#it's so satisfying to me i just really like it so much

[paragonrobits]

honestly this whole thing being treated as an exclusive problem to superhero tropes in general, or implying that superheroes as a concept are inherently bad because I guess people assume they were specifically created to Keep The People Down or what-not, REALLY ANNOYS ME A LOT so this seems a good opportunity to make a point:

this trope is not specific to superheroes, and has been a thing for quite a while in fiction overall, specifically in TV and films (and at the risk of being snappy and letting irritation doing the talking, thus in mediums that get the most coverage and it makes people sound like a series doesn't exist if its not in TV or movies)

At its worst, this is basically a low-effort way to give a villain some nuance without putting much thought into it. It's not really meant to imply, at least in most cases, that their goal or motive is BAD, as some people seem to suggest. This is probably an outgrowth of the common idea of a villain being the hero of their own story; its common to suggest that a villain MUST have some kind of moral point or heroic quality to them, and that's basically where this comes up; its a less well-written handling of that concept by using it to get some pathos into a villain that can often be counterproductive.

I'm gonna go out on a limb here and suggest that its not suggesting that their cause is BAD; indeed, the writer implicitly means that their cause is good, because that's where the villains Good Cause Points come from; if it wasn't a good cause to them, they wouldn't be trying to humanize the villain by rooting them in that cause.

It's not exclusive to superheroes by any means, and the general trend predates the modern superhero genre in film and television, at least in the post-MCU sense.

The other point to be made is that sometimes, the supervillain isn't actually concerned by a problem at all, and they're just using it as an excuse to satisfy their own personal grudges, because it gets them support as they pursue their own goals, or because they're cynical manipulators who never gave a damn about that problem but it furthers their own goals to manipulate others who DO care about that problem.

There is also one other aspect; sometimes the villain does genuinely believe in solving a problem, but their understanding of it is completely divorced from reality, or their intended plans are inherently a bad thing. For example, lets take the common idea of Poison Ivy as a heroic eco-heroine fighting corporations who pollute the planet. All well and good, but Ivy actually doing that is an extreme outlier in her established character. More often than not, what she's actually doing it is causing massive destruction that gets a lot of completely unrelated people killed because her explicit end goal is the complete genocide of all human life, and at extremes, all ANIMAL life as well. This makes her a textbook ecofascist of the 'kill all people, especially the ones that have no power to do anything about ecological destruction' kind.

This is closer to the sort of villains you're actually likely to see; their stance on a problem is completely destructive, counterproductive and generally just kind of evil. Thats why heroes stop them; because their entire plan is to kill lots of people while making vague comments about 'x thing is the Real Evil' or something like that.

This, uh, also tends to be the actual nature of villains that fandoms often present as enlightened True Heroes unjustly antagonized by heroes. Almost every time, they only give lip service to any real goal and mostly just want to kill lots of people or do large scale disasters to satisfy their own grudges, and as such they're not really meant to be taken seriously.

And from another point of view, its like this: the reason we don't usually see the hero solving that problem is because that's not the focus of those sort of stories. If you're going in for an adventure story about someone with fantastical powers have action-filled showdowns with larger-than-life antagonists, its not really reasonable to expect it to suddenly swerve into a political treatsie about sociological phenomenon just because the villain of the week makes some vague references to societal ills as they start kicking orphans into a giant blender to fuel their giant robot that's going to burrow to the core of the earth and blow it up.

Its a fairly basic writing bit to give a villain some apparent nuance without having to do much more, and that's basically it. And to follow the metaphor, I don't think its really reasonable to give a go-ahead to the sort of person who kicks orphans into blenders just because they make some vague references to a greater good and then never follow up on it. As a villain, their only real purpose is to be an entertaining roadblock, rather than 'a hero but kinda edgy' as the term seems to become around some fandoms.

[salemlunaa]

❀˚܀stop stalling and admit you’re afraid ❀˚܀

it’s okay to be scared but you gotta know how to deal with it.

❀˚܀ ACT I | Admit to yourself you’ve been stalling

no you’re not being productive while scripting every single detail, i get that can be satisfying but when are you gonna lock in. Do you feel accomplished when you sit back up for the fifth time “before i induce let me script this ONE LAST thing”, just to wake up in your unfavourable story? again?

Although scripting puts so much joy in creating and shifting awareness to your new story, you need to admit to yourself that spending more time scripting trivial stuff than actually trying to induce pure consciousness can be harmful.

܀˚❀ ACT II | Look at the law

at this point we all know the law of assumption tells us to “assume as if to be that which you want to be”.

so assuming you have your dream life, are you sitting there upset about your circumstances, begging for an instant method of you were there. Would someone who’s just baked a cake sit there and script what the cake would look like and what flavours it would have, would they cry and get desperate for an instant cake-baking method?

Would someone who has successfully manifested blonde hair be binge watching “i hAvE bLoNdE hAiR ✨✨” subliminals, or would they spend time gushing over their hair and how beautiful and blonde it is, which is basically reaffirming what’s true: they have blonde hair.

Instead of stalling and be miserable, gush over your new story, actually apply the new fact that you’re in your dream life, apply he fact that you are a master at inducing the “I AM” state. Use what you know to reaffirm what’s true.

܀❀˚ACT III | It’s okay to be scared, how do we deal with this?

Sure it’s comforting to reduce yourself to a “failure” even after barely trying. You fell asleep one too many times so you run back to stalling, you don’t wanna let yourself down again. You “failed” and woke up in an undesirable state. You don’t want to go through that again so you stall and tell yourself that doomscrolling on tumblr and adding “one more thing” to the script is way more important, and that you’ll “do it later”

But I must warn you, this will lead you down a path where more time is wasted. And although time is a concept do you really want to spend a day more in your unfavourable environment? you could’ve have everything, an hour ago, yesterday, a few minutes ago, IF YOU APPLIED.

“But it’s not that easy…” according to who? who is assuming the that?

“But I always fall asleep and fail it’s not that simple…” according to who? your subconscious doesn’t know that so who is perpetuating that assumption over and over again?

“scripting feels so good tho lemme just try tonight” TRY? the operant power doesn’t try! and yes scripting is so fun, but more fun than living the dream?

i thought so.

as you can see you can flip these thoughts, you don’t have to be afraid of failure if you know failure doesn’t exist for you. you don’t have to stall when you succeed at everything you do, there’s no point in it.

so get off your ass and apply loves, this community is lovely but don’t stay here longer than you need to

🐅🌀 don’t be afraid and apply what you know

[wordsinhaled]

thinking of a scenario where when charles was little, his mum used to take care of his injuries and do the kissing-it-better thing, until he got older and his dad got wise to that and she couldn’t anymore. but it’s just something tiny that charles associates with comfort.

and so the first time, early on in the agency, that edwin gets badly hurt on a case and charles is patching him up, he leans in and presses a little kiss to the mostly-bandaged spot. it’s just the whole case gave him a scare, because he hadn’t seen edwin hurt bad before, and he’s just getting used to the fact that edwin’s his person, his to keep safe and he didn’t manage that this time, and in his distress he doesn’t even think twice.

edwin stiffens, and charles realizes he just kissed his best mate’s arm, and that’s not the sort of thing you do, is it, and maybe that’s really the sort of thing that’s going to get him knocked in the jaw. only edwin is just looking at him with curiosity, and edwin isn’t the sort of bloke who knocks people in the jaw but he is the type who could leave, could leave charles behind and... and now charles’s face is burning.

“sorry,” he chokes out, finishing the bandage hurriedly. “um, it’s just—something my mum used to do, y’know, kissing it better. when… um. when i’d get hurt as a kid, yeah? used to make me feel proper better, more than the plasters and all that. i know it’s silly, i didn’t think—”

“i did not mind it,” says edwin—who had never had any injury of his kissed better in his short life, and certainly not any of the damage he sustained over 73 years in hell.

“oh,” says charles. “that’s good, then.”

the next time edwin’s hurt it’s a significantly smaller injury, a really minor iron burn that’s already starting to look better even as charles applies the salve. he bandages it up anyway, though. but he’s surprised when edwin stays where he is once charles is done, still expectantly holding out his injured hand, not pulling away, as he usually does. and then he realizes that edwin is waiting for charles to kiss it better. and so he does—hesitant the whole time, in case he read edwin all wrong, up until edwin finally pulls his hand back seeming satisfied somehow, like charles has fulfilled some unspoken half of a bargain.

and that was twenty-some years ago. by now it’s just ingrained that every time charles tends to an injury of edwin’s, even one as minor as a paper cut from a page in edwin’s notebook, he kisses it better. edwin won’t move away until he does.

after edwin’s confession, things change. charles starts to notice that he feels a bit fluttery, the first time after hell that he leans in to press his lips to edwin’s scraped shoulder through a layer of bandage and the fabric of his shirt. and he tries to think nothing of it, only that then his mouth doesn’t connect with anything; because edwin has moved away, moved out of his reach, neatly risen out of the way of charles’s kiss so that he hovers, lips parted against empty air, feeling off-kilter and confused, something like hurt churning through him.

edwin had said he wanted nothing to change between them, and here edwin goes changing things himself. of course that hurts. but why does it hurt so much? and what was that fluttery feeling? and why can’t charles stop thinking about it?

[pixie-felix]

a/n: this fic has nothing to do with food.

why yes I did make these GIFs especially for this fic thank you for noticing

Something to read while we're waiting for the results of the no thoughts/hard thoughts poll. If you want a soundtrack, Hey Daddy (Daddy's Home) by Usher fits pretty well (no daddy kink in the fic though).

Smut under the cut, minors dni.

comfort eating.

You’d been staring at this damn code for so long you might’ve burned it into your eyeballs. Somewhere, in the distance, you’re vaguely aware of the apartment door opening and closing, and someone calling out that they're home.

But by now you’re so obsessed with trying to find whatever formatting fuck up you made, that even the metallic jingle of keys falling into the “let’s-not-lose-this-shit” bowl doesn’t bring you back into the real world.

It’s not until your laptop physically moves out of your hands that you realise. Chan is home.

Sitting on his heels in front of you, he gently picks the computer up off your lap, his expression a mixture of concern and understanding. One workaholic recognises another.

“Is everything backed up?” He too knows the pain of a well meaning friend trying to help by tidying up, and accidentally erasing hours of hard work.

“Cloud and hard drive. And external hard drive. Possibly tattooed on my retinas also." He nods and carefully sets it on the side table, snorting quietly when you get to the part about your eyeballs. The little crease between his brows remains though.

“You told me you were going to take today off…”

You'd only meant to do a few lines of code, just to check for errors and maybe add a function or two. And yet here you are, sitting in the exact same spot from this morning, neck and shoulders aching from being hunched over your laptop for…

7 hours.

Chan rests his chin on your knees, head tilted to the side as he looks up at you like a lost puppy.

“Baby…”

No. Wait. Puppies don't sound like that. Or look at you like that. Or rub soothing, promising circles with their thumbs on the bare skin of your calves.

You're suddenly very aware still in your pajamas. If you can call it that. Really it's just one of Chan's old t-shirts, the fabric worn soft, always smelling like him even though you slept in it- and not much else.

Yeah, Chan's definitely not giving you puppy eyes.

The wolf is here tonight.

And he wants to play. You can tell from the subtle smirk that quirks the corner of his mouth when you audibly swallow.

“How… how was work?”

“Long. Busy. Tiring.” He punctuates his sentences with slow kisses on your knees, the closed mouth kind that still manage to feel anything but chaste. “Jisung dyed his hair blue. Felix's is no longer blond. Hyunjin cut all his hair off. Someone said something about a kiwi fruit and now the stylists are all freaking out.”

His tone is light, almost absent minded, but his touch has progressed from soothing circles to something a little firmer, a little more… demanding. And as his hands slowly creep up your legs, you're fairly certain you know what he wants.

“Chan…”

“Yes, baby?” His lips stretch into something that could almost pass for an innocent smile, if it wasn't for the fact his fingers have worked their way up to the hem of his t-shirt, slowly teasing the fabric further up your legs.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Well…” his fingers sweep under the fabric, inching closer and closer to where arousal is bubbling in your belly, still carefully punctuating his words with kisses on your skin, “I figured, since we're both so... stressed…” his fingers finally brush against your panties and you shiver. “I could help you relax a little.”

“Wh-what a-about you?”

He’s tracing, teasing along the edges of your underwear, watching you bite your lip to keep your cool. He likes it when you try to stay quiet. It makes it so much more satisfying when you start crying his name like it's the only word you know.

And then the bastard licks up your thigh, tugging your panties down and saying the magic words:

“I thought I'd indulge in a little comfort eating.”

You didn't make it to the bedroom. You barely made it off the sofa. Instead, Chan just yanked you forward, laid back on the rug, and now you're riding his face in the middle of the living room. Making the kinds of noises you thought only existed in hardcore porn.

His arms are locked around your legs, holding you in place as he grinds you up and down on his tongue. Your hands are twisted into his hair, partly for balance, partly as an anchor… but mostly because when you tug on it Chan moans into your cunt and that feels so good.

He's already tongued you through one orgasm, licking you out like you are his favourite candy. He's so drunk on your pussy that he's murmuring the kind of filth that would usually make him blush -m’ baby tastes so GOOD, w’nna drown in thi’s pussy- though his words are almost completely obscured by the wet, sloppy sounds of him giving you the messiest head you've had in months.

It is amazing, and it's incredible, and Chan is clearly having the time of his life as another orgasm coils in your belly, ready to spring. But he's playing games with you now, teasing you with the gentlest flicks of his tongue, keeping that high juuuust out of reach.

Really, it's his fault that you can't help but yank his hair a little harder, grind down on his face harder, and then you're out of control, jerking your hips back and forth on his face until it hits.

And oh boy how it hits, gushing all over Chan's face, ripping all your dignity away as you buck your hips into his tongue, chasing the high rushing through you from your head to your toes.

You don't always squirt, but Chan loves it when you do.

His moans almost drown out yours, so loud he's practically shouting, definitely disturbing the neighbours with the string of enthusiastic cuss words and filth pouring off his tongue (that's right baby, cum on my face, fucking drown me in your cunt, jesus fucking christ-)

It takes you a minute to come back to yourself, Chan still desperately eating you out, working his tongue all over you like he's trying to lick you clean.

But the more he uses his tongue the wetter you get, the more your hips shake, and the closer you are to another orgasm.

One you're not sure you can handle.

You try to lift up a little, give him space to breathe, and your man straight up growls at you, yanking you back down on his face and sucking on you harsh enough to make you yelp. Reminding you who is in charge, he grazes your clit with just the gentlest scrape of his teeth...

And that orgasm you weren't ready for? Hits you like a railway train. You're aching and overstimulated and absolutely powerless to do anything other than thrash around and cry as Chan keeps sucking on your goddamned clit like the devil himself couldn't stop him.

You might've blacked out for a second. Or three.

It's only when you finally come to a gasping, shuddering stop that Chan finally gives you the two gentle taps on your ass that mean you can get off his face now (safewords aren't really an option when your mouth is full).

Except you're so worn out from relentless overstimulation that it's less of a dismount and more just you collapsing in a graceless heap, legs shaking and thighs aching from being held apart for so long.

Boneless and pliant, it's no effort at all for Chan to scoop you up into his arms and carry you princess style to your shared bedroom. You're barely awake as he tucks you into bed and crawls in beside you, nuzzling your hair as you curl up into his chest.

You've almost asleep when a Very Important Thought occurs

“Channie…”

“Yeah baby?”

“You didn't get to cum. Don't you need to cum? Y’wanna blowjob or sumthin’?”

Chan huffs a quiet laugh into your hair. You're so cute when your words are all sleep slurred.

“I already got what I wanted.”

You’re mumbling something about not playin' fair and don't w’nna be selfish, but you're practically unconscious anyway so he just kisses the top of your head and pulls you closer into his chest.

“You can make it up to me in the morning, if it bothers you so much.”

*It turns out that you will in fact, not be making it up to Chan in the morning. Because when he finds all the carpet burn on your knees, he has a minor breakdown and refuses to let you do anything all day.

Urgh, I feel like this is way, way too short, too rushed, and just generally had the potential to be so much better 😂😭 But I wanted to get it it out of my drafts before it gets lost in the poll fics. I wrote this on my phone, so it's probably riddled with spelling and formatting errors 😂 please forgive me. It's hard to write when the house is full and privacy is limited. Just 3 more days until the No Thoughts/Hard Thoughts closes 👀 thank you to everyone that's voted or shown interest, I hope my writing doesn't let you down.

p.s. I was gonna start this fic with the following GIF but not everyone wants a giggle with their word🍤 so that wouldn't have been very cash money of me.

m.list

hard thoughts poll

tagslist is open

[stardustandash]

How many fics have you worked on since January?

Worked on about 55? I think? Its hard to calculate as I posted whumptober and febuwhump as individual stories but they exist in one doc each on my computer. I've worked on 6 fics that are either as of yet unposted, unprinted in a zine, or just lost unfinished limbo (I need to work on my merrin-focused post nur fic omg)

2. What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year?

I guess I've tried to play more with present vs past tense, and finishing multichapter fics before posting. Did try out a time loop for the first time during whumptober and had fun with that!

3. What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.)

I feel like Star Wars is the pretty obvious answer, though right at the end of the year here comes Dragon Age with a steel chair after 4 years of not really being involved in the fandom

4. How many fandoms did you write for this year?

Seven, I think! Jedi Fallen Order & Survivor, The Bad Batch, Dragon Age Inquisition & Veilguard, FFXV, FFXVI, Horizon Zero Dawn & Forbidden West, and Twisted Wonderland

5. What ships captured your heart?

As a gen writer its rare for ships to catch me, but thank you Veilguard for giving me Rook x Harding, and M!Rook x Emmrich. (Not a fan of F!Rook x Emmrich sorry yall)

7. What characters captured your heart?

As always Cal remains number 1 in my heart. I love him so much, along with the whole Mantis crew <3 For new this year, I am bewitched body and soul by the Veilguard crew. The writers were cooking with all of them, they're all amazing!!

8. Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year?

...Does Veilguard count lol? For new fandoms I wrote one FFXVI fic early in the year.

I've got two fics for Rook x Harding and one wip for Rook x Emmrich as new ships!

9. What fic meant the most to you to write?

That's a hard question!! I think I poured a lot of my own personal emotional anguish into a lot of the fics I wrote this year. It's been a rough year for many reasons, and writing out all that angsty hurt/comfort helped a lot

10. What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

I think finishing 'what makes a family' was honestly one of the best feelings ever! And the fact that I still get comments on it from time to time about people binge-reading it.

11. What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

I guess I could go with the above, but actually completing whumptober was pretty satisfying.

12. What fic was the most difficult to write?

'i do not love the bright sword for its sharpness' is at the top of this pile. i think about it constantly but actually writing it is proving super difficult, and it remains unfinished...

13. What fic was the easiest to write?

The one for the Pabu Days zine!! I wrote the first draft in just over an hour, and it was about 1k too many words lol

14. What were your shortest and longest fics posted this year?

of the ones written entirely in this year, 'take a breath before the plunge' wins with its 11k words. If we count just completed this year, 'what makes a family' wins at just shy of 70k

The shortest was one of the whumptober fics, 'where flesh and metal meet'

15. What were your go-to writing songs?

The Horizon games' soundtracks! Less of a song list, but there's too many to put in here.

What was the hardest fic to title?

...all of them. Titling things is the hardest part of writing fics

16. What's your favorite title of the year?

Love and Blood Both Run Red, or maybe Cold But For Your Company

17. Share your favorite opening line

In some way, Tech thinks, it is poetic to die for his family.

From here, at the bottom

18. Share your favorite ending line

He turned, and came face to face with a skull staring back at him. There were holes through the skull, and though everything had been decayed by time, Cal could still see that the skeleton wore Jedi robes.

From then there was nothing

19. Share your favorite piece of dialogue

ooh i don't know! If its humorous then assume its one of my favourites

20. Share your funniest line

see above

21. What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

I think being able to slip back into old fandoms and characters for whumptober was a surprise. it didn't change the story but it was surprisingly quick to get back into things i hadn't touched in years

22. What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand?

I use microsoft word for all my fics. which isn't great for longform fic and probably why i don't write too much of it

23. If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

Again, actually managing to complete whumptober felt really good!! I've never managed to finish a writing challenge like that so it was a really proud moment

24. Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

I don't think I've ever done anything?? Though I am thinking about starting a lil scrapbook of comments or smth like that

25. How did you recharge between fics?

what is this recharge you speak of? I am either possessed by ideas that demand attention or left in a drought of creativity

26. Did you create fanworks other than fic?

I do playlists for myself sometimes. I have ones for Cal, Crosshair, and Omega right now. I constantly wish i had the patience to improve my art skills to do fanart

27. How many events did you take part in? (bangs, exchanges, ship weeks, zines, prompt memes, they all count!)

4 if you count febuwhump and whumptober. I'm in a Bad Batch zine that's in preorders right now - Pabu Days, and participating in a fic/art exchange for new years for Twisted Wonderland

28. If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

firstly I'd like to thank my cat for being the one to hear me talk out plot points and details. I'd also like to thank @pennflinn and @breakfastteatime for being both supportive of all my j:fo fics as well as being inspirations themselves in that fandom! And the whole j:fo fandom at large for being awesome and supportive of each other's works. And I need to mention @fanfoolishness for joining me in not one, not two, but THREE! fandoms here!! As well, shoutout to @shadowcrow for yelling on my rook x harding fics! it's a small corner of the fandom but at least it's got you there!

29. What's left on your to-do list for 2024?

Finish this fic for the new years exchange, and get another chapter of Blood and Love Both Run Red up! Though it may only be one of those that happens...

30. What would you like to write next year?

I wanna finish bright sword and get that post nur Merrin fic postable! And since I'm currently consumed by Veilguard I wanna write more of that next year too!

A slightly revised version of last year's questions! Two ways to play: Reblog and have your followers send you numbers, or answer the whole list!

How many fics have you worked on since January?

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year?

What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.)

How many fandoms did you write for this year?

What ships captured your heart?

What characters captured your heart?

Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year?

What fic meant the most to you to write?

What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

What fic was the most difficult to write?

What fic was the easiest to write?

What were your shortest and longest fics posted this year?

What were your go-to writing songs?

What was the hardest fic to title?

What's your favorite title of the year?

Share your favorite opening line

Share your favorite ending line

Share your favorite piece of dialogue

Share your funniest line

What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand?

If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

How did you recharge between fics?

Did you create fanworks other than fic?

How many events did you take part in? (bangs, exchanges, ship weeks, zines, prompt memes, they all count!)

If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

What's left on your to-do list for 2024?

What would you like to write next year?

[zephyrchama]

Seeing Satan interact with strays around the RAD campus gives you an idea. You decide to try it out when he's alone in the household library later.

As usual, he invites you to sit with him. When no one else is around, it's fine if you sit in his lap. It's your special privilege.

You take a peek at what he's reading. It looks boring, though his eyes are glued to the page. His blue irises shift in the light as they go back and forth across the page. It's a pretty sight.

When you raise a hand to his cheek, Satan leans his face into your palm. A natural gesture. He doesn't even look up. It signals the perfect time to put your plan into action. You begin to move your fingertips, gently scratching around the bottom of his ear in small circles. Just barely grazing his skin with your nails.

He stiffens with a look of pure confusion. Concentration broken, his gaze is finally directed at you.

Now that he's not distracted by the novel, your other hand makes its way to the crown of his head for more scritches. You go back and forth, mimicking the satisfying way Satan always does it to the strays around town. His soft blonde hair parts easily as you lightly scratch at his scalp.

"What do you think you're doing?" A blush spreads across his entire face, from cheek to ear. Perhaps your experiment went too far.

"I thought you'd like this," you admit. It seems to have the opposite effect, though. Instead of relaxing, Satan was straining his entire body. His grip on the chair's arm dug into its upholstery. You drop your hands and opt to lean against him instead.

He places his book aside. "I do. Why did you stop?"

"Really?" With newfound confidence, you graze two fingernails against the bottom of his chin, working in small zig zags. "So you like this?"

His breathing turns erratic. Satan grabs your wrist in an oddly strong hold and orders, "wait. Not here."

In a rush, he clutches you against his chest and stands up. There's so much force behind his movement, the armchair skids back several paces. It'll be faster if Satan carries you, and you can keep scratching his chin while he walks.

"Come with me, we'll try this out again in my room."

[mggslover]

How the Unsub Stole Christmas ❆

A Holiday to Remember: part 2

In which the BAU's holiday getaway takes a dark turn when a family is found murdered on Christmas, forcing the team to investigate while reader struggles with painful memories of her past and her growing, unspoken feelings for Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader Genre: crime, angst, smut (18+), fluff, found family Content warnings: graphic cm case descriptions!!, mentions of shitty childhood, reader getting in some unsub trouble, oral (f receiving), p in v sex. Word count: 9k 🫣 i swear it reads really fast A/n: read part 1 first! writing this story genuinely brought me so much joy, and i hope you will experience the same while reading this. this will be my last fic for the year 2024, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the support, i can't wait to see what the new year will bring for this blog. don't forget to interact with this post if you've enjoyed! 🎄🤍 dividers by @issysh3ll

It shouldn’t have surprised you that you’d be called out for another case. Still, the disappointment lingered thick in the air.

“It was fun while it lasted,” Garcia murmured softly, her tone sad. JJ wrapped an arm around her, bringing her in for a side hug. “Don’t worry,” she reassured gently. “The trip isn’t over yet.”

Penelope seemed satisfied enough with that answer, but then spoke up again. “I don’t want to stay here on my own. It’s spooky knowing someone got murdered just miles away.”

“You can come with us to the station. Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss and Y/L/N, you’ll head to the crime scene. A deputy will be waiting for you there.” Hotch instructed. 

You exhaled softly and gave a brief nod. Spencer glanced over at you, his eyes filled with that quiet empathy you’d come to recognize over the years.

“Good luck,” he said, his voice low but sincere.

“Thanks,” you replied, your words equally soft. “You too.”

Half an hour later, you arrived at the crime scene. The neighborhood was so small it hardly felt like one—just a handful of houses scattered across large, snow-dusted plots of land. It looked peaceful, almost idyllic, as if nothing could ever disturb the calm. The street was adorned with Christmas lights and festive decorations. The only thing slightly out of place was a crack in the bench beside one of the houses. Otherwise, the neighborhood looked like it had stepped right out of a holiday card.

As you stepped out of the car, you noticed the few neighbors who hadn’t yet been driven inside by the cold. They stood in clusters in front of their homes, bundled up in scarves and coats, watching the scene unfold with cautious curiosity.

You looked over at Prentiss. “We should start doing some interviews—maybe send a few of them over to the station.”

She nodded, her expression focused. “Got it.” Without another word, she made her way toward them.

You followed Rossi and Derek toward the red wooden house, where the Deputy awaited by the front door. He looked young—probably around your age. 

Rossi introduced you to Deputy Wilson. Wilson gave a sheepish smile, “Sorry it’s just me. Almost the whole department is unavailable because of the holidays.”

“Convenient timing for a murder,” you mused.

“The scene’s been left as it was when we found it,” Wilson continued. “The back door’s been forced open, and you can see boot prints in the snow leading to the backyard.”

Morgan immediately stepped forward. “I’ll get a shot of those prints for Garcia,” he said, already heading toward the backyard.

Wilson looked at you and Rossi. “You want to take a look inside?”

You paused before heading in, shaking the snow from your boots and making sure not to use the doormat—the one engraved with the names of the family members. It felt wrong, almost disrespectful, to dirty the only thing that might be left of them. 

You took in a sharp breath as you entered the house. Your gaze was first taken by the large Christmas tree standing in the corner of the living room, decorated in red and gold. But then you noticed the bloody mess underneath it. Four bodies—two adults and two children—lay scattered on the floor, broken Christmas ornaments surrounding them, as though the killer had dropped them carelessly after his violent act. The mother and father were draped over each other, their throats slit cleanly. The teenage daughter, too, had her throat cut, but her body was twisted in a way that didn’t seem accidental. The small boy—no older than ten—was slumped between them, his face frozen in an expression of terror, a look that would haunt you for days.

The scene before you was a sickening parody of a perfect Christmas. But the most disturbing part wasn’t the carnage—it was their faces. Each of them wore a grotesque, unnerving smile, painted onto their lips in blood. It was a mockery of joy, an image of happiness forced onto the dead.

You felt a wave of nausea rise in your throat and turned away, needing a moment to breathe. It was then that you noticed the walls, once filled with smiling family photos were now smeared with blood. Shattered frames lay scattered on the floor, as if the killer had intentionally destroyed the family’s history, piece by piece. 

Rossi spoke first. “The unsub who stole Christmas,” he mused, his tone almost playful despite the grim reality.

You gave a sharp exhale, a brief scoff escaping your lips. “Yeah, you could say that.”

You put on your gloves and picked up a shattered picture frame from the floor. You handed it to Rossi without a word. He took it, studying it for a moment before speaking again. “One thing’s for sure—this wasn’t just a murder. This is deeply personal.”

You nodded, scanning the room. The starkness of the crime scene was still sinking in, but your mind was already running through the facts. “The execution was meticulous,” you murmured, your gaze flickering over the room, “but the aftermath... messy. The unsub rushed out of here—didn’t even bother closing the back door behind him, and those footprints? Almost like he didn’t care at all about leaving evidence. We might even get lucky and find DNA on the bodies.”

Rossi considered it. “It could be that he was in a hurry. In a small neighborhood like this, people will notice anything out of the ordinary. He probably knew he had to move fast.”

You hummed in return. “It still doesn’t add up. You can’t plan a murder with this much detail and then completely overlook how to cover your tracks afterward.”

You took another slow turn around the room, examining the details. Every piece seemed to add to the strange puzzle, but none of it fit together. As you passed the fireplace, something caught your eye: a piece of paper tucked into one of the stockings. You reached for it carefully, your fingers brushing the corner stained with blood.

You unfolded it with precision, revealing the scrawled words in black ink. The sentence was short and written in Latin, a language you hadn’t encountered in years. You stared at it, furrowing your brow as you tried to make sense of it.

“You wouldn’t happen to know Latin, would you?” You asked Rossi, half-joking, though the seriousness in your voice remained.

Rossi looked up, his expression a mix of confusion and dry humor. “Does it look like I know Latin?”

You smiled, already pulling your phone out of your pocket and speed dialing Spencer. As the phone rang, you turned your attention back to the paper, the blood spatter still making your stomach turn.

“Hey,” you breathed out as he picked up the phone after the second ring.

“Hey,” Spencer replied. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft with concern, your single syllable being enough for him to decipher how you feel.

You glanced over your shoulder at the murdered family, swallowing hard before turning away. “I will be,” you responded. Once that fucker is behind bars.

You straightened, pushing the thoughts away, and focused on the task at hand. “I’ve just found a piece of paper at the crime scene. It’s a text written in Latin. I figured it’d be quicker to ask you than wait for Garcia to look it up.”

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment. “Good call. What does it say?”

You glanced at the paper again, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar words. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line before Spencer spoke, his voice calm but precise. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse. ‘Now they know you’re not perfect.’” His perfect Latin pronunciation made you wince at how poorly you’d read it.

“What’s that supposed to mean? A taunt?”

Spencer’s voice was thoughtful. “Sounds like he’s trying to prove something. It’s definitely personal.”

You exchanged a look with Rossi, who was standing nearby, holding the broken picture frame. “Yeah, that’s what we’ve been thinking. Whoever this unsub is, he knows the Reynolds family intimately.”

“Garcia’s already digging into the family’s background,” Spencer replied without missing a beat, already a step ahead.

“Good,” you muttered, relief washing over you for a moment. “How are things going over there?”

“JJ’s been trying to reach family, but they don’t live nearby,” Spencer answered. “A snowstorm hit. I’ve been tracking the meteorological data, and the chances of them making it are close to zero.” 

You nodded, a dull ache settling in your chest. “Well, I’m going to keep looking around here. The bodies will be picked up soon to go to the lab, and then I’ll be heading over to the station.”

“Alright,” Spencer replied, his tone warmer now. “I’ll see you there. Be careful.”

“Always am,” you said, offering a small smile even though he couldn’t see it.

The words on the note kept drifting through your mind. Maybe it was the sentiment that came with Christmas—or maybe it was the fact that, up until now, you were having a perfect holiday, something you never thought you’d get to experience—that made the scene remind you of your childhood. How everything looked so joyous from the outside, especially during the holidays. But if you looked closely, you’d see the cracks. The ornaments on the tree, hastily glued together, their edges jagged and uneven. The hole in the wall, cleverly concealed behind your stocking. 

You were probably overthinking it. After all, it wasn’t the family that was broken like yours was—it was the unsub who had shattered their picture-perfect life.

Rossi’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You okay, kid?”

You blinked, pulling yourself out of the past and into the present. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.”

You and Rossi walked into the secluded room the Sheriff had arranged for the team, exchanging your findings with Morgan and Prentiss along the way. You’d made a quick stop at a Chinese takeaway to grab food for everyone, knowing the team needed fuel for the long hours ahead.

The rest of the team was already seated around the table, and Reid was in the middle of showing Hotch something on the map of the neighborhood.

“Oh, you guys are the best!” Penelope sighed, her voice full of appreciation as she caught sight of the plastic bags you were carrying.

“We couldn’t leave you to go hungry,” Emily responded with a grin.

You took a seat closest to where Spencer was standing, and he naturally slid into the chair beside you. You reached into the bag and pulled out the only plastic fork, knowing he’d struggle with chopsticks. He flashed you a grateful, closed-lip smile as he took it from you.

Once everyone had filled their plates, the conversation turned back to the case.

“Garcia dug up some useful info,” JJ began. “Stephen Reynolds owned a construction company that’s on the verge of going bankrupt. It’s possible the unsub was an employee who got fired—or was cut loose because the company couldn’t afford him anymore.”

“It seems like the whole family was targeted,” you added, leaning forward. “The note was left in one of the children’s stockings. It doesn’t feel like the murder was just directed at Stephen.”

“That’s why we need to find out more about the Reynolds family outside of their neighborhood,” Hotch said. “The employees at the construction company could have insight. It’s clear the neighbors aren’t going to give us much.”

Rossi’s eyes narrowed, a skeptical look on his face. “Did they really not give you anything? The neighbors, I mean.”

Prentiss shook her head. “Nothing useful. They kept insisting that the Reynolds’s were a perfect family. They even seemed offended when I pressed for more.”

“That doesn’t sit right. The note specifically mentioned how the Reynolds’s are not perfect.” Rossi replied. 

“I gotta give it to them, though,” Garcia chimed in. “The Reynolds’s are model citizens. The parents were both heavily involved in charity, and the kids have won multiple prizes in spelling bees and other competitions.”

“Has anything bad ever happened in that neighborhood?” Morgan asked, clearly skeptical about the idea of perfection.

Penelope clicked away on her laptop. “Well, there was a fire in one of the houses about ten years ago, because of damaged Christmas lights.” She made a sad face as she continued searching. “Oh, and a cat got stuck in a tree once… didn’t make it.”

“What happened to the family in the house?” Spencer asked.

Penelope’s fingers paused over the keys. “Uh, let me see… The Eriksens died from smoke inhalation. Oh… this is sad. They left a child, Christopher Eriksen. He was put into foster care when he was just eight.”

“Did the Reynolds’s live there when that happened?” JJ asked.

“Yeah, they did. Actually, they organized a fundraiser to build a bench with the parents’ names engraved on it, in their memory.”

You felt your pulse quicken at the mention of the bench. Something about it seemed strangely familiar, but you couldn’t trust your mind right now—not with everything still scattered from the case, and the ghosts of your past tugging at the edges of your thoughts.

You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, but you decided to ignore it, keeping your focus on Hotch as he spoke up. 

“It’s best if we head back to the cabin to rest up,” he said. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and the station’s closing tonight so everyone can spend time with their families.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, the relief of getting some rest evident on their faces. But as the team began gathering their things, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in your chest. You hated the idea of putting the case on hold, even if it was just for the night. The face of that little boy kept haunting your thoughts, his wide eyes silently pleading for answers, for peace. You couldn’t help but feel like you were letting him down.

Spencer’s hand snakes up on your shoulder, his warm hold holding you in place. His lips barely moved as he mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, shaking your head.

The entire car ride had been silent. Spencer’s gaze would occasionally flicker over to you in the backseat, but you kept your eyes fixated on the road, watching the scenery blur past.

The silence stretched on as you said your goodnights to the rest of the team and walked toward your shared room with Spencer. As you both got ready for bed, there was an unspoken tension hanging in the air. Now, lying in the king-sized bed, you both stared up at the ceiling, the quiet stillness between you thick with unspoken words.

“When are we finally going to talk about what’s wrong?” Spencer’s voice broke the silence, careful but insistent.

You stayed quiet for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. “Nothing’s wrong,” you replied, your words coming out a little too quickly.

“There’s obviously something wrong,” he pressed gently. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know,” you answered, your voice softer now, more honest. Usually, Spencer never had to press. There was something about him—something warm and patient—that made it easy to open up, to share your thoughts without fear of judgment. But this time, it felt different. It wasn’t just the case. It felt personal, something you couldn’t fully explain.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” you said, thinking aloud. “It’s just… something’s off. And I don’t know if it’s just me.”

“What do you feel?” His question was quiet, but his concern was clear.

You hesitated. “It sounds stupid,” you muttered, brushing it off.

“Nothing you could say would sound stupid to me.” His words, soft and sincere, made your chest tighten with warmth. You turned your head to look at him, noticing the closeness between you, the way his gaze lingered on you.

“You thought it was stupid that I shower at 115 degrees,” you said with a playful smile.

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, the tension easing just a little. “I don’t think it’s stupid that you like it,” he said, his voice gentle. “I just think it’s stupid that you’d risk hurting yourself over it.”

His eyes warmly looked at you. One hand rested underneath his pillow as he lay on his side. You turned toward him, mirroring his position.

"I’m really struggling with this case," you softly admitted, trying to keep eye contact, though your gaze flickered down, betraying the weight of your words.

“Was it hard seeing the crime scene?”

"Yeah," you choked out, your throat tight. You blinked quickly to try to stop the tears that threatened to spill. “It was... it was horrible.”

His hand reached out to gently rub your bare arm under the blanket. "It’s completely normal to feel affected by what you saw," he began, his voice steady but laced with the kind of empathy that only someone like him could offer. "Witnessing something as violent and horrific as the bodies of two children—it’s traumatic. The brain processes trauma in complex ways, especially when it involves young victims. According to studies in neuropsychology, traumatic experiences, particularly those involving children, can cause the brain to release a surge of stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. This flood of chemicals can lead to acute emotional responses, such as anxiety and flashbacks.”

“I’ve been experiencing flashbacks,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. You met his gaze, looking for reassurance, and he gave you the space to speak, waiting patiently. “It actually started earlier today, when we arrived at the cabin. I’ve never experienced a Christmas like this, you know, the kind that feels warm and joyful. I- I don’t know if I’m making connections that aren’t there, but the feeling I had in that house was the same feeling I used to get when I was growing up.”

He tilted his head. "What feeling?"

“...Jealousy.”

His eyebrows knitted. “Jealousy?”

You nodded, swallowing hard, gathering your thoughts. “You could feel so much rage in there. Everything that made the home feel homey—that warmth, that love—was completely shattered. The way the unsub positioned the family members under the Christmas tree, the way the note was tucked into the stocking… There’s a reason for it. Christmas represents this idealized view of perfection. I don’t think the message was to prove that the company going bankrupt is some sort of imperfection in the family’s picture-perfect life. No, it feels like the unsub was jealous of their happiness. Of the fact that they had a family who seemed perfect—something he never had. He wanted to destroy it. To ruin their happiness. He could never have it, so he shattered the illusion of perfection entirely.”

Spencer was quiet for a moment, processing your words. “So you think the Reynolds’s were targeted as surrogates?”

“I guess so. But you don’t just stumble across a neighborhood as desolate as theirs.” you responded.

“It could still be one of the employees of the construction company. If Stephen bragged about his perfect family to the wrong person, it could have triggered something.”

You hummed in agreement, but Spencer could see there was more on your mind. He raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

“As I got older, I learned that blaming others wasn’t going to make me feel any better about my situation. It’s like the unsub hasn’t realized that yet. The way he executed this crime—it’s almost like a child throwing a tantrum. He was so meticulous in setting everything up, and then once he got what he wanted, he just… walked away. There was no care for the aftermath, no consideration of what would happen afterward.”

“Do you think the unsub could still be a child?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Your mind clicked, and for the first time, the puzzle pieces seemed to fit together. “How old was the kid when he was put into foster care?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

“Eight. Why?” Spencer's confusion was evident.

“It’s been ten years since that house caught fire. That would make him eighteen now, and—"

Spencer’s eyes widened as realization struck. “And that he just got out of foster care.”

"Exactly," you said, rolling out of bed and storming downstairs.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Spencer called after you, quickly grabbing his cardigan from the chair in the corner of the room before hurrying to catch up.

“Be quiet, I don’t want to wake anyone.” You instructed, feeling Spencer’s presence behind you as you moved toward the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” he hissed in a whisper as you opened Garcia’s laptop on the table. You didn’t respond, your fingers already flying over the keys as you settled into a chair.

Spencer huffed, knowing full well there was no stopping you once your mind was set. He hovered behind you, draping the cardigan over your shoulders. “I’m not covering for you if Garcia finds out,” he warned, glancing over your shoulder at the screen.

“That’s fine. I know exactly what to say to win her over,” you said nonchalantly, clicking away. In your mind, the image of Spencer in the shower was still vivid—a story you could easily use to distract Penelope if it came to that.

You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you found the file. “Here it is,” you muttered, eyes scanning the information on Christopher Eriksen. You clicked to open it fully, Spencer already reading ahead of you.

“They found bruises all over his body when he was put into foster care,” he read aloud, his voice tense as the words sank in.

You leaned forward, your breath catching. “This is it,” you murmured. “His parents— they must’ve bought into that ‘perfect family’ image of the neighborhood, but behind closed doors, they were hiding this. Can you imagine what it must’ve been like for him? Everyone thinking his parents were saints, while they were hurting him? All the while, they’re the ones who get a memorial bench, their lives celebrated while they tortured him.”

“It was on Christmas that he was put into foster care. Now, it’s the first Christmas since he’s been out. It makes sense to go back to the place where it all started,” Spencer concluded.

“I need to go there,” you said urgently, slamming the laptop shut.

“Have you lost your mind?!” Spencer asked, bewildered. He immediately followed you as you rushed to the door, still in your pajamas. “You’re not seriously planning on going out like that?”

“It’s just a quick peek. I need to see if I was right about the bench,” you said, almost to yourself, already focused on the task ahead. You didn’t even glance behind you as you pulled on your shoes and yanked open the front door, wrapping Spencer’s cardigan tighter around yourself to ward off the cold.

In moments like these, Spencer knew exactly who had trained you. You were unmistakably like Gideon—determined, single-minded, and often impulsive once your mind was set. And that, in turn, always left Spencer in a state of mild panic.

“You can’t drive at night,” he said, his voice rising with concern as he followed you into the snow-covered yard. “You have nyctalopia!”

You didn’t stop, your focus unwavering. “You should take night-blindness seriously, it takes forever for your pupils to dilate, and by that time, you’ve already missed the stop sign or, I don’t know, hit a pothole or something. Your contrast sensitivity goes down, so objects blend into the background, and—did I mention the glare from headlights? Because that’s a huge problem, and it makes it worse! You’re already having trouble seeing, and now the glare from every car that passes is just blinding you. It's like trying to navigate in a fog, but it’s just light fog, which—okay, that’s a really bad analogy, but you get the point!”

His words fell into the background as you continued walking, your mind fully occupied with proving your theory. The case had been driving you mad. If you could just confirm that the bench was broken—that Christopher was the one who’d done it in a moment of anger—everything would click. The case would be solved. You’d give the Reynolds family peace. And, selfishly, you’d give yourself peace.

“Please,” Spencer begged, now standing in front of the car door, blocking your path. “If you’re going, at least let me drive.”

His comment made you halt in front of the car. “You hate driving,” you pointed out.

“I’d rather be uncomfortable for a few minutes than risk something happening to you,” he admitted.

You stared at him, feeling a surge of gratitude for how much he cared, how he believed your theory and was willing to go along with you. 

You reached out and took his hands. It was a gesture he rarely tolerated from anyone, but you’d learned over the years that Spencer appreciated it when it came from you. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Thanks, Spence,” you said softly, the words simple but your voice full of appreciation.

He swallowed, his eyes softening as he nodded. “We’ll just take a quick look, right?”

“I swear,” you promised, a reassuring smile tugging at your lips. “Just a quick look.”

He sighed, still clearly uneasy but unwilling to argue. You handed him the car keys and moved to the passenger side, sliding into the seat. 

—————

Spencer slowed the car as you neared the familiar area, the headlights casting long shadows over the snowy driveway.

"Let’s stop the car here," you suggested. The thought crossed your mind just in time—it would be very inappropriate to drive into a quiet neighborhood with an unknown car at this hour, especially after a murder had taken place.

You and Spencer stepped out of the car, the cold biting at your skin as you walked side by side. You stayed close to him, partly to keep warm, partly to follow his tracks through the snow, the dark pressing in around you. The Christmas lights that had lit up the neighborhood earlier were now off, leaving everything shrouded in an eerie quiet.

You made your way to the bench. Your hand skimmed over the smooth wood, lingering on the top right corner where you felt a distinct break—something sharp and jagged where a piece had clearly been broken off. You exhaled in relief. You were right.

Spencer’s hand shot out to gently grab your wrist, his fingers warm against the cold night air. "Careful," he said, his voice low but insistent. "You don’t want splinters. Stay here, I’ll grab a flashlight from the car."

You nodded, watching as his footsteps faded into the distance, swallowed by the thick darkness around you.

Alone now, you scanned the area. Everything was still and silent, save for the occasional crunch of snow beneath your feet. Your eyes were drawn to a dim light flickering from inside the rebuilt house where the Eriksens used to live, just past the bench. Curiosity nudged you forward, and before you could second-guess yourself, your feet were already moving toward the light.

You crept closer to the window, standing on your toes to peer inside. The house was barely furnished, still very much in the process of being worked on before it could be sold. You pressed your hands against the cold glass, forming makeshift goggles with your fingers, your face just inches away from the window as you tried to get a better look.

A sudden pressure on your stomach snapped you out of your thoughts. Before you could react, an arm tightened around your waist, yanking you away from the glass. For a brief moment you thought Spencer was playing some kind of prank, trying to startle you—but the movement was so fast and forceful, you knew Spencer would never grab you that aggressively.

Your gasp caught in your throat, immediately silenced as a cold, rough hand clamped over your mouth. Panic surged, but your body went stiff when the sharp edge of a knife pressed to your throat. You didn’t need any further confirmation that this was the unsub.

"I don’t know who you are," the voice rasped, low and dangerous, his breath hot and heavy in your ear. "But you shouldn’t have shown up here."

The tension in his voice was unmistakable. You could feel his rage, his plan disrupted by your unexpected presence. Every instinct screamed at you to fight back, but you remained frozen, knowing that one wrong move could end it all.

“I didn’t plan on killing anyone innocent, but you’ve put yourself in this situation,” he spat, his grip tightening on the knife.

In that fleeting moment, you made a decision. Taking a leap of faith, you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his palm. The sudden bite startled him, and by sheer luck, he loosened his grip on the weapon.

“Christopher!” You shouted, the name ringing out with urgency.

It was enough to catch him off guard. In that instant, you turned, quickly positioning yourself with a better angle. He was taller than you—still, just a boy, consumed by something far beyond his control. His pain was evident, lurking beneath the fury in his eyes. You knew this wasn’t what he wanted. 

“Who are you?” His voice was strained, the words gripping with suspicion and confusion.

“I’m here to help you,” you said sincerely, keeping your voice steady.

“No, you’re not,” he denied.

“I swear I am. I know what happened to you. I know what your parents did to you.”

Without warning, he shoved you hard against the house. Your head slammed into the window, a sharp pain exploding in your skull. “You don’t know anything!” he screamed.

“I do, Christopher. I do!” The words came from a place of desperation, your breath ragged. “I understand. I know how much this eats at you, how alone you feel because you’re the only one who knows the truth. But it doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to hurt anyone else. The truth will come out. People will know what your parents did, what really happened here. You’ll get what you want, the world will see that they’re not perfect.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something soft, vulnerable. 

“They all knew what happened!” He said in anger, pointing at the houses surrounding you. “They all knew and no one said anything!” He shook his head, “I’ll never get what I want. It’s too late for that.” he muttered bitterly.

Despite his words, you felt a flicker of hope. He was talking. He was listening. That had to count for something.

“It’s not too late, Christopher,” you said, your voice gentle but firm. “I thought the same thing once. But family… family isn’t just the people you’re born to. You can build your own, one that will love you despite everything. I’ve got that family now.”

He swallowed hard, his face momentarily flickering with doubt. “I wish I could believe you,” he said, his voice quiet, tinged with regret.

And then, in a flash, his arm shot out. Instinctively, you braced yourself, squeezing your eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable strike.

As the seconds stretched on, memories—both regrets and cherished moments—flashed before your eyes, a cruel reminder of everything you had to lose.

But then, a loud thud echoed in the night. Christopher crumpled to the ground, his body going limp. You whipped your head up, heart in throat, and saw Spencer standing behind him, the butt of his gun covered in blood, the impact of the blow knocking Christopher out cold. 

A shaky breath escaped you, half a sob, half a gasp of relief. You stumbled toward Spencer, your legs nearly giving out as you threw yourself into his arms. 

“I’m so sorry,” you cried into his chest, voice cracking. “I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have—”

He shushed you softly, brushing a hand through your hair as he held you close. “It’s okay. You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

Twenty minutes later, the team and the police arrived. Spencer had called Hotch the second you’d calmed down enough, and by the time they got there, Christopher was still passed out. The officers dragged him into the back of their car, while JJ and Prentiss took it upon themselves to reassure the neighbors that they had someone in custody.

You knew exactly what was coming when Hotch finally made his way over to you and Spencer, but your head was pounding too much to care.

Hotch scanned the two of you with a sharp, disapproving look. “Really? You went to catch an unsub in your pajamas?”

“The whole ‘catching the unsub’ thing wasn’t exactly part of the plan,” you muttered, wincing slightly as the headache flared.

Hotch exhaled sharply, then turned to Spencer, his gaze a little more pointed. “I could’ve expected this from her, but I expected better from you, Reid.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, knowing there was no defense. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Hotch gave a sigh in response, his expression softening just a fraction. “I’m too tired to deal with the two of you right now. I expect to see both of you in my office in the morning.”

“Actually, I checked all the rooms in the cabin, and there’s no office. Which is surprising, considering—”

“Spence,” you interrupted him with a nudge of your elbow.

He shot you a tight-lipped look, turning back to Hotch. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

—————

The second you closed the car door behind you and buckled your seatbelt, you passed out. You’d always slept best during car rides, and especially now, with your mind much quieter now that Christopher Eriksen wasn’t your problem anymore.

When you finally arrived back at the cabin, you were still sound asleep. Derek told Spencer to wake you, but he didn’t have it in him. Instead, he carefully made his way to your side of the car, unbuckling your seatbelt. He lifted you into his arms, trying not to huff too loudly as he carried you through the thick snow. He made his way up the stairs quickly, hoping Penelope wouldn’t notice the wet tracks from his boots inside the house—he couldn’t take them off while holding you.

He was glad you were in your pajamas as he gently laid you on the bed. He walked over to the closet, grabbing some extra blankets and draping them over you, hoping it would help you regain some warmth.

Then, he crawled into bed beside you. Closer than he would’ve dared if you were awake, not quite touching, but close enough to share body heat. His gaze lingered on you, watching how peaceful you looked. The night had been a lot to handle, but he knew he’d do it all again if it meant keeping you safe.

The bright light reflected off the snow outside, filtering into the room. Groaning, you rubbed your eyes, the movement only making your headache worse. You huffed and carefully opened your eyes, being met with the sight of Spencer. His hair was a curly mess, and a small, warm smile painted his face.

“Hey, how’s your head?” he asked softly.

The events of last night rushed back to you, and you groaned again. “So, all of that really happened?”

“It did,” Spencer confirmed.

“I really hoped I just got drunk on too much Glühwein,” you sighed, wincing at the thought.

“You can still do that tonight,” he teased.

“No,” you muttered in disgust. “I need to recover from this first.”

You glanced over at him again, seeing the concern still shining in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for putting you in that situation last night,” you said quietly. “Everything about it was just... stupid.”

“If you hadn’t insisted on going, who knows who else he could’ve hurt,” Spencer pointed out.

“I guess that’s true.” You thought about it for a second, the weight lifting slightly. “Still, I shouldn’t have dragged you into it.”

“I’m glad I went with you,” Spencer said, his voice softening. “If I hadn’t... I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened to you. I would never forgive myself if I wouldn’t have been there in time.”

You gave a heavy sigh, turning your gaze to the ceiling. “That’s why it’s probably best we stay friends,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. Despite Emily’s pep talk, this was proof that it wouldn’t be wise to start something serious with Spencer.

“Friends instead of what?” Spencer asked, his voice higher, as if eager to hear the answer.

“Instead of us dating,” you said, almost offhandedly, not realizing you were speaking aloud about something you’d never discussed before, even though the topic would come up eventually.

Spencer froze, his eyes wide, hope flickering in them as he looked at you. “You would date me?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You froze too, catching up with the fact that you had said that out loud. Your cheeks warmed, and you immediately turned your gaze to the ceiling, not daring to look at his expression.

“Uh—hypothetically,” you stammered, scrambling to cover your tracks.

“You would hypothetically date me?”

You swallowed, still too flustered to look at him. “Yes. If... you would, I mean. If you wanted that, too...?”

Spencer was silent for a beat, his gaze never leaving you. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yes,” you answered, your voice steady despite the racing thoughts in your head.

He slowly moved closer to you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. You flinched back instinctively, and he immediately withdrew his hand, his expression apologetic.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your heart beating faster.

“You said you’d want to date me,” he murmured, his voice unsure.

“Yes, but—” you stopped yourself as the realization hit that he was planning to kiss you. “Oh.”

Tentatively, you reached out and placed your hand on his cheek. You leaned in a little, but this time it was him who pulled back.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice breathless.

“Kissing you.”

“Oh,” he breathed out, his tongue darting over his lips. “Okay.”

You smiled softly, then closed the distance, your lips gently pressing to his.

Spencer hummed in satisfaction, both of you staying like that for a moment, neither of you wanting to pull away. You were the first to break the kiss, catching your breath. If it were up to Spencer, he’d keep his lips on yours forever.

Your eyes fluttered open, faces still inches apart. Spencer cupped your face and pulled you back in, placing several soft pecks on your lips before he leaned on his arm, slightly hovering over you as he deepened the kiss.

You tried to mirror his movements, but a sharp pain shot through your skull. “Ouch,” you hissed, pulling back.

“Just lay down, let me take care of you,” Spencer assured, the warmth of his words making your heart flutter. You slowly lower yourself onto your back, the soft sheets crinkling beneath you, and Spencer moves above you, the blankets still covering both of you.

His lips found yours again. He kept them slightly parted, giving you the chance to slide your tongue against his. The world outside seemed to disappear as you melted into each other, lips moving in sync.

The kisses become more heated, each one a little deeper than the last. His hand moved to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, the other hand resting on your side, his touch sending little sparks of warmth wherever it brushed.

You could feel the heat between you growing. “I’m so warm…” you mumbled against his lips. 

His eyes darkened slightly. “Yeah?” His voice was rough as his fingers lightly trailed over the buttons of your pyjama shirt. “Do you want me to take this off?”

You nodded, and he slowly started undoing each button with purposeful care. His gaze flickering between your eyes and the exposed skin. He let out a moan when your shirt finally fell open, his eyes taking you in. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out in awe, before pressing his lips to yours again. 

You responded eagerly, your hands fumbling between your bodies to undo his shirt in the same way. You slid the fabric off his shoulders, letting your hands run over the muscles of his back, feeling the heat of his skin. 

He gently pressed his body weight down on you, and you shuddered at the feeling of your nipples pressing against his bare chest.

His lips delicately kissed your face, until he reached your ear. He nipped at your lobe, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Do you like that?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You answered in a soft moan, your body arching into him. He didn’t need to ask again; he could tell you were enjoying this as much as he was.

His lips slid lower, kissing and sucking on your neck, while his hand slid down to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles.

His mouth moved to your collarbone, and then he teasingly dipped lower.

“God, Spence,” you softly moaned as he placed a wet kiss on your lower stomach. “That feels so good.”

His hand, which has been resting on your breast, trails down until it reaches the waistband of your pyjama pants.

“More, please,” you whimpered, lifting your hips instinctively. His fingers slide around the band as he slowly pulls them down, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

He lowers himself onto his stomach on the mattress. With a tender touch, he lifts your legs over his shoulders.

“Is this okay?”

For a moment, you’ve lost yourself in his gaze—those warm brown eyes looking up at you, his pink lips swollen from his kisses…

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond, nodding.

You moaned as his mouth made contact with your inner thighs, his tongue warm and wet against your skin. He took his time, kissing his way to the sensitive spot where you needed him most.

“Spencer…” you breathed, your voice shaky with need.

The anticipation was unbearable as his hot breath tickled you, but you didn’t have to wait much longer. Slowly, his tongue flicked over your pussy, and you gasped, your body trembling at the touch.

He moaned in response, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you, his tongue swirling in soft, teasing motions that had your hips lifting off the bed in search of more. 

“So fucking sweet,” he muttered against you, before repeating the motion, licking you again and again, while he grinded himself against the matress.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer, deeper, your body quivering as he continued. He alternated between sucking and licking your clit, his finger moving up and down your pussy until it entered you gently, then slowly adding another, the stretch an overwhelming pleasure. 

You gasped his name, your body writhing beneath him as the pressure built with every move. “Spencer… please, don’t stop…” you begged, voice thick with need.

His fingers curled inside you, pressing just the right spot as his tongue continued swirling around you. Your legs started trembling as you reached the edge.

“I’m—“ you gasped, but the words dissolved into a string of moans as the wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your legs were shaking as you came undone, clenching around his fingers, your hips bucking against his mouth. 

Spencer didn’t stop, though. He kept going at a gentle pace, letting you ride out the intensity of your orgasm. Then, he slowly pulled away, his lips glistening as he looked up at you, eyes wide and full of wonder. 

“Was that good?” he asked softly, licking his lips. 

You laughed breathlessly as you nodded, your chest still rising and falling rapidly. “Come here,” you whispered seductively, pulling him in by the back of his neck to kiss him. You could taste yourself on his lips, which only added to your arousal.

Spencer’s eyes darkened with desire, his forehead pressed to yours. “I need you. I need to be inside of you.”

You nodded, moving your hand down his body, feeling the hardness of him against your palm. He helped you pull his pants down, and you stroked him gently, feeling him twitch in your hand before guiding him toward your entrance. He let out a low groan, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly pushed into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned, his hips stuttering as he filled you completely. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as his thrusts grew deeper, more urgent.

You could feel every inch of him, every movement as his cock repeatedly hit those places inside that made your head spin. The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, your moans mixing with his ragged breaths.

“You’re so warm,” Spencer whimpered. “So perfect for me.” 

Your hands gripped his back, nails digging into his skin as you urged him on, your body moving with his. His pace quickened, and you couldn’t hold back the desperate cries that escaped you. 

“Spencer… I’m so close,” you gasped.

“Me too,” he moaned, his hips slamming into yours. “Let me come with you. Please, let me come with you.”

You nodded, your body trembling. “Now, Spencer…” you begged in a breathless plea.

His breath hitched, his body tensing as he gave one last deep thrust, and then, with a loud, guttural moan, he came inside you. You followed a moment later, your body clenching around him as you fell apart. 

The room was filled with nothing but your ragged breaths, the sound of two bodies, tangled in a quiet, shared moment of bliss. Spencer collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling as he took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

“That was… perfect,” he whispered, his voice full of awe.

You smiled softly as you placed your head on his chest, fingers lazily tracing his stomach. “Yeah,” you said in a breath, your heart full of him. “It really was.”

You let out a soft groan as Spencer stood up, and you instinctively reached for his hand, pulling him back toward you. “Don’t go yet,” you pouted.

Spencer smiled, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and affection. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, wrapping a blanket around his waist before walking to the corner of the room. He rummaged through his bag, his back turned to you for a moment as you blatantly checked him out.

“I miss you,” you murmured, leaning back into the pillows.

He chuckled softly, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m not even five feet away from you.”

You shrugged, your voice a little teasing. “Still feels like you're miles away.”

With a smile, he walked back toward you, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his hands behind his back. “Which hand?” he playfully asked.

“Left,” you replied without hesitation.

He swiftly shifted the small box he’d been holding from his right hand to his left, then grinned, revealing the gift. “Here you go.”

You blinked in surprise. “That was your present?” you asked, your voice filled with wonder as you recognized the familiar wrapping Garcia had handed you the day before.

Spencer nodded, watching you closely. “Yeah. Open it.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you unwrapped the gift, your heart racing with excitement. Beneath the paper was a velvet black jewelry box. You glanced up at Spencer, your eyes searching his for reassurance. He gave a soft nod, his smile encouraging.

With a gentle flick of your fingers, you opened the box—and there, nestled inside, was the most stunning heart-shaped locket you’d ever seen.

“Oh my God, Spencer,” you breathed, your voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. “It’s… it’s beautiful.”

A shy smile tugged at Spencer’s lips as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it behind his ear. “It used to be my mom’s,” he said. “She doesn’t wear jewelry much anymore, but she wanted me to keep it... to give it to someone special one day.”

Your heart melted at the thought, and you looked at him with newfound tenderness, the weight of his gesture sinking in. 

“She was happy when I told her I wanted to give it to you,” he added, his eyes soft with sincerity.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Your mom knows about me?”

Spencer nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I tell her pretty much everything. She likes hearing about you most.”

“Why?” You curiously asked.

Spencer's smile deepened, and he looked down at his lap for a moment, as though gathering courage. When he looked up at you again, his eyes were soft, full of love.

“Because you make me happy.”

After your intimate moment with Spencer, the inevitable conversation with Hotch had to happen. Just before the talk, Hotch received a call from the lab confirming the DNA found on the Reynolds matched Christopher Eriksen’s—meaning the bittersweet news of Christopher going to prison.

“I still don’t get how the two smartest people on the team act like half a brain when they’re together,” Hotch had said with a half-smile, glancing at you and Spencer. “But… you did good work.”

—————

Later that morning, Emily spotted you, her eyes immediately drawn to the locket around your neck. “Fancy,” she commented, her smirk growing as she cocked an eyebrow. “Where did that come from?”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you absently played with the necklace, a soft smile on your lips. “It’s Spencer’s. He gave it to me.”

Emily’s smirk turned into a knowing smile, and you could see the proud glint in her eyes. “You two are something else.”

—————

Throughout the day you and Spencer did your own thing, trying to act casual in front of the team—yet every time his hand brushed your back or he leaned in for a quick kiss in the empty hallway, your heart fluttered. You couldn’t help but sneak glances at him as he played chess with Rossi, your eyes catching his in those fleeting moments.

You felt Spencer’s presence behind you like a familiar warmth as you stood in the kitchen. He slipped his arms around your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses.

“Who would’ve thought you’d be such a romantic?” you mused, running your fingers through his hair, the feeling of him against you enough to make your heart race.

His lips hummed against your skin. “It’s your fault,” he stated, his voice thick with affection. “You drive me crazy.”

You tugged him up the stairs to your shared room, pushing him playfully onto the bed. You stood between his legs as you began to slowly peel away your clothes, revealing the red laced lingerie set Derek had gifted you during Secret Santa.

“Never thought I’d be thanking Derek for gifting you this,” Spencer mused, his hands sliding up and down your legs, a smirk displayed on his lips.

You smiled, tracing his jaw with your thumb, the heat between you growing. “What do you think of checking out the hot tub?” you purred.

He swallowed nervously, his eyes flicking down to his lap. You rolled your eyes as you responded in a sigh, “You can choose the temperature.”

Before you could say another word, he scooped you up, lifting you over his shoulder with a playful slap to your ass. You yelped, giggling as he carried you off toward the bathroom.

—————

The cabin was large, but unfortunately not big enough to avoid Garcia, so you knew what was coming when you heard the familiar sound of her heels clicking against the hallway floor. She was heading straight toward you, her finger pointing accusingly at you.

“I slept with Spencer.” you hurriedly spilled out before she could say something.

She stopped in her tracks. Her face went through a thousand different expressions in the blink of an eye—confusion, disbelief, excitement—before she finally let out a high-pitched squeal. “You... you slept with Spencer?”

“Twice,” you giddily answered, the smile creeping across your face before you could stop it.

Garcia’s expression finally broke into a huge grin, and without missing a beat, she grabbed your hands and started bouncing on the spot. “Derek is gonna lose his mind!”

You barely had time to protest before she was already up the stairs.

As the end of the day drew near, the group gathered around the fire pit in the backyard, cocoa mugs in hand, the warmth of the flames casting flickering shadows on everyone’s faces. 

“Are you sure your phone is on silent?” Garcia asked Hotch, eyeing him with suspicion.

“I’m sure, Garcia,” Hotch replied with a small smile.

She was satisfied, her focus shifting to Rossi. “The honor is yours. You may present the last Secret Santa gift.”

Rossi cleared his throat, glancing around awkwardly. “Now, this might sound like a cheap excuse for forgetting to buy a present…” Laughter rippled through the group, and Garcia shot him an offended look. “But... I think I can speak for all of us when I say the best gift is us being together in this beautiful location.”

He turned to Hotch, his voice genuine. “Aaron, you’ve built a good team here. A good family. You should be proud.”

Hotch’s smile softened, his eyes briefly glancing over the group, the weight of the moment settling on him. “I am. Thank you, David.”

And for the first time, you didn’t question whether you deserved a place in this loving, dysfunctional family—you knew you belonged.

[cocoamide]

YOU'RE MY WISHLIST! ♡

⟡ synopsis ─ gojo satoru's the man who seems to be everywhere you go, whether it be within the comfort of your own home or miles away from the place. well, guess what happens when you show up looking a little too fine at your college's annual christmas eve party?

꣑ৎ content ─ MDNI, brother'sbsf!satoru / collegesenior!satoru x afab!reader, reader is suguru's younger sister, no use of y/n, reader can't escape him, suggestive content, reader is in love w/ gojo (and vice versa), intentional use of lowercase, usage of pet names e.g baby, pretty, good girl, etc., smut in the form of fingering, and probably more idk

◖word count — 2.6k

☆ credits ─ live laugh love @anitalenia 4 the gorgeous divider <3 no specific inspiration for this fic, just felt like writing one fueled by my christmas spirit (i have never celebrated christmas in my life, so if u caught me lacking, no u didn't!)

꩜ author's note ─ first fic ever & ofc it's ft. my man !! i'm not v satisfied with this work and it was really rushed towards the end, so feedback is much appreciated :3 merry xmas to all those celebrating and happy holidays ♡ title's from "a nonsense christmas" by sabrina carpenter :3

when you left home for college, you were certain you’d outrun the real-life horrors of your past— your parents' scoldings, the shitty food served at your school's cafeteria, the fake people you were surrounded by, and most importantly, your brother's best friend, gojo satoru, who just seemed to get finer with every single passing day.

the man was, for some reason, genetically white-haired all over. yeah, he had albinism, but god, the sight of him was no less than breath-taking. his sparkling, cerulean orbs, which glowed mesmerizingly both under the moonlight and the sun, seemed more and more enchanting with each passing moment. as the years went by with him by your brother's side, you told yourself to look away, refusing to acknowledge the feelings that flickered inside whenever you saw him. you did whatever you could to let go of them— tried to distract yourself with the shittiest of boyfriends, avoided him at school, locked yourself up in your room whenever he came over to hang out with your brother, you name it.

however, it seemed that luck hated, no, despised your embrace no matter how much you yearned for it, considering how the menace was always hovering around, inserting himself into your life at the most inconvenient moments. you're rehearsing for a school play in an empty classroom? the next thing you know, he has an arm propped around your shoulder and smiling at you in the most stupidly handsome way ever with a lollipop in his mouth as he asks you to just... practice with him around. oh, you're trying to get him off of you now? he'll steal your script before you can escape him and raise his hand up as high in the air as possible so you can't reach it. "hey, give it back!" you exclaim, only to be met by a smug smirk on his face and the most annoying "nuh-uh." he completely refuses unless you promise to not kick him out until the practice session is over.

you're walking back home with your brother, suguru? oops, gojo is there too! he's ruffling your hair no matter how pissed you get and yell at him; he only finds joy and pleasure in seeing you in this enraged state. whether he was a sadist, masochist, or simply insane, you did not know.

so, starting college felt like stepping into freedom. no more conversations centered around satoru, no more being so pissed you lose your voice from screaming, and no more late-night sob sessions everytime he got a new girlfriend.

however, it seemed that you'd forgotten that the stars didn't quite align for you, and the universe had decided to remind you of that very fact by ensuring that satoru received enough distinctions to be able to transfer universities. oh, and of course, the one he'd chosen just had to be the one you'd decided to spend the next 4 years of your life in. it wasn't until after you’d moved into your dorm and started your classes that you found out.

the first time you saw him around campus, you were freaked the fuck out. nevertheless, you simply assumed he was visiting a friend or relative and dismissed the sight.

however, much to your dismay, you discovered that he was, in fact, a senior at your college—a 2nd year, to be exact. it wouldn't be an understatement to assume you nearly had a heart attack when you found out, considering how this was the same guy who used to have a 2.6 gpa back in high school. when did he even start taking his studies seriously and lock in hard enough to meet the criteria and eligibility for your university, one of the most prestigious in the entire country? instead of rooting for you, fate just had to be your biggest hater.

every single time you saw him around, gojo would come up to you to exchange greetings and obviously, tease you about the most embarrassing things from your past while his obnoxious fangirls stared you the fuck down, wondering why he's so close to you even though you're just a freshman who should have nothing to do with him.

what surprised you more, however, was that you sometimes shared the same sentiment as them because you were definitely never this close with satoru. not in all the years your brother used to hang out with him, or all the times you'd seen each other on family dinners. sure, he'd teased you plenty, but he had no real concern or curiosity towards you. you found him walking you to classes, treating you to coffee and meals, buying you all the snacks you could ever need during exam preparations and so much more that you could never even list down.

and worst of all, the feelings you'd so desperately pushed away in the past had now creeped their way back into your heart and embedded every inch of your soul even deeper.

it struck you then—satoru’s actions might not be out of pure obligation. that would’ve been far too simple, too detached for someone like satoru. maybe, just maybe, there was something more to it, something unspoken lingering beneath it all. you couldn’t say for sure if it was intentional or not, but whatever it was, it felt personal, like you mattered in a way that went beyond the promises he'd made to your elder brother and family.

but still, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was all just in your head. satoru’s actions, the way he treated you—it didn’t necessarily mean what you thought it did. it could be nothing—satoru’s actions didn’t have to mean anything. maybe you were just fooling yourself, letting your feelings cloud your judgment. so, you buried them as deep as you could, pushing them aside, telling yourself that letting go was the only way to protect yourself from the uncertainty. it was easier to convince yourself that you were just being delusional instead of facing what could be very real.

although, you do seriously question your latter supposition at your annual college christmas eve party when satoru, dressed in the sexiest 3-piece navy blue pinstripe suit with a black tie, has you pinned against the door of the nearest bathroom. if haven't had the opportunity to pay enough attention to his luminous, cerulean eyes up until now, you do at this very moment when he's staring at you like a predator would at it's prey.

"satoru," you let out a breath you weren't aware of holding, "what are you doing?" gojo, whose gaze had shifted down to your lips, let out a chuckle. "oh, so it's satoru now," he murmured, his hand pushing your hair behind your ear. "fine, 'toru..," you pronounce, going back to the nickname you'd started calling him during the while you'd spent with him. "that's more like it." his eyes meet yours again, conveying the desire and thirst that stirred within him— for how long, nobody knows.

the air around you two was thicker than usual, laced with tension as well as something… else. "you still haven't answered my question." upon your words, the white-haired man's face broke out into a cupid-induced smile, the most beautiful you'd ever seen. "well," his right thumb traced the outline of your lips so light as if you'd break from further pressure, "i thought you looked beautiful." what he says renders you speechless, your throat gone dry and your cheeks turning the prettiest shade of rose (in his eyes, at least.) "you always do, but even more so today." and if you weren't already a flustered mess, you would most certainly be now.

your reaction only draws a smirk on his face, and he decides to tease you a little more. "so, on that note, what do you think i'm doing?," his voice lowers as his hand traces its way down to your neck. "i... uh- i don't know... you tell me." satoru grins, only wanting to push you further.

"yeah? how about i show you instead?" and a mere instant later, his lips come crashing down on yours— you couldn't say you hadn't been expecting or anticipating it, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the way his warm and impossibly soft lips felt against yours. initially, you froze, and you came to realise that all the possibilities you'd once ignored were now very much real.

it wasn't a bad thing— no, nowhere near it, maybe even one of the best that could ever happen to you. however, it did feel like too much of a development to be able to process in a matter of seconds.

upon the realisation that you hadn't responded to his advances, satoru pulled back from the kiss, seeming rather puzzled. "was i wrong?" he inquires, voice lower and deeper than it normally would be.

the melodic sound of his voice is what breaks your trance and serves as your call back to reality. you wanted to say no, reach for his collar, get on your tip-toes and lean in to kiss him, but you were stuck in place. you couldn't find your voice or your words, and it felt like your heels were superglued to the tiles of the bathroom floor.

if it hadn't already been obvious, you'd been yearning for this moment for god knows how long, and now that it was handed to you on a sliver platter, you couldn't simply pass up on it. being well aware of the fact that this encounter could change your and satoru's relationship for either the better or the worse, you took a deep breath, cupped the sides of his face, and tilted your head just enough to be able to kiss the man. your hands gripped the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to pull him even closer, if that was possible.

being the way he is, satoru smiled into the kiss and lowered his hands to your hips. he could tell you were pouring each and every emotion from both the past and the present, and of course, he was doing the same.

it was inevitable, really— now that you could feel his skin against yours, it wasn't too difficult to put the pieces together and figure out that this was all bound to happen, already having been inked into the wondrous book of fate.

and so, for the first time in all the years you'd spent alongside satoru, you could say that the universe was, in fact, rooting for you. the way gojo's lips moved against yours, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world when he pulled away, the way the both of you heavily panted but still chased each other's warmth again barely seconds later, are more than enough confirmation.

"no, you weren't," you reply, feeling giddier than you ever had. "i wasn't what?" his hands caress your cheek with a carefulness that was almost unlike him, and your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest (in the best way possible.) "you weren't wrong."

"and i'm still not wrong if i do this?" his large hand reached under your clothes and wandered up to your waist, resting over the skin of the region. "or this?" his mouth had reached your neck, leaving kisses-turned-bites all over, which were sure to transform into hickeys.

"no... no, you're not," you let out breathlessly, unable to escape the fire coursing through your veins at the slightest touch. you wanted more, so much more, and satoru was the only one who could fulfil your needs— not that you would have it any other way.

"you sure, pretty?" the corner of his mouth went up, resulting in a lopsided grin— he was obviously teasing you, that was just the way he was and always had been.

"uh-huh," you nod to reaffirm your statement. "good girl," he breathes out, only contributing to the echoes in the parts of your body which ached for him so badly.

his long fingers played and toyed with the hem of your dress, as if to test the waters. when you didn't resist, his hand sneaked up your thigh, gently fondling the skin.

despite the confidence in his actions, he observed every expression on your face cautiously, ensuring that nothing he did hurt you or made you uncomfortable in any way. when you show no signs on unease but instead only desire, he goes on to satisfy and soothe your needs.

his fingers traced their way up your inner thighs and lurked over the already soaked fabric of your underwear, bringing about a chuckle from satoru. "so needy for me already, hm?" he remarks, as if his own pants weren't tightening upon the observation.

"shut up, 'toru..." you're trying to regain your composure and keep up an attitude, but to no avail. the fact that he has you exactly where he wants you isn't helping, either. you're even trying to avoid his gaze, but the way you can feel his presence everywhere makes it impossible to do so— besides, he's making you face him again using his index finger and thumb to hold your chin in between, as he whispers out a "look at me, baby."

and when you do, you have to let out a gasp at the sight of him— his disheveled hair which was perfectly tamed at the start of the night, his half-lidded eyes as he looks at you like you're his entire world and his lips that are now slightly bruised and swollen from the kisses you've shared. it was beyond enough to get you all the more hot and bothered.

oh, but that's not the only factor contributing to the sounds you're making— it's also the way he's pulled your panties to the side and is currently tracing your slit ever so slowly. "want more, princess?" nearly mocking tone.

you hardly even manage to let out a hum before his slender fingers are running over the most sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting a moan from you. your eyes roll all the way back when one of his digits slides inside you just a moment later— you'd never been this sensitive, but it seems that was going to be entirely different with satoru.

he added one after the other, and now, three of his freakishly large fingers were pumping in and out of you relentlessly— he was so good with them, you could practically taste your orgasm about to wash over you.

"'m close, satoru," you whimper out almost pathetically, and his fingers are going even deeper now, hitting the spots you'd never even dreamt of reaching on your own. "yeah? is my princess gonna cum for me?" his voice is rough and he's groaning as if he's the one receiving the pleasure.

you can only nod as your arousal overwhelms you, white ropes of cum spurting out from your throbbing hole with one final thrust of his fingers. his entire hand was covered in your fluids, which he brought up to his mouth to be able to savor the sweetness of your juices on his tongue. god, he was an obsessed freak when it came to you.

"ew, satoru! why would you do that?" you hold back a giggle, expressing faux disgust at his actions. he only kisses you in response instead of using his words, making sure you get to taste what he'd drawn out of you as well.

"you think suguru's gonna be mad?" he asks, obviously amused at the idea of your brother enraged when he finds out what you and satoru have done. "oh yeah, definitely." he sweetly presses yet another kiss to your lips.

"if it's at the expense of me getting everything i wished for, i don't care, babe."

@cuntphoric :33

[mcytanti]

manehare analysis i looooove this freakish duo.

on the surface this team seems very sudden and doesn't make sense i mean they were enemies for such a long time, however, i think they make Perfect Sense Actually.

manehare makes sense because both of them gives what the other wants while acknowledging the place they are coming from. they have a distrust now but i think if they play it right they can have something that lasts across seasons.

we got confirmation today manepear really just loves his little chunguses. (his comment about being a mama bear really stands out to me it was awesome). we saw it earlier in the server with zam, then later with wemmbu and bacon. but all 3 of them didnt satisfy mane in the way he wanted. zam was friendly with the brothers but he was for the most part self sufficient, mane let wemmbu into the bandits thinking he would have to be taken care of but it turns out wemmbu was secretly good at pvp and while he lazy could take care if himself in a fight. bacon never wanted to play ball with mane and refused his advances.

however kab is perfeeeect for mane, she needs his help and his protection but she isnt lazy like wemmbu was. she's intelligent, cunning, and willing to learn so he gets all if the ego boosting of taking care of someone who wants his help but none of the annoyance of a resource drainer (sorry wemmbu but its true 😭).

mane is also perfect for kab, he's filling the void clown has left.

since the start of the season kab has wanted a powerful ally who can stand beside her when she wants them to, someone who can guide her, but someone who is also willing to crush her enemies when asked. she thought clown would be that but when given the opportunity he's been lack luster in the role. she then turned to zam as a guide and a teammate, but he didn't want to be her guiding light and thought it was far too sudden to team plus he was unwilling to do her dirty work so kazam fell apart.

mane, however, has a deep blood lust (wanting to death ban all the revived people is the most notable example of this) so he's perfectly fine with carrying out kab's plans as long as it means they agree on killing. he's also willing to train kab without her having to prove herself like she has to with clown (its in my personal opinion kab would have never proven herself to clown. not because she isn't good but because clown simply isnt interested in her development but thats another matter).

in my opinion the 14 killings is actually really good for this team! it means that kab cannot idolize mane the same way she did clown or zam because she knows that no matter what, mane is dangerous, he's able to kill her and is more than willing to kill her. and for mane despite the 14 killings kab still being willing to work with him must give him a crazy amount of validation because it proves that no matter what happened before kab needs him now

i think as long as the focus on their shared goal they can build a real trust with each other. not like a "i trust you not to kill me" trust but a trust the older lifesteal pairs have, that "i know how you think i know you inside and out and no matter what happens we will comeback together" trust.

however they still have all the potential in the world to fall apart in a pretty spectacular way. like if one of them gets too paranoid and betrays the other, or if they're influenced to betray by people outside the dynamic, or maybe kab's planning to betray from the start and we're all fools for thinking manehare could ever work, or simply losing sight of their shared goal and becoming enemies again. all those things could still happen!

no matter what i just love manehare as a duo. they indulge each other's deepest desires but they have so much potential to fuck it all up it a horrible terrible way. its such a careful balance with them im so excited to see where they go from here

[threadbearsweater]

megumi fushiguro x f!reader. aged-up megumi (early 20's) established relationship, nsfw.

Sex with Megumi is always good. He's attentive, in tune with your body language. You know he'll always make sure you're satisfied, no matter what that might mean in the moment.

He also knows when you're not necessarily feeling it, and when you're perhaps performing for his benefit because you think it's what he wants.

And it isn't that you don't want to make love to him, with him. It feels nice to grind in his lap while he nuzzles his face into your tits. His hands settled on either side of your hips guide you in the rhythm he knows you like without being overbearing. Kissing him feels molten; transcendental, even.

But tonight, you just can't focus. Your body feels puppet-like, and a novice pulls the strings. Your mind is far off somewhere else, not here on the couch where your boyfriend moves inside you while you grab fistfuls of his hair and arch your back a little too far and moan a little too loud for Megumi to believe.

His hands press a little harder into your hips, and he stills you, those jade eyes searching your face while your own eyes remain screwed shut- like you're willing yourself to enjoy this intimacy.

"Hey," he says. It's hoarse and a little breathless. You pout and press harder into his lap, but he holds you firm. "Open your eyes."

You open one eye and stick out your tongue.

"Look at me." God, he's so fucking earnest.

You sigh and open your eyes fully. He's so beautiful- flushed and panting, some of his hair sticking to the sheen of sweat on his forehead. You admire the view, avoiding the inevitable.

"Where are you?" he asks.

You shrug and slide your arms around his neck. "Right here. With you."

He rakes a hand through his hair. "Are you- do you, I mean- fuck." He huffs a sigh. "Are you even enjoying this?"

He's still buried between your thighs, but neither of you has moved a muscle. You're a bird in a cage. He won't release you until you're honest.

"I just. I dunno, it feels good, but I'm not - I guess I'm not like, into it tonight, you know?"

"Why didn't you say something before?" he asks. He's not offended because he thinks you don't want him.

"I thought maybe if we just...did it, then maybe I'd get there." Your thighs are sticky against his, the lack of movement making your skin feel cold. "Sometimes that happens. I'm not in the mood, then I can kinda get there if we fool around enough."

Megumi frowns. "Does it happen a lot?"

You're emphatic with your denial of his question- eyes widen, arms locked around his neck and shoulders. "No, I swear! I always want you! Just sometimes...not as much. As other times." Oh, your laugh is knee-jerk response to your insecurity.

"Just tell me then," he says. He slips his arms around your waist. He's not nearly as hard as he was a few minutes ago, but you really don't mind. In fact, it's a relief to know that you don't have to pretend anymore. "It's not a big deal."

To know Megumi is to love him. To be known and loved by him is a gift in itself. You're grateful for a partner who sees you, even if it's hard to be perceived.

"I love you," you say with tears in your eyes. You shift so that he's able to cradle you in his lap, chin resting atop your head. He pulls a blanket over the two of you and turns on the TV.

"Love you, too," he echoes. What a relief to know he means it.

[max-the-many]

Hello, I need your help. My best friend got cheated by her boyfriend, an homophobic douchebag that is in love with himself. He always makes fun of me when she is not looking and now he cheated on her.Can you give him his money back? Trapping him inside a gay bottom twink or something? Your pice will be mine. He deserves the worst for what he did!

When I read this I was hooked immediately. Not that I really cared to be honest. I mean, it is bad what he did, but for me, it was mostly an excuse. There's something really satisfying dealing with such a guy.

So I got on the road the same night. Luckily it wasn't that far. Antony even gave me the name of a bar where that guy frequently hung out so as it was friday, the urge to get there was even stronger.

When I got in, I couldn't see him based on the pictures Anthony provided. So I sat down to have a drink. The bar was moderately busy and I looked around, wondering if anyone could maybe help as there surely would be several knowing Lyle.

So eventually I started chatting to a guy sitting next to me. He actually knew Lyle, but just barely from the bar. He showed me another dude, though, that should be closer to Lyle.

It probably was a bit weird to ask about him like that even though I pretended to wait for him. But that guy didn't seem to care.

So I didn't care either, especially when that friend of Lyle went to the restrooms.

‘Why not’ I thought, going after him.

When I got in, he stood infront of a pissoir, his body nicely framed, a bit leaner than Lyle but easily some kind of gymbuddy.

‘Classic’ I thought when I saw him there, the room otherwise empty besides a closed stall.

But this wouldn't be the first time I acted in such a situation so I stepped to the urinal besides him, prepared to hit him with a shot as soon as he was finished, dragging him into the next stall, making sure not to be too rampant.

As he was sitting on the toilet seat infront of me I really got excited. He really wasn't the worst to slip in. Short hair, stumbled face, sporty, wearing a casual T and rather tight jeans which I was happy to get off now.

Seeing him naked, getting flatter and flatter only added to the appeal while I got naked myself.

As I eventually stepped out in my new persona the guy from the other stall was washing his hands, watching me suspiciously.

“What is it?" I hit him, getting quite the kick on speaking with my new voice the first time, but the other guy didn't reply.

Back in the bar nothing much had changed. So I went to the guys I saw my new persona with. Turned out to be a pretty good source of information, giving me quite some insight of Lyle though they probably exaggerated as he probably did to them as well. But after that I was pretty sure that he wasn't cheating just that one time. Unfortunately it turned out that he wouldn't be in the bar tonight. But this shouldn't be a problem at all as I got his address, making a bit of a fool of myself as the guy I was in probably would have known it already.

After another drink I eventually heading out, searching for the car the keys in my pocket belonged to. Took quite a while to be honest.

10 minutes later I stood in front of a small bungalo. Light was on. So I stopped onto the porch.

“Lyle?” I knocked. But nothing happened. When I listened at the door I could clearly hear voices, movement. So I knocked again louder. “Lyle, common! It's Keith!” I added.

Another moment passed until I heard footsteps. Then the door opened.

“What the fuck!” was passed along while a topless Lyle appeared, having his belt open, clearly coming from some business he wasn't keen on being disturbed from.

“You got company?” I asked cheekily which he answered with an annoyed nod.

And I don't know what really crossed my mind, but more on instinct than on a clear plan I quickly reached into my pocket, pulled out a syringe and stuck it into his waist before he could even begin to wonder.

I smiled, pushed my way in and looked around.

“What just…Keith?”

A girl was sitting on a couch separating the entrance to a living area, turning her head at the scene I was providing, just wearing a bra and clearly not being his girlfriend.

“Ah! I'm sorry. He seemed to have forgotten our plans” I said, taking the steps towards her to give her another shot as she was frozen in irritation.

“Caught in the act” I smiled, walking around the couch to get a good look. She was quite cute with long, dark blonde hair and good equipment under her bra.

As I saw them both, now on their way to be good suits, an idea came to mind. Something I haven't done or even thought of so far. But when it got to my mind I had no other chance than to do it. It was just the perfect opportunity.

So I got to Lyle dragged him to the couch before getting him naked, doing the same to his date. Then came the tricky part, but I really was determined.

A good half an hour, it was ready. Sitting on the couch, just wearing her tight slip was that girl. Or should I say, both of them, neatly tied up on hand and feet.

“What…” she got out, clearly still busy. But as she let out her first words a certain look came on to her eyes.

“Where…” again she froze, looking around and finally down at herself.

“What is this! What…” she let out again, not able to process the situation, finally looking at me.

“Keith, what is this! And why am I… my voice… my…” she said looking down at herself. Or should I say, himself.

“Isn't it nice to see the world from a new perspective for once?” I said, looking at her with a devious smile before coming closer.

“She got quite the bod” I said “Isn't she?” while my hand slid over her voluminous breasts.

“Don't!” he stuttered.

“Or what? You seemed to liked her pretty much” I replied “and I can't complain. That face, those tits, and not to miss what awaits down there” I said, stroking along her body before diving between her legs.

“What… ahh” he let out in a mixture of anger and discontent.

“Don't you wonder what pleasures all those chicks get with your manly work?”

His eyes widened. “You…” was all he was able to get out before I pulled up the cloth around his neck, limiting him to nothing more than muffled sounds when I took his hand to lead it towards my crotch.

“We will have a lot of fun”...

---

Whomever sent this request. Feel free to reach out.

[michuga]

santa baby *•̩̩͙ ✩ •̩̩͙*˚

summary: in which you wait all night long for santa, as you have been every year, for as long as you can remember. expecting a swollen belly and a full white beard, you're surprised to see a tall, dark, and handsome stranger staring back at you. or santa gets caught red-handed and has to play it off.

pairing: jeongguk x reader

genre: idek. holiday skit? palette cleanser 4 you!

warnings: swearing included, lowercase intended

very silly. i laughed for a good minute when the idea came to me, hope you enjoy!

wc: 1.5k

it's finally the holidays, your favorite time of the year. at 21, your resolve to catch santa has stayed stronger than ever. it didn't matter how many people told you santa wasn't real, you were an ambitious girl. surely one of these years, you were bound to catch him, right? i mean, who else could be responsible for the gifts under your tree, every single year?

"alright everyone, gather round! it's time to pick your secret santa buddy!" you hear your coworker yell out, along with squeals of excitement.

for the first time, this year, your company decided to hold a secret santa event, as a means of reviving the workplace environment.

yawning, you make your way to where everyone from your department was gathered. how do they have so much energy? it's barely eight in the crack ass of the morning.

"like every secret santa, each one of you will pick out a paper randomly from this bowl right here. the name you get is the person you'll be buying a gift for. any questions?" your boss says, enthusiastically.

subtle chatter fills the room. "all right then. if there are no questions, go ahead and pick your draw"

waiting your turn, you take a sip of your coffee.

"are you excited?" your friend taehyung beams, joining you.

"not really, just looking forward to my bed today."

"why? you still waiting on santa to pop down your chimney?" he says with an elbow nudge, wiggling his eyebrows.

"he's REAL taehyung. i'm not doing this with you again." with a roll of your eyes, you walk closer to the bowl filled with names.

"it's probably one of your family members, be serious for five minutes. if it's not, you definitely need your locks changed. you don't find that creepy at all? have you asked them?"

"nope. because i know it's not them. and my locks are perfectly fine. he doesn't use doors, you idiot, it's the chimney."

tsking, taehyung follows close behind.

waiting for the cookies to cool down, you plopped down on your couch. your eyelids heavy, you decide to take a quick half hour nap.

THUNK

waking up from your slumber, you're startled by the loud noise. confused, you slowly rub your eyes and scan your surroundings.

well this definitely isn't what you were expecting.

wide eyed, you stare at the strange man across the room, standing right in front of your fireplace.

are you dreaming? you're not sure. you always thought santa would be old fat and ugly, the man standing in front of you is anything but. carrying a big red sack on his back, the fabric of his sleeves lays taught against his biceps. woah, santa's jacked. you can also see a slither of a tattooed sleeve under his little getup, and piercings on his face. what the hell?

after it seems like an eon of staring at eachother in silence, you finally muster the courage to speak up.

"santa?" you ask, delirious from sleep and yet hopeful as ever.

"i'm your... secret santa!" the man says reluctantly.

"oh.. yeah you don't really look like santa." dejected, you say with a sigh.

offended, the stranger scoffs, and gestures at his read coat and matching red pants. "um.. hello?"

"nah. santa's all fat and old n' shit. you could pass as his grandson, though," you think aloud, tilting your head to the side.

"i'll take that as a compliment.. i guess?"

"wait.. i've never seen you at work before, though?"

after another awkward silence, "i'm new. i was only recently hired a few weeks ago."

"oh.. okay!" you answer, delirious on sleep and perfectly satisfied with his reekingly suspicious answers.

"well since i baked cookies for santa and you're the next best thing, why don't you have some?" getting up, you casually walk towards your fridge, grabbing the half empty carton of milk, along with two cups from your cupboard.

you hear quiet footsteps behind you, taking a seat on your kitchen island.

"so.. santa? you really believe in santa?" the stranger says, taking the cup of milk you offered him.

"i swear to god if i get made fun of one more time, i'm turning into the grinch." you deadpan, serious expression adorning your face. flat lipped, you cross your arms and stare at him.

suppressing a giggle, the stranger goes on, "no, no! don't get me wrong, i think it's cute."

you squint your eyes. "but you don't believe me."

"now you're just putting words in my mouth. when did i ever say that?" amused, he takes another bite of the freshly baked cookie.

"this is damn good stuff, you know? you should definitely sell these." your secret santa remarks, mouth full of cookie, and a visible scorn on his face.

"only the best for santa." you say, plopping down on the stool across from him. face in your palm, you watch the perfect stranger eat cookies, made with all your love, that were never meant for him.

"i really thought i'd catch him this year, damn it."

"you just wait here every year, waiting to catch him?"

"pretty much."

"well if you had caught him, that would mean he's lousy as his job, wouldn't it?"

"as lousy as you were?" you playfully say, "surely he has better work ethic than you do."

snickering, the stranger nods in agreement.

"i'll let you in on a little secret." your santa says, gesturing for you to come closer.

you lean in, lending him your ear.

"i know santa personally. i could put in a good word for you, if you want."

jerking back, you're quick to remark, "stop making fun of me, i already told you! i'm serious about this!"

"i am too! i'm being for real."

"sure. well since you do know him, let him know i've been an awful good girl this year, and i demand a gift worthy of that," you say, going along with his bit.

"hmm.. i'm pretty sure he's the one who gets to decide that, but alright, i'll let him know. anything else?"

"and that i've written up a wishlist." you pick up the piece of paper you left under the plate of cookies. "here you go. make sure he gets this."

taking the piece of paper from you, the stranger quietly reads what's written.

"alright. shouldn't be too hard to accomplish," he says, matter-of-factedly.

this dude's a wacko.

yawning, the sleepiness from earlier latching onto you again.

"well, i'll be going to bed now. would you like me to show you out?"

"i'll manage. thanks for the cookies!" grabbing his gift sack from off the ground, he gets up and heads towards the chimney.

going up the stairs with your back turned to him, you wave him off.

mere seconds after plopping down onto your bed, you fall back asleep, wondering off to dreamland for sure this time.

you hear the sound of birds chirping, feel the sun shining on your face.

you peacefully turn in your sleep.

one, two minutes pass.

with a furrow of your eyebrows, you come to.

wait.

wait.

what the fuck?

startled, you spring out of bed.

as the events of last night dawn on you, your eyes gradually widen in shock.

????????????

running down your stairs, you scramble into your kitchen

to find

the plate of cookies

empty.

you weren't dreaming.

oh god. oh god. now you've finally done it. a stranger merrily breaks into your house and you made conversation with him?

from the corner of your eyes, you spot something shimmering under your christmas tree.

gifts?

"jesus, what happened to you?" taehyung asks with a sandwich in his mouth. "did the grinch visit you?"

you hadn't bothered to look at the mirror this morning, rushing to get dressed and out the door. you need real human interaction to feel sane. you were also hoping to find an answer to whatever the fuck happened last night.

"i think a stranger broke into my house last night. i think i also offered him cookies."

choking on said sandwich, taehyung coughs a few times before finally clearing his throat.

"pardon?"

"he said he was my secret santa."

"and you just.. accepted the fact?"

"well.. yeah? i was half asleep and waiting for santa," you say with a pout.

"the fuck? that's breaking and entering?? you should file a police report! oh god, he works here, doesn't he? do you remember what he looks like??"

recalling the events of last night, you find yourself lost in thought. "yeah.. quite an odd fellow."

scratching your head, you continue, "damn, he never even told me his name."

"dude, i knew you were off your rocker, but this has got to be a new low."

"um.. excuse me?" a voice calls out from behind you.

you turn around to see mingyu, one of your coworkers, holding a neatly wrapped gift box.

"i got your name.. i didn't really know what you'd like so i got you a bunch of different things.. i really hope you like them."

silence.

"or if you don't, i can always return them and get something else! really, it's no trouble!"

silence.

...

taehyung nudges you hard.

"mingyu, you're my secret santa?"

"..yes?"

"then who the fuck was that at my house last night?"

[tklpilled]

atlantis

merry christmas, @stopiteatpopcorn ! i was your squealing santa this year! enjoy <3

—

“fight me,” says tartaglia, slamming a hand down on wriothesley’s desk, the other resting on his hip.

wriothesley cocks an eyebrow at him. “sorry?”

“fight me,” tartaglia repeats, staring straight into wriothesley’s eyes. “you’re strong, yeah? come on.”

“no,” wriothesley says simply, leaning back in his seat.

“wha—why not?!”

“you’re a prisoner here.” there’s something like a smile on wriothesley’s face. “i don’t fight prisoners.”

so, yeah, tartaglia is a prisoner. it’s really annoying; he knows he’s innocent, and he knows that damn iudex knows it too. but here he is, stuck underwater with nothing but endless tasks and shitty meals.

at least there’s the pankration ring.

he becomes something of a god to them, the group that hangs around down there. he wins every fight he’s in, no sweat. maybe some sweat, actually, because he’ll admit a few of his opponents are tough, but they’re still not enough to match a harbinger.

his whole fascination with the duke sparked the moment they met. he had just been brought to his room when he was visited by a tall, muscular man, heavily scarred but not much older than tartaglia himself. he looked strong.

“a fatui harbinger in my fortress?” wriothesley had said, wearing an irritatingly lazy smirk. “this must be my lucky day.”

tartaglia knew, at that very moment, he would not be able to rest until he kicked this guy’s ass.

the main issue is that getting the chance to fight him is harder than he’d thought. and, hey, he loves an opponent that’s hard to get! it makes the victory all the more satisfying! but wriothesley is really starting to piss him off. tartaglia thinks he wouldn’t be so annoyed if wriothesley didn’t fight him at all.

because he does fight, sort of. they spar in the pankration ring sometimes, but every time, it’s so obvious that he’s not putting in his full effort. it’s not satisfying tartaglia’s itch to fight at all!

he complains to the fortress’s nurse one time while she’s patching him up.

“your duke. why won’t he fight me?”

sigewinne’s small hands press an ice pack to his side. “why do you want to fight him so badly?”

tartaglia opens and closes his fist, staring at it. “does he not think i’m strong enough? he’s not that full of himself, is he?”

“please stop moving,” she tells him. “i know you don’t want me to, but it’s my job to tend to all the inmates.”

tartaglia doesn’t listen. “how do i fight him?”

sigewinne hands him a cup full of some…concoction. “he doesn’t fight inmates,” she says, confirming the man’s own words.

it hits tartaglia, then, that there’s an easy solution.

escape.

his golden opportunity comes just days later, when he spots a few new heads in the fortress while on his way to work. he recognises them as the knave’s (favourite) kids; he’s never met them personally, but from what he’s heard, the twins are pretty popular in fontaine. tartaglia doesn’t know who the smaller one is, but he’s sticking to the other two, so they must be close.

arlecchino isn’t particularly fond of him, but he doubts she’d just leave him here if he asked for help. she knows this nation better than he does, anyway. she’s the best chance he has at getting out of here.

but, of course, it’s too good to be true.

the eldest of the trio, lyney, scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “we don’t have any way of contacting father,” he says, as tartaglia’s shoulders slump in defeat. “we’re prisoners here too, you see.”

tartaglia is too disappointed to question why.

when the entire thing is over, when he’s slept enough to last the rest of his life and his wounds are mostly healed, he returns to fontaine. there are a few reasons; the traveler is still there, and he’d like to talk to them before they disappear into archons know where. he supposes they’re not called the traveler for nothing, but they don’t have to be so difficult to get in contact with.

the second reason is fatui duties, or more specifically, arlecchino. he has to discuss business with her—the gnosis, the prophecy, how to continue after everything. fontaine doesn’t have an archon anymore, and that might cause some problems for the tsaritsa. he eventually finds the knave by the water, looking as though she’d just lost someone important. he asks her about it. she doesn’t give him an answer.

the final reason is for his own self-indulgence. he still hasn’t battled with those champion duelists, and he’s practically bursting with excitement at the idea. natlan is the nation of war, but it seems like he has many more sparring opportunities in fontaine.

and, of course, fucking wriothesley.

he visits the duke’s office, slamming both hands on the desk similarly to how he’d done a couple weeks before.

“fight me,” tartaglia demands. his chances are infinitely better this time; he’s officially a free man, and he’d been single-handedly fighting off the primordial narwhal for the sake of their nation. the least anyone can do is give him a good battle.

wriothesley stares at him for a moment before he laughs, standing from his chair and walking around the desk. “you’re stubborn. alright, i suppose i can grant you this one thing, as thanks.”

tartaglia’s eyes widen, lighting up with excitement for all of two seconds before wriothesley’s hand meets his stomach.

he should be feeling pain. it should hurt, should make him stumble back in shock and agony.

it should not tickle like this.

tartaglia barks out a laugh, stepping backwards but being met with nowhere to go. wriothesley’s grip on him is strong, and while normally tartaglia wouldn’t have a problem breaking out, he’s not exactly in the best state to do so.

“h-hehey, wahahait!” he protests, voice almost a whine. “thihis—yohohou—!”

wriothesley grins, squeezing at his sides and stomach with experienced fingers, like he was born with the knowledge of how to tickle tartaglia to pieces. “you didn’t specify what kind of fight, comrade,” he teases. the bastard. “are you already giving up? disappointing. i expected more from you.”

tartaglia lets out embarrassing peals of laughter as wriothesley tickles up to his ribs. curse him for finding this loophole. curse him for everything, actually. and while he’s at it, curse that little melusine sigewinne, because she’s definitely the one who told wriothesley that he’s ticklish in the first place. she kept poking around his sides, okay, he couldn’t help it!

“y-yohou bastard!” tartaglia squeaks out (squeaks! he doesn’t squeak!). he tries to reach for wriothesley, but the man dodges him expertly while still not letting up on his assault.

wriothesley’s smug smile is evident in his tone. “hey, come on. it’s not every day i get this chance.”

as tartaglia’s laughter echoes in the chamber, he decides that if this doesn’t end soon, he’s going to be charged for homicide again.

[tinaswampdweller]

I decided to court the king of curses

Sukuna x Reader

A Short Fluffy Drabble

-Sukuna being a little tsundere and ooc, unedited and a little choppy

“Flowers? Are you serious?” The pink haired boy said incredulously, eyebrow cocked in a judging manner.

“Yes, flowers, Yuji. They’re for him, obviously.” Comes my snappy reply as I fiddle with the flowers, adjusting the arrangement.

Yuji shakes his head in disbelief, an exasperated look present on his face.

“Knowing him, he’ll probably tear them apart. With his teeth. Definitely with his teeth.” He says with an assured nod. I frown at his assumption.

“Well, I don’t care. It’s the thought that counts. Now shut up and switch with him for a minute!” I gesture wildly with my hand. Yuji’s mouth dropped, his offended expression almost caused me to snort.

“You’re seriously a piece of work, is that why you begged me to come over? To see your freak of a crush? Is this gonna be an everyday thing now?” I rolled my eyes at him, shoulders slumped as he continued to lecture me.

“Well, yes. Now hurry! Switch! I’ll keep my seal on you so he shouldn’t be able to move around too much.” I sit up quickly, excitedly clapping my hands together.

Yuji huffed, eyes rolling in annoyance before succumbing to my request. There’s a noticeable beat of silence, the air in my room gradually becoming colder and electric. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck raise.

“You’ve got it bad, kid. But I already told you I don’t fuck sorcerers and I definitely don’t fuck girls like you.” Came his gravelly voice, juxtaposed by Yuji’s sweet and youthful face. A face that was now sporting narrowed, empty eyes, a truly unreadable expression present on his face.

I huffed at his words, a sharp pout forming in my face. I placed my hands on my hips.

“Girls like me? What’s that supposed to mean?” I yelled, offended by his insinuation.

“I’m smart. I’m pretty. I’m a really good catch actually.” I continue, puffing my chest out proudly.

“It’s a little desperate don’t you think, trying to coax me out with flowers, dressing in clothes you think will catch my eye. It’s not gonna save you, or the kid. Just will make the deaths more satisfying actually.” Sukuna retorted dryly with a disapproving look bordering on judgemental.

“Well, until then. You and I are gonna enjoy our little five minute dates together each day.” Ignoring his attempt at hurting my feelings, I grab the previously dropped bouquet from the bed and hold them out in front of him. A cheery smile stretched on my face.

“Anyways here’s your flowers, and I brought something for you to eat. Don’t get the wrong idea, it’s just pig meat, but it’s apparently the closest thing to what you’re into.” I explained in a matter of factly manner.

“Acting like a wife when I haven’t even given you a ring yet.”

I inhaled sharply, eyes peeled in shock.

“…”

“Don’t-” he started with a glare.

“Yet! You said yet right? Oh my god, Yuji he said yet! Oh my god, oh my god! Thank you lord!” I gushed out excitedly. My hands were clasped together and raised high to ceiling. Before he could backtrack, the words had already penetrated my ears and now my heart. ‘If only Yuji was here maybe I could fangirl with him, though realistically he wouldn’t care.’ I was starry eyed and bouncing giddily on the bed.

“I’m not marrying an annoying girl like you, rather live in this brat forever than bound myself to you.” Snapped the curse angrily, his glare penetrating deeply into my form as he watched my antics.

“Your brain says that but your heart says what it feels without thinking. Don’t be coy with me, I’m basically the king of curses’ fiancé. What would Gojo think?” I question with a thoughtful look.

“It doesn’t matter what that incompetent twit thinks. He’s the last person I’d look to for approval..”

“Well, anyways, my mother’s really kind, she’d approve no matter what.” I change the subject immediately, picturing my lawyer mother who was always smiling at anyone even if they were terrible criminals. There was no doubt in my mind that she would have no problem with Sukuna.

“A family of people pleasers, my heir will truly be the weakest link.”

“Did you just-”

“Don’t.”

[winchesterwild78]

Broken pt 4

Master List

Characters: Jensen x Reader (wife)

Warnings: grief, very light Smut, and a surprise

A/N:  Idea given to me by @cheekygirl2309. This one is a little different than what I usually write. It has angst, lots of angst to start, and infertility issues. It's going to be a short series.

Minors DNI 18+

The next week Jensen and I reconnected and my love for him deepened. I was so wrapped up in being there with him and the time we spent together I felt a little better, lighter even. 

Tonight was no different than any other night we’d spent there. Jensen and I cooked dinner together. Jensen carried in enough firewood for the night and I picked a movie for us. 

The opening credits started and Jensen chuckled, “Really?” I looked at him and laughed, “Yes, really. Everyone needs an Olaf in their lives.” Jensen laughed and rolled his eyes. 

“Okay fine, but don’t expect me to sing.” I placed my hand on his chest and giggled, “Okay, Jens. I don’t expect you to, but I know you still will.” He smirked because he knew I was right. 

When we finished the movie we went to bed. Crawling into bed Jensen pulled me close to his side. He kissed my lips softly, “Baby I love you so much.” I smiled against his lips, “I love you too, Jens.” 

I bit my lip. I wanted to talk to him about trying for a baby, but I didn’t know how to start the conversation. Things have been so  up in the air since my father died, I wasn’t sure if he’d be open to trying right now. 

My grief was still raw, but being with Jensen, being here everything seemed perfect. 

Jensen sensed something was wrong because I had gotten so quiet. “Sweetheart, you okay?” “Yeah, um, well I was thinking, and you can say no if you think it’s not a good idea. I won’t be upset, I just think, no, well I..” I just kept rambling and Jensen placed his hand on my cheek, “Honey, take a breath. What is it?” 

I took a deep breath and let it out, “I think I want to try for a baby now.” Jensen leaned up, “Really?”

“Yes, daddy wouldn’t want us to put our lives on hold, and before this we were trying. So what do you say?” Jensen smiled, still holding my face, “Yes. If you’re ready, then I’m ready.” Then he placed a kiss on my lips. Soft at first and then full of want and need. 

He took his time with me, exploring every inch of my body. When we both reached our final climax my body felt like it did the first time we made love. So satisfied, wanted and completely his. I drifted off to sleep feeling safe in his arms. 

Around 2am Jensen woke up to the sounds of me whimpering and crying in my sleep. He tried to gently wake me up, but I didn’t wake. He sat up, turned the light on and saw the pain etched across my face as the tears fell from my closed eyes. My cries and moans broke his heart. 

He grabbed my shoulders and shook, “Baby, wake up. Come on Y/N, wake up baby. You’re having a nightmare.” 

I finally woke up and saw Jensen. “Shh, baby I’ve got you. It’s okay, you’re okay.” I sobbed into his chest as he held me, rubbing my head and back. 

“I’m sorry, Jensen. I’m so sorry.” “No, honey. You have nothing to be sorry for. This is completely normal.” 

Jensen held me close the rest of the night. I finally drifted off to sleep again, but it wasn’t restful. Jensen stayed awake holding me until the sun came up. Around dawn he drifted off to sleep once he was sure I was okay. 

We both woke up around noon. Jensen went outside to gather some more firewood and I went to take a shower. When Jensen came inside he heard the shower running so he decided to get the fire going and make some lunch. 

I got in the shower and let the hot water envelop my body. My muscles ached, my head hurt and my heart was still broken. I was mentally exhausted. Emotionally I was torn, my heart was broken because I missed my father, but my heart was also full of so much love for Jensen and the possibility of us having a baby. 

The emotions I tried to keep inside finally broke and like a damn the tears and sobs came rushing out. The weight of the past week was finally crashing down around me. I leaned back against the cold shower tile, slid down and sobbed. Hitting the floor of the tub I pulled my legs up to my chest and held on tightly. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My body shook with the sobs and grief that I bottled up.

Jensen finished making lunch and realized I was still in the shower. He thought it was strange because I had been in there for almost 40 minutes. 

Jensen walked to the bathroom door and knocked. “Honey, lunch is ready, are you okay? You’ve been in there awhile.” He listened but there was no answer. Then he heard the slightest sound, a whimper. 

He opened the door and found me in the shower on the floor crying. “Y/N, baby. I’ve got you honey.” He climbed in the shower and lifted me up holding on to me. The water, now cold, ran down his clothed body as he held me in his protective embrace. 

“Come on baby, let’s get you out of here.” My hands clinged to him as he held me tight. 

Jensen grabbed a towel and wrapped me in it. He carried me to the bed and laid me down gently. Grabbing one of his shirts he put it on me as he put a blanket over me. 

He quickly changed clothes and crawled in the bed next to me. As soon as I felt him beside me I collapsed in his arms. I felt like I was losing my mind. I was so numb and felt so hollow. 

Jensen was really starting to worry about me. He had no idea how to help me, but he was determined to figure it out. 

“Sweetheart, I’m here if you want to talk. Whenever you’re ready.” I just nodded. I wasn’t ready to talk yet. I just laid in his arms for a little bit longer. 

Jensen’s phone rang, piercing the silence that filled the cabin. He didn’t move. I looked up at him, “Jens, go ahead and answer it.” 

“No, whoever it is will leave a message and I’ll call them back.” “Jens, it could be important.” I didn’t want him to miss anything important because of me. “Please.” 

He reluctantly got up and grabbed his phone. It was his mom. “It was mom.” “Call her back Jens. Please.” He nodded, “I’ll be right out here. If you need me, holler.” I nodded.

“Hey mom, what’s up?” “Hey Jensen. How’s Y/N doing?” His mom asked. 

“She’s doing about as good as expected. One minute she’s okay, and the next it all comes crashing back. I don’t know how to help her.” 

“Just be there for her. During the highs and the lows. Especially the lows. Hold her and remind her just how much she’s loved. She has to work through this in her time, and we have to be patient with her.” 

“I am, mom. I just don’t want to push her, and I hate to see her in so much pain.” “Jensen, I know you well enough to know you’re not going to push her. You love her hard, and when it gets hard, you double down. She needs you now more than ever and she needs to know that the other man in her life isn’t going anywhere.” 

“I understand. Thanks Mom. I love you.” “You’re welcome, Jensen. Now go take care of our girl. I love you too, son.” 

By the time Jensen hung up with his mom I was out of the bed and walking towards the kitchen. He went through all the trouble of fixing something to eat, so I needed to eat. 

We sat together at the table to eat. Jensen watched me and carefully chose his words. “Mom said hello and she loves you and if you need anything to let her know.” I nodded. 

We sat in silence while eating. Jensen’s eyes flicked to mine. He saw the pain in my eyes and it broke his heart. “Thank you for eating, baby.” Again I just nodded. I couldn’t trust my voice. 

My heart beat fast in my chest. “Jens, I’m scared.” My voice barely audible, almost a whisper. 

Jensen stopped eating and looked up at me, “What? Why are you scared, baby?” I nervously picked at my fingers and bit my lip, “I lost my daddy, my one anchor to the world. Now I’m scared I’m going to lose you too. I can’t lose you. I wouldn’t survive that.” 

Jensen stood, pulled me into his arms, and held me tightly, “Baby, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me forever. You and I are going to be with each other until we’re 100. I’m going to be chasing you around in my wheelchair and we are going to sit on the front porch swing holding hands watching the sunset.” 

A small smile tugged on my lips. He always knew how to make my heart a little better. One of the things I loved about him. 

“100, huh?” I asked as he smiled and nodded. He gently kissed my lips and whispered, “100”.

We finished our meal and I walked over to the large floor to ceiling window in the living room and looked out at the fresh white snow. It truly was breathtaking. 

Jensen walked up behind me and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and then snaked his arms around my waist. I leaned back into him. 

Jensen rested his chin on my shoulder, I could feel his hot breath on my neck and it sent a shiver down my spine. 

Turning my head towards him I looked into his eyes. So beautiful and filled with so much love, it took my breath away. I turned and faced him, “Jensen, I’m so sorry I can’t move past this. You’ve been so patient with me and I feel like a damn yoyo. One minute I’m good and the next I’m on the floor sobbing.”

He cupped my face, “Baby I wouldn’t expect you to move past this. This isn’t the kind of thing in life you just get over. It’s going to take time, lots of time to be okay, and even if you’re not okay, that’s okay too. You talking about things, remembering him, hell even crying is helping you heal. You’re never going to get over this, but it will get a little easier every day.”

Placing a gentle kiss on my forehead I leaned into him more. “I love you so much, Jensen.” “I love you too, Y/N. We will work on this together. I’m not going anywhere.” 

A few hours later Jensen and I were sitting together on the couch just talking. The conversation was mostly light. He was talking about the filming and how Karl almost accidentally broke Antony’s nose. He was excited about the new series and he was a little nervous too. 

I sat listening to him and watching his face light up. When he looked down at me I saw his face falter a little. “Jens, what’s wrong?” He ran his fingers through his hair, “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’ve been rambling on about stupid stuff and haven’t given you a chance to talk.” 

I smiled, “I love listening to you talk about your projects. I’m so proud of you and everything you’ve done and are doing. Please don’t dampen your light for me. I’m proud of you and so proud to be your wife.” 

He nodded, smiled and kissed me, “I’m so proud to be your husband. You’re one of the strongest people I know.” 

Our conversation continued and I felt myself finding a little more peace. My heart still ached for my father, but it was at peace with Jensen too. I looked over at Jensen, ready to tell him more about the turmoil inside me. “Jens, did I ever tell you my parents split for a little bit when I was a teenager?”

He looked at me with wide eyes, “No. I didn’t know that.” “Yeah, I was about 15 and I remember they got into a huge fight. Mom told dad to leave, so he, being the respectful man he was, packed up and left. My heart was broken. I barely spoke to my mom and finally decided to move in with my dad. My mom had me and Abby, and my dad had nobody. I couldn’t do that to him. Moving in with him was one of the best decisions of my life. We became super close. Dad taught me how to defend myself against “handsy boys” as he put it, he taught me how and when to plant a garden, he also taught me how to be strong. His heart was broken from the split with mom, but every day he got up, went to work and then spent the evening trying to repair the marriage. Eventually they worked it out and had a stronger marriage after, but I’ll never forget how much effort he put in even when his heart was broken.”

“Wow, sweetheart. I didn’t know that. I knew he was an incredible man, but that was amazing. I’m so glad you got to spend time with him, and that you shared that story with me.” Jensen kissed my lips softly. His hands tangled in my hair as he deepened the kiss. 

We started making out like a couple of teenagers. My giggles and his chuckles filled the air. He had me laid back on the couch and he hovered over me, “God I love your laugh, Y/N. You’re so beautiful.” I bit my lip, “I love you so much, Jensen. I can’t wait to have your baby.” 

He kissed my lips, “Why wait, let’s see if we can practice now.” He scooped me up and carried me to the bedroom. I giggled all the way down the hallway, “Jensen Ross, put me down.” “I will, once I get you in the room.” He laughed. 

He gently put me down and started peppering kissing down my neck and to my chest. Lifting my shirt off and removing my bra he exposed my breasts. His lips and fingers touching them and teasing them. 

Jensen laid me back on the bed and removed the rest of my clothes, then his. There was no urgency in the moment, just the connection of being together and in each other’s arms. Jensen’s touch was tender, like I was a porcelain doll that could break at any moment. 

He made me feel loved, worshipped, wanted. Our bodies tangled with each other for a few hours. Every second a little piece of my heart healed. Laying in his arms in the stillness of the room I knew I would be okay. I drifted off into a peaceful sleep. The first one in a while and dreamed of my dad.

*Dream*

“Daddy, what are you doing here?” “Hey peanut, I just wanted to check in on you. How ya doing?” “Oh daddy, I miss you so much. It hurts.” 

My dad pulled me into a hug, “Oh sweetie, I know it does, but you’re going to be just fine. You’re stronger than you think, and you’ve got yourself an amazing husband.” I nodded as the tears fell, “I know daddy. He’s been so incredible. You were right, daddy, he’s definitely a keeper.” 

My dad nodded, “Hey peanut, I have something for you. I know you’re going to be great and you’re going to be okay. I want you to have this.” As my dad turned back towards me he handed me a baby wrapped in a blanket.

I looked confused, “Daddy, I don’t understand.” He kissed my forehead and looked at me and down at the baby in my arms, “Don’t worry, you will.” 

Before I could ask him anything else I woke up. Jensen wasn’t beside me, and the room was dark. 

I couldn’t get the dream out of my head. I got dressed and found Jensen sitting by the fire reading a book. I smiled and walked over to him, “Hey baby.” He looked up and smiled, “Hey sweetheart, how’d you sleep?” Placing a soft kiss on his lips I whispered, “Better than I have in a long time, thank you.” 

The next morning after we showered and got dressed Jensen and I decided to take a trip into town. I felt better than I had in a few days, but I couldn’t shake the dream I had. 

Since that dream I felt so much better, more at peace, but I didn’t tell Jensen about it. I wasn’t sure how to tell him I dreamed about my dad and right before I woke up he handed me a baby. 

We went to the grocery store to grab some food and I found myself down the feminine product aisle. With everything going on I lost track of my cycle, so I grabbed some pads just in case. I glanced over and saw the pregnancy tests too. I grabbed one and tossed it in the cart with the pads. 

I have no idea what possessed me to buy one, maybe it was a habit, but I don’t know. 

Arriving back home I helped Jensen put away the groceries. I grabbed the bag with the pads and test in it and took it to the bathroom. I decided to go ahead and take the test, so I closed the bathroom door. 

I took the test, set the timer and sat on the side of the tub. The dream replayed in my head. When the timer went off I took a deep breath, stood and walked over to the sink. 

I closed my eyes, let out the breath and looked down. There it was, the results staring me back in the face. I swallowed hard and took in a shaky breath. 

Tears fell from my eyes. With shaky hands I grabbed the test and looked at it again. Jensen knocked on the door and it startled me, “Babe, you okay?”

I couldn’t speak. I opened the door and he saw the tears and immediately wrapped me in a hug. 

“Shh it’s okay baby. I know.” I pulled back. Even though I had tears streaming down my face I was smiling. He looked confused. “Jens, I…” I couldn’t speak. I just handed him the test. He looked at it, his green eyes flicked to mine and with a smile on his face he whispered, “Really?” 

I nodded, “Yes. Jensen. We’re pregnant.” 

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[frostedshore]

Frostedshore’s struggles. I am not fine, it took me a while to admit that, and it’s ok.

tw: religion, leaving faith, leaving islam, loss of interest in hobbies, depression

i debated abt sharing my experience here, since this is just a simblr account & this is a heavy subject matter. but i guess i really need as much support as i can get. i see many simblr sharing their irl stuff here too & getting support & i love that for us🥹

I am the first generation in my family who left islam. I am basically disowned now, and i am a lil nervous abt the fact i won’t get inheritance in this crazy economy🤣 but i think standing on my ground is more important than money, because as elphaba said “if that's love, it comes at much too high a cost”. Islam will effect my everyday life even to the tiniest detail about how I dress. You need to understand i’m highly allergic to hijab due to my skin type. I spend millions indonesian dollars just going to the doctor to fix skin problems when the doctor said my problem will go away if i dont use the hijab😭 also i feel nauseus working out wearing the hijab bc the fabric is tightly wrapped around my head & neck to the point i’m dizzy & want to vomit due to overheating & constriction. Did i mention that i was obese before i take off my hijab? Yeah i never wanna work out when i was still wearing my hijab & i lost 20kg after i take my hijab off & can exercise at the gym without it. I don’t think it’s fair that i’m considered weak & sinful & need to endure such burden just to pass god’s test😭

This post is not intending to spread islamophobia, but i’m just sharing my experience of leaving a religion. ANY religion. Especially if you’ve been a devout like I am. I spent 23 years of my life practicing islam, praying, fasting, etc. I started wearing the hijab before i even reach female “baligh” (9 years old) which is an islamic standard where all of our good & bad deeds are being recorded by angels & we must do all islamic obligations such as fasting, praying, covering or else we’ll go to hell (men’s “baligh” starts at 15 years old so women start our baligh sooner which i also think isn’t fair.) i took off my hijab when i was 20 (which create a lot of backlash from friends & family). back then i still think what i’m doing (taking off my hijab) is sinful & i fly all the way to mecca for umrah because i want to give it my all & repent completely.

I will accept islam fully if i can, and i WANTED to. Nobody who really WANTS to love a religion will choose to doubt & eventually left like me. I tried my best & shed countless tears. I even talked to islam feminists (authors, lecturers, and master of quran) but i’m still not satisfied abt all of my questions (it’s not only hijab who push me away, it’s a whole bunch of things that i doubted & never really got answers.) i just CAN’T have the islamic lifestyle anymore.

i eventually left my religion this year, just months after my umrah, because even after prostrating in front of kaaba, I still have doubt. And so I converted to Christianity. My christian friends all celebrated christmas with their own respective families. Even my ex-muslim friends from church celebrated christmas with their boyfriend’s family. It’s just a really isolating time for me because I left my religion before truly building a new support system for myself. I should’ve left when I already snatch a christian boyfriend/ have many single ex-muslim friends😂 Starting from zero is hard. And I feel really depressed abt it to the point of not enjoying the sims & my life anymore. But i rewatched The Lion King yesterday & damn mufasa’s dialogue abt remembering who we are rlly hit home. I’ve changed because I was not okay, and it’s ok. I can’t wait until I can rise from my sadness and become my old self who’s beautiful, kind, and loved (altho i lost many people who love me due to this decision & it’s hard to believe that i’m loved when that happens. I always get the toxic thinking that i’m being punished for liberating myself from islam, even after suffering for so long). Pray for me y’all & sorry to vent in such a happy season such as christmas🥹

If you have similar problems, my dm is open for you🤍 hugs all the way across the globe. Remember that we all are queens despite our depression that changed us to a version we dislike! I have personally know how it feels to lose everything, losing best part of me until what’s left is just a part of me that i dislike (shameful, regretful, guilty, etc.) You can still be who you want to! What you said you were! And start again!

ps. If you’re muslim, i’m not open to be lectured & told that i don’t understand the religion. You don’t know me & know how much i studied islam to come to the decision to leave islam. I’m not weak for not being able to live up to what i think is impossible standards. Pls respect my boundaries🤗 i still have love for my muslim friends & i’ll forever pro-choice despite what i personally feel about hijab. Nobody should be harassed for their choice to wear something. If you’re wearing one & find peace in islam, i support you🤍 anything to make you the best version of yourself!☺️