#breakdown x gender neutral reader

[rowiewritesstuff]

I have a request for yandere tfp breakdown x gn human reader breakdown finds reader in the mines energon finding them adorable so he immediately grabs them taking them to the decepticon war ship convincing megatron to keep them as their spark mate or pet megatron agrees with it

Yandere Breakdown X GN Reader

Special thanks to @paci-transformers for the collab but not for letting me use bullet points.

The sun had definitely set hours ago.

Having been trapped in this cave for several hours, after making the mistake of being curious about the unusual rock composition and deciding to investigate, you were starting to lose hope you'd ever find a way out. Your phone had no signal so deep underground, and, as if that wasn't bad enough, you hadn't brought more than just a small bag of supplies and tools, believing this would be a short in and out adventure.

Which, unfortunately for you, it wasn't.

Maybe it wouldn't be as frustrating if your flashlight wasn't starting to run out of battery.

For what feels like the ten millionth time, loose rocks skitter under your feet. Unlike the last few times, your hand flies out to steady yourself, and grasps thin air. You think your own involuntary shout rings back through your ears, but you can barely hear it.

You're falling a lot further than you thought, and a lot harder.

Dazed, and barely able to make anything out past the blur and dust of the likely concussion, you think you hear footsteps.

But… are footsteps supposed to be that loud? It sounds like a giant.

It certainly feels like one, when something grabs you.

You can't do much more than dangle there, trying to focus on what's in front of you, but… maybe you hit your head harder than you thought. You could almost swear there's a giant robot in front of you. And holding you.

You blink a few times, trying to grasp the situation at hand. It's a little harder than usual, and you can't quite make eye contact with the giant robot. If it is a giant robot. There's too much space between the yellowish-orange lights you assume are how it sees.

"It's almost cute how tiny you are."

It takes a long moment for you to realize that was directed at you, and when you do, you can't help the quiet huff of indignation.

"'m not tiny," you manage, rather intelligently. "You're big."

The giant robot has the audacity to laugh at your weak defense, pulling you close to its-- his?-- chest.

And, being real with yourself, this isn't really your idea of a good time. Especially not when you're getting carried off somewhere against your will, and are rather sure you trying to squirm out of the grip is the reason the robot is laughing again.

“You sure about that?” He huffed in amusement. “You organics really do think you’re the center of the universe. Got some bearings on you, I'll give you that.”

You blinked, your vision clearing more. As your brain finally decides to come back to you, mild apprehension shifts into outright terror.

You are, in fact, being held by a giant robot. 

“Why're you shaking so much?" He grinned down at you, but it wasn't reassuring in the slightest. "I’m not gonna hurt you, you know.”

Somehow, you highly doubt that.

Your vocal cords finally decide to unstick themselves, unfortunately in time for you to ask:

"What… are you?" 

The robot lets out a low laugh.

“I’m Breakdown." He squeezed you a little tighter, but not enough to hurt you-- and yet, you aren't reassured by it. He could crush you like a grape if he wanted to. "You’re adorable, you know that?” 

“L-let me go!" You snap, fear winning out. "Now!” 

You claw desperately at his hands, and are only rewarded with your bag plummeting to the ground.

Breakdown looks at where your bag fell, eyes suddenly narrowing at it. The purple crystal had fallen out of the cloth you wrapped it in earlier.

“Where did you find that?”

You were confused by his sudden change in demeanor. Your words wouldn't come to you in the face of it, and suddenly, you're getting shaken around.

“I-in a cave lower down, I think?" you manage to force out. "There were a ton of them in the wall.”

“Really, now?” Breakdown raises you to his eye level, eyes narrowing again. "How did you find it…?"

Trying your best not to shrink back, you manage to pull the survey meter from your belt. The dial on it is still turned too high for a seemingly normal area, but you aren't quite sure why.

“M-my device detected unusual energy… I thought it w-was broken, but I went to see.”

The look on his face unnerved you. He tapped the side of his head and began speaking. “Lord Megatron, you’re gonna want to see this.”

---

Not too long after, you were being guarded by some of what ‘Breakdown’ called Vehicons. You could do nothing as they began drilling into the ground and wall, going downwards. It was about half an hour until a huge, terrifying being walked in. Its every step made the floor tremble beneath him, and it had to be at least thirty feet tall. Your eyes could only widen, not being able to stop your body from trembling. It glanced around, surveying the room, and its gaze fell on you for a moment. The cold red eyes send shivers down your spine, even after his gaze drifts away.

“Breakdown, you know better than to waste my time,” Its cold and gravelly voice was showered with irritation. "Surely, you haven’t brought me down here to show me a mere pest…?"

“No, Lord Megatron.”

Breakdown handed the crystal you had found to him, and Megatron’s eyes widened ever so slightly. He laughed lowly, making you more uncomfortable. You notice all eyes on him-- maybe you could slip away safely?

You quietly got up, backing away into the entrance of the cave. Right when you thought it was safe, you turned around--

A foot slams down right in front of you. The loud noise turns all eyes to you and the large feminine being before you.

“Ah, a pest." Spindly fingers lifting you by the scruff of your shirt, and you freeze. "Shall I exterminate it for you, Lord Megatron?”

You're shaken around wildly, a fearful cry breaking loose against your best efforts.

“Enough!” Megatron’s voice echoes, the room going silent in an instant. “That human is currently more valuable than you are, Starscream.” 

Starscream glared at you in disgust, before dropping you roughly into Breakdown’s waiting hands.

“As you wish, my lord.” 

Megatron turns to you, and you try to tamp down the trembling.

“Now, organic--" he spat the term like an insult, "--what device led you here?”

You were trembling again. You couldn't help it, when he was the most intimidating thing you’ve ever seen.

“I-I… um--”

“Well?!" Starscream screeched at you aggressively, crossing his arms. "Spit it out already!”

“It d-detects unusual radioactive energy signatures!" You yelp out, swallowing hard. "I modified this so I could track certain frequencies, but… um… these crystals give it off too…?”

Megatron eyes you appraisingly. It's no less terrifying, and just makes you all the more aware of the ease with which a slight misstep could kill you.

“Even so far underground, you managed to get a signal?” Megatron looked deep in thought for a moment. “On dark energon, no less…”

Megatron was clearly incapable of smiling. That could be the only explanation for his increasingly terrifying smirks.

“What is your name, little one?”

You hesitated. Why did he want to know? Couldn't it be dangerous to--

You shrink back, red eyes boring a hole straight through you.

“I asked you for your name.”

“It's (Y/N),” you squeak. "(Y/N) (L/N)."

“Well, (Y/N), you’re going to make me more of these--" Megatron gestures loosely to the device still in your grasp, "--and ones to get a read on other things. I sense you’re going to be very useful.”

Megatron turned to leave, but his words still rang in your ears.

“…what?”

Your face paled, but it was as if you had said nothing at all.

“Breakdown? After the human has exhausted all use…" Megatron sends a cold sneer your way, too-sharp teeth glinting dangerously, "…you may do as you please with it.”

Words have never filled you with as much dread as those did.

“Aw, I've always wanted a pet," Breakdown laughs. "Bulk always makes it look so fun."

You can't even bring yourself to struggle, even as you're being carried from the cave. Your thoughts are swarmed with panic and fear, only eight terrifying words breaking through the noise.

"Don’t worry. I’ll take great care of ‘ya.”

---

Breakdown got a large terrarium, filling it with everything he thought humans needed. He got you a bed, a television, books, food, clothes (not that any of them fit, but you weren't about to say anything), and even installed a bathroom somehow. You never understood how they made the plumbing work, but were too afraid to ask or investigate it. Being investigative was what got you in this mess in the first place.

The only time you’d be able to leave was to work on your "project", which you swore was the one of the only things keeping you sane here. Megatron had very strict requirements for your modifications, but would never let you see more information than he wanted you to. It wasn't as though you knew how to read the glyphs on the giant screens they used, and there wasn't exactly a translation guide for "giant alien robot" language.

Because, apparently, they're aliens. Not just gigantic robots with an unfortunate penchant for kidnapping humans.

But they weren't the only ones of their species on Earth, it seemed.

Every once in a while, you’d hear about the Autobots from someone passing by. Stories about them stopping Decepticon plans, or guarding humanity from the threat of destruction. Your dreams were filled with ideas of the Autobots-- whoever they were-- coming to save you. Each time you woke up from one, finding yourself right back in that damned terrarium, you almost wanted to abandon all hope. The only thing that kept the hope of freedom alive was hearing of the daring escapades of a group you'd never met, always there to thwart whatever plots the Decepticons attempted. All you knew is that the Autobots protected humanity…

…and maybe someday, they would come to protect you, too.

[dailydoseoffanfics]

⭐️ SELF AWARE FORSAKEN AU (GENERAL HEADCANONS)

⭐️ a/n: my first x reader post that i actually wrote (i think) heh. /silly ANYWAYS this idea has been my brainrot for a while and TBH i'm not sure if I'm able to execute it well but. fuck it we ball 🔥🔥🔥🔥 ALSO I'M ONLY GOING TO DO NOOB, TWO TIME AND CHANCE FOR NOW CUZ THEY'RE THE ONLY PEOPLE THAT I HAVE SOME IDEAS FOR.... (DON'T WORRY I'LL MAKE ANOTHER POST ABOUT THE OTHER SURVIVORS AS WELL)

⭐️ warnings: possibly ooc but I DON'T GIVE A SHITE 🗣️🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥🔥 (kinda), also really fucking long

⭐️ reader is gender-neutral so they/them pronouns are used!

(1) <- you're here! (2)

You're a really normal fan about a Roblox game called "Forsaken".......yeah.....totally a really normal and sane fan about that game. But lately, you've noticed something weird about the characters you're playing.

The characters have varying reactions into finding out they're being controlled by something....or someone (you).

⭐️

NOOB (Noob uses they/them pronouns btw if ya'll forgot!)

Bro has NO clue what's happening right.

It was that one specific round, the usual running away from killers, hiding behind walls hoping that they don't get spotted. It just another round. Or so they though.

During that round, while they're in hiding, they felt some type of.....warmth.

They ignored it at first. Could be just instincts.

But this warmth was....growing? In a way that this warmth was growing stronger, and they feel this type of.....force.

It was controlling their movements, and Noob could hear a faint voice.

Noob is looking around, their mind running places. What is going on? Who is controlling them? And WHY are they doing this???

Noob felt their fear increase. It was already bad that they're getting chased by killers every single round, but when they become aware of this type of, weird force, that's somehow controlling every single of their movement, and hearing a voice that's so far yet so close? Not too mention that Noob didn't even know who you are, no face, no name, nothing. Noob just thought that they lost their mind for good.

What's even worse is that they don't if they can actually trust you. For all they know, you might be some kind of sadistic person that controls people for fun and takes pleasure in seeing people suffer.

That's why Noob tried to stop whatever force this is. Keyword: tried.

No matter how much effort they put into escaping this grasp, like trying to go into an opposite direction or just standing still, it wasn't enough.

Eventually, when the round ends, Noob is just in their designated room, laying on their bed, wondering what in almighty christ just happened.

Their mind kept replaying that incident. Genuinely WHO WAS THAT PERSON? AND WHY WAS THIS PERSON CONTROLLING THEM? WHAT DID THEY EVEN DO TO BE SUBJECTED TO...WHATEVER THIS IS???

Their paranoia is multiplied by 10x. Every new round, their face is noticeably more fearful, they're more jumpy, and they're looking around EVERYWHERE. They look like they're on a brink of a mental breakdown. Usually the other survivors got used to Noob's shakiness, but when the survivors noticed Noob getting jumpscared by literally any sounds, that's where the suspicion comes in (Two Time was the first to notice).

Even if Noob feels dread whenever they feel that same warmth, somewhere deep inside of their mind, it feels..... oddly calming?

Overall, Noob is NOT having a good time. Noob will flat out NOT trust you in the beginning, and probably thinks you're up to no good, so they'll try to avoid you as much as possible (even if they fail everytime). You're gonna have to be REALLY patient with them, Noob being trapped in this time-looping game is already bad enough for them. (Think about this video LMAO)

⭐️

TWO TIME (also uses they/them!)

Two Time is......perplexed. They don't know how to feel about this.

Before Two Time gained awareness, Two Time noticed Noob being more jittery than usual. So they confronted Noob about their behavior lately, and (tried to) comforted Noob. (I headcanon Two Time to be a pretty observant person, and while Two Time is usually closed off, they interact with Noob the most. Second being Elliot.)

So this situation about some kind of....force....controlling Noob? Hm.

Two Time thinks about that interaction, and doesn't just brush that conversation off. They will keep in mind of that, questioning about this "force", with furrowed eyebrows and a questioning gaze on their face as they walk down the hallway of the cabin they live in with the other survivors. (I also headcanon Two Time to be kind of...an overthinker. A great listener, but I think they would think too much about things. ALSO also feel like they're generally an anxious and paranoid fella, and it's canon that they're a little crazy in the membrane, so uh, they're pretty much unstable.)

And that's where it happened. Right after that interaction with Noob with a new round started, they felt warm. The type of warmth Noob described, a type of force that's controlling them.

Two Time felt their blood ran cold. Oh...wow. Two Time understands Noob's fearfulness now.

Immediately doing everything on their willpower to escape out of this force even just for little. They're LOCKED THE FUCK IN trying to stand like a statue (with the survivors giving Two Time weird looks and YOU, my dear player, being confused by this absurd behavior your character that you're playing as right now is showing).

Unfortunately, Two Time's attempt was futile, as their legs are jerked forward, forcing them to participate in the round. Throughout the round, Two Time's mind is running a marathon, while also making more attempts to get out this..warmth feeling off of them.

When the round ends, they would....keep this as a secret for some reason. We all know that Two Time's an enigmatic person, they want secrets to be kept as secrets. (Even then, their weird behavior earlier might've confirmed Noob's suspicion that there was, INDEED, something is controlling them.)

I feel like bro would just go from "OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK I WASN'T EXPECTING THIS SHIT HOLY SHIT I DON'T LIKE THIS PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE" to "wait.....what if they're some type of god...omg am i the chosen one ?!?! 🤯🤯🤯"

So the more rounds you played, the more they're starting to think that you're.....a type of deity. And they're slowly starting to stop their escape attempts of the "force".

It's canon that Two Time used to be a part of a cult that believes in the concept of respawning, and this belief grew stronger as time went on, so Two Time thinks that they've been blessed by the gods, and while Two Time can't really hear well of what you're saying, YOU might possibly get them out of this hellhole.

So basically, they slowly went from dreading your presence to......seeking your presence.

Doesn't help that they're pretty unstable though. My guy's gonna look STRAIGHT at you the screen with a smile that you don't whether they despise you or they worship you, which scares the LIVING shit out of you, making you exit out of the game QUICKLY.

And when you exit the game, the warmth automatically disappears from Two Time......which Two Time immediately felt disappointed with. They didn't mean to make you scared! They just wanted to know more about you!

Yeah, Two Time's bummed about that, but now, you're on their mind, and their feelings is having a battle of whether they should be weary of you or trust you.

(Will they eventually be obsessed with you and be desperate of your approval making them do anything, and by ANYTHING, they do for you? Maybe......possibly......likely....)

Overall, Two Time won't trust you at first. But overtime, they'll think you're like a deity or something similar, which is where they'll let you do whatever you want with them. (And where their obsession slowly starts.)

⭐️

CHANCE (canonically uses he/they!)

Chance is.....confused by all of this.

Chance was the third person to notice Noob's weird behavior. Overtime, they also noticed Two Time being...more in La La Land as well.

Chance just shrugs it off. Eh, he just thinks both of them are generally paranoid, and doesn't think too much about it.

HOWEVER, something weird happened to Chance today. When a new round started, they felt something.....odd in their body.

They felt warm, but a type of warmth that is....controlling his movements.

.......Ooooookay. This is weird.......... DEFINITELY weird.

Chance is caught off guard by this, and while some type of force is making him go to who knows what, his mind is jumbled.

Bro is CONFUSED, BEWILDERED, SURPRISED. He's having profound feelings of confusion.

They would be a teeny tiny bit scared at first, because, WOAH, HOLY SHIT, WHAT IS GOING ON????

But eventually, they would become....curious about this force.

Not only do they feel this type of warmth, but they also hear a voice as well......the voice's too muffled. Chance thinks it's probably his luxurious headphones, so he takes them off. The voice's still too muffled, damn. (You definitely noticed Chance taking off their headphones. You immediately go suspicious. Is your mind playing tricks on you or was this just a new animation apart of the new update that the developers forgot to mention?)

I feel like Chance would be the most calm about this. His canon personality type is ENFP, and ENFPs are usually social and open-minded, so I definitely see Chance wanting to know more about you. He doesn't think of you as a scary individual, and yea sure, he may be a little bit on edge, but he feels like you don't seem to be a bad person, which is why Chance becomes interested in you.

Chance would try to communicate with you by looking at the screen and giving you a smirk......which you immediately close your laptop.

Chance feels the warmth disappear, he feels like that one Spongebob meme that has a teardrop, while you on the other hand, feel like you're going insane.

Welp, guess he's gotta find a way to talk to you without making you feel scared.

He wonders if you'll like his pet bunny, Spade.

Overall, the most chill about this situation. He wants to interact with you more.

[crescenthistory]

could i get f.4 "you woke me up for this?" with barty? tysm xoxo 💗💗

every single time someone makes a barty request, an angel is born, or whatever that saying is. had to jump on this immediately, thank you for the request love<33

Prompt: F.4 "You woke me up for this?"

Words: 3.6k

Warnings: not proofread, unbelievably soft, a lot of banter and back-and-forth (slight sunshine x grumpy dynamic where reader is grumpy), barty sneaking into your dorm is a typical occurrence, no gender mentioned/gender neutral reader (as far as i can recall), implied insomnia, implied mental health struggles on barty's end, slight mention of scars at the end, close physical proximity/cuddling

Note: this got way softer than i expected, but i really just love him you guys

The velvet black of the night pressed against the windows of the Slytherin dorms, thick and unyielding. The soft glow of the enchanted ceiling in the common room had dimmed hours ago, and the castle itself was silent, save for the occasional creaks of ancient stone settling in the night.

Peace. Blissful, undisturbed peace.

You were nestled under layers of blankets, sunk deep into the comfort of your bed. The dormitory was cool, a chill hanging in the air, but you had cocooned yourself snugly. The last remnants of sleep tugged at your consciousness, heavy and sweet, drawing you back into the oblivion of dreams.

Until—

“Darling…”

A voice, teasing, playful, cut through the silence.

You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, ignoring it.

“Psst, darling? Babe? Light of my life?”

This time, the voice was closer, almost a whisper, right by your ear. A hand – warm and familiar – poked at your shoulder.

You groaned, curling deeper into your blankets, hoping to disappear completely.

“Go away, Junior.”

“Come on, wake up.”

It wasn’t just the voice now. Fingers were tugging at the corner of your blanket, trying to pull it away from your face.

Another groan escaped your lips, and you finally cracked open an eye, squinting against the dim light that seeped in from the common room. Standing beside your bed was your personal idiot with his familiar grin plastered across his face, eyes gleaming with the excitement of someone about to cause trouble.

“Barty, no,” you muttered, voice thick with sleep. “I’m asleep.”

He let out a dramatic sigh, tossing himself down onto your bed, stretching out beside you as if he belonged there. You shushed him as the bed squeaked, not wanting to wake your roommates, who you now were grateful were deep sleepers. His limbs splayed chaotically across your bed, one leg in each corner, arm draped across your stomach as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Hellooo,” he murmured again, a soft lilt in his voice that always seemed to stir something in you, even in the dead of night. “I need you.”

“No, you don’t,” you grumbled, trying to shove him off, but he was persistent, curling against you with all the determination of a cat who had found its spot. “Whatever it is can wait until I’ve had my beauty sleep.”

“You’re already beautiful,” Barty said without hesitation, his grin only growing wider. “I’m bored. And you’re fun.”

“I was asleep.”

“I know, but I’m awake, and that’s more important, don’t you think?”

Your only response was to groan again and attempt to roll away from him. Barty’s quick reactions saved him, as he clutched onto you so that he rolled along with you, ending up on the other side of your bed. His arms tightened around you, effectively trapping you against him. 

You finally open your eyes properly, seeing him grinning at you, face inches from yours. Part of you almost hoped this was about to be an emotional breakdown of some sorts, so that it might actually warrant breaking into your room to disturb your slumber.

Unfortunately, Barty was in a great mood.

“Now that you’re up – what’cha wanna do?”

“You woke me up for this? To quench your thirst for entertainment?”

“Precisely.” 

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, but there was no real heat in your words. You were used to this by now. Barty had a way of worming his way into your space, uninvited and unapologetic, until you gave in – which you always did.

“That’s why you love me,” he teased, voice warm against your skin as he nuzzled closer.

“I tolerate you,” you corrected, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you with the slightest twitch of a smile.

Barty noticed, of course. He always did. “Aha!” He said a bit too loudly, earning him a swat on the arm. “You’re smiling. Evidently, you can’t resist me, either.”

“I’m frowning.”

“You’re smiling.”

“Frowning.”

“Definitely smiling.”

“Either?” Your sleep-ridden brain eventually processed his previous sentence.

“You heard me.” Cheshire cat grin remained plastered on his face. Stupid face.

Before you could protest further, Barty shifted, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at you. His dark curls were a mess, green strands sticking out from random places, tumbling into his eyes, and he looked far too pleased with himself for your liking.

“Okay then.” You hooked a finger into the collar of his t-shirt and looked at him expectantly. “What do you want, Barty?” Your voice was softer now, mostly to incite him to keep the general volume down – and perhaps partly out of fondness for your peculiar best friend. Perhaps you liked the way he clung to you, even at inconvenient times, the way he needed you.

Barty’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker you couldn’t place passing over his face, though his grin didn’t falter. “I wanted to see you,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. “Do I need to want anything more? I couldn’t sleep.”

“And you decided that meant I shouldn’t either?”

“Exactly.” He beamed, clearly proud of his logic.

You stared at him for a moment, half-expecting him to break into another fit of laughter or say something ridiculous, but he didn’t. Instead, he just looked at you, his gaze soft and affectionate in a way that still took you by surprise sometimes. For all his chaos and insanity, Barty had a way of making you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered to him when he looked at you like that.

It was disarming, and, despite your best efforts, you found yourself softening, your irritation fading like mist in the morning sun.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, but your voice was gentle now, resigned.

“That much we know.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, you let out a long, exasperated sigh and reached up to push the stray curls out of his face with your hand not currently tucked into his collar. Both for no particular reason – you just enjoyed the closeness. His hair was soft under your fingers, and you could feel the warmth of his skin where your hand brushed against his forehead.

“Tell me then, rascal,” you said after a moment. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

Barty’s grin faltered slightly, the usual mask of chaotic energy slipping just a little. He shifted, lying back down beside you and resting his head on your pillow, his face inches from yours. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, and you could see the gears turning in his mind, like he was trying to decide how much to tell you.

“It’s just…everything,” he said finally, his voice unusually soft. “You know how it is. My dad, school, all of it. It gets to me sometimes. And then I start thinking, and when I start thinking, I can’t stop, and…well, here I am.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone. Barty wasn’t usually one to talk about his feelings – at least, not in any serious way. He was more likely to brush everything off with a joke or a snarky comment, hiding behind his manic energy and that sharp, clever mind of his. But now, in the dim light of your dorm, he seemed more vulnerable than usual, the edges of his bravado softened.

You sighed again, but this time it was a softer sound, more understanding than annoyed. “You should’ve just said that instead of waking me up with your usual nonsense.”

Barty chuckled, though there was a faint edge to it. “What, and miss the chance to annoy you? Never.”

You rolled your eyes again, but this time you didn’t push him away. Instead, you reached out and brushed your fingers against his cheek, a small gesture of comfort that he seemed to appreciate. He closed his eyes at the touch, leaning into it slightly, like a cat seeking warmth.

“I don’t know how you do it,” you said quietly after a moment.

“Do what?”

“Deal with everything. Your dad, all the expectations. It’s a lot, Barty.”

He opened his eyes again, and for a moment, you saw something raw and unguarded in them. “I have to,” he said simply. “What else can I do? Run away? Disappear? I’ve thought about it, you know. Just leaving everything behind. But then… I think about you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” He reached out, his fingers brushing against your hand, tracing lazy patterns on your skin. “You keep me grounded, love. Without you, I’d probably go completely mad.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips at his words, even though you tried to suppress it. “You’re already mad, Barty.”

He grinned, a spark of mischief returning to his eyes. “True. But you keep me from going completely off the deep end.”

You huffed out a soft laugh. “Well, I’m glad I can be of service.”

Barty shifted closer to you, his arm slipping around your waist. “You’re more than that, though. You know that, right?”

Your heart did a strange little flip in your chest at his words, and you felt your cheeks warm. You did know though – he always made sure you did, in one way or another.

“I’m not good at this,” he murmured, his voice low. “I’m not good at…feelings. But I’m good at knowing what I want. And I want you. Always have.”

You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say to that. Barty was the one presence in your life you could count on, no matter what gave. Somehow, you realised you hadn’t fully grasped just how much he meant to you – feelings weren’t exactly your forte, either. When he lies beside you in your bed, all soft and serene, it’s easier to understand.

“I know,” was all you whispered, voice barely audible.

Barty’s gaze flickered, tenderness flashing on and off across his face, as if he couldn’t quite decide if he wanted to stick with it. He reached up, brushing his fingers against your cheek, and for a moment, the world outside your little bubble of blankets and whispered words seemed to fall away

His fingers lingered on your cheek, feather-light, as if he was afraid you might disappear. His eyes were uncharacteristically calm. It was unsettling and comforting all at once, and you weren’t sure how to process it.

“You’re not supposed to be this serious, you know,” you teased, trying to break the tension that had settled between you. It wasn’t unwelcome, but it was unfamiliar territory, and you preferred the safety of routine. You both pushed each other to confront your fears in that sense.

He chuckled softly, his lips curling into a soft smile, and your heart ached a little as you realised it was best described as intimate. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m still a menace. But even menaces need their moments.”

“You take all the moments you need.” You shifted slightly closer to him at that, knees brushing his through the blanket – he never bothered slipping beneath it.

“Nah,” he teased. “Then we’d be here all night. And day.”

“I wouldn’t mind spending all night with you here.”

“Oi!” he whisper-yelled at you, eyes jokingly widened. “Are you flirting with me right now? You can’t turn the tables on me like that when I’m all vulnerable and shit.”

“I can do whatever I want, Junior.” You stuck your tongue out at him before laughing quietly at his facial expressions. 

“That you can.”

“I deserve it after you woke me up.”

“Oh, come on,” Barty said, his voice dropping to that low, affectionate tone he used when he wanted to get under your skin. “You love it when I wake you up. Admit it. Love spending time with me.”

“I absolutely do not.”

“You literally just said you do.”

“And where’s your evidence?” You quirked your brow at him and he squinted his eyes at you. Pulling “the evidence card”, as he called it, was your favourite way to get out of being held accountable for saying something sweet to him – he hated it, or so he said.

“First of all, rude.” He lifted a finger to shake in your head, fake gasping as you pretended you were about to bite it. “Second of all, you do love me. Say it.”

“Maybe just a little bit.” You gave in, small part of you wondering if maybe he needed to hear it.

“Methinks a lot of bit.”

“No way.” You couldn’t give it to him entirely either, though.

He clearly didn’t mind your bickering too much as he laughed, the sound quiet and warm, and you felt his arm tighten around your waist, pulling you closer. His forehead leaned down to rest against yours, breaths mingling in the small space between you. Instinctively, you took a deep breath, as if suddenly relaxed.

“Liar,” he whispered, his nose brushing against yours in the softest of touches.

No words of protest or argument came to mind, as you let your eyes drift shut, sleepy smile spreading across your lips. “Yeah, I am.”

Nights with Barty coming barging in, although a pain in the morning, were rewarding in a way you couldn’t quite describe. You wouldn’t trade them for anything.

“There we go. Admitting you have a problem is the first step in making progress.”

“You would know.” You peaked an eye open just to confirm that he stuck his tongue out at that comment. Because of course he did.

Silence settled comfortably between you for a minute, Barty’s thumb drawing soothing circles on your waist in the blip of skin showing between your sleep shirt and shorts. His hands on your skin was not a new sensation, you were aware you were touchier than most best friends – Regulus and Evan seemingly never stopped reminding you – but it just felt right. Being near Barty felt right, even when he constantly tossed and turned, limbs all over the place as it was apparently humanly impossible for the boy to sit still. Whether it is an arm around your shoulder, your head on his chest or fingers tracing one another, physical contact with him soothed your soul.

You felt safe.

“Do you feel better?” you suddenly asked, opening your eyes to find him already looking at you with a soft, surveying gaze.

“What?”

You almost snorted at his dazed confusion. “You came here because you were bored, couldn’t sleep, needed entertainment. Because I’m fun, remember?”

He laughed in the way he usually does at his own jokes. “Oh yeah, right.”

“So, do you feel better? Or should we take a run around the dungeons to get your adrenaline going?”

You could almost see his ears peak up, like when you say the word treat around a dog – but that almost lazy smile around his lips never left. “Don’t tease me with a good time, babe – or do, I’d never say no to a good time with you.” You rolled your eyes at that. “But no, I’m good. I’ve got all I need right here.”

“Which is?” you asked quizzically, expecting banter.

The earnest look in his eyes suggested otherwise. “You.”

Your heart clenched, your lip almost quivering with emotion before you decided to get it together. “Cheesy.”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “But true.”

“You’re entertained by me mocking you a little bit and then kind of half-sleeping in your arms?”

“Yeah.” He repeated. He looked at you with a look that said are you stupid, what is there not to get. You couldn’t help but laugh at him.

“Okay, then. Whatever makes you happy.”

“Glad to have your approval, ma’am.”

You raised a brow at him. “Ma’am? You should start calling me that more often.”

“Noted, ma’am.” His gaze was teasing, as was his squeeze to your hips.

You stared at him as you tried to figure him out, figure the two of you out. How come he settles this peace in your body, even when he represents everything but? How come you understand him so well and seemingly not at all, all at the same time? Why does he seek you out when he doesn’t feel good, why did he even seek you out when you first met? Why–

Barty takes your bottom lip in between his two fingers and drag it out from between your teeth.

“Stop biting yourself; it’s not nice.” His tone was teasing, but his eyes were trained on you as if studying. “What’s going on in your head?”

You hummed in confusion, looking at him to explain himself, but he just get staring at you, expecting an answer. You sighed.

“Just wondering,” you said, half-trailing off. “I don’t know. Why do you always come to me, Barty?”

“As opposed to what? Cuddling up to Black? He’d kill me without a second thought.”

You laughed a little at the imagery, knowing all too well that Regulus keeps his wand under his pillow and has no qualms about hexing intruders with it. You’d been on the receiving end once by accident, when Barty dragged you all the way to his dorm with him when he forgot his books before heading to the library with you on the one day a week Regulus “sleeps in”, meaning gets up at 9 instead of 7.

“Yeah, no, please don’t do that. I’d like you to keep all your limbs.” He gave you a look that screamed exactly. “I mean, why am I a source of comfort for you? I don’t exactly give you an easy time.”

“I think you need to reevaluate how hard you are on me – because you aren’t, you’re barely any bark and definitely no bite,” Barty started and you rolled your eyes playfully at him, to which he chuckled a bit. 

“I can bite.”

“Is that a promise?” He winked at you, earning him yet another swat of the night. “And to answer your question, I don’t know. You’re just you. You see the parts of me everyone run away from, and you have fun with them. That’s all I need really. You’re all I need. I can’t really put it into words in any way that makes sense; it just intrinsically is. I mean, why do you find comfort in me? I feel like that’s more outrageous.” 

“I… I don’t know. I guess you’re right. You’re just Barty.” 

You met his gaze, admiring every colour that speckled his irises, unconscious smile spreading across your lips. Your fingers go up to trace along the edges of his face, as if taking him in. Just Barty.

“Then we feel the same.” Barty confirmed, seemingly pleased by this.

“We feel the same.”

It seemed the closest the two of you would come to an outright confession of love for now. It still settled in your heart as one.

His hand came up to hold yours, pressing it more firmly into his cheek. He turned his head to the side, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to the inside of your palm. Your chest was working overtime to process the emotions and you were desperate to move on, to calm the storm in your heart named Junior.

“You’ll keep me sane, and I’ll be the death of you. Feels like a fair bargain, no?” Barty teased, as if he knew you needed to lighten the atmosphere. 

Your throat still felt tight from emotion, but you laughed nonetheless. 

“A bit unbalanced maybe, but I’ll take it.” You let your hand slip from under his to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Though, I think sanity might be reaching a bit too high. Stable is more like it. Able to partake in society.”

“Ugh, society.” Barty’s reaction to your last sentence was automatic. For the rest, he simply poked you in the side. “But yeah, seems like a good deal. Stable. That’s more than anyone else could manage.” 

You shook your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

At that, you shuffled closer to him, burying your head into the crook of his neck. “And I always will be.”

His hand came up to thread his fingers through your hair, and you could feel his smile as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to the top of your hair. It was so low you couldn’t be sure he actually said it, but you thought you caught a weak thank you.

“Say, Barty,” you whispered into his neck. “Are you entertained by me when I’m asleep as well, or should I be a good friend and stay awake?”

He breathed a laugh into your hair. “I’m surprised you’re actually still awake and talking to me. Go to sleep, darling.”

“You’ll be good?”

“In what capacity of the term?”

From this position, you could barely give him a light swat on the shoulder. He buried his face closer in your head as he sighed.

“No, I’ll be fine. I really just… I just needed to be with you. And now I am. So you can go to sleep with a good conscience.”

You squeezed him a bit tighter at that, one hand slipping up under his shirt to trace patterns along his back, fingertips dragging over scars and moles alike. He sighed into you at your touch.

“Goodnight, Barty. Wake me up if that head of yours gets too loud.” You pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone through his shirt.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered into the night.

When your roommates woke up in the morning, none of them were surprised to see a Barty-shaped shadow through the curtains of your bed.

[venus-haze]

Lay All Your Love on Me (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: A communication breakdown has unintended consequences, but it’s all because Homelander loves you.

Note: Gender neutral reader and no descriptors are used. This is based on a request from @judyfromfinance and the ABBA song which is so Homelander coded. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Jealousy, possessive behavior, violence (not toward the reader). We love miscommunication for plot reasons here! Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Homelander had no reason to believe you were hiding from him. Your job kept you busy, and ironically enough, working for the same company didn’t guarantee that you’d see each other nearly as much as he’d like. When his texts went unanswered and he couldn’t so much as hear you during the day, though, his mind went into overdrive presenting him with every worst case scenario it could possibly conceive of.

Cheat. Cheat. Cheat.

His gloved hands balled into fists at his side. You would never cheat on him. He knew that. He did. But sometimes, it seemed like your heart didn’t ache for him the way his did for yours. You had a life outside of him, and as much as you tried to include him in it, he resisted. Things would be easier if it were just the two of you.

Trying your phone again, he called you, frustrated when it went straight to voicemail.

“Hey babe, it’s me. I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Give me a call back as soon as you can. I love you,” he said, adding a quick. “Call me back" for emphasis.

He groaned, throwing his phone aside and folding his arms over his chest. It was fine. He didn’t care that much anyway. At least that’s what he told himself as he glanced at his discarded phone every few seconds in hopes you’d call or text back. No dice.

As a last resort, he headed to the crime analytics department. You managed a small team of analysts who consulted with the state and federal government on Vought’s behalf. The two of you had met when Vought was trying to get supes in the military, and as far as Homelander was concerned, it was love at first sight.

Never mind that it took a few weeks to win you over, frustratingly committed to your job and hesitant to date a coworker. Even though he’d hardly consider the two of you coworkers. Sure, you both worked for Vought, but that was it as far as he was concerned. In his determination to woo you, he’d made some valuable connections in your department. At least, people who he knew would have some kind of scoop on you when he needed it.

“Hey Annika,” Homelander said, startling the young crime analyst as he approached her desk. “How’re you doing, pal?

“Hi Homelander,” she said, not quite able to keep eye contact with him. “Sir. I’m good. H-How are you?”

“You haven’t seen Y/N around today, have you?”

She shook her head. “Sorry.”

“Alright,” he said tensely, a painfully fake smile spreading across his face. “Keep up the good work.”

His smile faltered as he heard your name come up in a conversation on the other side of the room. A masculine voice, younger than his, far too much mirth for his liking when he spoke about you.

“Dude, I was in Y/N’s office for like an hour yesterday. I could barely concentrate. They are so fine.”

“You’re insane,” someone else laughed.

“What? Have you seen them?”

“They’re dating Homelander, dumbass.”

“Whatever. It won’t last. He and Maeve will get back together, and yours truly will be there to pick up the pieces.”

“If you say so.”

Homelander hadn’t noticed his eyes glowing red until Annika squeaked. Letting out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, he looked at his…acquaintance.

“See you around,” he said, his chipper tone clearly strained.

Since you weren’t answering your phone and he still had no clue where you were, Homelander had all the time in the world to wait around for your sleazy subordinate to take a bathroom break. He wondered if you were aware of the man’s interest in you. It was a possibility, but he had to assure himself that you wouldn’t do anything to encourage it. He knew you wouldn’t bother with a miscreant like that, of all people, but the point needed to be made. No one could speak so vulgarly about you and expect him not to do something about it.

Fifteen minutes or so had passed, and Homelander spotted his name badge. Josh.

“Hey Josh! You have a minute, buddy?” Homelander asked, voice booming through the hallway, causing Josh to flinch. Homelander smirked a bit.

“Homelander! Is there something you need?”

“Yeah, actually, I just have a question about the crime analytics office.”

Josh nodded. “Sure, anything.”

“Did you see any Greek letters in there?”

“Wh-What?”

“Did you see any Greek letters in there? Maybe a keg and some drunk idiots wearing togas?”

“I don’t—“

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Then why were you in there talking about my partner like you were in a fucking frat house?” Homelander asked, cornering the slimy analyst. “You know Y/N and I are dating, right? Your idiot friend told you as much.”

Josh’s mouth flopped open and closed like one of the disgusting fish The Deep crusaded for. “I—I didn’t mean—“

“So either you’re incredibly stupid, or you have a death wish. Which one is it, buddy?”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Homelander.”

Homelander chuckled, empty and hollow, reveling in the way he could practically smell the fear radiating off of the man in front of him. “You will be.”

With the way Josh was carrying on, Homelander would’ve thought he’d actually killed the guy. All he’d done was snap his arm and throw an elbow to his nose. He’d just bought the asshole a free rhinoplasty, far more generous than he deserved after what he did. 

Homelander sneered at the blubbering crime analyst, work shirt covered in his own blood. Pathetic, really. And he had the audacity to act like he was worthy of you. Throwing one final glare Josh’s way, Homelander walked off, wiping the blood off his gloves and onto his suit. It could be dry-cleaned out.

The outburst made him feel better than he had all day, though it didn’t answer the question of where the hell you were and why you weren’t answering him. Besides, he swore he heard the familiar sound of your footfall in the lobby. 

He supposed you wouldn’t be too happy if you came back to see one of your subordinates brutalized in the hallway. Just his luck, he spotted an intern in one of the unoccupied offices.

“Hey,” Homelander said, pausing a moment to read the intern’s badge, “Sammy, there’s a mess over by the crime analytics office, can you get someone to clean it up?” 

“Sure,” Sammy responded cheerfully.

“Thanks, it’s the little things that make this place run. You’re doing great,” he complimented, giving her a friendly pat on the shoulder.

Sammy returned his smile, obviously not questioning his sincerity. Homelander knew if he framed the whole thing as a favor, she’d be more likely to follow through. It was always good to have reliable people in his back pocket for things like that, worker bees who thought they were friends or something. She walked off, strides purposeful as she set off to complete her personal mission from Homelander.

Rushing over to the elevator, he listened for you, getting out on the fifteenth floor where he saw you just as you walked out of the bathroom. 

As soon as he made eye contact, he melted, making a beeline for you.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around Homelander. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Where were you?” he asked, almost painfully returning your embrace.

“I told you I was presenting for the security council at the UN all day. No phones, remember?”

He huffed, releasing you from the hug. Fuck. “I guess—maybe that rings a bell. You shouldn’t tell me something so important while I’m distracted.”

“How much did you miss me?” you teased, holding up your pointer finger and thumb to pinch the air. “This much?” You spread your fingers wider. “This much?” Wider again, except before you could ask, Homelander scooped you up in his arms.

“Why don’t I show you?”

“Please do,” you said, tilting your head up to kiss him.

He retreated into the elevator with you, his lips capturing yours in a desperate kiss laced with longing. You giggled at him. You’d only been gone for a few hours, yet he was acting as though it had been days. 

You missed him too, resolving to focus your attention on him for the rest of the night.

Until your phone rang.

“I should get this.”

“Now you’re able to pick up a call?” he grumbled, setting you down.

“One minute,” you whispered, grabbing your phone, “then I’m all yours.”

He pressed the button to his suite, having forgotten to do so in the heat of passion. “You better be.”

You picked up your phone, amused at Homelander still clinging to you, kissing your neck. “Hello?”

“Josh from crime analytics?” you asked, tensing a bit when Homelander grazed his teeth on the crook of your neck. “I haven’t heard from him since he gave me the homicide report yesterday.”

Homelander hummed against your skin, and you let out a whimper only he could hear at the way it vibrated through you. He was smug, and it took you a moment to piece together why.

“Okay, talk to you tomorrow,” you said before hanging up. “What did you do?”

“Something chivalrous to defend your honor,” he mumbled, his lips unrelenting on your shoulder as he pulled your shirt down to expose it.

“I guess I should thank you properly, then? My knight in shining armor?”

He lifted his head, grinning, “If you insist.”

[cece693]

Hi, your tumblr is amazing, I loved discovering it. Can I make a request? About a slasher who discovers that the male reader is a serial killer as terrible as the ones in the real world. I'm not sure which one would fit best; I thought of Jason, Billy and Stu, maybe Michael or Norman Bates… whatever you think is best and/or are most familiar with.

Slashers With a Serial Killer Lover (Slashers x GN! Reader)

Sorry it took a while to complete this request but I was in a weird funk and uninspired. However, with this being more of a multi-character request/headcannon, it spurred me to complete it. I included the slashers you mentioned above, alongside Hannibal, Will (I'm aware he's not a slasher, but I just love him) and Patrick. I also changed it to be gender neutral because I want to be more inclusive :)

Norman Bates

Norman would be conflicted—after all, you're not only worried about his reaction but that of 'mother.' If your actions pleased her, Norman might be supportive. However, if they don't and 'mother' perceives you to be a threat, expect Norman to turn against you (with tears in his eyes.) However, even if 'mother' does approve of your hobby, this relationship is far from simple. 'Mother' might grow jealous of how much Norman is straying from her teachings and become vengeful. Expect a chaotic rollercoaster of guilt, affection, and psychological breakdowns.

Michael Myers

Michael would be indifferent to your hobby unless they interfered with his own objectives. He might view you as a tool or an ally in his pursuits, but wouldn't engage emotionally or ethically about whom you kill. Expect no romantic gestures, but be assured, Michael observes from the shadows whenever your out and about. He's ready to lend a hand when you need a show of brutal force or the tides unexpectedly turn against you. Michael doesn’t tolerate weakness, so if you proved to be cunning and self-sufficient, that would almost earn a silent respect.

Billy Loomis

Billy’s manipulative side would initially question if this is some trick or if he can use the situation to his advantage. However, deep down, he’d be excited at the idea of having a lover who’s just as twisted as he is. However, because you are a serial killer and Billy has this notion of being the 'brains' of the relationship, expect many fights. He wants to be the person in control, so he might never be fully comfortable in your relationship if he perceives you as greater than him. This relationship is a mine for mind games, but be assured when you find common ground, you're a deadly duo.

Stu Matcher

Stu wouldn't care about you being a serial killer. In fact he'll be ecstatic because it would be like living in a non-stop horror flick. Let's face it, he has murder tendencies but often allows you to take reign. He would join your hunts but see it more as a game: he'd want to do 'team kills', wear matching outfits, etc. Expect him to crack jokes non-stop or reference horror tropes, even if you're in the middle of killing someone. Stu is impulsive—“Hey, let’s kill that person!” or “We should totally sabotage this house party!” If you're down for it, Stu’s loyalty is intense, though erratic.

Jason Voorhees

Jason mostly kills out of vengeance or anger, and he’s not particularly intellectual about it. So when he discovers that his boyfriend is a serial killer, he wouldn't be bothered. In fact, he'll probably look up to you: learning how to better kill and dispose of his victims. However, he would get violent if you make a move unto his territory (Camp Crystal Lake) or disrespect the memory of his beloved mother. You are a serial killer and so is Jason, but a part of you likes to hide some of your more brutal and gruesome kills from him. He has a childlike mind so you thread carefully and are overprotective of your giant teddy bear :)

Hannibal Lecter

Hannibal, being a connoisseur of murder himself, would be intrigued and possibly delighted by having a lover who shared his proclivities. However, he would also evaluate your style and motives. If they matched his sense of aesthetic and intellectual stimulation, he would be supportive, but he might manipulate or dispose of you if deemed proved crude or unworthy. He has standards, after all. He’d encourage you to be more meticulous, to pay attention to the senses, to savor each detail. Hannibal would absolutely offer subtle mentorship—introducing more elegant methods, or guiding you toward “ethically chosen” victims. Expect a twisted sort of domesticity: lavish dinners, intellectual sparring, and an understanding that behind every polite smile, there lurks a dangerous mind. Hannibal would want a partner who challenges him intellectually and morally, even in their darkest impulses.

Will Graham

Will would initially be disturbed upon discovering that you're a serial killer. His empathy would reel from the moral violation. Yet, there might be a pull—something that resonates with the darker corners of his psyche. It would be a constant tug-of-war between love (or at least genuine care) and the horror of his partner’s violent acts. Will might try to “save” them, or rationalize why they kill, but he’d be tormented by guilt at the same time. Torn between turning you in or continuing to keep the secret, Will might become complicit in small ways—covering up your tracks or giving subtle advice to avoid detection. This would only deepen his internal conflict. However, once that love for you overclouds his morality, Will becomes a complicit partner and helps you with your kills.

Patrick Bateman

Patrick’s narcissism would initially cause him to feel threatened—he wants to be the center of attention and the “best” at whatever he does, including killing. But if your kills are stylish, impressive, or feed into his ego, he’d become enthralled. You best believe foreplay includes you killing one of Patrick's rivals and creating a tableau that fosters his view of superiority above everyone else. The relationship would revolve around status, wealth, and aesthetics. Your kills would become an odd game of one-upmanship: who can kill more creatively or remain more flawless in public. Patrick loves an audience—if you can provide him with the right blend of admiration and competition, you'll stay in his good graces.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

oohhh ok this is so self indulgent but do you think you could do a short fic with ford comforting his fem!s/o that's crying because she doesn't feel like she's pretty enough? thank you lots of love 🥺🩷

prettier than a supernova | Ford Pines x reader

some people give compliments. Ford Pines gives a full scientific breakdown of how breathtaking you are

a/n: this is my soft little love letter to anyone who needs a reminder that they're perfect as they are. sometimes you need someone like Ford to tell you you’re worth more than the stars themselves. angel i hope this makes you feel warm and loved. just a little something to remind you that no matter what, you are stunningly, breathtakingly beautiful (also this can be read as gender neutral too!! this photo here is bc i love it and i think it just suits ford bc of sweater)

You don’t mean to start crying, you don’t want to. You press the heel of your palm to your cheek, frustrated. But that ugly feeling has been sitting inside you all day, heavily pressing against your ribs. Stupid, you think, you shouldn’t be crying over something like this. But it happens anyway as tears starts streaming down your face before you even realise what’s happening.

It started earlier. You’d caught your reflection in the mirror and for a second you had seen yourself the way you feared everyone else did. wrong. Lacking. Not enough. You ignored it at first, shoved it down, swallowed the bitter taste of self-doubt like it was nothing. But then it came back.

You thought Ford wouldn't notice, being too busy in his studies. But in the perfect silence of the Shack, your quiet sobs sounded louder than his own breathing.

“Darling,” Ford sets his book aside without hesitation. “come here.” his voice, as always sounds so quiet and calm, but it’s the way he holds out his arms that undoes you completely. There’s no question, no hesitation, just him, offering warmth, safety, attention, care.

So you go, you let yourself sink into his lap, curling up against his chest and the moment his arms come around you, your sobs break free. You press your face into his sweater, gripping the fabric and shut your eyes tightly.

Ford just holds you. No words, no shushing, he doesn’t rush you, doesn’t tell you to stop crying, doesn’t try to fix you. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he lets you cry, lets you bury yourself in his warmth, lets you be small in his arms. And you cry a little harder because no one’s ever done this before, not like this. No one’s ever let you be messy and sad and vulnerable and still held you like you’re worth something.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs after a while, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. ”talk to me. What’s wrong?”

You shake your head because the words feel ridiculous and too embarrassing. But Ford just waits patiently, his hand never stopping its slow motions against your back.

After a while you whisper. “i. . . don’t feel pretty enough.”

Ford stays silent. The sentence you said doesn’t compute, the equation is missing a crucial variable. His brain thinks. You've just said something factually incorrect.

He is quiet long enough that you regret saying anything at all.

“Not pretty enough?” you wince at how ridiculous it sounds when he says it. You stay silent again. “talk to me, please, you’re too important to me to watch you do this to yourself.” last words didn’t come out the way he had planned, but it doesn't matter. The sadness in your eyes is enough to make him want to shield you from everything that ever made you doubt yourself.

“I don’t know, Ford, sometimes i just feel. . . just not enough.”

Ford takes a deep sigh and pulls back to see your face. His hands come up, six fingers framing your cheeks gently.

“But, love,” he brushes away the lingering tears on your skin. “who put that idea in your head?”

“Just. . . my brain, i guess.”

Ford frowns at that response, trying to figure out how to undo that thought that’s been rooted in you for too long.

“Listen to me, you are the most stunning, breathtaking person i have ever had the privilege of knowing.”

You sniffle, trying to look away, but he doesn’t let you, tilting your chin up until you meet his gaze.

“Not just beautiful,” he continues, “though you are, undeniably. But everything. Your mind, your heart, the way you see the world, i have never known anyone like you. And i never will. You are brilliant and strong in ways i could never hope to be.”

You avoid his gaze, looking down despite his tries to keep your eyes on him. Ford notices, of course he does, he always does and before you can fall apart all over again, he kisses you. So soft, a gentle press of his warm lips, reassuring you. “I wish you could see yourself the way i see you.” he says quietly into your lips. But you shake your head and pull away, laughing through your tears, feeling how emotions overwhelm you again.

“Ford, no—“

“No,” he interrupts and you notice how his voice gets more serious. “you need to hear this. After spending thirty years traveling through dimensions, seeing entire different galaxies and universes, watching alien creatures with more eyes than you can count, none of them, not a single one of them, come close to how breathtakingly beautiful you are.”

You make a small, broken sound and Ford just holds you closer as he continues. You’re speechless, heart hammering in your chest.

“And don’t get me started on physics,” he laughs softly, pulling you against his chest and caressing your hair. “you are more fascinating than a perfectly symmetrical snowflake viewed under a microscope. More miraculous than the way hydrogen atoms fused together for billions of years just to create you. Darling, i’ve held technology so advanced it blurred the line between magic and science. But none of it, none of it, has ever left me as breathless as you do.”

He’s so serious, absolutely devastatingly serious. You don't know if it's the exhaustion or the overwhelming love in his genuine voice, but another real sob breaks out of you before you can stop it as you hug him tighter.

“I really. . . just really wish you could see yourself the way i see you. You are the most extraordinary thing i have ever encountered and i have traveled across the multiverse.” and it's damn truth because when Ford looks at you, he sees more than just a person. He sees a universe, complex and ever-expanding, a mystery he will spend his lifetime trying to understand and yet, always be awed by.

Your chest is aching. It’s too much, he’s too much. So you do the only thing you can think of. You kiss him. It's kinda messy, still wet with your tears, but Ford doesn’t care because the second your lips touch his, he pours all his feelings into it, one hand tangling in your hair, the other gripping your waist, pulling you closer until there is no space left between you, reminding you of just how much he cherishes you, in every universe, in every corner of space and time.

And that's all you ever needed, to be held like the most beautiful thing in his entire universe.

“If the universe is infinite, then so is my love for you. If the stars will burn for billions of years, then let me love you for all of them.”

Ford cradles you against his chest, rocking you in his arms in a slow, soothing motion to calm his beloved. And for the first time in a long time, the voice in the back of your mind, telling you you're not enough, fades away replaced with the warmth of Ford's love.

“So, no, honey. I don't want to hear you ever say you’re not pretty again. Not when you're the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen. Not when i know you are worth more than every star, every dimension, every equation in existence.” you pull him closer, feeling the steady beat of his heart as you close your eyes, smiling softly.

The first rule of observation is to watch closely, to notice every detail, to understand what no one else does. And Stanford notices everything about you.

[killerpancakeburger]

Breaking Point (1/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Ghost x GN!Reader

Soap's version.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Ghost is... Ghost; taciturn, blunt, aloof, but Not An Asshole, protective, trustworthy, He's Trying ☆.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing. Ghost's part is significantly darker than Soap's (in terms of suicide ideation, not as in he's a yandere).

WORDS COUNT: 3.6k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃 Ghost role-plays (NOT SEXUAL) as the world's worst psychiatrist. Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

The sight of the dark, bulky silhouette standing in the frame does nothing to appease your worries - quite the opposite. Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be fucking Ghost. The most intimidating - not to say terrifying - man on the whole base, but also the most cryptic. 

Towering over 190cm and built like few were, even on a military base, you had recoiled despite yourself the first time you met. Every single detail regarding him was redacted - you knew because you had checked his file, consumed by curiosity -, including his own face - unvaryingly covered by a black mask adorned with a white skull. That semblance of halloween mask and an alias was all that he shared with the world. 

He dispensed his words in dribs and drabs to a handful of privileged people, which seemed limited to your supervisor, Captain Price, who was also his direct superior, and his teammates of the Task Force 141. He couldn’t have offered you more than ten syllables in the six months you’ve been there. Yet, everyone knew who he was, what he was capable of, and crowds systematically parted with his passage like the Red Sea. 

You had wisely taken the resolution to not heed the rumors about him, which ranged from hardly believable to frankly ridiculous, but you couldn’t help the knot in your stomach every time he was nearby. It wasn’t only his imposing stature that put you on edge, but mainly the fact that he was always impassive. His mask effectively hid his emotions, sure, but his voice didn’t let anything show through either. Most of the time you had no idea what he was thinking or feeling, leaving you puzzled at how to interact with him. Not that there were that many interactions to begin with, but the few that happened left you with a lasting impression.

However you were pleased with yourself after you quit agonizing over his opinion of you, focusing instead on doing your best to treat him like the other soldiers. He may not be friendly, but he never had been disrespectful either.

You stare at him in horror, a deer in the headlights, unable to emit a sound. You didn’t even have the time to fabricate a bunch of excuses to get you out of this situation.

Shit, shit, shit. What do I do? WHAT DO I DO?

“Ya good?” 

His tone is gruff, as it always is, but not hostile. The question feels like a way out of this awkward situation, a lifebelt. You cling onto it like you're lost at sea.

Maybe you can still turn this around - pretend everything is OK. He will follow the implicit rules of politeness and leave you to it.

You hasten to reply.

“Yeah, yeah, it's fine. I'm fine.”

As you finish drying your face, he steps into the room, stopping in front of your desk.

“Did you need something?”

Your voice automatically switches to “customer service” mode, and you plaster a fake smile on your face. The mental image of a puppet, strings forcing the corner of its lips to lift, comes to your mind.

Ghost doesn't respond. His eyes are searching your face like it's an encrypted message that could provide a target's position.

Your smile vacillates under his scrutiny. The examination is cold, clinical; there's no warmth nor sympathy in those brown eyes.

“Doesn't look fine to me.”

He announces the statement like a fact, voice dull, neutral. He doesn't provide sympathy, but he doesn't cast judgment either. It’s not less irritating though.

Your first instinct is to snap at him, tell him to mind his own business, ask why he even cares. You resist it. Picking quarrels will only make matters worse. You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Ghost turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced. He still recalls vividly the moment he stopped considering you like another faceless office worker amongst others and made an effort to remember your name.

He was mindlessly killing time in the break room with Gaz and Soap until you showed up at the door, a forced smile on your face, attempting to look casual but your body language betraying your nervousness. He spotted you first, the other two engaged in a lively conversation. Relief spread on your face when you saw he had noticed you, sparing you the trouble of having to call out for him, and you approached.

“Ghost, can I have a word? … in private?”

He straightened up from the wall he was leaning on and followed you wordlessly, feeling the prying stares of his teammates lingering on him. You stopped in the hallway to face him.

“You forgot to fill out the medical part in your last report.”

Fingers linked together, you were anxiously twiddling your thumbs. His eyes followed the movement unconsciously.

“I haven't.”

You frowned in uncomprehension. 

“Your medical file said-”

“I know what the medical file said,” he retorted firmly, hoping that you would understand his intention without him having to spell it out loud.

The furrow in your brows didn’t go away, quite the contrary.

“You want me to lie.”

The statement wasn’t an accusation, but a request for confirmation.

“You catch on quick.”

The sarcasm and patronization unintentionally slipped into his voice. You were just a newbie trying to do your job well, after all. However the others before you never took the trouble to confront him about this, either out of fright or negligence, and this felt like a waste of his time.

He watched you search his face for something, an explanation, a way out? You bit your lips, conflicted, before replying:

“No.”

“No?” he repeated, raising a skeptical eyebrow that you couldn’t see, crossing his arms. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused. He wasn’t used to being turned down anymore, except for so few individuals, like Price or Laswell, that they could be counted on the fingers of one hand. That the first person to oppose him in so long wasn’t an uptight high ranking or a gutsy enemy, but you, an average civilian, was definitely a surprise. 

“I'm not taking that risk”, you added with a determination he didn’t expect.

“Ya wouldn’t be takin’ any. Nobody will be none the wiser.”

“That's not what I- urgh. I am not letting you go back injured on the field! I don't care if you're the ghost or whatever, you’re not invulnerable. So either you fill that damn file or I'm telling Price.”

“Oh? You'd snitch on me?”

“I'd do it to save your life, yeah.”

And with that, you shoved the papers in his chest, turned around and walked away. You had barely disappeared around the corner that he was already mentally calling himself a bloody idiot. Why had it been so tempting to provoke you? Because out of nowhere your usually bashful self showed audacity? Because you were absurdly hellbent on defending his expandable life? No matter the reason, he started to look at you differently from that day on.

Clearly you and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

He deposits the stack of files he had been holding on your bureau, but as you reach to seize them, he covers your hand with his own and leans in.

You would have stared in disbelief at his gloved hand over yours if the proximity of his face wasn’t a much more pressing matter. You can feel your face warm up and you loathe it.

“Those'll still be there tomorrow, love.”

You blink in surprise at the pet name. It's like you're a spooked horse and he's trying to soothe you with sweet nothings.

“But the paperwork-”

“Fuck the paperwork.”

Easy for him to say.

“But Price-”

“I'll deal with Price.”

“My mom's in the hospital”, you brutally admit, having run out of pretext.

You look each other in the eye for what seems forever. 

“Ye take yer coffee with three sugars, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah?”

You reply hesitantly, stunned by the ask that, a priori, has nothing to do with your wholehearted confession. How did he even know that? The words have barely left your lips that he already disappeared into the corridor. You stare in disbelief at the door, mouth agape. You poured your fucking heart out and that socially inept bastard in his goofy ass halloween costume just ditched you after wringing the truth out of you like you were an interrogated enemy soldier.

Sipping the content of your mug with the Ghost's unblinking stare fixated on you is an unsettling experience, to say the least. Seated on the chair facing your desk, legs wide open, wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and gray pants, one hand holding his mug of tea, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he sat down. 

Does he seriously not realize how unnerving his starring is?

He exudes an aura of tranquil power; the unchallenged authority of someone who is used to being obeyed without question, combined with the nonchalance that comes with being unmatched. Even casually sprawled like this, he remains formidable.

A few minutes ago, he set down a steaming mug in front of you and a box of tissues - a delicate attention that sent a pang in your chest -, before taking a seat. The fingers of his free hand are softly taping his knee.

“Guess I won’t need to kill anyone tonight,” he declares in a detached manner.

You blink in incomprehension at that.

“But you don’t have a mission tonight…”

“Won’t have to kill anyone for makin’ ya cry,” he clarifies.

“Oh.”

What else can you possibly reply to that? The murder machine lounging in front of you has enough confirmed kills to make a sniper of legend green with envy.

“So…”, you initiate, not without uncertainty, “is this the moment where I get everything off my chest?”

“Do whatever ya want.” he placidly counters, shrugging.

It really, considerably, sounds like he doesn't care at all; but if he did, he wouldn’t be here.

You take a deep breath, staring at your desk.

“She's in the ICU. Paralyzed, intubated, put in a coma.”

Tears flood your eyes again. This time you don't try to fight them.

“I'm terrified for her. But, what's worse is…”

You swallow your saliva; blink in rapid succession - the tears sting.

“I can’t help but think the worst. About what'll become of me without her.”

Water overflows your eyes. The dam ruptures abruptly. Raw honesty spills from your lips.

“She’s all I have. Without her, I have nothing. I am nothing.”

The ensuing silence is deafening. You wonder what the hell you’re doing. There’s something about the man in front of you that, paradoxically, makes you want to confide in him. Despite his lack of warmth, he feels steady, reliable. A rock to lean on when your whole world is crumbling. Solid ground when it feels like everything is caving in around you. Like you could lay all your burdens on him and he wouldn’t even flinch under what feels like the weight of the world.

You feel awfully selfish to entertain that thought, but you doubt he'd ever give you the opportunity to return the favor. 

“Bollocks.”

His tone is surlier than before. You look up at him to be sure you heard correctly.

“What about yer job? Ye enjoy it, right?”

You scoff bitterly at that.

“It's just a temporary gig. I'll be kicked out in two months.”

“We can make it permanent.”

You shoot him an incredulous look.

“You're just saying that.”

“‘M not. Wouldn't lie just to make ye feel better. Not my style.”

A cynical chuckle escapes you before a mischievous smirk stretches your lips.

“I’m sorry big guy, when did you get nominated as the commander of the base? Cause as far as I know this is outside your jurisdiction.” 

A similar smile spreads behind his mask. He’d take your sass over your tears any day.

“I have my ways,” he replies tranquilly.

From anyone else, you’d call it bragging or bluffing. Coming from the Ghost, it doesn’t sound as anything but the truth. He stares at you intensely, as if daring you to doubt him again, or intent on proving you his integrity through gaze alone. 

You look away, your cheeks heating up.

Ghost never minded that you can’t maintain eye contact. Just like he’s not into small talk, or physical contact. He knows most people tend to take it the wrong way, interpret it as contempt, when it couldn't be further from the truth.

“Thank you, but I can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“I’d feel like I’m manipulating you.” 

He chuckles darkly, sending a shiver crawling down your spine, one you do not know if it was born of fear entirely or attraction. 

“Oh sweetheart, you couldn’t even if you tried.” 

Another tingle. Definitely pleasant this time. You desperately busy yourself with the content of your mug, the effects of that sentence on you too intense for the solemnity of the situation. 

Your strategy proves itself fruitful until a movement at the periphery of your vision attracts your gaze. You peek without thinking, and freeze at the sight of Ghost lifting his mask above his nose to drink from his cup. One scar crosses his mouth, another departs from the corner of his lips, both ancient but deep. They don’t faze you though - truth be told, the omnipresent mask made you expect him to look like a world war one veteran, so heavily disfigured that you wouldn’t be able to bear it. 

“Enjoyin’ the view?”

He doesn’t sound even remotely annoyed, but you lower your eyes in shame all the same.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“If I didn’t wantcha to look, I wouldn’t have taken it off.”

As you need a moment to take in the implications of that sentence, he talks again.

“What's your poison?”

“Pardon?” you reply, genuinely lost.

He snorts at your exaggerated politeness.

“Coffee isn’t gonna cut it. Whataya usually take when you feel like this? Alcohol? Cigs?”

A pause.

“Sex?”

You choke and set down your mug out of fear of dropping it.

“No, no… and no.”

“Nothing?”

He sounds doubtful.

“I… cry myself to sleep?”

It makes no sense to formulate it like a question, but everything about this is surreal.

He hums, contemplative.

“You’re not making this easy.”

“What?”

“Helpin’ ya.”

You scoff, suddenly irritated.

“You could lend me one of your guns and let me blow my brains off with it. That would help.”

 “Not gonna happen,” he counters with emphatic authority that leaves no place for rebuttal. 

“Worth a shot,” you say, trying to get the last word. “Ha, shot. Get it?”

“Very funny.”

You roll your eyes at his comment, like he’s a tired parent indulging you, a tireless child.

“You just don’t have any humor.”

The words left your lips before you could consider their impact. Yes, you never heard the Ghost laugh, but maybe he has a very good reason for that. Maybe several. Maybe you’re just a fucking asshole.

“Why are colds bad criminals?” 

Your head pivots towards him so fast you fear your neck is going to snap.

“Why…?”

“Because they’re easy to catch.”

You stare at him in bewildered silence, not quite believing what just happened, before starting to laugh, first softly, then, carried away, louder and louder, bordering on hysterical. You don’t even giggle because of the joke, but because the contrast between the silliness of it and how deadpan Ghost was when enunciating it is simply too good. That, and the nerves are probably getting the better of you.

“Never had anyone laugh that much at this one before.”

You attempt to get your breath back, alternating between pants and laughs, wiping a solitary tear at the corner of your eye.

“It’s just… you… I didn’t see it coming, jeez.”

Sighing wistfully, you take in the quietude of this fleeting moment.

“This is nice.”

“I'm always nice,” grunts the lieutenant. 

You let out a good-natured scoff, then reality catches up to you.

“SHIT! What time is it!?” you shout in panic as you violently get up. “Maybe I can still catch a bus-”

You log out of your work session, turn off your PC and shove all your belongings inside your bag in record time. Ghost barely bats an eye, still like a languid cat; a very big, very dangerous cat.

“You can spend the night.”

“No I can’t!”

You push your chair under your desk and pick up your coat.

“We can make some sorry bloke sleep outside.”

“Noooo- That's horrible!”

You have no idea if he’s messing with you or not.

“Not worse than what's waiting for ‘em on the field.”

“Well, I still can’t do that.”

“Good for you that I can, then.”

You finally look at him, an half-amused smile on your lips, raising a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Lemme guess. This is you ‘having your ways’ again, isn’t it?”

His offer is tempting. You really don’t want to be left to your own devices tonight.

He stands up and takes a step towards you while pulling his mask down and, oh, with him sitting this all time, you would have almost forgotten how much he towers over you.

“S’that a yes or a no?”

You could almost detect a hint of playfulness in his voice.

“It’s a yes, sir,” you retort while pronouncing the “sir” with as much impertinence as you can muster.

“Better keep up, then.”

And just like that, he vacates the premises, and you do have to focus to keep up because those long legs of his ain’t just for show.

As you two travel across corridors unknown to you, you wonder once again what the hell you’re doing, hanging out with this mountain of a man who’s more myth than human, and breaking the rules of a military base on a whim. Lost in thought, you don’t pay attention to the voices edging closer, and you’re completely taken aback when Ghost grabs you by the back of your shirt and drags you in a dark alcove with him. You’re so astounded, you don’t even make a sound. He takes hold of the back of your head and presses you against him to occupy as little space as possible, effectively hiding you from the men walking by. Only then you recognize Captain Price among other officers.

“Sorry ‘bout that, love,” whispers the man you’re squeezed against, barely audible, imperturbable as ever, like this is an everyday situation for him.

You don’t answer - you can’t, anyway, essentially muffled by his pecs. You should be more irked by those circumstances, but the sudden proximity set your face ablaze, therefore you’re very happy with its current concealment. 

“Price will have my head if he thinks I made you cry.”

You’re about to protest, but then you remember that one time when Soap tagged along when you were carrying a huge box back from the archives, and when Price saw you two, Soap unconcerned with empty hands, and your face almost disappearing behind the imposing cardboard, he called the sergeant a bloody useless muppet and then proceeded to call into question his ability to transport his rucksack for days. Nevermind that you were the one who insisted on carrying the crate on your own as it provided a nice workout, and that you had to bare your teeth at Soap to prevent him from taking it from you.

When the peril has walked by and Ghost releases you, you silently thank the shadows around you hiding how affected you are by this ersatz of a hug. Later, he drops you off at an unoccupied bedroom, small but including a bathroom and furnished with everything you could ever want. You say your goodbyes and your thanks at the door, and he. pats. your head. You don’t even have time to be outraged that he states he will see you tomorrow, something that sounds like a promise as much as a threat, probably in reference to the morbid fantasies you shared, and he vanishes into the shadows like a… ghost.

A/N : The real reason Ghost ran out:

He be googling “how to comfort female civilian age between 20 and **”

In the TF Group Chat (Price not included):

“We have an emergency.”

“Send as many kitten pics as possible to [Reader] … stat.”

[sabos-husband]

★ No Gods, No Masters

Sabo x Reader ★

Dressrosa Spoilers!! ~ Revolutionary!Reader ~ Gender Neutral ~ Fluff

You're exhausted. Your feet drag all the way from the door to your dresser. You can't help but sigh. You barely tossed your keys to the counter while you kick off your shoes.

You grit your teeth, eyes falling shut. You sigh again, deeper this time. Your fingers are heavy and numb as they undo the zipper of your jacket. It hangs loosely on your shoulders as you reach to undo your work shirt.

You hear a throat clear. You open your eyes.

You meet wide eyes. Sabo's.

You refasten your collar's button.

"Hi, chief," you say drowsily. Sabo, who was previously stuck sitting at your desk, stands up quickly. The chair clatters when Sabo's quick rise almost tosses it. His cheeks are pink. "Hey— I know it's late, but.." He trails.

You must be really tired, because for a second, it almost looks like Sabo's face is getting pinker. It's cute. He's cute.

You slide your jacket from your shoulders, tossing it somewhere into the dark room. You walk closer to Sabo, whose stunned silence speaks for him, and reach over his shoulder. You can hear how tight his breathing gets when you grab the sweater on your desk. You step back, and Sabo breathes fully once again.

"Can I help you?" You ask.

Sabo slowly sits down again. "I just need the documents you compiled for Dragon."

"Oh, those. They need a breakdown for you to understand. Let me," you yawn, "shower, then I'll explain it to you. I just need.. Fifteen minutes."

Sabo starts to stand up. "It's fine, it was inappropriate for me to show up this late anyways. I'll just head—"

You shove Sabo down into the chair again. Your palm lingers on his chest. "Ten minutes."

Sabo's stiff under your hand. "Ten minutes."

You crack a smile. "I'll be out soon," you say with a gentle pat to Sabo's cheek.

Even after you had collected a pair of shorts with the sweater and a towel from your bedside before retreating to the bathroom, Sabo hadn't moved.

He stands up suddenly. He takes large strides to the door, freezes with his hand over the knob, then turns around to walk back to your desk. Soft flames dance on Sabo's palm to light his way.

Pens, scraps of paper, pages, thick books—all sorts of clutter swept across the crowded desk. It's almost impressive to be this messy, he muses to himself. He can relate, at least. A small candle catches Sabo's eye. He picks it up, lighting it before extinguishing his palm. Its gentle gleam illuminates enough for his eyes to begin adjusting.

He spends some time rifling through drawers, driven more by his nervous compulsion to move rather than a drive to be nosey.

It all shifts, however, when his eyes land on a letter.

Sabo sinks into the seat again. His hands almost shake when he brushes his gloved fingertips over its cover. In a thoughtful, swirling script, Sabo sees his very own name penned on its cover.

On the back, the letter was sealed close with blue wax. The chief curses to himself. He almost considers heating your letter opener to pry off the preserved seal and read it secretly, but then he hears the water shut off and he shoves the letter back. He panics.

Truly, the speed he moved at deserves applause. He can barely maintain a look of casual professionalism when he flips to a random page of a random book the moment you emerge from the bathroom.

Sabo almost drops the book when he sees you. You have a towel draped around his shoulders, damp hair letting droplets roll down your neck, and a significantly more lucid look to your eyes. The look, sharp enough for Sabo to start perspiring, falls to the book’s cover. “I love that one.”

Sabo looks over the top of the page for a title… Ah, there it is. A formerly-enslaved woman's memoir—he remembers seeing its title in a list of books banned by the World Government. Fitting for a revolutionary; fitting for you.

Speaking of you, Sabo looks up. "I've never finished it." Or started it, for that matter.

When he makes eye contact, you have an eyebrow cocked. Sabo flushes. In his defense, he was never really known for his subtlety. Or his interest in reading.

Sabo shuts the book, placing it over the letter he haphazardly tossed. "So, the report?"

You smile at him, too knowing for comfort, before grabbing the chair's arms. You tug Sabo over to the bed with ease, where you sit down on the mattress and swipes the report from your bedside table. "It's nothing too confusing," you hum, thumbing through the materials. "It illustrates the different actions from the other armies, what our informants in the Marines have been seeing, stuff like that..."

Sabo... Well, Sabo stops listening after that. Can you blame him!? The way you look up at him, making sure he's paying attention—Seas, he should really be paying attention—before smiling and looking down to scan the report. The way your tongue darts out to wet your lips...

So, yeah. There's no way in hell he'd pay attention.

It bites him in the ass when you look up with those pretty eyes of yours, looking at him expectantly. He blinks at you. "...What?"

You snort. "I asked if you had any questions."

"Oh-" Sabo shakes his head. "No, no, I- um, if I have any questions, I'll find you. In the morning." He reaches for the report.

With all your kindness, you don't call him on his shoddy bluff. You just hand over the papers with a sleepy grin. He tucks them safely into his coat as he stands from your desk chair.

"Well, this was a pleasure," and truly it was, "but I'll leave you to sleep now." He absentmindedly tugs at the lip of his glove before turning around.

"Ah- Chief?" You grab his wrist just before Sabo can make his escape.

The door's just so close. Your cool palm soothes the heat boiling under his skin. Sabo turns his head. "Yes?"

"The book," slowly, you mumble, "do you want to borrow it?"

The gentle moon filters through the drawn curtains. Paired with the candlelight, You look like an angel. It addles his brain. Sabo nods without thinking.

The smile he gets in response makes the entire night of heartache worth it.

He leaves the bedroom with a mediocre understanding of the report and an overwhelming feeling of warmth.

If he were any smarter, though, he would rifle through the book's pages and find a letter with the blue wax seal slipped between the introduction and first chapter.

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

But I'm not much of anything (but you're everything to me)

let me wrap my teeth around the world - series masterlist here

pairing: sirius black x reader (gender neutral), implied poly marauders x reader

length: 1.8k

genre: fluff, kinda angsty, hurt/comfort

warnings: winter break angst I suppose, you're so young you don't have to be everything you want yet, you have time you learn and you grow and you become blah blah blah lol

a/n: me ?? posting a fic ?? wooow wowow anyway this is in the poly marauders series but it can totally be read stand alone

"I brought you your jacket." Your voice is quiet as it floats through the crisp night air, the sound hushed as Sirius cranes his head around to see you slipping through the back door and shutting it gently behind you. 

"You didn't need to do that."

"It's cold out here," you point out. There's a sort of familiarity that Sirius can't help but find some level of comfort in when he shrugs the heavy jacket on, the dark shine of the leather stark against the pale skin of his neck.

"What are you doing out here, anyway?" he asks a bit sullenly, wincing and brushing a stray hair out of your face as if to make up for his bluntness. But you just wrinkle your nose and lean against the porch railing, looking out toward the rolling white lawn of James's family home.

"Oh," you shrug lightly. "Just needed some fresh air." Sirius fixes you with a stare at your words, though, and you smile a bit sheepishly. "James pulled out the board games," you admit. "I was looking for an escape."

"Oh, so that's all I am to you?" Sirius quips, but the softness in your returning smile catches him a bit too off guard and he feels his heart thump rather painfully in his chest.

"No," you respond sweetly. "If all I was looking for was a quick exit, I would've gone for climbing out the window. I'm out here for you, I'm afraid."

"How awful of me, then," he jokes weakly, and you look at him like it's the funniest thing you've heard all day. Sirius clenches his fists where he leans on the railing, letting the rings that adorn his fingers pinch his skin and press against his palms as he looks out into the night. You're standing close enough that he can feel your arm brushing against his - close enough that he feels something that seems strangely like love rolling off of you in waves.

"What are you doing out here?" He says it again, like a whisper, like a plea that he knows will be unheard. You look at him steadily as he shakes and you smile and he kind of wishes you really had climbed out the window instead of coming after him. Just for a moment. Just for a second, before the guilt sets in and he -

"Remus, uh, he said that you…"

"Had a breakdown?"

"No," you respond easily. "He didn't quite put it like that."

"But you get the idea," Sirius huffs. You lean closer to knock your shoulder against his.

"I do, baby," you offer gently. "I do."

Somewhere inside, James's boisterous laugh can be heard as Remus swears and shouts something about how cheating ruins the game. Sirius's fists clench tight enough that his knuckles whiten and you tap a nail against the wooden railing in thought. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" you ask lightly. Then you watch the muscles in his jaw flex as he clenches his teeth.

"Is there anything to talk about?"

"Mhm," you nod. "Usually a bit more than you think." He sighs at that, a defeated sort of thing as he slumps down just a bit, sinking into the warmth of his jacket as a wicked winter wind blows through. 

"I just really thought, for a little bit - I guess I really believed I'd be someone someday." He whispers it like a prayer, like a confession before some sort of altar. You answer like he's the one who should be prayed to.

"You are someone."

"No - but… you know what I mean, yea?"

"I do," you concede, sighing a bit. "I - I really do." The words come out in a sort of rush as you say them, tumbling out of you and into the frozen air as Sirius shoots you a peculiar look.

"I don't know how you do it, love," he admits in that slow, low timbre of his. You perk up a bit and glance over to him with your brows raised.

"Do what?"

"What… what I never could." You're still looking at him, he's sure, but he's avoiding your gaze in the wake of his confession, tipping his head back to stare up at the endless stars, instead. 

"Oh, Sirius, I -" You cut yourself off with a laugh and it's a hollow, pitchy sort of thing - off and different and wholly unnatural coming from you. It makes him snap his gaze back down to look at you and when he sees the tremble in your face he wonders, not for the first time, how he manages to fuck it all up so often. 

But then you smile at him like the stars shine down on the two of you because he hung them there. You smile and you look up, yourself, into the endless vastness.

"I'm not, uh… well, I'm not really much of anything these days," you admit quietly, the words halting and slow as they leave you.

"That's bullshit, babe," Sirius responds, the words tugged from him as soon as he hears the tremor in your voice. "You're everything."

"Aw, see how easy it is?" you sigh, leaning back and hanging onto the railing as your voice wavers just a touch. 

"What?" Sirius asks quietly - because he knows, he thinks. He's knows what's going on.

"How easy it is to see yourself in someone else," you clarify. It makes him frown, makes his brows bunch together as he stares down at you. More wind blows through, the beginnings of snowy flurries fluttering through the air and makes you shiver, your sweater doing little to protect you from the incoming storm.

"You should've brought your own jacket out here," Sirius huffs, pointedly derailing the conversation as he shrugs off his own dark leather to drape it over your shoulders.

"I only had time to grab one," you murmur in response as you let him manhandle you into his jacket, the weight of it settling heavily on yout shoulders as you curl your hands into the too-long sleeves.

"What's that thing you always say?" Sirius mumbles as he smooths his hands down your arms, his fingers cold against the fabric. "Something about putting your own oxygen mask on first?"

"Aw," you tease, turning to lean against the railing again and bump your shoulder against him. "But then how would I get you to look after me, huh?"

It's a joke, of course - Sirius knows it's a joke, recognizes the quip in your words. But he can't help himself. He grabs onto your shoulders gently and spins you around to face him once more, his face sombre and lips pressed together as he tilts his head down to look you in the eye. 

"I'll always look after you," he says sternly. "You know that, right? Always, I - you deserve that much, you know? You deserve to have someone find you out in the cold and give you a jacket."

There's a strange quality in your returning smile as you listen to him speak and Sirius, somewhere distant and safe, gets the feeling that you know something that he doesn't.

"I know you do," you say sweetly when he's done his rambling, and the words make a frown tug further on his face as he shakes your shoulders ever so gently.

"Not me," he clarifies sternly. "You - you deserve it. We're talking about you." But then there's that smile from you again, sweet and loving and shining up at him like he's the only warmth you need. It makes him stumble, just a bit, makes him lose his footing as he looks down at you in his jacket, the necklace he gave you last year shining against your neck and the hickey that he'd given you yesterday just barely hidden under your hair.

He lets go of you - he can't help it. He lets go of you and takes a step back to cross his arms over his chest, instead, like he's curling into himself somehow.

"What do you think?" you muse quietly. "Do I look like you?" Sirius thinks, for a queasy sort of moment, that you sort of do. 

"No," he says shortly, the irritation in his voice so surface-level and fake that you grin a bit. "You look like you."

"Well," you say easily as you rock back on your heels a bit and your grin widens. "I'll take that, I suppose."

"You should," he quips back, shivering as the wind blows through and a golden warmth filters onto the two of you as someone turns on another light inside. "What a thing to be, hm?"

"Aw," you tease, but you lean up on your toes and grip onto Sirius's shoulders as you tilt your head to look at him. "You love me, huh?"

"Against my better judgement, yes," Sirius murmurs back, smoothing a hand over your lower back as he leans down to press his lips against yours. It's familiar by now, the feeling of you pressed against him. He knows the shape of you and the feel of your warmth radiating into him. He knows the way that your lips move against his and the way you smile into the kiss. He knows the way that this love feels, he realizes, and it makes him tangle a hand into your hair and tug ever so gently as he nips at your lower lip.

"The others will start to feel left out if we stay out here for too long," you murmur quietly, your lips brushing against Sirius's as he chases after you.

"Just a few more minutes."

"You'll also freeze to death," you point out. That makes him laugh, makes him tilt his head back and look up at the stars and feel how close they are between the two of you. You smooth a hand over his chest as he looks up, placing your palm against his shirt to feel the steady thump of his heart under his skin. And how odd, you think, to feel it beat like that for you. 

"Thanks, sweet thing," Sirius says eventually, his voice quiet as he moves slowly to look down at you once more.

"For what?" you ask simply. The kiss that he presses against your nose is so gentle you almost don't feel it. But you always feel Sirius. You always know where he is.

"For coming out into the cold for me," he says quietly, and if his voice wavers and cracks, you take no notice. "For - for bringing me something warm."

"It's a nice jacket," you respond easily, but your fingers thump against his chest as you echo the beating rhythm of his heart. "It deserves to be worn."

"Yea," Sirius sighs, his shoulders, he finds, lifting a bit with a lightness that's so difficult to find in the dark. "It is a nice jacket."

[dilatorywriting]

59 Leona, it'd take a lot for him to admit but he would say it eventually. (Also I know you'd recognize me but I'm shy, so anon it is)

Gender Neutral Reader x Leona Kingscholar Word Count: 1.5k

Prompt 59: "People like me aren’t supposed to have someone like you, I think fate was being harsh on you."

[EVENT MASTERLIST]

You are nice, and you are stupid. And those things aren’t mutually exclusive.

Sometimes you’re nice because you’re stupid, and sometimes you do stupid things because you’re too nice for your own stupid, stupid good. And it drives Leona half insane.

Which it shouldn’t, because nice, stupid people like you are just as annoying as his brother. Goody-two-shoes with buttoned vests and sparkly, star-shaped stickers on their term papers.

“Did you remember your homework?”

Leona flicked his tail in your face and you scrunched your nose over your notebook.

“Well?”

“Of course I remembered,” he scoffed, lazing back against the roots of one of his favorite trees. This spot used to be so much quieter, so much more peaceful, before you decided to trail after him like a duck quacking for its mother.

“Did you do the homework?” you clarified, and Leona rolled his eyes.

You sighed and starting ruffling around in your bookbag. “I brought a spare copy of the worksheet. You’re going to drive Ruggie insane, y’know. If he winds up stuck with you for another year because you failed for not turning in assignments.”

“Yeah. Sure. Another three-hundred-and-sixty-five days to rifle through my wallet. Worst news of his life.”

You huffed good naturedly and handed him the sheet of crisp, white copy paper and a pen. “Get to work, Kingscholar.”

“Oh?” he drawled, closing his eyes and settling back, loose limbed and all long, lean leisure, against the tree trunk. Clearly ready for an afternoon snooze. “Make me.”

You sighed again and reached over to flick your own well-used pen against his ear. It twitched under your fingers—soft, and tufted. The finest of the pale, tan fur brushing up against your fingertips. “Fine. Be that way. See if I bring you lunch tomorrow.”

“You will,” he scoffed.

“Yeah,” you sighed, sounding resigned and foolishly fond. “I probably will.”

See? Stupid. So easy to manipulate. So willing to let yourself be squashed under his clawed thumb. It was a wonder you’d managed to survive in this school at all. Nevertheless by clinging onto the coattails of someone like him. He’d never made anyone’s existence easier a day in his life, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now, just because you were too soft-hearted and slow to see a looming predator for what it was.

“Just give me that stupid fucking paper,” he snapped, sitting upright and swatting away your poking pen with a sneer. You laughed into your palms like a secret—bright, and merry, and dumb as a fucking rock.

“Whatever you say, Leona.”

.

.

You’d handled his Overblot with a strange sort of aplomb that at first Leona had attributed to perhaps a lingering, hidden confidence that he’d just never bothered to unearth. You were just some herbivore, and even the littlest rabbits could bite back when you put them in a corner. But then he’d come to the decision that that easy conviction was just another symptom of your rampant stupidity.

“I know you guys don’t want to hurt me, or any of us. Not really,” you shrugged around a wad of cotton—the blood dripping from your nose slowly drying up to a tacky, sticky dribble. Leona gaped at you outright.

That was your grand explanation. For why you’d been so eager to charge forward when he’d collapsed in a pool of inky nightmares and self-loathing. And the very same reason apparently thatyou’d felt so comfortable rushing forward to treat Azul Ashengrotto’s blubbering, hysterical, breakdown with the same urgency.

“That octo-prick would have ripped you in half,” he sneered, fingers twitching a nervous rhythm against his palms as he watched the nurse wrap another layer or bandages around your head.

You shrugged. “Not on purpose.”

You were going to give him an aneurism.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he snarled, ignoring the horrible, twisty thing curling like bile through his chest. “And I’m not going to bother paying for some self-sacrificing idiot’s funeral.”

Another shrug.

“That’s alright,” you hummed, a soft sort of crooked smile on your mouth. “Would’ve been a waste of money anyways.”

Leona didn’t talk to you for a week after that. Surely because your stupidity had reached such a fever pitch that it was no doubt contagious, and he needed to protect his far superior and more valuable brain. Not because the image of you smiling and nodding along to his declarations that he wouldn’t put the effort into mourning your death had soured something so deep in his gut that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to scrape it out.

.

.

When he received a letter from home asking him to return for some shitty coronation nonsense for his equally shitty brother, Leona had debated just skipping it outright. Who was going to stop him? You?

Well. Yes, apparently.

“It sounds important,” you hummed, peering over his shoulder at the neat, formal scrawl of the summons. “You should go.”

He snorted. “I don’t want to be there, they don’t want me to be there. What’s the point.”

You frowned, brow crinkling in the middle.

“Well, that’s not true,” you said, perplexed. “They wouldn’t write to you if that was the case.”

Leona snorted, eyes darting away to glare bitterly off into the corner. “Not like they have a choice.”

“Well then you don’t have a choice either,” you argued, firm. “I’ll go with you. See? It says you can have a plus one. You can camp out in your fancy, princey, bedroom. And I can siphon you snacks from the fancy, princey hors d'oeuvres tables. That way we both win. You get to be a reclusive asshole and rub the fact that that you still went in everyone’s faces, and I can get access to some tasty, royal food that I’ll probably never be able to afford again for the rest of my life.”

“Should’ve known you’d be like Ruggie—only using me for the free food,” he sighed, melodramatic and obviously put on.

“Well, also because I thought you could use the emotional support,” you added, a touch too soft and far too genuine. “But I didn’t think you wanted to hear that bit.”

“You’re right,” he scoffed, turning onto his side to hide the strange, miserable heat pricking at his skin. “Don’t ever say corny shit like that again.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” you grinned, flicking at his ear, and Leona added another mental tab to his never-ending list of reasons that you were really far too brainless to keep functioning at all.

.

.

You were nice, and you were stupid. And Seven, he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“My brother hasn’t ever brought someone to one of these events before,” Falena had said, to your face. Idiot to idiot communication.  

“I didn’t give him much of an option,” you’d chirped, perfectly pleasant. “I don’t think he wants me anywhere near here, to be fair. Or around him in general. But I’m like a cockroach. Can’t get rid of me.”

And Falena had laughed. Because he was terrible. And said, “I’m sure he must care about you very much, little cockroach.”

And then because you were more terrible, you laughed back and said very assuredly, “Oh, not at all.”

Which was—was—

“Do you really think that?” he snapped, once the two of you were alone. And you blinked back at him with wide, owlish eyes.

“Think what?”

Think at all,he wanted to sneer, but just glared silently and bitterly into the middle distance—fighting the nonsensical, irritated swishing of his tail.

But you just kept staring at him. Like he was the moron here. Which was unacceptable.

“Look,” he frowned, sharp and miserable. “I get it. People like me aren’t supposed to have someone like you. Whatever gods exist out there were playing a shitty fucking joke on you when they dropped you in my lap. But you’re stuck with me. So stop—” he bit out, fighting that awful, twisty thing in his gut that never seemed to fully go away. “Stop talking like I can’t stand you.”

“…oh,” you mumbled, whisper quiet—that wide, startled gaze flicking away in embarrassment. “Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoed, sharp, and you snorted a laugh that seemed to surprise even you.

“You’re stuck with me too then, y’know,” you said after a long moment. “Even when I make you grumpy.”

“You don’t make me grumpy. I am grumpy. You make me—” he cut off quick, eyes darting away petulantly and an absolutely unfair heat rising along his cheekbones.  

“Itchy,” you piped in, and he gaped at you in shock.

“What?”

“You know,” you shrugged, awkward, and reached up to wiggle your fingers. “Cockroach. Many legs. Squirming. Itchy.”

“Never say any of those words again.”

You laughed into your palm—inelegant and a touch too loud. Leona felt his lips quirk.

“Thank you,” you said after a moment, once your giggles were a bit more under control. And leaned forward quick as a whip to press a nervous peck against his cheek. “For being kind to me.”

Kind.

Leona reached up to press a hand against the too-warm skin with a terrible, unfamiliar sensation in his head not unlike the fuzzy, white drone of TV static. And a horrible thought managed to filter its way through the floating, buzzing sensation curling through the whole of him.

Oh, fuck. It is contagious.

.

.

[locketsvault]

「 CUDDLING WITH BSD MEN PT 3/4 」

pairings: fyodor x reader ፥ nikolai x reader ፥ sigma x reader ፥ poe x reader

tags: gender neutral reader, no agab mentioned, first person, fluff, cuddling/phyiscal affection

warnings: curse words, I’m sorry I had to curse the doa is cracked

other parts: ada ᨒ port mafia ᨒ doa + the guild ᨒ the hunting dogs

a/n: this is the most cracked part yet

// fyodor dostoevsky ⌇˚.༄

⮑ … you are crazy for cuddling him, truly.

⮑ Our dear master manipulator, how you trust him enough to let him that close I do not know how. What confuses me even more, how did you get him to trust you? Anyways— somehow you managed it, and it’s now time for some cuddle headcanons with Fyodor.

⮑ His lap is your throne. He spends pretty much all of his time in front of his monitors, so it’s not uncommon for one of the other doa members to walk in and find you curled up on it. As long as you don’t distract him, he will allow you to stay and do as you please. Sometimes he’ll wrap an arm around your waist.

⮑ He actually doesn’t mind pda, he doesn’t see you as a weakness to himself and trusts that you’ll be taken care of and safe, if not by him then by the others. I think having an arm or hand on your waist is common with him when you two are out. He will make it clear to anyone who stares at you too long that you’re his.

⮑ He’s big spoon always, he will never give up control even with something as small as cuddling. Honestly you’re lucky he will cuddle you at all. He’s not fond of touching much. Seriously the fact you touch him without knowing his ability, you’re absolutely insane. His cuddles I feel like are cold. Oh, and if you annoy him he will kick you off his lap.

⮑ 4/10, when he allows you in his lap and you behave you find that it’s actually quite nice. Good luck though.

// nikolai gogol ⌇˚.༄

⮑ I find you crazy for cuddling him as well but for a completely different reason.

⮑ With Fyodor you’re insane because he’s dangerous as hell, and yes Nikolai is too, but I find you crazy for cuddling him because he’s an unpredictable crazy clown. He is the definition of “never let them know your next move”. It’s never safe cuddling him. You never know when he will pull a prank—.

⮑ He will pull shit out of his cloak during cuddle sessions or pull you through. He will come up behind you, hug you, and suddenly you’re teleported to a pool full of rubber ducks. And that’s on the bright side.

⮑ All jokes aside, it scares me to say he’s actually good at cuddling. He’s very attentive, he knows how to read you. Like Dazai, his cuddles feel too secure at time. He knows when to be serious with cuddles, and when he can be unhinged. He’s pretty good at behaving according to what you can handle.

⮑ He’s very comfortable to cuddle, and he loves when you rest your head over his heart. He’s another big spoon for sure, another one who doesn’t like being out of control. Except for him it’s more that it just doesn’t feel comfortable or right. He also loves pda, and he loves messing with you in public. He could care less if people are staring.

⮑ 6/10, you better hope he’s more in an attentive mood than wanting to torment you.

// sigma ⌇˚.༄

⮑ He demands cuddles every second of every day. Give them to, him or else.

⮑ Our precious three year old. I promise you he has never been cuddled a day in his life. Like pretty much every aspect of your relationship, cuddles are a new thing that he has to learn. Once he learns though he adores it. It’s his main form of comfort. More often enough he comes home from work and collapses in your arms.

⮑ Due to how stressed out this poor boy is and how he pretty much never catches a break, he’s almost always the little spoon. It’s either a nervous breakdown or you hold him. How can you complain though he’s so precious. Plus he has pretty and soft hair to play with.

⮑ When he is the big spoon he always holds you in his arms protectively, terrified that if he lets go he will lose you. He often will place a hand over your head as he holds you. If you fall asleep in his arms he will sit there wondering how he got so lucky with you. He loves spooning you because again, you’re safe in his arms.

⮑ He loves when you visit him and sit in his lap, it makes working so much easier for him. He’s very shy with pda but if you love it he will do his best. He gets so flustered when people walk into his office and you’re in his arms, it’s actually so precious.

⮑ I could go on and on about him and his adventures of cuddling tbh.

⮑ 10/10, he’s so sweet and cute and does his absolute best for you.

// edgar allan poe ⌇˚.༄

⮑ Oh my gosh he’s so easy to fluster I can’t. And Karl?

⮑ No literally it takes nothing to make him flustered he’s so shy. 90% of the time you have to take charge when it comes to initiating physical contact. He second guesses himself and worries he might be too much. So he allows you to initiate it. Yet he panics every time. Crawl into his lap? Tomato.

⮑ Karl constantly crashes your cuddle sessions, which is probably a good thing or things might turn… nsfw. It’s actually quite cute though, Poe will be writing a book, you’ll sit in his lap, and Karl will sit in yours. Honestly you get just as much cuddles from the raccoon as you do your bf, something he gets jealous about lol.

⮑ Believe it or not he’s actually mostly big spoon. Similarly to Sigma, it comforts and reassures him to be big spoon. Though he genuinely doesn’t mind being little spoon, especially if you love being big spoon.

⮑ Your most common cuddle position, besides sitting in his lap when he writes, is either you holding him while he writes, or facing each other in bed holding each other. It’s easy to talk to each other softly and give gentle kisses.

⮑ 9/10, sometimes having to constantly initiate it can get a bit frustrating.

main hub ✦ masterlist ✦ to do list

[thebowieconstricker]

Hello! I saw you wanted requests for Lucifer, and I would love any sort of angst where Lucifer ends up comforting the reader, like maybe something happened to the reader, or the reader is just really stressed and just breaks down

Ease My Mind

(Lucifer Morningstar x reader)

masterlist link

AN: To this request: yes yes yes yes YES I just KNOW that he gives the best hugs and is so ready to comfort the people he loves. For this fic, I decided the angst is a little of everything, job struggles, moral dilemmas, and some self-doubt, so I hope I delivered. This isn’t proofread so please alert me to any errors! Thank you for your request! <333

Summary: You have a bad day at work and it triggers a breakdown. Luckily, your big bad boyfriend is here to help.

Tags: Gender neutral reader, could be read as platonic if you reeeeally squint but it’s implied romantic, heavy on the angst, a dash of fluff, Lucifer is trying his best, you guys are precious.

Warnings: Reader is afraid they’re being used by the people around them and they have lots of thoughts about being useless and others not liking them.

Also, the title is inspired by the song “Ease My Mind” by Ben Platt, go listen to it! Enjoy ya heathens!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve been used by others for your entire life.

And now you were stuck in that same cycle in death.

As a young, naive, alive-person, you were desperate for some one to love you. Growing up in an environment where compassion was scare, you decided that the only way to get people to notice you was by offering to help them in some way. A favor, a ride, somewhere to crash, and, for one specific person, a place to hide the bodies. In life, you had gotten so deep into your desire to please others that you had latched onto the first person to give you the time of day. Unfortunately for you, that individual happened to have a thing for serial killing.

Looking back on it now as you miserably walked back to the hotel, tears threatening to fall down your face, you couldn’t think about anything other than how stupid and useless you were. It was your fault that they were found out, your fault that the innocents were dead in the first place, your fault you were stuck in hell and that fucker was still out there.

How much time had passed on Earth? How many more had they killed?

On most days, you could compartmentalize, putting the bad thoughts in a little box and shoving it in the back of your brain, but work had broken you today. You worked for the Vees, specifically Velvette, and it was no secret how they overworked and abused their staff. You were stuck picking up Velvette’s leftover energy drinks for as long as she had control of your soul.

And yet. You thought maybe someday, someday you might make a connection. You might impress her, or surprise her, or something, and maybe she would give you a break.

But no. Today you had been an hour late for the first time and Velvette had screeched at you, calling out all of your flaws and insecurities and bringing all of the horrible memories that you had oh-so-carefully stowed away to light. But you held back tears and did your fucking job, the emotions boiling all day and the hectic office space doing nothing to calm it.

You had needed this cry for a long time, and now there was no stopping it.

Walking along the brimstone pathways, you finally made your way to the rickety Hazbin Hotel. Its incomprehensible height only worsened your now growing headache as you walked up to the doors, grabbing the handles and swinging the heavy iron frame and red-stained glass open.

You immediately started towards your room, but you were blocked by the obnoxiously cheery Princess of Hell herself, Charlie.

Charlie’s not obnoxious, you’re so vile for thinking that.

Shit, the thoughts were getting worse and you could not do this right now.

Charlie, oblivious to your mood, smiled brightly. “There you are! How was work? I’ve got someone here who’s been waiting-“

You shoved past her, bumping her harshly.

“Not in the mood.”

Charlie frowned in confusion behind you.

“But, wait, hey-“ You ignored her pleas and- ah shit, now Angel’s in front of you.

“Hey, babe, you might wanna hang around for a sec-“

You shut your eyes tightly and moved your hands towards his chest, your fight or flight kicking in as you pushed him.

“ANGEL, leave me alone.”

Why would you yell at Angel like that? He’s just being nice.

Shut up shut up SHUT UP

Everything was only getting worse. You bolted to the grand staircase and raced up the steps. As you sped down the seemingly infinite hallways, the tears you had been fighting back for the last millennia finally fell. With a choked sob, you finally spotted your bedroom and lurched for the doorknob, swinging the door open and slamming it behind you as you bursted into your room. You ran to your bed and grabbed a pillow, hugging it tightly as you loudly cried.

Charlie only keeps you here because she needs the guests, you know. She hates you. They all hate you. They wish you weren’t here. You’re just lying there, crying, why would they want you?

The hateful thoughts were all you could hear in your mind. As you pulled your knees to your arms holding your pillow, you wanted nothing more than to disappear. To just pop out of existence and finally be free of the burden of yourself.

Then, suddenly, three knocks at the door.

“GO AWAY.” You screamed, throat on fire from your sobbing.

A voice came from outside. A smooth, relaxed, kind male voice.

“It’s me, hon.”

You froze, terrified. Quickly you climbed to the floor on the left side of your bed, blocking your body from the view of the door. You took several deep breaths, trying to steady your nerves.

“Come in.” You said shakily.

You heard the door creek open, then footsteps.

“Where ya hiding these days?” He awkwardly chuckled, clearly trying to lighten up the mood you were in.

“Just- stay over there.” You were still holding your pillow, and you gave it an extra squeeze.

“I’m a mess right now.” You sniffled.

He paused, like he was thinking. “Well, if that’s what you want, but I hope you know by now that I’m always happy to see you. Even when you’re a mess.”

You felt the bed shift. He was sitting on the opposite side.

Like a child looking for a secret, you turned around to look at the back of his head. His hat was gone, probably left downstairs, and all you saw was his sweep of blond hair.

He made a ‘hm’ sound. “Bad day?”

You nodded. Then, realizing he couldn’t see you. “Y-yeah.”

You watched him nod. “I’m sorry about that.” He fiddled with his cane, his hands tightening and loosening around it. “Would you… like to talk about it?”

You paused.

Lucifer had been a confidant of yours since you first arrived in Hell. He was the one to tell you what was going on right after you died, calming you down and offering you a place to stay. Sure, you didn’t know that he was literally the Devil, but everything about him made you feel at peace. Like you could deal with the hand you were dealt.

Secretly, though, you were waiting.

Waiting for the moment when he would reveal that he only kept you around because he needed you to do something for him.

No one was that kind, or caring, or wonderful.

He wants something from you. Why else would he keep coming back?

You had yet to answer his question. Lucifer sighed.

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I just want you to know that I’m here for you, okay?”

The voices were still wringing in your head, you were still crying, and you felt pathetic.

“I- I don’t- fuck, would you please stop acting like you care?” You knew your words were harsh but they were begging to be said.

His posture straightened in surprise.

“I do care! What makes you think I don’t care?” He sounded hurt.

Nice going, you hurt his feelings.

You bent forward, hands covering your face in frustration. A fresh wave of tears rises through your body and you loudly cried out, too scared and angry and sad to hide it anymore.

“Woah, woah, hey, it’s okay, hon.” Lucifer’s voice was nearing your form on the ground, and he was quickly at your side. You could feel his presence beside you.

He sighed in exhaustion. “Listen, I’m not- I’m not the greatest at this, but I’m gonna ask so I don’t upset you. Do you want a hug? Or a hand on your shoulder-“

Your arms were wrapped around him before he could finish his question, clinging to his waist and biting your face in his neck.

“WOAH there- well hey, sweetheart, there you are.” You could hear him smiling as he gently brought his hand to rub your back.

“I’m sorry. I- I’ve just had a shitty day at work and I’m worried about a lot of things and- I don’t want to take it out on you.” You were shaking, but he held you steadily.

“What kinda things are worrying you?” He asked.

And so you told him. In the comfort of his embrace you were able to somewhat coherently explain all the things that had been freaking you out. Velvette’s torture at work, your own moral dilemmas about your life on Earth, and you were just getting into your feelings about others using you when you felt Lucifer’s breath hitch.

He leaned away from you to look you in the eyes and gently put a finger to your chin.

“Honey, I want you to know that I know for a fact that the people here really care about you. Not because you’re an extra pair of hands, but because you’re you. You’re wonderful to be around. People like you.”

He looked at you with a warm smile and leaned towards you, giving you a small kiss on the forehead.

“I like you. I care about you because you’re worth caring about.”

You stared at him in awe, your mind finally at ease after such a chaotic day. Smiling, you leaned back into him to rest your head on his chest.

“Thank you, Luci.” You reached out and took one of his hands, holding it tightly in an effort to show him how grateful you truly were for his words of assurance.

He tightened his fingers around yours and grinned down at you.

“Always, love. Now, let’s get you on the bed, okay?”

You nodded and he gracefully picked you up, gently placing you on the bed. With a snap, you were in comfortable clothing with a warm blanket around you and plenty of soft pillows.

“You want me to hang out for a bit?” He looked at you through half-lidded eyes, clearly sleepy.

“If you don’t have anything else going on…” You offered, already half dozing off.

“Even if I did, I would love nothing more.” With an affectionate grin he curled up beside you, and you immediately went to lay your head back on his chest. As you drifted away, listening to the King of Hell’s heartbeat, you took a deep breath.

He was right. Things were gonna be okay.

You had friends.

You were loved.

[ctheathy]

Hello, I hope you have a nice day! , I would like to request a headcanons of yandere nine x reader being kidnapped by doctor eggman

Yandere Nine w/ Darling who got kidnapped by Robotnik

Nine x Reader

Yandere Headcanons

Short Concept

Author's note: You, my dear reader, are all out for the drama and I'm here for it~!

Nine/Reader [Romantic Tendencies]

[Gender-neutral Darling|Female Darling|Male Darling]

Potential ⚠️TWs⚠️ :

Possessiveness • Nine is so traumatized omfg- • Eventual PTSD • Age regression • Overprotective behaviour • Poor mental state • Paranoia • Emotional dependency • Trust Issues • Insomnia • Violence

Pfft. If Nine wasn't already considered severely unhinged before, he most certainly will be right now. Oh how much terror the fox would feel in the pits of his stomach, the horror in his eyes, the helplessness in his heart. He most certainly would have never allowed this to even remotely come forward if he were the one to be in your presence. But... he wasn't. The whole team would have felt this immense sense of hesitance and dread to even tell him about it, having noticed his attachment and emotional bond towards you... and when the words slip from Sonic's mouth, not ready to test the nine-tailed foxes’ impatience, he cracks. And not just any regular burst of anger, he has a complete mental breakdown.

Nine will be nothing less than a ball of angst and fright at this point, something which he desperately tried to cover up with an infuriated facade, despite his evident worries from your abduction. But none of that would matter in the end, because he'd behave completely berserk one way or another. He doesn't dare rest or waste time for that matter until he can hold you in his arms again. Likely as soon as they reach The Chaos Council to try and bring you back... Nine would not hold himself back, still taken over by his violent meltdown. Instead of trying to avoid the Council's eyes and enemies that are in the way, maintaining a low profile as he'd say, he releases all of that pent up malice.

Though he'd leave many of the his robotic opponents onto the grounds ...torn to scraps by the fierce abilities of his mechanical tails, Nine would be surprisingly merciful to any living mobian for the sake of getting answers on where you're being held hostage. Because remember; although venting out some of his frustrations during the fight was equal to his hostility towards those who just so happened to be in his way, this mission is not and never will be about assassinating every enemy he comes across for the sake of just hurting them. It's all just to release you from The Chaos Council's grasp, take you back to his workshop where you rightfully belong ...bring you back to him. An objective and promise he will never allow himself to forget ever again after seeing your frightened face and body.

Even after he does get you back to the team, and he will no matter the costs or sacrifices he has to offer. But although you're back home, safe.... His paranoia will continue to linger and remain at its highest. Though the wounds you obtained through your abduction will eventually heal, his trauma of your kidnapping won't for a very long time. The side affects seemingly starts off small through your perspective, and you probably wouldn't even know how much it deep down affected him. Especially as the amber fox just seems to want to stick closeby you, seeking for comforting reassurance and some guidance to get himself back on the right track, which you more than understand and accept with open arms.

But what if I told you that he just got much, ...much more insane and delusional than you may think after you got taken away like that. It was like a newborn kitten being taken away from its mother right after birth, one whom he'd desperately cry out to and crawl after. To Nine, it wasn't just the idea of losing that happiness of having somebody to care about, but this also re-activated his defense mechanism to his past trauma.

Kill or be killed.

Nine's whole mentality practically returns to that of his younger self, almost similar to an age regression... You'd probably also notice the changes in demeanor, how he's practically almost behaving like a juvenile again. Decisions are made more so out of instinct rather than rational, logical thoughts. Which, to you, is something completely foreign and out of character for Nine.

His overprotective impulses would kick in at full force and he'd be quicker to lash out, along with his pessimistic mentality and stress being multiplied in the process, which is something his already poor mental state is absolutely not emotionally capable of handling. Even with you just not being in his eyesight can leave Nine with severe anxiety. His emotions are quicker to flow over, resulting in either anger outbursts or crying... And he practically treats you as if you were actively dying from a disease, constantly thinking of and mentioning the “what ifs”.

There would be many restless nights where he wakes up in the middle of the night, teary-eyed after a dream vision or isn't even capable of drifting off into a slumber at all. The simple thought of you ending up hurt and scarred while he wasn't there to protect you keeps his nerves excessive and senses on constant high alert. Even just the consideration in itself can leave him in a condition of hysteria for the next half hour, unable to calm himself down. These sudden exchanges of panic making you realise just how inconsistent it is, as Nine was usually known as collected, self-assured... in control of the situation. Something you'd consider the other side of the coin of how he was operating at this very moment. A complete and sudden reverse swap in his very identity.

Making you pray... that this was a crutch you could hopefully help him grow out of

[skeletonh0e]

yay you do write for males! That’s awesome :) most of the time the x reader girlies only write for girls (which is totally fair it’s not like it’s easy and stuff ya know- cause of the lack of…well let’s just say…haha penis.)

could I request the skeleton huzz’s reaction to an SO that died in lien of duty? We need a significant amount of angst on this blog. There is a lack for sadness

gender neutral

As I said I mainly struggle with the nsfw element cuz bro

What even are dicks

But anyway, guess it is high time for some angst ain't it? For this ask I went with the reader being a part of the royal guard and a monster but the exact species isn't stated

Tw: Unhealthy coping mechanisms (Fell, Horror, Lust & Fresh), Revenge (Horror & Fresh), and a general one for grief / mental breakdowns

The boys cope with lost

Classic Sans:

Man full blown shuts down

Boy does not cope with emotions well, especially with such extremely negative emotions at that. So for the past few days man just straight up disappears

He keeps contact with Papyrus but no one else sees Sans for awhile and it's concerning

He is not the type to have loud dramatic break downs but tears are shed, he weeps silently and in ragged breaths. And he's just....nearly completely unresponsive otherwise

It's a good thing Pap is there, man probably wouldn't even be eating otherwise

He'll pull himself up eventually, he does later do the traditional ritual of sprinkling your dust on your favorite items and keeping any keep sakes from your relationship though doesn't make any type of big deal about it in the sense it's not public

Bro keeps his mourning private

Once he's out and moving again he'll be the same but noticeably more somber, quiet and generally somber.

Especially anytime he passes some of the places you two used to hang out a lot at

I like to think he does have a conversation with Undyne later, talking about what happened and how you're both dealing with it. It's a bittersweet moment for the two of them, with Undyne assuring him that your death is not in vain and your memory will always live on

The captain of the royal guard also grieves for you

He'll move on, he'll be fine, he'll accept what happened and he'll cope if not for his brother's sake alone, but anytime your death is a sore spot and there's not a day that goes by when he doesn't miss you

Underswap Sans:

The shell shock is apparent

The moment Alphys hands him your pile of dust and explains what happens, he is utterly shook to his core

And then....he laughs....?

Blue: "Hahaha ha! okay....this is a really messed up joke? did my brother put you up to this? didn't know he could be so mean! Y/N! my beloved? come out! you know better than to scare me like this!"

But you don't come out, Alphys doesn't laugh, his brother just looks....disheartened

He's clinging onto denial so hard but the evidence to the countary is staring him right in the face

And then he starts to cry, borderline break down before he let's out broken messy sobs

Papyrus scoops him up and takes him home, deciding to stay beside him for the rest of the day

He's genuinely lost at what to do, what can he do from here, this wasn't supposed to happen, how can it happen?

Depression hits him hard and he's not really up for much of anything, lays around clinging onto your things and just cries for the next couple of days

He'll piece himself back together slowly with the help of Papyrus, probably gets back to own habits slowly but....

Does he even want to join the royal guard anymore? All it does is remind him of you now and well....

Maybe doesn't abandon the dream entirely but doesn't seem up to the task much

For being someone so magnificent he wasn't able to help you, to save you, would you be alive if he was actually good enough?

Maybe he's not such a magnificent hero after all, but he'll try to become one. For you. Because that's what you deserved.

Underfell Sans:

His default reaction is anger and boo howdy does it come through here

Undyne arrives, tells him and he's silent for a solid minute. And then he's PISSED

He explodes at her, the fuck do you mean his partner is dead!? What kind of captain is she!? Talks about how great she is and then let's one of her best soldiers die!? Where the fuck was she!?

The verbal lashing is brutal and frankly hard to watch

Undyne: "I did everything I could!"

Red: "well it clearly wasn't good was it!?"

It looks like a fight might break down but he eventually just storms off, bitter and angry still. And he's not just angry at Undyne he's angry at you for staying in such a risky job and not protecting yourself better, he's angry at whoever fucking killed you, he's angry at himself for not being there, he's just....angry

And then he's sad.

He'll cry behind closed doors then and only then, otherwise he's doing everything in his power to make sure no one knows his suffering

Grumpier and snapper than usual, especially if anyone dares to bring up your name around him

He is....drinking a lot, A LOT more than usual and if it weren't for his brother he might be dead of alcohol poisoning himself. It's bad. And it stays that way for awhile.

Papyrus and the many residents of Snowdin genuinely fear he won't recover or ever quit be the same again, Papyrus even offers that the two of them avenge you somehow hoping to get him back to normal somehow but....he doesn't even humor the idea

It won't bring you back....what's the point?

Horrortale Sans:

Hoo boy

You being a part of the royal guard had always been a point of contention in your relationship but one that was manageable, and he doesn't really like Queen Undyne for several reasons. The moment he heard you were dead?

There was no question about it, something in that man snapped, whoever is responsible is dead and that in that mind that isn't just whoever killed you but all the royal guard then Undyne herself

He's never been that mentally stable, he doesn't have a lot of things that bring him joy anymore, but you managed to do so in this god forsaken place and he is out for blood. No one can talk him out of it, not even his brother, maybe you could have but

You aren't here anymore are you?

Even if he dies or gets hurt in the battle he really does not care, he went completely feral and honestly he's hurting so much....joining you in death does sound a bit appealing....

He lives though, now just having a pile of dust to his name....

He didn't even get to say good bye.

Everyone stays wary of him for awhile, he seems almost catatonic or zombie like, being around but not entirely there in a sense

He's quick to kill people more than usual, snappier, less patient and has even been seen violently slamming his head against the wall at certain times

Constantly flip flopping between "it should have been me" or "we should have never got together" or even just going "nah i'm fine i even forgot who i was upset about" when it's the furthermost thing from the truth

Man will never truly recover and it's something everyone comes to learn

Underlust Sans:

I haven't finished my epic lore post for how I write his universe but TLDR for rn, the royal guard does exist and it's mostly normal! Hell, he frequently services them and it was probably how you two met

He loved boasting about how his partner was part of such a cool job and loved being eye candy on your arm while you walked around in your armor

Yeah, it's all fun and games until you don't arrive home one night....he already gets a bad feeling but once there's a knock on the door and it's just Undyne there.....oh no

Tries not to cry, tries to keep it together but before he knows it there's runny mascara running down his face and he quickly turns into an emotional mess

This can't be happening, it can't be happening, it isn't happening, it's a bad dream and he'll wake up in your arms then you'll both make some dumb jokes

He does cry himself to sleep, he does wake up, but you're not there

He tries to just carry on per usual, he does his job, he does his typical stuff but it's painfully clear he's barely holding it together

While working with a client, they happened to call him the same nickname you frequently used and he cannot stop himself from breaking down in front of them

He is....excused and given some time off, even if he doesn't want it

Definitely getting drunk as well as....trying some other substances, anything to get his mind off what happened...thankfully doesn't get hooked, Papyrus intervenes before it can get that far but fuck man

This is why he rarely does romantic shit with anyone, it always ends bad, always does and now....

He's frequently found hugging your pillow, wearing your clothes, and clinging to what little he has left of you like a sad cat. Desperately sniffing them for even the faintest hint of your scent

He just wants you back

Fresh Sans:

You're.....gone?

Fresh has always had a weird relationship to death, he fears it and does anything to survive....but like...he's never been close enough to anyone to consider how it'll happen to others or if he did he never cared about them

You though? He cared about you, really cared about you and you're gone. He's never experienced this level of grief before

He's just frozen for a bit, looking at a pile of your dust and the Undyne from your universe doesn't know how to respond much as Fresh just stands there, she gently gos to place a hand on his shoulder then he not only grabs it but proceeds to violently twist her arm

"w h y d i d y o u l e t t h i s h a p p e n ?"

It's easy to forget that underneath all that silliness Fresh is a terrifying creature capable of doing some fucked up things, but rest assured no one in your world forgot that today

He laid that entire universe to ruin, giving Error a good run for his money, man went completely fucking insane. Laughing, crying, screaming and doing shit straight of a nightmare, nothing is left.

Some of the other Sanses tried to stop him but there was barely anything they could do, they just barely managed to awkwardly brag him away once he's done raging and he breaks down finally

At the end....he just....cries....

He's not seen for awhile and when he is seen, he's....normal? Acting like nothing happened and just doesn't acknowledge when your name is said

He's fine :)

Grief is tearing him apart from the inside but he just lives in a state of deliberate ignorance, pretending to forget

But he remembers everything

[mscherub]

Self Care is Important, Spudling (Vil Schoenheit x Reader)

Gender neutral reader, referred to as Y/N, Prefect, Potato, or Spudling (a lot with Vil, lol)

Warnings!:

Stressed Reader

Passing out

Lack of self care; Reader

Small mental breakdown; Reader

Word Count:

Approximately 2.58k

Of course- of course Crowley had to assign you maintenance work on campus...again. I mean was this guy serious? Fixing up some architecture, whether that be painting or patching up small holes, then you had to fix up the flower beds, make them look presentable and pretty! Better points for the college, Crowley says. Sadly, however, you’re not done yet, because you have to go help out with a few clubs and observe them since you haven’t, and well, kind of can’t join one yourself, this again was to earn your keep as a student, Crowley says. Then of course, there’s the never ending supply of homework from Professor Trein and Crewel, which you have still yet to do since you’ve been so choked up with everything else Crowley dumps onto you on a daily basis. All for you to earn your keep in Ramshackle, all for you to earn your keep of you and Grim being considered students. And all for you to earn your keep of just barely even living!

It’s tiring, a cumbersome array of tasks on your list that only seems to get longer and longer each day. You get to bed late, and then you have to get up at 6, get yourself ready, get Grim ready, make breakfast, take the hike up to school, and the cycle repeats. You’re tired. You’re oh so tired…

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You sit in class, your head bobbing slightly as you try and force your eyes open. You shake your head and rub your eyes, an action that has become the norm for you the past few days. You fight back multiple yawns as Trein finds it to be a disrespectful act in his classroom for some odd reason, though it’s his fault his lessons are so boring. You sigh and you look down at your paper, the words jumbled up to your mind and incomprehensible. Grim scribbles away at his assignment and he does a double take as he looks at you, tapping your forehead with his paw and gets you to look at him.

“Ya look like you’re dying.” He whispers as he crosses his paws, his face graced with an apprehensive look. He lets out a small puff of air and he narrows his eyes at you.

“Feels like it.” You take the time to rub your temples this time and stretch something out, anything to keep you awake at this point.

Luckily for you, the bell tolls and everyone shoots up from their seats, taking their books and papers and getting the hell out of the classroom to escape from the quiet lul of that annoying monotone voice of Trein. You stand up yourself, groggy and a little disheveled as you finally yawn and walk out with Grim.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Coach Vargas has you all doing a whole bunch of workouts. First it was sit ups, then push ups, step ups on the bleachers, lunges, and now you have to run figure eights out on the field. Grim cheats and floats as usual (wtf man…) and you run alongside the other students, already out of breath.

Of course your mind wanders off to the assignments, reviewing over the items at hand. Trein’s history essay is due tomorrow in class and you haven’t started it yet, so there’s that. You also have to do a write up on the one lab in alchemy for Crewel— woah…

Your vision goes a bit blurry, you stumble a bit as you slow down, your body suddenly giving up on itself and practically going slack. Then you fall face first into the ground, passing out, and going limp, resembling closely to a sack of potatoes.

Students suddenly stop and look at you as you lay upon the ground. Coach Vargas yells for them to get back to work until he also takes sight of you. Well shit.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Your head pounds and throbs as you finally come back to your senses, you flutter your eyes open slowly but the bright cool white color of the fluorescent lights prohibits you from opening your eyes anymore than just a squint. You try to sit up but your body feels it’s being weighed down by tons and tons of lead.

Grim pops up and he seems to be saying something but the words just sound like a cacophony of vowels as you slowly come back to the state of consciousness.

“Henchhuman! Henchhuman! What happened? You like…died! Don’t do that again!” He pouts at you, clearly worried as he gently paws at your arm. A nurse walks in and assesses you, giving you some sort of potion that tastes like strong rosemary and a hint of garlic, then sends you on your way.

“You were out for like an hour and a half, and everyone in class saw ya just fall right over! Ace created a big scene! And, not just that, Vargas princess carried you out! Bridal style or whatever they call it. It’s gonna be the talk of the school soon, no doubt.” Grim huffs and puffs, shaking his head and heavily gesticulating to further prove his point of concern.

“I’m just tired, Grim. Severely tired, stressed, all of the above.” You sigh, shaking your head. You rub your temples and continue to walk forwards.

“Clearly. I gotta tell Crowley off or something! He’s slowly burning you out...only I can do that since you're my henchman…” He murmurs “You need to take a break. A nice break.” He looks at you and smirks.

“Grim, what are you implying?” You narrow your eyes at him and cross your arms, halting.

“You’ll see, Hemchuman!” He chortles.

“Grimmy, I-“

He zooms past you and makes his way to the mirror chamber within the school. Your head still hurts but you can let him go off and cause trouble on his own, which he will do!

By the time you get to the mirror chamber, praying that Grim didn’t head to a dorm where even breathing wrong could be destructive, you can see the mirror to Pomefiore still rippling. You pause and your eye twitches, fucking hell, he did not.

You head through. What happened to him saying you needed a break?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When you get through the mirror, Grim is still nowhere in sight, which only means he’s inside of the building. Great! One thing after another it seems.

You head into the castle-like place and walk through the ornate and sparkly hallways, passing by students who pause and go quiet at your appearance, which is tired, hungry, and pissed the fuck off due to the shenanigans Grim is pulling currently at the moment.

As you finally push into the lounge, Grim is yapping to Vil, Grims eyes contorted into a look of worry and his face holding a small amount of smugness to it. Vil does a double take when looking at you, and as soon as you lock eyes with him, he looks you up and down, his eyes going a little wide as if he had just seen his makeup pallet get destroyed. A prominent frown envelopes his features, replacing his once stoic and demure demeanor.

“Spudling…” is all he sighs out. The disappointment in his voice is enough alone to make you hold back any complaints you had to tell to Grim.

You’re irked, and your shoulders tense as you look away bashfully. You look at Grim who floats next to Vil, his chin held high as he smiles like he’s won all the tuna he could ever ask for.

“Eyes on me.” His stern voice reaches your ears and you look back at him, your lips pursed and your hands now behind your back, standing at attention.

“Look at you…” he sighs again as he walks over to you, his eyes narrowed and unwavering as he inspects you carefully, most likely pinpointing everything wrong with you.

“Rook relayed the information to me as to what happened during PE. I would have found you myself if not for Grim leading you here. At least he’s useful for that.” He clicks his tongue, a regular action for him to make while disapproving of something.

“Truly, what makes you think what you’ve been doing is any good?” He crosses his arms and shifts his weight to one leg as he waits for a response.

“I. Well. You just- I don’t think you’d really understand, Vil, if I can be honest.” You shake your head. “I have to do it. To stay here, you know? So, it’s whatever. I’m fine, I promise. Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night and that’s it-“

“Don’t play coy. Anyone can see that you’ve been disregarding your own body’s needs for more than just a night, and sleep is not the only thing you seem to be lacking.”

His words cause you to bristle up, your muscles close to cramping at how tense you’ve become. He looks at you still with a frown and the unamused tone in his voice is…unnerving.

“Ok, well, it’s things I need to get done-“

“I won’t sit here and listen to your feigning utterance.” Vil sighs, yet again, uncrossing his arms and moving to place a hand on your shoulder. In contrast to his demeanor, his touch is soft yet grounding. You visibly relax and you sigh out a soft breath.

“I’ll have Rook see Grim to Heartslabyul, you’re not leaving until I deem you fit to go on your way.” He hums as his hand slides to your upper back, silently and slowly ushering you to follow behind him. His heels click on the ground as you're already halfway down the hall, just now realizing what his words imply for you.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s true Vil took a liking to you, but he’d never admit that, his ego could be damaged, and he prefers to show that he cares through actions, anyhow, being a strong believer in that they speak louder than words.

As soon as you both reach Vil’s dorm room, he has you sit down at his vanity, gently spinning the seat so you’re face-to-face with yourself in the mirror.

“Your eyebags are so dark, and your eyes are sunken in, as well. Your hair also happens to be dry in appearance and texture. Are you eating? I’d hope so, because there is no way to take care of your body by skipping meals.” He rants on as his hands gently work to slip off your blazer, slipping it off of you and draping it over the chair.

“I forgot to eat.” You lie. A white lie. You weren’t that far off from the truth, skipping meals was necessary in your case, money was low and Grim needed to eat more than you, a sacrifice you were willing to make.

Vil pauses, his hands resting on the back of the chair as he looks at you through the mirror. If he kept frowning at you like that he’d get wrinkles, then blame you.

“Pitiful excuse, potato.” He clicks his tongue. “I hope you realize that you don’t have to lie to me.” He shakes his head.

“Wait, Vil, how the hell did you even…I’m not gonna ask.” You cross your arms.

“You’re easy to read, Prefect. You’re not as imperceptible as you may make yourself out to be” He huffs out.

“Lay it on me. It’s good to vent, Potato. It’s quite beneficial, especially to those who have a lot on their mind. It provides an escape.” His voice dips a little lower, becoming softer. You look at him through the mirror again and you see his facial features severely lacking that contemptuous look he always has, and instead it’s replaced with a soft, almost empathetic look.

“I…” is what you can manage to croak out for a second before you clear your throat and look down at your hands in your lap, leaning back in the chair.

“I guess, well. Crowley, you know him. I just have been busy with the work he’s given me, and also the assignments I have to do. Money is tight as always…I have to be careful with what I or Grim buys, so…” you slowly stammer out, the frustration and tiredness in your voice evident.

“I’m just stressed out. Tired, which I guess that’s clear to anyone, though.” Your voice quivers slightly, and before you even know it tears fall down your face, a sentiment to your situation.

You don’t hear any reprimanding from Vil, no sighs or clicks of tongues as you keep your head down, no, none of that. Vil gently moves off to the side of the chair and turns you to face him, gently dabbing at the tears that cascade down your cheeks with a tissue.

“I’m sorry…” you manage to mutter out weakly.

“Nonsense. It’s normal, sweet potato.” He gently murmurs back, his voice mellifluous and calming, anchoring you back to the moment. You take the tissue from his hand and you turn your head away.

“If it makes you feel better, I too, cry. There’s a science behind it in which it releases chemicals to promote a sense of well being.” He hums. “As well as eases pain.”

“I would have never guessed.” You sigh out, albeit sarcastically, now dabbing at your nose.

“Sarcasm? I see you're slowly reviving.” A small smirk forms on his face as he shakes his head.

“I think we have a self care night set in place for us, what do you say?” He inquires.

You hesitate for a moment but you meet his questions with a small nod, earning a genuine and gentle smile from Vil.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You are pampered, of course. It’s only natural. Vil goes to any extent for the people he holds dear, and you were in need of a night of relaxation. You are fed well with a nutrient dense meal to hopefully make up for your lack of care for your eating habits, and now there’s more in store…

After a few strenuous minutes of following his lengthy skincare routine, you both sit clad in silk robes that are probably worth more money than you could ever make in your life, but the moment is still peaceful. And even more to your surprise, you sit with Vil in his raw form. No makeup, no demeanor that yells “I’m the Vil Schoenheit,” no, just Vil.

He hums quietly as he deliberately shapes your nails, not sparing you a glance as he’s too focused at the task at hand. The calmness of the atmosphere is doing no help in keeping you awake and alert and you soon find your eyes start to grow heavy.

Vil quietly excuses himself to head over to grab a bottle of clear coat for your nails, but before you know it, you fall back onto the comfy bed sheets of his bed, perfume and other scents sending you into a deep sleep before you could even stop yourself from doing so.

“Y/N, would you like color or just the clear coat-“ He looks at you, shutting up immediately as his arms fall to his side. His footsteps are light as he shuffles over to the side of his bed, looking down at you. He sighs and shakes his head.

he moves the comforter over your body, bringing it up to your shoulders. He leans down slowly and places a tentative and soft kiss to your temple before leaning back up.

“This is why self care is important, spudling. I’ll let this slide…just once.”

I don’t know what I was on when I wrote this, but yep, that’s it. Thanks for reading lovelies!

Master list

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, reblog if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

[killerpancakeburger]

Breaking point (2/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Soap x GN!Reader

Ghost's version (1/2) Soap's part 2. Soap's part 3.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Soap is tooth-rotting sweet.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing.

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃Soap is Prince Fucking Charming (very cliché romance tropes). Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

This bad good boy gave me a harder time than expected lol.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be Soap fucking Mactavish. Only the most gorgeous man on base - according to you, that is.

You weren't proud of it, but you had a crush on him since you arrived, six months ago. His piercing cerulean eyes, rugged good looks and outgoing personality wouldn’t let you know peace. The mere sight of him was enough to bring a goofy smile to your face, and every conversation between the two of you left you blushing and elated.

You initially thought that this silly, juvenile infatuation would fade away soon enough. Ok, he was beautiful, and he had eyes to damn yourself for, so what? Surely with enough time and exposure, he'd feel mundane. But things didn’t go that way at all.

On top of looking stunning, he just had to be friendly. He made you feel welcome when you arrived. He made efforts to include you in conversations, asking questions to get to know you. He relieved you of the burden of small talk, appeasing your social anxiety, by happily keeping the conversation going on his own, never taking offense when you had nothing to say. He chose to spend some of his free time with you, escorting you back from the archives or dropping by your office.

He was even flirty at times. Flirty. With you.

You could have still disregarded all this; tell yourself he was like this with everyone, that it was just his personality; imagining things would only end up with you hurt in the end.

But then, during a meeting, you witnessed his sincere concern for civilian lives. His righteous anger against unjust orders, when you had fully expected a soldier to obey mindlessly.

This had been your undoing; the moment you knew you were a goner. A severe fondness for him had sunk its claws deep inside your chest and had no intent to let go. It didn’t mean you had any intention to declare your feelings though; you never entertained the thought that he could return them, therefore there was no need for any confession.

For him to be the one to have caught you in this state, it was downright humiliating. Especially since his good heart would make him feel obligated to care.

He was still wearing his leather, fingerless gloves, and some dirt lingered on the contour of his face, like he tossed his weapons and his flak jacket to the side right out of the heli bringing him back to base, and rushed here.

“Hiya hen, brought you the- Shite, what happened?”

His booming voice and cheerful tone fade away as his eyes widen with concern. He briefly freezes at the door in shock before closing the distance to your desk with great strides. You lower your eyes in shame, avoiding his gaze.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. Everything's fine.”

“No offense, bonnie, but yer not very good at lying.”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to look at him. Staring at your own lap is only going to make you seem more suspicious.

You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Soap turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced.

He still remembers that one time when you showed up thirty minutes late to a meeting with the Task Force, panting, leaning on the threshold, the front of your clothes soaked in blood.

 “Sorry I’m late,” you started.

“‘Sorry’ isn’t going to cut it,” Price interrupted before laying eyes on you. “Bloody hell, what happened to you?”

You explained how Private what's-his-name bled out in the break room after carelessly reopening his stitches and you had to stop the hemorrhage with your bare hands and a bunch of paper towels while shouting yourself hoarse for help. Yet when Price ordered you to take the rest of the day off, you insisted on going on as usual, forcing their captain to make it clear that it wasn’t a mere suggestion.

You and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

Clinging to what's familiar, you focus on the stack of papers under his arm.

“You have the latest reports? Give it here.”

You hold out your hand expectantly. Instead of giving them to you, he sets them down on the opposite side of your desk, out of your reach.

“Paperwork can wait.”

You blink in astonishment at him.

“No it cannot…?”

You roll your eyes at his behavior and get up to seize the reports, but he snatches them from you. You can feel your composure snap like a twig.

“Johnny, what the hell?!” you yell, throwing your hands in the air.

You could remember exactly the first time you called him Johnny, only because it had been such an embarrassment. You couldn’t get used to his alias; sure you had been warned beforehand that some of them were… original, but somehow "Soap" was the one that stood out as the most ridiculous. You briefly entertained the idea of using his first name, except that for you “John” already referred to Captain Price. Only once you tried to call him Mr Mactavish, and as a result Gaz and him guffawed so hard they almost fell off their chairs. Even Ghost let out a cough that was most definitely a concealed laugh. You were running out of options until you heard the lieutenant call him Johnny; you instantly liked it. It just… fitted him. 

From that moment on you used the nickname, but only in your mind. You didn’t have any of the liberties Ghost had and you wouldn’t take them, out of respect, and shyness. Or at least this had been the plan until you fumbled and called him that to his face. The ensuing silence felt deafening as you were realizing what you’ve just done, and you apologized immediately, mortified. 

He just laughed it off; said you could keep calling him that. True, he had appeared more surprised than irritated, but you didn’t want to take the risk of him simply being polite. This too, had been your plan, until he ruined it merily. 

Somehow he must have noticed your efforts to not slip up again because he teased you about it. 

“Not Johnny today? Did ah dae something wrong?”

You went back to “Johnny” quickly - anything to put an end to the mischievous glint in his eye and the rascally smirk on his lips aimed at you. Being the target of his undivided attention sent a pang in your chest and knots in your stomach. Those sensations weren't exactly unpleasant, but it led to an ominous feeling that this was too good to be true, and that at any second this vision would shatter to reveal the cruel reality; so you'd just grant him a timid smile to confirm he did amuse you, but then proceed to look away.

It's the first time you’re pronouncing “Johnny” with anger; real, raw annoyance, as well as animosity, instead of the fond frustration you usually display when he messes around.

To your utter disbelief, he smiles in response to your outburst. 

“There we go, talk tae me. Even if it’s just tae scream at me.”

The remark pacifies you instantly; you lower your arms, defeated.

“I'm not gonna… I don't want to scream at you.”

You sigh and sit back, setting down your elbows on your desk to take your head between your hands, overburdened.

“The hell you want me to tell you? That my mom's on the brink of death out of nowhere? That when she's gone I'll be all alone in this world?”

You swear, aggravated, as tears sting your eyes again, and this time you ignore if you'll be capable of holding back the flood.

Nevertheless you can still hear Soap curse under his breath, Scottish accent growing thicker, before moving to get on your side of the desk, to reach you, dispensing soft-spoken, soothing words along the way. You pivot to face him, your burning eyes and the sensation of dried tears on your face making you painfully aware that you must look as pathetic as you feel.

Your eyes widen in surprise when you see him kneeling at your feet. His hands reach for your face, slowly enough to give you time to back away if you wanted to.

“A'm sorry, ah didnae mean tae mak' ye cry, a'm a bloody eejit. …Can I?”

His fingers stopped a breath away from your tear-stained cheeks. 

At that exact moment you can’t quite believe what he's about to do, yet you nod your head in agreement - not trusting your voice to not break - all the same, the gaping void in your chest aching for any kind of contact he'd be willing to provide.

His warm fingers cup your cheeks as the pad of his thumbs gently, almost reverently, wipe the underside of your eyes.

“There we go,” he cajoles, meticulously drying any wet spot on your skin.

“A'm ‘ere whether ye want tae talk or not, aye? A'm not going anywhere.”

You stare at him in silence, thunderstruck by the scene unfolding in front of you. Never in your wildest dreams you would have expected to have this man at your feet. He sets his hands down on your knees, squeezing them softly, and is looking right at you, encouraging smile and tender gaze, reassurance radiating from his expression. The position allows you to greedily take in every little detail: the white line of the scar on his chin, the breathtaking shades of blue in his eyes, the gap in his left eyebrow.

As you lose yourself into the work of art that are his features, he keeps conversing.

“We should take yer mind aff things. We could play board games in tha rec room. Or ye could let aff some steam wi’ tha punching bag in tha training room! Ah could teach ye how tae shoot on tha shooting range-”

You open your eyes wide as his suggestions turn progressively more violent.

“I have a bus to catch, and that's overlooking the fact that I haven't done anything in my last hour of work today…”

“If anyone gives you trouble, just say ah forced you.”

You chuckle at the idea.

“You'd never compel me to do anything.”

You can’t repress a loving smile. Johnny just feels that safe to you.

He smirks mischievously at that.

“Na, but they'll believe ah dragged ye intae mah evil schemes.”

He punctuates his statement by a roguish wink that wrests a laughter from you.

“You should take my bed,” he declares suddenly, serious again.

As the silence between you two stretches and your smile is replaced by a mix of shock, confusion, and worry, he realizes how this may sound. Flustered, he starts rambling to defuse the situation.

“Wait, no- steamin’ jesus - Ah didnae mean it like that! I’d take the couch in the rec room, ‘f course. Ye shouldn't go through tonight alone.” 

“Oh my god, Johnny, I could never take your bed from you. You must already sleep on the floor so often for missions…” 

“Exactly, hen. This is nothing for me. The couch is a hotel compared to that.”

You open your mouth to argue more, but then he makes an expression that can only be described as sad puppy eyes, even going as far as slightly tilting his head to the side to perfect the impression. You gulp in response, stricken straight through the heart, and knowing pertinently that you could already hardly refuse him anything, so if he begins to gaze at you like that… 

“Pretty please?” 

Oh no. Not that line.

He's now excessively batting his eyelashes at you, which, while not exactly alluring, is both comical and endearing. Hell, who are you even kidding? You’re so smitten with this blue-eyed creature, is there any act from him you wouldn’t find endearing?

“Are you… pouting?” 

“Depends. Is it working?”

You sigh, aware it's a losing battle, and look away, a futile attempt to hide the ridiculously potent effect he has on you, or to at least shield yourself from his influence, if only momentarily.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Maybe ah just wantae hear ye say aye tae me.”

Your cheeks catch fire at the suggestiveness of the words. As if the regular rasp of his voice, that felt like an exquisite caress along your spine, wasn’t already making it incredibly difficult to keep your face at a reasonnable temperature.

“You're gonna get me fired, Johnny.”

“Over my dead body,” he retorted with surprising determination, solemnly pressing a hand over his heart.

You scoff indulgently. Coming from anyone else, the hastily taken oath would be preposterous, but Soap has always proved himself trustworthy.

“Let's go. Your knees must be sore,” you mumble, trying to sound casual.

“Wanna make a joke aboot mah stamina when kneeling but ah will keep it fur next time,” he slips as he stands up, way too smugly for your own good, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything. As if you needed any more incitement into picturing him on his knees in a different context. 

You get up quickly after, but he does not get out of your way. You rise a quizzical eyebrow, his close proximity triggering alarm bells inside your head. If he remains near enough for you to feel his body heat, you’re going to get dizzy.

He simply grins.

“Want a hug?”

You blink at the unexpected question. Yes, implores your touchstarved mind. YES, cries out your sensitive, enamored heart. 

No way, rebuffs your cautious brain. It will only hurt more knowing what you  can’t have.

He opens his muscled arms, smile genuine, almost blinding, like a tacit invitation, and all your reluctance seems to evaporate with that simple gesture. Before you can linger any more on the harmful consequences this lack of restraint will eventually cause, you throw yourself into his embrace. It feels like falling and flying all at once.

Your hands close on the back of his shirt, near his shoulder blades, and, pressing your face into his shoulder to make the world disappear for a moment, you cling to him like he could rescue you from the sinking ship that was your sick mind. One of his arms close around your waist while his free hand rubs your back, leaving trails of fire in its wake, but bringing you much-appreciated comfort nonetheless.

“You're too nice to me. I feel like I'm taking advantage of your kindness.”

He remains silent a drawn-out second, and you're terrified you just screwed everything up.

“Yer givin me too much credit, lass “ he finally says. “Ah don't go ‘round base comforting every person I find.”

His tone isn’t angry, per se, but it lacks its previous joviality.

Soap tilts his head back, biting his lips, thanking the universe that with your face laying against his chest, you can’t perceive his embarrassment.

He can’t tell you. Not yet. Not now.

He can’t tell you that he used to consider writing reports as the worst part of the job until you came along; until you awarded him a heartfelt, radiant smile when he gave you his; that he noticed how little you smiled outside of artificial ones you fabricate for work purposes; that when he manages to make you smile or laugh genuinely, it feels like a prize, that only he is privy to.

Months ago, he took the resolve to make you smile more; for a while now he started doing his reports more seriously, or even did the ones of Gaz and Ghost, just to have an excuse to see you, to behold the way your face lightens up when he brings you necessary paperwork before you even demand it.

And he certainly can’t tell you about that one time where he handed over his reports in advance, but you weren't there, so he left, heart heavy with disappointment, dragging his feet, until he heard your voice coming from the room he just left.

“What are those?” you questionned your coworker.

“Soap just dropped them.”

“But… I didn't even ask him to yet?”

Perplexity combines with glee in your voice.

“He's a good boy, isn’t he?” prompted your colleague.

You let out a fond, wistful sigh, before responding, half-joking.

“I know! Such a good boy for me.”

Getting to hear you beaming over his benevolent action was already a treat, but witnessing that compromising exchange? To be called a “good boy” by you short-circuited him. He swore - “Steamin jesus” -, ears burning, face on fire, covering it with one hand. He needed to leave badly. Seek refuge in his room, where he could be free to replay that tantalizing line on loop in his mind. “Such a good boy for me.”

Your heart beats a bit faster than usual as you obediently follow Soap through corridors you’ve never been in before. You trust him with all your heart, but that doesn't change the fact that what you’re doing is against the rules; and those rules aren't high school's, but the ones of a military base.

You flinch hard as a familiar voice screams in your direction.

“SERGEANT MACTAVISH!”

Oops, you think. That's Captain Price, your supervisor, and he sounds pissed. You never witnessed him calling Soap by his last name before, but that being said, you never saw him deal with a kidnapped assistant either.

You've been caught red-handed. 

Your mind begins to come up with plans to lessen the punishments that are without doubt about to descend upon you two, but Johnny grabbing your hand brings you back to reality. 

You lift your gaze to him. He doesn't seem worried at all, if anything… is that a spark of delight in his eye?

He only pronounces one word.

“Run.”

So you run, carried away half by adrenaline, and half by the sergeant dragging you. Thankfully Soap is aware that there's no way you can keep up with him and his training, so he comes to a halt a minute later.

Panting hard, you double over, hands clenching your knees for support, heart thumping in your chest, blood throbbing in your ears.

“Why… are we… running…!?” you manage to exhale. “It's only… gonna make… things worse…”

By your side, he's standing fresh as a daisy, barely ruffled by your flight. The sight would be infuriating if his eyes weren't glinting with amusement and he wasn’t offering you a dazzling smile.

“Because it's fun,” he affirms like it's evident.

Little by little, you catch your breath, throwing Johnny a look that's half in earnest, half in jest.

“More fun for you than for me.”

He doesn't get flustered by your moderate reprimand.

“Is it selfish o' me tae wantae spend more time wi' ye? Didnae want us tae git interrupted yet.”

The line feels like a punch to the chest, stealing the breath you just recovered and leaving you agape.

He takes your hand again with the natural of a well earned habit.

“C'm'on, ah have more than one trick up mah sleeve.”

You're unsure which of the views unfurling under your eyes is the most magnificent; the sunset in front of you that's painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, or the striking man by your side whose eyes could rival the most astounding sights.

Nibbling on the dinner Soap smuggled out of the cafeteria with too much ease for it to be his first time, you regularly sneak glances at him as he fills the silence with tales of his adventures - the parts that aren't top secret, at least. You two totally did not break onto the roof moments ago, no sir.

Goosebumps travel along your arms and any exposed skin as the night falls and the sun takes away the warmth with him. You furiously brush the outside of your arms for heat, and you're about to suggest finishing this inside, when a jacket lands on your shoulders.

It is still warm with his owner's bodyheat, deliciously so. You curl up and drag it closer, your face on fire. Realizing that Soap gave you his jacket without you even having to ask or complain about the cold… you’re conflicted between obsessing over this like a giggling schoolgirl, and feeling apologetic.

Once you more or less got your blushing under control, you turn to him, displaying a contrite expression.

“I don't want to take your jacket on top of your bed, Johnny.” you pout.

“A'm a bloody furnace. Wanna check?”

He asks, cheekily, even adding a wink for good measure. As if there was any more artifice needed to make you putty in his hands.

He presents you his bare arm for the taking, all golden skin, bulging muscles and a constellation of white scars.

You indulge him and lay a hand on his bicep, knowing he won't relent otherwise; that is definitly the only reason; it has absolutely nothing to do with your own desires.

Indeed, he's burning. As you envy and bask in the heat provided by his body, forgetting that your touch is lingering too long for someone who is just a coworker, he chooses that moment to flex shamelessly, showing off the impressive circumference of his muscle. You feel obligated to squeeze it in response, a way to finally meet him head-on instead of passively enduring his quips, and it feels like reinforced concrete under your fingers.

You fail to hold back your laughter at his facetious demeanor. 

“You're ridiculous.”

The comment holds no bite, a smile brimming with tenderness stretching your lips.

“I'll be the most ridiculous man on the planet if it makes you laugh.”

He's leaning back, hands propped on the ground behind him, head slightly tilted to gaze at you, and the earnestness on his face could almost make you believe his words.

Almost.

But instead a sharp pang pierces your chest, right between your lungs, at heart's level. The smile you return him in spite of yourself oscillates between content and heartbroken, before opting for the latter. 

Tomorrow you will ask him, maybe even plead; tomorrow you'll ask him to put an end to the flirting. You cannot bear it. 

But just tonight, you'll indulge it. You'll pretend to be normal, a well-adjusted human being, instead of a broken shell; you'll act like an adult for who flirting is a regular event and not the mental equivalent of a nuclear bomb.

You abruptly stand up, dusting yourself off, purposely ignoring the newfound lack of understanding on Soap's face and how his mouth opened for a question.

“It's getting late,” you state, not nearly as casually as you'd like. “I'm beat!”

You're running away and you know it; but you never claimed to be brave. Really, it is the best solution for everyone involved, or at least it's how it has always seemed to be your whole life.

He escorts you to his room - of course he does. Even if he already picked up his things earlier to crash on the couch, already showed the place to you.

As you awkwardly face him on the doorstep after saying your goodbyes and your thanks, unable to look away yet incapable of making eye contact, pain flares in your torso thinking of him, somehow intertwined with joy and gratefulness for his existence. Maybe your inner struggle shows on your face because next thing you know, he cups your cheek, forcing you to look up, but as the deranged idea that he's about to kiss you manifests in a remote corner of your mind, your brain swiftly shuts off as his lips make contact with your forehead.

The touch is light yet your entire being seems gathered on that point of contact.

“G'night, bonnie,” he half-whispers, as if to make sure his words exist only for you.

He grants you one last smile, small but so sweet you feel your heart tightens.

“Good night, Johnny,” you manage to articulate before sheltering in his bedroom. The room smells like him.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you rest against it, tilting your head back, letting out a deep sigh. Morbid curiosity pushes you to glance in the adjacent bathroom's mirror, if only to see what you look after this evening. A flustered mess? A sorrowful wreck?

Catching your reflection's eye makes you grimace as you realize an incriminating detail.

You forgot to give Soap his jacket back.