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auroralwriting · 1 month ago

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wait for your love

spencer reid x fem!liaison!reader

after joining the bau eight months ago, you and spencer quickly became close. too close, to be just friends, that is.

word count: 2k

warnings: comfort and fluff, no use of y/n, mutual pining, (un)reciprocated feelings, spencer's love-blind, he only likes your touch, vague hints at spencer's autism, playful flirting

Spencer Reid was all you'd ever wanted. He was a sweet, smart, charming, a gentleman. He understood your thoughts and feelings. He made time for you, and actually, the two of you spent a great deal of time together on a daily basis. It was rare you'd go more than two days without seeing the resident genius.

You were even the rare exception to his physical touch boundaries-- he couldn't keep his hands off of you. Holding your hand or interlocking your pinkies was a common form of touch you shared. Hugs, cuddling, and sharing beds wasn't uncommon, either. Usually on cases, you roomed together, even if you had separate rooms. You were Spencer Reid's solace, even more so-- simply his person.

The only issue? He was just your best friend.

For as close as the two of you were, no, you weren't dating. No, you had no clue how he felt about you. Sometimes it felt like he reciprocated your feelings, but then he'd go and call you something like his best friend. So, maybe he didn't reciprocate the feelings. But that was fine, you were still in his life and he was in yours. That was all that mattered, right?

You barreled into Spencer's hotel room the moment he opened the door from your rapid knocks.

Spencer watched as you flopped face-first on his bed with a chuckle, "Hello to you, too." He walked over to where you laid, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Can you guys please profile this douche any quicker?" You groaned into his pillow, the whine of your voice making Spencer smile. "I'm seriously done with the press on this one. I cannot take another call from stupid Heather Young."

"Who's Heather Young?" Spencer asked as you flipped yourself over quickly, sitting up to face him.

Begrudgingly, you pointed to the small TV that sat in front of his bed. "She's some nosey, obsessive, and pestering news reporter who wants the full coverage story on this case." You sighed. Heather Young truly was testing every limit you had. Her phone calls boarded on stalker, at least one an hour, if not more. You'd tried to block her number, but she found another phone to use. "She won't leave me alone. I swear, Spence, every hour this woman calls!"

Spencer knew all too well the struggles of being a liaison, and this was one of them. Dealing with obnoxious reporters and pestering questions would frustrate him to no end. That's why he admired you so much, for your tolerance and patience.

Your phone rang, and you groaned, turning back over and letting yourself fall face-first back into Spencer’s pillow. He chuckled, grabbing your phone and shutting it off so you wouldn’t receive any more calls for the night. “See? Problem solved,”

“Until six a.m when she calls me trying to get an inside scoop,” your muffled voice whined.

“You’re so grumpy,” Spencer chuckled, leaning on his arm beside you. “Come on, don’t let some stupid news reporter get you like this.”

Maybe if you'd looked closer, harder, you would've noticed the adoration in the genius's eyes. However, you just rolled your eyes and scoffed at his words. "M not grumpy,"

Spencer chuckled, poking your side teasingly. "You definitely are," He chuckled at the way you squeaked, shooting upward at the ticklish sensation.

"Spence!"

"If I were to look up the definition for grumpy, your name would be its definition." Spencer continued to softly poke at your ribs and sides, causing giggles to spew from your lips like an endless waterfall. It was music to Spencer's ears.

"Spencer!" You tried to whine, but it came out as laughter instead.

After a minute or so of his relentless attack, Spencer eased. "See? Not so grumpy anymore. I just know the grumpy cure."

"Tickling me is not a cure," You argued, crossing your arms as you sat criss-crossed in front of him. When Spencer went to reach forward, you sucked in a breath, "Okay, okay! Consider me cured!"

Spencer just chuckled at your words. "Admit it, you were grumpy. I could tell based on the way you threw yourself onto my bed." Spencer joked. He wasn't wrong. His hand, instead of poking, found its way to your side, but it gently caressed you in a sweet motion.

With another roll of your eyes, you smiled, letting Spencer know wordlessly he was right. His touch was soft and comforting. Spencer's touch, no matter how it's given, was the cure.

The moment was broken when your phone buzzed, a text from JJ lighting up your screen. For a moment, ignoring it was a highly considerable option, until you realized you were still on a case, and it could be important.

"Who's that?" Spencer asked, looking over your shoulder as you grabbed your phone from his bedside table.

"JJ," You simply stated.

Where are you? The text read.

With Spence, need anything?

Why can't you ever stay in your own rooms, SMH!! Wanted to see if you're ready to give the profile tomorrow?

You chuckled at her text, As ready as I'll ever be

KK, I won't bother you two lovebirds anymore! Enjoy Spencer time!!!

Spencer grinned at the texts. "You don't think she's going to read into that, do you?"

"She already does," You shrugged, setting your phone back down. "The whole team always asks, 'When are you and Spencer getting together?,' 'When are you finally gonna date?,' blah, blah, blah."

With an eyebrow now raised, Spencer felt himself become surprised at your response. While he speculated there was some sort of, well, suspicion about the two of you, he was never on the receiving end of any of it. Apparently, that's because you were. "How many people have asked about us? Just the team?"

"Just them," You paused, considering his question. "Wait, you don't know about this?"

Spencer became more confused at your tone, "No, I don't."

"They think we're madly in love or something," you chuckled, trying to hide your true feelings, "talking about our future little genius-liaison babies."

The genius's mind became scattered, flooded with images of the two of you that his mind created in a moments notice. Children, marriage, love. It felt so surreal picturing you, yet so right. "Did you ever deny it?"

"For the first few months," You confirmed with a solid nod. "I just don't really entertain it anymore. I don't see them stopping anytime soon."

Spencer nodded, clearing his throat. "You haven't let them think it's true though, right?"

"Why?" You asked, his words confusing you. "Is there some sort of problem being with me?"

You felt defensive at his words. Maybe this was his way of telling you the feelings aren't reciprocated. Maybe, all along, you were playing the fool. This stupid, silly little mistake of a crush was mere moments from destroying your closest friendship. You wished you could swallow this whole conversation down like bad medicine and pretend it never happened.

Spencer paused for a moment, your question making his heart drop. "Why would you ask me that?" He softly asked.

"Just--" You sighed, turning over to lay on your side that faced away from him. As much as this sucked, you couldn't see yourself leaving him, either. "forget about it, Spence."

You were upset now, that much was apparent. Spencer couldn't tell if it was about the team, or his response. He wasn't good at talking to girls, let alone about romance. Spencer softly laid on his side, wrapping his arm around your middle and trying to gently pull you into him.

"Spence, it's really fine, just--" You knew this play. You knew he was going to give you the softest affection to try and get you to open up.

"It's not fine, you're upset." Spencer observed, a gentle firmness behind his voice. He hated it when you closed in on yourself.

Adamant about not moving, Spencer realized his efforts were useless; you weren't going to budge. So, he scooted closer until front was pressed against your back, practically spooning you. When your body went rigid against his, Spencer felt disappointment seep into his heart. You always melted into him. Ever so softly, Spencer let his free hand come up and begin to massage your scalp, slowly playing with your hair ever so often.

Like memory, your body began to relax into his, just the way he wanted it to. Of course, it was against your better judgement, but soft moments with Spencer Reid was what you lived for.

Spencer smiled against your shoulder, his efforts weren't so fruitless after all. "You're so stubborn," Spencer mumbled into your shoulder.

"M not stubborn," you muttered in reply, heat rising to your cheeks at his words.

"Yes, you are." Spencer said, giving you a small squeeze. It made you giggle in reply, making Spencer's heart thump loudly in his chest. Could you hear it, too? "You never answered me before,"

You hummed, "Hmm?"

Spencer said your name slowly, a growl of a warning. He needed to fix whatever happened. There was no way he was going to let you stay upset at him.

"I asked you that because.." you hesitated. "I don't know. would there be a problem being with me?"

At your soft words, Spencer realized what had happened. He'd been a fool and insulted you. How could he ever do such a thing? "Of course there wouldn't be a problem being with you," he breathed softly into your ear.

"Then.." you paused, "then why aren't we, I don't know, together?" You rolled over to face him. "I mean, we do this," Your hands waved in the air, motioning to your current position with the genius. "We're always together. We even sleep over! Even the team asks me why we aren't together and--"

Spencer felt shock flood his system at your confession. Did this mean what he thought it meant? Was he reading this right?

"Just, why? Is it me?"

Taking a deep breath, Spencer choked down his fears. "I've been.. scared."

"Scared?" Your desperation morphed into one of curiosity and confusion at his words.

"Scared," Spencer confirmed softly. "I didn't know how you felt. I didn't know if you even wanted this.. us,"

Humor slowly filled the situation. Maybe you'd both been fools, but not in the way you'd originally thought. "Do you really think I cuddle with all my best friends?"

Spencer raised a brow at your words. Yeah, he felt unbelievably stupid. How could he not have seen it before? "No, I suppose not." He meekly replied, a small smile growing on his lips. "Does that mean you-you really want to be my girlfriend?"

A chuckle escaped your lips, "Spencer Reid, you ought to know better than to assume. Don't you know what that makes you?"

He smiled in return, rephrasing his question. "You want to be my girlfriend."

"I do," you smiled.

"I want to be your boyfriend," Spencer replied with a now wide grin on his face.

You felt your heart skip a beat, "I want that, too."

"Do you want to be my girlfriend?" Spencer asked, the question feeling like one of a middle-school boy. Nothing else felt right to say, though. Nothing felt as sweet and innocent as this moment did.

A finger patted your chin as you faked deep thought. "I don't know, it's a lot to consider."

Spencer let out a small laugh, propping himself up. He moved over top of you, his weight now on his forearms as you stared up at him. "Oh, really now?"

"Yeah, being tied down is a lot, you know?"

He leaned down closer to you, so close you could feel the tip of his nose grazing your own. "Tied down," he chuckled with amusement.

"That begs your question; should I be your girlfriend?"

"I say yes," Spencer said, his lips mere centimeters from your own.

Staring down at his lips, you whisper, "I say yes, too."

Like a moment of explosion, your lips meshed perfectly with Spencer's. It felt like everything you'd dreamt of thus far. Poor Spencer, he was in absolute bliss. He felt like he'd been waiting this day his whole life and another. It was magic, heaven, and unbridled passion.

"Stay here tonight?" Spencer whispered as he pulled back, lips tingling with the feeling of you.

"Always," you smiled, pulling him in for another kiss.

#spencer reid x reader #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #bau team #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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earlycuntsets · 1 month ago

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"DEATH COMES RIPPING" - SPOOKY ISSUE

'THE BLACK PARADE, THE TRIUMPHANT NEW ALBUM BY MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE MAY HAVE A TRAGIC STORYLINE, BUT IT'S NOTHING COMPARED WITH WHAT THE BANDMATES ENDURED TO BRING THE DISC TO LIGHT

PHOTOS BY JON WIEDERHORN PHOTOS BY JUSTIN BORUCKI

STANDING ON A BALCONY nine floors above the teeming streets of New York, Gerard Way overlooks the city in which My Chemical Romance began assembling their ambitious new album, The Black Parade. The newly peroxide- blond frontman takes a deep drag from a cigarette and exhales with a sigh. He knows he shouldn't smoke, but it's his only remaining vice.

"If I hadn't been sober, I think The Black Parade surely would have killed me," says Gerard, who climbed on the wagon in 2004. "We were going insane the whole time, and I had to cling to my sobriety to stay even a little lucid. The album became like this beast that was consuming us."

Following up a release as successful as 2004's Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, which sold 1.4 million copies in the U.S. alone, is never an easy task. And the various scares the band experienced as they worked on the new record-drummer Bob Bryar had a near-fatal staph infection, Gerard seriously injured his foot, and some restless spirits at the studio where they recorded kept them all on edge-did not help matters. And neither

did MCR's decision to make The Black Parade (Reprise) a concept disc. Together, Gerard and his bandmates-Bryar, guitarists Frank lero and Ray Toro, and bassist Mikey Way (Gerard's younger brother)-decided to craft a record about a dying young man who is visited by a cast of strange characters that help him examine his short life.

But diving into the conceptual deep end proved well worth the hassle. The Black Parade is not only MCR's most realized offering; it's also one of the most eclectic, enjoyable rock records of the year. One listen to tracks

like "House of Wolves," "The Sharpest Lives," and "Dead!" makes it clear that My Chemical Romance can still rip a good metallic punk tune. But the bandmates are now equally influenced by epic albums like Pink Floyd's The Wall, David Bowie's The Rise & Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars, and Queen's A Night at the Opera.

"A lot of bands from the scene we came from try to strip down their music to 'keep it real," Gerard notes. "But the real you is what you've always had inside you and what you strive to be. So when we started compiling the material we had written, we were like, You know what? This has to be a huge, theatrical record."

MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE started working on ideas for The Black Parade in the back of the bus while on 2005's Warped Tour, after which they flew to New York and rented a rehearsal space for two months. And that's when things started to get weird.

"I was living in Queens, and I had to commute on the subway every day," Gerard says. "I was suddenly very scared and paranoid. I felt more like an outsider than I ever had, and I had no confidence, which is bad when you're trying to work on a record. And I had no anonymity because there were a lot of teenagers on the train." In reaction to the young fans he encountered on the underground,

Gerard wrote "Teenagers," a T. Rex-style romp with the chorus line, "Teenagers scare the living shit out of me." "The song came directly from commuting when school let out and being so terrified of them," the singer says. "I was like, Wait a minute. These are the same people that listen to our band. Why am I scared? And I realized it was because they're scared, too. Teenagers are made to feel like they can only solve their problems with violence. They lash out at each other in a really volatile way." After several months experiencing the joys of mass transit, MCR had completed only a handful of songs and felt like a change of scenery (and climate) might do them some good. "I couldn't keep working in New York," says Gerard. "We wanted isolation."

id: Gerard leads the way to what will likely be the band's second platinum record

So the group relocated to Paramour Mansion, outside of L.A. Nestled high in the hills, the deluxe estate overlooks the trendy Silver Lake area and boasts spacious rooms, a gorgeous pool, lush gardens, a state-of-the-art recording facility-and a few special guests.

"The place is definitely haunted," Gerard says. "Doors would slam, and the faucets would turn on. You'd get a bath drawn for you of freezing-cold water in your room, and you wouldn't know why." As unnerving as its mischievous spirits could be, the Paramour was also inspiring, and contributed to the haunting vibe of songs like "The End" and "This Is How I Disappear." More important, it led Gerard to come up with the bleak, surreal concept for the record. "I would have these night terrors, where it would feel like someone was choking me, and my heart would stop and I would stop breathing," he says. "I would wake up in the middle of the night and write these notes to myself, and one of them read, 'We are all just a black parade.' So I started thinking about how this band is kind of a black parade, like a funeral-procession rock thing. And I used that idea to piece together this story about the idea that when you die, death comes for you however you want." Gerard molded his concept into a narrative about a character he dubbed the Patient, whose strongest memory from childhood is of his father taking him to the city to see a parade. Two songs into the album, he dies, and the black parade comes for him.

"During the rest of the story, he meets this entity of death and all these characters, like Mama, who represents anyone who's ever lost their son in a war," Gerard explains. "It's almost like these Canterbury Tales, where he goes along on this journey, and at the end he decides whether he wants to live or die." With the concept in place, My Chem made the songs as sweeping and theatrical as Gerard's lyrics. They accomplished this, in part, by combing through their own eclectic record collections and pulling choice elements that would set them even further apart from other melodic punk bands.

The first two minutes of "Welcome to the Black Parade" stemmed from Gerard's love for Broadway musicals, the horns in "Dead!" came from Mikey's interest in Blur and Britpop, and the jaunty feel of "Mama" was informed by Tom Waits and Nick Cave. But the most poignant moment on the record, "Cancer," was (unlike its morbid moniker) something of a pleasant surprise. "I was very upset about something in my personal life, and that's when that song came out," Gerard says. "It was really spontaneous, and it was recorded pretty much live with Rob [Cavallo, the record's producer] on the piano and me in the vocal booth. Then we added layers of drums, which gave it a certain urgency. It's the song I'm most proud of because it was the most pure emotion we've ever captured, and it gets such an immediate response. You can't shake what the song is about."

As the CD approached completion, some members of the band began to show signs of nervous exhaustion. The group was scheduled to fly to England to play the Reading Festival, and as the date grew near, Toro, who has a fear of flying, got noticeably agitated. Then, after the band tracked "Welcome to the Black Parade," which was originally called "The Five of Us Are Dying," the guitarist lost it.

"I thought I had this premonition," Toro explains. "I was flipping through the TV channels, and on the news. there would be something about a plane crash, and every time I woke up in the morning, the clock would say 9:11. I was playing Tomb Raider the night before the flight, and on the level I ended up at, there was this whole flashback to a plane crash. So right before the flight I was like, 'That's it. I'm not flying."

Despite his misgivings, Toro boarded the plane, and when My Chemical Romance returned to L.A. (all of them still very much alive, thank you very much), The Black Parade was completed without further incident. Listening back to the record, the band members were in awe of what they had achieved and eager to share it with their fans. "There was a real confidence that came to us," Gerard explains. "Having survived it, we felt like we were changed forever. I feel different as a performer now, and I think we really finally discovered who we were as a band." But just because MCR were done with the record didn't mean that it was done with them. About a month later, the band was shooting a video for "Famous Last Words" with director Samuel Bayer (Garbage, Smashing Pumpkins) on a set featuring walls of flame, when-seized by the moment-lero grabbed Gerard's throat from behind and wrestled him to the ground. The singer rolled one way; his foot went the other. "It bent completely backwards, and I heard a crack and felt this agonizing pain," Gerard recalls. "I tore all the ligaments in my foot, but I got up and continued to perform." "I didn't know what I was doing," says lero, shaking his head. "I wasn't trying to hurt him. I felt awful. I still do." Gerard's injury was serious, and he still walks with a cane, but it paled in comparison to what happened to Bryar. At the end of the shoot, the pyro was so intense, the drummer could feel his leg burning, but he stuck it out for the rest of the song. By then, he had a nasty third-degree burn. And the misfortune didn't stop there. Bryar didn't take his antibiotics regularly, and he failed to keep the wound clean. By the time the band got back from a brief tour of Japan, the burn was severely infected. Then Bryar's face swelled up and, after doing the MTV Video Music Awards preshow telecast and a special club show, stumbled into a hospital emergency room in intense pain. "I thought I'd be there for 10 minutes, but as soon as they saw me, they got all serious and gave me an IV and said they had to do a CAT scan," recalls Bryar."They did all these blood tests and kept me there for 14 hours." Doctors discovered that Bryar's leg infection had spread to his blood and caused an abscess in his face that was creeping dangerously close to his brain. If it had been left untreated for another two days, he could have died. "The whole thing was such a nightmare," Bryar says. "This doctor stuck my cheek with a needle about six inches long and the width of an IV tube. Then he went in and out of the inside of my mouth with the needle about 10 times. Fortunately, the treatment worked, and Bryar left the hospital three days later. With tragedy averted, My Chem are now focusing on touring for The Black Parade. They'll be in Europe for most of November, and when they get back at the end of year, they'll start rehearsing for a U.S. arena tour that starts in February. "We want to put on a full show with props and staging like The Wall," Gerard says. And MCR plan to keep the Patient alive long after they're done touring for the CD. "I would love to see the story turned into a play or a musical, and it could easily be a movie," enthuses Gerard. "Making this record, we cut ourselves open every day, pulled out every organ, and lay them on a table so it would be something we're completely happy with. We want The Black Parade to exist for a long time." "The whole hole thing nightmare. This doctor stuck my cheek with a needle about six inches long and the width of an IV tube." -BOB BRYAR

"I felt more like an outsider than I ever had, and I had no confidence, which is bad when you're trying work on a record."

-GERARD WAY

12/2006 revolver - mcrhollywood on flickr

#a spooky mcr for spooky year #sleep lore #black parade production #the paramour #the paramour 2006 #black parade era #12/2006 revolver #mcrhollywood.blogspot.com #my chemical romance #gerard way #mcr #frank iero #ray toro #mcr scans #scans

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jonsnowunemploymentera · 9 months ago

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The thing about Jon that a lot of people forget is that he is actually a rather well known figure all around Westeros. I don’t think it’s incorrect to say that he’s Ned’s most famous kid by a large margin, and perhaps even one of the more famous teens in Westeros; especially now that he has become Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and his reputation has began to stretch to a different continent. Because of his very unusual origin - being honorable Ned Stark’s bastard son by an unknown woman - his name has been passed around in noble houses across the entire continent. He’s not some random kid from the North that no one has heard of. The majority of people may not have seen him, but they have at the very least heard of him.

I bring this up because people tend to act as if Jon would be automatically scoffed away by just about everyone if his true parentage ever came to light. After all, they say, why would anyone believe that some random kid from the north is a Targaryen prince? But this is not really true. Jon is not a random kid. His father was one of the most powerful men in the entire land. And not only that, but Ned’s reputation as an honorable man with no fault ensured that the scandal of begetting a bastard was known by everyone who is someone. The thing is, readers tend to ignore a very large gaping hole in the story when it comes to public perception of Jon’s parentage. People all over Westeros have been talking about Ned and his bastard, but no one can agree on the mother - this is actually important!

Most people would not have questioned Ned to his face, but they too want to know who Jon’s mother was, even if it’s just for a little bit of gossip among nobles. Jon’s parentage is a mysterious puzzle that a lot of people have tried to solve themselves. Catelyn hears one answer in Winterfell, but Davos hears another on his way to White Harbor. Edric Dayne from Dorne says a different name to Arya, while Cersei and Robert (who both live in KL) hear different things. That there’s so much variation all around Westeros is actually proof that a lot of people are talking about this one issue. And Ned’s refusal to name a woman may actually end up having unexpected consequences when someone finally mentions the name “Lyanna Stark”.

So I would like to push back on the belief that no one in Westeros would care about the R+L=J reveal or that they would immediately write Jon off. GRRM deciding to keep Jon’s mother an in universe mystery that is the topic of constant conversation will have major payoff. While I could see some being incredulous, it’s absolutely not a foregone conclusion that most people will choose not to believe it. And it’s not a foregone conclusion that this reveal will only matter to the Stark kids and no one else. Sure GRRM is playing with fantasy tropes, and Jon squarely falls under the hidden prince/king. But something that makes Jon quite different from a lot of his genre counterparts is that he’s not an unknown figure who shows up at the last minute to claim the crown. Jon is not an unknown entity. He is well known, it’s just that very few people have dared to think too deeply about the very large elephant in the room regarding his origin. But I’d imagine that if R+L=J was to be revealed, it wouldn’t be too shocking for a lot of people. It’s not so far fetched that honorable Ned Stark actually chose to protect his sister’s son.

And in regards to GRRM playing with fantasy tropes, Young Griff always comes up in conversation as Jon’s foil. People say that he will be the one to be believed because he looks the part of a Targaryen, whereas a random kid from the North won’t be believed because of his brown hair and grey eyes. Jon doesn’t look like some random unrecognizable Northman. He very specifically looks like a Stark! And anyway, is Jon’s story - that Ned took him in after his sister died and raised him as his own under the protective banner of House Stark - any less believable than Young Griff’s - that Varys had the foresight to save him and whisk him off to Essos before the Mountain bashed his head in? Until now, people have never heard of Young Griff so they’ve never had the opportunity to ruminate over and gossip about his origin story. But they know Jon. And they know about Rhaegar and Lyanna. And Jon looking so very undeniably like a Stark (like Lyanna Stark!) could perhaps work in his favor.

#jon snow #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #r plus l equals j #my stuff #early morning rambling but oh well

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seravphs · 1 year ago

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — KNIGHT! GOJO x PRINCESS! FEM READER

Gojo has devoted his entire life to protecting you as your dedicated guard. A greater force is conspiring to keep you apart.

wc — 3.7k

tags — royal au, childhood friends, forbidden love, protective Gojo, sneaking around/flouting social etiquette, period drama-esque tension between repressed princess and rakish knight, mutually possessive, title from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

part 1 of the hand which holds the knife

Everyone knew Satoru Gojo was supposed to be yours.

You claimed him the day you knighted him. He wore your colors and answered to your demands. The physical evidence of your ownership was all over him, the way someone would mark a well loved pet. Even the neck of his jacket carried your embroidery like a collar. To anyone with eyes, he was your adored guard dog.

When all of your memories blur into one stream of consciousness, the day you knighted him remains clear. You remember everything, including your father stealing him out from under you.

You were the only one who truly thought he was ever going to be yours. It was part of the promise you had sworn to each other as children, playing princess and the guard with wooden swords and flower crowns.

Looking back, you can see the gears of court machinations turning. It was no simple coincidence that the only heir to House Gojo ended up in close proximity to you, any more than any other of your introductions to sons of highborn houses.

Gojo has no interest in pretending to be a prince. It was boring for him to be trapped in restricting uniforms complete with epaulets. He found more pleasure in protecting you from danger while you preened in your gilded cage, none the wiser through his efforts. Safe and unaware, the way he liked it. You would never have to know how dangerous the world was if he simply destroyed everything in your path before it got to you.

You didn’t understand the way the adults looked at the two of you. All you knew was that you couldn’t bear to be apart from him. You rose each morning looking for him, and went to bed waiting for the minute you’d be reunited again. He was your whole world, your one and only friend. It was his hand that guided you through childhood adventures. He was the sword and shield that had cut down kidnappers and serpents for you.

The first wedge in your relationship comes with his twelfth birthday.

You chase his back through the years, watching it broaden in front of your eyes. His body changes. His voice drops. The first time you hear it after the pitchy squeaks of puberty clear from his throat, you feel the sickening wrench of something in your stomach. It had never mattered before that Gojo was a man, potentially your betrothed.

Now it burns you to look at him. He became gorgeous while you weren’t looking, all long willowy limbs and snow white hair. The women of the court have started looking at him now. They call him the beautiful dragon, after his house crest.

Even though you know reasonably that you can do nothing about this, really, you have no right to, that galls you. You’re a princess. You’re used to being able to deal with things that upset you with little more than a nod to Gojo. But he can’t solve issues that he’s the root of.

The only way to show everyone that Gojo’s devotion belongs to you is to tie him to your side. At twelve, he’s already the strongest squire in the entire kingdom. Better than most knights, even. It’s a clear path to being the greatest knight of his time, throughout all of history, even. He already promised to be your sword when you were children. All you have to do is wait.

Gojo trains and you begin to learn the extent of your royal responsibilities. Study etiquette. Marry well. Become a dutiful wife. Give the king heirs.

Gojo becomes Lord Gojo. He calls you princess now. Although part of you rebels at the idea that he would ever call you anything other than your name, another part of you can’t help the queasy feeling you get when he says your title, low and soft. Like he means it for your ears only. Like princess is just another way of showing how much of him is yours.

Gojo is not usually a proud man because he doesn’t have to be. His abilities speak for himself. But he’s cocky to a fault. He knows the extent of his capabilities, which means he won’t capitulate to anyone. Why would he?

When it comes to you, however, he bends his neck and accepts the collar willingly. The strongest can only be tamed by what he allows to tame him and it’s you, it’s always been you.

Perhaps that’s why things turn out the way they do on the day you knight him.

Or, as you find out later, your father knights him.

It was the day after your sixteenth birthday. Gojo himself had turned seventeen three months and six days before. It was strangely old for a boy of his caliber. He was so talented he could’ve been the youngest knight in the realm, but no one could make Gojo do something he didn’t want to do.

There was no shame in it, either. Everyone knew Gojo was too talented and well-connected for it to be anything other than his own choice. The only heir of House Gojo, he was destined to become a knight even if he did nothing to earn it. And he had done much to earn it.

Winning wars single handedly tended to do that. There were already legends blooming from the battlefield by the time he came home and tossed the unlucky enemy commander’s head at the king’s feat. His bow wasn’t nearly low or respectful enough to be addressed to the king, but he had been lighter-hearted back then, more willing to forgive.

Especially for Gojo, who had cut a killing swathe through the ranks of the opposing army so ruthlessly they began to call him a god of death.

Gojo kneels at your feet, his white head still high. He’s a little too tall for you, even at this angle. Lord Commander Yaga clears his throat. Gojo looks up through the wisps of hair that have escaped to obscure his eyes. They’re piercing, an attractively violent blue.

“I’m sorry,” he says, so low no one else could’ve heard the two of you even if you hadn’t been standing alone on the podium in front of the king’s throne. “Am I too tall for you now, princess?”

“Don’t tease,” you whisper back, flustered despite yourself. The pommel of the sword is clammy in your grip. You’re scared to drop it and accidentally take a finger off with it.

You’re taking too long. It’s making you anxious. You’re distinctly aware of your father’s stare boring into your back. You’ve been sheltered since you were young by your father’s paranoia, but he’s recently begun letting you apply yourself more to your royal duties. You can’t give him any reason to doubt you.

Gojo dips a little lower.

With this change in angle, you can place the flat of the blade on each of his shoulders. It’s your father’s sword, too large and unwieldy in your hands. Standing over Gojo is a strange experience. It’s uncomfortable looking down on someone who’s been taller than you for all your life.

You wish he would stop looking at you like that. His gaze is searching. You feel naked underneath it, even with layers of dresses on. When he says his vows, it feels intimate, like he’s speaking them to you. For you.

Gojo rises, shaking his hair out of his eyes like a shaggy dog. Like this, you’re reminded suddenly of how strong he is. His shoulders are broad underneath his silver armor. Lean muscle cords his legs. There’s an easy, effortless grace to the way he moves - the confidence of a man who has never been bested in his entire life.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. He’s still standing too close. If it were any other man, your father would have demanded he be whipped by now, but Gojo has always gotten away with things no one could. He ducks his head so he can speak directly into your ear - dangerous, even for him. He says his piece fast. “I’ll see you in your rooms, my lady.”

Then he pulls back.

There are thunderclouds gathering across the king’s face, but when you shake your head, your father relents. He smiles and kisses your temple as you climb up the steps of the platform of his throne to return the sword to him.

Years later, you learn that the moment you leave the throne room, your shoulders sure with the knowledge that Gojo is finally secure in your grasp, your father takes up the sword you had held and knights him. Princesses have no authority to confer knighthood. Only kings.

You know your father means well. He loves you. You’re all he has left. If Gojo pushed for your hand to be one that he swears loyalty to first, then your father would have been happy to comply either way. You just wish you would’ve known that it meant nothing.

There’s a sharp rap on your door, followed by two short, one long. A code you had devised a long time ago. You pull open the door and Gojo all but falls into your room. He’s pressed up against you, front to front as he closes the door behind him, tumbling you into your bed.

“Hi, princess,” he says, his breath warm against your neck. You squirm in his hold, feeling heat rush through your veins. It’s getting harder and harder to hide the way he affects you, but you don’t want anything to change between the two of you. Though sometimes, you swear Gojo likes using your title so much precisely because he knows how you react to it.

“We have to stop doing this,” you tell him, like you tell him every time. “It’s inappropriate.”

He groans and pushes away from you. You mourn the loss of contact. “Come on, don’t make me do this again. Who cares if it’s inappropriate? Who says?”

“Dame Zenin thinks we’re too close.”

“Dame Zenin is an idiot,” Gojo says. “You know she only says that because she wants to get rid of me so you’ll look at Naoya. As if you would ever, even if I was gone.”

“Still.”

Gojo grabs your chin in his hand. “You are a princess and I am the only heir to House Gojo. We bow to no one, understand? What right do mice have to judge dragons?”

He’s the dragon, you think. Your crest is the rose. You exist to be judged. That’s the role of a princess.

Gojo sprawls out on your bed. He’s so tall he takes up more than half of it, even though your bed was built to be more than twice your size. His eyes are shut, his long white lashes soft. He looks gentle in repose, almost like a lamb with his coloring.

He’s beautiful. He always is. You want to touch, to hold, to claim. You want to press your ear against his chest and steal the thunderous beat of his heart for your own. You want to press your rouged lips to his neck and collarbones, to mark his body with a muted rose.

Instead, you sit stiff, prim and proper.

He opens his eyes. “Come here,” he says, his arm reaching for you. You let him pull you closer.

As always, he has to reach out first. You can’t allow yourself to take what you want. It’s not in your nature, the way you were raised.

You bury your face into the space between his neck and his shoulder.

“There we go,” he coos. Your face burns with the condescension of it, the way he treats you like an animal that has to be carefully coaxed closer. But he’s not wrong, and that’s why you let him pet you into submission, gently stroking your sides as he tangles his legs with yours.

You were never so affected by him as children. Somewhere along the way, Gojo had become unmanageable to you, and you don’t know what to do about it.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs against your hair. “Where are you going off to in that pretty head of yours?”

“I’m with you,” you whisper against his neck. “I’m always here.”

You’ve spoiled him, you think. When you were a child, you didn’t know any better. Gojo was just Gojo. Letting him stay by your side even as you got older was an indulgence that he now pushes the limits of. He’s never cared about propriety.

“You have to go back to your room now,” you whisper reluctantly. You’re always the more cautious one of your duo. It’s been too long. Someone will become suspicious. For once, you wish you could just let go of your worries, but someone has to check Gojo. If both of you just did whatever you wanted, it’d be the ruin of your houses. This is how it has to be: Gojo pushes and you pull back.

The dim light of the dying candles make his blue eyes appear black. “Give me something of yours first,” he says.

You know what he’s asking for. You climb up from the bed and go into your dresser to search, turning up one of your handkerchiefs. It bears the colors of your house and your careful embroidery.

He kneels at your feet.

“Stop,” you say, trying to pull away.

Gojo presses a kiss to your hand. His lips are soft against the skin of your hand, temptation incarnate. Your fingers tremble lightly in his grasp, torn between wanting to seize him and wanting to run away. The enormity of your desire for him terrifies you. If you ever let him in for one second, you can see how easy your descent would be.

“I’m yours, princess. Don’t forget it.”

With that, he ties your favor around his wrist and finally leaves you to your room, panting like you’d run through the halls. No matter how old you get, Gojo always leads in your interactions. He plays with you, enjoying the way he can make you react to him.

It’s normal for a princess to visit the training yard, you try to convince yourself the next day. There’s nothing strange about stopping by while you’re on your afternoon walk. After all, you should keep abreast of everything within your castle.

Gojo stands in the center of the yard. He’s demonstrating one of his self created drills, a complicated set of maneuvers only he can pull off. In short, he’s showing off while pretending like he’s doing the class a favor by trying to teach them something.

Lord Commander Yaga notices you the moment you set foot in the yard. You should expect it. After all, it’s his territory.

“Attention,” he bellows. “The princess is here.”

Gojo perks up and finishes his final set of movements even faster. He throws his sword carelessly to the side, leaving a young squire scrambling to catch the priceless weapon as he strides towards you.

He’s a little sweaty. You want to wrap your arms around him anyways, but you restrain yourself.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” you say.

Gojo grins at you. It’s a sharp thing, his smile, hungry and wolfish. “Not at all. I was just thinking of you, my lady.”

You tilt your head at him curiously.

Around you, the men are scrambling to line up into neat little rows.

“I’m picking a squire,” Gojo says. “Would you like to make the decision for me?”

It’s a question that shocks you. You whirl to look at him again, see if he’s joking like usual, but he seems perfectly serious. “I don’t know anything about knighthood,” you tell him the truth.

He moves closer. You’re tempted to step back immediately, but you don’t. You don’t want a sign of discomfort to be misinterpreted and used against him. Besides, you relish the proximity. Seeing Gojo in public feels like dancing on blades. The adrenaline terrifies you, but you can’t stop wanting more of it.

“You may not, but you know people. I trust your judgement.”

A cursory scan of the boys in front of you reveals little. They’re all stiff and proper, their backs as straight as they can make them. Some stand with their arms glued to their sides, others fidget with their swords. Every single one of them is eager for the chance to be acknowledged by the princess. They’re equally hopeful for the chance to squire for the greatest knight in the kingdom.

None of them catch your eye on the first or second passes.

Only on the third, a boy with pink hair smiles at you. It’s such a small gesture. But for a boy who had looked just like everyone else at first, the toothy smile splits his features. It opens him up. He looks kind.

You gesture him forward.

Lord Commander Yaga nods approvingly. “Itadori is a good one, Your Royal Highness. He’s one of the best in this batch. Naturally strong, but just as hardworking.”

“See,” Gojo says. “I knew you would choose well.”

He touches your hand briefly, slipping a white scrap of paper inside your closed fist before he grabs Itadori by the shoulder and hauls him off for further training. Although disappointed, the other squires still look starstruck to be in his presence, though Yaga disperses them all to train themselves soon enough.

In elegant cursive, Gojo has written a time and place.

You shouldn’t go.

You can’t risk it.

All eyes are on you and Gojo as it is. People already suspect the two of you of something unsavory. Courtly love is one thing, but you and Gojo are too close for an unmarried man and a woman. As a princess, your sole purpose is to marry well and bring alliances to your house. You can’t risk damaging your reputation.

But every stolen encounter with Gojo steals your breath away. You sneak through the halls, quiet and empty.

A hand slaps over your mouth before you can scream as someone tugs you into a dark corridor.

You kick and lash out, forgetting everything Gojo has taught you in favor of blind violence.

“Shh,” comes a voice in your ear. “It’s just me.”

You bite him.

He hisses and pulls back, shaking out his hand. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Why would you do that? You scared me!”

“You’re not careful enough, princess. There was a maid coming up on your left that you hadn’t even noticed.”

You sigh and lean into him. You can’t help it.

He laughs. “Are you that happy to see me?”

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll show you exactly how happy I am.”

“Come on,” he tugs you out towards the gardens. It’s dangerous, but you follow him anyway. Being with Gojo is so threatening not despite his strength, but because of it. You rely on him too easily, trusting him to see you safely through any peril. It’s easy to relax when he’s with you, his presence the promise of security.

You expect him to tell you why he called you here, but he’s silent when he tugs you down on the bench next to him.

“Gojo?”

“Here,” he says, opening his hands. A single crushed violet sits on his palm. You laugh, picking it up and raising to your eye. It’s all the more fragrant because it has been mangled, the delicate petals bruised.

Gojo’s mouth lifts in a smile, too. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t realize.”

“You really know how to win a girl’s heart,” you tease.

“Hopefully I know how to win over her father’s, too.”

You freeze.

“I’m sorry. I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to ask your father to be your dedicated knight tomorrow. Do I have your permission?”

You hesitate, worrying your lip with your teeth, but Gojo understands. Years of watching after you, bandaging your scrapes that you refuse to cry over or avenging your honor after you pretend your pride hasn’t been hurt has taught him a lot. He can see right through you. You never need to hide when you’re with him.

“It’s alright,” he says. “We can wait.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to be my guard,” you say in a small voice. “I just-”

“I know,” he says. “But I’m the strongest. Who else would your father ask to protect you but me?”

“Do you think he’ll say yes?”

Gojo looks at you seriously. “I’ll get down on both knees and beg him if I have to.”

“Don’t do that,” you gasp.

“I don’t care,” he says. “You’re what’s most important to me. More than pride, more than honor. Can I ask your father for you?”

You look at the crushed violet in your hand.

Who else but Gojo?

You press the flower back into his palm. “I trust you to do what’s right.”

His eyes soften. He leans closer.

“Gojo,” comes a voice. “What are you doing in the gardens this late at night?”

You stiffen. The owner of the voice is drawing closer.

“Do you trust me?” Gojo asks, as cool and collected as ever.

You nod, not trusting your voice not to give you away. He cups your face in his hands and ever so delicately presses a light kiss to your cheek, tilting his head towards you.

“Stop,” he tells the man behind you. “Don’t come any closer. You’ll scare her.”

“A new plaything?” Asks the Lord Commander. “I’m not so scary, am I?”

Gojo notices you tremble harder. He lifts a hand to the back of your head and presses it gently towards his shoulder, obscuring your face even further. “Come here, darling,” he murmurs. “That’s right, what a good little thing,” he says as you press yourself into him. He pulls you over his lap, your legs straddling his waist as he runs his hand up and down your back. “Keep your head down,” he whispers to you. You tuck your face farther into the crook of his neck.

Louder, he responds to Yaga. “The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard is a terrifying man, or so I’ve heard.”

“Just escort her to her room when you’re done,” Yaga says gruffly. “I don’t need to tell you to be a gentleman, do I?”

“No, sir,” Gojo says cheerfully.

In hindsight, you’re still not sure if Yaga recognized you or not. On one hand, he’s known you since you were a child. He watched, a silent guard, as your father raised you. On the other hand, he’s never brought it up to you.

The only other reason you suspect he realized who you really were was Gojo’s induction into the kingsguard the very next day.

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

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really-bibi · 29 days ago

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【ｊｕｓｔ　ｃｈｏｏｓｅ！】

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚pairing: ot8 poly skz x reader ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖summary: your boyfriends want to know who the biggest is, and they came up with an.. umm.. let's just say, interesting solution. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚warnings/genre: suggestive, mentions of fucking, dick comparison, polyamorous relationship, its honestly just awkward, i tried to make it kinda funny but my humor is absolute shit ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖notes: MINORS DNI! pls what is this absolute shit that i wrote its genuinely so bad but idk what to write anymore!! wtf do i do but anyways, english isn't my first language, so there might be grammar issues and such. enjoy if you can ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

you woke up from your nap for the 4th time at the sound of your boyfriends arguing. god, why were they like this.. after a few minutes of contemplating your life decisions, minho comes and picks you up. "LEE MINHO, PUT ME DOWN RIGHT THIS INS-", just slings you over his shoulder and carries you up to the bedroom. as you got closer, the sounds of the ruckus got louder. great. weren't you just in the perfect mood for this. "someone please explain why all nine of us are in here right now.." you said, after being dragged into the room. all of them just started mumbling incoherently, like they were embarrassed about what they were arguing about. "ok bitch get to the point." "so who's bigger?", yes, that was jeongin. "what the FUCK", you replied. "well you said get to the point", "why are you so blunt about i-" "no but like you don't have to be so straightforward" "guys you can clearly see that she's uncomfortabl-" "ok everyone SHUT THE FUCK UP and let her choose" "yeah just choose!", yes, this is still jeongin. "i'm not doing that." "why nott" "she just doesn't want to hurt your feelings when she admits it's me", said seungmin. "oh please, we all know she's gonna pick me." "guys please this is stupid", "ok just admit yours is small jisung." uhh it's okay. they'll get over it. one day. unfortunately, that day won't be today. "let's have a contest!" "what are we even gonna do? see who can fuck her the best? that's pathe-" "YES ABSOLUTELY" "um guys i don't think that's the best idea..", you said. "i mean like size doesn't really matter if you know how to use it" and here comes the maknae again. ready to guilt trip you into their plan that you can't tell if they really made to solve their argument, or they just made to have an excuse to fuck you dumb. "pleeaaassssee-" "fuck you i'll do it." honestly, you kinda wanted to do it. just as an excuse to get fucked dumb. "well who's going first?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ a/n: i can't write smut for my LIFE idk what im gonna do about part 2.. this is worse than my first fanfictions i fear!! i hate this so much but im gonna post it anyway because i haven't posted in like a month

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so-long-soldier-writes · 11 months ago

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One of Those Days

poly!mikaelsons x reader | request

summary: between the constant fighting and city clamor, you're overstimulated from the minute you wake up. you try to isolate until you feel better, but sometimes, that only makes things worse. luckily, your loving vampire partners are always there for you.

tags: sensory issues, mental health, overstimulation, arguing, mild emotional hurt / comfort

word count: ~2.6k

a/n: requested by @asexualaromosafezone - i am SO SORRY this took me literal months to complete. a couple days ago, i suddenly remembered i never filled it and finished it asap. i hope you like it, and again, so many apologies!

Sometimes, you wake up, and can immediately tell it’ll be a hard day. The sun has barely risen, yet there’s already a million noises coming through your window. Chatters of people having their morning walks, car horns from those too impatient to let them cross, the distant clang of a dropped pot, and-

“REBEKAHHH!”

-Klaus, yelling for his sister. At seven in the morning.

“What the bloody hell are you shouting for?! I’m right here!”

You sigh, glad that mystery solved quickly.

There’s probably a few more minutes until your alarm rings, so instead of getting up a little earlier, you opt to enjoy your last minutes of peace. Though you soon realize that’s impossible, given your circumstances. On top of the city sounds, there’s a bird right outside your window, and when you try to turn away from it, the tag on your blanket itches the inside of your thigh.

“Ugh!” You toss the blanket off.

Your alarm sounds not a second later.

With a slap to your phone and then another to your forehead, you decide to just get ready for the day. Luckily, not much is planned. Marcel still has control over the city, and with you being human, your Mikaelson hosts don’t want you outside at all.

See, you live with the family of original vampires. You used to be a Mystic Falls’ resident, but then after developing a close connection with the siblings, decided to move to New Orleans with them and get a fresh start. You were tired of the small town life, and while the big city can be overwhelming at times, you’ll never get sick of the culture it has to offer. Besides, living with the most powerful family makes you happier than you ever believed you could be.

As much as you love them, though, they can be a pain. Like when Klaus can’t find his sister, but forgets a whisper would summon her just as effectively. Instead, he has to wake up the whole quarter, and inconvenience you with a headache. When you reach the dining room that day, you slump your head on the table.

“Everything alright, darling?” Kol’s voice floats over your head, making you aware of his presence.

“Tired.”

“Is your bed comfortable enough? Do you need more blankets?”

You haven’t been in the city long, and his consideration warms your heart.

“Oh, I’m okay. I’m very comfy. Just haven’t gotten used to the city yet.”

“Ah, I understand.”

His attention drifts to his sister. You busy yourself with a plate of food and ignore how tired you feel. When Elijah sits beside you, you offer a smile, but don’t say anything. The man, polite as ever, does the same. Though while two of the siblings are quiet, the other two aren’t. Klaus and Rebekah are still on the same topic from earlier. They bounce off each other quickly, childish banter turning into an argument.

You try to eat in peace and ignore them, but it’s difficult. And it doesn’t help that you’ve been feeling down lately, anyway. It’s rather unexplainable, the way you feel. Some days you’d rather stay in bed all day than face the world. Your whole body could be begging for you to get up and get things done, but you just can’t. No matter how hard you fight your own mind, sometimes there’s no winning the raging war.

To make matters worse, you’re always hypersensitive when you find yourself in these low moods. Every little thing is overstimulating and there’s no pause button. This morning, you didn’t even get a chance to wake up before the sounds started. (Thanks, Klaus.) You roll your eyes in your head, annoyed.

“Hey.” A poke to your shoulder startles you, making you jump. “You okay?”

“Ooh, you caught me off guard.”

“Sorry,” Kol smiles, “you in deep thought, or rolling your eyes at Klaus’ statement?”

“Uh…” You bite your lip. You were rolling your eyes about Klaus, but missed whatever statement it was that he just made. “What did he say?”

“That he was on his way to have a little chat with Marcel. That will go swimmingly.”

“Oh.” You snort and decide to joke. “Both.”

Kol grins at you, but then, thankfully, leaves you alone again.

After breakfast, you retreat back into your room, not in the mood to face the day. If Klaus is really going to start shit with Marcel, it’ll be an intense day. You’ve never met the current king of the French Quarter, but Elijah’s told stories. Marcel and the family used to be close, but then, like all their other relationships, ties ended drastically.

“But not with you, of course,” he had promised. “You’re our girl.”

You were skeptical for a moment. Who wouldn’t be, knowing the Mikaelsons? But then Klaus approached you from behind with a kiss to your hair and confirmed his brother’s words,

“As long as we have your loyalty, you’ll always have ours.”

You could see the truth in his statement. Everyone who ended up on their bad side had betrayed them in some way. So, as long as you didn’t repeat others’ mistakes; as long as you kept your trust in the family, you would be considered family. And ever since the day you first grew close, you have been their family.

You’re close with all of the siblings. Elijah, first, when you couldn’t take your eyes off him at Damon’s dinner party. Then Rebekah, and then Kol, when he undaggered. Even Finn, before his untimely death - thanks to Matt, your good friend now worst enemy. Klaus took the longest to trust you, and you can’t blame him for having trust issues, but once he realized how much his siblings adored you, he was quick to accept your place with them.

Now, the five of you live together, nine hundred miles from your hometown. It’s certainly a change, but every day with them is an adventure.

Like today, you suddenly think, overhearing Elijah’s footsteps in the hallway. Today has definitely been one of those days.

“Y/N?” He stops outside your door.

“Mhm?”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

Elijah opens the door, but doesn’t fully enter your room. He looks you up and down before smiling. “I just thought you seemed sad earlier and wanted to check on you. Is everything okay?”

“Oh!” You put on a brave face to mask the tiredness you feel internally. “Yeah, I’m just out of sorts today. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure? Because if someone’s bothering you, that’s something we can take care of.”

“No, no, I promise. It’s all just me. Just having a day.”

“You’re positive?” He asks for confirmation again.

“Have I ever lied to you, ‘Lijah?”

He looks down at his shoes, embarrassed. “No, you haven’t. I apologize for doubting you.”

“It’s okay,” you step closer to him, resting against the door frame. “No need to apologize. But I swear, I just… woke up on the wrong side of the bed or something. New Orleans is a loud city. I’m still adjusting.”

“Okay. Well, call if you need anything. Even the smallest thing.”

“I will.”

“Oh, and be careful in the off-chance that Marcel storms in here. There’s a fight brewing in the quarter.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Better yet, stay inside for the day. So you’re not in harm’s way at all.”

“Okay, ‘Lijah.”

He smiles at you, then kisses your hand. “Now, I need to neutralize my brother. But I needed to make sure our girl was okay first.”

“She’s okay. Go deal with him.”

Elijah straightens his collar before speeding off to no doubt defend his brother in a fight. You love Klaus, but man, does he get angry. And then from anger, comes pure rage, then absolute chaos. Once situations escalate that far, the whole block better hide if they want to keep their hearts in their chest.

You sigh, thinking of the carnage that may come. You’re not sure you can deal with his anger issues today, especially not coupled with those of Marcel. Of all the days they have to fight, it’s the one that you might snap, too, if he raises his voice one more time.

Suddenly, your bed looks like the perfect oasis away from the mess behind your door. A good pillow over the ears might prevent an impending meltdown. You crawl into it at once and let your body melt into the mattress.

You hadn’t lied to Elijah, though you hadn’t given him the full truth, either. Yes, you are, in general, okay. Not necessarily today, but at that moment, you were. Also yes, you’re not feeling great today, partly because of all the city noise. And, finally, yes, most of it is just you and your body not in the mood to be awake. Though Klaus is contributing, just a little bit, to your mental distress today. Elijah would understand, of course, but then he’d have a talk with his brother about it, and you really didn’t want to burden either of them in that way, so you put on a smile and didn’t mention it. You’d bet Elijah knows the full truth, and knows why you won’t admit it, but he respects you if you don’t want to talk about it. That’s one of the reasons you love him so much.

You get a couple hours of rest until your slumber is interrupted by a new knock on your door. It’s not soft, like Elijah’s, so it must be one of the younger two.

“Oh no,” you mutter, wondering what it must be now.

“Y/N?” Rebekah’s voice comes from the other side. “Are you awake?”

“I am now.”

She opens the door as you reply. “Oh what the bloody hell are you still doing in bed?”

“Sleeping.”

“Obviously! Come watch a movie with Kol and I! We’d love your company.”

“An actual movie, or the public display of violence happening outside in the quarter?”

“We haven’t decided yet!” She grabs your hand. “Come on!”

You yawn. “I’m gonna pass today, I’m not up for it.”

“Awh, Y/N! It won’t be as fun without you!”

“I have a headache, Bex,” you fib.

“Do you want some blood for that?”

“Does that even work like that?”

She shrugs, “not sure.”

You cuddle into your pillow. “Another time, okay?”

The girl smiles, then leans forward to kiss your head. “Okay. If you change your mind, come find us.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“Dinner’s at seven. Will you be there?”

“Yeah,” you promise, “I should be better by then.”

You are not, in fact, better by then. If anything, your foul mood progressed into an actual headache within thirty minutes of Rebekah leaving. Shouts throughout the city managed to penetrate the thin glass of your windows, and you could hear almost everything as Klaus heckled the current king. For hours, it went on, until the sun went down and they assumedly put it off for another day. By seven o’clock, you were able to sneak in another nap, but you still felt way overstimulated from the day’s events.

Not to mention the fact that you spent all day in bed. Sometimes, you’re overstimulated by too much going on, but today you partly did it to yourself by hiding away all day. The guilt of avoiding everyone weighs on your chest. Rebekah had invited you to a movie; Elijah went out of his way to check up on you, and you had more or less dismissed them both. A bitter taste sits in your mouth when you think about it. Water doesn’t wash it out.

Hopefully dinner will.

For the first ten minutes, the night passes peacefully. Most of the conversation is focused between the meal and the movie the two had watched. The events of the day, seemingly, are left in the past.

But then, of course, Kol has to make a comment on something he overheard that he thought was funny. And that set Klaus off into a spewing of anger. He’s pissed at Marcel, but now, also, at Kol for bringing it up. Elijah puts his face in his hands, and Rebekah sends both a huge eye roll.

What was a moment of much-appreciated silence is now a yelling match. After five minutes, you reach your breaking point.

“Why do you feel the need to comment on that, Kol? It was so insignificant, but you’ve felt the need to bring it up, and now I’m reminded of how much Marcel has done to piss me off!”

“I didn’t mean to make you upset, bloody hell! I thought it was funny!”

“It wasn’t funny to me when he was spitting in my face! I-”

“Oh my god! Are you ever not arguing?!” You suddenly shout.

The table goes silent and all eyes are on you. A needle could be dropped and it would be heard across the quarter.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize quickly, embarrassed.

“Love,” Elijah puts a hand on your shoulder, “are you alright?”

At his touch, you flinch. He retracts his hand quickly, but doesn’t move his body away from its proximity to yours.

Klaus, although upset at the interruption, notices this and calms a little. “Everything okay, Y/N?”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“That little outburst didn’t sound like nothing.”

“I’m just stressed.”

“Darling, what’s got you all upset? Tell us and we’ll sort it out now.”

“It’s no one, Kol, I’m just not feeling well.”

“Still have a headache, sweetheart?” Rebekah asks.

“You have a headache?” Klaus butts in.

The assortment of questions makes you drop your head. It nearly hits the table, but Elijah grabs your frame before you can fall. Tears form in your eyes, visibly.

“I’m just really overstimulated today. I woke up weird and this city is loud, and then there was all the fighting all day long, and then I hid in my room all day, but then I felt bad about hiding, and now I’m making you all worried because I can’t get my shit under control!”

“And that’s your fault, how?” Elijah asks, “you cannot blame yourself for the way you feel.”

“But I need to handle my emotions better. I’m sorry.”

“No apologies necessary, love,” Klaus adds, “I certainly haven’t helped, fighting with children all day.”

“Niklaus,” Elijah warns, but Klaus doesn’t argue with him this time.

“I should’ve stayed with you when you said you had a headache.”

“Don’t blame yourself either, Bex. It’s not your fault.”

“But we could’ve cuddled,” she frowns.

“It’s okay. I got a nap, and it helped a little. I just need to get used to my life being different now. None of you are at fault.”

“Nor are you,” the eldest reminds, “it’s been quite a day for us all.”

Kol clears his throat, “say, after dinner, if you feel up to it, we could all watch a movie and cuddle around you? I think some comfort is much needed.”

“Sure,” you agree, “but I might fall asleep during it.”

“That’s quite alright,” he smiles. He then stands up to hug you, but when his arms wrap around your neck, you freeze.

“Not yet, please. I’m still a bit stressed.”

He gives you a wink. “Of course, darling. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Klaus flicks his napkin across the table. He’s folded it into the shape of a heart. “We love you. You know that, right?”

You take the heart, kiss it, and put it in your pocket. “I do. I love you all, too. Thanks for understanding.”

#poly!mikaelsons x reader #poly!mikaelsons #elijah mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson x reader #rebekah mikealson x reader #klaus mikaelson x reader #tw mental health #i feel so bad for taking so long on this

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actually-safer-to-kiss · 1 year ago

Text

Well, Actually

Summary: Spencer gets frustrated as Reader proves him wrong about an unsub's profile.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff-ish

Content warnings: discussions of gender, sexy implications, Ernest Hemingway

Word count: 1.5k

It’s when I flip the OPEN sign to CLOSED that I can finally breathe. Saturday Sale Days at the bookstore are usually easygoing, but most people took refuge at the windows thanks to the crime scene across the street. Another sex worker was murdered, according to the agents who were here earlier. Well, one of them looked like an agent; coated from head to toe in black and seriousness. The other, however, might as well have been a pretentious preppy middle schooler who thinks a doctorate — three doctorates (he made sure to correct me) — gives him the excuse to lack social graces.

I’m not used to running into FBI agents regularly. However, I’m fairly confident that questioning civilians is more about further insight and not running to the end with confirmation bias. Dr. Reid, on the other hand, had his confirmation set that he and his team were looking for a woman riddled with internalized misogyny who was killing sex workers and leaving quotes from Ernest Hemingway pieces.

So, is it wrong that I may or may not have said they might actually be looking for a male with possible gender nonconformity issues? According to the quotes written in lipstick and discussions revolving around Hemingway’s relationship with gender, it was the first thing to pop into my head.

And it was Dr. Reid’s first instinct to take it personally, like any other gifted child who’s never learned what it’s like to be wrong (possibly). His reaction mainly consisted of raising his voice and saying my assumption “was not relevant to our case” and taking a collection of Hemingway’s short stories without paying for it. I haven’t found a suitable way to explain that to my boss yet.

Regardless of his reaction, I had no reason to expect to see him again. I got a card from Agent Prentiss after she questioned me behind the counter and haven’t heard a word since. It didn’t matter then because we were closed, and I had the day off tomorrow —

Knock, knock, knock. A simple three-raps on the glass. The night makes it difficult to see who it is, but I’m more than familiar with the panic button under the register. So before I turn the lights out, I get closer to the door to find out who on the other side can’t read.

And without thinking, I open the door, but don't let him in. “Agent Reid.” I can’t help but push him just a bit.

“Dr. Reid.”

“Right.” I faked a laugh (years of practice). “Well as you can see we’re closed for the night so —”

His hand is out, holding the book. The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway. The paper cover is already pulled up at the corners and the spine is cracked. Nothing display worthy, that’s for sure. “I took this.”

“And you had it for six hours. How did you decimate it so quickly?”

“I was using it as a source while we were trying to solve the case.” His hand was shaking, from nervousness or lack of strength to hold a paperback in one hand for longer than a minute, either could be possible. “I figured a way to make amends was to come back and purchase it.”

I looked down at the book and looked back up at him. Sincerity and boyish charm force me to hold the door open for him and let him in. When he comes in, his under eyes are darker, perhaps because he's a night owl, or because of his job. His hair is still fluffy like this morning but droopy.

He was prepared to call it a night before coming here. But thievery is apparently too heavy for this agent’s shoulders.

I walk to the register, booting up the fancy tablet. “So did you? Solve the case, I mean?”

“We did.”

I scan the barcode, luckily he didn’t ruin that. “And? Did she explain the Hemingway quotes at least?”

Silence, only for a moment. I see his hands digging into his pockets. He pulls out a debit card and hands it over. “He, actually.”

“What?”

“He didn’t explain the Hemingway quotes but said he targeted sex workers because they were ‘freer than he ever would be.’”

Silence swallowed the room immediately upon saying that but of a different kind. The kind that was ripe for me to brag and possibly even do a little dance. But I’m patient, and I don’t like interrupting people. I tap the screen slowly so the good doctor can gather the words. I even took another glance and his eyes were already locked on me. It would’ve made me jump if he didn’t follow it with “You were right.”

There it is. “Hmm,” I say as I keep the arrogance down to a minimum as I contemplate my next words. I take his receipt and scribble before bagging the book. “So do I get a one-way ticket into the bureau, or do I take your place or —”

“Thank you for your help." He says slowly as if he were being ordered to apologize. Like he wrote these words in a document before coming here. “Your observation sent us in the right direction.” His hand is out, waiting.

I also have a talent for dragging things out. When I shut the techy stuff down again, I go back around and hand them to him, so I can get closer. Read his face. When he reaches out and just touches the paper, I jerk the bag back. “That’s not what you want to say.” I let the bag dangle off two of my fingers, shamelessly drinking in the moment. “Come on, it’s gotta be killing you.”

He rolls his eyes. Briefly, but enough for me to notice. “What could be killing me?”

“That you, an FBI agent, with two PhDs —”

“Three PhDs.”

This is so fun. “Three PhDs was outsmarted by a girl who works in a bookstore. Merely a bachelor's on my resume.”

“That is not the case.” He says.

“It seems relevant to the case now.” That intended to burn, and it did. Scorched actually. I could feel it from here, so I walked to the back to find the lights, expecting him to follow me.

He did. The creaking of the old wood floors echoed as we walked, there was no rhythm or synced steps, just two different walking patterns, one at ease and the other eager. “Just tell me how you figured it out.” He says. “Hemingway has been praised for his writing style and the way he wrote certain female characters but his macho personality indicated he enjoyed nothing feminine.”

A chuckle might have been appropriate, but I replied with a stark laugh. A bold “Ha!” As I opened the lightroom door. “Because macho men are known for being the happiest people on Earth, according to history.” With a click, the lights flickered steadily before turning off. I had my phone flashlight ready, though. “Honestly, Dr. Reid, it might be worthwhile to take a break from reading and watch a documentary on the man. It adds up quickly, even someone like you would get it.” I let the flashlight guide me back to the front, avoiding collateral damage from bookshelf corners.

Until Dr. Reid stepped in front of me, causing my head to collide with his chest. Somehow, I didn’t drop my phone and instinctively reached for my nose. “Someone like me?”

“Ow, first of all. But yes.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

I rub my nose in the dark. “That even a predictable bookish boy like you can eventually come to grips with the fact that he doesn’t know everything.”

“And you do?” He asked.

“I never said that,” I admitted.

He looked at me skeptically. Even in the dark, I could feel my arrogance might have gotten the best of me here. I tried looking away, to another dark space.

He, however, did not. “What else did you say? Predictable?”

“You mean you don’t remember?”

He sighs, and air from his nose brushes above my lip.

Then so does his hand in my hair.

His lips, though, were quite the opposite. As if all his frustrations couldn’t take it anymore and needed to be let out with a teeth-smashing, saliva-coated spectacle (that no one could see. Not even us.) All I felt was wandering hands and the wall hitting the back of my head before he pulled away. His hands are still on my waist, and he breathes sharply in and out. “Was that predictable?” I heard him swallow.

I contemplated my response for a short while, wondering which one, a yes or a no, would get him to do it again. So instead, I just grabbed where I assumed his head would be and jerked him down to meet my lips again. It worked. His hands wrapped tight as if he glued himself to my skin. “Will you get reprimanded by your team for being somewhere you aren’t?” I ask between breaths and lip separation.

“Maybe. I’m sure you’d enjoy that.”

“I won’t admit anything,” I said. Whether it was to see Dr. Reid’s night turn out worse, or to keep a secret from his boss about a makeout session in a bookstore, I’m not sure. But his body was thin, layered with clothes. Warm.

“What will you admit to?” He whispers, moving our bodies, begging for more kisses. Or just more.

“Dinner?”

“For?”

“Education purposes, Dr. Reid.” My hands can’t help but explore. “Seems like we’ve got a lot to learn.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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lint-beetle4 · 3 months ago

Note

May I ask for a separate wukong and macaque with a chubby reader? Scenarios like "I should lose weight" "Please don't"

You can make it spicy too if you want

Beautifully You (Wukong & Macaque X Chubby!Reader)

Wukong:

Wukong loved how chubby you were

He loved squeezing you and feeling how warm your body was

So when you kept questioning your body, looking at it with a certain disgust, he was heart-broken

He didn't like how you couldn't see the natural beauty in your body, how you looked at it like it had wronged you somehow

"You know you look amazing, right?" "Has anyone been telling you lies?"

Wukong is well aware of the cruelty of humanity, how people of the same species can target their own brothers for being different or acting in a way that seems strange

The celestial realm had people like that, and Wukong didn't care for it

He wouldn't allow other people to hurt you like he's been hurt

"You're so pretty today! I love the way you look!" "Don't listen to them; you're perfect just the way you are"

Wukong will take extra measures to make sure you eat right and that you're kinder on yourself

If you start eating less than you shoulder or looking at yourself in the mirror with a forlorn expression, he'll set you on the couch, hugging you and whispering kind words to you

"I know it can be hard to be different. I love you no matter what." "It's okay to eat. Taking care of yourself means eating as much as your body needs."

Macaque:

"Really? Why?"

Macaque is confused the whole time. He saw nothing wrong with you whatsoever

Your chub was just a part of you, why be ashamed in it?

"Is someone bothering you?" "I think you look just fine."

The only conclusion he can make about your sudden comment is that someone is being mean about it

He stalks your shadows more than he should, but the man can't help but be protective over you if it concerns your health and mental image

Macaque already has his own issues about his appearance, so to see that you wish to change a perfectly fine body is familiarly irritating to him

"If you don't eat in 15 minutes, I'll force food into your mouth." "Glaring at yourself in the mirror isn't going to solve your problem."

Macaque is a tad...rough in his approach, he makes sure you take care of yourself whether you like it or not

And when it comes to how you view yourself? Oh, he'll give you his piece of mind

"You're naturally beautiful. Why chase after it more?" "You know what I see? A wonderful person who caught my eyes, but can't seem to look at their own."

He really does love you, but he doesn't know how to tackle problems like that. So he tends to brute force it until something sticks

His main method of showing his love to you and your body is by simply embracing you out of nowhere, nuzzling into your neck while he holds you close to him

All he says is a simple, "I love you," before he pulls away from you to make your next meal

#lmk sun wukong #lmk macaque #lmk six eared macaque #sun wukong x y/n #sun wukong x reader #macaque x y/n #macaque x reader #writing tag #lego monkie kid

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iisasxia · 3 months ago

Note

heyyy, I really loved your post about the afro-latina reader, so I wanted to ask if you could do one about an afro Latina reader entering 1-a after being transfered to the school, and when she walks in he just cant take his eyes off her. You can either continue it or end it there, I just really love your writing

authors notes: this is so cute, i love love love this idea because he wouldn’t definitely be staring hard at reader and would probably be secretly cursing himself wondering what it is about her that’s making him feel this way. ah I love it and thank you sweetheart for the compliment, im so glad you love my writing I really appreciate it doll 💗💗

context: university au (18+), FLUFF

[8:35am]

You looked up at the large “UA” logo on the front of the school. You were aware the university was large but seeing it in person for your first time was completely different. It was the best university in Japan, you were blessed to have gotten in through recommendations and your parents making good money also helped with securing a good house local to the school.

The uniforms were super cute too, a white long sleeve button down, a dark blue tie, a slightly lighter shade of blue jacket, dark blue skirt, and socks that were black or tights. Since it was the middle of fall you chose to go with socks seeing as they were a bit thicker. You styled it with cute black flats to match your outfit and your pretty soft curls out in half up-half down with a bow in the back. Honestly you loved the uniform, it looked so good against your skin tone and your brown eyes always popped out in blue.

You took the steps to class as directed by the principal. You met him once on a video call when discussing the arrangements and acceptance for you in terms of being welcomed into U.A. Finally you reach the door… it’s huge you thought to yourself. You sighed before opening the door and stepping in.

—

“This is the new student, y/n. She was welcomed through recommendations and came all the way from […..], you will treat her as another classmate. Any issues involving her are solved through me.” Mr. Aizawa was always a bit monotone when he spoke, but he was so sweet to you.

Before he finished he activated his quirk, everyone tensing at the seriousness in his voice.

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Mr. Aizawa” it was a bit funny seeing everyone speak not only at the same time but so scared, you look over at him and notice him sigh.

“Welcome, please take a seat. The one in front of Bakugou is open, that’s the kid with the spiky blond hair.” He pointed as he directed you towards the seat.

“Thank you” you smile at him as he heads back to the front of the class and begins taking. You smile at the blond, Bakugou was it? He wasn’t even looking at you.. the minute you smiled he turned to face the window in what looked like disgust.

Mr. Aizawa had a formula on the board and offered a ‘get out of exam’ ticket for anyone who could finish it and solve it. You stuck up your hand confidently and so he chose you.

You walked up to the board, taking the chalk from his hand as you began solving it.

—

Sero cocked his head to the side when he noticed Bakugou intently staring at the board. It wasn’t unusual for Bakugou to be paying attention, he was top of the class and always took his academics seriously.. but it looked like he was staring at something else.

“What are you staring at?” the question from Sero caught Bakugou off guard as he sucked his teeth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Despite his words his tone of voice was softer than usual.. Sero couldn’t help but glance at you and then back at Bakugou.

“She’s pretty isn’t she?” Sero smirks as he asks Bakugou.

Bakugou rolls his eyes but they never leave your figure as you continue writing on the board.

You are pretty, you’re captivating to look at, and no matter how much he wants to he can’t pull you from out of his point of view.

—

“Well done y/n.” Mr. Aizawa exclaims as he looks over your work on the board, you softly smile and find your way back to your seat.

As you get back to your seat you place your hands on your desk and without realizing your pencil stumbles off your notebook and onto the floor.

Landing right under Bakugou’s desk.

You turn around and apologize before bending down to pick it up, what you saw was him scoff and roll his eyes.

What you didn’t see was him place his hand on the corner of his desk to make sure you didn’t hit your head.

He thinks you didn’t notice but you did and as you sat down you smiled.

—

Class ended and everyone left. You packed up a little slower than usual and waited until everyone was gone, Bakugou being left. You step in front of him as he tried to walk past you.

“The hell is your problem?” He looks down at you, a slightly scowl on his face but you know he means no harm.

You stick your hand out to him.

“Im y/n, I wanna get to know you.”

His eyebrow quirks up as he looks at your hand.

“I know your name dumbass. Why should I care?” He crosses his arms and looks at you with a slight grin.

—

“Because judging from the way you stared at me in class and made sure I didn’t hit my head on the desk…

I know you wanna get to know me too.”

I am so sorry it took me so long to reply !! I had this in my drafts for a while but I’ve been moving into uni and taking classes so I’ve been sleepy and didn’t make that much time to write !! I’m trying to get back into it cause it’s very comforting but I hope this was okay for now, I plan on still writing for Afro-Latina reader. Thank you again for the request pretty 💗💗

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eluxcastar · 11 months ago

Note

idk if we're meant to req this way but Pantalone Dottore and Capitano (separate) with #6?? please we're starving out here ri

Opening up to their s/o

── ୨୧：pantalone, il dottore, il capitano x reader (separate)

୨୧﹑synopsis :: more of this prompt more comfort drabbles spins

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff but I would maybe not call it straight fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, literally none of these people effectively communicate, kinda vague on purpose

୨୧﹑words :: 1.3k

Opening up for the first time.

is nobody feeding you?? I mean I know I've been slow but anon honey are you ok 😭

sorry this has taken so long as I said medical issues I swear I'm back to not starve you I've been thinking of this since I received it actually because you said you're starving. to everyone else, I'm getting off my ass

prompt list

── ୨୧：pantalone

Pantalone is not typically emotional. He is prone to fronts and lies, and he is not enthusiastic about the idea of sharing his feelings with you. It's not in his nature to be emotional, though Pantalone feigns such things and uses it to hide things from you. Playful with you each time you question him, he'll evade it and convince you, to his satisfaction, that everything is fine.

You hardly believe him, as is the case with many of the things he says. His well-crafted exterior hardly masks his stress once caught off guard, crushed under the pressure of maintaining the image of a well-groomed and high-class businessman.

The people he associates with disgust him, as do their actions and worldviews. They were raised in a world of glamour and decadence where he's belittled, new money in a sea of people living off of old money. It never seems to get to Pantalone until it does; the outbursts of anger are what follow. It's fine, he always says. He just needed a moment.

But nothing will ever be enough, he realises, your arms so inviting as you stand by the chair at his desk, running your hands through his hair, only a month after you made it official you were dating. Pantalone's poker face was pretty while it lasted, but his messier sides were always lurking just around the corner. To hold his head in your arms and console him through his pent-up anger is therapeutic to him, a labour of love for you.

His composure is fragile at times as he dances on the occasionally very thin line between put together and on the verge of smashing his wine glass in frustration right in front of an acquaintance. It's certainly not pretty, and he makes his fingers hurt at times from how hard he fights to refrain from doing it, but it keeps the very thing he works so hard for—his reputation.

Pantalone got so far, but it still amounts to nothing, even when he's the wealthiest man in the world. Nothing matters in the face of a reputation lingering, a poor man pretending to be rich, new money already too big for his britches. You don't care about his reputation, and you're not caught up in appearances. He likes that.

He likes how you laugh as you tell him that's junk, rich people crap, aristocratic bullshit. It feels comforting, like home to laugh his problems off as the pettiness of others. It's nice to let go of such a serious outlook.

── ୨୧：il dottore

Dottore's idea of sharing with you very much involves deflecting, avoiding and dancing around the many problems in his life, not eager to rely on a person when he could solve the issue himself. If you never need to know, you never start worrying and never dwell on it. He never has to face the problem properly.

For small things, that doesn't seem so strange. Dottore can quickly move on without them bothering him too much because that's the natural way of dealing with minor inconveniences, short of being ironically dramatic. Something goes wrong, and he can solve it within fifteen minutes. It's like water off a duck's back. Other times, Dottore will wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, and his greatest worry is how to make sure he doesn't wake you up as he slips out of bed.

No matter how often you tell Dottore to tell you what's wrong, he tries to assure you it's nothing, insignificant or a temporary setback. It's not that, as evidenced by his troubled face. It doesn't shake his lies. He'll run off and try to fix it all himself just as he always has, previously stemming entirely from the fact he had to, now purely by habit. If it ain't broke, don't fix it (it's broke).

So to hear him open up is…strange, though you are used to long-winded rambles reminiscent of a raving madman. He talks quickly sometimes and expects you to follow to the best of your abilities. Whether you can or not is another question. It is different, tired and spent from a day of hard work, hands raking through his messy blue hair as words fall from his lips as quickly as they enter his mind, barely coherent sentences of every inconvenience big and small he faced.

In a way, he hopes it's so hurried and jumbled you'll hardly catch half of it, though you sit by his side and debate between rubbing his back and not startling him with the sudden touch. It feels like the release of every little thing he bottled up overflows, and he doesn't want to speak once he settles, quiet. He looks at you with such exhaustion in his eyes, and you touch your hands to his face with as much caution as you can muster. He lets out a sigh the closest filled with the closest to relief he can get.

It is not perfect; he is an imperfect man. But it is his first step, and he can be nurtured.

── ୨୧：il capitano

Capitano doesn't intentionally hide things at a glance. He's usually very open with what he says, but some things slip his mind, and he's hardly keen on speaking from an emotional standpoint. Everything is objective, a piece of news and not a conversation about what happened. Someone fell down a ravine. What happened? They died. And his reaction? It happens all the time.

Objectively, that measure is correct, but it ignores the fact that people are people. He never wants to acknowledge being part of something because Capitano can tell you things without needing to. You notice it but avoid bringing it up, wondering maybe if that's just how he copes with it all. The years of death and bloodshed will weigh down on him, but if he doesn't bring it up to you, he'll have a reprieve to retreat to.

It's not good enough, but people never are. Everyone has their vice, and perhaps Capitano's vice is separating himself from who he is in battle once he returns home.

He never had a single point at which everything came crashing down, and the world felt bleak, but a series of small moments where Capitano let it slip that he mourned each loss with unimaginable care. Capitano remembers their names and keeps items to memorialise them. Somehow, that's not unthinkable with the way he keeps his regiment running like a well-oiled machine, every person there to better it in some way. He picked those people by hand.

Capitano paces when he thinks. He paces more than usual around the room in circles on a particularly rough night. He suffered a great setback, as it was put. You try everything you can think of to get through to him, from asking him to talk to you to telling him to sit down. He insists on just being preoccupied.

Coincidentally, that gets you the furthest as he tries to push you away with excuses.

He's preoccupied. Why? He had a difficult mission. What happened? People died. And? And what? There shouldn't be more, yet it unravels, the loose thread of his stoic composure suddenly coming apart. He knew them by name; it hurt to lose them, and he wishes to personally deliver their belongings to their families as soon as possible. That's it. That's enough for him to curl up on the couch and quietly accept that you finally got him to say something and that it was pleasant to have it be less of a burden to carry such things.

#♡ — anon visit.#✦ — headcanons.#pantalone #pantalone x reader #dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #capitano #il capitano #capitano x reader #il capitano x reader

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