed your cheek. “You give me a good orgasm and I’ll let you go. And you can go make up lost time with your friends. Sounds good?” he didn’t really wait for an answer. Instead, he stood back up, grabbed your hips, and proceeded to pound into you.

“F-fuck! You like this, huh, sweetheart?” You did. You fucking did. Being so vulnerable and open to him from all angles drove you fucking insane. Your body rocked back and forth as his hips met your ass. The ripples of your ass sending Sukuna in a daze. He loved watching your almond-coated body glazed with sweat. You needed this fucking more than you admitted. And he was more than happy to give it to you.

His thrusts increased in force. So much that he had to cinch onto your hips so you wouldn’t fly forward. But Daddy Sukuna knew you. He knew you would take it. With a fucking smile. Your moans escalated to a near animalistic pitch. He loved seeing you let loose. To hear you curse, whine, and groan your frustrations made him proud to be yours. To be your release. To be-

“My pretty fucking girl. Taking all of this dick for daddy, huh? Fucking come on me, princess.”

“That’s-” stroke “An-” stroke “Order.”

Your hips buckled as he pushed forward, kissing the end of your cervix. You felt his fluid coating your walls, glistening each surface area of you with his cream. Even when you were stuffed, droplets of his cum littered the floor, streaked down your thighs, and pooled underneath you.

“Suna~” you whined, “These are going to stain my stockings, again.” he responded by kissing your shoulder again.

“I’ll just buy you another pair, doll. ‘Ts nothin’ when I get to see your pretty face like this.” and then, another devilish idea sparked in his head. He held the holsters again, turning you around to face his pelvis.

“How’s about one more round. And then you can tell your friends to meet you wherever you decide. My treat~”

As you looked up at him, his dick jumped to life again. Both sides equally veiny, moistened, and waiting for your plush lips to wrap around them.

You didn’t say anything, all you did was smirk and latch your soft tongue around the base.

“Nnh-” Sukuna squeezed the holsters. “Good girl.’

“Good fucking girl.”

END.

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sturnlsstuff · 3 days ago

Text

FAMILIAR STRANGER | chapter six

what's gonna happen when you find out about your enemy's biggest secret?

ghostface!chris x enemy!reader

chapter five

— warnings; smut with plot, dom!chris, sub!reader, fingering, unprotected p in v, rough, creampie, dirty talk, pet names, bratty reader, cursing, - english isn't my first language.

~~~

you have gone through many stressful situations in your life. most of the time you didn't care about anything, always chilling and thinking logically, not emotionally. however, there were moments when even you started losing your shit and they were always more intense than they should have been. one of them, for example, was taking your driving test, which kept you up at night. or your 18th birthday that stressed you out so much that you had to drink a bottle of wine alone before the party to get rid of the anxiety. or choosing what college you wanna go to, and whether you'll even get there or not. lots of stressful days in your life, lots of situations.

but your heart had never beat as fast as it did in this moment.

your thumb hovering over the 'send' button while you consider all the pros and cons of what you're doing. biting your lower lip nervously, feeling the taste of blood in your mouth, but even this doesn't stop you. you had to make a decision whether to text chris or not, and that wasn't supposed to be so stressful, but it was.

after he left you alone in his room at the party, you didn't see him at all. after fixing your makeup, you went back downstairs and found emma, telling her you were going home, needing to process whatever happened in chris's room and how it made you feel. she knew you were with someone, anyone would notice by the state you were in, even if you tried to make yourself look presentable for twenty minutes in front of the mirror in chris's room. somehow you managed to get rid of emma and her questions for now, ignoring her for two days. in fact ignoring everyone, needing some time alone, but it didn't feel like you were by yourself at all, with the way chris was in your mind every second of the day.

finally, before you could change your mind, you sent the message and threw your phone to the other end of the couch, hugging your legs to your chest and clutching your heated cheeks as if that would somehow help you. tense silence remains in the living room for the next two minutes, as you start to regret texting him.

another five minutes and you finally reach for your phone, ready to delete the message when you see three dots showing that he is replying. with w muffled scream, your phone flies across the room as you throw it again, a notification indicating a new message heard. for a second you just sit still, wheels turning in your head, but then you almost jump from your place, your legs on the couch, the rest of your body hanging off it as you steady yourself with one hand on the floor, the other picking up your phone and reading the message. you could feel the blood rushing to your head.

"bitch," you mutter to yourself, looking at the screen in pure disbelief. there's no way you were stressing for the past hour to send that fucking simple message, overthinking all night if you should even text him and how to do it to not sound too desperate, even wondering if three question marks is too much and maybe you should put one, and he just said he's busy.

unfortunately for him, you weren't a person who gave up easily, and if you finally decided to talk to him, you will do everything to make it happen. so you reply back, not having to wait for his response too long.

you roll your eyes, upset that you even tried to start any conversation with him, that you wasted the entire day yesterday and today thinking about him when he was clearly busy and definitely not overthinking anything like you did. you're not only mad at him, but also at yourself for being so stupid. after all it was chris, there's nothing to talk about here. he had his way with you and that's it, nothing changes.

not that you wanted it to change anyway.

leaving him on seen, you decide to take care of yourself a little bit, to relaxe since this stress made you feel and look terrible, bags under your eyes after two sleepless nights. so the next hour you spend in your bathtub, cool music filling your ears as you read a book, careful not to make it wet.

then you hear a noise coming from your room, at first thinking it's some hallucination from the lack of sleep, so you stop the music and listen, immediately hearing another muffled bang that makes you jump out of the tub, almost soaking your book. cursing under your breath, you wrap a towel around your waist, looking around to find anything which could be useful in defense. all you find is a glass flowerpot, so you take it, poking your head out from behind the bathroom door.

silence.

you carefully step out of the bathroom, water dripping onto the floor from your body as you walk slowly barefoot towards your room where the door was slightly open. it seemed stupid to go there, but you were acting out of adrenaline.

you heard another curse and the sound of the window closing, a frown appearing between your eyebrows as you gently opened the door, ready to attack whoever the fuck was in your room, clutching the flowerpot in one hand and holding the towel that was sliding off your body with the other.

"chris, what the fuck?!" your eyes wide as he turns around to look at you, dressed as a ghostface.

"i got fuckin' stuck," he removes his mask, running his hand through his hair, eyes immediately traveling up and down your wet body, covered by nothing but some thin towel.

immediately pressing the material against your body, now feeling strangely naked, your expression questioning him before your mouth could. he rolls his eyes, "told ya to remember 'bout closin' this fuckass window, didn't i?" he takes off his robe, leaving him in black pants and a t-shirt, his gaze had not left your figure, a strange shiver pass through him, which he only felt around you. "i knocked on the door, but you didn't answer again."

"couldn't you call me?"

he blinks stupidly, his eyes moving back up, "right." then he notices the flower pot in your hand, a low mocking laugh leaving his lips, "wanted to kill me with this?"

you glance at the flower pot, rolling your eyes and walking into the room to put it on the desk, feeling his eyes on you. "i was taking a bath, you idiot—" turning around, you almost jump when he's suddenly in front of you.

"i noticed," he smirks, tilting his head to the side. you try to ignore his intense gaze, "what do you want anyway?"

"you wanted to talk."

"weren't you busy?"

"took care of that," he retors. your eyebrow arches up as you peak out behind him at the mask and knife placed on the bed. "yes," he simply says, noticing your expression. you didn't need to know anything else.

"well, okay," clearing your throat, you grab some clean clothes from the dryer. "let me get dressed first."

"no need to rush," at the stare you give him, chris lifts his hands up in surrender and flops on your bed just as you leave the room.

you put on some shorts and a two size too big shirt, quickly cleaning up the bathroom as well. honestly, you were playing on time. you didn't expect him to come after he definitely said no in the text, and now you had no idea what to tell him, and the stress you were feeling earlier came back stronger than before.

finally finding the courage you leave the bathroom, finding chris in the living room looking at the photos you had on the wall. stopping in the doorway, you quickly tie your hair into a ponytail.

"i remember that," he points at one picture with you, him, his brothers and nate on it after one of your old friend's birthday party. you liked this one a lot.

"crazy night—"

"we danced together," he says casually though his voice a little weaker as if the memory of it was doing something to him. you're taken back that he even remembers since he was awfully high that night.

"yeah..." your voice unsure since neither of you ever mentioned it before. "-- yeah, we did."

the corner of his mouth twitches into a smile but he quickly hides it, licking his lips and settling on the couch. you take the seat next to him, keeping your distance.

after a short silence, he speaks up, "it was fun. that party." you agree with a nod of your head. that night you two were pretty chill, he was high, you were drunk and both of you just had fun, for a few hours not remembering that you disliked each other. sometimes you thought of it and wondered why couldn't it be like this all the time.

"so," he clears his throat, getting more comfortable on the couch, arm resting on the back of the sofa as he looks at you. "what's this super important conversation you've wanted to have with me?" his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"uh, right... about that—" you think about how to put it into words, heart pounding in your chest while your brain working at full speed. finally you just blurt out mindlessly, "we fucked."

chris raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable, "really? didn't notice."

you open your mouth and then close it again, trying to ignore his comment. taking a deep breath, you continue, "i mean... well, i was kind of drunk, let's be honest. so i didn't think—"

"c'mon, kid, we both know you'd fuck me even sober," he rolls his eyes, slight annoyance in his tone at the clear delusion coming from you.

"that's literally not even close to what i'm talking about..." a wave of heat washes over you from embarrassment of being called out like that. you had to find some excuse, because to be honest, you didn't know how you ended up in chris's bed. well, you knew how, but you needed some explanation for yourself. though, what you're for sure aware of, is that the desire and arousal you felt was real. "it was, like, another moment of weakness."

"you got a lot of 'em with me recently," he teases, scanning your face as if looking for something. for a moment you were speechless from the intensity of his blue eyes. and chris noticed it. of course he did. "it was good though..." he adds, his voice lower now.

you try hard not to look too nervous while agreeing, "yeah... it was." his lips curve into that smirk you knew so well while he shamelessly checked you out again, his eyes lingering on your exposed thighs for too long. noticing that, you quickly add, "it shouldn't have happened and we won't do it again."

"yeahhhh," his tongue clicks against his teeth. chris makes eye contact with you again and that's when you know you're screwed. "we won't."

with these words you look at each other too long and too intensely, almost as if communicating between the words. and you didn't even know when or how you ended up straddling his lap, gripping his shoulders desperately trying to steady yourself while he pumps his fingers rapidly into your cunt, curling them up to hit that sweet spot inside you. his thumb rubs circles around your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. the ghostface mask is back on his face, making you clench around his fingers. it all happened in less than ten minutes, that's how weak you were for chris and how addicted to you he's become.

"mhmmm, look at you... so fuckin' pretty, drippin' all over my hand..." he says, his voice hoarse with arousal. his cock was rock hard already, uncomfortably straining against his pants. "your body doesn't lie, even if your mouth does," chris watches you closely, taking note of the way your chest heaves, lips parted with little whimpers escaping them.

"chris— mmmh, f-fuck.... so... so g-good— oh!" your walls tighten around his fingers, hips slightly grinding against his hand. he flexes his fingers inside you, stretching you, his thumb on your clit picking up speed.

he smirks to himself at how responsive you are to him, "you jus' fuckin' love when i manhandle you, huh?" he adds a third finger, scissoring them, his other hand tugging on your hair, forcing you to keep your eyes on his mask. chris was now aware of the effect it had on you and it was making him so turned on. "constantly tryin' to make me mad, messin' with my fuckin' head, kid... not really nice of you."

you let out a loud pornographic moan when his fingers once again curl inside you, hitting your g-spot perfectly, his thumb pressing more against your bud. at the feeling of you tightening around him, a low groan escapes his lips. "thaaaat's it— yes, c'mon, give it to me... show me how bad you fuckin' hate me..."

"chris!" your eyes roll back as euphoria consumes you, head dropping forward onto his shoulder. "my... god...f-fuck you—"

he pumps his fingers languidly to ride out your orgasm, drawing out your pleasure for as long as he can. "mhm, i will," he smirks, slowing down his movements. "no need to rush, princess." he finally pulls his fingers out of you, lifting up your head, "open up."

as you obey, he brings his fingers into your mouth, your tongue immediately cleaning them up, tasting your own release on your tongue. "fuckkk—" he bucks his hips up, his clothed hardness pressing against your swollen bud, stealing another whimper from you.

you were sure you had lost your mind. you really wanted to make it clear today, that what happened at friday couldn't happen again, but it was so hard when he was... him.

"chris, we need to stop," you say as soon as he removes his fingers out of your mouth, immediately placing them back between your legs, gently caressing your swollen folds and spreading your wetness around, which makes you flinch from the over sensation.

"stop sayin' that when you react so strongly to me," his other hand moving to unzip his pants and pull them down his hips, freeing his leaking with precum dick. you look at him, the ghostface mask sending shivers straight into your core and you already know there's no coming back. "so?" he asks, gripping your hips, "still wanna stop?"

"no," you mutter annoyed at the way he was making you feel. chris bites his bottom lip with a grin, his body begging for any kind of release. he's never wanted anyone so badly. he lifts you up a little, then impaling you on his length in one swift, deep motion. both of you moan, his head throwing back at the feeling of your tight walls sucking him in. he missed this.

"fuckkk, you jus' feel so good..." he praises, holding you still for a moment to savor the feeling of being burned inside you. then he starts pounding into you, his grip on your hips painful as he doesn't let you move at all, wanting to have the control over everything.

"...what a fuckin' slut you are f'me— jesus..." he looks down, watching as he slams deep into your heat, not caring about the noises or the mess. he's too far gone to worry about anything expect the feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around his dick. "sooo perfect, fuck— and what'd you say, huh?" he pants, looking up at your full of pleasure expression. "not happening again? fuckin' watch."

you're practically bouncing on him from the strength with which chris fucks you from below, your walls immediately clenching around him, the overstimulation from your previous orgasm makes your head spin.

"chris, s-so-- deep..." you whine, gasping for air as he changes the position to get a better angle. he flips you onto your back on the sofa, pressing your knees against your stomach which caused him to go even deeper.

"yeah? you like to feel my fuckin' cock? look..." his fingers wraps around your wrist and he moves your hand to the noticeable bulge in your gut as he slides in and out of your wet pussy. the feeling of him like that, makes your toes curl as you quickly feel your second release approaching.

"gonna... c-cum! oh—" your whines and moans now filling the room with chris's eventual groans when he feels you constantly clenching around his dick.

"come all over me, c'mon... and m'gonna fill you up, yeah? gonna do it so fuckin' deep, you'll be leakin' my shit for days..." he snarls, his thrusts becoming harder as another orgasm washes over you, your eyes locked on his ghostface mask, even if you could barely keep them open. he doesn't even slow down while you tremble from the intensity of your release, moans leaving your lips and back arching up. "squeezin' me so tight, shiiittt— you were made f'me...."

with a feral groan, he buries himself as deep as he can, his dick pulsing as he explodes inside you, his hot seed filling your cunt to the brim. both of you panting, chris props himself on his hands of each side of your body so as not to crash you with his weight. both of you panting heavy, your eyes now closed while you try to come back on earth.

once the last waves of his climax subside, he pulls out with a wet squelch, his cum dripping out of your hole. a smirk appears on his lips at your disheveled form as he takes the mask off, pulling back to have a better look on your swollen, glistening cunt. just as your legs weakly were about to drop onto the couch, he grips your thighs, keeping you spread open for him. "that's a sight..." he runs a finger through the mess he'd made, making you whimper. "sensitive much?" his tone mocking. his fingers slipping between your folds, gathering as much as he could of his and yours release and pushing it back inside, a muffled scream escaping you.

"chris!" you smack his hand away, your legs automatically try to close. he tsks, his face full of mock innocence, "what? just cleanin' you up." his eyes glistening when he makes eye contact with you and he adds, "unless you wan' me to lick it off instead?"

"no, thanks," you mutter fully aware he'd love to overstimulate you.

"a'ight, drama queen," he rolls his eyes, grabbing the tissues from the coffee table, cleaning his own mess before passing them to you. he sits up, pulling his pants up while you proper yourself on your elbows, starting to clean up.

a silence remains in the living room, he takes a rolled joint from his pocket, placing it between his lips, and looks towards you noticing how your hands and legs are shaking a little. you weren't able to clean yourself thoroughly, the mix of your and his cum running down your inner thighs.

"kid," he lights up the joint, taking a long drag. "the fuck you doin'?"

you give him a death stare, "it's quite clear to see."

he exhales, smoke billowing out as he speaks, "but, like... you don't— just..." he groans, putting the joint back between his lips, his voice muffled, "--fuckin' gimme it... can't even clean y'self up, jesus... so annoying..."

chris practically snatches the tissues from your hands as he spreads your legs, ignoring your confused and surprised expression. he simply starts wiping the mess between your legs, his touch strangely tender, "can't do shit with that shaky ass hands..." he keeps commenting under his nose more to himself than to you, the smoke from his joint filling the room.

you watch mesmerized, as he grabs the joint between the fingers of one hand, the other still focused on the task, his tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth in concentration. he was gentle, or at least chris tried to be when he saw how red and puffy your pussy looked. it was such a simple action but it made your heart do a backflip. and not only you felt this way, chris himself was somehow, almost nervous.

he finally catches up on your stare, a frown appearing between his eyebrows, "the fuck you lookin' at..." his eyes traveling to the marks he left on your hips, some of the bruises older from friday, others fresh and reddish. this sight fills him with a sense of pride. he finally leans back on the couch, throwing the used tissues aside, glancing back at you. "stop starin', kid."

your face all flushed as you finally tear your eyes away from his and manage to sit up, adjusting your shirt and looking around for your sweatpants.

"here," he hands them to you, taking another drag on his joint. you put your clothes back on, wondering what the hell was going on.

you sit next to him still slightly breathless, after a moment he passes you the joint, neither of you looking at each other as you take it.

"y'know..." chris finally speaks up, "for someone who claims to hate me so much, you sure do let me do all sorts of nasty things to ya."

that's what causes you to finally make eye contact with chris, annoyance flickering through your face at the sudden call out. "for someone who claims to hate me so much, you sure want to do a lot of nasty things to me."

he smirks amused at your response, looking like you exhale the smoke. "well, yeah, hating you and being insanely attracted t'you aren't mutually exclusive, y'know..." you raise your eyebrows as he continues, "besides i never said i hated you, i jus' said i hated you."

the clear confusion and how your cheeks were burning after his words, makes chris's grin widen. "what the fuck is the difference?"

"don' worry 'bout it," he retors, grabbing the joint from between your fingers to finish it.

"insanely attracted to me, huh?" you process his words. chris rolls his eyes, "insanely is a strong word actually, what i meant is—"

"nuh, uh," you interrupted him with a grin on your face, pointing your finger at him. "you said what you wanted to say."

"no, i—

"lalala, i can't hear youuuu," you cover your ears like a kid, the mix of annoyance and amusement building up within him. "you're a child," he puts out the butt of the joint in some empty can on the coffee table, and takes your hands away from your ears. "child."

you just smile, feeling unfamiliar warm spreading across your chest. it was strange, chris usually saw you smiling but at other people, not at him. it made him want to... kiss you? hold you?

"weirdo," he mutters, leaning back, but there's no usual bite in his tone. his arm rests on the back of the sofa behind you, his wheels turning around in his head. he glances at your side profile, his tongue clicking against his teeth, "i always wondered why you were with this idiot jake." you're taken back, glancing at him with a frown, but it doesn't discourage him from continuing. chris felt like he has to. "you were always annoying, but i thought you're better than that. he had no idea how to treat you right and you kept comin' back to him, what was insane to me. he was just a dick—"

"you wouldn't understand..."

"no, i definitely fuckin' wouldn't," he retors annoyed. "so m'not even gonna try, but he was pissin' me the fuck off. i was waitin' for the day you finally leave him for good."

"it wasn't that simple," you try to explain, but chris wasn't having any of that. "kid, don' bullshit me. you even try to defend him now when he's gone? don't tell me you..."

"no, i try to defend myself, 'cause you don't get it," you interrupt, not wanting to hear whatever he was going to say. "he was awful, but at that time i kinda just... craved affection, i guess," your cheeks heat with embarrassment. "and sometimes he was giving me that."

"what affection he could give ya? bet, he fuckin' sucked. and you deserve to get affection and all this other shit all the time, not just sometimes. that's fucked up."

"and what do you know about all of that?" you question him, which annoys the hell out of chris. "every week you have a new girl to fuck, then moving on to the next one."

he knows you're right, chris had no clue how to show affection either, he never was good at this because he simply never let himself attach to anyone. but he knew, if he had you, he would never be like your ex. chris would try his best to make sure you know you're loved.

"there's nothing wrong with that, they all know m'not lookin' for a relationship. i always tell 'em at the beginnin' that it's only a hook up. i don' play anyone..."

"always?" when chris nods, you add, "i didn't hear you saying that to me."

now he's surprised, quickly hiding it, but the way his eyes scanned your face was telling you everything you needed to know.

"well..." he slowly licks his lips, carefully thinking of his next words. "i never... i mean, i knew we'd do it again at some point... but i just— fuck, i don' know..."

your voice is dripping with sarcasm when you say the next sentence, but there was genuine curiosity behind it, "maybe deep down you expected something?"

his expression is unreadable, but chris's heart was beating so hard, he was afraid you'd hear. the question you asked stirred weird feelings inside him and he had to get out of this situation fast. you knew one of his deepest secrets already, there was no way he'd let you know his other ones.

"be serious, kid," his smirk doesn't reach his eyes. "enough with that talk. i gotta go..."

his reaction saying more than he would ever say. you watch as he stands up, "i am serious and you're running away right now—"

"shut your goddamn mouth for once, holy fuck," he snaps at you, gripping the bridge of his nose. "i have shit to do so i'm leavin', simple as that. not that is any of your business anyway."

your blood boil at his words but you don't say anything else. you were afraid your voice would betray you, so watching him gathering his stuff from your room and then hearing the front door shutting, was all you did.

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pandapetals · 3 days ago

Text

Christmas Cards

Logan joins you to write Christmas cards for both of your students.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, banter, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor, holiday vibes, logan being a softie

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @saradika

“It’s Christmas Eve, sweetheart,” Logan drawled, leaning against the doorframe of your office, his arms crossed. “Shouldn’t you be relaxin’ or somethin’?”

You looked up from your desk, where a small mountain of cards and colored pens had taken over. "I would be, but I completely forgot I wanted to give my students little holiday cards," you replied, biting your lip as you scribbled another message with a flourish.

Logan raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between the cards and the assortment of little trinkets you’d gathered—stickers, candy canes, even tiny snowflake charms. "Darlin’, it’s a little late for that, don’t ya think?"

"Nope," you said with a determined smile, stacking a finished card on top of the pile. "Christmas doesn’t truly end until New Year’s. Besides, I think they'll appreciate it whenever they get them."

Logan shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

Without waiting for an invitation, he crossed the room and pulled up a chair beside you. He picked up one of the cards you’d finished, reading it with a soft huff of amusement. It was a little message to one of the younger students, reminding them of how much they’d grown over the semester and encouraging them to keep believing in themselves. You’d doodled a tiny snowman in the corner, complete with a scarf and hat.

"Ya really think they’ll care about these little notes?" Logan asked, though there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes as he picked up a blank card.

"They will," you replied, nudging his shoulder playfully. "A little kindness goes a long way. Besides, who doesn’t like a surprise message now and then?"

He rolled his eyes, but after a beat, he grabbed a pen, his fingers almost hesitant. "Fine," he muttered. "Just don’t expect me to get all mushy.”

You hid a smile, pretending to focus on your own card as Logan tapped his pen against the table, thinking. Finally, he started writing, his brow furrowed in concentration. He went card by card, jotting down blunt little messages in his scrawling handwriting.

For Bobby, he wrote: “Stop sneakin' food from the kitchen after midnight. It’s not like we don’t notice. - Logan”

You snorted, glancing over his shoulder. "Subtle," you teased.

"Kid needs a reminder," Logan replied with a smirk, moving on to the next card.

For Jubilee, he scribbled: “Quit blowin' stuff up just to get outta class. Nice try, though. - Logan”

You couldn’t help but laugh. "At least they’ll know it’s from you," you teased, nudging him. "No one else could get away with being that blunt."

"Yeah, well, if I’m doin’ this, I’m doin’ it my way," he grumbled, though there was a spark of enjoyment in his eyes. After a moment, his expression softened as he picked up a card for one of the quieter students, a young girl who often struggled in his history class.

He paused, then wrote carefully: “You’re stronger than you think. Don’t give up, kid. - Logan”

You felt your heart swell, watching him put real thought into each message, even if he tried to hide it behind his usual gruffness. He moved from card to card, alternating between gruff advice and unexpected words of encouragement, and you could see a part of him genuinely enjoyed it, even if he’d never admit it.

By the time he was done, a small stack of Logan’s cards sat beside yours, each one unique, each one touched with his blunt honesty and hidden warmth. You picked up the stack, leafing through his notes with a grin.

"See? You’re more sentimental than you let on," you teased, nudging him playfully. "Bet you even enjoyed writing these."

Logan scoffed, crossing his arms. "Yeah, right. I just figured they needed a reminder not to slack off next semester."

"Oh, sure," you replied, eyes twinkling as you held up his card for a shy student with a note that read, “You did good, kid. Keep at it.”

He looked away, scratching the back of his neck with a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. "Well, maybe… maybe they could use a little encouragin’ once in a while. Doesn’t mean I’m gettin’ soft."

"Of course not," you said, trying to stifle a smile. "You’re as tough as ever, Mr. Sentimental."

Logan let out a grumble, but you caught the tiniest hint of a smile. "Alright, alright. Enough with the mushy stuff," he muttered, standing up and stretching. "Let’s get these cards wrapped up before I start regrettin' this."

You leaned over, kissing his cheek quickly, catching him off guard. "Thank you, Logan. I think this will mean more to them than you know."

Logan grunted, trying to keep his expression stoic, but his eyes softened as he looked at you. "Yeah, well… sometimes a little kindness goes a long way."

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Really? Are you quoting me back to myself now?"

He rolled his eyes, but you could see the faintest hint of a smile fighting to break through. "Don’t get all smug about it," he muttered, crossing his arms. "Just sayin’. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna start handin’ out compliments every day."

"Oh, of course not," you replied, leaning in closer, the amusement clear in your voice.

Logan snorted, shaking his head as he glanced down at the cards. "I still think it’s a little ridiculous," he said, though his fingers lingered over the stack of notes he'd just written as if he couldn’t help but be a bit proud. "But… I guess these kids mean somethin’ to you. So maybe it’s worth it."

You reached out, covering his hand with yours, your smile gentle. "They mean something to you too, Logan. You don’t have to say it—I can see it."

He huffed, pretending to be annoyed, but his thumb brushed over your hand, a rare, tender gesture. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go expectin’ me to dress up as Santa or somethin’ next."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Trust me, I know my limits." Then, with a wink, you added, "But if you did wear a Santa hat, I bet the kids would love it."

Logan groaned, his smile betraying him as he muttered, "You’re impossible, you know that?"

"That’s why you love me," you teased, nudging his shoulder.

"Maybe," he muttered, his voice low, almost shy. "Now let’s finish up these cards before I lose my patience."

The two of you finished up, and a quiet warmth settled between you. As you stacked the cards, you knew that these little notes, full of honesty and humor, would be a gift the students would treasure—and, secretly, a holiday memory that you’d hold close to your heart, knowing just how much Logan cared, even if he’d never say it out loud.

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fanficlolsblog · 1 day ago

Text

UNHEALTHY OBSSESION

back to my main masterlist

pairing: yandere!jenna ortega x reader

summary: after a brief encounter with jenna ortega at a meet-and-greet, y/n is surprised to receive a follow request and a message from her. what starts as a seemingly innocent exchange soon spirals into a possessive obsession, with jenna constantly messaging, showing up unannounced, and isolating y/n from friends. as y/n tries to distance themselves, jenna’s behavior grows darker, her obsession tightening like a trap, until y/n realizes that escaping her hold might be impossible.

warnings: obsessive behaviour, stalking, emotional manipulation, psychological distress.

w/c: 1k+

you never thought much of celebrities. sure, you admired them from a distance, but you always told yourself they were just people, just names you’d heard. so when your friend dragged you to jenna ortega’s meet-and-greet, you felt out of place. she was beautiful, magnetic, but she was just a name on your friend’s lips, a face you knew from magazines.

that changed when you stepped up to meet her, the last in line. your friend had already gone ahead, gushing over the quick selfies she’d taken with jenna. you tried to keep your cool, gave her a polite smile, kept your distance. but when jenna looked at you, it was as if the whole room went silent. her gaze lingered, a little longer than it should, and you saw her eyebrows lift, just slightly.

“you seem… different,” she said, her voice soft, almost a murmur meant just for you.

you laughed nervously, shrugged it off. she held your gaze, eyes searching yours like she was trying to memorize your face. the brief exchange left you feeling strange—giddy but unsettled. it was probably nothing. you left, pushing the moment out of your mind as you rejoined your friend.

but that night, as you lay in bed, your phone buzzed. you glanced at it, frowning. a follow request on instagram—from jenna ortega.

your heart skipped. it had to be a joke, right? or maybe her team managing her account? but you hit accept, curiosity outweighing logic. almost immediately, a message popped up.

jenna: hi, y/n. i hope it’s okay i reached out. i… couldn’t stop thinking about you.

you blinked, staring at the message. it felt surreal, like a scene out of a movie. you hesitated, then typed a casual reply, something light, just to see if she was serious.

you: i didn’t expect you’d remember me.

jenna: i remember a lot about you.

from there, the messages kept coming. every day, multiple times a day, jenna reached out, asking about your life, your interests. she was kind, thoughtful, curious. her questions were endless—what was your favorite color? your favorite food? did you like to read? what was your dream vacation? the messages were warm, personal, and slowly, you felt yourself getting drawn in, almost hypnotized by her attention.

but things began to shift. her messages came faster, more insistent, like she needed to know where you were, who you were with. if you took too long to respond, she’d send another message.

jenna: you’re not ignoring me, are you?

you tried to laugh it off, tell yourself she was just lonely, maybe a little over-enthusiastic. but one evening, while you were out with friends, your phone buzzed.

jenna: i thought we agreed you’d tell me when you went out.

you frowned, fingers hovering over the screen. you hadn’t agreed to anything like that. but before you could type a response, another message popped up.

jenna: you don’t understand how much i care about you. you have no idea what it’s like, thinking about you all the time.

you typed a careful reply, trying to brush it off as a misunderstanding. but it was hard to ignore the chill creeping down your spine. things were moving too fast. she was everywhere—your notifications filled with her likes, your friends disappearing one by one, as if she’d somehow driven them away without a word.

then, one night, she showed up.

you were at your favorite coffee shop, the one you’d casually mentioned to her in passing, and she walked in like she belonged there. she didn’t look surprised to see you; if anything, she seemed pleased. she took the seat across from you, leaning forward, her fingers brushing against yours as she murmured, “i just wanted to see you.”

you tried to smile, tried to pretend it didn’t unnerve you, but her stare was intense, unblinking. she looked at you like you were the only person in the world, her fingers tapping idly on the table as she asked you about your day. every detail, every minute, like she needed to know it all.

from that day on, she’d show up without warning, always knowing where you’d be. and when you tried to confront her, her expression would shift—soft, almost hurt, like you’d wounded her.

��why are you acting like this, y/n?” she’d ask, voice trembling just slightly. “i’m just trying to keep you safe. you don’t understand how much you mean to me.”

you’d try to explain, tell her it was too much, but she’d look at you with those deep, unflinching eyes, and somehow, you’d find yourself apologizing, as if you were the one overreacting.

then came the gifts. small, thoughtful things at first—a book you’d mentioned, a necklace in your favorite color. but one night, you came home to find a box on your doorstep. inside was a single rose, delicate and freshly cut, and a handwritten note.

you have no idea what i’d do to keep you close, y/n. don’t push me away.

you tried to distance yourself, but jenna’s grip was tight, suffocating. she flooded your phone with messages, each one more desperate than the last, her words dripping with both devotion and a hint of menace. you stopped posting on social media, hoping it’d make her lose interest, but instead, she started showing up more often, as if your silence made her crave you more.

one night, you couldn’t take it anymore. you told her, face-to-face, that you needed space. she laughed, a soft, unsettling sound, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the table between you.

“space?” she repeated, her voice laced with disbelief. “y/n, you’re all i think about. i go to sleep thinking of you, wake up dreaming of you. don’t you see? no one will ever care about you like i do.”

you swallowed, trying to hold her gaze without flinching. “jenna, this isn’t… normal.”

she tilted her head, her smile fading. “maybe normal doesn’t matter,” she whispered, her voice chillingly calm. “maybe it’s just you and me, and maybe that’s all that’s ever mattered.”

you stood up to leave, feeling her eyes follow you, the weight of her stare burning into your back. as you walked away, you heard her say, quietly but clear enough to make your blood run cold:

“you’ll come back to me, y/n. you always do.”

and as you stepped outside, feeling the night air prickle against your skin, you knew she wasn’t finished with you. this wouldn’t be the end.

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x fem!reader #imagine #gxg #wlw #fanfic

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loverboysturn · 22 hours ago

Text

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ starcrossed!reader and starcrossed!chris discover the unspoken truth

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ read part one here

chris entered the large room with nick and matt trailing behind, the party’s energy hitting him instantly, the bass of the music thumping, drinks sloshing in plastic cups and a crowd of unfamiliar faces in flashy, over the top costumes.

he knew he didn’t belong here, him and his brothers weren’t supposed to be on this side of town, his dad would kill the three of them if he knew where they were right now, but that was half the fun, the devil horns currently sat on his head feeling oddly fitting.

buzz.

he pulled his phone from his back pocket.

another buzz

23:53 new message from nate i’m in the back. you’re not gonna fuckin believe it.

23:53 new message from nate be careful bro

chris frowned, tapping out a quick reply: who kid? what are you talking about?

before he could hit send, nick was already pulling him into the crowd. “stop just standing there, let’s go find the drinks cabinet and drink these rich kids out of house and home”

chris half sniggered to his brother, his mind still fixated on the text from his best friend.

he shoved his phone back into his pocket, trying to shake off the feeling of unease, but nick’s patience for wanting to get drunk was wearing thin. “you coming, or what?”

they walked deeper into the house, this place was enormous — spacious rooms with dark wood flooring and crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, whoever owned this house had to be incredibly wealthy.

and that’s when chris’s eyes land on you again.

you were across the room from him, standing in the crowded open-plan kitchen, talking to a group of people, the same girl from when he first saw you earlier by your side, your angel wings stood out in the soft kitchen lights.

his heart skipped a beat when he saw you, he shouldn’t be feeling this way, he’d never felt this way about anyone before, he had only just met you but there was a connection so strong between you that was undeniable, something that was pulling him towards you, making everything else fade into the background.

his phone buzzed again, dragging him back to reality.

23:54 new message from nate she’s one of them

chris’s stomach dropped as he read the text. one of them?

he glanced over at you again, there was no way, you couldn’t be.

the party, the music, his brothers — everything felt distant now, his eyes locked on yours from across the room, and in that moment it felt like you were the only person there.

nate then appears by his side, grinning ear to ear like this was the most amusing thing to happen to him all year.

“you see her?” nate asked casually, motioning towards you. a smirk creeping on his face "the one you've been eyeing up all night, yeah?

chris forced his gaze away from you and tries to focus on the information his best friend was telling him, “yeah, i see her”

nate didn’t miss the tense tone in chris’s voice, “you sure you know who she is?” to which chris shrugged, trying to play it off as casual but inside, the tightness in his chest was suggesting otherwise.

“she’s just some girl, kid. where’s this fuckin’ conversation going?”

nate’s smirk widens, the excitement of sharing this big news fueling his grin. “oh, she’s definitely some girl, man. this side of town? it’s basically her family’s fuckin’ kingdom. they’ve got their hands in everything, running all the shit and now the four of us? we’ve just crashed a halloween party… at her house.”

the people his father had always warned him about, the ones who ran everything on the other side of town — the side he was currently on, he knew the whole family by reputation, endless stories of the rivalry and conflict told to him and his brothers by his father, their faces burned into his memory except yours, he had never seen you before, he had heard about a daughter but he never imagined it to be you.

“no fucking way” chris muttered under his breath, “her? this is her house?”

nate nods, “yes, this is her house” he repeats, "and you won't believe who her brother is"

the pull towards you now felt different, the rivalry, the history, years of a deep divide between the two families all coming rushing back.

suddenly, nick and matt reappear at his side, both wearing a more serious look on their faces.

“chris, we need to get outta here like fuckin’ yesterday” nick says, his voice nervous, “i heard someone mention that ‘some kids from the other side’ are here”

matt speaks up, glancing nervously around them. “this shit is gonna go south if we don’t leave now, her brother is the one hosting this party"

before chris could process anything anyone was telling him, he spotted you again, this time with someone else beside you, a tall, unmistakably familiar face — your brother. the same guy he’d tangled with more times than he could count, each fight adding fuel to the fire of the rivalry and deepening their hatred for each other, the tension between them this time was instant, like picking up where they’d left off, but this time it was in your world where chris and his friends were outnumbered.

nick and matt exchange a quick look, the tension rising in the air.

“shit” chris muttered, “fuck, okay we need to go, now”

the four of them quickly manouver through the crowd, but as chris stole one last glance at you, your heart skipped. you caught his gaze and the understanding between you was instant, but before he could say anything to you, your brother was headed his way.

his heart was pounding as he ran towards the front door, the boys following closely behind but he still couldn’t shake the thought of you.

in that moment, it was like the world paused, and chris knew that somehow — you were the one he was never supposed to meet.

note: it’s starting to get angsty now ooo! proof read this so many times that i am now stressssed about it. let me know your thoughts :)

my asks are always open for starcrossed!chris & starcrossed!reader. come talk to me about them!

the whole starcrossed!chris & starcrossed!reader universe can be found here.

#. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁starcrossed!chris x starcrossed!reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo angst

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zebulontheplanet · 2 days ago

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You said your sibling with alexia is more independent than you. Does have a job or in school? How can that work if can't read anything? what acommodations are used?

My sibling is mostly independent! She just…can’t do anything that involves reading lol. She drives, she has a boyfriend, she has a job, etc etc. How does she do these things? Mostly memorization.

She can’t read road signs (as in “this is hickory street” not as in “this is a stop sign”), so she uses GPS. She also has a WICKED memory for direction. She can go to a place once and remember the directions to get there! She’s just really good at it. She does know basic road signs. Like she knows of course what a stop sign is, and a yield sign, and all that other bullshit. She’s memorized them all. Knows what wording is on it, etc. My sister is able to take some words, and memorize what they are. Like she knows the words Cat and Bread (of course knows more then these two words) But she doesn’t know them because C and A and T make Cat. She just knows that Cat, is Cat. She can’t break apart words to figure them out. She knows “sight words”. Now, she can’t learn this with every word, obviously. Because your memory isn’t big enough to store all of that. And it’s kinda (Really) difficult to memorize certain words because of their length and complexity.

She is mostly independent. Her iphone reads her text messages to her and she uses Siri’s speech-to-text feature to reply back. If it’s paperwork, she has my mom or her boyfriend read it to her. Etc.

Of course she will probably never be able to go to college, because that’s just not something she’s really capable of. (Her disabilities go into math, history, English, etc).

But yeah, thats her.

#zebrambles #Alexia #learning disability

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gingerteafairy · 3 days ago

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𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡 (𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

"I love you." And then he froze. No cigarette, drug, morphine or any crutch could compare to that moment. It was the first time in years he felt peace.

tags: angst, anxiety, depression, drugs. word count: 810

0:31

Carmy often complained about how his apartment felt like a asylum, the closest thing to hell. Everything seemed out of place, disorganized, meaningless. Empty.

He needed to redecorate.

The bookshelf looked like something you'd find in a junkyard, piled high with trash. His clothes were scattered everywhere, shoes flipped upside down. The smell of his sheets and the clothes he had worn for days, even though they were past the point of being clean. Sometimes, the plumbing would fail, and he'd have to shout in frustration and accept yet another day without a shower.

01:29

He needed to move.

None of this felt real, normal. His parents fought constantly, his siblings complained, and his entire life seemed better on the other side.

He, himself, seemed better outside.

Everything looked perfect from the outside, with his talent and all the praise he received, even amidst the constant chaos of the restaurant—the shouting, the fights that made him roll his eyes. Nothing made sense.

2:00 AM

He needed a new life.

You: Carmy, I’m sorry. I fell asleep.

Her message interrupted his spiraling thoughts, forcing him to swallow hard and regain his composure.

Carmy: It’s fine. Don’t worry. I was still awake.

You: What happened?

The message glowed on his screen, read only a few minutes ago. She was waiting for a response, nervous, in another city. Just as messy as he was.

Carmy: Same old crap. Don’t worry about it.

He replied, breathing heavily, massaging his temples. His hair was a mess, as it always was in his usual chaos. He looked so beautiful, even in the disarray.

I should get therapy.

02:45

Carmy: One day, I’ll get out of here. One day, I’ll change all of this. I need you. I’m sorry for this.

You: Don’t apologize. Everything will be okay, one day. For both of us.

And so, another night passed. The day came and went, and the night lingered longer than it should. Like a torment that never quite leaves. Chef, Sugar, Mom, Sydney, Jimmy, Richie, Mike. What was wrong?

It was all so confusing, even the cars in Chicago seemed to move slower through his fogged mind. His head felt submerged underwater, the lack of oxygen warping his nervous system. Anxiety. How much air does someone need to stay afloat?

I should quit smoking.

"You know, I’ve always hated smokers," she started, her voice soft, a faint laugh following her words.

Carmy glanced at her, subconsciously lowering his cigarette as guilt weighed in his eyes. "If it bothers you, I can stop…"

"I’d look at those people with disgust, judging them, like I was better than them," she continued, her gaze distant, a sad smile tugging at her lips—one Carmy had learned to appreciate, despite its melancholy. She was broke, like him."I was so stupid. They didn’t deserve that."

"So what made you change your mind?" he asked, hesitant.

"I didn’t," she added, drawing a laugh from him. "Cigarettes are terrible, but at least they’re not as miserable as vaping or using needles."

"To the classics," he joked, raising his cigarette like a champagne glass, placing it poetically between his cracked lips, the cold air and dehydration of the night evident.

"But..." She took a breath, the warmth of her exhale mixing with the cheap cocoa butter on her lips. "You’re the only exception."

He smiled weakly. Her hair bounced as she looked at him, golden curls, eyes a deep blue—matching the sorrow of the world reflected in his tired gaze. Carmy was angelic, celestial. No image or sculpture could truly capture his beauty. That pure innocence, which wasn’t sensual but somehow carried desire.

"Thank you." He smiled, finishing his last drag before tossing the cigarette to the ground and stomping it out with his foot. "But I really should quit. I’m just using it as a crutch."

"I can’t judge you. I buy expensive skincare, thinking it’ll make up for a good night’s sleep and healthy food." She joked, and he laughed—just for a second, everything felt right. "Carmy."

"What?" He looked at her, the neon lights from The Bear shining on her face. Two dreams collided in that moment, competing for space in his heart. Drowning in the blue glow of the city’s decorations.

"I love you."

And then he froze. Like the storm inside him had suddenly calmed, as if he were floating on still waters. No cigarette, drug, morphine or any crutch could compare to that moment. The world stopped. It was the first time in years he felt peace.

"I love you too. A lot."

When he was with her, everything felt perfect. This was where he wanted to be. For the first time, he didn’t want to run from himself anymore, because she was there to embrace his mess. And that was what made Carmy Berzatto, Carmy.

taglist:

@aquazero divider

#x reader #reader insert #fanfic #imagine #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #carmy x you #carmy x fem!reader #carmy x y/n #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x female reader #the bear #carmy i love you #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you

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b4mpyre-k1zz3s · 3 days ago

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Secret Santa with the Jackass Guys HC’s!

Warnings: Highly suggestive content, crude humor, dildos, sex toys, porn, lingerie

An: Thank you so much for the request, @rainydayz-nstuff, and happy holidays! I couldn’t reply to your request directly, so I attached it to the post :) I think that’s a very interesting tradition, and when I read your message I just knew it would suit the Jackass guys well! Thank you for sending it in, and please keep sending requests! :D

The giddy smile on Knoxville’s face as he stood on your doorstep did a great job at distracting you from what he was holding

“Merry Christmas!” Thrusting the wicker basket into your arms before he shimmied past into the warmth of your place, “If it ain’t colder than Frosty’s jockstrap out there…”

It took a bit of silicone grazing your cheek to realize what you were holding- dildos. So many dildos.

All different sizes and colors with a couple fantasy ones thrown in there, little pink ribbons tied below the heads. Cute…

As everyone got ready to draw names, you realized that you had nothing to draw out of so you settled for Bam’ beanie.

“What the hell’s on your hand-“ Ryan reached for your wrist as you clutched a slip of paper. Eyes going wide with realization, he sputtered out between laughs, “Dude- that’s Bam grease!”

That earned him a stiff punch in the shoulder.

Examining the Dumbest Asshole in Hip Hop CD and the coupon code to Steve’s website you received, you really had to go out on a limb to guess who brought it…

But he didn’t have much shame, holding up his hands in faux guilt before diving into the package in front of him.

Bam was eager to brag about what he brought as Steve shuffled through a stack of dvds,

“Yeah- I did this interview with Hustler, an’ I asked if they’d pay me in videos!” Grinning, Bam gloated like this was any sort of thing to brag about, “Asked for the craziest shit they got…”

More surprising than the weird, kinky porn was the year long subscription to American Grizzly that came with it.

“Hey, Knoxville! I think I got your birthday present covered this year…”

Looking at how Chris was beaming as he unwrapped it, there was no question who gifted Ryan the black banana hammock

Cocking your head, you examined the shimmery rhinestones as he held it stretched between his thumbs, “Y’know, I thought this kinda thing’d be more Bam’s ballpark…”

Dunn replied, “No, yeah- he’s gonna love it tonight.”

But some of the presents were more typical. Take, for example, the oversized bottle of liquor in the shape of a nude woman that Pontius received

As he ran his fingers over some of it’s more, ahem- detailed assets, he chuckled in that sweet, dumb way that made you forget he was lusting over blown glass,

“Woah…she really is my kinda lady!”

With how Bam reacted when he got his gift, you would’ve thought he was just handed a puppy for Christmas.

“Are the- holy shit! I got ‘em!” Grinning eagerly, he clutched the basket of dildos.

Immediately, the question on everyone’s tongues was what one person could ever do with that. In all likelihood, he’d probably end up stashing them around his friends’ homes like some demented prank,

But he smugly replied with a wink that a gentleman never tells.

“A gentleman? Since when were you a gentleman?” you asked.

But nothing would compare to the reaction your gift elicited,

Proudly displaying the sexy little leather number you picked out at the local lingerie store in all it’s lacy glory, Johnny got that glint in his eye like whenever he was about to do something awful,

“That reminds me- I still gotta take those Christmas card photos…”

And sure enough, he did.

#jackass #johnny knoxville #bam margera #ryan dunn #steve o #chris pontius #jackass fanfiction #jackass fanfic #fluff

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triptychgrip · 11 hours ago

Note

Weighing in with a LONG reblog, because I feel very strongly about this and ask in good faith for folks to at least read to the very end before leaping to fire off any angry replies/blocking, etc.

I’ll start off by sharing this anonymous message (8 screenshots) that I sent to thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai a few months back, in response to a poll they had made inquiring as to why their followers continued to follow them.

As you can see, I used the term ‘off-putting’ to describe the tone of some of their posts, but I could have probably used less watered-down language. @arom-antix : I liked how you framed this particular sentence in your post, and want to focus on the latter part of it: “But when you claim to be an academic and also put down the rest of the fandom for not being on your level..."

It's that latter point -- putting down the rest of the fandom for not being on your level -- that I should have articulated better in my anon message, especially because @thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai : you have made MULTIPLE posts over the last year sharing frustrations that engagement on your meta posts/your content in general (like chapter reblogs for your novelization fanfic) has been lower than you’d like.

I would argue that your condescending tone and outward show of superiority could be a big reason for your drops in engagement. The latter is particularly irritating, because in your pinned post, you urge others to be kind, asserting that you have less confidence than Yuuri.

Speaking personally, I used to really look forward to reading your novelization fanfic -- anyone who looks at the comments section will see multiple examples where I've praised your writing and artistry. But your behavior on Tumblr is what led to my dropping your fic.

Before I go further, I’ll address what I think is the elephant in the room, at least from my own vantage point: I think we have ALL seen the advisory messages on Tumblr that say something to the effect of: "let's allow people to treat their blogs like a personal diary (i.e. as a place to vent with quick takes that are not perfectly worded/thought out) if they want to, and not act like everything has to be an expertly crafted, articulate encapsulation of their thoughts."

Now, I am fully on-board with extending that grace to people: how you use your own blog is your own business, and if you want to go on short or long rants about your opinions on fandom -- or anything else -- that's your prerogative.

However, you can’t have your cake and eat it, too, to use a cliche. thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai, if you are TRULY interested in understanding why your followers may not interact with your content in the ways you want — as opposed to crafting posts that paint yourself as a victim of ostracization, when you, yourself, have displayed very unwelcoming, divisive behavior — then you may need to consider this fact: your followers read everything.

Not just your most carefully crafted posts, but ALSO your personal rants. It might not seem fair for the latter to affect one's engagement levels with regards to the former, but this is just the reality of how things are on the internet/on this particular hellsite.

Getting back to my anon message, thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai replied to me shortly after, with an ask for clarification -- essentially, they said they were disturbed if this was how they were coming across and asked for more detail on why I had developed the impression that in order to engage with their content, that my engagement needed to meet the level of canon-compliance.

If I'd had the energy to craft a response (I won't go into the reasons for why I never ended up doing so, as it's a bit too personal), here's what I would have said:

1) Even if the fandom posts you think are most egregiously based on vibes/speculation claim to be canon-compliant, your bitterness towards their popularity comes across like entitlement. Especially, as 1) as I shared in my anon message, there may not be agreement on what canon compliance means, and 2) because a like or reblog on Tumblr doesn't even necessarily equate to: "I agree with EVERYTHING OP has laid out here, 100%".

In fact, I rarely think a like/reblog means that.

Sometimes, a like or reblog just means that someone finds an idea interesting and/or worth considering for their own content creation and/or just fun to ideate around.

2) of COURSE you are allowed to feel frustrated if your posts that you spend hours and hours working on don't do as well as you hope they will, and of course you are even allowed to post about those feelings, but if you go beyond "hey, this feels really shitty and I wish my numbers looked different" to "why is it that so many garbage takes that are devoid of any substance do so much better than my own?"...well, people will not be so gracious around the latter.

3) further, the same people who respect your work may start to feel like they can’t engage with you because, who knows? Maybe something they’ve contributed to fandom is the kind of content you seem to have such an issue with. I know I have definitely wondered about this, especially as I am currently working on a multi chapter fic that takes place during canon.

The very last thing I'll say is that I have been wanting to address the topic of acephobia allegations but have simply not had the energy to cobble together my thoughts exhaustively (yet).

All I'll say -- for now -- is that I myself am demisexual and can see a strong case to be made for why Yuuri is asexual (I write him as demi in my own fanfic and have even reblogged thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai's meta posts on the topic), however, I don't believe that this opinion makes it acceptable for me to label anyone as acephobic if they don't share it. Or, for me to claim that someone lacks media literacy if they don't share it.

I will save my full thoughts on this topic for a separate post (maybe? we'll see...it would take a long, long time to write, I think), but the one thing I'll say here is that I have seen the claim that people's headcanons around Yuuri's sexuality will inform the content that they want to read about. While of course I agree that this is true, I have seen this extend out to the following concern that I don't know holds water: that unless we all ascribe to the "Yuuri is ace" view, that content that touches upon it will get overlooked/be undervalued.

Frankly, I think this idea ascribes a rigidity to fanfic readers that simply isn't there.

I think we are all capable of reading and enjoying content that doesn't fit our own headcanons, even if these headcanons are "big" topics (and I do think Yuuri's sexuality is a big topic, simply because of how prominent a theme eros/the topic of sexual desirability is in canon. As a little teaser for the crux of my argument for why Yuuri could be both allo and ace, I'd posit that how sexually desirable someone finds themself (i.e. how capable they believe they are of seduction) is related to, but is ultimately distinct from their own capacity to experience sexual attraction).

Lastly, I want to make it clear that I think there is a place in the Yuri!!! on Ice fandom for EVERYONE, even people whose behavior I don't particularly love; the glimpse we get of each others' online personas is just a fraction of what comprises our personalities and interests, and I don't believe in the idea of shaming people to the point of "cancellation" (i.e. to the point where they think there is no future for them to keep contributing/sharing their love of fandom...especially in a fandom like Yuri!!! on Ice that has probably lost lots of people after IceAdo's cancellation!). This is particularly true if they are willing to be introspective around how they have acted.

Oh and lastly (for real this time), thank you both @arom-antix and @blonndiec for speaking so openly about this. I appreciate the courage it likely took to do so.

Hey, just wanted to reach out to say that I found you pointing out and calling this person was really great and you shouldn't have apologized. It was incredibly true what you said, and to be honest it seems out of touch with the reality of a great deal of the japanese fandom, the nuances and their culture. Also, it was as you pointed out, extreme and may I say rude. I want to mention too that the way it was written, as if entitled of the knowledge and the 'explanation' made it all worse in context of the 'fucked up'. The original poster always gets away by using the 'well-written academic'' statement of their 'metas' as an excuse to do or say and make everyone else agree and if not, uses victim narrative and discourses exactly selecting wording for people to agree on it or feel bad.

I don't know if they tagging you in the way they did made you reblog and apologizing/backing up, but no one thought bad about you pointing it out. On the contrary, a lot of people had been bullied and discriminated by this person when they called them out/disagreed going onto lenghts of sending their friends to harass people, and the other persons can't even defend themselves because they are effectively blocked. To quite a few people in the fandom has been done, even accusing them as 'acephobes' (when they're not) or even Nazis by spreading lies. So yeah, I just wanted to say that. I think you were right to call them out publicly.

Thank you very much for this ask. To be completely honest I agree with everything you said here and don't actually feel bad about pointing anything out. I mainly apologised because I didn't want any potentially poor phrasing from my side to cause unnecessary hostility and because I myself have gripes with this person's behaviour but didn't want to cause a scene.

My honest opinion is that they have a serious issue with taking accountability for their own mistakes and highly overestimate their own intellect. If you're reading this, @thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai, sorry if I seem harsh, but it's true. I saw your post lamenting how you're the only academic meta writer / fan in the fandom and I didn't interact then because I honestly do not care enough to start that drama but with the information Blonndiec has just given me, I think it's necessary that someone calls you out.

You're not an academic. You're not beyond the mental capabilities of other fans. You're actually incredibly childish in your metas and analyses and I am not kidding when I say that I was halfheartedly writing essays more academic than every analysis I've seen from you when I was barely a teenager. I don't know how old you are and I frankly don't care. You're not as clever as you think you are.

Also, don't think I didn't notice that you didn't reblog my correction (link here to my correction and here to their "response" for those who didn't see that exchange) of your post so that you could control what your followers saw of the exchange. You're the opposite of an academic. You control information to tailor the narrative, you don't cite your sources properly if at all, you don't format your posts in anything close to how an academic analysis would be, you make unbased claims, you reference posts and canon material without in any way indicating where that information is from, you reference your own (equally unacademic) metas and your conclusions from them without indicating what post it's from or that it's your own theory this new one is based on and instead present it as a common fact, and I could go on and on and on. Your posts are also riddled with logical fallacies and you talk in absolutes and opinions when there's no canon basis to claim such things. I'm sorry, but that's not academic in the slightest.

To be clear, you don't have to be an academic to post on the Internet. You don't have to be anything at all. You could up front be a genuine idiot with no remorse and that's fine. But when you claim to be an academic and also put down the rest of the fandom for not being on your level, you have to be able to back that up. It'd still make you sound like a prick but at least your arrogance would have a basis. It currently does not.

I haven't personally seen the discussions that Blonndiec is referencing and I'm not going to claim anything definitive (because that would be unacademic of me, take notes) but if what they're saying is true and did happen as described, which I have empirical, if anecdotal, evidence to believe could very well be (a friend of mine has personally been blocked by you after they criticised you without actually mentioning your name which I of course can't prove is the reason for the block but the timing is awfully convenient), you should know that you should be ashamed of yourself.

If there's context missing, feel free to enlighten me and call out any incorrect accusations. You have every right to defend yourself. However, I encourage you to cite your sources since you're such an academic. If you don't, then it's just your word against Blonndiec and anyone else who might comment's word and that doesn't prove anything. Don't misunderstand, acephobia and nazi rhetoric should absolutely be called out but only if it's actually happening. False accusations can ruin lives. I hope you know that.

I'm not a fan of calling people out publicly and, again, thank you for this ask, Blonndiec. But considering many of the issues I've personally seen and those I've been informed of by second hand sources were posted publically, I don't really feel bad about calling this out. I could do a full breakdown of just the insulting "academic" comments alone and how there's no academia to be found in said academic metas and, Samurai, if you give me reason to, I will show exactly what I mean point by point (and academically just to give you an example of even low level academia).

If you respond to this, do it in a reblog. That's what a real academic would do. If I'm wrong and you can prove it, you'd have no reason to not show my post in your rebuttal. If I'm right, you'd have every reason to be upfront about your mistakes and how you intend to rectify them. There's nothing wrong with being wrong but there's a lot wrong with refusing to admit to it in a way that lets others peer review you (academic thing, look it up) and come to their own conclusions about the situation. That's what you did when you just @'ed me instead of reblogging my response. A true academic wouldn't hide a peer review. You'd know that if you were one.

I swing in many academic spaces and yet that doesn't make me any kind of expert and I don't claim to be one because I'm not. But since you want to be one so badly, reblog this with a response and show us all how smart you are. I'm dying to know what your academic take on this is.

#yuri!!! on ice #yuri on ice #yuri on ice fandom #yuri on ice headcanons #to reiterate: I don’t want anyone to be cancelled #but some introspection sure would be nice #especially when this is coming from multiple people

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kk-cats · 3 months ago

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i think i should stop posting before i worry people or annoy people

#the only thing stopping me from leaving the server is that i don't want people to worry #and also my corus thread #i like my corus thread #if nobody got me i know corus got me can i get an amen #i say as if multiple people haven't reached out to me but #you know what this is #a self fufilling prophecy #by worrying about ruining my friendships i lose the ability to talk to people who i know are reaching out #and i thus ruin my friendships whoop dee doo #reading all your messages and never replying #searching up my name to see if i matter still #i'm sorry that i do this i really really am #me omw to make everything about me #this close to losing it and by it i mean my stability #i Love getting upset over things people have no control over!#the thoughts tell me to delete my blogs bruh but all my stuff..#and corus #pausing #breathing #i am aware i am not in a good headspace right now #i am aware people are reaching out to me #i am aware i am terrified to reply #i am aware i am sleep deprived #i am hurting people. i do not mean to #but i am #so i will fix this #one step at a time #first #address situation #explain

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icewindandboringhorror · 3 months ago

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I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

#facebook always does that 'here's a post from this day 8 years ago' thing. and I see old comments interacting #with people and it's so like.. OOOOO~~ where are they now?? what's going on? how much have they changed as people?#how much are they the same? this is fascinating. i should contact them!!' but then it's like... take that to it's logical conclusion though #you would contact them and then IF they even responded it would take you 80 years to respond and then they would #think there was something wrong or that you were trying to be insulting or something. To contact anyone I need to include an 85 page #disclaimer of all of my social issues & mental illness things. 'If i take 3 weeks to reply I promise it has nothing to do with u' etc lol #THIS is why more people need to be into phone calls/voice calls/some form of audio real time communication/etc.#I think one of the main things that's hard about messaging through text for me is it's so unscheduled and open ended #(plus it takes forever if you're talking about anything in detail and gets very long very quickly)#because like you can send a message and then just get a reply whenever. and then you're expected to reply back whenever #so it's like you never know when the response will come or when a new obligation to reply can come up? so it's like this sudden thing with #no outline?? if that makes sense. whereas a phone call is very like 'hello let's schedule a call from 10am - 2pm on thursday'. And you know #EXACTLY when the interaction will start and EXACTLY when it will end and you can plan around it in your schedule easily.#I have the reverse thing of a lot of people (how people don't pick up phone calls/hate calls/only text)#I would literally talk on the phone with a stranger. I would have a discord voice chat with someone I barely know.#if someone I hardly even remember from elementary school asked to have a voice call with me out of nowhere I would do it.#but if a stranger MESSAGED me?? or someone I barely know sent me a TEXT or something?? I will never reply probably #It's just too vague and weird. and you can't read voice tone over text. and the interaction could last forever with no clear end #point and etc. etc. But a call is like. set. established. clear boundaries. you can read the flow of conversation better. rapport. etc. etc #I get that I guess people feel more anonymous or distanced over text?? but you can have fake phone numbers on the computer. or do like disc #rd calls. or zoom without a camera or etc. etc. Also the distance that's present in text is BAD distance because it just means that tone is #not conveyed properly and you will never truly get a sense of the person's conversational vibe or mannerisms or how well you really click.#ANYWAY ghgjh...... I'm so so so interested in concepts of like.. How did that one kid I used to talk to in elementary school #but then they moved away in 5th grade - how did they end up? what are they doing now?? etc. etc. Like despite the severe social anhedonia #and general lack of connection with others I'm just really fascinated in like.. idk. the human development of it all and like #the concept of how we're actually a million different people through the course of our lives ever evolving in different iterations and etc.#PLUS again. i love nostalgia. sometimes old peple you know might remember a shared memory or can tell you about something you forgot #or etc. like it's SUCH A COOL THING in CONCEPT but I am too socially inept generally speaking lol. which people I still talk to today are #familiar with my 'phone call once every few months' communication style. but strangers would just be like... wtf. And I don't blame them #Sure I literally cannot change the physical health + brain issues i have - but also I know enough to not put others through that lol

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partystoragechest · 6 months ago

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A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting invites four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, the competition is won.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. End. Words: 1,762. Rating: all audiences.)

Chapter 50: Wanted

It was hard to overstate how impossible it was to marry Trevelyan off. A mage of such little accomplishment, and such signifcant unimportance, she had always been unwanted.

And thank the Maker for it.

For had she not been so magnificently undesirable, Trevelyan would have none of what she had now: a home; an occupation; a hope, for her future.

And she would certainly not be preparing to tell Cullen that she cared for him.

But she was. Within the sanctuary of her room, she readied. Her hair was tidied into place, her dress selected and draped over her body. In the little looking-glass upon her dresser, she inspected herself for the thousandth time.

Caught, within her reflection, were the golden rays of a setting sun, filtering through her window to herald the arrival of the evening hour. The moment had come.

Trevelyan begged the trinkets upon her desk to bring her luck. Beside her book of astronomy and a neatly-folded napkin, lay an onyx-encrusted Orlesian mask, a ribbon of pink chiffon, and a little wooden chess piece. Reminders.

They’d be proud of her. They would support her.

(They’d want the gossip after.)

Smiling, emboldened by their memory, Trevelyan found the courage to leave the room.

The corridors of the castle beyond carried on as if normal, blissfully unaware of what transpired within her mind. No soul she passed could tell how extensively it practiced the words she’d practiced all night and all morn:

Cullen, I care for you.

Such a simplification. Those few words alone could not tell of how every time she heard his voice, her ears did warm. Of how every time he smiled in her direction, her eyes could not bear the sight. Of how every time their fingers brushed, her body gnawed itself from within.

But that was perhaps a lot to say, so the simplified version would have to do.

Yet words fell away, as she reached his tower. Skyhold came to a hush, breath and breeze the only sounds. The drum-beat of her heart quaked through the valley. Evening sun cowered below the horizon. Mountains watched, in anticipation.

Ancient, gnarled wood stood between them. A door Trevelyan feared to open. She raised her hand to knock.

The door opened anyway.

A startled messenger appeared on the other side. With a hasty, “Sorry, ma’am,” they hurried past, and left her to the room beyond. Trevelyan shook the concern of their business from her mind, and peered inside.

Cullen’s office was warm, inviting. Candles flickered in every corner, an intimacy radiated by their glow. His desk had been cleared of its usual clutter, place settings prepared on either side. A chair waited, for her to take it.

Cullen already occupied another. But his mood did not match that of the room. He leant hard upon his hands, eyes shut firm. Only when her foot crossed the threshold, did he look up.

“Arcanist,” he greeted, solemnly rising from his seat. “Are you well?”

“I am,” Trevelyan confessed. “And—you?”

Cullen shook his head. “I am afraid I can’t stay.”

“What?”

He made his way around the table, hand trailing its prefectly-prepared surface. “We’ve received word, from the Champion—the Grey Wardens have been corrupted. The Inquisitor has called the War Council. We may be at war with Adamant.”

Everything Trevelyan had been worried for mere minutes ago now paled. Though words could hurt, the theatre of battle could kill. And a general must ride with his army.

“How soon will you march?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

“...At dawn.”

Breath spilled from her lungs. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no—it’s… I understand. It cannot be helped.”

The Maker had a wicked sense of humour. Truly, at last, urgent business did call him away. Yet it was this. Yet it was now.

“You can stay, if you like,” he offered, as if a concession. “You may eat—I can still have the food brought.”

“What about you?” Trevelyan asked. She meant it more ways than one.

So did he: “I’ll be all right.”

His hand almost reached for her, but any attempts at gestures or reassurances died in place. Though the ache upon his face told the story of a man who wished to do something to fix this, there was, in truth, nothing to be done.

“I’ll try and see you before I depart,” he told her, his only consolation.

“Thank you,” she said.

Little more to do or say, he retreated from her side. Though she could feel his lingering gaze, linger he did not. The War Council beckoned.

“Wait—”

She said it before she’d even had chance to contemplate what came next. Cullen halted at the door. Anticipating.

“Arcanist?”

Trevelyan resolved herself. She would not have this moment taken from her. She would not allow him to leave, to march off to battle, for Maker-knows-what to happen—not without first knowing this:

“Cullen, I care for you.”

The candles flickered. Cullen’s fingers slipped from the door handle. His voice was but a whisper:

“You… even after everything..?”

Even after everything. “I thought you should know.”

The door was abandoned; he padded towards her. “Are you certain?”

“I am,” she said. He drew in close. She asked, “Do you..?”

“I do,” he murmured, “also. Care for—care for you, I mean. As well.”

Trevelyan’s breath caught. Maker, let this be real. Let this not be a dream. Let her not have imagined this.

Yet here he was, before her. She hadn’t imagined it. She hadn’t imagined any of it. The pining looks, the accidental touches, the hopeful invitations—they had all been meant. And they had all been meant for her.

Cullen whispered, “I didn’t think, after all that’s happened, that you would…”

“I do,” she reassured him, “I do.”

His anxious face softened to a smile, the warmth of it flushing Trevelyan’s cheeks. Quite unable to meet his eye, she settled instead upon that smile. And the lips that formed it.

Cullen must have noticed, for he cleared his throat, and withdrew.

“I should... get to the War Council,” he told her, guilt strung throughout his voice. “But, we could talk, later?”

“Yes,” Trevelyan agreed, wholeheartedly, “please.”

“Good”—reluctant, he took a step from her—“good.”

Her eyes did not leave him, as strode for the door. Nor did his leave her, even as he opened it. And though his hand remained upon the handle, his feet hesitant to pass the threshold—with one last smile, he slipped on through.

And was gone.

Yet in Trevelyan’s mind, he remained; for within, she replayed the moment over and over and over. He cared for her. Maker, he cared for her. Weeks ago, she would not have wished to hear such a thing—but now, it was all she wished to hear. He cared for her! And she—

The door slammed open. Trevelyan had little time to express her surprise—as Cullen marched back in, took her by the waist, and asked:

“I… May I—?”

She kissed him.

Their lips met as if shaped for one another, as if sculpted by the same godly hand. His, warm and wetted, were as tender in their touch as the man to whom they belonged. There was a tangible distinction, between their caress and that of his scar, and there was an irreplacable intimacy in the knowledge of it. She did not know how she would bear it.

But bear it she would, for the kiss was worth it. No sensation in all of Thedas could compare to the sensation of him. To have the barriers between them burnt to ash; to feel the fire within him intertwine with her own; to succumb and melt into his form. There was nothing so perfect.

When at last he withdrew, her eyes opened. She had not realised they were closed.

“That was… really nice,” Cullen murmured, himself too dazed for grander description.

“Just one,” Trevelyan whispered, “or more?”

“More,” he replied.

Their lips connected again, and the sensation was no less divine the second time. Nor the third. Nor the fourth.

It was sweet, slow, satiating. Her curiosity to know the touch of his lips had long become a hunger which only they could satisfy. Dinner was unnecessary. His was a nectar she could sup on for eternity.

If only they had that eternity. But into their next kiss, she murmured:

“Shouldn’t you be on your way to the War Council?”

His reply was spoken upon her lips: “In a moment.”

Trevelyan had no objection. She would fight the war herself, for a moment more of this. But she wasn’t the one who had to.

“Cullen—”

He kissed her again, as if to stop her from saying it.

“Cullen...”

One more—and he finally relented:

“All right.”

Though their lips parted, their foreheads remained as one, each rested gently upon the other.

“You cannot forsake your duty,” she warned.

But the tip of his nose still trailed her skin, as if in search of another kiss: “Don’t tempt me.”

She stroked his hair back into place. “So you do find me tempting?”

He caught her hand, and brought it to his lips. “Naturally,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the centre of her palm. Trevelyan curled her fingers around it, and kept it safe within.

“The stars are out tonight,” she told him.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll see you there.”

“Yes.”

She leant in, to leave a final kiss upon his cheek; but felt his stubble graze her skin, as he turned and caught her by the mouth one last time.

It was only when he began to linger that Trevelyan did object.

“Cullen,” she whispered.

His lips withdrew, his body parted. The loss of his warmth and pressure left a chasm; the reluctance and hesitation of it was shared between them. Their hands remained intertwined until the last—until he took one step too many, and his fingers slipped away.

“Farewell,” he told her.

“Another time,” she replied.

One last look, one last smile, and he left the room. For good, this time.

Trevelyan collapsed against his desk. Her fingers traced the path of his lips, across her own, onto her skin, burning the memory into her mind, so that it would never leave her.

A feeling welled within her chest, entirely unfamiliar. But as she wiped the first, joyful tears from her cheek, she recognised it.

Wanted. Finally, wanted.

#cullen rutherford #commander cullen #cullen x trevelyan #unwanted #unwanted fic #thank you to everyone who has been reading unwanted #i appreciate you and your likes and reblogs and replies and messages #you're all wonderful and i wish you all the best in life #an epilogue to come #edit 29/10/24: i'll never be happy with the kiss because it'll never be as good as the anticipation of it #cont: this version may remain different to the ao3 version just because it feels wrong to change this one

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