#also s very love sick in the sense that I need someone to be in love with me

[pencil-n-pen]

ALL I DO IS TRY, TRY, TRY

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post prison! spencer x genius fem! reader

masterlist

summary: all your life, you’ve been second-best. Even now that you’ve been chosen to be an agent of the BAU, you’re just a replacement for Spencer Reid. What could change now that’s he’s out?

cw: there is a bit of an age gap, i imagined reader in her early to mid 20’s, nevermind how it isn’t accurate for working at FBI. this is a criminal minds fic, so there are graphic depictions of violence, as well as implied/referenced child neglect/abuse in readers childhood, reader is somewhat a genius

tropes/tags: slowburn on readers end, Spencer is flirting from the beginning, HURT/COMFORT, angst, bit of a sick fic in one scene, bit of soft dom! spencer as a treat

a/n : this came to me in a prophecy. full disclosure i haven’t actually seen the prison arc yet so if there’s any inaccuracies shhhhhh look at the fluff

also !! this is a LOOOOONG one. strap yourselves in. grab snacks and drinks

slipped in some very slight father figure Hotch bc that’s my crack

title taken from Mirrorball by Taylor Swift

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Spencer Reid is absolutely nothing like you’d thought he’d be.

From how the team talked about him, you’d been expecting a short, slight man. Someone quiet and meek and non-threatening.

And Dr. (Agent?) Reid was quiet. But not in the don’t-notice-me way, but in the I-know-what-I’m-doing-and-don’t-need-to-say-it way. He quietly commanded attention and respect. One look at the man told you he was not somebody to fuck with.

He was also really, really, really hot.

It was unfortunate and difficult, truly, because he’s your senior agent, someone who’s got more than a few years on you in both field experience and general age. He’s a genius- insanely good at what he does and there’s no refuting that.

But most of all, he’s kind and respectful and just genuinely a good person. And also good looking. Did you mention that yet?

He clicks seamlessly into place with the team in a way you’ve never managed to do in the time you’ve been with him. And after all, why would you? You’re just the rookie transfer with a bit higher than average IQ. Nothing to brag about. Nothing like Spencer.

You were a data analyst with the FBI before your boss told you: “The BAU is looking for a temporary genius. I put your name in the ring. Hotchner must’ve been impressed with something, cause he picked you. I know you’ve completed the training courses for their team, so pack your desk. You’ve got a new assignment.”

And just like that, every single one of your dreams came true. And then promptly burst into flames and burned to ashes when you realized what exactly your position on the team was: Temporary and replacing.

It makes sense, you guess. The team grew to rely on Reid’s quick wit and intellect. And beyond that, they’re an agent short. And you fit the bill well enough: swift and intelligent. Nothing more, nothing less. It became clear during the first few weeks that no one on the team had any intention of liking or particularly getting to know you beyond a professional capacity. And you get it, you really do. You don’t name the dog you’re gonna get rid of.

With the exception of Penelope. But you don’t think she has the ability to ignore someone without a clear reason.

So you did your job and you were good at it. Held the team at arm’s length even when they warmed up to you. Kept your head down, stuck to yourself. This way, it’s easier to stop yourself from leaning into JJ and Prentiss’s jokes, or to stamp down the glow in your chest from Hotch’s approval.

All of this hard work goes sailing straight out the window and spattering on the concrete below when Reid comes back. Because all it took was one case together- one. And then you’re hopelessly in love with the guy you replaced.

And it’s all kinds of terrible, because it’s Reid. He’s not only your coworker —soon to be ex, because now that he’s back you’ll be out of a job— but he’s also so incredibly out of your league it’s not even funny. But he keeps smiling at you and including you in conversations and saying hi to you and asking your opinion on things during cases as if you would have more to add than he does.

It’s very hard to keep him at arms length. And because Reid is Reid he drags everybody else over with him and then you’re bonding with a team you have a week left with, maybe two.

Spencer Reid has weaseled his way into your life one stupid smile at a time.

—

The case is going terribly.

What started as a run-of-the-mill serial killer case in some nowhere town turned into huge investigation because Spe— Reid figured out its relation to a cold case from a neighboring town decades prior. And then, to top everything off, just so happens to be near enough to your hometown that your mom saw you on the news when JJ was giving a statement.

And now she won’t stop calling.

Prior to this, you haven’t talked to your mom in about seven months. Now? She’s calling upwards of twelve times a day.

“Mom,” You say, tucked in one of the police stations back rooms, pinching the bridge of your nose, “I’m working, I can’t just come out to see you—“

“But you’ve never visited! And your finally in town, and—“

“I’m not in town, I’m a four hour drive away from town.”

A sigh crackles through the line, her voice tinny. “You know, your brother always made time to visit family, and your younger brothers—“

“Are younger than me and more successful, yes mom, I’ve heard it all before. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to catch a serial killer.”

You snap the phone shut before she can protest, effectively ending the call. You sag against the wall, sighing deep and weary. Exhaustion clings to your bones. It’s not just your mom. This case, being physically close to your hometown, everything— it’s weighing you down. You spend more time in the hotel bed tossing and turning than sleeping.

Even Em— Prentiss had shot you look when you’d came in this morning- though jury’s still out about whether or not it was an are-you-okay look or a you-better-be-good-for-the-case look. You’re hoping it’s the former.

The room you’re in is empty- the precinct that called for the team went under renovation and remodeling last year, so some of the rooms have fallen into disuse, apparently. It’s dusty, and filled with boxes and papers and weirdly, one or two condom wrappers. You wish you were surprised.

Your phone has been put strongly on silent, and you’re not expecting anyone to find you for at least twenty minutes. Of course, you don’t need twenty minutes. You just need five.

You just need to collect yourself for a moment. A few minutes to breathe, to get your mom’s words and the unpleasant memories they bring out of your head; to will the shake out of your hands and the cold creeping in your lungs.

So when the door opens, you nearly jump out of your skin.

Spencer walks in, phone clasped in one hand and a worried expression on his face.

“We’re getting ready to give the profile.”

“Oh,” You peel yourself off the wall, discreetly wiping at your face. You hadn’t noticed the frustrated tears carving lines down your face, “Sorry, I’m coming.”

He frowns as you come closer, and panic begins to beat like a drum in your chest.

“Is Hotch upset? I just had to take a call, I thought it would—“

“Slow down,” He says, raising his hands. “Hotch isn’t upset. Is something wrong?”

“No,” You say quickly, too quickly, because his frown deepens.

“You’ve been taking a lot more calls recently and you’re always upset after they’re over. Is someone bothering you?”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “My mom. We’re a four hour drive away from my hometown. She saw me on the news when JJ gave her statement.”

Something flashes in his eyes when you say your mother, but it’s gone before you can decipher it.

“You don’t want to see her.”

He says it flat-toned and blank. Like it’s a fact.

It is a fact.

“No,” You confess, “I’ve never been close with my parents. I haven’t spoken to her beyond a text in years, and I haven’t texted her in months. Then she sees me on the news and I’m back on her radar again.”

You chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh, the folly of the disappointing daughter.”

He tilts his head, questioning. “You’ve made something of yourself. You’re a special agent. That’s not nothing.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not Doctor or Lawyer or C.E.O or anything else my brothers or cousins have made of themselves, so,” You shrug. “Disappointing.”

“Well that’s stupid,” Spencer says, a small curl to his lips, “You keep all of those stupid people safe by catching serial killers.”

“You’re a doctor. Did you just call yourself stupid?”

He shrugs, mimicking your earlier action. “I’m not that kind of doctor.”

You look down to hide the smile on your face but he ducks down, catching it anyway.

“Hey,” He says, eyes catching yours, “If you want to talk, you know where to find me.”

You (hesitantly) look up to meet his gaze. “Thanks, Reid.”

His face does something weird. Contorts at the words, just for a second. Like he just bit into something sour.

And then it’s gone.

“Of course.”

—

For the rest of the case, everytime your phone rings, Spencer looks at you. You’re getting close to just throwing the damn thing off a roof, if it’ll convince him to stop looking at you like that. You don’t know what to do with it. The look he gives you tastes like worry, and you don’t know what to do about Spencer Reid worrying about you.

You never meet his gaze. You know he’s looking, but you never look back.

Finally, the case comes to an end. Actually, it goes out in a literal blaze of glory— the unsub lights his kill shed on fire.

All of it would have burned to ash if you hadn’t run into the structure and and snatched the murder weapon and the most damning pieces of evidence: the printed photographs the unsub took with the victims.

It’s a win because you saved the evidence.

It’s a loss because Hotch looks pissed while the paramedics check you over.

Well. You assume he looks pissed. You’re staring resolutely at your shoes.

Finally, the paramedic gives you the all clear —just some minor burns here and there, you got lucky— and you no longer have a human buffer and excuse to avoid talking.

The silence stretches out between you two. Eventually, you cave.

“Hotch, I’m sorry—“

He holds a hand up and you clamp your jaw shut.

“Did you not hear me give the order to stay back?”

“I just thought—“

“We are a team, agent. I need to be able to trust not only that you’re going to follow my orders but be able to work together with the team. Now, you’re not doing either of those things.”

You frown. “I do follow your orders.”

He sighs. “You didn’t today. And more importantly, you’re not acting like a member of this team. You don’t call for backup. You don’t ask for help. You do good profiling work, agent. But if you can’t work with this team then we might need to reconsider your position here.”

That… doesn’t make any sense.

Hotch catches the confusion on your face. “Something wrong, agent?”

“I just— I was under the impression that I would only be working with the team for a few more weeks…?”

Now it’s his turn to look confused. “You may have been hired at an inopportune time, and until the first year is over it is a probationary basis, but pending review, you are and always have been a permanent member of this unit.”

You blink. “Oh.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You didn’t think you’d be staying for long.”

You shake your head, your world turned on its head.

He hums. “You should buy earplugs. Rossi snores.”

You drop your head into your hands.

“And agent?”

You look up.

“You did good work today. You have a team. Learn to use them.”

He walks away, leaving you to process this crisis-inducing information.

So. You’re not leaving the team. You’re a profiler. Forever. This is your job now.

So does that mean you weren’t replacing Spencer? So why were you hired? Anything you can do multiple people on the team can do better. Why would Hotch pick you?

You stare at the pavement, which gives you a perfect view to watch Spencer’s shoes walk into view and hear him settle next to you.

“You’re a little young to be having a mid-life crisis.”

It takes you an embarrassingly long time to respond, partly because you’re not sure what to say, but also, the length of his thigh is pressed against yours and it’s hard to think when he’s emanating warmth and you can’t stop yourself from thinking about how it would feel to touch, skin to skin.

“Well,” You croak, “I did just get some pretty big news.”

He leans back on his hands, raising an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Looking up at him was a mistake. Bathed in the glow of the ambulance and the light from the moon, you can see just how long his eyelashes are, and how his lips move when he says your name.

Oh shit.

“Sorry, what?”

His face twitches in a smile. “I asked if you were okay. You were staring.”

You flush from your neck to the tips of your ears. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. I’m fine. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

See, he always does this. Most people would end the conversation there and move on. And that’s fine. It’s normal. But Spencer asks. Like he’s interested.

You shrug. “I thought… I thought I was leaving the team in a few weeks. Turns out i’m staying.”

He starts swinging his legs on the edge of the ambulance, though where his almost brush the ground, yours swing several inches above it. “Why did you think you were leaving?”

You laugh softly. “My boss told me the position was temporary. And in my excitement of getting it I may or may not have… not read the paperwork?”

He clicks his tongue. “Oh, honey.”

The tips of your ears burn. “I was excited!”

“To get a job staring at gruesome crime photos?”

“To help people.”

“What? Data analysis not helping people enough?”

“Do I even have to answer that?”

He snorts, his body shaking against yours. “You’re a consulting analyst. That’s the big leagues.”

Now it’s your turn to huff. “Is there a big leagues for data analysis?”

He leans his head down to look at you. “Well, maybe miss smarty-pants over here made a league of her own.”

The shade of red you turn must be visible, dark and bad lighting aside. “You have an IQ of 187. Can you really call me a smarty-pants?”

He tilts his head, giving you an assessing look. You recognize it. He gives case files the same look.

A faint shudder runs down the length of your spine at that precise, clinical gaze.

It should concern you, unnerve you.

It doesn’t.

“No, I’m positive. You’re a smarty-pants.”

You look away, unable to hold the intensity of his gaze.

“Hey, no. Come on, you gotta own up to being a smarty-pants. Otherwise you ruin the effect.”

“Am I supposed to start wearing sweaters and Converse, then?”

“Well, that wouldn’t be owning the smarty-pants look.”

“Do we have to keep the smarty-pants thing going?”

“Took your mind off the burns, didn’t it?”

You blink, realizing that you haven’t noticed the dull sting of the minor burns littering your body for a few minutes now.

But that has less to do with Spencer speaking and more to do with the fact that he’s here. Touching you. If you focus really hard, you can feel the chords of muscle lining his arm.

“Uh,” You stutter, momentarily flabbergasted by the way he’s looking at you. Like it’s important to him— you not being in pain. “Yeah, yeah, I guess. Well. I feel them now.”

“Oh, shame. I guess we’ll just have to keep talking.”

You furrow your brows. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Shouldn’t you be helping finish wrapping up the case?”

He shrugs. “I’m right where I want to be.”

That’s a decidedly very loaded statement that are not going to unpack.

You’re not going to unpack to jolt of pure electricity you feel from it, either.

—

You may or may not have lied about just how sick you were, exactly.

“You know,” Rossi says after you hack a cough into your elbow for what has to be the fiftieth time in as many minutes, “That’s starting to sound less like the plague and more like desperation.”

You sniff harshly, taking a swig of cough syrup and praying this isn’t the king with codeine in it. You didn’t read the label very well. “What do you mean?”

Prentiss raises an eyebrow. “He’s saying that most people on their veritable death/bed opt to sleep comfortably in their own beds in their own homes rather than on a plane to hunt down a violent killer.”

You think if your apartment— it’s cozy, at least, but still a glaring reminder of the reason you told Hotch you were fine to come in- loneliness.

You have heated blankets and warm lighting and books and tea —boxes and boxes of tea— and all manner of things that make you happy. But no amount of things can replace, tangible human connection.

You knew the ache of spending the day in your apartment would sting worse than the cold. Fever, Whatever you have.

“I’m thinking of a word,” JJ says, mock tapping her chin thoughtfully, “Starts with work, ends with holic.”

“I am not a workaholic,” you wheeze. “I am fine.”

“Yes,” Prentiss says, raising her other eyebrow. Oh no. Not the double eyebrow raise. “Because this is exactly what the picture of health looks like.”

To avoid answering, you take another swig of cough medicine.

“Just do you know,” Spencer says, “You’re about one tiny sip of that away from overdosing. I’d cool it on the cough syrup.”

“But I’m still coughing.”

“Have you given it any time to work?”

“It’s been thirty-ish minutes since I took the first dose.”

He levels you with a look at your usage of dose. “Why don’t you wait a little longer before committing suicide via shallow breathing and seizures.”

You wave a hand. “It’s fine. I know how to take care of myself when I’m sick.”

“Is your version of taking care of yourself just continuously taking medicine until the symptoms become bearable?”

“You’re un-bearable.” You snort at your play on words, but grow quiet because when you look up, the entire team is looking at you. “What?”

“You never joke.” JJ says.

“And I think I’ve heard you laugh exactly two times, and I’m pretty sure one of them was a sneeze.” Rossi says, a look of vague disbelief on his face.

You squirm in place. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Uh, yeah it is. You’re definitely too sick to be on a case if you’re laughing.”

“Come on, it was barely a chuckle—“

Spencer looks around. “Yeah, what’s the big deal? I’ve heard her laugh before.”

JJ and Prentiss snap their heads to him in tandem. “What?”

Now he looks vaguely uncomfortable. “I just don’t get why it’s such a big deal.”

“That’s cause you showed up late to the party,” Em- Prentiss says, “You didn’t meet her when she first came. She was all genius consulting data analyst.”

“I wouldn’t call myself a genius—“

“Yeah,” JJ chimes in, “I only ever saw her smile to be polite.”

“Wait,” Prentiss says, brows pinched, “You heard her laugh and you didn’t tell us? You knew we were trying to see who would make her break first.”

“You guys were trying to make me laugh? Is that what was happening all that time? I almost called Hotch like, thirty times because I was concerned for you guy’s mental wellbeing. I thought you’d had a nervous breakdown.”

JJ snorts. “Nope. Just tried to see if the rumors were true about all data analysts being robots.”

You cough into your elbow. “You guys make it seem like I was some sort of frigid bitch.”

“Frigid, yes. Bitch, no.”

“Hey!” You retort, then wince as the volume of your own voice makes your head pound harder and makes your throat sting worse, “I wasn’t that bad. Also, I was nervous! I’m the youngest person here by like, a long shot. I wanted to be professional.”

“I for one enjoyed it,” Rossi cuts in, “It was all blunt business. Straight to the point. No beating around the bush or gossiping. A few people here could learn a thing or two.”

“See?” You gesture. “Rossi agrees with me.”

Just about everyone on the plane gives you the exact same look. Hotch especially, who’s stayed silent during the entire exchange, looks troubled.

Once you land (an ordeal that normally doesn’t bother you, but today, had you worshipping the porcelain altar) Hotch pulls you aside.

“Agent,” He says before you climb into the car that’ll take you to the police precinct, “I can’t have an agent not at peak performance on this case.”

You frown. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re too sick to work this case—“

“No, no, I can work, I can do it—“

“—In the field. You’re working from the station until we wrap up. Understood?”

You sigh, knowing when you’re beat. “Understood.”

He gazes at you for a second. “You might want to call out of work entirely the next time you’re sick, you know. The less time you spend resting the longer it’ll take to get better. I expect to see you taking care of yourself at the precinct.”

You blink. “Are you… dad-ing me?”

He almost smiles. “Well, I am a father. It’s bound to come out sometimes.”

The joke soothes your concerns of him being upset with you (again.) You suppose it would’ve been warranted —Hotch never gets upset without a reason— but still. He’s the only one you occasionally struggle to read.

The good news is by the time you make it to the station, your medicine has kicked in.

The bad news is when you get to the station your medicine has kicked in.

“Spencer,” You say, spinning in a spinny chair and staring at his blurry face. “Did you know that elephants have prehensile—“

“Do not finish that sentence.” He says, glancing back at the team, all in various stages of concern, disgust, amusement, and annoyance. “Did you take non-drowsy cough medicine?”

“Yes! I didn’t want to be tired.”

He scrubs a tired hand down his face, then nudges a sealed water bottle across the table to you. “Drink that.”

You wrinkle your nose. “But my throat hurts.”

“Drink it anyway.”

You snatch the water bottle, grumbling the whole time as you crack the seal and gulp down the water, not realizing how thirsty you were until this very second.

You lean your forehead on the table head still pounding from the pressure in your sinuses. You feel a prickle in the back of your neck, signifying that the team is still staring at you.

With great effort, you lift your head, tilting your chin up and trying to summon all the self confidence you don’t actually have.

“I am making a fool of myself. Please disregard my actions until I am no longer ill. This won’t happen again.”

Words are hard. Speaking is hard. With a groan, you drop your head back on your arm.

“Ah, there she is.”

“Knew that laugh had to be a fluke.”

“Cold medicine must be working.”

There are other mutterings about stubborn geniuses and workaholics and data analysis and Spencer staying at the station and—

You snap your head up. “I’m fine. I don’t need a baby-sitter. Spencer would be most useful in the field. He’s one of the best shot’s on the team.”

“And when it comes to needing a marksman I won’t hesitate to get him,” Hotch says, “But for now, I need my two geniuses to put their heads together to solve this case.”

Feeling cowed, you avoid Spencer’s gaze as the team files out of the room you’ve all set up in, instead grabbing a file from the center of the table. You really are being stupid. You should’ve stayed home, now you’re a liability, not to mention a walking biohazard. Fuck, why couldn’t you just think before you—

“I can hear you spiraling from over here.”

You lift your gaze, eyeing Spencer who hasn’t even put down the case file he’s reading.

You look back down. “I wasn’t spiraling.”

“You’re really going to lie to a profiler?”

“We’re both profilers.”

“Yeah, well, you have an obvious tell when you’re worrying about something.”

“I do not!”

You hear the quiet shuffling of papers.

A sigh leaves your lips, and you press the heels of your hands to your eyes. “I’m really sorry, Spe— Reid. I didn’t mean to drag you here with me.”

If he notices your slip up, he doesn’t give any indication of it.

“Who said anything about dragging?”

“I know you’re a germaphobe, and I’m a walking biohazard, and now you’re stuck here going over case files and, and I’m a liability right now—“

“Slow down,” He says, interrupting your slew of word vomit. His voice has dropped an octave, gaining a richer note. You should stop thinking about his voice. “I’m fine. You’re fine. The team is more worried than upset. You’re not the first person to come to work sick. And you won’t be the last.”

“They keep staring at me.”

“Because your current state and manner of behavior are disrupting their pre-conceived notions and set opinions of your character.”

You scrunch your nose. “Don’t get all clinical on me,”

You hear a small huff of laughter across the table. “I’ve come to work far worse than hopped up on cold medicine, believe me. Don’t worry about it. Just focus on working the case.”

Slowly, the itching under your skin settles, and you manage to swallow the lump in your throat. Eventually, you peel your hands away from your face and do what he says.

Hours pass by in a blur of text and you and Spencer occasionally either bouncing ideas off each other or making small breakthroughs. Spencer handles the relay of information because you can’t really go more than three full sentences without hacking up a lung. Seriously, what is cough syrup good for?

Sometime past midday, you start flagging. The words start blending and smushing together and your head gets harder and harder to hold up. You’re jolting yourself back awake every five minutes, forcing your body to just bear through the illness for the sake of productivity. You got yourself into this mess, you deal with the consequences.

You’re just… so tired. Maybe you’ll close your eyes, just for a few minutes. To get energy. And then you can get back to the case.

Just for a few minutes.

—

“She out?”

“Like a light. Powered through for a lot longer than I expected. But dextromethorphan gets us all in the end.”

A low whistle. “Poor kid. The ‘proving yourself to the team’ phase is rough.”

A hum. “I think it’s more than that.”

A beat passes.

“You got her?”

“Yeah,” Something soft and good smelling, like pine and coffee and something almost rich settles over your shoulders, “Yeah, I got her.”

—

When you wake, your neck is sore but you’re not cold, which is strange considering you remember falling asleep in a table.

Oh god you fell asleep on the table.

You jackrabbit up in place, knees knocking against the underside of the table. Hissing in pain, you tug the warm thing further around your shoulders which is—

Holy fucking shit it’s Spencer’s sweater.

Said man is nowhere to be found, and the conference/briefing room you’re in is dark. Not only did someone turn the lights off (you’re pretty sure you can guess who) but it’s dark outside. Meaning you didn’t just take a short nap.

You slept the entire day away.

Cold dread seeps into your shoulders. “Oh my god I’m so fired. Oh shit. Fuck, Hotch is going to be so pissed—“

The door opens and you stand, whirling around to face the doorway and then instantly regretting it when spots dance across your vision and your head swims.

You stumble, grabbing the edge of the chair for support and squinting at the figure in the doorway.

“Hotch?”

“Nope,” Spencer’s voice rings out in the room, “Guess again.”

You groan, sinking down into the chair. “Am I fired?”

He snorts. “Seeing as Hotch bet that you’d fall asleep before dark, I’d say no.”

“He bet against me?”

“Actually, everyone else thought you’d only last an hour. He bet for four.”

“How long did you bet for?”

He sets a mug in front of you, steaming tea wafting up and warming your face. “Three hours. You metabolize cough syrup better than I thought.”

You take the mug in your hands, warming your fingers but not actually taking a sip. “Mmm. Told you I’ve done this before.”

“I don’t think that’s the brag you think it is.”

You chuckle, which quickly turns into a cough.

“Drink your tea,” He commands softly from across the table, sleeves pushed up around his elbows and papers spread about him.

You dutifully take a sip, something restless growing calm in the back of your skull.

You eye is forearms, hoping the look-over you’re giving them is subtle. (It probably isn’t, but come on. A button down with the sleeves rolled up while you’re wearing his sweater is practically sinful.)

“Do you… want the lights turned back on? I’m awake now, so.”

He flips over a piece of paper, then scribbles something on a sticky note. “You were sleeping. And you have a headache. I can see just fine.”

“My headache isn’t that bad, really, I’m fi—“

He levels you with a look, and you sink a little lower in your chair. “Do you at least want your sweater back?”

“No. Keep it.”

“Careful, maybe I’ll just keep it forever,” You joke.

“I’d be fine with that.”

What. The. Fuck.

You stand, pushing out the chair with a loud screech. “I’m just gonna— bathroom,” You splutter, your face blazing and stomach doing a gymnastics routine, “I’m gonna use the bathroom. Bye.”

You’re screaming internally the entire way to the bathroom, and once you get there, open-mouthed silent screaming in the privacy of a stall.

Because. He said. He didn’t even look up. He just. And he. Maybe he—

No, no, no. You are not about to entertain that notion. Not again. He was just being nice. That’s all. That’s all.

Collecting yourself takes about five more minutes, and then you’re walking back to the conference/briefing room when you realize you never took the damn sweater off. He watched you scramble out of that room to the bathroom he has to know you weren’t using, with his sweater on.

This is the end for you, then. That’s it. It’s over.

You mentally slap yourself. Get it together. It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

You re-enter the room marginally calmer than you left it. You slide into your seat, sip your tea (that he made you!) and keep working on the case.

You pretend you can’t see him smirking from across the table.

—

The case doesn’t last too long. The team catches the guy in the act of beating his next victim. Thankfully, you manage to save the poor woman before he finishes his plan, and with being caught red-handed, it’s fairly open and shut. Case closed. Which is great, because you really aren’t sure how many more nights you can suffer through trying to sleep in the hotel bed.

You have this thing, when you’re sick. You can’t sleep anywhere but the couch. Your couch. You figured (apparently foolishly) that it wouldn’t be too bad, since the crux of the issue is that you hate sleeping in your bed when you’re sick, but no. You’d spent every night of the case tossing and turning and coughing yourself out. Your lungs were tired. Your body was tired. You were tired.

Spencer raises an eyebrow at you when you board the jet. “You haven’t been near-overdosing on cough syrup again have you?”

“No,” You grouse, rubbing your face with your hand. “I’m like, not even sick anymore. I just didn’t sleep well.” For several nights in a row.

“Mmm,” He hums, non-committal.

You practically collapse into your usual seat on the jet, hunching in yourself and attempting to make yourself comfortable in the seat.

You blink your eyes open when you feel the seat jostle next to you. “Reid?”

He’s already pulling out a book. “What?”

“This isn’t your seat.”

“We don’t have assigned seats.”

“No, but you always sit over there.”

“And now I’m sitting here.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to decide if you want to argue him on the point or not. You decide against it, because arguing will draw attention to the fact that you’re sitting next to each other having this conversation at all.

You settle back into your seat. “Whatever. Hope you’re not a loud page-turner.”

“Is that even a thing?”

You shrug, eyes falling shut again.

After a few minutes, you shiver, unconsciously scooting closer to the warmth of the person next to you, your sleep-addled brain barely processing the fact that it’s Spencer you’re pressing your shoulder into.

He repositions next to you, shoulder jostling you. You grumble, dropping your head to his arm. Now much closer, your nose fills with the smooth, all encompassing smell that is Spencer.

The dull chatter that fills the plane, the warm body next to yours, and, despite your earlier complaints, the quiet, gentle page-turning lull you into an easy sleep.

—

“Are you drugging her or something? I’ve seen her sleep more this week than I have in her entire time on the team.”

“The only drugging she’s done was voluntary.”

“Her neck is going to be so sore when she wakes up.”

“Sore? Mine would be broken if I did that.”

“Ah, the joys of youth.”

A beat passes. Then another.

“She’s a bit young, don’t you think?”

“Emily don’t start—“

“Just saying, Spence. HR would get a kick out of this.”

“Not like it never happens. We’ve all walked into supply closet B at the wrong time.”

“This isn’t meaningless sex though.”

“…No.”

Silence.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

A deft hand re-adjusts your head to a more comfortable angle. “I will be.”

—

Landing jolts you into wakefulness and off Spencer’s shoulder. It’s not embarrassing. It’s not. It’s only weird if you make it weird.

When you’re all back at HQ, you pull Hotch aside.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

He nods. “In my office.”

You stalk up the stairs, aware of the eyes following your back. You step into the office, shutting the door behind you and pretending it doesn’t feel like sealing your doom.

He sits, gesturing for you to do so too, but you shake your head.

“I won’t be long. I just wanted to apologize.”

He blinks. “For?”

“I shouldn’t have come in. I was a liability, and it was unprofessional. Next time I’ll act with more discretion.”

Selfish, Your mother’s words echo in your head, your father’s words following suit: Try harder.

He laces his fingers together, resting him on his desk.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

“Because Reid was gone, and you needed a ge— someone smart.”

“Every member of my team is intelligent. That’s not why I chose you.”

He reaches down, opening a desk drawer and pulling out a newspaper clipping.

Your breath hitches when you read the words on it.

“Garcia found it,” He says, scanning the piece of paper. “‘Professor’s Assistant saves college class from school shooter’. You were sixteen.”

You look down at your shoes. “It was the scariest moment of my life. I didn’t— he came in, and I was behind the door getting paper, and he didn’t see me. He… I knew people would die if I didn’t do something. I tackled him. He shot me twice before I managed to kick the gun away. I almost bled out.”

He nods, putting the clipping down. “That’s who I chose. Not the genius. Not the consulting data analyst. Someone who wants to help people.”

He puts the clipping back in his drawer. “I’m not going to write you up for not having a healthy work-life balance. No one in this bureau does, and if they say they do, they’re lying.”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “Now I look stupid for asking to talk.”

“It’s not an imposition. You’re a member of my team. That makes your wellbeing when you’re on the job my responsibility.”

Unable to form a response to that, you manage to stutter out a thank you, and then flee from his office, collapsing into your chair at your desk with a sigh.

A mug is set in front of you. Different mug, same tea, same hand.

“I think you need to reevaluate your opinion of Hotch and what kind of person you think he is.”

You take the mug with a glare. “I was reasonably concerned.”

“You thought you were going to get written up for coming to work sick?”

“It was a logical conclusion to draw,” You pause, taking a sip of the tea, which is just as good as it was last time. Actually, it’s slightly sweeter, and it soothes your throat more. “And stop profiling me. What’d you put in this?”

“Stop being so easy to profile,” Spencer says, crossing his arms. “Honey. They didn’t have any at the station.”

It’s quiet for a few moments: him staring at you, you pretending he’s not staring and sipping your tea.

“You should go home.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re still sick. Don’t tell me you just can’t wait to write all this paperwork.”

“Maybe I am.”

“No you’re not,” He picks up your jacket from where it’s hanging off the side of your cubicle and plops it in your lap. “Go home. I’ll sick Hotch on you.”

You stand, shrugging your jacket on and pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re a cruel man.”

“Mhm. Sure. Go home.”

You grumble all the way to the door, but quiet when you look back to see him watching you fondly. He gives you a little two finger wave, and with the sheer amount of heat that rushes to your cheeks, you have no choice but leave immediately.

Stupid genius co-workers.

—

The next week brings wellness and a lull in cases.

Unfortunately, that also means you don’t have an excuse to put off your paperwork any longer.

Spencer taps the top of it with a slender finger. “Did it get bigger since the last time I saw it?”

He’s hanging around your desk for… some reason. He came to drop off paperwork from your last case, and then stuck around for some unknown purpose.

“No,” You groan, setting your mug of coffee aside and grabbing the first paper off the stack. “Still the same pile I’m procrastinating on.”

“Good luck,” He huffs, finally turning and walking back to his own desk. It’s still in your eyeline, if you crane your neck a little.

You sigh, grabbing your earbuds from your desk, knowing you can’t put the paperwork off any longer. You’re pretty sure Records is going to start sending you death threats soon.

Making your way through the pile is slow going. It’s terrible. The only part of working with the BAU you hate is the paperwork. It’s tedious and never-ending and it always gives you a headache.

The only times you get up are to use the bathroom and get more coffee. JJ kindly tells you that you should probably leave your mug in the break room after your sixth or so trip. Spencer, somehow, appears in the room, and rattles off the symptoms of caffeine overdose.

You leave the mug there.

You continue working well after everyone else leaves. It gets dark, people go home, office lights go off, and while the pile has largely decreased in size, it’s still not finished.

You have to finish. Hotch had made an offhand comment about turning in your paperwork on time and now you have to finish it. To show him you’re not lazy.

You’ve only got a little bit of paperwork left when a hand taps you on your shoulder.

You yank your earbuds out, blinking blearily. “Wha?”

Spencer’s face swims into view. “Come on, time to go home.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you didn’t fall asleep and forget to go home. They do lock the doors at a certain point. Ask me how I know.”

Your brain is moving like sludge, and it takes you several minutes to process what he says. He continues standing in front of you, patiently waiting for you to respond.

“But… the paperwork.”

“Will be here tomorrow. Come on, up we go.”

You whine as he takes your hands, hauling you to your feet. You attempt to scrub the sleep out of your eyes while messily moving papers about so your desk doesn’t look like a copy machine threw up all over it.

He pushes your jacket into your hands and you shrug it on, grumbling all the way through the doors and out to the parking lot, Spencer in tow. He follows dutifully behind you, and everytime you look back at him to voice your complaints all he does is smile.

“It’s cold.”

“That does tend to happen in winter.”

When you get to your car, he reaches out, tugging on your wrist.

“Hey,” He says, looking down at you, eyes deep pools of some emotion you can’t identify, “Drive safe, okay? It’s icy.”

“My commute isn’t that bad. And I’m,” You break off with a huge yawn. “Not even that tired.”

“That doesn’t inspire much confidence, smarty-pants.”

“Oh, so we’re locked into the smarty-pants thing, huh?”

“Yep.” He says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and popping the P.

“Well then what am I supposed to call you? Robot-Reid?”

“How about Spencer?”

His words hang in the night air, mingling in the puffs of air from both of your mouths.

“…What rhymes with Spencer?”

“Sensor, denser, dispenser—“

“Dis-Spencer,” You say, smiling to yourself. “I like the sound of that one.”

“You know dis comes from—“

“The latin word dis, and the prefix is used to denote a reversal of absence of an action, expressing negation, or expressing completeness or intensification of an unpleasant or unattractive action.”

He chuckles, smiling down at his shoes. “That’s why you’re the smarty-pants.”

“Oh please. You know all of that and then some.”

He shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not.”

You both stand in the cold of the parking lot, neither willing to leave yet.

Before you can think better of it, you dart forward, throwing your arms around Spencer’s neck and mumbling “Goodnight, Dis-Spencer.”

You step away quickly, awkwardly giving him a small wave before hurrying into your car and driving away.

Smooth.

—

The next case is… really rough.

Two spree killers, working as a team. A father and a son; the son was groomed into the lower position.

Not anything you haven’t seen before. Trained for. Studied.

No amount of studying could have prepared you for the cold grip of dread that gripped your throat like a vice when you finally confronted the unsubs, and heard eerily familiar words uttered from the father:

“You’re a good for nothing son! I wouldn’t have had to do this if you weren’t such a disappointment of a child! Why couldn’t you have just been more like your siblings?”

The son was killed before anyone could intervene.

Wrapping up the case left you shaken— you’d watched with hollow eyes as the boy’s body was zipped in a body bag.

A hand landing roughly on your shoulder shoves awareness back into your body and you flinch, hard, whirling around with your shoulders raised to meet the oncoming threat.

Only it’s not a threat. It’s Hotch. And he looks concerned.

You force your body to relax. “I’m sorry, I’ll go help question the rest of the family—“

“Are you okay?”

You blink. “What?”

“Are you alright?” He asks again.

“Yeah, I’m, I’m okay. It just… reminded me of something.”

Hotch purses his lips but doesn’t say anything. He looks he’s going to say something, but then decides against it.

“Help Reid get the last of the evidence. Once you two are finished head back to the station. We’ll meet you there.”

You nod, inwardly relieved about not having to deal with the family members. You might start actually crying.

You sidle up to Spencer who’s tagging blood splatters on the carpet. He wordlessly hands you a pair of gloves. He doesn’t ask. You don’t tell.

You work side by side for the better part of two hours, occasionally conversing with the local police or helping the crime scene investigators tag evidence.

If he knows what’s bothering you, he doesn’t say. You wouldn’t have an answer anyway. You’re far too gone in your own head.

You follow Spencer to the break room back at the station, watching him quietly make two mugs of tea. He presses one into your hands with a gentle command to let it cool for a few minutes. The mug is warm in your hands. Spencer is standing next to you, a mug of his own in his hands. Your parents aren’t here. You’re fine.

You chant this mantra in your head while you wait for the rest of the team to come back.

Your parents aren’t here. You’re fine.

Spencer doesn’t ask before sitting next to you on the jet. He just does. He hands you a book, then opens his own.

You don’t read a single page. He must know. Still, he says nothing, just presses a little closer to you when he sees your hands shaking.

The team gives the two of you space when you finally land. You stumble off the jet, trip backpack slung over your shoulder, legs wobbly and breath uneven.

You’re not sure why the case upset you this much. Your parents don’t upset you this much. They just— they make the same kind of comments, and so did that father, except now his son is dead because he killed him—

“Hey,” Hotch approaches you slowly, makes sure you can see him. You hate that he feels the need to do so. “Take tomorrow off. Stay home. Recuperate.”

“I’m fi—“

“We all have tough missions and I would do the same for any agent,” He says, clasping you gently on the shoulder. “Besides. We both know you haven’t been sleeping well.”

Your lips twitch. “Isn’t there a rule against profiling each other?”

“That rule is for all of you. Not me.”

He gives your shoulder one last squeeze before departing.

You manage to haul yourself into HQ and out to the parking lot, cursing as your cold fingers fumble with your keys. Frustrated tears begin to well in your eyes and you press the heels of your hands to your face, sucking in a shuddering breath and begging it all to just stop.

Someone gently pries your hands open, pulling your keys out of your clenched grip. Your shoulders shake as you heave, gasping for cold night air that burns on the way down.

A hand finds its way to the back of your head, pressing it forward into something warm and solid. Another arm wraps around your waist, keeping you close, while the hand on your head drifts down to your neck, squeezing and rubbing intermittently.

“I’m sorry,” You cry, rubbing your face and smearing your tears across your hands, “I don’t know why, it just—“

“You don’t need a reason,” Spencer says, spreading his hand out wide so it covers the entire nape of your neck, “Sometimes it all just gets to you.”

You nod into his chest, lowering your hands from his face to wrap around his torso, clutching it like a lifeline.

“I don’t want to go home tonight,” You whisper, ashamed. “I’ll dream of it. And them. And it’ll be cold and alone—“

“Come home with me,” He says, voice a little breathless while he holds you closer, “Come home with me.”

He says the last part a little desperate.

You sniff. “Okay.”

You hesitantly pull away from the hug, but not before Spencer’s hand moves from your neck to your face, his thumb brushing away the tear tracks on your face. He drops his head down, and you feel the gentlest brush of lips against the skin in between your eyebrows.

“Let’s go home.”

He tugs you along by the hand, helping you into his little old car, tucking your bags into the backseat. He lets the radio play softly while he drives, loud enough to quiet your thoughts a bit but not so loud as to overwhelm you.

He helps you out of the car when you arrive to the apartment building, carrying one of your bags up the stairs- you’d insisted on carrying the rest of your stuff.

He unlocks the apartment door, ushering you into the warmth and comfort that is Spencer’s home.

It’s exactly like you pictured, if not tidier. A bit more modern than you’d imagined. Books are everywhere of course, but so are knick-knacks and trinkets and other little bits of things that are so decidedly Spencer. There’s even a quilt on the couch.

He sets your bag down by the door. “The shower is down that hall to the left. Use whatever products you need to. Do you have any clothes to change into?”

You chew on the inside of your lip. “In my luggage, yeah, but they need to be washed.”

“I can put them in the wash while you shower. In the meantime, you can borrow something of mine.”

You shuffle in place. “I don’t wanna impose—“

“Please let me do this for you.”

The raw, rough edge to his tone makes you pause. You nod in acquiescence.

He takes your hand in his again, tugging you into his bedroom. With one hand, he opens drawers, handing you his smallest pair of sweatpants, and a large, worn, and incredibly soft Caltech sweatshirt.

“I’ll have to cuff these,” You mumble when he hands you the sweatpants, “My legs are half the length of yours.”

“You’ll make it work, I’m sure. Now shoo. I’ll have laundry and food finished when you get out of the shower.”

The bathroom, like the rest of the house, is clean and neat, and to your relief, houses more than just a five-in-one in the shower. Spencer actually owns multiple products for you to choose from and it hits you while you’re lathering the body wash you chose because of how good it smelled that you’re in Spencer’s shower, showering with his body wash, about to put on his clothes.

You’re going to smell like him. His clothes will smell like him. Everywhere in the apartment smells like him.

You decide to blame the near permanent flush on your cheeks on the heat from the shower.

When you exit the shower, fresh and drowning in Spencer’s clothes, he’s standing at his kitchen island, putting the final touches on two bowls of soup.

You almost tear up again. “You made me soup?”

“It’s widely regarded as a comfort food for people who are ill or otherwise sad, and is most commonly made in the wintertime.”

He gives you a little jazz hand, gesturing to the soup as if saying ta-da!

You really do tear up then.

He’s in front of you in an instant, hands poised to help. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Do you not like soup? I can make something else, or we can order in, or—“

You scrub at your face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “You’re just, you’re just really sweet.”

His face softens. “Oh, honey.”

He envelops you in the second hug of the night, except this time you’re crying in earnest now. Your crying about your parents, about the nights you went to bed hungry because your Dad told that you were smart, and to figure something out, but you were too young to work any of the kitchen appliances. You’re crying about your first best friend, who ditched you the second your brother asked her out. You’re crying about all the classes and friendships you missed out on while you were in the hospital with gunshot wounds. You’re crying about how your parents didn’t visit you once. Not even when you were in the ICU.

Spencer holds you through it all, a steady rock against the battering waves crashing in your head.

After a few minutes, you wear yourself out, quieting down to sniffling, your shoulders hitching.

He pulls back, studying your face. “Are you ready to eat some soup now?”

You nod, blinking the final tears out of your eyes. “I got snot on your shirt.”

“That’s why we invented washing machines.”

He keeps up a stream of idle chatter while you eat, explaining all the different major soups in the world and where they came from. It’s a balm against your weary mind, lulls you into peace and safety.

Or maybe that’s just the effect Spencer has on you.

When you finish your food, he takes your bowl, deposits it in the sink, and then takes your hand and leads you to his bedroom.

“I don’t have a guest room, so you can take the bed,” He says, voice soft. “There’s extra blankets in the closet next to the bathroom if you get cold.”

He turns to leave, but a stab of panic slices down your chest, and your hand is reaching out and grabbing his wrist before you can stop yourself.

He pauses, turning back around. “You want me to stay?”

You take your lip between your teeth. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He studies you in the dark of the room— clad in his clothes, face puffy from crying.

The muscles in his jaw work.

“I can’t do this platonically. If we do this—“

You surge up on your toes, grabbing his face and smashing your lips together so quickly your teeth clack.

He goes rigid, then kisses your right back, hands coming up to cup your face, squeeze your neck, smooth over your shoulders.

You pull away first, looking at him through your lashes with hazy eyes. “I can’t do this platonically either.”

He traces the planes of your face with his thumb. “You have no idea how long and how much I’ve wanted to have you right here, just like this.”

“Crying and sad?”

“Dressed in my clothes, in my apartment, in my bed.”

You pause. “You know, tonight, I can’t, I’m not going to have—“

“I’m not interested in sex with you tonight,” He says, reading your mind, “I just want to get that empty look in your eyes gone.”

“Just?”

“Well,” He says, tugging you down onto the bed with him, crawling under the covers and covering you both, “There are other things. A lot of other things, Like this,”

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“And this,”

He pulls you flush against him under the covers, tucking your head under his chin.

“But mostly this.”

He presses one last kiss to the crown of your head.

“Really?”

“Really.”

It’s quiet for a moment before his voice breaks the silence.

“After I got out, all I wanted was something soft and gentle. Having something, someone soft and lovely to hold was all I looked forward to. And then I came back and I met you, with your polite introductions and the way you care so deeply about so much and I knew. I knew who I wanted to hold.”

“Wow,” You breathe, “Yours sounds so poetic. Mine is much less so.”

“Mmm,” He hums, “And what might that be?”

You press your face against his chest and mumble so quietly you’re wondering if he can ever hear you:

“I just wanted you to choose me. I wanted to be someone’s first choice.”

He’s so quiet after that you think he must not have heard you.

You’re on the verge of sleep when you hear his whisper:

“There couldn’t be anyone else for me.”

જ⁀➴

[sallymew4]

EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOURE DOING RIGHT FUCKING NOW

EVERYBODY SHUT UP IMMEDIATELY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[skhardwarevers1]

lowkey. Not over my ex at all

[weirdsht]

HAHAHAHA imagine Cale with someone weaker than him + a troublemaker and oftentimes think crazier than him, but they're useful so that's what tied them together with the gang💀 bro might feel the stress his hyungs felt whenever he throws himself into danger lol and would start reflecting. Have u done this b4? :D

Is This My Karma? - Cale/Reader

notes: anon... did you take a look inside my mind? or maybe my docs? because the series i'm going to publish later has a similar prompt. i was gonna make it a surprise but since the cat is out of the bag imma announce it here lol. i'll be making a cale/reader slowburn series or at least try but while waiting for that you guys enjoy this small drabble from anon's ask first

tags: fluff, sickfic, reader is an idiot, cale is also an idiot, idiots in love basically, choi han is in charge of their single braincell, established relationship

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome

Buy Me Dessert

Navigation Masterlist

“For the last time, you will not pass your cold to the White Star. How are you even going to achieve that? Also what merit would it bring if that punk catches your sickness?”

Cale glanced over at the sick person in his bed speaking nonsense. Well, it’s not completely nonsense as it was possible.

…If that said person wasn’t on the verge of dying because of a fever.

“We both cough know it’s cough possible. Plus you’re not looking at the bigger picture of cough White Star getting a fever.”

“No you’re just thinking irrationally-”

“Ah ah, I’m still cough speaking. Let the cough sick cough speak.”

“...I think the sick should shut the hell up and sleep.”

The person who is Cale’s significant other only glared at the commander before drinking the water Choi Han handed to them. When arguments like this first happened the swordmaster would interject to create peace.

But that was before he learned just how unhinge this person was.

_____, Cale’s headache and significant other, was a naturally weak person. Even weaker than Cale without ancient powers. However, despite their physical prowess being on the weaker side they have a very useful ancient power.

They have a wood attribute power that can conjure flowers, grass, and trees with either poison or healing powers. Its downside is that the abilities do not work on _____. However, they can make flowers that can spread whatever sickness they have at the moment.

“We all know you just need to fling me at cough a good distance near Mr. Steal-My-Cale’s-Looks and I can pass him my cold with the flowers. Easy peasy Ron’s lemon squeezy.”

Cale remembers _____’s explanation being that the flowers' pollen would contain the same bacteria and virus as their body. Or something along those lines.

“...”

“Hear me cough out, okay? Imagine this, White Star with his plate on the verge of breaking, coughing out so much blood, armless in every sense of the cough as well. Imagine a cough nasty fever and cough combo on top of that.”

“...”

_____ looked at the silent Cale expectantly.

“Sometimes I really wonder why I got together with a punk like you”

“But you love me!”

Sigh

Cale couldn’t refute so he just sighed.

At first, he let _____ join their group because they were useful. Not only is their ability useful but they are also intelligent. They have the see the faults in Cale’s plan and think of a counter-measure. They can also conjure up great plans.

Well, most of the time at least.

Other times look like this…

“No, we are not doing your absurd plan. Just go to sleep and get better, I’ll take care of things.”

Cale kissed the top of _____’s head.

“And don’t even try to think of sneaking out like you did last time. Alberu and Tasha almost had a heart attack.”

The previously smiling _____ because of Cale’s kiss was now pouting because of the reminder. 

Meanwhile, Cale let them be as he went out of their bedroom.

He let out another sigh as he did. Behind him was Choi Han struggling to suppress a smile, wait no a laugh.

“What’s up with you?”

“No, it’s just that Cale-nim you and _____-nim are really similar.”

Choi Han added after seeing Cale glare at him.

“Sometimes that’s how your plans look to us.”

“Haaa”

Cale couldn’t help but notice how his acting like his sworn brother right now.

‘Is this how the crown prince feels about me?’

Not just the crown prince but everyone else as well.

‘Was this why team leader-nim and Choi Jung Soo insisted that I should farm with them even after retirement?’

There was no way, right?

‘There’s no way me and _____ are similar. I’m not self-sacrificial like that. I always make sure that I will live.’

Right?

Looks like he finally got all my warnings.

Cale ignored Super Rock’s voice.

But still, he can’t deny that he caused his group some headaches.

“...I will reflect on myself.”

Choi Han only nodded and smiled at the dazed young master.

Meanwhile, Cale’s mind is a bit chaotic right now.

‘Did my karma come in the form of my significant other?’

There’s no way that’s the case… right?

Right???

[pandaspwnz]

Finally got my hands on a test today because my mom's boyfriend had an extra one (although he also thankfully found some at the pharmacy later!) and I do not have covid! (at least yet)

Mom tested positive for covid yesterday (she's mostly okay, just has a light cough and a runny nose), but we're out of tests now so I'll need to run to the store later (with a mask on ofc) and get more, both to keep track of hers, but also because I also have a sore throat 🙃

[signedeclipse]

Hello! I was the one with the cannibalism request. 🫣 I really loved the headcanons you wrote! 😊

I would like to make another headcanon request for Kokushibo, Hantengu and Kaigaku with a reader who's blind. They could see when they were much younger, but now most of their vision is lost, and they have difficulty navigating at night. At first they didn't even recognized the other as a demon but were very accepting when they found out. Now they hate to be away from their demon partner and would rather spend every minute with them. I can also see them utilizing their condition to lure in victims (by asking for help) for their demon to eat.

Thank you in advance and I hope you have a great day! ☺️

Hantengu | Kaigaku | Kokushibo [X Reader]

In which their s/o is blind, and helps them lure humans in for eating.

Hantengu

Ever since he met you, alone and lost, he felt pity that you had been left to nothing for something out of your control

Of course, you were just like him, so he would protect you if it meant protecting his own ego

But you were so kind, and you didn't say anything cruel or judgemental to him, he could go as far as to say you depend on him

He liked that a lot, it made him feel special

Being apart of him, the clones didn't touch you either, either amused by your lack of sight, feeling pity, overtaken by anger at those who wronged you, or liking having something so new around

Fortunately all their eyes were different, save for Hantengu and Sekido, so it was easy to tell them apart if not for their personalities

In no way was the Upper four weak, but sometimes he was a bit...scared

He noticed how you attracted people to him, and how easy it was for him to kill once secluded

So you did it more so he could kill, instead of his clones

You empowered him and all of his egos, fueled him and made him far more powerful

God forbid someone you're luring try to harm you, they'd be dead before they can even realise what's happening, and left to rot

Him and the clones don't find trash all that delicious

Kaigaku

He found you quite pathetic all things considered

Lost with no one around, stumbling and trying to find some kind of light so you could gather your bearings

Those electric blue eyes of his, they pulled you into a false sense of hope

But through your words, so unknowing of who he was, you convinced him to humour you for awhile, as if playing a game

Kaigaku gets attached similar to how you do, but far more possessive and jealous

In a messed up way he likes that you can't see well because it means you'll only ever know him best

The fact that only he can protect you and keep you safe gives him a superiority complex, but he rarely beats down onto you about it

Your kindness is hard to combat, but he does act like he hates it

In his months as a demon, it was hard to find people to kill without making a scene, and when you saw him starving like that, you convinced yourself you could bring someone back

And with a false story about someone robbing you, three men were lured into your shared home for the slaughter

He kept it clean so you wouldn't get sick- not that you'd really notice- and since then encouraged the behaviour

Once he heard a group of people bullying you for falling in mud after you slipped

It was the only time he decided to make a real mess, leaving trails of organs across the street for all to see

You had to move but he found a better place anyways

Kokushibo

Kokushibo can be very quiet, so when you call out to him or he feels the need to say something, it usually scares you half to death

Once caught your arm moments from hitting him because you felt something on your neck and figured it was an insect- it was his breath

Tends to be unhelpful because he wants you to adapt as much as you can, and to remain independent

But on the rare occasion he'll allow you to cling to his sleeve and step slowly through darkened places

Might let you get minor injuries from walking into things but he would never allow you to gain a scar

The first time you lured someone, it was an accident

He had left without telling you, and in a panic you yelled out for him while falling

A hunter heard this and came to your aid, but Kokushibo had them handled moments before they even touched you

It happened mostly by accident

But if he was ever weakened, upset, or having trouble getting someone from a crowd?

He'll just say he needs a favour, and then leave you stranded in the street until someone comes prancing

If anyone does the opposite of helping and tries to harass you, he'll make sure their death is prolonged

Consider a thousand deep-ish wounds, so they can bleed out till morning

Authors Note - Honestly so rare for a Kaigaku request which makes me sad cuz ahhh I love him! He's really great and deserves more fanfics... But thank you for coming back Shrew (if i can call you that), your last request was such a hit I think ive written 2-3 extra requests off of it already haha!

Please enjoy and come back soon!

[artisticxlly]

My thoughts while rereading chapter 351 (an unhinged post)

Spoilers and also ig dark themes?, nothing out of the ordinary though compared to the panels I'm discussing here.

I thought: You know what, since I'm growing increasingly attached to Sachirou and Kourai, might as well read the most bittersweet chapter again for shits and giggles. And I have some THOUGHTS for you all.

I'll come back to this later but just putting this here to acknowledge that Sachirou watched Kourai play for a little bit

this little guy is so important actually. Why is he so round. What is wrong with him. /aff

Moot also pointed this out but he's always alone in these panels??? Just him and volleyball against the world lol, which isn't all that different to Sachirou's behaviour now that I think about it.

Coming back to my first point. Both of them acknowledge each other, and both do it veeeery briefly. Like these two baaaarely know each other as far as we know, and yet this next scene is so crazy when you think about it from a vulnerability standpoint. What do you mean you stopped him from hurting himself and you immediately had a deep conversation about it??? Oh you two make me so ILL.

YOU MAKE ME SICKKK. SICK I TELL YOU. NO MOMENT OF HESITATION??? NONE??? I actually despise the addition of the other teens his age just casually walking home from school while he does that. Like this is, in his eyes, just a normal thing. This just made sense to him??? "I hate my hands, they're the reason I mess up" to "I'll just destroy them on the nearest wall". Fuck it, sure.

This is the most bittersweet thing ever. Gahhh...

Have we stopped to think about what this implies though. Because I am. The panel of just Sachirou is zoomed in but you can't see Kourai anywhere on it. And I'm just sitting here thinking "So he had to sprint there, right?" and ughhhh, Kourai you give so many fucks??? (/hj) I have this suspicion (or hc I guess?) that he watched Sachirou out of the corner of his eye a looot, just getting this feeling like there's something wrong/going on with him.

Throughout the chapter you just see Sachirou being constantly dissatisfied with his achievements and pouring himself into his training to try and fix it, make less and less mistakes. For over half the chapter his eyes are just this blacked out void. Why do I have a feeling that Kourai picked up on that and was just this teensy bit worried curious and spied on Sachirou? Very subtly, because he didn't care, nooo, not at all (/s). Idk just a thought, because he was crazy quick to stop Sachirou. Obviously he's a very blunt person but he also probably had no idea how to have a heartfelt conversation like that with someone (which ended up being the harsh reality check Sachirou needed).

Kourai Hoshiumi, the man who will read the fuck out of you and then in the same breath drops the gayest shit imaginable. I love this so fucking much though. Absolutely the last thing anyone expects someone to say after witnessing someone self harm and yet so unbelievably real. Asa taught him well, truly.

WOw, just... No thoughts in that brain, huh /j Bug-eyed mf (He's just a baby,,, ughhh)

Again... "tall, strong and super-tough body" WE GET IT. (/lh) Honestly though if I got props from Kourai like that I'd evaporate on the spot.

Gorgeous panel aside, I really like their matching haircuts LMFAO. I have a feeling both just hated dealing with their hair texture growing up.

Anywayyyy uhh long post over. All /lh btw, I do love these two idiots a lot.

[jollyjotter]

𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦

𝑳𝒆𝒔 𝑴𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝑽𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒔

𝗩𝗮𝗻𝗶𝘁𝗮𝘀 𝘅 𝗙!𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝗧𝗪: 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗅 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗅 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗍 (+18) 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗅 𝖭𝖲𝖥𝖶 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋 𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋𝗌, not beta read, 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗂𝗌 𝖭𝖮𝖳 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾—𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗂 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀? 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍..

𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 7𝖪

Before the Relationship

• Vanitas would likely be hesitant to even entertain the idea of romance at first

• He has a deep mistrust of emotional intimacy

• He would subtly test your boundaries to gauge your reactions

• You would have to prove yourself as someone he could trust

• Your relationship might begin after a moment of vulnerability where Vanitas accidentally reveals his inner struggles

• Vanitas would very likely try to push you away initially, fearing attachmenment

"Don't be so naive! You know I'm right."

"I'm quite certain you have a heart of glass. That's what makes you all the more sweet."

"I want to wrap it up and coddle it. But sometimes I just can't help myself. I want to touch it!"

"Play with it!"

"Smash it to pieces, and then put it all back together."

"Don't ever say I didn't warn you. You should be careful who you let so far into your heart."

How Did You Actually Get Into the Relationship?

• Perhaps he unintentionally confesses during a moment of frustration

• Alternatively, you might confront him about his feelings after noticing his contradictory behavior (e.g., acting protective but emotionally distant)

• Vanitas would reluctantly agree to pursue the relationship

• He would make it clear that he isn’t an easy person to love

• Deep down, he would be surprised that you want him despite his flaws

• There likely isn't anyone else but you who would date him for something other than his looks

Love Languages

• Acts of Service: Vanitas shows his love by taking care of you in practical ways

• Such as patching up your wounds or stitching up a tear in your clothing

• Physical Touch: Vanitas craves physical closeness, even if he’s not always aware of it

• Simple touches—holding hands, resting his head on your shoulder—help him feel grounded

• Especially when he's sick, he might get clingy for once (he is a real dramaqueen)

How He Acts in Private vs. Public

• In private, Vanitas is more vulnerable, letting down his guard

• He allows his insecurities and fears to surface, trusting that you won’t judge him

• He loves moments of quiet intimacy, such as sharing a book together or talking late into the night

• These moments are rare but deeply cherished

• He’s surprisingly affectionate, often leaning into physical touch like hugs, forehead kisses, or simply resting against you when he feels overwhelmed

• In public, Vanitas is more flirtatious and teasing

• However, there would be a subtle possessiveness in his tone whenever it comes to you

• With Noé or Dante, he might playfully boast about his relationship, though it’s mostly a front to mask that he cares

• Around Jeanne and Dominique, he’d be more reserved

Public Display of Affection (PDA)

• Vanitas isn’t overtly affectionate around the general public

• He prefers subtle gestures like brushing his fingers against yours or offering you his arm

• Vanitas would also enjoy subtle forms of PDA, like holding your hand, guiding you by the small of your back, etc.

Dominance in the Relationship

• Vanitas is dominant in the sense that he likes to take control and set the pace of the relationship

• That way it's easier not to spiral too deep all at once

• In bed, he might also quickly get used to taking the lead

• Though, when he's actually serious about the relationship, he respects your boundaries and is attentive to your needs

Blood Drinking (vampire s/o)

• Vanitas would be hesitant to let you drink his blood at first

• If the situation called for it (e.g., if you're injured), he would offer, but only after much internal debate

• Over time he would willingly let you drink his blood

• He would realize it doesn't feel half bad

• Actually, he finds it arousing enjoys it

Respect for Consent

• In the beginning of the relationship, Vanitas might struggle with respecting boundaries

• Not always because he doesn’t care, but because he’s so used to pushing people away with his brash personality

• As the relationship progresses, he would make a conscious effort to respect your consent

• You had to knock some sense into him..

Learning About His S/O

• Vanitas would secretly put a lot of effort into learning about your likes, dislikes, etc.

• He might pretend not to care, but he’d surprise you by remembering small details

• Maybe your favorite parfume or a childhood story you mentioned once in passing

Flaws and Mental State

• Vanitas is deeply flawed, I'd say (aren't we all)

• He likely grapples with a lot of trauma, self-loathing, and possibly depression

• His cynicism and tendency to push people away can create tension in any relationship of any nature

• He also has a bad habit of lying and withholding the truth, which could cause occasional conflicts

Prior Relationship Experience

• It’s unlikely that Vanitas has had serious relationships before

• That at least, given his troubled past and mistrust of others

• He's still young, but he might have had very fleeting flings or superficial connections

• Likely none of that involved genuine emotional intimacy

Would the Relationship Be Toxic?

• The relationship could have its toxic moments

• Particularly so, if Vanitas’ insecurities lead him to lash out or distance himself

Distance in the Relationship

• Vanitas would definitely pull away sometimes

• Especially so, when he feels overwhelmed or fears losing you for whatever reason

• These moments of distance are his way of protecting himself, though they might hurt you

Dealbreakers

• Betrayal of trust would be an absolute dealbreaker for Vanitas

• Though he doesn't always hold himself to the same standard, he values loyalty above all else

• He simply couldn’t forgive someone who deceives him

Would He Take Advice?

Dominique:

• Unlikely; he’d dismiss her advice as meddling

• He might secretly take her words to heart if they’re insightful, but you'll never catch him admit that

Noé:

• Yes; Vanitas respects Noé’s perspective, even if he pretends not to

Roland:

• Maybe; Roland’s optimism and blunt honesty might provide valuable insight

• Though, again, Vanitas would never admit it

Dante:

• Maybe; Vanitas trusts Dante’s judgment most, as they have known each other longest

• On the other hand, he might not..

First Few Weeks of the Relationship

• Vanitas would initially feel awkward and unsure how to act in a romantic relationship

• This is suddenly all serious, and he kind of didn't realize what he got himself into

• He’d often second-guess himself, which in turn would irritate him

• Why does he even care?

• He might test your patience occasionally, unsure how serious he should be

• Small gestures, like offering you his coat or adjusting your hair, would reveal his softer side

• He’d secretly be thrilled at the thought of having someone who accepts him despite his flaws

First Kiss

• Your first kiss would be spontaneous

• Vanitas might kiss you impulsively after an argument

• He would use it as a way to convey emotions he struggles to put into words

• Alternatively, it could happen during a quieter moment, one of vulnerability

• Such as after you comfort him about something painful from his past

• Despite his outward confidence, Vanitas would feel a mix of exhilaration and nervousness afterward

First Actual Declaration of Love

• Vanitas would struggle to express his feelings openly

• He actually wrote a letter, though

• Not one, but several (only one letter landed on your desk, and the other 62728224151 ones got disposed of - erase all evidence)

• Now, don't get your hopes up though..

• Vanitas glared at the fresh sheet of paper before him, its blank surface taunting him with its purity. He dipped the pen into the inkwell, his hand shaking as he scrawled the first line.

"To the one who has made my life infinitely more complicated—"

He grimaced, shaking his head. No, that wasn’t right. That sounded accusatory, like you were some kind of inconvenience. And yet, wasn’t that how he felt? You were an inconvenience, barging into his thoughts, softening his resolve, and making him care about you! Little pest..

Vanitas clenched his jaw. How was he supposed to confess something he barely understood himself?

The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic scratching of the pen as he began writing again, then paused, and then scribbled out the words. Again and again, he crumpled up paper and tossed it into the growing pile beside the trash bin.

He stared at the letter he had just finished, reading the first few lines before letting out a frustrated sigh. His brow furrowed as he read aloud to himself, "I don’t.. I don’t know what this is, but you—" He cringed and tossed this paper too, into the bin, with a soft fwoosh.

Murr, sitting at the edge of the desk, looked up lazily. The cat’s gaze lingered on Vanitas, mismatched eyes gleaming as he licked a paw with an air of haughty indifference.

Vanitas let out a low grunt of annoyance, staring at the next sheet of paper. His hand hovered above the inkpot, the quill threatening to dip itself into the dark liquid once more. His pulse quickened. The very thought of writing it down made him sick—those words. Feelings. They were a mess of tangled knots he couldn’t untie.

The quill inevitably fell from his fingers, landing with a soft clink on the desk. He leaned back in his chair, eyes cast upward toward the ceiling, his chest heavy. "What am I even doing?" he muttered bitterly, rubbing his temple with the heel of his palm.

Murr continued to clean his paw, unaffected. Vanitas huffed, running a hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture. He leaned forward, face suddenly buried in his hands. These damn feelings made no sense!

"I don't understand," he muttered through his fingers, his voice muffled but sharp with self-loathing. "I hate how much I want to.. No, I don’t—" He paused, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to block out the image of you—the way your smile made him feel like his chest was going to crack open, how your laugh lingered in his mind long after you were gone.

God, how pathetic.

He leaned back in the chair again, eyes closed, exhaling deeply. The only sound was the occasional rustling of paper, as one more letter fluttered to the floor, its words long forgotten.

"Nothing short of revolting," Vanitas muttered, half to himself.

A soft thump broke the silence as Murr leapt from the desk to the windowsill, his tail flicking with dismissive grace.

What was he even trying to do? Confess? To tell her something that, deep down, he was terrified to say?

The thought of it made him recoil. His chest tightened again, not with love but with utter fear.

• He ended up writing nearly one and a half pages, rambling on and on

(after he stopped caring about how weird the words sounded—coming from him)

• After he knew you read it, he’d probably try to downplay it

• He would brush it off with a flippant comment to mask how he meant all of it

• It would be funny to watch him try not to get flustered

• Over time, he’d grow more comfortable expressing his affections, though it would still be in his own, unique way

First Time Being Intimate

• Vanitas would approach intimacy with surprising tenderness

• Quelle surprise.. I know, I know

• It would probably take a loooooooong time to even get to this point

• As I said, he’d take the lead most of the time, but occasionally, he would be open to being more submissive

• Initially, he would be a bit awkward, but he would also feel perfectly safe with you

• He would also grow to like, no, love the simple act of holding your hand in his

• One hand on each side of your face, clasping your own

• Often times, though sometimes hesitantly, he would whisper words of affection to your ear

• It would be a sense of comfort, to ground you and keep you with him

• It’s just that effortless gesture of intertwining his hands with yours, as he indulges in the way you feel so good around him

• He might squeeze your hand as an act of reassurance, and—oh, how he melts so much when you squeeze his own in return

• He could never tell you how much you make him so soft and weak with just the slightest touch

• "How does that feel? Good?" he asked as he picked up his pace, eyes entirely focused on your expression as you nodded. "Let me hear you, then.. hear how good i'm making you feel," he muttered in your ear as he grabbed your thigh, pulling you closer.

• All in all though, I believe he would be a switch

• When submissive, Vanitas could be a real brat, like full on

• Buuuuut he would also get overwhelmed fast—turning into a needy, whiny mess

• When dominant though, Vanitas would be straight up mean

• He would enjoy degrading you very much, I fear

• This man would have a poker face reserved solely for you when watching you pout or complain, begging for his dick

• If you decided to act bratty for a change, Vanitas would have no qualms punishing you

• He would ruin your release over and over, until you're the whiny and needy mess

• He simply doesn't give a fuck (does that count as a pun?) about how much you want to cum

Would He Date Men, Women, or Other?

• Vanitas, in my opinion, is likely bisexual, with a preference for women

Nicknames He Would Use:

• Genuine Nicknames:

Ma chèrie

Mon ange

Mon bijou

• Teasing Nicknames:

Ma crevette (it means shrimp and i find this one funny, idk)

Mon lapin

Ma puce

Him with an S/O That Absolutely Can Not Cook

• Vanitas would find your lack of cooking skills both amusing and absolutely disconcerting

• ..how did you manage to set a pot of water on fire?

• Sometimes, he’d take it upon himself to cook for you

• He would then make a show of it by exaggerating how much better he is in the kitchen

• “You’re lucky I’m here, or you’d starve,” he’d say, pretending to be annoyed, but still ready to help

• He might try to teach you how to cook

• However, he’d also end up laughing should you eventually mess up

Can He Dance? (Absolutely Not)

• Vanitas absolutely cannot dance, and he knows this

• He avoids any formal ball or gathering where dancing is expected

• If forced to participate, he’d manage to fake it for about five seconds before stepping on someone’s toes

• If you know how to dance, he’d claim he doesn’t need lessons—"I’m naturally good at everything!"—but he’d quickly prove otherwise

Vanitas with an Unorganized or Messy S/O

• Vanitas is a tidy and meticulous person, and your messy habits would annoy him to no end

• He’d constantly nag you to pick up after yourself or organize your belongings

• "How do you live like this?" would be a frequent complaint

• Despite his annoyance, he’d never actually let it escalate into a fight

• Instead, he would resort to passive-aggressive comments or sighing dramatically while tidying up your mess himself

• Over time, he’d get used to your habits

(he lost this fight)

Would He Let You Touch the Book of Vanitas?

• Initially, Vanitas would be extremely protective of the Book and wouldn’t let you near it, much less touch it

• "Absolutely not, non."

• If you'd ask questions about it, he’d give vague answers, trying to maintain an air of mystery

• Over time, as your relationship deepened, he might let you hold the Book, though he’d watch you like a hawk the entire time

• Your genuine curiosity would soften his usual defensiveness, and he might even explain some of the Book’s functions to you—though he’d carefully avoid sharing anything too dangerous

His S/O Asking About His Past

• Vanitas would immediately deflect or dodge the question if you asked about his past, using sarcasm or humor to change the subject

• If you pressed further, he might grow defensive, telling you it’s none of your business

• When he grew to trust you, he might reveal small pieces of his history in vulnerable moments, such as when he’s tired or comfortable enough to do so

• You’d have to be patient and gentle, showing him that you're there to listen without judgment

• This would mean the world to him, even if he struggled to express it

Absolute Pet Peeve

• Vanitas has a keen eye for detail, so one of his biggest pet peeves would be watching his you pick at your lips until they bleed

• He’d immediately grab your hands and scold you, saying something like, "You’re only making it worse!"

• Despite his harsh words, his concern would be genuine

• He might buy balm for your lips himself and tell you to use it daily, to stop you from doing it again

• Seriously, stop it

• Other minor pet peeves might include you interrupting him while he’s focused on something or forgetting details he considers important

Would He Spend Money on You at All?

• I feel like Vanitas would absolutely spend money on his s/o, though he’d never make a big deal out of it

• He’d frame his generosity as something casual: "Well, I can’t have you walking around looking shabby, can I?"

• He’d surprise you with little gifts that suit your tastes—a book you mentioned wanting, a piece of jewelry, etc.

• If you ever tried to refuse his gifts, he’d roll his eyes languidly and say something like, "You’re making this harder than it needs to be. Just take it."

• At the same time, he’d be annoyed if you took his generosity for granted

• He’d want you to recognize the thoughtfulness behind each gesture

Him with an S/O Who Likes Seafood but Hates Oysters (His Favorite)

• Vanitas would be delighted if you shared his love for seafood

• It’s one of the few indulgences he enjoys openly

• However, he’d constantly tease you about your dislike of oysters

• "How can you say you love seafood, when you refuse to eat the best part?"

• He’d occasionally try to sneak an oyster onto your plate

Is He a Cuddler?

• Yes, but selectively

• Vanitas isn’t naturally a cuddly person, but in the right circumstances, he craves physical closeness

• He tends to cuddle when he’s tired, emotionally drained, or after a taxing mission

• It’s his way of grounding himself

• He prefers being the one holding you, as he finds comfort in the protective act of wrapping his arms around you

• Occasionally, if he feels like it, he’ll let you hold him instead

• He would rest his head on your shoulder or lap

• Cuddling is often accompanied by quiet moments of conversation, where Vanitas feels safe enough to let his guard down

Him with an S/O Who Tends to Coddle Him

• At first, Vanitas would protest loudly if you tried to coddle him in any way

• "I don’t need you fussing over me. I’m fine!"

• Are you trying to pick a fight or something?

• Or worse.. did you pity him?

• You would have to explain to him, that you 'fussing over him' only comes from a place of deep care, not pity

• Deep down, he’d appreciate your care more than he’d let on

• Once he'd be sure that you're serious, your concern would touch a part of him that’s not used to being nurtured

• He’d eventually grow to tolerate—and even enjoy—your care

• This especially when you offer small, comforting gestures like fixing his hair or tending to his injuries

• During particularly hard days where there is no capacity to talk, he might seek you out without saying a word

• Every once in a while, he would allow you to pamper him while pretending not to care

• If you were to show persistence in caring for him, it would slowly chip away at his defenses

• It would make him realize he doesn’t always have to carry his burdens alone

.

.

.

.

[occultbooks]

dylan's hilson playlist masterpost

THIS IS A LONG POST!

I have a lot of thoughts and opinions and you don't have to agree but they make me feel so sick to my stomach that I had to make a post. Music is, in my mind, one of the greatest things in the world. I'm very passionate about it. So, here is a (chronological) list of songs that remind me of House and Wilson.

You Don't Know Where Your Interest Lies (1967) - Simon & Garfunkel

S&G deep cut I love. One of their only singles that didn't end up on an album. This one is pretty straightforward. Could be from either perspective, but I like to think it's Wilson's perspective. The song starts:

You don't know that you love me You don't know, but I know that you do

and the second verse includes the line:

You may think that we're friends, all right But I won't let friendship get in my way

The vibe of the song is also much more musically intense than Simon & Garfunkel tend to veer in their love-related songs, making it aesthetically fitting to Hilson as well.

2. Starry Eyes (1979) - The Records

This one is slightly up to interpretation (not a very popular song so meanings aren't readily available) but it has a kind of melancholy unrequited "giving up" theme.

I don't wanna argue, there's nothing to say Get me out of your starry eyes and be on your way

I like to think of this one also as from Wilson's perspective, but he's pretending he's speaking on behalf of the hospital, offended at House acting in his own self-interest. Early season 8 "we're not friends anymore" vibes.

3. This Night (1983) - Billy Joel

Being on the same album as Leave a Tender Moment Alone, this one is very fitting to me. This one, in my head, is like House's perspective, alternate universe where Wilson isn't so repressed. The lyrics are so deliciously tragic to me even though the resolution of the song implies happy endings. Verse 2 makes me feel sick to my stomach:

I've been around, someone like me should know better Falling in love would be the worst thing I could do Didn't I say I needed time to forget her? Aren't you running from someone who's not over you?

UEGGHHGRHGAHGHR sorry this one I can't even be civil about. it makes me emotional

4. You Make Me Feel Like a Whore (1995) - Everclear

This one is self-explanatory but I'll preface a little bit before writing out some of the lyrics. This could be either House or Wilson perspective. Horniest middle-aged men in New Jersey. I feel like they're all over each other all the time. A bunch of freaks.

I take your word like it was gospel  I'm so eager to please  Yeah I like it when you talk to me  It feels so good inside your shadow  It's the place I need to be Yeah I know I need to climb you  Like a tree

Yeah. You guys know. The rest of the song is just as horny and I just...yeah.

5. Selfless, Cold and Composed (1997) - Ben Folds Five

House perspective for so many reasons. Many lyrics about someone telling you they're done with you and walking out, and you feeling like that's probably fair.

You don't owe me to be so polite You've done no wrong You've done no wrong Get out of my sight

but the one that fucks me up is

Come on baby now throw me A right to the chin Don't just stare like You never cared I know you did

Asking the other person to hit him to show that they care is such a House thing. Again: early season 8. This could realistically be any House relationship, really, but it's so Hilson breakup to me.

6. G.I.N.A.S.F.S. (2007) - Fall Out Boy

Fun fact: the song title stands for "Gay Is Not a Synonym For Shitty." Just thought that was interesting. Anyway, this is also from House's perspective. I could probably go into detail about every individual lyric but I'll try not to. This song is about yearning for someone you either can't have or shouldn't pursue. Post-canon (post-Wilson death) makes the most sense for most of the song but it could also be just House being in his own head and believing Wilson is too far away to reach.

Trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns I sleep with your old shirts and walk through this house In your shoes, you know it's strange It's a strange way of saying that I know I'm supposed to love you

I feel like House probably wears Wilson's clothes after he dies. It makes me unbelievably sad to think about. Anyway, the second verse followed by the pre-chorus kills me:

I've already given up on myself twice Third time is the charm, third time is the charm Threw caution to the wind, but I've got a lousy arm And I've traced your shadows on the wall, now I kiss them Whenever I'm down, whenever I'm down Figured I'm not figuring myself out Things aren't the same anymore Some nights, they get so bad I almost pick up the phone

Thinking about House grieving...augh. They make me nauseous.

7. Away Frm U (2012) - Oberhofer

This song is about resisting someone who is shutting you out to try and keep them afloat. It doesn't have a lot of lyrics. It's very Wilson though.

You're pushing me away from you And there's nothing I can do And I can't fight all of your battles for you

That's about it.

8. Everyone But You (2017) - The Front Bottoms

The vibe of this song is fairly cliche, but "I hate everyone but you" as a concept is so delicious. It's also a little bit about feeling numb, which is very House to me.

It doesn't get worse, it doesn't get better You just get old, it lasts forever Can't get happy, can't get sad It's hard to do When I hate everyone but you

It's so sad to think about how House just spends his whole life trying to be as numb as possible because everything hurts all the time, and the only one who is (somewhat) consistent in his life is Wilson.

I fell in love 'Cause no one saw me the way you did And no one's seen me that way since But for a short time that's how I lived

Again, this could be any House relationship (ESPECIALLY Stacy), but also thinking about post-Wilson death House reminiscing is so...argh.

That's all I have for now. I mean, I have more songs on my playlist, but this is all I feel confident enough to pick apart. Link to the full playlist here, though it is Apple Music so sorry if u don't have that lol.

[linawritestwst]

Hi! I saw you're request were open, if it's alright with you can I request riddle, deuce, silver and malleus with a reader who was a knight in their old world? Thank you!

riddle, deuce, silver and malleus x reader who was a knight headcanons (gn!reader)

that moment when you try to find a pretty sword gif but all you get is sao gifs 😔

thank you sm for requesting this, knight!reader is such a fun concept!

also i'm very sick rn and for some reason i have no inspiration to write anything twst-related at all, so.. i'm sorry if these headcanons sound boring, i'm trying my best 😭

riddle rosehearts.

♡ riddle would be very surprised to hear that you were a knight in your world, but when he thinks about it more, he realizes that it actually makes a lot of sense. you're always there to protect him, you're very brave and strong and you're good with a sword. you also mentioned that you have a lot of experience with protecting people from any dangers, so whenever you had to deal with someone who overblotted including riddle himself, you never went easy on them and gave it your all. so.. yes, he can see you being a knight.

♡ your dynamic would become even cuter after that, because now you can officially be the queen of hearts' knight! riddle would act a little shy about it at first, he'd try to assure you that he doesn't need your help, but you just smile and say that you know how strong and talented your boyfriend is, but you still want to act as his knight simply because this is how you show your love and loyalty for him. also you know that riddle secretly loves it and there's no point in trying to hide it.

♡ whenever riddle sees someone breaking the queen's rules again, you calm him down before he can say anything and you simply remind him that there's no need to use his unique magic on them or punish them in some other way, when you always have your sword with you <3 riddle is sure that you aren't actually being serious, but what he doesn't know is that you are serious. you don't hesitate to pull out your sword everytime someone makes riddle angry, because this school has way too many troublemakers and you think someone should teach them a lesson and it doesn't always have to be riddle.

deuce spade.

♡ he would lose his mind when he finds out about it, but when he finally manages to process that information, he is so?? proud of you?? like wow.. you were a knight.. that's so cool!! that explains why you're so strong and why you always can feel that something or someone is dangerous and others should be more careful. also he's totally not going to brag about dating a knight when he sees ace, haha..

♡ even though now he knows that you're literally a knight (or at least were one), he's still a very protective boyfriend and he always makes sure you're safe no matter what. it's not like he underestimates you or thinks you're weak or anything like that, it's just.. he kinda wants to be your knight too.. he just really wants to be someone you can rely on and someone who will fight for you when necessary (and when it's not really necessary. he's just always ready to fight for you)

♡ if you are the one protecting him.. deuce really wants to remind you that he can do everything himself, but he just can't control his feelings around you and instead of acting like a cool boyfriend, he just goes 😳😳😳. like wow.. you are so strong and brave and talented and- also, if you try to carry him, he will literally die. his face would be so red, he'd have to cover it with his hands.

silver.

♡ he is so shocked, but also so happy when you tell him that you used to be a knight. you're just like him!! he tries really hard to hide his excitement, but you can just see it on his face. he will ask you a lot of questions, like who did you work for, was it hard for you, did anything dangerous happen to you in the past.. he really hopes that it's not annoying, he's just so happy to hear that he and his s/o have something in common and it's also something he's very passionate about.

♡ he would love to train with you. spending time with you is always fun, but he can't believe that he actually can do his knight training with you now. or maybe you can watch him and give him some advice? he's sure that you have more experience than he does. silver always listens to your advice and makes sure to remember it. though he might get a little distracted sometimes because when you show him how to do something correctly, he finds it amazing just how much you look like a real knight.. ah, of course, you were one in the past, he knows that.

♡ of course, it's not like silver will stop caring about your other traits now that he knows you used to be a knight. he's just glad to learn something new about you and he's happy to know that you and him are actually quite similar. also a lot of things make more sense to him now and he can feel you two becoming even closer than before. and even though you used to be a knight yourself, it doesn't mean that silver doesn't want to protect you anymore. he actually wants to work even harder for you now and he secretly hopes that he will be able to impress you one day.

malleus draconia.

♡ .. what do you mean he has like three knights now. you being a knight as well is certainly a surprise to him, but a good one. he would love to know more about your past and as you tell him about everything you had to do as a knight, he just keeps falling more and more in love with you and now he admires you even more than before. he already knew that you were amazing, but now you've truly exceeded his expectations.

♡ he doesn't really need to be protected considering how strong his magic is, but after he finds out that you were a knight.. oh no. oh no, malleus draconia himself is actually much weaker than you thought he was. if only he could use some help- oh there you are, y/n <3 he knows that it's not good to lie to you, but he just loves it when you come to help him and you look like you're ready to do anything for him, so please forgive him for tricking you like this.

♡ he appreciates everything sebek and silver do for him, he really does, but.. oh no, it looks like he has a favorite now. whenever you come to his rescue, he just can't stop praising you for your strength and courage and he always rewards you with a kiss after that. yes, this is malleus draconia, one of the strongest mages in twisted wonderland. yes, he will pretend to be a maiden in distress just so that his s/o can remember their knight days and save him. also i hope you're ready for sebek's reaction because he won't be happy about this at all.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

So, about the whole soul business with Killer, I've been thinking.

Of course, sharing your soul with someone in the context of Undertale is always gonna be a deeply intimate thing. I don't think it would necessarily count as sexual (though it certainly can be if the intention is that) but it is undoubtedly intimate.

And, usually, the only time you forcibly expose someone's soul is when you're battling them. And the way I interpret the Undertale gameplay, is that you take over control by confining their soul in a space making it harder and at times impossible to flee.

Now, all of this is to say that Chara messing with Killer's soul is basically akin to them confining him and controlling him to begin with. It being forcefully exposed at all times is basically akin to him being put in battle mode permanently, specifically in the role of the attacked. And he can't hold his soul inside his body anymore, so the only chance he has of it ever being safe is if someone else holds it.

This brings us to point two: Chara and Nightmare forcing intimacy and fake "safety" as yet another way to control Killer and make him dependent on them.

Because a soul being out in the open all the time is unnatural and has to feel like a constant threat. So, especially Stage 1 (but also Stage 3 if you manage to put the idea in his head in a way that makes sense to him, and 4) would be susceptible to coaxing of the "I can give you the safety you crave" sort. Which, of course, is not the same as him offering it up willingly since it's done through manipulation, but may be something he and Color have to work through at the start. Because if that kind of offer suddenly lacks in his life as soon as he joins Color he may assume that Color doesn't want to protect him (because he would not see it as him not having communicated a deep need of his and Color wanting to respect some common and very reasonable boundaries).

However, as Stage 2 is far more apathetic than the others, I don't doubt that with them Nightmare especially was far more forceful. Especially since they're the biggest flight risk and, again, for Nightmare and Chara holding Killer's soul was always less about offering him actual safety and more about controlling him by making him more dependent and cutting off his escape routes.

So I don't doubt that Nightmare just took Stage 2's soul any time they stepped out of line. So this isn't something they crave like the other stages.

And for them to offer their soul to Color for safekeeping would genuinely mean they trust him 100%. Meanwhile, for the others making boundaries around when they offer Color their soul and asking for their soul back especially would be a show of great trust. Because the realization that Color is gonna play by their rules and they don't have to be subject to his whims just to have that base feeling of safety everyone else gets by just not being him would be a great revelation.

Just, hhhhh, it's already such an intimate act, but imagine how much more meaningful it could be if it was also about Killer taking back control over himself and feeling protected and safe and man... Colorkiller has got me in a chokehold

They make me both sick and very happy. Pictured a typical scene of where like theyre in the kitchen and colors cooking or cleaning dishes and like killers doing that typical thing of wrapping arms around waist from behind and resting chin on colors shoulder or burying his face there but like maybe he also has one hand over colors ribcage just to feel the warmth of both of their souls and feel them almost beating in sync.

or even just like lying on colors chest while color reads, the equivalent of being lured to sleep by the sound of a heart beating in a loved one’s chest. only there’s that added comfort and safety of knowing that killers soul is beating alongside colors and killer can even now comfortably lie chest to chest or on colors chest without disturbing his sensitive soul.

and also the idea of killers exposed soul basically forcing him to stay frozen in a battle mode seems very fitting and probably very reflective of killers own hypervigilance. feeling constantly attacked or about to be attacked, looking for signs of a fight about to happen or even ways to start fights himself.

and id imagine this feels like a very healing experience for both color and killer. and while for killer it’s obvious, for color it must help soothe or even outright kill that constant aching loneliness and fear of being alone. he cant be alone when he can feel killers soul, living and breathing and alive, right there beside his own soul—keeping eachother company.

{ @stellocchia }

[uchihaxitachi]

|| Coincidences | He comes to you after battle, struck with a Yandere Ninjutsu ||

-> A/N: I am a whore for yandere and I wanted to incorporate a whole ass big writing plot for this one. I softened up :( but I had sm fun!

Itachi had decided not to bring up the topic of you and him kissing each other, after noticing that you had already forgotten about it the next day. You were so high and drunk, it was to be expected. Right now? He had only one thing in his mind, getting over this mission to capture a group of Shinobis who were supposedly plotting against the Akatsuki. It’s not their plotting that was the problem, the Akatsuki also had matters with currency which solely depended on the members and their strength. Any contract whatsoever would cause issues if the image of the 12 dangerous S-Ranked criminals was to be hampered. Something which this thug gang, as Pein called them; was triffling around with.

Itachi out of all people? Why? Itachi’s senses played back the conversation that happened in the recent gathering.

Kisame: I really don’t know where Itachi has been these days, almost disappeared.

Itachi: I do not think I must keep you informed of my whereabouts, or the Akatsuki.

Hidan: Right? I totally agree, imagine me fucking a woman and then writing and updating about it to the leader.

Sasori: Can you shut up?

Pein: Silence! I am not here to interfere with anything. We can might as well leave them be. I just don’t want any nuisance that’s all. If anyone wants to willingly take care of this, they can. Else I will.

Itachi: I will.

Why? Because it was simple, taking care of them would prove that he gave a fuck about the organization, granting him more freedom to operate freely and less annoyance on his whereabouts and what he does otherwise.

Itachi just wanted to protect you, a civilian who’s life revolved around the most normalcy he has seen in his life years so far as a Shinobi.

The fight? Pretty easy. Struck them with his genjutsu and tortured them in the Tsukuyomi for what felt like an eternity. It was the very last member, someone who remained hidden while Itachi’s jutsu took focus, and attacked him with a poisoned potion laced knife. Itachi— had been taking various types of poisons everyday, little by little amounts. The evasion from the attack was easy, what was not easy was the scorching pain it landed him in.

After teaching them a lesson, making them traumatized for life as if it meant nothing, Itachi dragged himself out. All he had was some pain, he knew he couldn’t die from this. This was just— a scratch.

What would you have been doing right now?

A scratch that might- make him see hallucinations?

What if you needed him?

Still, just a scratch.

What if you missed Itachi so much?

Nothing too big, he will take care of it.

What if you remembered the kiss?

Pouring rain came onto Itachi, drenched in two things— love and sickness for you. A longing for you he couldn’t seem to satiate no matter how hard he could try. An uncanny and bizzare appeal to protect you burning.

Itachi had never acted out of place once, in the times you’ve interacted with him. Hell he was your safe space for the sake of it. Today? Itachi had knocked your door at 2 am. You weren’t asleep because you sleep late, but a pang of anxiety curled in your stomach as you mumbled, “Who’s there?”

“It’s me.” The quiet, sublime voice of the Uchiha greeted you.

“Itachi? You—” you rushed outside, immediately pulling the door open and glancing at him, drenched in the thunderstorm and eyes glinting happiness when he saw you. This time, Itachi initiated a hug. For the first time ever, the Uchiha’s hands snaked around your waist, catching you off-guard as he tugged you close, letting you collide against his chest. A soft gasp escaped you, unknown to his behavior, you looked up, smiling and bursting into a giggle. “Great, now we’re both fuckin’ drenched.”

Itachi smiled back, kissing your forehead as you widened your eyes, trying to register what in the actual fuck was happening before he let himself inside, taking his cloak off. You had seen Itachi naked, you had nursed him back to health— but still, the clothing stuck against his skin made you feel, weird in the best day.

“I’m going to take a shower, Y/N.” Itachi humbly spoke, paving his way to your bathroom. “Y-yeah.” You blinked, still getting used to what was happening. “Yeah- sure.”

You went into your bedroom to change as well, coming back to cook some soup and some ramen, filled with veggies. You were unsure if Itachi had properly eaten after all. “I can smell the aroma.” Itachi walked out, using the towel to dry his long hair, eyes darting towards your form in a carnal way. Itachi liked making eye contact but never— ever, this intense.

“Yes, wasn’t sure if you had eaten, Uchiha.” You smiled, tapping the wooden surface of the table to usher him closer. Itachi took the hint and sat beside you, breaking the chopsticks and digging into the first bite. “No wonder your business runs so well, my dear.”

My dear.

Itachi— was warm, dangerously warm with his tone. You had never heard him talk like this. “Thank you.” A flush ran through the apples of your cheek.

“How has it been for you? It’s been quite a while.” Itachi asked the next question.

“Uh, you know? The usual. Nothing much, no trouble as such.”

You were vague, as always. This time, Itachi pressed harder. “So nothing significant, huh?”

“Nope, oh yeah- there was this friend I met after a long time. The one crushin’ over me since High School.”

Nope- nope- nope- should not have shared this.

“A friend? Do I happen to have heard his name?” Itachi raised a brow, sounding ever so natural. “Ah nope, you don’t know him actually. It was good though, we spent some time. Reminiscing over old memories.”

What did you mean memories? What was so memorable about someone liking you? Does the man have a death wish?

“I see, happy that the person you met. Unknown to me, and you still haven’t told me the name of— made you feel better.”

You looked at Itachi and blinked, “Well his name is Kyosuke.” You rolled your eyes, “Don’t have to be so petty, Itachi.”

Itachi wasn’t being petty. Itachi was being careful. He didn’t want you to feel scared of him. Didn’t want to burden or scar you. Part of him, the hyper self aware part of him knew that something is wrong with him right now. “Good night.” Itachi got up, leaving half of the food and walking away.

“Itachi it’s still pouring outside, stay in.” Of course he will. He just wanted you to want him to do so.

“I know, I will sleep outside. Please feel free to go inside Y/N.” He smiled, flicking your forehead and making sure you don’t suspect a thing.

How could you really? He was not the master of deception for nothing. Worse bit of it all? When the next day you heard the terrible news of Kyosuke dying via suicide. How naive— if only you understood the depth of Itachi’s abilities to understand the carefully orchestrated murder he did. Why else would a normal guy commit suicide by gauging his eyes out, the same eyes through which he saw you as a potential partner?

Itachi is happy to hug you. Let you sob and cry in his arms while he tells you it’s going to be alright. Maybe even feel guilt enough when the jutsu fades… but then again, Itachi was never someone to shy away from murdering people. Maybe the jutsu brought the real, carnal, dangerous self on the surface, something that had been long dormant.

[summershouto]

baby 5 & sanji- the role of gender

I’m definitely not the first person to say this but Sanji’s women obsession is very similar to Baby 5’s need to please and I wanted to expand on it more bc the thoughts keep bouncing around in my brain 

Sanji and Baby 5 have the same core need to find love and it effects their actions- especially in matters with romance/the opposite sex. While both of their fixations are often treated as jokes, they still reflect underlaying issues tied to their backstories.

The way they act on this romantic drive is somewhat different, as they both assume the traditionally expected roles in accordance with their gender. They’re putting on a performance, behaving over-the-top in effort to please, while still varying in how they portray their love-sickness to remain a model man/woman. these differences set them apart, and I feel in Sanji’s case it can result in his behavior being brushed off as simply a weird quirk (unlike Baby 5, who’s actions remain lighthearted but are recognized as a trauma response).

They both have the same reaction to potential interest/attention, but remain strictly on the opposite ends of the spectrum of Man vs Woman in a conventional relationship. 

Baby 5 maintains a caretaking, flattering-focused obsession of the opposite sex rather than transforming into having pervy gags. She wants to be needed but she also enjoys (and sometimes imagines) being swooned over.

Looking at Sanji in the beginning, before the annoying nosebleed/creep gags became more prominent, he was also rather romance driven rather than motivated by lust. He, similar to Baby 5, saw many as potential suitors; a hopeless romantic at heart. While Baby 5 strikes at the first sign of interest from a man, Sanji equally treats every woman as someone he needs to look after . 

Baby 5 jumps into the role of a caring wife. She blushes like a schoolgirl and assumes that every man who is kind is showing interest in her. Meanwhile Sanji, filling the role of a traditional man in the relationship, seeks to provide. He wants to aid women in any way possible- whether thats with cooking or actual physical protection. His pervy gags could also be read as a way to fit this norm- as a man it’s more societally acceptable to be lust driven- (and in some cases, lust/sex is a way to “prove” ones manhood).  This is especially prominent after his time apart from the crew surrounded by people that challenged his notions of gender.

Overall their use of these traditional gender roles are safe; an easy way to get attention. People in real life often use romantic attention as means of fulfillment, and I read their actions as the same.

Baby 5 and Sanji are both people pleasers. Baby 5 is named as such, noting she can’t deny anyone anything because she longs to be needed. Sanji’s lack of self-worth causes him to always put others first, even at the cost of his own wellbeing. They see themselves as existing to fulfill a needed role, bidding their time until the moment arises. 

Other people have noted how similar Baby 5 and Sanji are in this way, joking that it’s good Sanji and Baby 5 never met because they’d get married instantly. I think it would actually be very interesting if they had met. Two people pleasers in a relationship is a recipe for disaster, especially with people as passionate as Baby 5 and Sanji. Their way of dealing with conflict would be to.. not. Neither would ever want to say the other is at fault. Their approach towards romance is seeking a sense of fulfillment, which would create an interesting dynamic with their exaggerated swooning. 

Now there are some people who truly are greatly motivated to pursue relationships, but with Sanji and Baby 5’s backstories revolving around a lack of love,  it’s safe to assume that it’s a bit more of an inorganic reaction for them. Especially when looking at the situations their love gets them into, such as when Baby 5 fell head over heels for a man because he was kind to her once despite not showing any prior attraction. 

Sanji is on the opposite side of the spectrum, finding /every/ woman beautiful and himself unworthy. Where Baby 5 aims to prove her worth from any one person and seeks a reason for her receiving kindness, Sanji places himself below all the women he meets and grovels in attempt to please as they stand on their pedestals. 

Sanji was raised by Zeff- someone who had a strong influence in how Sanji perceives and treats women. Sanji’s hunger for love was enhanced by the teaching of strict gender roles and emphasis on chivalry. While Baby 5 longs to be the helpful wife, Sanji becomes the pursuer- acting like a white knight as he sought women’s attention. That’s not to say his attraction isn’t real, but his extreme reactions to women reflect his desperation to please. 

Sanji also has the added factor of the men vs women in his life prior to Zeff, with only his mother and sister showing him kindness. Women were safer; and Zeff furthered this belief through his teachings.  

They’re both self-sacrificial to a dangerous degree. To them, their lives are indispensable; meaning if someone needs to die for the greater good then that’s the role they feel they were made for. Their life IS other people.

This is also interesting to consider in the perspective of non-heterosexual relationships. Sanji has a complicated past with gender/sexuality, so his aggressive actions towards men reflect what he feels a “real man” should be. Feminine attention is good, acceptable to enjoy, but male attention is something to scorn.

For Baby 5, we don’t really see her react to the kindness of a woman. She grew up around predominantly men and men appear to be the ones who most often take advantage of her. It’s curious to consider if meeting another woman with good intentions would allow her to be more sincere. 

I guess in conclusion I often see Baby 5’s actions being recognized as a response to her past, but I don’t often see Sanji’s explained similarly. Personally I think Sanji’s behavior is greatly effected by his starve for love, and he throws himself into it just like Baby 5. However, the way theyre perceived is greatly effected by their gender and their according behavior to fit the norms. Regardlessly, he and Baby 5 both rely on other people to find their worth- and the quickest way to do that is to turn to romantic love. 

[toxicanonymity]

Woke up trying to be productive today but my brain is like "no, we will only think about raider!joel today <3". So that's how my day is going.

Could we maybe get a nsfw alphabet with raider!joel (or literally any/all of them 'cause I'm obsessed)? Or maybe some similar hcs?

Thank you for being that into raider!Joel! 🤍 I Included the few I did elsewhere. . .you asked first but the other one was easier lol. Did these pretty quick, might expand later. NSFW 18+ Misc

A = Aftercare - Will say you did good, help you get dressed. Calls you sweet pea / baby. These twisted moments of affection, combined with your orgasm hormones, bond you further to him. Messed up.

B = Body part - Loves to parade his raging erection.

C = Cum - Won't warn you. Typical load is 7-10 mL in 7-8 spurts. Has a vasectomy. May come on you or in you.

D = Dirty secret - IDK if he has any shame that would lend itself to having secrets. Maybe the fact that he was a father. He's buried his old life way down deep.

E = Experience - Expert and very smooth operator.

F = Favorite position - Gets off on making you choose. Otherwise, depends on the setting and situation. Does he need to show you off/possess you? Does he need to dominate you?

G = Goofy - He has sick ways of amusing himself and having fun. Like making someone jack off for their life. The first time he fucked you he made a depraved joke right after it. Very dark sense of humor.

H = Hair - Ungroomed, mostly black.

I = Intimacy - Not romantic or intimate but will praise you. And his possessiveness (ex: holding you tight at night, protecting you) could be mistaken for intimacy. It's not that he puts it on fakely - he's kinda treating you like a kitten.

J = Jack off - Before he met you, on a raid he might have jacked off then come on someone.

K = Kink  - Major exhibitionist.  Had a good time cucking Jack, might try it again sometime. Likes how you look tied up (for your own good). Dacryphilia.

L = Location - Dirty mattress since day 1. But anywhere. May get off on making you choose this too.

M = Motivation - His own dominance turns him on. Including when you're vulnerable/pitiful.

N = No - Not a good guy.

O = Oral - He's good at it even if he's not trying to be (like erasing someone's touch). And yeah he does like his cock sucked, might fuck your face. Ultimate dominance.

P = Pace - He's concerned more with power than pace. Moderate pace but adjusts to whatever suits him in the moment.

Q = Quickie - Any time, anywhere

R = Risk - He's a walking risk. Idk if it would even occur to him whether something might be risky. He's so self-assured.

S = Stamina - Very high stamina.

T = Toys - Not unless you count restraints/blindfold. This is post-outbreak.

U = Unfair - Doesn't want you to come if you haven't been a good girl.

V = Volume - Moderate by default but as loud as he needs to be (depending on the setting) if he's showing his dominance or possessing you. Sometimes quiet just for BDE effect like when he fucked you in the van.

W = Wild card - He's like sugarcoated poison. He calls you pet names, praises you, but he's just vile and depraved. Has a gentle touch but also manhandles you and gets rough. And he'll get turned on at the most offensive times.

X = X-ray - 20 cm (8”). Proportional girth.  Middle is slightly thicker.  Kind of duo-toned, pink and tanner pink, tip is pink. Grower.  Balls on the larger side.  Relatively veiny. 

Y = Yearning - Very high. He fucked you three times within a few hours the day he took you.

Z = Zzz - Falls asleep very quickly if he wants to.

-

RAIDER JOEL MASTER LIST

Master List: TLOU - Joel Miller

-

All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime   @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose  @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda

[phyrexian-lesbian]

Final Take on Series 14/Season 40

(It will never be season one cry about it)

Alright so Space Babies brings the while season down at least 50% so we're gonna ignore that episode- which is also useful advice for anyone watching Doctor who.

Excluding space babies, there are a handful of episodes that, stand-alone, are really good. Of course, there'd never be more than a handful because the international franchise pairing with corporate overlords only had time for 9 episodes apparently.

In fact, I like most of the season, considering I don't watch them as a season. Church on Ruby Road was interesting, playing with the idea of magic and the Timeless Child arc.

The Devil's Chord was fun and intriguing, playing with the gods and monsters idea again, and having cool 4th wall breaks and a fun villain. Its drawbacks were the stupid fucking musical number that rtd wrote with no canon reason other than "Maestro's influence", which is a repeat of what he did with the 60th (writing utter bullshit and pinning it on a stupid fucking cause that makes 0 canon sense).

Boom was incredible. For starters, it was written by someone who wasn't rtd, so that's amazing. Also, as a theatre kid, having tur central actor unable to move their body for the entire performance tickled my brain in all the best ways. All in all, it felt like an episode from 12's era, when Doctor was at its peak for me. Great episode. Made me hopeful for the future (hahahaha😶)

73 Yards was also incredible (ignoring the finale). It heightened that (false) sense of mystery surrounding Ruby, and ramped up the horror subtheme started by Wild Blue Yonder. I really enjoyed it, and it was a great story. Felt a lot like Heaven Sent, which is am achievement (All of this praise is for the standalone. RTD pissed all over his good writing with the finale, and 73 Yards was ruined by EoD).

Dot and Bubble played with some interesting ideas but was kinda meh. It was a cool reality to see 15 suffer racism (bit like 13 suffering misogyny), and it was good to see the Doctor mad again.

Rogue was very cool, and I thought it was great. Made me wish we had a Thasmin kiss tho.

Legend of Ruby Sunday, aka the good half of the finale, was very interesting. All the mystery and the magic and the reunions. They dismissed the whole bigeneration plot line, and the fact that 15 didn't see any of this shit coming meant that the bigeneration plot line was completely fucked. 14 and 15 aren't the same person in a looped time line. They're just clones of each other. The whole "therapy" situation is utter bullshit. RTD just can't kill t*nnant for shit (fr love David Tennant in other stuff and as a person in general just getting sick of him in Dr who). Sutekh's reveal could have been handled a bit better, but overall his entrance gave me chills. Loved that. Just needed a bit more detail on how he avoided the TARDIS sensors for two thousand years.

And finally, the episode that untied all the others from each other, Empire of Death. The mystery that terrified Maestro, the God of music and revels, and caught the obsession of Sutekh, the God of death and eternity, was utter bullshit. Ruby's mum is just some guy. A nice thought- we thought she was some godlike entity but she was just an ordinary human. Except. We didn't think that. RTD wrote that. The snow, the "song in her soul", the fact that Ruby's mum couldn't be perceived with anything but the naked eye, not even with Time Lord equipment- that's all superhuman shit. You can't explain that away with "she's normal". That's not how it works. Oh and the God of literal actual Death was defeated by a real good dogleash? Nah man. If you want us to take things seriously, don't pull shit like that. Also they defeated him literally the same way they did last time, adding the aforementioned dog leash. Also the fact that her mum is just normal means that the whole mystery about the specter's words in 73 yards is just... pointless? Completely useless?

Also, no one names their daughter by pointing at a sign (that wasn't there in the original shot).

And Ruby's exit was so nothing. I didn't feel a single thing. There was no emotional connection to the character. She left of her own directive. After 9 45minute episodes. Don't know if people honestly were emotional about that, because there was nothing there.

Overall, good episodes. Bad season.

[differenteagletragedy]

i love love love! the poly hcs so much! i always imagine cove and mc to be able to communicate without saying much/anything (i.e just looking at each other) cause they’ve known each other for so long. and i just think it’s funny to imagine, in a poly relationship, a troublemaker mc and cove just looking at each other all 👀😏 (probably about to cause trouble) and derek and baxter just being like “oh no, they’re back it again” skdjsjjxdj

anyway could we maybe get some more poly hcs or something 👉👈 it could be general hcs or something more specific (i.e moving into a house, adopting a pet, someone’s sick, possible group weddings???, a baby(s)???, etc), or just a random assortment, idk but i’m here for it all! 🥺 literally thank you so much for your service to the olba fans, your blog has been feeding me skdjsjsjdn

I think MC and Cove would be like that too! They have a special bond, no matter what. I'm glad you liked those specific ones though, I was nervous about it! Here's a few more :) -- When you move to a house, you have at least one nosy neighbor who is desperate to figure out what's going on. Baxter mows the lawn and he's out in his special little outfit tending to the garden and then Derek is outside too, working on the roof or building some new addition, so maybe they're together. But then Cove comes out and eats stuff that Baxter hands him from the garden, so maybe they're the couple. But Cove also helps Derek build stuff? And you're there too with your skills and hobbies? What does it all mean?

-- FOUR PLAYER MARIO KART. Baxter got Derek a Switch for his birthday, Cove got some games and you got enough controllers for everybody. Derek is the best. Cove may or may not stay up late for a bit after you get the new setup so he can hold his own in the game.

-- Really just a lot of Baxter having visions for the house, Derek executing them, and Cove being a big boy who can help lift stuff and help out wherever he's needed.

-- You and Baxter bake cakes for the birthdays. It's your special thing.

-- Everybody has to go skinny dipping at least once and that's final.

-- Derek wants a dog. Baxter wants a cat. Cove has his fish. It is a conundrum. But Derek does his research and finds a breed that will fit in well with your lifestyle that is also known to be good with cats so that everyone can be happy.

-- Baxter is fine if his cat is a jerk though, he thinks it's funny.

-- You have to keep an eye on Baxter though because he might start "finding" cats.

Baxter, holding a stray like it is the most precious treasure on earth (it is): The poor thing was all alone and frightened, what would you have had me do?

Cove, cat-proofing his fish tank again: Literally anything else.

-- Derek pumps the gas. If you have to do it, then he failed.

-- If you're all together, Cove will run inside the station while Derek pumps for snacks. Memorizing everyone's favorite snacks is one of Cove's love languages.

Baxter: I don't want anything, Cove.

Cove: Ok. *comes back a few minutes later with sour gummies, hands them to Baxter*

-- If you all decide to get married, like if everybody loves everybody like that, then Baxter is going to have a lot of feelings about it, obviously.

-- What would probably make the most sense is for you and Cove to get legally married and then for Derek and Baxter to get legally married as well. You and Cove go way back, and Derek and Baxter have a special bond as well.

-- But you can't have weddings for these, it'll just be a paper deal to cover everyone. The actual wedding has to be a ceremony with all four of you. Baxter would feel very strongly about this, so that no one is excluded, and so this is how it'll have to go.

-- Baxter plans it too, of course. Derek does everything he can to help, he keeps asking Baxter what he can do. That boy would bake the cake if Baxter asked him (Xavier will make the cake, don't worry). Meanwhile, Cove is like "Yay, wedding!"

-- Another thing is that I think Thanksgiving would be important for this lil gang. Baxter likes it because it's the Fall Holiday, and fall is his favorite. He cooks, too -- it might take him a few years, but he's going to get the hang of that turkey, don't worry. Derek likes the thought of everyone being thankful, it makes him feel cozy. Cove likes to eat. It's a good time!