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delulustateofmind · 2 days ago

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Get Ghost'd!

Sum: So you ghosted a guy that like really, really likes you, what could possibly go wrong?

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Choso

TW: Yandere Behaviors (Drugging, Stalking, Obsession, Kidnapping, Trapping, Manipulation) Slight wholesome fluff? Older woman (5-10 years) x Gojo, Noncon smooches (Gojo), The girls are around 7 in this so young cult leader geto (Not as deranged yet but getting there), Choso's is more crack (Todo is mentioned)

WC: 6.1K

A/N: I was just only going to do Geto...but then I thought about all the other JJK characters that would just go so crazy if you just ignored them. No Nanami, because he's a good man and would respect it if you ignored him.

Bold of you to assume you could just ghost the strongest-

Gojo Satoru had left his number for you.

He didn’t usually do that sort of thing—relationships were messy, and he simply didn’t have the time. Not with the weight of his responsibilities and the constant demands on his talent.

But then there was you, Megumi’s sweet next-door neighbor. The one who went out of your way to drop off food for the kids, who somehow managed to fold their laundry just the way they liked it. How could he not leave his number?

After all, he was the brat’s caretaker now, their benefactor. And, well, he could be your benefactor too, if you asked. Not even nicely—he’d do it if you so much as batted those pretty eyelashes at him and gave him one of those soft, shy smiles.

So why hadn’t you texted?

You had the time to make food for the kids. You had the time to do their laundry. But not even a reply for him? Not even a polite “Please don’t contact me”?

He tried to let it slide. Maybe you were nervous, unsure how to handle someone like him. He was Gojo Satoru, after all. But the more he thought about it, the harder it was to ignore the sting of your silence.

He wasn’t unreasonable—he understood the age gap might make you hesitate. He was freshly twenty, probably a few years younger than you. But honestly? That should work in his favor. How often does a hot, young stud go out of his way for someone like you?

You should be relishing in his attention. Cherishing the fact that he’d chosen you. Because let’s face it—you weren’t getting any younger. You should really consider settling for him.

No—scratch that. You should be grateful.

And yet, here you were, acting like he didn’t exist.

The knock on your door came late, almost too late for it to be anything casual. The soft thud echoed through your small apartment, catching you mid-step as you were putting away the last of the laundry.

When you opened the door, you weren’t prepared for the sight of him.

Gojo Satoru stood there, tall and imposing, framed by the dim glow of the hallway light. His white hair caught the faint light, tousled in that effortlessly perfect way. His signature round glasses perched low on his nose, revealing piercing blue eyes that seemed to glow, unblinking, as they locked onto yours.

His hands were stuffed casually into his pockets, his lean frame relaxed, but the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his easygoing facade.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice as light as ever, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that made your stomach twist. “You’ve been busy, huh?”

You blinked, thrown off by his sudden appearance. “Gojo? What are you doing here?”

He tilted his head, a teasing grin spreading across his face, his impossibly white teeth gleaming. “Satoru,” he corrected. “I think we’re close enough for that, don’t you?”

You faltered, searching for a polite response, but he didn’t give you the chance.

“Not even a little text?” he continued, stepping just a fraction closer. “I left my number, you know. Thought it was pretty obvious I wanted to hear from you.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the doorway felt between you. “I’m sorry—I’ve been really busy with work and helping out with Megumi and—”

He laughed, cutting you off. It was light, almost playful, but there was something unsettling about it. “Oh, I know. You’ve been making food for the kids, doing their laundry, running yourself ragged for them. But for me?” He leaned in slightly, his height forcing you to crane your neck to meet his gaze. “Not even a second of your time?”

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” he said, voice soft but dripping with something you couldn’t quite name. “I get it. Maybe you’re nervous. Maybe you think I’m too young, or you’re just not sure what to say to someone like me.” His grin widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “But you’re not avoiding me, are you?”

The way he said it made your pulse quicken.

“N-no, of course not,” you stammered, taking an instinctive step back.

“Good,” he said smoothly, taking a step forward as if he belonged inside your space. “Because I’d hate for there to be any misunderstandings between us. I mean, I’m just trying to look out for you.”

His gaze flicked over your shoulder at the neatly folded laundry behind you, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “All this running around for the kids? It’s sweet, really. But you should be taking better care of yourself, too.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his presence pressing in on you. “I… I’m fine, really. I just—”

“Just need someone to help you out,” he interrupted, his voice dropping to something softer, almost coaxing. “You do so much for everyone else. Don’t you think you deserve someone to take care of you for a change?”

There was a strange intensity in his gaze now, an undercurrent of something far more dangerous than his usual teasing charm.

“Satoru, I—”

“I could do that, you know,” he murmured, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. His touch lingered, his long fingers trailing along your jaw just enough to make your skin crawl. “Take care of everything. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“Actually,” he cut in, his tone suddenly shifting, “I’ve been thinking. This arrangement? You here, me over there with the brats—it doesn’t make sense.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “What do you mean?”

He gave you a boyish grin, as if what he was about to say was the most obvious thing in the world. “We should live together.”

Your heart stopped for a moment. “W-what?”

“Think about it,” he said, stepping past you into your apartment without so much as a glance for permission. His long legs carried him casually across the room, but the tension in his movements was unmistakable. His sharp gaze darted over your space, the faint scowl on his face deepening as if your cozy apartment wasn’t quite up to his standards.

“You’re already taking care of Megumi and Tsumiki half the time,” he began, spinning around to face you, his white hair catching the dim light. His bright blue eyes locked onto yours, their intensity almost too much. “And my life? Well, let’s just say it’s dangerous.”

“Satoru, I don’t—”

“You’d be safer with me,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now, the usual playful lilt missing entirely. “And the kids, too. We’d be one big happy family. You wouldn’t have to worry about bills or working yourself to the bone anymore—I’d handle everything.”

He said it like he was doing you a favor. Like it was something you should have already agreed to without hesitation.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you managed, your voice shaking slightly.

His expression twisted, the easygoing mask slipping entirely as frustration bled into his tone. “Why not? It makes perfect sense!” he snapped, his arms spreading wide in a gesture of exasperation. “You’re already basically living this life anyway, aren’t you? Cooking, cleaning, running yourself ragged for them. But when it comes to me? Nothing. Not a single second of your time!”

His words hit like a slap, the bitterness in his voice leaving you momentarily stunned.

“I didn’t ask for that,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Well, maybe you should have!” he retorted, his lips pulling into a sharp, mocking grin. “You’re fine on your own, huh? Sure, because that’s working so well for you. You think you’re being independent, but all I see is someone too stubborn to accept help—even when it’s standing right in front of you!”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his anger pressing down on you.

He laughed then, but it was humorless, the sound cutting through the air like broken glass. “You’re too sweet for your own good, you know that? You run around helping everyone else, but you can’t even give me a second of your attention. What’s the matter, huh? Am I not good enough for you?”

“Satoru, that’s not fair—”

“Not fair?” he interrupted, stepping closer, his height towering over you as his blue eyes narrowed dangerously. “You want to talk about fair? I’m offering you everything—safety, security, a life, and you’re standing here acting like I’m some stranger asking for a handout!”

His words stung, his frustration bubbling over into something meaner, something sharper.

“I’m fine on my own,” you insisted again, though your voice was barely more than a whisper.

“No, you’re not,” he spat, his tone venomous now. “You’re delusional if you think you are. You’re just making excuses because you’re too scared to admit you need me.” He shook his head, his grin returning, bitter and condescending. “But that’s okay. I’ll fix that for you.”

Before you could respond, his hands shot up to cup your face, his long fingers curling just enough to hold you in place. His grip was firm, unrelenting, as his piercing blue eyes bore into yours.

“Stop overthinking it,” he murmured, his voice low and coaxing, though his words felt more like a command than reassurance. “You’re wasting time. I know what’s best for you. And it’s me.”

You barely had time to gasp before his lips crashed against yours. The kiss wasn’t tender or affectionate—it was rough, forceful, and far too intense. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, cutting into the dryness of them causing a ting of blood to pool at the skin, the pressure somewhere between biting and bruising, as if he were marking you rather than kissing you.

Your hands flew up instinctively to push against his chest, but he didn’t budge. His arms slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his grip like iron. Every movement was desperate, consuming, and entirely unyielding.

“Satoru, stop,” you tried to mumble against his mouth, but he swallowed the words with another bruising kiss. It felt suffocating, as if he were trying to imprint himself on you—erase any thought of resistance.

When he finally pulled back, your lips felt swollen and raw, your breath coming in shallow gasps. But the worst part wasn’t the kiss itself—it was the look in his eyes.

They were bright, almost gleaming with satisfaction, but there was something beneath the surface.

He licked his lips, his smirk widening as he took in your dazed expression. “See?” he said, his voice a low murmur that sent a chill down your spine. “You’re already mine. You just don’t realize it yet.”

You stared at him, your heart racing as you tried to step back, but his hands were still on your waist, holding you in place.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he continued, his tone almost soothing now, though it carried an eerie finality. “You’ll see. This is what’s best. For you. For the kids. For all of us.”

His grip loosened just enough for you to pull away, but as you stumbled back, his eyes stayed locked on you, sharp and unrelenting.

“And don’t even think about running,” he added, his voice soft but chilling. “You won’t get far. I’ll make sure of it.”

Because Gojo Satoru didn’t lose. And you weren’t going anywhere.

I think I may have just ghosted a cult leader, how fucked am I?

Geto Suguru sat in his living room, legs tucked beneath the kotatsu table, where the twins lay watching Ponyo for what felt like the hundredth time today. The familiar opera intro played, but he barely noticed it, he had lost count of how many times he'd have to endure it. His sleek, dark hair fell loosely over his shoulders, the ends brushing the fabric of his yukata, and a faint shadow from his sharp cheekbones danced across his face in the flickering light.

The DVD would end up in the highest cabinet soon, stored away with the Sailor Moon box set. Only to pretend later on that he has no idea of where the discs went, that the twins should really take better care of their things.

His tea sat untouched on the table, long gone cold as he stared at his phone. Three days since you’d last messaged him. Four since he’d seen you. His dark eyes, always so calculating and composed, narrowed slightly as he swiped through the unread threads of his polite but unanswered messages. He told himself it was fine, that you were busy, but the creeping unease in his chest said otherwise.

Being ignored was new to him, something he hadn’t experienced in years. Women had always sought him out, drawn by the quiet intensity of his gaze, the sharp elegance of his jawline, and the magnetic calm that seemed to follow him like a shadow. They threw themselves at him, eager for a glance, a touch, a word.

But you? You were different. Sweet, shy, and delicate. A part of him had loved that about you. Now it gnawed at him.

Had you used him?

The thought was intrusive, bitter, but it refused to leave. He’d erased your debt, lifted the curse that had plagued you, welcomed you into his home—and into his life. He’d done it all for you, because your smile had been enough. The way it softened your features and brightened your eyes—he couldn’t forget it. You made the darkness in his world feel lighter.

But maybe it wasn’t enough for you.

Maybe you’d only stayed because you owed him. Maybe, now that you were free, you saw no reason to stay.

His hands tightened into fists, the phone shaking slightly in his grasp.

Staring at his phone, he reread the messages he’d sent you over the past few days:

"Hope you got home safe." "The snow’s falling. The girls have been asking when you’ll come over for hot cocoa." "Good morning. Please eat well." "Did you drink water today?"

What he wanted to send was, "Was the kiss too much?"

But every time he typed it out, his thumb hovered over the send button before deleting it. He’d even tried adding an emoji once, only to groan in frustration. Giving up, he reached for the twins, pulling them into a big hug. Their squeals of delight momentarily distracted him as he tickled their sides before letting them go. They returned to their movie, leaving him on the floor, still staring at his phone.

Why did you look at him with those wide, innocent eyes when he cradled your cheek and kissed you goodbye? Why did you press your warm hands against his chest, trembling as you murmured, “We shouldn’t”?

We definitely should, was all he wanted to say.

He had wanted to kiss you ever since that day you ended up babysitting the girls in his apartment. The kitchen was filled with laughter as Nanako sat on the counter, mixing a bowl of cupcake batter, while Mimiko dozed in your arms. You worked together to bake cookies, the domestic scene so painfully perfect it left an impression he couldn’t shake.

You’d cook for him on nights when he came home late, too busy with cult duties to eat. Sometimes you’d bring a spoon to his lips, letting him taste-test your dishes, though they never needed anything. They were always perfect—just like you.

You should have stayed.

You should have realized how much he needed you, how much the girls needed you.

And yet, deep down, he knew why you might not.

You were a non-sorcerer.

The thought of it, the implications of it, only deepened his frustration. How could you fit into his new world—a world built to eliminate people like you? People who didn’t understand the true horrors of jujutsu, who were blind to the curses lurking in the shadows. His grand plan, his vision for a better, cleaner world, was supposed to make everything simpler. Sorcerers would rule, and the weak would fall away.

But you…

You were the exception.

Suguru hated that about himself, hated that he would allow one tiny thread to unravel the tapestry he’d been weaving. You didn’t belong in the world he was building, yet you were the one piece he couldn’t let go of.

How could he protect you in a world where the strong would reign? Where weakness—your weakness—would be punished?

The memory of your laugh cut through the haze of his thoughts. It had been so genuine, so sweet, so human. You didn’t belong in his plans, and yet you did. You had to.

Because without you, his grand vision felt hollow. Without you, there was only emptiness.

His jaw clenched as the realization solidified. You didn’t understand it yet, but he was doing this for you. For the girls. For all of them. But mostly, for himself.

He would protect you from the world he was creating. No one would touch you. No one would harm you. You’d live in safety, as his. His alone.

The phone screen lit up, mocking him with your silence. He could see when you read his messages. That was the cruelest part. You weren’t gone. You were ignoring him.

He rubbed a hand over his face, the smooth planes of his features momentarily obscured as he exhaled through gritted teeth. Maybe he’d been too soft with you. Maybe you thought you could just walk away now that the curse was gone, now that you didn’t owe him anything.

But you were wrong. You owed him everything.

The girls needed a mother. He needed you. The thought of you living a life without him, smiling for someone else, was unbearable. His lips twisted into a bitter smile as he typed out another message.

"The girls miss you.""I miss you."

Suguru’s thumb hovered over the send button, his jaw tightening as he debated. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he erased the message. Words wouldn’t be enough. Not anymore.

You needed a reminder.

He picked up his phone again, this time dialing. His assistant, Manami, answered on the second ring, her tone eager—too eager, though he ignored it. Manami had always looked at him in a way that suggested she wanted more than her job description entailed. A part of him in the past would humor the affection. Yet, now he has you. .

“I need you to watch the girls,” he said, his voice clipped. “I’ll be out for a while, picking up a... gift for them.”

Manami didn’t question him, though her tone softened, as though she thought he was doing something noble. If only she knew.

As he ended the call, his gaze shifted to the cult’s records, neatly organized and as precise as always. He was thankful for the meticulous documentation; it gave him everything he needed. Not just your number, but your address, your emergency contacts, your employment details—more than enough to find you.

Suguru let his fingers trace the edge of the file, his dark eyes scanning the information. Every detail about you, laid out in front of him. You had no idea how easily you could be found.

You could try to run, try to disappear—but you were his from now on.

Grabbing his coat, Suguru stepped out into the snow, the icy wind stinging his face. Words had failed; now he’d remind you.

The soft glow from your apartment window illuminated the snow-covered street. He didn’t knock when he reached your door. He didn’t need to. The door yielded easily, and he slipped inside, the faint warmth of your home wrapping around him. The contrast between the cold air outside and the heat within was sharp, almost dizzying, but he welcomed it.

The sound of your soft, uneven breaths reached his ears before he saw you. There you were, standing in the kitchen, a cup of tea clutched in your hands. Your shoulders sagged with exhaustion, and there was a faint sheen of sweat on your forehead despite the winter chill. He noticed the trembling in your hands, the red tinge to your nose, and the way your other hand clutched at your chest when you coughed—a deep, rattling sound that made his brow furrow for a fleeting moment.

You looked pale, worn down, and fragile. For a moment, the sight almost softened him. Almost.

Almost made him forget why he was there. Forget the punishments he had planned. The ways he would teach you to never leave him again.

But that fleeting moment of pity was snuffed out as quickly as it came, replaced by a darker, more resolute purpose.

You had to learn.

You had to understand what it meant to belong to him.

Suguru’s fingers flexed at his sides, his mind racing through the plans he had already set in motion. He would remind you of his power—show you what a real curse user was capable of. That as sweet as he can be, he can also be cruel.

If fear wasn’t enough, he had other methods. He had already prepared the sedatives, carefully measured and tucked into his coat pocket. Once the fight left your eyes—and it would—he would take you home.

Home, where you would learn your role.

You would become the mother the girls needed. His law was absolute in their eyes, and soon it would be the same for you.

And if you resisted? If you dared to reject him, even after all he’d done for you?

Suguru’s lips twitched into a faint smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. He didn’t want to think about that outcome, but he’d already considered it. Conditioned responses. Physical reminders. Unsavory methods. Honestly, he didn't want to hurt you. However, he needed you. The girls needed you.

No matter what it took, you would learn to stay. To belong.

Then you turned and saw him.

The teacup slipped from your hands, shattering against the floor. The sharp sound echoed in the tense silence that followed, but Suguru didn’t flinch. He tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours, his expression unreadable.

“Ah,” he murmured, his voice soft and lilting, as though he were speaking to a child. “You’re sick.”

He stepped forward, his movements slow, deliberate, and predatory. The sight of your wide, fearful eyes only spurred him on.

“Too sick,” he continued, his tone warm but laced with an edge of mockery, “to even send me a little message?”

You stumbled back, your breath hitching as you pressed yourself against the counter. Your pale skin, the feverish flush to your cheeks, and the way you clutched at your chest as another cough wracked your body only made you seem more breakable.

Suguru stopped just a few steps away, watching as you trembled, your fear and exhaustion painting you as something delicate—something his.

“You’ve been suffering all alone,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, soothing hum. He reached out, his fingers brushing your wrist before curling around it with surprising gentleness.

“But don’t worry,” he murmured, leaning closer until his breath ghosted over your fevered skin. “I’m here now.”

He let his thumb stroke the inside of your wrist, his gaze unrelenting as his other hand moved to your cheek. The touch was soft, reverent even, but his dark eyes betrayed him, gleaming with something that made your stomach churn, something that sent shivers that weren’t from your cold.

“You’ve been making bad decisions, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice soft and sweet, though his words cut like glass. “Running yourself ragged. Avoiding me.”

His fingers tightened slightly around your wrist—not enough to hurt, but enough to make his control clear as you pathetically attempted to pull away.

“But it’s okay,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “I’ll take care of everything now.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, his voice dripping with false kindness, “All you have to do is listen. Obey. I really didn’t want to have to go this route.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. His breath was warm against your fevered skin, his tone deceptively soft, as though he were doing you a favor.

You had never thought he was this interested in you. Suguru Geto was composed, almost aloof in how he carried himself—sharp features that seemed carved from stone, softened only by the flowing darkness of his hair. He had always been polite, controlled, and even gentle in his mannerisms, but you’d never felt singled out by his attention. Never thought the kindness in his deep, almond-shaped eyes was anything more than surface-level.

But now, as those same eyes pinned you in place, you realized how mistaken you’d been. His presence felt suffocating, the air between you charged with something you couldn’t name, and every movement he made was deliberate—calculated.

Suguru straightened slowly, his hand slipping from your wrist to his pocket, his movements unhurried and deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world. The room felt unbearably small under his presence, the heat of his gaze making your fevered skin prickle. His dark eyes never left yours, their intensity weighing down on you, as if he could see through the fragile walls of your thoughts.

When his fingers brushed the familiar shape of the syringe tucked into his coat pocket, his smile widened. It was subtle, almost imperceptible—a slight curve of his lips that revealed nothing of the storm swirling beneath his calm exterior. There it was—his failsafe. The assurance that you wouldn’t resist him any longer.

Your gaze flickered between his face and his hand, confusion and fear swimming in your fevered, glassy eyes. You wanted to protest, to push him away, but your body betrayed you. The trembling in your limbs, the bone-deep exhaustion, and the subtle pull of his voice, coaxing and unyielding, made it impossible to act.

Then, instinctively, you leaned into his touch, your trembling body seeking comfort, seeking something you didn’t understand. To him, it was perfect.

His hand, warm and firm, cupped your cheek as though you were fragile porcelain. The juxtaposition of his gentleness and the dark glint in his eyes made your stomach churn. He tilted his head slightly, the smooth cascade of his hair framing his face like a curtain, and his gaze softened, almost tender, as though he were truly savoring the moment.

Like the sweet lamb you were, you stepped willingly into the lion’s den.

“You’re coming home,” he said softly, his tone a mixture of mockery and affection. The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and inescapable, and you barely had time to comprehend them before you felt the sharp prick of the needle pierce your skin.

A startled gasp escaped your lips, but it was fleeting. The sedative coursed through your veins almost immediately, your body surrendering to the pull of unconsciousness.

Suguru caught you effortlessly as you fell, his arms wrapping around your limp form with an ease that betrayed just how much he had anticipated this moment. He cradled you against his chest with a gentleness that felt almost loving, the steady beat of his heart contrasting with the sinister gleam in his eyes.

“There we go,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering as though you were something precious. “Let’s get you home, Sweetheart.”

What the hell does ghosting even mean? What does spamming even mean? Poor fella is trying to figure out life.

Now you had given poor Choso your number. Really, truly a mistake on your part.

You thought he was hot—mysteriously so, with his brooding gaze and those face tattoos that made your heart skip a beat. It wasn’t a big deal, just a spur-of-the-moment thing when you spotted him at the bookstore while out with friends. You’d caught his eye, flashed him a smile, and casually slipped him your number on a whim.

What you didn’t realize was that poor Choso didn’t really know what to do with it.

For him, it was monumental. You didn’t just hand over your number; you handed over your heart. At least, that’s what Todo told him when Choso, unsure what the gesture meant, hesitantly sought advice. He couldn’t just ask his little brother these things, so he went to the expert about these things! After all, Todo was dating an idol!

“She must be madly in love with you!” Todo had declared with his usual bombastic enthusiasm, clapping Choso on the shoulder so hard it nearly made him topple. “To give you her number without even talking? That’s destiny, brother! Love at first sight!”

And Choso believed him. Why wouldn’t he? Todo seemed confident, experienced.

So Choso, armed with Todo’s wisdom, started texting you.

And texting.

At first, they were awkwardly sweet messages:

Choso: Hey. It’s Choso. From the bookstore. You gave me your number.Choso: Are you free to talk? I want to know more about you.

But then they kept coming.

Choso: Do you like horror books? Or romance? I can read both if you do.Choso: I saw a cat today. It reminded me of you.Choso: Do you like cats? I mean, not that you look like one. But you’re soft. Wait, not that I know if you’re soft. You just seem soft.

And then they started to come faster, his nervous overthinking spilling into endless walls of text.

Choso: Did I say something wrong? Are you upset with me?Choso: I hope I’m not bothering you. I just… I think we’d be good together.Choso: Please text me back. I can wait.

What Choso didn’t realize was that spamming someone all day wasn’t exactly endearing—it was overwhelming. But in his mind, the silence meant something entirely different.

“Todo,” Choso said one evening, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his apartment, his phone clutched in both hands. His dark brows furrowed as he stared at the unanswered messages. “She hasn’t responded. Do you think… do you think she’s playing hard to get?”

Todo grinned, throwing an arm around Choso’s shoulders. “Absolutely, brother! She’s testing your devotion. This is how women work. They want to see if you’re truly worthy.”

Choso nodded solemnly, his determination renewed. “I’ll show her. I’ll show her I’m serious.”

His solution? Doubling down.

When texting didn’t work, he tried calling. His voice shook the first few times—it felt so intimate, so real.

“Hi,” he murmured into the phone one evening after your voicemail picked up again. “It’s me. Choso. I just wanted to hear your voice. I miss you (the poor guy has only seen you one time). I mean—I know we haven’t talked much, but I miss you anyway (you have only exchanged names by the way). I think about you a lot. Please call me back when you can.”

And when the calls didn’t work, his thoughts began to spiral.

Was something wrong? Were you hurt? He’d seen it on TV—people ghosted because they couldn’t bring themselves to tell someone they were in trouble. Yes, that must be it.

So he started showing up.

First, it was just near the bookstore where he’d met you, hoping to “bump into” you. Then he wandered around the streets, retracing the route he thought you might take home.

Finally, he remembered the faint logo on your shopping bag that day, the one with your number scrawled on the receipt of. He found the shop, waited outside it for hours, hoping for a glimpse of you.

When he didn’t see you, his concern grew.

“Todo,” he said again one night, pacing his living room, his fingers tightening around his phone. “I don’t think she’s okay. She wouldn’t just ignore me like this. Not if she loved me.”

Todo shrugged, flipping through a magazine. “Maybe you need to show her how much you care. Do something big. Romantic.”

Choso froze, considering the advice. Todo was right. He just needed to show you.

And so, as you walked into your apartment the next evening, juggling groceries in both arms, you froze at the sight of a figure standing awkwardly in your living room.

“Choso?” you gasped, your heart leaping into your throat.You were already reaching for your phone. “How did you—”

He turned to you, a hesitant smile on his lips, his hands holding a bouquet of slightly wilted flowers. His dark eyes glimmered with a mixture of nervousness and relief, as if he were genuinely happy to see you.

“I was worried,” he said softly, stepping toward you. “You weren’t answering… so I thought I’d come check on you.” You had never given him your address. You had only given him your family name.

You stared at him, your mind racing, caught somewhere between shock and fear.

Choso tilted his head, his brows furrowing in genuine confusion. “Did I… do something wrong?”

You stared at Choso, your groceries still in your arms, the door half-open behind you. He didn’t move any closer, but the sight of him standing there, so out of place in your living room, sent a chill down your spine.

“How… how did you get in here?” you managed, your voice trembling.

Choso blinked, tilting his head slightly as if you’d asked him a question he didn’t understand. “Your lock wasn’t very secure,” he said simply, holding up what looked like a slim piece of metal. “I was worried. You haven’t been responding, and I thought something might have happened to you.”

The sincerity in his voice was almost disarming, but the implication of his words made your skin crawl.

“Choso,” you said slowly, setting the groceries down on the counter and keeping the island between you as a buffer, “you can’t just… break into someone’s home.”

His brows furrowed, genuine confusion flickering across his face. “I wasn’t breaking in,” he said softly, almost as if the accusation hurt him. “I just needed to make sure you were okay. You haven’t been answering me, and I thought…” His voice trailed off, and he glanced at the flowers in his hands, his grip tightening slightly around the stems.

“I’ve been busy,” you said, trying to keep your tone steady. “You didn’t need to do this. I’m fine.”

“But you’re not,” he said quietly, his dark eyes meeting yours. There was an intensity in his gaze, like he truly believed every word he was saying. “You’re not fine. If you were, you would’ve answered me. Something must be wrong.”

“No, Choso,” you said firmly, taking a deep breath. “I wasn’t ignoring you because something’s wrong. I’ve just been busy with work and other things. And honestly… you’re sending way too many messages. It’s overwhelming.”

His face fell, the fragile hope in his expression crumbling. “Overwhelming?” he echoed, as if the word were foreign to him. “But I thought… I thought you wanted me to care about you.”

You hesitated, the raw vulnerability in his voice making your stomach twist. “Choso, I gave you my number because I thought you seemed nice. That’s all. I didn’t mean for this to… to go this far.”

He stared at you, unblinking, as if trying to process your words. The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, he spoke, his voice trembling slightly. “So… you don’t want me to care about you?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you said quickly, trying to keep your tone gentle. “I just think maybe you’ve misunderstood. I didn’t mean for you to think… we were something more.”

His grip on the flowers tightened, the fragile petals crumpling beneath his fingers. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his eyes distant as if he were lost in thought.

Then, slowly, he nodded. “I understand,” he murmured, though his tone was unsettlingly calm. “You’ve been busy. You’ve been… overwhelmed.”

You exhaled in relief, thinking maybe he’d finally gotten the message. But then he looked up at you again, his eyes bright with a strange, unsettling determination.

“I’ll just come check on you more often,” he said, his voice soft but firm, as if he’d made up his mind.

Your heart sank. “Choso, that’s not—”

“No, it’s okay,” he interrupted, his tone almost cheerful now. “You don’t have to feel bad. I know you’re busy, and sometimes it’s hard to keep up with everything. But I can help. I can make sure you’re okay. You shouldn’t have to do everything on your own.”

The way he said it, so matter-of-factly, made your blood run cold.

“You don’t need to do that,” you said quickly, your voice trembling. “I’m fine, really. You don’t need to check on me.”

“But I want to,” he insisted, his expression softening with something that almost looked like affection. “I care about you. Isn’t that what you want? Someone who cares?”

You stepped back, the counter pressing into your spine as you tried to put more distance between you. “Choso, this isn’t—”

“It’s okay,” he said again, cutting you off with a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll make it work. You don’t have to say anything now. I’ll take care of it.”

Before you could respond, he stepped toward the door, his movements deliberate and unhurried.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said softly, glancing over his shoulder with a faint smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re never too busy again.”

And then he was gone, leaving the faint scent of crushed flowers in the air.

You locked the door behind him, your hands trembling as you slid the deadbolt into place. The faint scent of crushed flowers still lingered in the air, a sickly-sweet reminder of his presence.

For a moment, the silence felt almost deafening. You stared at the door, hoping—praying—that this would be the end of it.

Choso didn’t understand.

He didn’t understand boundaries, didn’t understand what his actions meant to you. To him, this wasn’t wrong—it was pure love. That you must love him too.

#yandere #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere gojo satoru #yandere geto suguru #yandere choso kamo #yandere gojo x reader #yandere satoru x reader #yandere geto x reader #yandere suguru x reader #yandere choso x reader #yandere jjk

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wlfchnlv3r · 2 days ago

Note

Hehe can I request anything with changbin please pookie

Sticky

Bimbo! Fem reader x soft boyfriend! Changbin

Synopsis: You boyfriend is so needy in the morning and as he always says “morning sex is the best sex” or something like that🎀

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: smut, fluff, sex, unprotected sex (don’t do that at home pls), riding, belly bulge, size kink, fluff pt2.

Note: I really don’t know, I function in reverse(?), I mean- in the last period I’m reading books like “little stranger” so, not a light reading, but when I write i want to add fluff scenes and a lots of love.

It is exactly 5 am and you are pace fully sleeping in your hello kitty pyjamas near your boyfriend, Changbin, who is now awake.

His eyes slowly opening to the sight of your sleeping form next to him. He couldn’t help but immediately feel his hard cock between his legs.

He shifted himself, moving closer to you and wrapping an arm around your waist. He nuzzled his head into your hair, his lips lightly tracing over your ear as he spoke softly at first, "Babe..? Wake up..".

You move a little yawning.

Changbin smiles as you move, knowing you’re waking up now. He pulls you closer again, so that your back is pressed against his chest, his breath hot upon your neck.

"Wake up, babe..” your boyfriend whispered again, his free hand now beginning to lightly caress your hip.

You half open yours eyes at the sound of his voice, “mhh- what’s happening?”.

He chuckles at your sleepy voice, planting a small kiss upon your shoulder, “Come on, look at me, I wanna see your pretty face.." he whispers, before he starts to nip and suck on your neck, wanting to wake you up fully now.

You slowly turn around looking at him with sleepy eyes.

Changbin chuckles again, this time when he sees your messy sleep face. He smiles, his eyes looking down at you as he takes in your messy hair, half-closed eyes, and the sleep still in them from waking up so suddenly.

"There’s my sleepy beauty..” He whispers as his hand that was once on your hip, now moves to gently caress your cheek.

You immediately smile, your boyfriend is the most lovesick person on heart, with you at least, and you love him for that.

Changbin’s smile widens as you finally smile at him. He moves his head closer, leaning his forehead against yours as he caresses your cheek with his thumb, "Mm, you’re so cute first thing in the morning” he said, his eyes now looking over your face, scanning every feature and loving every second of it.

Your body instantly moves closer to his, holding onto him, “I love you, Binnie”.

Changbin wraps his arm around you, pulling you completely flush against him. He buried his head into the crook of your neck, nipping at your skin, and leaving small kisses as he replies back to you, "I love you more…” he mumbles, his hand on your back now slowly tracing patterns up and down your spine.

Your boyfriend continues to hold you close against him, his hands now slowly moving further down your back, and then lower to your hips. He begin to slightly grind his hips up against you, his head still buried into the crock of your neck, and his lips still on your skin, "You’re so sexy without even trying.." He mumbles in between kisses, his hands gripping your hips tighter now as he continues to grind slowly against you.

And there, you feel it, “Binnie..you are so hard”.

Changbin moans against your neck, his lips still leaving kisses upon it, but his body now completely flushed against yours, "Can you blame me? I woke up like this” he replies in a whisper, before giving a small bite upon your skin.

You smile widen, you’d do anything for him, “we should do something about it, mh?”.

He lets out a small moan at your suggestion, the sound muffled against your skin as he was still pressing kisses upon your neck, He lets out a shaky breath before speaking, his hips still pressed against yours, "Mm, you’ll take care of me, right babe?”.

You just nods, now fully awake.

He couldn’t resist the urge to pull away from you for a moment to look at your face. He moves his head and look down at you, his eyes filled with hunger and lust as he took in your smile.

Your boyfriend smirked, his hand that’s still on your hip, now moving to rest on your thigh, “Come here..” He whispers, his voice low as his hand squeezes your thigh and pull you even closer to him.

You take the chance to straddle his lap, positioning on top of him.

Changbin makes a small groan at the feeling of you straddling his lap, his hands now gripping your hips a bit tighter as he looks up at you, his eyes scanning your face, “You always look so good like this~” He teases, his hands sliding up now, now resting on your waist.

You slightly laugh, “on top of you?” you ask.

He smirks and nod, his eyes wandering down now to your hips, which were sitting in his lap and resting on his upper thighs, “Yeah.. and just look at your hips..” he said, his hands now gripping your hips a bit tighter and pulling you to grind down harder against him.

“Binnie- just let me pull of my hello kitty shorts and-“; Changbin’s breath hitched at your words, his head slightly tilting his head back as his hips involuntarily jerked up against you, “Yeah.. do it ” He whispers as he looks back up at you, biting down on his lip, his eyes glued to yours.

With the most ungraceful movement you pull of your shorts, followed by your panties.

Changbin’s breath hitched again as he watches you undress, his hands still on your hips, fingers pressing down into your skin slightly where he was gripping it.

He looks down between the two of you now, his eyes widening at the sight of you fully naked on his lap, “F-fuck” he mumbles in a low tone, his hands gripping your hips a bit more as he felt his breathing get a bit heavier.

You giggle and start to pull his boxer down his muscular legs “can I?”.

“Yeah, of course you can babe~” He replies, his hands moving to the waistband of his black boxers, slowly pushing them down. now completely bare in front of you.

He hums, his head falling forwards as his forehead now rested on your shoulder, his hot breath against your skin as he mumbled in a shaky voice, “And now you’re sitting on my lap with nothing on…how am I supposed to control myself?”.

You caress his cheek and slowly whisper “the other day you promise me i could ride you this time…”.

Changbin leans his head into your touch, still against your shoulder, and his eyes shutting as a shiver ran down his spine, “I did.. I did promise you that..” He mutters under his breath, still feeling your body sitting on his lap, straddling him and making him feel impatient.

“Wanna ride you, Binnie please…” you plea looking directly at him.

Your boyfriend eyes darkens at your request, a shiver running down his spine as he listens to your words. He quickly licks his lips, his eyes traveling down and then back up again as he let out a shaky breath, his mind imagining you on top of him, “God.. yeah, babe..” He whispers, his hands gripping your hips again, “Yes you can, go on”.

You smile proudly before beginning to lower yourself on his length “yeah- just- just let me adjust a little…you are so big”.

Changbin nods, his head falling back and closing his eyes, letting out a shaky breath as he feels you slowly lower down onto him. His hands grip your hips a bit tighter, as he holds himself back from involuntarily pushing you down in one quick motion, “G-gotta take it slow, babe… I-I’m sorry, I know I’m big..” He mutters, his eyes still shut, and his breathing a bit heavy.

As you try to take more inches he lets out a small groans, his head thrown back, with his breath labored as he feels you attempt to take all of him. His hands are digging his fingers into your hips, his patience practically wearing out at this point, “F-fuck.. you’re doing s-so good..” He mumbles, still feeling you slowly lowering down onto him and attempting to take all of him.

You whine, your hole a little swollen from the effort to adjust onto him, “just a bit more”.

Changbin groans again, his eyes closing and mouth hanging open as you whine, sounding wrecked and desperate already. His hands were still on your hips, his grip on you practically bruising with how tightly he was grasping them, “Y-yeah.. just a bit more for me, baby..” He mutteres, his voice strained as he could feel himself being taken in more and more by your pussy.

You close your eyes, it was always like this, even if you and your boyfriend were together since the first year of college, you always had problem adjusting to his length, “little help..?”.

Changbin nods in response, his eyes still closed as he’s focused on your every movement. He lets out a shaky breath before quickly opening his eyes, his hands moving up from your hips to your waist as he quickly helps you take him all in, ”H-hold on to me..” He mumbles, his eyes now looking directly at you, waiting for a reaction.

You whine and nod in response.

Changbin’s grip on your waist tightens a bit more than he lifts you up just slightly, helping you to fully take him in and then he lets you sink back down on his dick, a low and guttural moan escaping his lips, mixed with your name, “T-that’s it.. just like that..” He mutters, his eyes going dark and hungry again as he moves one hand from your waist up to your face, caressing your cheek.

You close your eyes, it was not pain but a little discomfort, that’s all, in a few minutes it passes.

Changbin watches you closely, his breathing a mixture of labored and shaky as he feels you adjusting to his length, a sense of satisfaction coming over him that he’s able to cause you to react and do that, “You can move when you’re ready, babe..” He mutters, his hand still on your face, gently caressing it as he waits for you.

After a few moments you start to slowly move on his cock.

Your boyfriends lets out a low groan, his head falling back again, his eyes shutting tight as he felt you start moving on him. His hands clenched around your waist and your hip, his breaths getting a bit more shakier, his mind losing its focus, “D-don’t go too slow, baby.. or I’m gonna lose my mind..” He mumbles, his voice strained.

You increase your pace, resting your hand on his muscular torso.

Changbin’s eyes squeezes shut tighter, his hips slightly rising up from the bed, matching the pace of your movements. His hands on you gripped again, leaving marks and bruising your skin as he holds himself back from taking more control over you, “F-fuck.. you’re doing so good for me..” he mumbles, his breathing labored and heavy, his body twitching occasionally due to the pleasure he was feeling from you.

His breaths were becoming shorter, his moans and curse words only getting louder as the only thing that could be heard between the two of you were the sounds of your skin against his, and the soft sound of the bed creaking.

After a few moments of your steady movement, Changbin seems to be getting more and more impatient, losing control as he lifts his head to look at you with his eyes half-hooded and darkened with more lust than before, “Mmmh.. faster.. I need you to go faster, babe,” Changbin grunted, his hands grabbing your hips and trying to pull you down harder, his own hips raising up to meet your movements at a stronger pace.

You whine loudly as his hips press roughly against yours, “f-fuck… I feel so full-“.

“You’re taking me so well..” He praises, his hands still on your waist as he tries not to move as he lets you feel him being completely inside.

You move faster now, trying to feel him more and more.

Your boyfriend has to close his eyes again, as he let himself get lost in the feeling of your body against his. His breathing was becoming heavier, his body starting to get a bit more impatient as he could feel the pleasure building up inside him. He groans and let out some more moans, still trying to hold himself back and let you keep control.

“F-fuck.. don’t s-stop,” he mutteres, his head still thrown back, his hands gripping you tighter.

“Binnie- want you to breed me” you admit, lost in pleasure.

Changbin’s eyes almost popped open after hearing your words, his brain instantly going blank as he processes what you just said. A mixture of a groan and and a huff escaped his lips as all the self-control that he was desperately trying to maintain, was starting to slip away just like that, ”Yeah.. yeah, you want me to breed you, right now?” He asks, his eyes opening again, completely dark and lustful now as he looks up at you.

“Y-yes- let’s get you out of this condom please- don’t like it”.

He nods, his eyes half-lidded again as he listens to your words, already knowing that your not a fan of it, but he wants to hear you say it again, “Yeah.. you don’t like it,” He confirmes, holding back from ripping it off himself. He slowly push out of you and start to take the condom off fully and pulling it on the pavement, ”You happy now, baby?” he asks, a hint of teasing in his voice as he looked up at you, his eyes still dark and hungry as he continues pulling you down on him.

Meanwhile you lower yourself on him again, returning to the precedent pace.

Changbin lets out a sound that’s mixed between a groan and a moan again in response, his hips twitch slightly, and his hands continues pulling you down against him, ”God, baby.. s-so good..” he mutters, his brain becoming a mess, as he’s now feeling you against him in an way that he hasn’t for the longest time.

At some point changbin changes position, placing right behind you, his hands resting on your hips.

You gasp a little feeling him moving a bit closer behind you, his hands still resting on your hips, and his body pressed up against yours, "I got you, baby," he whispers as he start to kiss your neck, one of his hands moving to your waist, and the other grabbing your shoulder, pulling you back against him.

With one deep thrust he’s inside you, he lets out a moan and a sound that’s a mixture between a whine and a groan as he feels your walls sucking his cock.

His arms are holding you tight against him, and his lips still on your neck, ”F-fuck.. baby..” he groans, his brain completely wrecked.

Your finger immediately tangles up in the bed sheets as you moan desperately.

Changbin’s hands are on your waist, holding you tight as he continues to move his hips back and forth against you, his lips now trailing down your neck, his breath hot against your skin as his mind is a total mess at this point. He’s lost all sense and control, the only thing on his mind, is losing himself in the feeling of being inside you right now with nothing between the two of you.

You guys are completely lost in each other at this point, making little to no sense as the sounds coming from this room and especially no worrying of the mess on the bed.

He has lost all control, his mind completely clouded with only one thing in mind, the pleasure and the feeling of being inside you right now, ”Babe.. you’re taking me so well..” He groans, burying his head against your neck, his lips against your skin.

You are so close, the sensation of him being inside of you never gets old, it’s always like the first time, “Binnie, I’m so close”.

Your boyfriend grunts in response, his breathing heavy and labored, his head still buried against your neck, “Me too.. me too, babe...”, his mind focused on holding on for just a little more. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge as well, his body starting to twitch, and his arms holding you tighter against him.

And as yours legs start to shake and you let your orgasm takes control, Changbin gives you a few deep thrust and he can’t hold on any longer, feeling your whole body shaking against him makes him finally let go over the edge as well. He makes sure to to spill his cum inside of you, not moving to prevent the liquid from dripping.

His breathing is slowly starting to even out, his head still buried against your neck, and he holds you close against his chest, "God.. you were so good for me”, he mutters against your skin, the sound of his voice still a bit shaky as he tries to regulate his heartbeat that’s starting to slow down.

Changbin takes another shaky breath before lifting his head up, and slowly pulls himself out of you, still holding you close against him. He slowly rolls over and lays on his back, pulling you with him, and holding you against his chest.

You try not to close your eyes because of how tired you are after taking him for so long.

Changbin notices you trying to keep your eyes open, and he lets out a small chuckle “you don’t have to force yourself, babe.. If you’re tired, just close your eyes. I got you..” he says, his voice still low and soft as he brushes his fingers through your hair while holding you close against him.

You yawn, “but- we need to clean up… everything is sticky”.

Changbin shakes his head, and gives you a small smile, ”Don’t worry about that right now, we can do that later. Right now, I just want to hold you “, he says gently, pulling you closer against him, and wrapping his arms around you, not letting you move away from him.

You nod and some minutes later you are already sleeping against him.

Just a few hours later Changbin lets out a yawn as he opens his eyes, and looks down at you in his arms, "Hey, sleepyhead...time to wake up.." he says, his voice low and soft, as he gently shakes you a little.

You move a little, “yeah…”.

Changbin smiles and kisses your forehead gently, "There we go, that's more like it.”, he says, ruffling your hair a little, "Now come on, we gotta clean up a bit.. We're a complete mess..".

You nod in agreement, “yeah- I’m sticky” you admit.

He sits up in bed, his eyes going over your body, and taking in the mess you guys made, "Yeah, sticky is one word for it.." He says with a small grin as he looks back at you, “Let's go take a shower, baby..".

You are a little sore but you manage to get up.

He can't help but notice your slight limp, and it only makes the small grin on his face grow. He moves to your side, wrapping an arm around your back, and supporting your weight, "Careful, babe.. here, lean on me..".

Changbin holds you close against his side, his arm around your back, and he slowly starts walking to the bathroom, making sure to keep you steady and don’t let you stumble, "There we go, that's a good girl..",

You are so grateful to have a boyfriend like him, for most of the guy you are just a cute face with a nice body but not for him.

He helps you wash your body, making sure he’s gentle and not putting too much strain on your legs. The two of you quickly wash up, and get out of the shower, Changbin grabs a towel, and starts to dry you off, his eyes roaming your body as he does.

“Thank you Binnie, I love you…” you says with a soft tone.

He looks up, his hands stopping the motion of drying your body, as a smile appears on his face, "Of course, babe.. I love you too.." he says, leaning up and giving you a small kiss on the forehead, before resuming drying your body off with the towel.

After putting on some clean clothes, Changbin helps you change the sheets on the bed, both of you working silently but in sync. He sneaks glances at you as you go, observing your movements and your expressions, and silently admiring your appearance. With the new sheets on the bed, he flops down on the bed, pulling you on top of him.

“Mh- we should do this more often- also, you give me the best belly bulge of my life” you giggle.

Your boyfriend lets out another soft chuckle, and you feel his lips turn into a smirk against your neck. One of his hands drifts down to your thigh, gripping it tightly, and squeezing it, "Best, huh? You don't think you could possibly take more then?" he asks, his voice sultry and low, the teasing hint clear in it as he nips at your neck.

“It’s a challenge?” you ask laughing.

Changbin lifts his head away from your neck to look up at you, his hand still on your thigh, and his grip tightening a little without him realizing it.

His eyes staring into yours as his lips curl into a smile, "Challenge, is a strong word, babe.. I was going to call it a mission..".

Taglist: @felixleftchickennugget @kiwininja35 @sweetpickledjins @slmnheart @elqivxstxr @catffeinexo-xx @multistancheck @justwonder113 @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @hello-stranger24 @raptorbait529 @cocofia143 @minniesverse @eastjonowhere

(Comment to be added to the master list🎐)

#stray kids #skz #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #changbin #changbin x y/n #changbin x you #changbin x reader #changbin fanfic #changbin smut

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theemporium · 1 day ago

Note

Maybe nico hischier x hughes!reader and them spending Christmas with the hughes family? Please and thank you

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

“Nico gets to pick.”

“What?” Jack quickly sat up from his spot on the couch, looking at his mother in betrayal. “I thought it my turn to pick.”

“Nico is our guest,” Ellen retorted. “So he gets to pick.”

Nico’s cheeks flushed. “Oh no, I don’t—”

“Oh please, he is hardly a guest anymore,” Jack scoffed. “He’s basically been in this family as long as Luke has.”

Luke’s brows furrowed together. “Dude, I know you didn’t go to college but your maths is wack.”

“He is a guest joining us for the holidays and he gets to choose,” Ellen stated bluntly, shooting her son a knowing look. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Jack sighed dramatically as he settled back down in his seat. “No.”

Nico’s eyes shifted back and forth between Ellen and Jack before he cleared his throat, a sheepish expression on his face. “I choose Home Alone.”

Jack’s face instantly brightened. “Knew letting you pick was a great idea, Hisch.”

“Back off my boyfriend,” you grumbled as you shoved him back into your seat, grinning a little when he let out a squawk of protest before you cuddled yourself closer into Nico’s side. You pinched his side lightly to catch his attention. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You forget that I have been on a team with him for the last few years,” Nico mused, his arm winding around your shoulders to hold you closer. “I was doing that for my own sake as much as his.”

You pressed your face into his chest in a failed attempt to muffle your laughter.

“I know you are talking about me over there and it’s considerably rude to do so,” Jack called out from the other side of the couch.

“That’s just because you like hearing people talk about you,” Quinn retorted. “Especially Nico.”

“You should see how bad he is when—” However, whatever Luke was going to say was instantly cut off as Jack shoved a pillow in his face, trying to smother him before he could finish his sentence.

“Jack, leave your brother alone,” Jim said in a fairly unconvincing voice, looking far too amused at the situation as a whole to really stop it.

“Unfortunately for him, you are my favourite Hughes,” Nico murmured in your ear as the chaos between Jack and Luke continued.

You tilted your head back to smile at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed with a nod, risking the chance to lean down and press a chaste kiss against your lips.

“THAT’S A FINE!”

You rolled your eyes at your oldest brother. “Shut up, Jack.”

“PDA during movie night means fifty bucks in the jar.”

“You too, Quinn.”

“Actually—”

“Luke, don’t even start.”

#cece's stocking stuffers #nico hischier #nhl #new jersey devils #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier x you #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier fic #nico hischier one shot #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot

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kairaloi · 1 day ago

Text

I'd never expected this.

I sat at the dining table my dwarf neighbor had built for me when I first moved to the swamp. A warm ceramic mug of tea between my large clawed hands was another gift from a neighbor.

The weather was miserable; pouring rain in white sheets and cold enough to fog breath.

Inside my stone hut, it was warm, dry, and cozy.

My sister sat across from me. She'd been engulfed by the massive wool blanket I'd wrapped her in. The mug was nearly too big and heavy for her to lift, so to avoid spilling, she rested it on the table and tilted it to sip. She'd lost all dignity at this point. In fact, she'd lost everything, or so she claimed.

Water dripped from her hair.

"How about you start from the beginning?" I asked, my voice low and rumbling.

Arabella flinched. Her small, soft voice was still hoarse from her trip through the torrential rain to my soggy domicile of exile. Probably the farthest she'd ever traveled, let alone unaccompanied. I was surprised she'd made it here without more mishap than a torn and muddy dress. "Father... is a liar," she said.

I nodded. "Yes. But I'm sure you didn't come here to tell me the obvious."

Arabella flinched again, lowering her head. "I'm sorry."

That was unexpected.

I sipped my tea. I'd learned how to make a few simple brews from the witch of the forest. In exchange, I gave her some of the meat I caught and scared off hunters that got too close to our part of the woods. Her face was hideous, but she was old, and who was I to judge?

Arabella's face twisted. "He promised that if you took the curse for the family that the rest of us would be fine. But Kyle has... He's turned to stone! Mother is sprouting feathers! Father is the only one untouched--but I know he's made a bargain. Everyone else in exchange for his life!"

I leaned my elbow on the table, chin resting in my palm. "Ah... Arabella, I've learned a few things while out here, so let me fill you in."

Her eyes lifted, wide and shining.

"The curse is permanent." I lifted a finger, releasing my mug to do so. "The curse requires consent. If you don't consent, it doesn't work. So Kyle agreed to take it on. Monica--"

"Mother."

"Monica. Agreed to turn into a chicken."

"Harpy."

My lips curved. "Ah--" I barely stopped myself from laughing.

Arabella's jaw clenched. She looked down.

"So unless you agree to take his curse... nothing can be done."

"But Kyle! He's only thirteen!"

"Oh. Wow..." I mused. I hadn't realized it had been that long. "Well, sorry. But it's like sex. Once the deed is done, you can't undo it. He agreed." I briefly wondered if our parents had even told him that he had an older sister. Probably not. Not that it mattered now anyway. Kyle was as good as dead... unless.

"Is there nothing that can be done?" Arabella screamed, her voice giving out at the end even though she'd slammed to her feet. It was hardly impressive since jumping out of the chair made her lose eight inches of height.

"Well... The Bog Hag said that curses are a lot like locks, and any lock can be picked. You just have to figure out the locking mechanism."

Arabella's eyes widened. "Like True Love's Kiss?" she asked.

"A fae demented enough to continue making deals with Allen in exchange for his family wouldn't pick something so cute."

"Father," Arabella corrected automatically, then looked down as she carefully climbed back into the chair. "What do you mean continue?"

"Loki, as he likes to be called, told me that I was taking on Allen's debt," I said with a shrug. "This leads me to believe that Allen has asked for more favors, which has incurred more debt."

"That..." her voice faded, expression changing to one of someone putting the pieces together.

"So I'm guessing the family has had quite a bit of fortune lately?" I asked, picking up my mug to finish my tea. I stood, careful not to knock anything with my tail as I went to the stove to refill my mug.

"Please help me..." Arabella asked.

I looked over my shoulder at her. "Why should I? I'm happy here."

"But you're..."

"A monster?" I grinned. "I feel more myself than I ever did in Allen's house. You can't tell me it was easy to get here with your ribs wrapped in steel and legs bound by cloth." I set my mug on the table and leaned over her, a hand on the back of the chair she sat in. "Tell me, Arabella. Were Madam Wretched's dancing lessons fun? Were Mister Wrathful's tutoring sessions enjoyable?"

My sister swallowed. She wanted to correct me on Wreath and Willson's names, but she didn't.

"Did you jump for joy when they assigned a knight to watch you day and night so you couldn't have a moment of silence without his resentful sighs interrupting?"

She flinched, hunching down in the wool blanket. "It wasn't all bad..."

"One thing," I challenged, lifting a claw near her face. "Name one thing."

Arabella opened her mouth, then closed it. She was struggling.

"All the food. All of it looked and smelled so delicious, but you weren't allowed a morsel," I offered.

She grit her teeth.

"The garden you weren't allowed in without a wide hat, parasol, and six men carrying a tent over you at all times."

"Stop..." she begged, hands covering her face.

"The man you were ordered to marry who looks like a slime and mud golem had a child," I finished.

She choked.

I put my hand on her back, gently rubbing. "Go ahead and laugh."

Arabella sobbed, laughing and crying at the same time. I knelt and put my arms around her. She gripped my thick neck, her tiny hands buried in my wild red mane. "You're right!" she admitted, voice muffled by my shoulder. "But how did you know about him?"

"People from town sometimes go to the Bog Hag for help with... problems."

"His personality is even worse than his face!"

"I could tell by the sneer they gave him in the newspaper."

Arabella sat back, wiping her face with her fingers.

I looked up at her with a sigh. "I'm still your sister," I said, resigned. She'd only been four when I was cursed, after all. She had been my little shadow, and... being thirteen at the time, I'd found her to be very annoying. Now, she was sixteen. If I'd looked up the definition of the word Princess, her picture would've been there; blonde, blue-eyed, petite, weak, soft-spoken...

Arabella stared down at me and swallowed as her eyes searched my face. "Please help me... get revenge."

My lips curled, revealing the sharp teeth my curse had blessed me with.

Despite being cursed into a monster and being banished by your royal parents, you were happy with your life. Your home was peaceful. You always had enough to eat. You even had friends despite your appearance, so yeah your life was great. Your non-cursed sibling's life, on the other hand

#writers #writers on tumblr #writing prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #writing ideas

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tkwrites · 1 day ago

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Split & Healed - A snapshot in 2 parts - Quinn Hughes x ofc

gif from @gabelandeskog

Title: Split & Healed, a Snapshot in 2 parts: Part 2

Part 1

Author: Tory / @tkwrites

Relationship: Pre-established: Quinn x Sarah

Warnings: smut (18+ only), oral (f receiving)

Summary: Getting home from a road trip in the middle of the night is par for the course for Quinn, but getting home after finally getting his stitches removed means he can’t wait for morning to get his mouth on Sarah.

Word count: 1,600

Comments: Many thanks for the nonnie who sent in this inspired ask! Hope you enjoy what I came up with!

If you enjoyed this, please let me know by commenting, reblogging or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing.

Anonymous asked: Thinking about Quinn being so excited to give Sarah head when the stitches finally come out of his lip. He would be insatiable

Split & Healed, a Snapshot in 2 parts: Part 2

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

When Quinn arrived home in the early hours of the morning on Friday, he had no intention of a waking Sarah.

He missed her, certainly, but he'd missed her before. He had it all planned out. He’d catch a few hours of restful sleep next to her and then spend the morning worshiping every inch of her he could get his mouth on until she had to leave for class.

After Roman removed the last of the stitches after practice in Utah, he sent Sarah a selfie.

Does this mean we can finally kiss when you get home?

Sure does.

Thank God.

It had been a cruel twist of fate to have the stitches removed and be cleared to do everything as soon as he was no longer at home.

The entire drive from the arena, he told himself he could wait until a more reasonable hour.

The moment he got into bed, however, everything changed. As the heady scent of her surrounded him, all of a sudden, his dick was hard and his mouth was buzzing with a need to kiss and taste her that he just couldn’t shake.

It had been torturous to resist her while the stitches were still in place. He loved putting his mouth on her, and the desire only intensified when he was told he couldn’t.

He’d even begged to go down on her, but she’d refused, point blank, telling him, “I will not be the one responsible for your lip getting infected.”

Perhaps it was just because everything that had been haunting his dreams since his lip had been busted was in front of him.

Perhaps it was because he was presented with so much of her bare skin he hadn't been able to put his mouth on for the past week and a half.

Perhaps it was nothing more than the simple relief of being home without seutchers sewn into his skin.

Whatever it was - likely a combination of all three - he found he just couldn’t wait.

“Quinn?” Sarah asked sleepily, feeling something whisper over her shoulder again.

He mumbled into her skin.

“Q, is that you?” It wasn’t so much that she thought it might be someone else as she wanted to make sure this wasn't just happening in her dream.

His mouth skimmed up her neck to whisper in her ear, “yeah. It’s me.”

She made a contented little humming noise, and shifted to lean against him more.

Taking this as an invitation to continue, Quinn kept kissing and kissing, savoring the softness of her skin, the taste of her.

She made that same noise again, a little louder this time, and the control he’d been skimming along stretched taught, threatening to snap.

“Can I go down on you?” he murmured, giving up on trying to talk himself out of it.

“Hu?”

“Can I eat you out?” There was a desperate whine to his voice when he added on, “please?”

Though she did want it - she’d missed his mouth on her nearly as much as he had - it was the middle of the night. “Quinn, I'm too tired,” she said, words slurred with sleep.

He knew he should let it go, but found he couldn't. The idea had gripped too much of his imagination. “I don’t want to wait to taste you now that I can.”

She pulled in a deep, sleepy breath, “I don’t know that I can…” she trailed off, gesturing vaguely, miming jerking him off.

“You don’t need to do anything,” he rushed to assure. “Getting my mouth on you is enough.”

Murmuring his name as more heat rushed down her spine, Sarah rolled onto her back.

He scrambled on top of her. “This is okay?”

Her eyes were still closed, lashes fanned over her cheeks, as she nodded.

Relief and desire chased each other through his body.

Hooking his fingers into the waistband of her little purple shorts, he eased them and her underwear down, tossing them off the side of the bed before he spread her legs to find his home between them.

“Quinn,” she breathed. There was so much quiet desire in the whispered way she said his name, it made another surge of heat rush to his cock.

He licked his lips, anxious to taste her on them, and finally (finally, finally) put his mouth on her.

A moaned little grunt escaped her mouth and her hips tipped toward him.

His hunch wasn't far off. One taste of her sweet nectar, and he was straining against the confines of his boxers and rutting into the mattress to get some relief. If she hadn’t been so tired, he would beg for her to touch him next, but that could wait.

God, she was perfect. She tasted so good.

Her hand slipped down, her fingers lazily brushing into his hair. Another need raged to life inside him.

“Pull my hair,” he practically begged. He could hear how much she liked it, but he wanted to feel it too.

Her fingers traced over his scalp again.

Maybe she hadn’t heard him. He pulled back so he could talk louder, “Sarah?”

“Hmm?” Her eyes were still closed, voice still sleepy.

“Sarah, pull my hair,” there was a distinct whine in his voice now that he didn’t even try to bite back. He needed to feel it. “Please.”

She nudged him down. He didn't need telling twice.

As he licked her perfect, sensitive pearl, her hips jumped to his mouth and her hand tightened in his curls.

“Just like that,” he groaned into her.

“Oh my god,” Sarah breathed. This was by far the best wakeup call she’d ever received.

Suddenly, he was insatiable, lapping and sucking at her as if he were eating his final meal. He’d missed this so much, he was never giving up the opportunity again.

“So good, Quinn,” she moaned.

Her praise swam straight to his cock. “Again,” he groaned into her.

“So good,” she repeated, tightening her fingers in his hair. Then, swimming with pleasure and the want to drive him over the same cliff he was pushing her toward, she found herself continuing, “such a good boy for me.”

The combination of the tingling pain from her grip on his hair and her praise hurled him over the precipice.

With one last rock of his hips, he shot off, coating the inside of his boxers.

He grunted into her, feeling his eyes roll back.

When he came back to himself, she was still spread out under him, her breath coming in steady, even gasps.

She whined when he pulled back to suck in a few deep breaths. He needed to send her over the edge and needed his lungs full of air to do it.

Sarah moaned loudly when he dove back in, snaking his tongue inside her as he nosed at her clit.

“Quinn, oh fuck.” Her hips moved of their own volition, shamelessly grinding herself against the bridge of his nose.

Feeling her fall apart around his tongue while he couldn't smell and taste anything but her was the fulfillment of every fantasy he’d had over the past eleven days.

Had he not already, he surely would have shot off listening to her pleasured moans and feeling her pulsing around and against his mouth.

He kept going until she collapsed back against the mattress.

His top lip still felt a little strange to him – too stiff where the wound was still healing – but licking her essence off of it made it feel a little more normal.

Her breathing was coming in deep gasps, one hand over her heart. “Oh my God.”

Crunching up a little, she found him still on his stomach, languidly licking his lips as if he wanted to savor every drop.

“That was…” she trailed off, flopping back onto the mattress.

She could hear the smile in his voice as he teased, “worth waking up for?”

“Holy shit. Yes. I should stop you from going down on me so often if that’s going to be the result.”

Quinn scrambled away from her. “What?”

She opened one eye to find him kneeling between her knees, a wary look on his handsome face. She smirked, savoring his reaction for just a moment before she caved, “I’m just joking. You’re the only guy I’ve dated that actually likes going down on me. I’m not going to stop you.”

He practically slumped over her left leg in relief.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Quarter to three,” he said, glancing at the digital alarm clock across the room.

“Can you hand me my shorts?” she asked after a few minutes. As the high of her orgasm ebbed away, fatigue settled back into her bones.

“Yeah,” he grunted, pushing himself up.

She hummed.

“Here.”

Opening her eyes, she found Quinn at the end of the bed, threading her shorts and underwear over her feet so he could ease them up her legs.

She took over at her knees and he went to the bathroom, grabbing a fresh pair of boxers on the way.

Feeling him relax into the bed next to her, Sarah roused herself enough to ask, “did you get off?”

He smiled, loving that even in her early morning, sleepy mind, she was thinking of him. “Yep,” he said before pulling her body flush to his and pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“Good,” she said quietly, leaning into him and drifting back to sleep.

Part 1

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

#quinn & sarah snapshots #tkanswers 📮#quinn hughes #qh43 #quinn hughes smut #quinn smut #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fanfic #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes x ofc #quinn hughes au #nhl fanfiction #nhl smut #hockey fanfiction #hockey smut #hockey romance #quinn hughes oneshot #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes fic

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secriden · 9 hours ago

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Absolutely heartrending because it just hit me that before Bison's phone call, Fadel actually began to believe that he'd been wrong to suspect Style. Because despite the evidence stacked against Style -- and remember, it was Fadel that spells out the reasons they have to be suspicious of Kant and Style -- Style is so incredibly genuine here and Fadel, in truth, wanted to believe in him.

I think it's possible that Fadel actually saw Style through the window here, but pretended not to because he had to take a moment to prepare himself. But if you see where Style is standing and the way the patio is lit up, there's no reason why Fadel shouldn't have seen him from where he was by the tables before he turns go behind the counter.

Fadel: I was thinking of going to your place. But you were more impatient than me, huh?

This would also explain how Fadel is able to say this before Style even has the chance to make a sound. I had expected Fadel to wait and see what Style would say, to play it safe and observe, but no, Fadel immediately sets their dynamic back to the assumption of familiarity that their relationship was on before he disappeared for a week. The assumption that he could show up at Style's house unannounced and Style would welcome him.

This feels incredibly intentional. Fadel wants to see how Style is going to react to Fadel acting as if nothing weird happened. If Style was an informant, he should be confused and Fadel may catch him out in a lie.

But Style's performance is flawless:

Style: Where have you been? You didn't reply any of my texts! (punctuation added for emphasis and to mimic Style's tone)

He says this and the whine in his tone is a clear affirmation of that same assumption of familiarity. This is the tone used by someone who is secure in the knowledge that they are owed an explanation; this is the tone of someone in an established relationship who feels justifiably wronged at being left out of the loop.

And I cry a little bit more at the thought of Fadel reading those texts -- Style by turns frantic and confused and worried -- and refusing to respond. Or worse, receiving them and refusing to even read them because Fadel doesn't trust himself to tell the lies from the truth anymore.

At this point, I think Fadel seems to waver a little bit in his resolve to "test" Style. His reply takes on a quality of gentle pleading and the way he's speaking is exactly like a boyfriend who knows he messed up would. But because these lines are a lie, Fadel cannot meet Style's eyes as he says them. It's only when he says "I was busy, too" (not a lie) that he's finally able to squarely meet Style's gaze again.

And Style continues to be so convincingly NORMAL because all of this is real for him. This is just Style, the boyfriend, who actually wants to know where his boyfriend disappeared to without notice for a whole week. Nothing about his body language or tone has even a hint of inauthenticity because there is none. Style means every single word and meets Fadel's gaze squarely as he says them.

It genuinely looks to me like Fadel thaws significantly at this point. He suddenly looks less stiff and the way he delivers this line contains so much more inflection, it becomes cajoling. He even begins to more consistently meet Style's eyes as Fadel begins to allow himself some honesty. Fadel's logical brain knows that the circumstances surrounding Style coming into his life are riddled with inconsistencies, but he both senses and WANTS to see Style's sincerity. The shields that Fadel had up are melting in the face of Style being present and unchanged from what Fadel remembers.

Stay, Fadel all but says, let me make it up to you. Fadel offering to make food for Style (@braceletofteeth please hold me as I cry about this!!) is also significant because the last time Fadel made food for Style (the burger) is when he was softening towards Style after Style helped out at the diner during the rush crowd. Fadel is a creature of habit and all that he's learned of late are the ways Style is easy to love.

They begin to fall back into their usual, playful banter and teasing dynamic. Style leans back against the table (and the way he's all silent surrender and submission -- throat arched up and bare and vulnerable -- truly makes me feral), turns up the flirt and Fadel responds in kind. And yes, Fadel means his question on some level but you don't get the sense that his heart is in the interrogation. Fadel may be going through the motions, but this is just Style being himself, exactly as Fadel has come to know (and love), so nothing is pinging as wrong to Fadel.

I mean, just LOOK AT FADEL'S EYES!! His expression is so so soft and tender and wistful. He wants this. He wants so desperately to believe that this is why Style was texting him throughout the week. He wants to have Style in all the ways that include and go beyond the physical; like Style offering his affection is everything Fadel didn't think he could wish for.

It's almost cruel the way Style's touch so utterly disarms Fadel. Because, while it's part of the games they've been playing, so much of their interactions have also been grounded in genuine feelings and moments of intense vulnerability on both sides (although neither of them know this for sure!! T_T). Style's hands on Fadel's body literally removes the last stretch of distance between them and that odd unease lingered over the way Fadel spoke and held himself at the start of the scene finally disappears.

If we compare their expressions and the way they are holding themselves and, most importantly, touching each other by the end of the scene to what we see when Style first walks into the diner, it becomes apparent just how much ground Fadel has given in the span of those few minutes.

It's the way Fadel keeps holding onto Style's hand even as he's turning to leave, maintaining that point of contact until the very last second.

Because with Style in front of him -- warm and familiar and carelessly affectionate -- Fadel allows himself to slip back to the version of himself that woke up in Style's bed at the start of the episode, the version of himself that called Style's name for the first time and wanted to wake him up with the softest of touches. The version of himself that literally, physically couldn't let Style go.

Which is why, when the call comes and Fadel's heart gets broken anew, Fadel remains devastatingly empty of anger towards Style.

Because it was Fadel's own fault for choosing to believe the lie.

Because it was a decision he made to allow his heart to rule over his head.

Because Fadel understands that Style only succeeded in "fooling" him once again because Fadel let him.

So Fadel gives himself this truth, allows himself to finally take that step to bare his heart to Style the way he promised himself he never would but the way he so desperately wants.

And Style doesn't realise that this is not a reward, but a judgement.

For Fadel is paying penance for giving in to his own foolish heart, and in so doing renders Style's love to devastation.

#literally bawling my eyes out. its 2am and I am DEVASTATED #i was so caught off guard by the change fadel goes through in this ONE scene #watching fadel thaw in tiny increments and then all at once when style is so effortlessly himself and everything fadel WANTS TO TRUST #he is so in love; SO IN LOVE and that's why it hurts all the more because HE DOESN'T KNOW how real it is for style too #and now fadel will never trust himself again because he thinks style so thoroughly played his fragile heart #when the tragic truth is that fadel didn't even fall (couldn't have!) until style found it himself to open his heart to fadel first #GOD DAMMIT IT HURTS SO BAD MAKE IT STOP T_T #the heart killers #the heart killers the series #fadelstyle #fadel #style sattawat #joongdunk #joong archen #dunk natachai #thk meta #thk ep 6 #<my posts>#i'm in agony and making it EVERY ONE ELSE'S PROBLEM

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gilbertscurls · 3 days ago

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christmas (baby please come home) — matt sturniolo

summary: when a twist of fate reunites you and matt at a holiday gathering, old wounds resurface, forcing you to confront the love you thought you'd buried years ago.

The first snow of December blanketed the town in a pristine white sheen, softening the harshness of the biting cold. You adjusted your scarf as you pulled into the driveway of the charming, snow-dusted cabin, your heart pounding more from nerves than the chill. Beside you, Paul grinned, completely oblivious to the storm brewing within your chest.

“Ready to meet the family?” he asked, his voice warm and inviting.

You forced a smile, nodding. “Of course. I’m sure they’ll love me.”

The words were meant to reassure him, but you were the one who needed convincing. The holidays with Paul’s family should have been exciting, but an unshakable anxiety had clung to you since the moment he mentioned the gathering.

“They’re really great,” Paul continued as he unloaded your bags from the car. “You’ll love Julie. She’s the sweetest, and her boyfriend Matt is a good guy. Quiet, but cool.”

The name struck you like a thunderclap. You froze, the winter air suddenly suffocating. Matt? Surely, it couldn’t be…

“Matt?” you echoed, your voice tighter than you intended.

“Yeah,” Paul said casually. “You’ll meet him inside. I think he and Julie already got here. Come on, let’s head in. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”

You followed reluctantly, your feet heavy with dread. Five years had passed since you last saw Matthew Sturniolo—five years since your love story had crumbled into silence. You hadn’t heard from him, hadn’t tried to reach out, hadn’t dared to look back.

The cabin door opened to a wave of warmth and chatter, the smell of pine mingling with cinnamon and nutmeg. Paul greeted his sister, Julie, with a hug before turning to introduce you.

And there he was.

Matt stood by the fireplace, his eyes locking on yours the moment you walked in. Time hadn’t dulled the intensity of his gaze. If anything, it made it sharper, weighted with unspoken words. His hair was longer than you remembered, and he carried himself with a confidence you didn’t recognize. But it was him.

“Y/N, this is my sister, Julie,” Paul said, oblivious to the tension suddenly thickening the room. “And that’s her boyfriend, Matt.”

Julie extended a hand, her smile radiant. “So nice to meet you!”

You shook her hand automatically, murmuring a polite response. But your eyes flickered back to Matt, who hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken.

“Y/N,” he said finally, his voice low, laced with disbelief.

Paul glanced between you two, frowning slightly. “Wait… you two know each other?”

The air crackled with the weight of the truth neither of you wanted to say. You swallowed hard, forcing a tight smile.

“We… grew up together,” you said lightly, as though the memories of your shared childhood and the heartbreak that followed weren’t threatening to choke you.

“Oh, small world!” Julie beamed. “This is going to be such a fun week!”

Matt’s jaw tightened, his eyes never leaving you. You could feel the questions in his gaze, the ghosts of your past clawing their way to the surface.

And as the snow continued to fall outside, blanketing the world in a deceptive quiet, you realized this holiday was about to be anything but peaceful.

The cabin was alive with the warmth of laughter and crackling wood, but you had never felt more cold. Dinner was a blur of introductions, family stories, and clinking glasses. Your polite smiles were automatic, but your focus wavered each time you caught Matt’s eyes across the table. He sat beside Julie, their hands intertwined. Paul sat next to you, his arm draped over the back of your chair. The perfect symmetry of their group didn’t feel perfect at all.

“So, Matt,” Paul began, breaking your thoughts, “how did you and Julie meet?”

Matt hesitated for the briefest moment, his fork pausing mid-air. “Through mutual friends,” he said, his voice even. “It just… clicked.”

Julie leaned into him, smiling. “He was so shy, but I thought that was cute. He’s not as quiet as he seems, though—he has the driest sense of humor once you get to know him.”

You swallowed hard, forcing a bite of your mashed potatoes past the lump in your throat. That used to be your discovery, your secret treasure. You could still remember the way Matt used to make you laugh when no one else could, his wit sharp but never cruel.

“And what about you, Y/N/N?” Julie asked, her question dripping with unintentional irony. “How’d you and Paul meet?”

You blinked, startled by the use of the nickname you hadn’t heard in years. Matt’s head tilted slightly at the sound of it, and your stomach twisted.

“Uh, at a bookstore,” you said, managing a smile. “He asked me for a recommendation, and we just… started talking.”

Paul grinned, nudging your shoulder. “She’s underselling it. I walked into that store looking for a novel, and I walked out with a date.”

Everyone laughed, except for Matt, whose expression hardened almost imperceptibly. You pretended not to notice, but the tension followed you even as dinner wound down.

The forecast had warned of heavy snow, and by morning, the world outside was a swirling whiteout. Paul and Julie were busy in the kitchen, preparing lunch, while the others scattered around the cabin. You found yourself in the living room, staring out the window, lost in thought.

“Still hate the snow?”

The voice behind you was low, familiar, and entirely unwelcome. You turned to find Matt standing a few feet away, his arms crossed.

“Some things don’t change,” you replied, your tone colder than you intended.

He nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “You haven’t changed much, either.”

“Neither have you,” you said, sharper now.

A bitter laugh escaped him. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

You looked away, the unspoken weight of your shared past pressing on your chest. “Why are you talking to me, Matt? We’re not kids anymore. We don’t owe each other anything.”

“I’m not trying to stir things up,” he said, his voice softening. “I just—being here, seeing you—it’s… strange.”

“Strange?” you repeated, your voice trembling. “You think strange covers it? After everything—” You stopped yourself, taking a deep breath. “You have a girlfriend. I have Paul. Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”

His jaw tightened, but he nodded. “You’re right. I’ll leave you alone.”

And just like that, he walked away, leaving you to the silence and the storm raging outside.

By the fourth night, the cabin’s family festivities had culminated in a bonfire behind the house. The fire’s warm glow illuminated the whole group as you huddled under blankets, sipping hot cocoa and sharing stories. But you felt like an outsider looking in.

You sat beside Paul, who was animatedly recounting a funny story about his childhood, while Julie leaned against Matt, her laughter filling the air. It was all so picture-perfect, so maddeningly normal.

“I need some air,” you murmured to Paul, excusing yourself before anyone could ask questions.

You wandered a little away from the fire, the cold biting through your jacket. You weren’t surprised when Matt followed you, his footsteps crunching in the snow.

“Y/N—”

“Stop,” you said, turning to face him. Your eyes glistened, reflecting the firelight. “Why are you doing this? Why are you making it so hard to forget?”

“I’m not trying to,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I just—I can’t pretend you’re not here. I can’t pretend like seeing you doesn’t hurt.”

Your breath hitched, your resolve crumbling. “Do you think it’s easy for me? Seeing you with her, pretending like we didn’t spend half our lives planning a future together?”

“Then why did you leave?” he asked, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “Why didn’t you fight for us?”

Your eyes filled with tears, but you held his gaze. “Because you didn’t ask me to stay.”

The weight of your words hit him like a freight train. For years, he had carried the blame, the bitterness of their breakup. But now, the truth was laid bare between you, raw and unforgiving.

“Y/N…”

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Not here. Not now.”

You turned away, walking back to the bonfire, leaving him standing alone in the dark.

The week passed in a blur, tension simmering just beneath the surface. By the time the last day arrived, you were eager to leave. You packed your bags with shaky hands, avoiding Matt as much as possible.

But fate had other plans. You found him outside, leaning against your car, his expression unreadable.

“You’re really leaving without saying anything?” he asked, his voice quieter than before.

You hesitated, glancing around the snow-covered driveway before stepping closer. “What do you want me to say, Matt?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “I just… I think we should talk.”

Your stomach tightened, but you nodded, leaning against the hood of the car beside him.

“I’ve been thinking,” you started, your voice steady despite the storm in your chest. “About Paul. About Julie. About us.”

“Me too,” he said, looking straight ahead, avoiding your eyes. “It’s not fair to them, is it? The way we’ve been acting this week.”

“No,” you agreed softly. “It’s not.”

Silence settled between you, the kind that spoke louder than any words. Finally, you turned to face him, your breath forming small clouds in the cold air.

“Julie’s good for you,” you said, forcing the words out even though they felt like glass. “I can see it. She makes you laugh. She looks at you the way I used to.”

He flinched at that, his jaw tightening. “Paul’s good for you, too. He seems like the kind of guy who knows how to take care of someone. He’s… steady.”

“He is,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “But he’s not you, Matt. And maybe that’s a good thing.”

He turned to you then, his eyes filled with something between regret and longing. “I feel the same about Julie. She’s amazing, and she deserves someone who can give her everything. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do that—not completely—not with you still in my head.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you just stared at each other, the weight of your words sinking in.

“So what do we do?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Matt sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We try to be better. For them. For ourselves. We made choices, and it’s not fair to drag everyone else into our mess.”

You nodded slowly, tears welling in your eyes. “Maybe we don’t get a second chance. Maybe this is just… how it has to end.”

“Maybe,” he said, though his voice was thick with doubt. “But if there’s anything I’ve learned this week, it’s that I still want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me.”

Your tears spilled over, but you smiled through them, a bittersweet expression that mirrored his. “I want that for you, too.”

You stood there for a moment longer, the snow falling gently around you, before you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him in a brief, fierce hug.

“Goodbye, Matt,” you whispered.

“Goodbye, Y/N/N,” he replied, his voice breaking.

As you got into your car and drove away, leaving the cabin behind, you felt a strange sense of peace. You weren’t meant to be, not now. But maybe that was okay. Some endings weren’t about closure—they were about choosing to move forward, even when the past still lingered.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @straw8berry, @shadowthesim

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fawninthesnow · 12 hours ago

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𝐀𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞: 2 | Maternal! figure | Caracalla & Geta

Summary: You visit the young princes in the palace; While teaching, and tell them a folktale of a wolf and its two creations.

Warnings: Fluff, (slight) angst, english is not my first language, foreshadowing, spoilers

Work count: 1k

a/n: Keep in mind they are around 14-16 here and orphaned already. After looking through some deleted scenes from the script, I found that all the boys want is to be adopted and loved. This series is for that.

More on my Master list! + follow & like pls

“Give it to me! I want to read it!” The boys tugged at the letter, snatching it back and forth between them. Finally, Geta managed to wrest it from his brother's grasp and held it high above his head. “You can barely read her writing. Let me read it to you!” Caracalla folded his arms and listened.

Hello, my loves. I’m writing to you from Germania. I miss you both more than words can express; my heart aches at the thought of you being alone in that palace. However, I take comfort in knowing that you have each other. I eagerly await the day when I can hold you both in my arms again. I’ve written two letters, so please, for my sake, stop arguing over who gets to keep the paper.

Caracalla took the envelope from the table; the boys sit beside each other, reading from the papers.

When I get back, we can get to your studies. Hopefully this time without much of a fight—Geta.

Caracalla nudged his brother.

If you are reading this, I should be on the coast of Corsica.

The two turned to each other, “That means she is only a day away, Calla!” His brother excitedly beamed, holding onto the letter in his hands with a careful yet tight hold.

Each moment feels like a journey around the sun without both of you. Please know that my love for you exceeds what I can express and what you can ever imagine. With all my love, Lady [Y/n].

The boys stayed awake that night, eager not to miss your arrival. Typically, it was Caracalla who would stay up late or rise before dawn to spend more time with you. However, since they hadn’t seen you since the holidays and with the new year already upon them, neither wanted to waste a moment away from you.

Geta held a small torch in his clutch, his brother’s hand in the other. “Calla, stay awake.” He sighed as his brother nodded off while standing. Geta led his brother to his room and tucked him in bed.

“Where are you going?” Caracalla asked as he regained some consciousness.

“I will stay with you.” He laid his head back onto the pillow.

You glanced into the bedroom when you heard their voices. The two were facing each other, unaware of your presence. As you stepped inside and smiled, Geta instantly stood up and rushed into your arms. “He is sleeping?” Geta nodded, his head buried in your clothes. “Are you tired?” He didn't need to agree; it was evident. You climbed into bed with Caracalla and carefully lifted Geta, bringing him in as well. In response to your scent, Caracalla turned toward you and wrapped his arm around your side. On your other side, Geta mirrored the gesture. You pulled the blanket over all three of you. “I love you both so much.”

***

“Grab it, Caracalla!” His brother yelled as he jumped back into the fountain. His brother continued to laugh, taking his time with the slithering creature. “Caracalla! I swear!”

The boy picked up the snake in his two hands and inches closer to his brother. “…oh, Geta?”

“I’ll tell! I’ll tell [Y/n]!”

“Tell me what?” You left the palace and joined them in the overgrown courtyard. Upon seeing the snake in Caracalla’s hands you frowned, your hands on your hips. He looked down at his feet and placed the snake back into the bushes. Geta ran to your side and held onto your clothes. “You know better.”

“I know.”

“You know your brother hates snakes too.”

“I know.” He repeated. You did not need to tell him to apologize. “I am sorry, Geta.”

“If I see another snake in your hands, you will go to your room.” The boy groaned, “Wait…why are you both out here? You should be inside with your studies.” The two brothers looked at each other.

Inside, you read from a scroll and the two boys took notes, “Beyond the oaks in Germania, Gray wolves are carnivorous and primarily hunt ungulates such as deer, wild boar, and even smaller mammals; ready to traverse for several miles. Do you recall the ways they communicate?”

“Howls, body language, and scent marking.” Caracalla said, rather doubtful of himself.

“That is true! Good job.” You cuffed his cheek. “Wolves have a special place in German literature; representing wilderness and the untamed spirit of nature.” You gaze fell on the two and cleared your throat. “Would you both like to hear a story?”

“Yes!”

“Yes, please.”

You took a few of Caracalla’s wooden toys; a wolf, two boys and two rather worn figures. “There once were two people…although they tried, they never could tame this wolf.”

“Hm? Why didn’t they just give it away?” Caracalla asked.

“Well, it is an animal that cannot be disposed of. Now, others would come to their home and would give the two all kinds of advice! ‘Just hit it, it will listen.’ ‘Let it be, it will listen.’ ‘Put it outside, it will listen.’ Nothing worked. The wolf would always come back…rowdy, violent and disobedient.”

“It is a wild creature! Why would they invite it into their home to begin with?” Geta asked and leaned forward, rather invested.

“Some things come inside without an invitation.” The two brothers looked at each other. You pushed the two figures away, leaving the two boys and the wolf. “And the two people…they had two children soon after, leaving the wolf with them.” The boys looked rather puzzled, sad---

“As the children grew, the wolf would linger around the home. Eventually, the children grew fond of it. They shared a bed, food. Soon, they built a home just for the wolf, visiting it every day.”

“They should kill the wolf.” Geta spat.

“That is a very big task, Geta.” You said softly, looking him in his brown eyes. “What do you think, Caracalla? What would you do?”

“I am not sure…I would treat it like a wild animal. I would never make a home for it.”

You squeezed their cheeks. “Alright. That is enough for today.”

Part 1

A/n: Wolf is in reference to the movie but does not mean the same thing. <3 After doing more research on the actual twin emperors of rome, I am now aware Caracalla is older yet loved his brother very much; I will be going off of their real stories instead of the movie! I love the movies dearly lol but I prioritize my writing.

More on my Master list! + follow & like pls

Must be following to be added to next taglist! I prioritize my followers <3

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thenickgirl · 12 hours ago

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the girlies acting like matt is this domestic abuser is inSANE likeeee???? ho is you good?

ik i said earlier he needed to chill but y’all also know me, i’m extremely dramatic, and always on the defense when it comes to nick, literally he could’ve pinched him and i still would’ve been mad lmao 😭 but the slander and outrage is crazy! they continued filming so? clearly there should be no cause for real concern, and remember we do not know these men. so put the pitchforks away, put some water on those torches and let’s just move onnnnn please

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #sturniolo #a speaks

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pawpiefawn · 1 day ago

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𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼, 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 .𖥔 ݁ ˖

❤︎ alhaitham x reader 2.5k words five acts of love, where alhaitham loves you more with each. reupload + edited from my previous blog. thank u coco for reminding me :"

ask around the bustling hub of sumeru city, and the native dreamers would often describe being loved as something mesmerising and captivating. it is much like a kaleidoscope, twisting and turning enchantingly in hopes that the beads would fall perfectly in place, but it never always truly does; endearing and a lesson for the lovers all the same. the messy beads twirl and turn but there is just some reason why they can’t get enough of it.

the thinkers talk about love like an anchor dragging you further and deeper down into the depths of adoration and affection and infatuation; to them, there are often few clear differentiations between sinking into love and drowning in it.

but for alhaitham, however – love is natural, like the cycle of growth of the dainty flowers and wild grass beneath his feet. a swanlike, enchanting piece of music that flows from your violin’s bow – with the right person, it is as natural as breathing.

but for alhaitham, however – love is also... unnatural, given his lack of experience. he has adoring fans, he has scholars singing his praises and piles of handwritten letters from secret admirers commending his mind and aesthete – but he has never loved before, not until you.

the first act of love. listening, when nobody else will try to.

alhaitham is a wonderful listener. if you ask him, he’d say that he prefers listening, even – he is content to hear all that you have to say, however nonsensical or ridiculous you sound to others. the scribe’s work is simple, so he never truly minds – to sit quietly with a small smile on his face while you talk his ear off about anything and everything – that is what love is, you are sure.

“hey, i’m sorry.. this is just too much right now.” you know they use this as a replacement for you.

“could you tell me another time?” another time will never come.

“just keep quiet, archons! do you ever shut up?” no, i’m sorry. i probably should.

alhaitham watches from his office as your heart breaks with every unwilling individual, each choosing to walk away while you tore your heart out, still bleeding from your ribcage while laying the offering bare at their feet. how could a human being be so cruel? there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ – yet you believe you cannot make it speak because they do not choose to listen.

“...i believe you hadn’t quite finished your story from the last time we met.” he speaks plainly, eyes glistening – with pity or with eagerness is something you don’t wish to distinguish. let it be the same, lest the heartbreaking realisation that he is just like the others.

“you remember?” you ask cautiously. please do, i can’t bear to beg anyone anymore.

“i do. that day about your old neighbour’s dog escaping into your garden. you’re welcome to continue, if you’d like.”

he watches your eyes light up as you trip and stumble over your words, quietly surprised and eager to please. there is a soft feeling in his chest – a warm, weighing feeling nestled in his ribcage.

the second act of love. remembering, when it feels like no one else does.

it is no secret that alhaitham’s mind is incredible. highly intelligent, closely observant, adept at noticing discrepancies – any researcher would fight to have him take a spot on their team. he is good at remembering, you think to yourself – alhaitham remembers everything – the things you’d grovel at someone’s feet, to remember the slightest thing about you, for, and everything you wished the world forgot. him remembering everything is incredible – whether that be a good thing, or not; is another.

“when’s your birthday again?” your co-worker taps his fingers against his chin, looking through the sheet of office birthdays.

“it’s–”

“december 26th.” alhaitham walks past, not looking up from his notebook.

you and your co-worker stare in silence. he...

“yeah, december 26th...” you catch a glimpse of the silver-haired scribe around the corner. he remembered. even if it was just an offhand comment about how funny you found your birthday to be right after christmas. he remembered.

“huh.” your co-worker shrugs it off, noting it down on the list as if nothing happened.

something happened. you feel something warm blossoming in your chest – warm, comforting, lovely all the same. a tender, sweet feeling like the heavy blanket on a rainy day that attempts to capture your heart in your throat and keep it captive forever; there is so much you want to say to alhaitham. it’s nice that he remembers – out of all your friends ( was he a friend? ), who could confidently say the date without thinking twice?

“i believe those are nuts. if i recall correctly, aren’t you allergic?” the next time you see a glimpse of his silver hair, alhaitham peers into your bowl of noodles. nuts – how comical it is to think that such a small, minuscule digit could potentially cut off breathing for you.

“i thought i told them ... perhaps i didn’t.” you mumble, hurriedly spitting out half-chewed food into your tissue. you stare tiredly into your bowl – surely you remember letting the waiter know that you had an allergy.

“you did.”

before you could even turn your head to reply to his reassurance, alhaitham flags down the same, tired waiter. he trudges to your table, serving tray tucked between his arm and body.

“can i be of service?”

“excuse me, i believe we mentioned earlier that they couldn’t have nuts.” alhaitham stares at him in the eye, glancing briefly at your bowl with spat-out nuts beside it. the waiter grabs it, letting out a soft sigh of frustration.

“you are a service professional, are you not?” alhaitham interrupts the languid movement; yet he does not break the stare.

“sir, i am just a wa–”

“my apologies. are you are a paid member of this establishment?”

“i am.” the waiter nods in quiet submission. it is better to shut up than to argue with a man who loves.

“you understand the laws regarding a customer’s health and safety, do you not? even if it’s tiresome, if they had gone into an anaphylactic shock here in your cafe, i believe it would have been a matter of time before an investigation is launched and a lawsuit is filed.”

you hear alhaitham soften at the word they. they. you. you are important enough to him that he’d quietly, but fiercely rip into the waiter over your allergy. (alhaitham wishes you felt important enough to care about your health instead of apologising for not speaking loud enough.)

the waiter steels himself and takes your bowl back to the kitchen without another word.

“thank you,” you turn to alhaitham. “that meant a lot.”

you show him a soft smile, and alhaitham feels a wave of silent thankfulness wash over himself – that you sit before him, wearing a bright and sweet smile and not a pained grimace from struggling to breathe, on your features. he feels the same warmth in his chest once again.

“you don’t need to thank me.”

alhaitham remembers, even when it feels like no one else does.

the third act of love. holding, when your skin feels achingly colder.

alhaitham does not strike people as a touchy person; his love language is not physical touch. touch scares him a little, even. the thought that a simple loving gesture could be twisted and morphed into a threatening hold scares even the most intelligent and strong of men – but he is human, and that is enough for him to appreciate lingering touches on his back as and when he needs and wants to.

he sees you – fingers twitching and rubbing against each other, clumsily tapping against your palms then scrunching inwards – you need touch. you need to be held. it was as simple and as crucial as breathing. your fingers press in inwards of itself, and he watches the colour recede and return once again as you loosen your grip.

“come here,” alhaitham gestures, wrapping your hand around his. there’s something comforting about how your hand is smaller than his; it’s not that much smaller, but it’s smaller all the same. if you curled yourself up even more, perhaps you’d be able to fit into the palm of his hands.

“don’t do that. you’ll hurt yourself.”

“do what?” you look at him quizzically.

“i wasn’t sure if you were unaware, but you tend to self-soothe and search for touch.” he sighs quietly, absent-mindedly stroking your purlicue as he turned back to his book.

“although i believe you search for it too much. press too hard, and you’ll start to feel numb.”

“ah.” you stare at your hands – the left, which he holds, and the right, resting on the cool table.

“thank you.”

“i said before, there is no need to thank me. if it is a simple matter regarding your well-being, i would do–” he stops himself. anything, is left hanging in silence.

“i would be happy to resolve that matter.”

even holding you? would he dare hold something so shamefully broken?

“thank you...” you close your eyes. he hesitates; just once.

“you don’t sound pleased, nor satisfied. was it something i said?” you hear his voice soften.

no, it’s not you. you shake your head quietly, resting your head against your right palm on the table.

“it’s alright. you do not have to talk if you don’t wish to.” alhaitham replies. you feel him smoothing your hair back – a touch so soft and tender, you can hardly believe it to be for yourself. it was intoxicating; his touch lacked lust, full in love– you have never been loved (loved?) like this before.

you feel slightly warmer now.

the fourth act of love. comforting, when there seems to be no one in your corner.

“i just wanted them to be different. just this once. is that too much to even ask?”

alhaitham holds you tightly as you sob and lament; he holds tighter than he ever has before, and he mourns. he mourns for the walls you had slowly built up over time dawn with the realisation that it had been justified all along; alhaitham knows how hard you have begged for them to be unneeded.

“i know.”

you hiccup, ducking beneath his arm tiredly – and he holds you gently. he holds you, arm resting on the crook of your neck as you rest against a pillow on his side – he holds you like he has done it all his life. fitting yourself – not small but not big – into his frame, alhaitham thinks, may very well be the most natural thing the world has brought him.

“they had no right to treat you like that. i’m sorry.”

“it’s not your fault.” you sniffle.

archon, it hurt. you were going to get hurt in every lifetime, you know that– no, you deserved it. that has been etched into your mind since day one of starting your work. that was just who you were. the poor, miserable corner-sitter who had nothing else to do but correct their own mistakes. no initiative, no ounce of thought. why had the akademiya even hired you if its own people despised you?

“you don’t deserve to be hurt over and over, you know.”

how did he know?

“you said that aloud.”

you mumble a soft sorry, and he replies, shaking his head.

“it isn’t your fault,” alhaitham echoes your previous sentiment, almost teasingly.

“i believe you’re smart enough to figure that out.”

before you look up at his tousled hair to reply, you feel a soft kiss pressed to your forehead.

a kiss.

his kiss.

“if you find them still bothering you, come and talk to me. the scribe’s position is – it may not be much – but i know with my place within the akademiya, they will listen. i promise you this,” he holds your warm hands in his broader ones.

“if they do not stop, i will leave. i have no regard for a company that will not protect its own workers.”

he wants to say a company that will not protect you, but thinks otherwise. perhaps it is too much right now after his impulsive kiss – that is the one thing that alhaitham mulls over. he has never been impulsive before; always thinking through and filtering and being rational and all the things that makes alhaitham, alhaitham. being impulsive is not a trait others describe him by.

so why, you–?

the fifth act of love. loving you, even when you believe people cannot.

–because he loves you, and alhaitham cannot, for the life of him and even with all the overbearing advice from kaveh and more bearable guidance from nahida – he cannot put it into words. for the first time in his life, alhaitham stumbles over himself, words tumbling out like love letters hastily shoved into a sack with a cut into it.

“what is so special about me? you’re always here, alhaitham, yet you never grow sick of me.” he finds himself caught off guard when you ask suddenly, caught in today’s throes of anxiety. your words hang cautiously on your tongue like a snake waiting for the moment a displeased reaction appears – whether you hiss or hide, is something alhaitham feels a modicum of curiosity about, pulsing, and pulsing, until he tries.

“you-”

there are too many things that he can think of, he feels. nahida, give me strength.

“you are- you are kind. and generous. you have a heart for people even when they do not have one for you.” he starts, slowly.

“you listen intently, and you enable people to open and talk. they talk because you listen and you support them with all your soul and it is so evident that you love.”

you want to cry.

“i admit i am not good with words, but you deserve every vow i utter tonight. you love so loudly, and you feel no shame for it – you have inspired me, and i dare confess that there have been many times i have desired to pull back, out of worry that i have felt the distinct possibility that i was about to fall in love with you.”

oh. you blink as if that hasn’t been obvious enough.

alhaitham is deeply and madly in love with you.

“i love you, not only because you are special, but also because i believe you deserve every ounce of love i can retrieve from myself. i know it has been made clear to you that others do not feel the same way, and it hurts to believe that some of it has come from those i know – i promise to be different–”

“you already are, alhaitham.” you feel yourself choke up. love is entangling itself around your trachea and holding you hostage, never letting go.

“you have never treated me with the same contempt. i love you, i know you return my feelings and for that i am thankful. i’m sorry that i’m not an easy person to love, please...” you trail off, feeling his body collide into yours. alhaitham holds you. he holds you, hand on your back and the other cradling your head against his shoulder.

“i want to love you,” he whispers into your hair.

“please let me.”

ask alhaitham, however? you see a soft smile adorns his features as he mulls over the question of what love is to him. love, forever yours, evermore.

#.☘︎ ݁˖ jasmine blooms #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x gn reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x gn reader #divider from plutism #nereids' realm #alhaitham fluff #genshin fluff

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wxwrites · 18 hours ago

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waxplay w/ ambessa (drabble)

wrote this in bullet points bc i've been hella unmotivated recently, pls don't hate me. also not proofread. good luck.

(waxplay, r!receiving, fem!reader, afab!reader, praise, degradation, very little dacryphylia, bondage, spreader bar, ambessa refers to reader as "pet" and "little thing.") as always, mdni!

oh you are absolutely in for it, good luck.

she has you sprawled out so you're up towards the head of the bed, but your head is facing the side of it as she's standing against you at the edge. (ur like... laying the wrong way) (this is just so she has access to the table)

she'd bind your pretty wrists behind your back with a thick, red, silky ribbon.

she'd keep your panties stuffed into your mouth, (will take them from you after and keep them.)

your calves are tied to your thighs which are held open by a spreader-bar or something equivalent.

point being— you're entirely immobile and completely at her mercy. which is the only way you ever should be.

sadistic? she sure is, but she isn't cruel to you. she doesn't mind spending the extravagant price on the finest and softest candles for you; she'd never want to genuinely hurt you.

she'll spend some time massaging the tension from your body, using a softly scented body oil to do so.

"you need to loosen up, pet. if you stay tense, you're going to make it hurt even more." she says, gripping a little extra hard on your thigh. "but maybe you'd like that, hm?" she teases.

she grins wolfishly as you moan pathetically, writhing against the bed. she slides a large hand up the back of your thigh, chuckling as she feels the muscle twitch under her hand. she presses it against your chest roughly, forcing the fronts of your thighs to hit your chest

you whine through the makeshift gag as she detaches her hands and reaches over you. she grabs the candle and lighter from the end-table and settles back on her feet.

she lights the candle and lets it burn briefly, trailing a calloused hand down your body as she waits. she gropes your tits and pinches your nipples between her thumb and forefinger as you pant out.

"are you ready, pet?" she asks, but only to listen as you mumble through the soaked fabric between your lips. she finds your desperation cute-- endearing, even.

after you nod eagerly and respond with a "yes, please," that's greatly muffled, she places a rough hand on the inside of your thigh.

she tilts the candle slowly, watching you with low eyes as she pours the liquid onto your abdomen first. "does that feel good, doll?" she asks, obviously knowing the answer as you whimper and twitch beneath the hot liquid.

and her patience for this is excruciatingly good. she could watch you whimper, cry, and tremble for hours if she had the time.

your cries are the prettiest thing she has ever heard, and she makes it known as she forces you to repeat yourself. she tugs your legs up by the bar, granting herself access your chest.

"aw, yeah? it feels good? how good?" she taunts, splattering the wax over one of your nipples. she grins darkly as she listens to you sputter and gasp around the gag.

"that's it, my pretty little thing, tell me how you feel," she encourages, pouring the wax over your other tit.

she continues to pour the hot wax over your body, even moving up to your throat-- relishing in how you moan as it meets your oversensitive skin.

"you want more?" she teases, dragging her fingers down your body, her middle finger over your clit gently. once she gets an affirmative nod, she covers her finger in your slick before slowly pushing it inside of you, making sure you don't get too overwhelmed.

"relax, my sweet," she says gently, her low voice washes over you. "there you go, just take it like the good girl that i know you are," she says, slowly pumping her finger in and out of you.

it's not long before she slides her ring finger in, dripping the wax down your chest as she does so. "you look so pretty for me, such a desperate little thing, aren't you?" she adds on, watching you whimper and twitch.

"aww, are you gonna cry?" she mocks, but there's no actual heat behind it. she simply gets enjoyment out of watching you writhe in pleasure.

the teasing does bring you over the edge, finally releasing the tears that had been building behind your eyes from the onslaught of pain and pleasure. she continues the slow pace, one that is fast enough to bring you the pleasure you need, but nowhere near what you need to actually cum.

she continues to work her fingers inside of you, curling them perfectly against your gummy walls. "are you getting close, my love?" she asks, smirking as you whimper a loud, "yes, please, please,"

she blows the candle out and sets it back down on the end table. she pulls the panties from your mouth and stuffs them into her back pocket.

she reaches for the latch on the bar and pries it off of both of your ankles, continuing to move her fingers inside you all the same.

"look at how good you look," she says, bracing one of her knees on the bed as she reaches forward and tangles her hand in your hair. she grips the strands tightly before yanking you forward, forcing you to look down at the red splotches covering your body.

"haa— fuck," you whimper and squeeze your eyes shut. more tears leaking down your cheeks at the harsh grip in your hair.

"i said look, you brat," she demands, giving your hair a tug.

your eyes shoot open and obey her, watching as her thick fingers move in and out of you-- creating utterly obscene and disgusting sounds. your slick is dripping into the palm of her hands and onto the silken sheets. you look utterly debauched, wrecked, and entirely out of your mind.

"do you wanna cum?" she asks again, holding you up by your hair. it's uncomfortable, but she holds you up regardless.

"please, please, i need to cum so bad," you whine, writhing in the bed and rolling your hips down.

"i'm sorry, what'd you say?" she asks, grinning as you release another whimper. "please, i've been so good, please lemme cum," you slur, wet tears coating your face.

she picks up her pace, the palm of her scarred hand rubbing up against your clit as she moves her hand. "c'mon, pet, let me watch you," she murmurs, pulling your head back so that she can look down at you.

"i wanna watch while you fall apart like the desperate whore you are," she says, holding your eyes with hers as she pulls you over the edge.

you release over her palm, whimpering and moaning loudly. "oh—mmm, thank you, thank you," you gasp out, clenching down around her fingers.

she slows down her movements, choosing a more languid pace as she helps you ride out the high.

she pulls her fingers from between your thighs and sucks them into her mouth, moaning as your taste hits her tongue. "there she is," she murmurs, leaning forward to press her lips to yours.

you moan at the taste of yourself, starting to squirm in your binds.

"come here, sweet pet," she coos, wrapping a hand your back as she helps you sit up. she works the ribbon off of your wrists first, stroking her thumb over them soothingly.

as you bring your hands up to run over her biceps and shoulders, she works diligently on getting your legs untied, as well. she helps you stretch them out, gently stroking her hands over them.

"you took me so well," she compliments, pressing her lips to yours gently once again. "what do you need?" she asks, slowly beginning to peel away the now dried wax.

"just hold me?" you request, which earns you an immediate nod from her. "let me clean you off first, my dear. you're going to get uncomfortable and grumpy if the wax stays on you for much longer," she chuckles.

and so you let her scrape the wax off, using a dull blade.

she'll scoop you up into her arms and settle back down on the bed with you, supporting your shaky hands as she makes you drink water.

once you're both comfortably lying down, she'll pull you on top of her, keeping a hand on the back of one of your thighs, and the other cradling the back of your head.

tag list:

@lexi2000 @supalcina-3 @pearldaisy

#arcane #ambessa x reader #ambessa medarda #fanfiction #arcane ambessa #ambessa smut

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