#sometimes when i get a request i have a clear vision for it from the start

[little-pup-pip]

haii :D you're so cool!! is it okay if I ask for a soft outdoorsy femme board? like deer and bunnies and little flowers :3 i love running around n playing in pretty dresses

Here you go!!

[vinnyvamppp]

Two and a Half Graysons

Note: Trust and believe I'm using that horny ass line you ended with as a plot device too. LMFAO. @hhoneylemon

Synopsis: You're not officially a parent, but you might as well be. You're not officially married, but everyone seems to think you are. Between shirtless mornings, grocery store tension, and baby carrier missions, the line between “dating Mark” and “co-raising a purple alien infant with Mark” gets blurrier by the day. But it’s fine. You’re emotionally stable. Probably.

Warnings: Mild Sexual Tension (NO SMUT), Coping With Parenthood, Mild Swearing, Off-screen Canon-level Violence, Found Family & Co-parenting, fluff galour. (Original Request Link: https://www.tumblr.com/vinnyvamppp/783842276548952064/i-have-a-vision-ive-been-thinking-about-when) PART 2 HERE

Mark Grayson (+ Baby Oliver!) x GN!Reader

WC: 1.2k (so cute)

Mark doesn’t ask you to move in. He just starts making space, a shelf here, a drawer cleared there. By the time Oliver starts teething, you’re already brushing your teeth in his bathroom every morning and waking up with a foot in your ribs that definitely doesn’t belong to Mark.

You weren’t expecting him to drop out. No one was. Debbie had offered to help, of course—offered like it was the easiest thing in the world to raise a baby that wasn’t hers, born from a man who had already broken the whole family once. And Mark had just said: “I can’t ask her to do this. He’s my responsibility, my… brother.”

Then he’d looked at you. Like he was bracing for something. For the inevitable pulling away. The “I’m not ready for this” talk. But you’d just nodded. Said: “Okay. We’ll figure it out.” We. His shoulder slumped with a sigh of relief. And that’s how it starts.

It’s not glamorous. Mark’s working two jobs between diaper runs. You’re picking up shifts, catching Oliver when he won’t stop crying, and Mark looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. Some nights, the exhaustion settles over the house like fog, thick and still. Then there’s moments where Oliver laughs or falls asleep on your chest like he knows exactly where he belongs. And everything feels lighter—softer, just right.

Mark negotiated with Cecil… Kind of—out of desperation, moreover. After bringing Oliver back, Mark tried to keep up with college, parenting, and being Earth's part-time savior. It lasted about two weeks. He was late to a Kaiju fight because Oliver had a fever. Left a lab evacuation halfway through to pick him up from your job because the sitter bailed. Cecil nearly had a stroke when Mark fought a teleporting assassin with baby wipes in his pocket.

“I can’t do this full-time. He’s a baby. He’s my responsibility. I’m not leaving him with my mom again and I’m not dragging him into a war zone unless the world’s literally ending.”

Cecil—being a professional manipulator and also somehow slightly terrified of Oliver’s explosive bowel habits, reluctantly agreed. Now, Mark handles non-lethal, low-stakes missions like alien negotiations and minor emergencies.

He takes himself off the active-duty roster unless it’s a Level Red situation, and Cecil sends backup or Eve when something big hits. Mark still trains—still reports in, but often while bouncing a baby on his chest or feeding him yogurt off-camera. So what happens day to day? He flashes by your job to drop off Oliver. Literally, he’ll appear mid-conversation, hair a mess, onesie on backward.

“Hey babe, sorry—can you watch him for like two hours? There's a tidal wave hitting France. Be back by lunch. Probably.” Kisses you mid-chaos, and vanishes in a loud boom. Sometimes he leaves you with a half-full bottle and a sticky pacifier and expects you to just vibe.

If that isn't an option, he wears a baby carrier during missions. Look, not for the big ones. But if the threat is “giant sewer rat” or “angry alien ambassador who doesn’t understand doors,” Oliver is strapped to his chest like a tiny judgmental but giggly backpack with earmuffs. You even designed him a superhero onesie that says, "Invinci-baby," and yes—he wears it at every outing.

“You’re bringing a baby?”

“He likes the wind.”

“He’s drooling on your comm.”

“He’s observing diplomacy.”

Cecil threatens to fire him weekly. Debbie sighs deeply every time she sees the footage on GDA security—just to check in when needing Cecil to make sense of this. All the while watching Doc Seismic scream “IS THAT A CHILD?!” mid-monologue. Today, you didn’t realize how dangerous this grocery trip is going to be until Mark lifts the baby carrier with one arm like it’s nothing. He’s Invincible—what did you expect? His gray t-shirt rides up just enough to make your soul flicker out of your body like a dying TV screen. Focus on the produce section. Innocent terrain, right? You grab a head of lettuce. You do not look at the way Mark bounces Oliver gently while scanning for cereal. You are a good person, a person with restraint. He’s doing that thing again—being effortlessly domestic. Like, hot dad energy turned up to eleven. Every time he reads a nutrition label or wipes drool off Oliver’s chin, your brain short-circuits a little more.

You used to flirt shamelessly. Make out in supply closets, pull him into his room by the collar. But now? Now you’re in aisle six, arguing about formula brands, and trying not to climb him in front of a shelf of canned peas.

“I think we should get the oatmeal-based one,” Mark says, turning towards you. And there it is: that low voice, as he leaned in slightly. The focus with that soft-eyed, fully attentive attitude. You blink at him, trying to play it cool as you bite your tongue. “Whatever keeps his poop neutral. I'm not reliving last week.” Mark gave a crooked grin, brow raised, his shoulder hitching, “The explosion?”

“Don’t—” you groan, covering Oliver’s ear. “Don’t traumatize him again. We had to hose down the high chair, Mark.” A grin tugged at the corners of your lips. He laughs under his breath and sets the formula in the cart. You watch the muscles in his forearm flex as he pushes it forward. You’re sweating now—It’s winter. “Why do you look tense?” he asks. You gesture around helplessly. “Because this is basically foreplay, and there’s a baby in the cart.”

Mark chokes on a laugh, reaching instinctively to cover Oliver’s ears. “You can’t say stuff like that while I’m holding our son.” You freeze. “Our son?” His eyes widen a little. The cart keeps rolling. The baby stares up at the ceiling fan, utterly indifferent to the life-changing moment. “…I mean,” Mark starts, fumbling now, “he’s not yours, but like—well, he kind of—”

“Mark.” You step in close, dropping your voice. “If you keep talking in that voice and calling him our son, I swear to God, I will embarrass us in this store.” Mark’s eyes flick to your mouth, then back to Oliver. His jaw flexes with blotches of pink creeping up his neck. “I hate that we can’t do anything about this.” You both stare at each other for a second too long. Then Oliver lets out a dramatic sneeze that breaks the tension like a rock through a window. You sigh. “We’re in hell.” Mark leans over and kisses your temple. “At least we’re in hell together.” You glance at the shopping list and mutter, “Add wine.” He stares at you in bewildered silence— “For Ms. Grayson.”

You find yourself thinking about stupid things. Like the taste of oatmeal lingering on your tongue. Like whether you’ll need a bigger place. Like whose last name Oliver will have. Like if Mark knows he hums when he’s rocking the baby to sleep, tuneless and low, and how your whole chest aches every time you hear it. You’d marry him. That thought hits you while Mark is on the floor of the living room, one sock on, hair a mess, cooing nonsense while Oliver grabs at his nose. You’d marry him tomorrow. Or bend him or let him bend you over the desk right now. Whichever happens first.

You’ve seen this man explode aliens. Why is him wearing low-slung sweatpants more threatening to your mental health than intergalactic war? But you don’t tell him that. You just hand him the bottle, brush your fingers against his, and whisper, “You’re doing okay.” Mark looks up at you—tired and worn down, but smiling. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A/N: Literally kicking my feet as I write this, I will forever love your big, beautiful brain. Hopefully, this was decent, my friend. :)

Part 2: Our Son, Apparently

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[drewswife]

summary — you have diabetes, one day you don't take it cause its running out and Rafe found out

pairings — bf!rafe x pogue!reader

a/n — to anyone who has diabetes your strong! and let me know if anything don't make sense (this was requested thank you anon <3)

The low hum of the fridge was the loudest thing in the shack tonight. Outside, the wind howled like a hungry ghost, rattling the loose windowpanes. Inside, though, it was just me and the dull ache that had settled deep in my bones.

It had been a rough few weeks. Work at the Wreck was slow, and what little I earned barely covered rent and food, let alone the ever-present cost of my insulin. Tonight, the vial felt accusingly light in my hand. Just a few doses left.

Rafe was out with his friends, probably at some fancy party on Figure Eight, oblivious to the gnawing emptiness in my stomach and the sticky, unpleasant film that coated my skin. It wasn't his fault, not really. He tried, in his own way. He'd sneak me extra food from their overflowing fridge sometimes, a mumbled "Don't say I never did nothin' for ya" accompanying the offering. But he didn't really get it, the constant tightrope walk of choosing between breathing easy and eating.

The familiar tremor started in my hands, spreading quickly through my limbs. My vision swam, the single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling blurring at the edges. I knew what was happening. My blood sugar was spiking, uncontrolled, dangerous. Panic clawed at my throat. I needed my shot. Now.

But the vial was almost empty. I’d been stretching it, making each dose smaller, hoping it would last until my next paycheck, which felt like a lifetime away. Tonight, my gamble had backfired spectacularly.

I stumbled to the sink, splashing cold water on my face, but it did little to clear the fog in my head. The room seemed to tilt, the floor suddenly a distant, unreachable plane. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to focus on Rafe's face, the way his brow furrowed when he was actually thinking, the rare, genuine smile that could still make my heart do a little flip despite everything.

The door creaked open, and a blast of cold, salty air rushed in. Rafe stood silhouetted against the darkness, his usual cocky grin absent. He looked… worried?

"Hey sweetheart," he said, his voice soft. "You alright? You didn't answer your phone."

I tried to speak, but my tongue felt thick and clumsy. A wave of nausea rolled over me, and I swayed, grabbing onto the edge of the counter for support.

Rafe was across the room in an instant, his strong arms wrapping around me, steadying me. "Woah, hey. What's wrong?" His blue eyes, usually so full of a energy, were filled with a genuine concern.

I leaned heavily against him, the buzzing in my ears growing louder. "Rafe," I managed, my voice barely a whisper. "I… my sugar… I didn't take my shot."

His grip tightened. "Didn't take it? Why the hell not?" There was an edge to his voice now, a flicker of anger mixed with the fear.

Tears welled in my eyes, a mixture of fear and shame. "I… I ran out, almost. I was trying to make it last." The words tumbled out, a raw admission of our harsh reality.

The anger in his eyes softened, He held me tighter, his cheek resting against my hair. "Why didn't you say anything?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

I just shook my head, unable to articulate the ingrained Pogue mentality of not asking for help, especially not from someone like him, someone who had never had to worry about where his next meal or his next dose of medicine would come from.

He pulled back slightly, his gaze searching mine. "Listen," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "You could have… you could have gotten really sick."

He didn't say "died," but the unspoken word hung heavy in the air between us.

He didn't say anything else for a long moment, just held me, his presence a solid, unexpected anchor in the swirling chaos of my body. Then, he pulled away, his jaw set with a newfound determination.

"Come on," he said, his usual commanding tone back, but with a different edge to it now, an urgency I hadn't heard before. "Let's get you something. Anything."

He helped me over to our rickety table, his arm still around me. He rummaged through the meager contents of our pantry, pulling out a half-eaten box of crackers and a can of flat soda. It wasn't much, but it was something.

As I ate the dry crackers, Rafe didn't leave my side, his eyes never leaving my face. The anger from before was gone, replaced by a quiet intensity. When the trembling in my hands started to subside slightly, he spoke again, his voice low.

"Hey," he said, his gaze direct and unwavering. "You got to tell me about these things okay?. You can't just suffer in silence. I care about you, you know?"

His words, so simple and yet so rarely spoken, hung in the air. I looked at him, really looked at him, and saw past the usual bravado, the careless charm. I saw a flicker of something deeper.

tags, @spencerreid66 @starrii-sturns @zenithsturniolo

[daisies-and-domming]

Hiiii! Love your writing 😘😘 wondering if you wanted to write about mammon and a little pet play with a gentle soft Dom!AFAB Mc (or GN). Have a nice day!!!

It's Always Sunny With You (NSFW)

Summary: Mammon always takes his brothers’ harsh words head on - he doesn’t care what they have to say about him! But after overhearing his brothers talking behind his back, Mammon isn’t sure how much more he can take. Sometimes, your little puppy needs to be reminded how much you love him (and just how good he is).

Warnings: sub!mammon, dom!reader, hurt/comfort, starts out angsty with a capital A, swearing, pet play, reader calls mammon “puppy” and “pup”, mammon calls reader “master”, body worship, so so much praise

Let me know if you think I missed anything!

All characters are over 18 :) 

– – – 

Oh Mammon my sweet sweet boy :( So excited to be writing for him! He deserves all the love in the world, and sometimes he seems to forget that. Thank you so much for the request, I hope you enjoy! Sorry that there’s so much exposition, I can’t help myself sometimes…

– – –

Mammon put up with a lot.

This much was clear - as one of the seven rulers of hell, the second oldest at that, he had a lot on his plate. No matter how idiotic, or greedy, or in his own world he acts, he does really love his brothers (don’t you go telling any of them, now!).

Which made what was happening right now hurt so much more.

He knows he isn’t the world’s best older brother - hell, he could be a pretty terrible one at that - and the way he acted 99.9% of the time reflected that. Like all the times he’s pawned off some ridiculous anime figure of Levi’s (why have it if you’re just going to keep it in the box, huh?), or one of Satan’s first edition books, or one of Lucifer’s cursed records, or-… you get the point. He certainly has a greedy streak, but he can’t help it, okay? That’s his whole shtick, for crying out loud! Sure, he tends to gamble all the money he earned from pawning their stuff, but so what if he did? He always wins it all back eventually, anyhow. Especially if he has you - his lucky treasure - at the tables with him. He swears he always wins when you’re there to cheer him on.

But you weren’t here now, were you?

No one in this family had any idea of how to have a quiet conversation; Lucifer had eyes and ears in every nook and cranny anyways, so what was the point? It’s impossible to keep a secret in this house, so there really wasn’t any point in trying.

“-he doesn’t even treat them right, have you seen how unhappy they are when they’re with him?”

“And he’s so annoying, too. They don’t want to spend every breathing second with you, y’know?”

Immediately, tears blur his vision, and he picks up his pace. Stupid Satan and stupid Leviathan and stupid stupid Mammon. Do ya even love him? He wondered, fumbling his way into his room. Was he really just as bad as they were sayin’? He curled himself up on his bed, wrapped tight in the sheets, and sobbed quietly into his pillows. He knows he doesn’t deserve you - beautiful, kind, sweet, perfect you - it was inevitable that he would lose you. He never could hold on to treasure very long, anyways, how was he going to manage to keep one as precious as you? Who would want to stay with a greedy, annoying, clingy, disaster like him anyways? You were his everything, the reason the sun rose, the air he breathes, his most valued treasure. But you had so many people around you who loved you, who could love you better than him. Hell, you have the whole Devildom wrapped around your little human finger. Not to mention the angels who flock to you like you’re their reverie, and the shady sorcerer who insisted on taking you as his apprentice. All the powerful forces of the three Realms would come to your beck and call, so why would you want to have anything to do with someone like him?

Stupid, idiot Mammon. No one could ever love someone like you, anyways.

– – –

You sighed, trying your best to discreetly glance around the table. The brothers were rowdy as always, but one voice was missing - the voice of your boyfriend. While Mammon wasn’t always the most punctual, Beel had almost obliterated all the food already, and he hadn’t even come down yet to “grace the table with the Great Mammon’s presence”. Thinking of him made you smile at your food, but your smile didn’t last for long. 

He’s never this late to dinner… you chewed the inside of your cheek, worried. I wonder if he’s okay?

“-MC, are you listening to me?”

You snap your head up from your plate, Lucifer’s piercing eyes staring you down. You flush, embarrassed, and scramble to respond.

“Y-yeah, yeah of course Lucifer! Just thinking about how dinner is so good, who made it tonight, haha? My compliments to the chef, they did a-”

“You’ve said enough. I could tell you weren’t present with us, anyways.” He glances at Mammon’s empty seat, and turns his eyes back to you. “It’s pretty obvious why.”

“Yuck, you guys are so gross!” Levi shouts, sticking his tongue out. “You know that’s normie behavior, right, MC? It’s so gross how you’re ‘in love’, or whatever-”

Lucifer rolls his eyes, ignoring Leviathan’s ranting. “Go check on him.”

You perk up, looking at him, surprised. “Really? Okay!”

Without as much as a second thought (much to the chagrin of the six brothers who were present at dinner) you throw together a plate of food and rush off to Mammon’s room. You wondered if he was sick (do demons get sick?), or maybe if he fell asleep - you knew he tended to stay out late, even on school nights. That can’t be right, you thought with a frown. He was with me last night.

Lost in your thoughts, you almost walk past his door. Double-taking, you take a few steps back and rap your knuckles on his door, to no response.

“Mammon?” Nothing.

“Hey Mammon, it’s MC! I brought you dinner, if you’d like it!”

 Still nothing.

“Mammon, are you in there…?”

A muffled “Go ‘way!” rings out, and you drop your hand that had been knocking to your side.

“At least come get your dinner, you didn’t eat!”

“‘m not hungry.”

You twist the handle, noticing he didn’t lock the door. “Alright, I’m coming in there-”

“No!” you get the door about halfway open before a force is pushing it back closed. You throw your foot in the doorframe, wincing as the door tries to slam closed through your foot. Taking a peek in, you notice the room is dark. You can make out the outline of a blanket, strewn on the floor (presumably in Mammon’s hurry to close the door on you), and about nothing else. 

You push against the door, adamant this time. “Mammon, please, if you don’t want to talk to me about whatever happened yet, that’s fine, but please, at least take the food-”

The door opens just wide enough for Mammon to snatch the plate out of your hands. You don’t even see him, really - just the blur of his arm reaching around the door, and the feeling of the door once again trying to close through your foot. 

“I took the food, ya can go now-”

“Did I do something wrong?” He falls silent at your words, and you go on. “I’m sorry if I did, but please, let me make up whatever I did wrong-”

You thought that you had done something wrong? Mammon’s dumbstruck - you were perfect, you were you, why would you ever think you were the one in the wrong? Wasn’t it obvious that this was all his fault?

“...Mammon?” you sigh. “I- if you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay, I’m sorry I came to bother you, you clearly don’t want me to be here.”

He can hear your frown through the door, the tears that are probably hanging at your waterline, the dejected tone in your voice. Without thinking, he haphazardly sets the plate of food down, Diavolo knows where, and throws the door open just as you’re pulling your foot out of the frame. You blink up at him, surprised, and he immediately shrinks in on himself. He knows he’s a mess right now - ruffled hair, puffy eyes, wrinkled clothes - but he also knows that he can’t have you thinking you did something wrong. He may be a terrible boyfriend according to his brothers, but he won’t be that terrible of a boyfriend.

“Oh, honey,” you say, voice as soft as velvet, taking a few steps toward him. “Are you okay?”

And you watch as he just crumples, tears flowing openly again. He’s desperately sniffling, rubbing at his eyes, trying to get them to stop, but now that the floodgates have been opened, he can’t control them anymore. 

“Y-yeah, I’m fine, I’m the great Mammon, after all!” he responds shakily, trying his best (and failing) to hold in his tears. “Nothing shakes me, ya know that, treasure.”

You frown at him, worry written all over your face. You gently push your way into his room, and he lets you, looking everywhere but your face as you gently close the door behind you. The gentle click of the lock catches his ear, but he’s more focused on you. He winces as you click the light on, too, and hopes you don’t mind how he looks right now. He can feel your gaze on him, all of him, tearing apart whatever walls he was feebly trying to keep up. You always knew what was up, even when he wouldn’t say it. It was one of the things he loved so much about you - he didn’t have to be good with words, because you already know what he’s going to say.

He jumps slightly as your hands reach for his face, directing it at yours. His eyes still won’t meet yours, and you sigh.

“What’ll it take for my handsome boyfriend to look me in the eye, huh?” you croon sweetly. He can see the pout forming on your lips and the glint behind your eyes without even having to look. And he’s sure that you can feel the flush of his skin under your hands as blood rushes straight to his cheeks. It didn’t take much for you to fluster him, even now.

“Mammon.”

“...MC,” he conceded, allowing himself a peek at you. 

That was his first mistake. You were looking at him with such admiration, as if he had hung the moon and all the stars in the sky, and he didn’t know how to handle it. Why did you love him?

“Why do I love you? Why wouldn’t I love you?” You could tell he hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but you pushed on before he could get a word in. “You’re kind, and you’re so sweet to me, and you care about your family above anything else, and-”

“That’s not true,” he murmurs, watery eyes looking away from yours once again. “They think I’m mean, and annoying, and that I’m making you unhappy-”

“Oh, baby,” you coo, thumbing gently at his cheek. “Do I need to remind you just how perfect you are for me? My perfect boy.”

He flushes, stammering as you lead him back to his bed. There’s a noticeable dent from where he laid, unmoving, earlier, but you ignore it. Instead, you gently guide him to lay down on his back, and sit to straddle his hips. 

“I don’t know what’s got you all in your head,” you say, leaning down to hover your mouth just above his. “But I’m going to remind you just how good you are, okay?”

Before he can stammer out an “okay” of his own, your lips are crashing against his. There’s a sort of desperation behind your movements, and it has blood rushing down to his cock prematurely. He can’t help it, not when you’re straddling his hips and kissing him like your life depends on it. His hips buck when your tongue pushes into his mouth, and his shaky hands move to grasp at any part of you he can grab. They land on the plush of your hips, trying to guide you to grind down onto his already aching cock. You pull away at this, and he whines, a genuine sort of hurt hiding in the depths of his eyes.

“Baby, baby, look at me,” you murmur, cupping his cheek. “This is about you but that doesn’t mean you can break the rules. We go at my pace, okay?”

“S-sorry,” he hiccups, tears filling his waterline. “Sorry, I’ll be good for you, I’m sorry, I’ll be a good puppy, so please, don’t hate me!”

“Hate you? Honey, why would I hate you?”

You’re appalled that he would even think so lowly of you. Hate him? He didn’t show up to one dinner and you had about lost your mind! He had always been the sun - so bright and beautiful and charming - and you had just been lucky enough to have been pulled into his orbit. You didn’t hate him - hell, you revered him.

“T-that’s what they-hic-were sayin’,” he sobbed, the tears now at full force, “That I make you unhappy and that I don’t treat you right and and and-”

You interrupt again before he can spiral any further, squishing his cheeks between your fingers in an attempt to get him to slow down. 

“But did I say that baby? Did I tell you any of those things?”

He shakes his head gently, but the babbling doesn’t stop. He’s refusing to make eye contact again, and you frown, mad at yourself for not seeing the problem sooner. He had no reason to be insecure, he was the best thing that had ever happened to you, and you were just going to have to remind him of that.

“Silly Mammon,” you say, leaning down to leave a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “Does my little puppy need another reminder of just how much I love him?”

His head bobbles in a frantic yes, eyes finally finding yours again. There’s something feral sparkling in your eyes, but before he can comprehend it you’re slamming your lips back on his, your hands running down his pants to paw at his bulge. You toy with his belt a bit and he whines into your mouth, hips shifting under you in an attempt to get you to hurry up. 

You pull away, thumbing gently at his cheek. “Use your words, puppy. What do you need?”

“W-whatever you want,” he pants, his glazed over eyes struggling to meet yours. “Anything you want, please, wan’ you!”

You try to remain composed, but you can’t help the desperate shake of your hands as you fumble with his belt. You slip off of his lap, tapping his hip gently with your pointer finger as you shift off him. He lifts them for you without a word, eyes watching intently as you guide his pants and underwear off in one swift motion. You can’t help the grin from spreading across your face when his cock slaps against his abdomen. His tip is an angry red, almost purple, and fat globs of pre-cum run down the side of his cock.

“Aw, puppy, you’re already soaking for me, aren’t you? Sweet thing,” you coo, eyes never leaving his cock. “I’m going to ruin you.”

He doesn’t get more warning than that before you’re swooping down, tongue running up the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock. Your hands find his inner thighs and they twitch under your touch, trying to close around you as you slide between them. His hands scramble for purchase in the sheets as your head bobs down his length, taking him into your mouth. Another spurt of pre-cum dribbles out of his cock, and you suck it up, greedy, intent on making him fall apart under you.

“M-MC,” he stutters out between moans. “Master, please, I c-can’t take it! F-feels sho guh-good!”

You hum around him, sending vibrations coursing through him. One glance up at him and you know he’s already gone - eyes teary and glazed, hair messy, and one of his hands frantically fumbling to play with his nipple. You swirl your tongue around his leaking head and give one final bob downwards before he loses control of his hips and bucks into your mouth, painting your throat white with cum. You nurse him gently through it, suckling until his hips twitch with overstimulation. Pulling off him with a pop!, you give Mammon a lazy grin, rubbing gentle circles into his thigh with your thumb.

“Feeling better, puppy?” You murmur, kissing your way up to his mouth until you’re eye to eye, once again straddling the meat of his thighs.

He nods, and you frown down at him, unimpressed. 

“Words, pup.”

“Yeah,” he says,  dazed. “T-thank you, master, made me feel so good.”

“Good puppy,” you murmur, pecking his cheek. “Because I’m not done with you.”

He blinks up at you in surprise, and you spit on your hand, grasping at his softening cock. He winces at the contact on his sensitive cock, hands weakly moving to stop you. You grab at his wrist, giving him a warning look.

“You were doing so perfect for me, pup, what happened?” You pout down at him, giving his cock a warning squeeze. “My pretty puppy, do you think you can give me one more? Just one more, I know you can be good, hm?”

“Y-yeah, yeah, I can be g-good, hnn! So good, master, the goodest!”

He drops his hands back to his side, letting you have your way with him. Despite his earlier protests, he hardens quickly at your ministrations, tip already leaking at your touch. You lean down and press a gentle kiss to his mouth, eating up the little whimpers slipping from his maw. Once he’s sufficiently leaking all over your hand, you shift your weight, tapping his cheek to get his attention. 

“Ready, puppy?”

He blinks up at you in confusion, mouth opening to question you, but you line his cock up with your entrance and slide down, and his mouth forms a little oh instead. You flinch at the stretch, but any sort of pain quickly blurs into pleasure as you guide his tip to kiss that gooey spot inside of you. Your eyes want to flutter shut but you refuse to let them, instead basking in the drunken look on Mammon’s face. He’s clearly edging on the border of painful overstimulation and thoughtless pleasure, and when you clench around him just right, there might just be hearts in his eyes. 

“F-fuck, puppy, stretching me so good, aren’t you? Can feel you-unh!-all the way u-up here, baby.”

Your hand moves to your lower abdomen, eyes mean as you tap right where you feel him. He watches you with utter reverence, unable to look away as your pace picks up, hips rolling in a steady pattern. 

“So wet, aren’t you, puppy?” you pant, tightening your jaw to keep the moans from spilling out. “Absolutely gushing for me, gonna squirt for me like a girl?”

He opens his mouth to respond, and you slap a hand over his mouth. “Puppies don’t talk, remember? Or did I already fuck my puppy dumb?”

Your condescending tone has his eyes rolling back and his tongue lolling out, and you catch it, rolling it between your thumb and your forefinger. He’s drooling everywhere, little unh unh unh!s and masther!s slipping from his mouth. You tug on his tongue a bit, and you look him right in the eye as you spit into his mouth and let him choke on it a bit. When his eyes start to roll again, you let go, and watch him greedily swallow the mix of your spits.

“Say thank you, puppy.”

“W-woof!” he responds, and you give him a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss in return.

“Good boy, remembering my rules. How about you play with your pretty nipples as a reward, hm? And then maybe I’ll think about letting you cum.”

His head bobbles as he nods, hands messily sliding up to toy with his nipples. He rolls them between his fingers, tugging, and you see his abdomen tense as he holds back from bucking up into your soft, wet heat.

You’re not doing much better, and when his tip kisses that sweet spot inside you again, you feel yourself start to unwind. You lose your pace, desperately chasing your high as your insides spasm around him.

“C-come undone with me puppy, c’mon, won’t you-ahn!-be good for me? My best boy. You c-can cum, fuck fuck fuck! Cum.”

At your command, he lets go, filling your insides with his warm cum. You shake around him, prying your heavy eyes open to look at the blissed out expression on his face. His cheeks are streaked with dried tears and drool, and the most delicious flush spreads all the way down his chest. You run a hand through his matted hair as he comes down from his second orgasm of the night, extremely pleased with how he wearily blinks at you, eyes unfocused. 

You wince as you pull off of him, and his cum weakly dribbles out of your entrance. You roll over to lay next to him, making sure to slip your hand into his. 

You’re both absolutely disgusting - smelling of sex and covered in the evidence - but you bring his hand to your face anyways, gently kissing his knuckles.

“You know I love you more than anything, right?” You say, almost so quietly he misses it, “I hate that even for a second you doubted that.”

He tries to stop the feeling bubbling to his chest, but it’s hard to ignore when you nuzzle your face into his neck. He’s never really had the luxury to love like this, since he’s fallen to the Devildom, and it fills him with an inexplicable warmth. He rolls to face you, and he stiffens as your eyes find his.

“‘m sorry I made you worry,” he says, slinging an arm over you and pulling you closer. “I just…I’m not the best person, y’know? So I figured you finally saw that.”

You nip at the juncture when his neck meets his shoulder and he yelps.

“Don’t talk about my boyfriend like that. He’s the kindest, most loving, most exciting person to be around, and I’m the one who’s lucky to have him.”

The fierceness in your gaze catches him by surprise - why would you care so much? Sure, he’s the Great Mammon, but under all of his pizazz, he was just a boring, regular demon. Lucifer is influential, Leviathan is passionate, Satan is smart, Asmo is beautiful, Beel is strong, and Belphie (despite his brat behavior) is soft and sweet. But he didn’t bring anything to the table, not like they did.

“Stop that,” you say, louder this time. 

“Get out of your head and look at me. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. You’re not annoying, and your brothers don’t know how much you do for them when they’re not looking. You’re an amazing brother, and the perfect partner. I love you, okay? I love you so much, my Mammon.”

“I love ya too, MC. Thank you for remindin’ me,” he huffs out, embarrassed at the tears springing to his eyes again.

He sniffles, hiding his head into your hair and pulling you closer. You hold him just as tight, and he drifts off in your arms, the tension of the day slipping away in your embrace.

– – –

“Do you think Mammon is okay?”

Lucifer glances up from his place at his desk, glasses crooked and face a little flushed. He tries his best to subtly adjust himself, and rubs at his temples, exasperated. Sometimes, being aware of everything happening in the house was more of a curse than a blessing. Your voice as you cooed at his brother was going to stick with him for eons to come.

“I can assure you, Leviathan, he is more than okay.”

Word Count: 3897

[leyavo]

TF141 x concussed stubborn!reader

Summary: the tf141 guys trying to help concussed stubborn!reader. Requested.

John’s used to being in charge, making sure everyone’s well looked after before he even thinks of himself. It’s why you don’t like to ask him for stuff, don’t want to burden him or push too much on his already stressed shoulders. Doesn’t matter how many times he’s told you it’s okay, you can’t bring yourself to add to his worries when you can do it yourself.

You don’t get a choice though, warm hands slip behind your head and you blink, harsh glow cutting through the darkness. Your words echo in your mind, but John’s voice is clear cut like crystal and it brings you back.

“Come on, Petal. Let’s just have a look…” he says, turning you to lay on your side. His hand pawing your face, rough pads of his fingers sweeping the hair out of your eyes.

Whatever you tried to say, it’s grumbled. Tongue heavy and throat dry, you try to swat his touch away, but your arms thud to the floor. The ringing in your ear makes you close your eyes, black dots lining your vision.

“Ah,ah. No you don’t, gotta stay awake for me,” he says, sitting you up. You slump against the wall, reaching for the cup of water as he helps you drink.

Slowly you come back from the haze, your head on John’s shoulder. His palm running up and down your spine. The tingling in your mouth fades away, tongue light and jaw relaxing. The back of your head tender as try to glance up at John, maybe you should have accepted his help earlier. You wouldn’t have fainted and hit the back of your head on the radiator if you’d just let him in.

“You remember ya’ name?” He asks, shoulder nudging your cheek. “Nah miss stubborn ain’t ya.” Not giving you a chance to reply.

“I remember you being quiet,” you mumble, pinching his side to shut him up.

Simon’s still getting used to having an independent partner. You’ve always had to rely on yourself, only going to him as a last resort even if it makes it difficult for you. He hovers around at a distance until you ask, but sometimes he has to convince you to let your guard down so he can look after you.

You’d been doing some renovation work in the flat and refused to spend money on contractors whilst Simon was away, which he preferred. But you had decided to do things yourself which included hanging a new much heavier curtain pole on the wall.

He hears the crash, the thud that could only be the sound of your body falling. A clang of metal rolling across the bedroom as he rushes in. You’re half covered by the curtain, sitting up thankfully with your head in your hands.

“Fuckin hell,” Simon gasps, his knees hitting the floor beside you. He pries your hands away from your face and tugs your wrists to keep you upright.

You’re out cold, ready to go down as soon as he lets go, but he won’t. No he inches closer and slips an arm around your waist and the other under your legs to lift you. He talks to you as he walks to the bed and lays you down, palm smoothing the graze on your forehead.

“Luv, hello luv, earth to…” he calls to you, his face hovering above yours. He continues talking to you till you start to blink back clear vision, there’s a cold washcloth on your forehead and an about four pillows beneath your head and upper back.

There’s no blood on the cloth as he lifts it off, not that it’d make a difference with the red curtains. “I know my name” your snap as he asks you, but you say it when he repeats the question.

“Why don’t we leave the walls to me, huh? Who got hit with the shelf last time I came home?” He says, shaking you in his hold as he tucks you into his side.

“You did,” you mumbled, trying to muffle the laugh at the memory. Simon had come home, you’d shut the bedroom door a little harsh and the shelf had come away from the wall. Thankfully its was a cheap faux wood one that had nothing on it, unfortunately it landed on Simon’s head and you haven’t heard the last of it.

“Good thing we’ve both got thick heads”

Kyle’s in the rec room when he hears about your botched mission and he rushes to the infirmary, not really taking in your lieutenant’s words as he trails after him. He hears your voice first, smile tugging his lips at your defiance.

“I’m a medic, just focus on the guys.” You’re in medic mode, as Kyle likes to call it. Too concerned with the injuries of others to even think about giving yourself some much needed care and attention.

You’re peeling a red tinged gauze off your forehead, looks like you’d slapped it on without any care. And by the sight of your task force friends, he can see you were too busy tending to them than yourself.

“Hey, baby,” you say, smiling at him through the mirror. The guys groan and you wave them off. Kyle’s hand wraps around your bicep and he gently turns you. He cups your face, titling it to check the cut.

Your eyes flutter shut expecting him to lean in for a kiss, but his hand slips from your face and takes the fresh gauze from your grasp. “Hey wha-,”

“Shh, let me help,” Kyle says, guiding you into the nearest chair. “Don’t even..” he dodges your attempt to take back the medic supplies and you huff, crossing your arms over chest. Head dipping, brows furrowed as you stared at your lap.

“I’m a medic, just a scratch. Can do it myself,” you mumble to yourself, all whilst Kyle bites back a smile. Always so stubborn.

Kyle crouches in front of you, palms on your knees. “The slur of your voice says otherwise.” He knows by the tremble of your legs that the adrenaline’s the only thing keeping you going. “You’re all done, you wanna second before we go?”

You scoff, pushing out of the chair and stumble into Kyle. He catches you easily, one arm slipping around your waist and you drape an arm around his shoulder leaning on him for support. You point to the nearest wash station, pausing in front of the mirror to inspect his work.

“Come on, I know the basics,” he grumbles and you can’t help, but chuckle. You regret it though, palm pressing to your bruised ribs, “looks like you’ll have to go without me, don’t want you hurting yourself.”

Kyle’s always trying to make you laugh, which is no easy feat, but he understands your humour now.

“Yeah, you’re kinda funny looking…”

He shakes his head, helping you back to the barracks. Asking you the usual questions, what is your name, the year etc you may have said the wrong date just to see his nose scrunch up and have him scold you.

Johnny loves hanging out with you in your art studio. He sits on the stool behind you, scooting around with you as organise your paints and mediums ready to start. The secondhand easel had been giving you a hard time lately, the bolt and nut falling off each time you adjusted it.

You fiddle with bolt, refusing Johnnys help. He’s still healing from the impact of an explosion, bruises lining his body and scrapes on his arm and one side of his face. There’s no way he’s going to spend his days fixing stuff for you. He needs to relax.

So you push him away after the first failed attempt and the easel that hit your shoulder a second ago. Telling him it’s nothing, not your first hit that’s for sure.

“It’s fine, Johnny…god dammit. I don’t need you to do anything,” you snap, readjusting the easel, but you feel the smack on your head before you hear the crack of wood. You don’t know what happened next, but you’re flung back.

Johnny catches you before you hit the ground, light spilling through the window warming his face and highlighting the coppery undertones of his hair. Your lips part, heavy eyelids flutter as you try to focus on his sapphire eyes or the deep scar on his chin. Anything to keep you in the present and push the dark spots out of your vision.

Johnny’s words are a distance echo, his touch melting away. Each blink feels like slow motion, vision blurring. Johnny’s lips are moving, but all you can hear is the blood pumping in your ear.

It takes you a while to return to your body, the dull buzz of Johnnys hums filtering through the haze.

“There’s me gal,” he says, lips curving into a smile. His hands frame your face, thumbs brushing your cheek. He’s patient, but the line between his brow and pout of his lips reveal his worry. He’s always quick to act, like something he can’t switch off. Never rests always alert.

“Was I out for long?” You mumble, leaning into his touch, his forehead pressing against yours lightly.

Johnny shook his head, leaning back with a grin. “You called me beautiful.”

Your mouth hangs open, but all you think of was the sun hitting the sharp planes of his cheek bones. Coppery undertones glimmering in the light, a muse if you must. Not that you’d feed into his inflated ego. You nudge him away playfully.

“You should hit your head more often,” he smirks.

[Masterlist]

I am well versed in a hit to head and have also pulled a curtain pole off the wall 😅 I’m dyslexic so there might be errors/mistakes - Leya

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Silver Vanrouge - Club Wear Voice Lines

Club Silver does not have a vignette.

There is no hurdle or water jump too high for us to clear. ...Now, time to go.

Summon: I will demonstrate the fruits of my continuous efforts. I have the determination... All that is left is to face it with my whole being.

Groovification: Focus on the goal, and gallop towards it! This is where we show off our strengths.

Home: Now then, it is time for equestrian practice.

Home Transition 1: Each horse has its own personality and habits. I appreciate having the opportunity to interact with many different horses.

Home Transition 2: There is a moment of exhilaration each time we leap over an even higher hurdle after dedicated continuous practice. It is a thoroughly rewarding feeling.

Home Transition 3: When Malleus-sama came to watch us in a competition, Sebek seemed to be stiffer than he usually is. He would have had no issues if he had just acted as he normally did.

Home Transition - Login: It is crucial to trust in the horse and continuously train with each other. This leads to an improvement in ability with great results.

Home Transition - Groovy:  Zzzz... Ah... My apologies. It is unbecoming that I even doze off during club practice. If I'm being completely honest, there have also been times that I've been startled awake by a horse's whinny.

Home Tap 1: Whenever an equestrian show draws near, we practice while wearing our dressage outfits. It is to prepare us mentally for the actual competition, from what I understand.

Home Tap 2: Riddle makes very few, if any, mistakes during competition. He stresses the importance of the most basic principles, so every single one of his movements is very deliberate.

Home Tap 3: In Briar Valley, there are many rocky landscapes and cliffs, as well as steep terrain. It does seem to be a perfect place for my specialty of show jumping to thrive.

Home Tap 4: As practice, I sometimes gallop through forests. Perhaps it is because it reminds me of my childhood home, but I tend to get a wave of nostalgia whenever I do so.

Home Tap 5: In order to not have my vision obstructed, I make sure to keep my bangs parted whenever I compete. It looks stylish? That was not something I had considered.

Home Tap - Groovy: Both the view of the scenery from atop a horse and the sensation of the wind rushing past is very delightful. I would love for you to be able to experience some day.

Duo: [SILVER]: I am at ease with you here, Riddle. [RIDDLE]: I have your back, Silver.

Requested by @farfalla049.

[writeriguess]

Helloo! Since you said you liked scenarios with multiple characters, I thought I'd request one. Shoto, Keigo, Aizawa, Katsuki + reader who passes out in front of them. My blood pressure is naturally lower so sometimes I'll just stand up and become blind for some seconds/faint/get very nauseous and dizzy. While I'm never super concerned abt it because it's normal, some comfort for it would be veeery nice since it often happens when I'm alone so i just kinda have to Deal With It™. Have a good day, no rush!

Shoto Todoroki

It was just a normal day—training with Shoto at U.A., nothing too intense. The two of you were cooling down after a sparring match when you stood up too fast.

Bad idea.

The second you got to your feet, your vision blurred. The gym floor rippled like water, and your stomach churned. Shoto was saying something—probably about form, maybe about taking a break—but his voice became distant, like it was coming through a tunnel. Then, before you could steady yourself, the ground rushed up to meet you.

Except it didn’t.

A strong yet cool hand caught your wrist, and suddenly, you were pressed against Shoto’s chest. His other arm had wrapped securely around your waist, keeping you upright.

“[Name].” His voice was steady but laced with concern. You could feel the slight chill radiating off him, grounding you. “What happened?”

You blinked up at him, vision slowly clearing. “I’m fine,” you muttered, feeling a little ridiculous in his arms.

“You collapsed.” His grip didn’t loosen. His mismatched eyes scanned you for injuries. “Did you hit your head?”

“No, I just—” You sighed. “My blood pressure’s low sometimes. Standing too fast makes me dizzy. That’s all.”

Shoto frowned slightly, clearly not liking the answer. “That’s all?” he repeated, his voice soft but questioning. “That doesn’t make it unimportant.”

You exhaled. He wasn’t wrong. Still, you tried to step away, but he didn’t let you go immediately.

“Let me help you sit,” he murmured, gently guiding you back down. He knelt beside you, his body close, his hands still steadying you. “You should have said something.”

“I didn’t think I’d faint in front of you,” you admitted with a wry smile.

He studied you for a long moment, then nodded slightly. “From now on, if you feel even a little dizzy, tell me.” His tone left no room for argument. “I can catch you again if I have to, but I’d rather prevent it.”

His quiet protectiveness made warmth bloom in your chest.

Keigo Takami (Hawks)

Keigo had dragged you to one of his favorite rooftop spots, claiming the city skyline was the best way to end a day. You had no problem with that—until you stood up too fast.

The wind swept around you, and suddenly, the world swayed. Your stomach flipped, your vision darkened, and for a terrifying second, you weren’t sure which way was up.

Then, there was warmth.

Strong arms caught you before you could even fully drop, and in the next moment, you were weightless. Keigo had scooped you up without hesitation, wings fluttering to balance the both of you.

“Whoa, easy there, dove.” His voice was light, but his grip on you was firm. “Did I sweep you off your feet that bad?”

You groaned, pressing your forehead against his shoulder. “Not the time for jokes, Keigo.”

“Eh, if I don’t joke, I’ll worry too much.” His hold tightened slightly, like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. “You scared the hell outta me just now.”

“I just got dizzy.” You exhaled. “My blood pressure’s low. It happens.”

He was quiet for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. “And you weren’t gonna tell me about this why?”

“I didn’t think it’d happen,” you muttered.

Keigo sighed dramatically, shifting you so he could look at you properly. “That’s not an excuse,” he teased, but his golden eyes were sharp with concern. “You gotta tell me these things, dove. What if I wasn’t fast enough?”

You glanced at his wings, which had flared out on instinct. “You’re literally the fastest person I know. You were always gonna catch me.”

He huffed a laugh. “Still. You scared me. Don’t like seeing you go down like that.”

His voice had softened near the end, and the worry laced in it made your chest ache.

“I’ll tell you next time,” you promised.

“Damn right you will,” he said, pressing his forehead against yours briefly. “’Cause next time, I wanna prevent it—not just react to it.”

Shouta Aizawa (Eraserhead)

You had been helping Aizawa organize some files at the agency when it happened.

One second, you were standing, handing him a report. The next, everything spun. Your knees buckled, and the file slipped from your fingers.

You didn’t even process what was happening before strong arms caught you, pulling you against a firm chest.

“[Name].” Aizawa’s voice was sharp, commanding, but not unkind. His grip was steady, supporting your weight as you sagged.

You gritted your teeth, feeling embarrassed. “I—just dizzy—”

His grip tightened slightly before he eased you down into a chair. His hands lingered on your shoulders, steadying you as he crouched in front of you. His sharp eyes flicked over your face, scanning for any signs of serious distress.

“Explain.”

You swallowed, knowing there was no dodging this. “My blood pressure gets low sometimes. If I stand too fast, I get lightheaded.”

His frown deepened. “How often?”

You hesitated. “…Often enough.”

He exhaled through his nose, clearly displeased. “And you didn’t think to mention this before nearly hitting the floor?”

You shrugged. “I usually just deal with it.”

His jaw tightened. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything—just watched you, assessing, processing. Then, finally, he spoke.

“No more just dealing with it.” His tone was firm, almost scolding. “If this happens again, you tell me. If you feel even a little off, you sit down. Understood?”

The intensity of his gaze made you nod. “Understood.”

Satisfied, he stood and grabbed a water bottle from his desk, handing it to you. “Drink.”

You obeyed, and as you did, you caught the way his eyes softened—just a little.

“You scared me,” he admitted quietly. “Don’t do that again.”

Katsuki Bakugo

You were walking with Katsuki, arguing over what to eat for dinner, when the dizziness hit.

It came fast. Too fast.

Your vision darkened, your legs wobbled, and before you could stop it, your knees gave out.

But before you hit the pavement, strong hands grabbed you.

“Oi—!” Katsuki’s voice was sharp with alarm as he caught you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other gripping your wrist. “The hell—?!”

You clung to him, the world still spinning. “I’m fine,” you managed weakly.

“Like hell you are!” His grip on you was borderline crushing, his heart hammering against your shoulder. “You just fucking collapsed!”

You groaned, still feeling lightheaded. “It’s just low blood pressure. Happens sometimes.”

His scowl deepened. “You knew this shit could happen and didn’t tell me?!”

You winced. “Didn’t think I’d pass out in front of you.”

Katsuki gritted his teeth. “Dumbass,” he muttered. Then, softer, “You scared me.”

His arms tightened around you, holding you closer. “Next time, you say something. Got it?”

You nodded against his chest. “Got it.”

“Good.” His hold didn’t loosen. “’Cause I’d rather punch through a wall than watch you drop like that again.”

[ashthesalamipiece]

Could I request one for Katsuki and a reader with an ED? Reader starts getting weaker and passes out because she isn't eating well from feeling self concious about her looks and gets comfort and help from her bf Kats? Thanks!

Enjoy♡

“Still Worthy”

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader

Genre: Angst + Comfort

Warnings: ED themes (not eating, body image issues), fainting, light swearing (Bakugo-style), emotional vulnerability, comfort

Word count: ~1,300

---

You hadn’t meant for it to get this bad.

It started with skipping breakfast here and there. Then avoiding lunch with your classmates. Then pushing dinner around your plate until even Bakugo stopped teasing you about your “rabbit portions.” You told yourself it was fine. You just wanted to look better, feel better—maybe if you weren’t so… you, things would be easier.

But now your limbs felt heavy, your head spun when you stood too fast, and the mirror was your worst enemy.

You were walking down the hallway at U.A. when the world tilted violently.

“K-Kats…” you managed, gripping the wall.

The last thing you saw was Bakugo’s eyes—wide and terrified—before everything went black.

---

You woke to the smell of antiseptic and the warmth of a hand gripping yours tightly.

“Oi. About damn time.”

Your vision cleared slowly, blinking away the haze to see Bakugo seated beside the infirmary bed, still in his hero uniform, worry etched deep into his brows.

You tried to sit up. His hand gently stopped you.

“Don’t. Just… lay the hell down, dumbass.”

“…What happened?”

“You passed out.” His voice cracked with anger—but not at you. “I caught you before you hit the floor. You scared the hell outta me.”

You flinched. Not from his tone, but because guilt bloomed like wildfire in your chest. You looked away.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered.

Silence.

“Why weren’t you eating?” he asked, softly. Softer than you expected from him.

Your throat closed up. The words were there, stuck behind shame. You couldn’t look at him. Not when you felt like this.

“I just… didn’t want to look like this anymore,” you admitted, voice so quiet it was almost inaudible. “I know I’m not… like the others. I wanted to be better. Prettier. Less…”

“Don’t.”

His voice cut in, trembling. You glanced at him.

His jaw clenched. Red eyes filled with something deep and raw and hurting. His grip on your hand tightened.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

You opened your mouth, but he beat you to it.

“You think I don’t notice? The way you’ve been skipping meals? Faking smiles?” His voice wavered. “I thought you were just tired, but it’s ‘cause you haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “I didn’t think you’d care that much…”

Bakugo scoffed, but there was no bite.

“You’re the only goddamn person I care about like this.”

You blinked, stunned.

“I love you, you idiot,” he muttered, eyes locked on your joined hands. “And watching you hurt yourself… it’s killing me.”

Your breath hitched.

He looked up, gaze searing through your shame.

“You don’t need to change for me. Or anyone. You’re already enough, the way you are. Hell, you're more than enough. You’re strong. You’re kind. You’ve got this stupid stubborn light that makes me wanna be better.”

Tears streamed down your face. You didn’t even try to stop them.

“I feel so broken sometimes, Katsuki,” you whispered. “Like I’m not enough for this world. For you.”

He leaned forward, forehead pressing gently against yours.

“Then let me help you fix it,” he said. “We’ll fight this. Together. But you gotta let me.”

You nodded shakily. “I don’t know how to fix it all at once.”

“You don’t have to.” He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear. “We start with one meal. Then another. I’ll cook for you, I’ll sit with you, I’ll remind you every damn day how beautiful you are until you start believing it too.”

You laughed, broken and soft. “You’re such a softie.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, ears turning red. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

You rested your head on his shoulder.

For the first time in weeks, your chest didn’t feel so tight.

You still had a long way to go.

But you weren’t walking it alone anymore.

[urwhorecrux]

Hi 🌚

I have a request if you’re up for it. Maybe a nerdy james potter (or remus lupin) x reader? Like hes super nerdy and give out the innocent vibes to people but the most dom man in bed?

yesyesyesyes i love this <3

⊹。°˖➴ 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 - 𝘫𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳

pairing. dom!james potter x fem!reader

warnings. smut, p in v, cussing, unprotected sex, mean!james? slight innocence kink, size kink, slight sub!reader.

a/n. i’m promise i see all the requests and i am getting to them, just busy studying for finals this week. thank you all for the requests and i’ll get to them asap :)

James potter, a kind, shy boy.

Everybody knew him, they all knew he came from money and was one of the highest ranked in your class. He does what anyone asks no matter what, when, or where.

He’s basically a fallen angel. Always treating you the best, worshipping you.

No talk back, shy around your friends, sometimes shy around you. Everywhere except, the bedroom. This, no one expected. Not even you, the first time made it clear he knew what he was doing. All the time after that made his whole “innocent” act become fake.

The past days before have been nothing but stress for james. Exams, quidditch practice after another, and practically everyone ignoring his existence, except you and the other marauders. Not only had his behavior changed towards you - but his sex drive.

It was more than immensely high, and you were the one to deal with it.

That’s how you ended up in this position - pressed into the four poster mattress, bent over with your panties pushed aside as James roughly thrusting into you as your legs trembled with each thrust. Your hands grasped the slightest cloth of sheets, the force of each thrust makes your smaller body almost snap as his hips grind against yours.

“James.. fuck, they’ll hear us”, you stutter out along with small whimpers. Your weak protest only seemed to encourage him even more, his hold on your fragile hips grew more firm.

“Just be fucking quiet” - James grunts in your ear, increasing the pace within each thrust, his dick brushing your g-spot with thrust, making you squirm underneath him every time.

Your head drops into the sheets, resting against the silk sheets, having a sly view of James’s cock sliding in and out of you, his veins throbbing on his cock. You watch carefully, mesmerized by his every movement.

You feel your high nearing, as your stomach curls in a tight knot. He pulls you closer to him, pressing himself deeper into you. One hand clenches your ass as the other grips your waist.

Your mind starts going practically blank, dark spots overfill your vision quickly as you feel your orgasm approaching. Your walls clench around his pulsing cock, making him groan with every thrust. His pace become faster yet sloppy, pounding you with a rapid force.

His skin began to come flushed with red, hungrily making you take his cock with each thrust.

Your eyes shut tight, feeling a familiar feeling as the knot in your stomach tightens even more. Pleasure begins to bring a warm tingling feeling to your body, as James covers your mouth, muffling your coaxed moans.

You feel James’s body tighten behind you, his orgasm rushing over, thrusting lazily into you a few more times, low whimpers escaping his lips. His thick white ropes escaped your wrecked pussy, slowly seeping out of you. His hips slightly lurch in from the orgasm spasms.

He slowly slides out of you, panting, lazily laying against your side still having a tight hold on your waist, aware of your trembling, numb legs.

With a light smack on your ass he nudges into your neck, softly placing kisses along your jawline and cheek, leaving you a fucked-out blushing mess.

[moonstruckme]

Hello! So, I was wondering if you could write poly!marauders with a reader with anemia (iron deficiency)? Where she usually doesn't take her pills bc she forgets or straight up just doesn't want to, so sometimes she'll stand up and will completely fall back onto where she was sitting bc she will black out for a few seconds or lose her balance?

Obviously, only do it if you wanna and feel like it!!! Thank you and have a terrific day <3

Sincerely, :]

Hi my lovely! Thanks for requesting <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 656 words

When Remus calls you for dinner, James races you to the kitchen, both of you shoving at each other and giggling like children as you pound down the stairs. He wins, of course (he loves you, but he’s not going to let you beat him just because of that), but when he turns around to gloat, you’ve faltered a couple of steps from the bottom. 

A glaze has come over your eyes, no less alarming for its familiarity, and James' heart stutters as you put out a hand, feeling for the handrail. 

“Babe?” James wishes his voice were a little less panicked, but for all he knows you could be about to keel over and fall down the stairs. 

You sit back on the step behind you, your hand slipping down the banister while you hold the other out in front of you as if to placate him. “I’m okay,” you say, though you don’t sound entirely certain yourself. “I just need a second.” 

“Oh, fuck,” Sirius says, coming around the corner. He pushes his hair out of his face. “Baby, again?”

“Sorry,” you mumble, blinking as though to clear a film from your eyes. In the kitchen, James hears Remus sigh, and knows he’s caught onto what’s happened as well. The tap turns on. 

You blink some more, your gaze clearing bit by bit until you’re able to focus on James and Sirius in front of you. You stand, too quickly for James’ liking, and he steps towards you, taking your forearm in one hand and using the other to support your lower back. 

“Take it easy, sweetheart,” he worries as you flounce dismissively down the remaining steps. 

“It’s fine,” you say breezily, “I’m fine. Just got dizzy for a second, sorry.” 

Sirius raises his eyebrows, arms crossing in front of him. They’re all familiar with this act. Anytime you black out like this, you pretend as if it’s a normal part of everyone’s day (or, if you can get away with it, as if it never happened at all) in an attempt to nullify your boyfriends’ worry. “You looked like you went blind,” he says. 

You appear a tiny bit sheepish at that, but it’s gone in a second. “It was a blip.” 

It’s clear you’re campaigning to move on and forget your near-fall and James’ near-cardiac arrest, but no sooner do you round the corner into the kitchen than Remus is standing in front of you. 

He holds your medicine in one hand and a glass of water in the other, and there’s no shortage of judgment in the quirk of his one eyebrow as he passes them to you. James feels for you; if Remus leveled a look like that at him, he might turn to ash on the spot. But you’re braver than he is, so you only flush, downing the pill with a sip of water. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, not quite looking at him. 

Remus hums, taking the glass from you and setting it on the counter. He curls a finger under your jaw and places his thumb on your chin, tilting your head up (Yup, James would be dead. Perished. Six feet under.) until you meet his eyes. 

“You set an alarm on your phone for a reason,” Remus says softly. “Start taking your medicine as soon as it goes off, understand? It’s dangerous when you don’t.” 

You nod mutely, and Remus bends, kissing the highest point of your cheek. 

“Alright, dove.” 

He leaves you there, looking somehow more dazed than when your vision had gone out a minute before, and starts bringing plates to the table. 

“Merlin,” Sirius breathes, he and James watching the scene from near the stairs. “He gets so scared when she doesn’t take them. She’s lucky he didn’t find some way to punish her for forgetting like that.” 

James scoffs, going to help Remus with setting the table. “I think that was her punishment.”

[porceline]

So, I'm thinking of your fic, and in it we see how the reader reacts when Optimus is turned human. My request is headcanons or a little ficlet/drabble on how OP would react if you (his human S/O) were to interact with a relic that turned them into a Cybertronian.

Turn of events

Pairing:

Optimus Prime × cybertronian!reader

Summary:

After a decommissioned disguise relic ended up in the hands of the Autobots, everyone's favorite reader (you), ended up being transformed into a giant cybertronian.

Word count: 1k+

A/N: HIII GUYSSS I'm so sorry it took me so long to get this out, gosh I got sick AGAIN! and some personal stuff went down, but I'm back and badder than ever!! Enjoy loves!

(Ps. This isn't as detailed as I would've liked but I rushed to get it out cuz I was taking too much time, but might even make it a full fic when I finish my current one!!)

It was an accident, completely an accident. You hadn't meant to. You just wanted to see.

Sliding thin, fleshy fingers between large gaps in buttons and pressure plates while no one was paying attention, with no idea the relic would be so sensitive. Not your proudest moment.

You always knew your curiosity would be your downfall. You're just lucky Bulkhead moved the kids out of the way.

It was the most pain you've ever experienced, it felt like your limbs were getting stretched beyond their limit, your skin pulled hard and slowly, then it felt like it was turned to stone.

No one had any time to react before you became ten times bigger than you were born, your new form falling onto the elevated platform designated for humans.

The concrete was thick enough to hold your weight, but the iron safety bars bent under you.

Everything was tinted blue, and somehow brighter than before. You had to squint your eyes.

Your vision kept blurring, sometimes focusing on one single spot, zooming onto it as if you were wearing Binoculars.

There was a panic around you, commotion and yelling. Everything sounded so far away though. You couldn't focus.

A hand, much larger than yours grasps your shoulder. Another cups your cheek and turns your head.

It's Optimus. He's speaking. His mouth is moving but you hear nothing. You're scared.

"Have you shrunk?" You blurt out, you can feel the rumble of your own voice like never before, it sounded so clear despite not being able to hear.

He raises an eyebrow, his mouth begins to move again, but you still can't hear anything.

Thick brows furrow as blue optics scan over your worried face. Optimus puzzles together what might be wrong, his face softens as he reaches to the side of your head.

You hear three loud clicks, then the sound of the base booms into your ears, making your head throb.

"What happened!?"

"Primus, what did you do!?"

"Why did you touch that?!"

"Are you alright?"

You snap your head towards Optimus, his gentle optics stare deep into your own.

You shake your head.

He hums, sliding a thick arm under your back, helping you sit up. His free hand slides over your legs, turning them to hang over the large concrete block you're sitting on.

By now, Ratchet has made his way over to you, an angry look on his face as both he and Optimus help you stand up.

The rest of the team are watching in silence, mouths agape in awe at the sudden transformation they had just witnessed. Seeing you go from such a tiny being, to being slightly larger than arcee was incredible.

Your feet, well, pedes, finally hit the floor, they felt so much heavier than what you were used to. Like someone glued concrete blocks onto your feet.

The two of them loosen their grip on you, the lack of support nearly makes you topple over, making you blurt out an embarrassing yelp.

Ratchet scoffs in annoyance, while Optimus shakes his head, leaning you back to scoop you into his arms.

"Let's keep you off your pedes for a bit."

You don't argue.

Ratchet leads the way to the medical bay, walking a bit faster than Optimus. You can practically hear the anger in his steps.

"I'm so sorry." You whisper, burying your face in your hands. How could you have been so stupid?

"None of that," Optimus pulls your hands away from your face, tilting your chin up.

"It's not your fault, it was an accident. Ratchet might seem angry, but he really is just worried."

Everyone else has since gone their separate ways, still on edge from, the event earlier.

What a horrible way to start the day.

Optimus settles you down on one of the large metal cots, leaning you back against the wall.

He sits down next to you while Ratchet occupies himself with running tests on you. The scanner in his forearm drowns you in a green light, covering you head-to-toe.

Completing the scan, Ratchet turns back around. His digits tap against the keyboard as he types.

You look up to the monitor above his head, the text scrolls down the vibrant green screen.

But you can read it.

It's incredible, you understand it but you also.. don't? You can read it, but the text is still so foreign to you.

The information on the screen appears to be vitals, and though you can read it, you can't quite understand it.

Optimus holds onto your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. It was a comforting touch.

Ratchet returns to your side, taking an object that looks like a human-ish pistol from the table beside you.

Before you can even breathe, he turns your hand over and shoots your palm. It hurt, but not as much as you had anticipated. It was like getting a flu-shot.

The vial attached to it starts filling with a blue liquid, energon, you presume.

Ratchet doesn't say a word when he pulls the gun away, slotting it into a machine next to your cot.

The awkward silence eats away at your mind, you grip the grey armor plating on your thighs.

"Ratchet.. I didn't mean-"

"Ehp yehp yehp! I don't want to hear any of it."

You sulk your shoulders, hunching your head down as his thick metal digets tap away at the keyboard.

Optimus sighs. "Ratchet..-"

The prime is interrupted by his medic.

"Not you too! I can barely deal with one whining bot, by Primus don't make me deal with two."

Your eyes widen, your hands open in a defensive position.

"I'm not whining!"

He points his thick digit at you. "That, right there, is whining!  Can you please try to be quiet while I figure out how to fix this?!" Ratchet huffs, turning away back to his monitor. Mumbling something about humans being loud.

You glare at the back of his head, sighing in frustration.

This week is going to be hell.

[eclipixels]

Melon Milk

Kim Namjoon x Reader

Content: You bother a K-pop idol, but he accidentally ends up falling for you

Requested by @nichiyadraw

[700]

      Your palms sting from wiping your face too roughly, your eyes swollen and sore. It’s past midnight. The Seoul street is mostly quiet. Neon convenience store lights flicker above you, and the buzz of a nearby streetlamp is the only company you expect.

      Until someone crouches beside you.

      “You okay?”

      You flinch. You hadn’t heard anyone approach.

      When you glance over, you see a man, tall, broad-shouldered, in a plain black hoodie pulled halfway up his face. Despite the mask, you can see his eyes. Warm. A little worried.

      You blink, clearing your vision. “I’m—fine.”

      You’re not. Your voice cracks on the lie. He doesn’t call you out on it. Just shifts slightly and holds something out to you. Melon milk. You stare at it.

      “I—I already have one,” you say, lifting the bottle in your hand. It’s unopened.

      The stranger’s eyes crinkle slightly. “Then you can have two. It’s the superior flavor anyway.”

      You sniff, let out a broken laugh. “Debatable. Strawberry supremacy.”

      That earns a low chuckle. He finally sits beside you on the low concrete edge, setting the second milk down between you. The two of you are quiet for a while.

      You wipe at your eyes one last time. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess.”

      He shrugs, voice soft. “Everyone gets to be a mess sometimes.”

      You’re still holding the first bottle when you finally speak again. “My boyfriend broke up with me.”

      The words fall out like glass, still sharp.

      “Ah,” he says gently. “The crying makes sense then.”

      You glance at him. “Do you always offer melon milk to sobbing girls outside convenience stores?”

      “Only the ones sitting alone in the dark,” he says. Then he adds, almost sheepishly: “And only if I have enough for myself.”

      You smile. It’s small, but real. It takes a while, but your breath eventually evens. You both sit in silence, watching late-night taxis roll by. The kind of quiet that feels safe. Solid. Like he’s not trying to fix anything, just letting you exist.

      You sneak another glance at him. He still hasn’t taken off the mask or the hoodie, but that voice… deep, calm. Familiar.

      Is that…? No, there’s no way. It hits you like a lightning bolt. Your heart skips. Kim Namjoon.

      Your eyes widen slightly. Your brain races through every video you’ve ever made, the reaction videos, the ‘he’s so fine, I can’t function’ compilations your subscribers clipped from your livestreams.

      God. If he knew.

      You look away quickly, clutching the melon milk. “You don’t know who I am, right?”

      He blinks. “Should I?”

      “No,” you say way too fast. “Absolutely not.”

      That earns another soft chuckle. “Noted.”

      The moment stretches again.

      Finally, he turns toward you slightly. “Do you want to talk about him?”

      You shake your head. “Not tonight.”

      He nods, like he understands. After a long pause, he says, “I don’t know what happened, but if he let you go, I think he’s an idiot.”

      You suck in a breath. Your eyes sting again, not from sadness, this time, but from the quiet sincerity in his voice.

      “I think,” Namjoon continues, fingers fidgeting slightly with his bottle cap, “some people don’t know how to hold something good when they have it. Doesn’t mean you’re any less worth holding.”

      You exhale shakily, tears falling again, quieter this time. He lets you cry. No questions. No awkward advice. Just melon milk and moonlight and the most unexpected comfort from the very person you thought was untouchable.

      When you finally stand, he does too.

      “Thanks for…” You gesture vaguely. “All of this.”

      He nods. “Sometimes, strangers are easier than friends.”

      You open your mouth, hesitate. “Would it be weird if I asked to see you again?”

      He studies you, then offers a gentle smile.

      “I think I’d like that.”

[shirefantasies]

Little Flower- Beorn x F!Shy!Reader

A request from @peachpitpoisonlips! Always down to write more Beorn 😁 where my Beorn girlies at?

Warnings: angst at the beginning (fluff later I promise!!!), canon typical peril

Perhaps you were simply a fool. Would anyone but, after all, have set out into the woods so late and with so little? But what choice did you have? Homeless, you were little more than a nomad. Some towns welcomed you in, but it was clear when the novelty wore off and your lack of coin impeded. Selfish as it may have been, it rent your heart to see families walking hand in hand together, even couples sitting side by side or the occasional set of twins playing a game of hopscotch or arguing over some book. Everyone with some outward tether practically built into their lives by some divine craft, a gift from the Valar you could not resist sometimes feeling had been wrest from your hands. But did you know any better?

The woods felt thick, leaning and pressing down upon you as though you held something they greatly desired tucked close against your chest, just out of reach. Every sound had your head darting this way and that. Were something to come for you, you had a small knife to your name to fight with and that was that. No fine weapon of iron, no great wooden shield. At least you were a fair climber. Getting up into the trees would help against a wolf at least if not a-

Rustling startled you out of your own mind, jarring your vision back into focus of the fading light filtering between the trees. Soon it would be nightfall. Things were moving in the gathering shadows. Stepping slower, more carefully, you swung your gaze back and forth but saw nothing and pressed on.

Dodging a jutting stone, you almost startled yourself kicking up some leaves, let loose the faintest of nervous chuckles before hearing a distant scrape. Taking hold of the next tree trunk ahead of you, you peeked out, scouting the horizon. There!

A great black bear, the most massive one you’d ever seen, lumbered closer to your place, huffing. Dread slid down your throat like cutting icicles as its eyes slid right to yours. This was not how you wanted to die. You’d always imagined it more as a release, giving up from the defeat of shivering cold beneath surrendered blankets. And yet what anticipated you? A life of brief antiquity, no hearth or fields to call your own? Not a soul to call your name once you were not there speaking it?

This, too, could be a release. Inhaling deeply, you stepped from behind the trunk and closed your eyes, waiting, waiting…

No pain, no sound, not a single thing befell you, and there you were finding yourself frowning, your eyelids peeling back open just in time to see the bear’s form melt and shrink, becoming a man before your eyes. Gaping, you studied his sturdy, bearded form, the pair of brown eyes looking you over, then softening. He reached out a hand and you flinched back.

“I have no reason to hurt you, little flower,” he said, voice low, accented, and for emphasis raised his hands up and away from you, palms out.

Something about the nickname, even from a tall, imposing stranger, brought a shaky smile to your lips. Heaving breaths came a bit slower to your aching chest. Completely frozen at their shaky hold upon twisting roots, however, your feet did not cooperate.

“Come on,” he took one step closer, “you cannot stay here. Come with me, please.”

Please. Eyes widening, you finally shook out of your stupor and slowly gave a tiny nod, stepping forward to his side. Who was this man? How had he transformed before your very eyes? As your gaze drifted over his form, dodging quickly over his bare chest with heat creeping to your cheeks, you caught sight of the broken manacle still binding his left wrist. Perhaps it would be rude to ask questions. Maybe he would change his mind about guiding you.

At least you could learn his name. Thus, you asked it, voice still quiet as air returned to your lungs.

“Beorn,” the man said, “And you need not be afraid. These are my woods. It is the elven woods you must be careful of. But these borders are far. You will not wander there.”

Taking his pause as an invitation whether it was one or not, you supplied your name. “So you… guard this place? Who else lives here?”

A wince cut across Beorn’s face at that, softening his severe features into something more timid. Something that had hurt. That must have been how you looked to him, too.

Just as quick, though, that vulnerable look was gone again, gone completely stoic. “My animals and I call this place our home.”

“Are- are they…?” How could you put it? Do they turn into people too? Are you an animal? What strange magic lives in this place.

“Just animals, little flower. There are no others like me. I live alone.”

Perhaps you had more in common with the bear-man than you’d have thought. You shook your head at his last comment, though.

“If you have them, you are never fully alone. …I- I love animals,” you admitted quietly.

“You might see them, then,” Beorn replied, “but first you need a meal and a rest. Perhaps a bath.”

You could have argued, but he was right. Even if he had not been, he could have mauled you. The more you observed the way Beorn looked at you, how he took much shorter, slower strides to stay at your side and hovered a hand by your back, though, the less you could picture him attacking without grave cause. The same part of you that had resigned to Beorn’s being the end of your life now gave a faint, internal laugh.

~

Another temporary home. This time a cottage a ways deeper in the woods, doors and windows lined with intricate woodwork and stone. A rocking chair rested upon the porch, welcoming you to a small, cozy home with pillars as beautifully carven as its exterior. Beorn settled you down in one of the great chairs at the dining table, a table you could not help wondering at given his solitude.

"Stay right there. Lucky for you I already had broth warming. Care for some bread?”

"Sure," you agreed, nodding faintly.

Back to another house of novelty. One more night of entertaining a stranger, this time one who almost killed you. One who was an even greater rarity than yourself.

From the stove across the way, Beorn looked over his shoulder at you, and you felt a flush of heat rise to your face.

"So..." You wrung your hands. "Get many visitors?"

"No," he shook his head, "And I do not try to. Though I confess some days I tire of my voice being the only one heard. I like yours well enough."

Well enough. Well enough for what? For one night? To tolerate? To keep? No. You shook your head, feeling an even redder hot glow about your face.

“Thank you,” you answered quietly.

"Here."

Crossing the room, Beorn approached you with a large pot in hand. Sliding a bowl and spoon in front of you, he ladled you up a serving of steaming brown broth and set a slice of bread at its side. You hesitated, staring down at it until you noticed his expectant look and took up your utensil. The broth slid warmly down your throat, bringing a glow back to your body you hadn't realized you lost.

"Good?"

"Good," you nodded, taking a bite out of the bread, the softness of which was equally warm.

You spoke very little during that meal, both of you, and though you could not speak on Beorn's behalf you simply did not know what to say.

~

Waking up was the only thing that brought you realization of your sleep, a state you were not sure when you entered. Large, fat bumblebees drifted lazily about the air above your head, one landing upon your knee and butting its head up against it, which brought a shaky chuckle to your lips. All uncertainty was forgotten in that little moment of levity, bringing you to throw off the thick woolen blanket you had no memory of even laying eyes on.

Your location? Still within Beorn's cottage, that haven of warm hearth and hanging candles and those gorgeous pillars you'd begun to wonder if the man had made himself. Could hands so large create something so beautiful? Stranger things had happened. You'd seen them turn from a bear's paws in the blink of an eye, after all.

Rising scents distracted you, pulling you fully onto your feet. Softly you padded across the floor, still chilled from the night's air.

Across the room Beorn stood and gently slid a pair of softly-cooked eggs onto a plate aside sliced apples and some sort of honey-drizzled cakes. Eyes darting your way and back down to his work, he spoke.

“For you,” he said, nodding toward the plate.

Simple enough, but a beautiful and comfortable sight. Taking the seat across from Beorn, you ate, sneaking glances at him. This time, though, he did not allow for silence long.

“So what brings you here, little flower? Where do you belong?”

Little did he know how the little flower before him wilted. Wincing, you replied in a voice barely more audible than had you whispered. “Nowhere. I have no home.”

Brown eyes widening, Beorn softened again, a rare lifting of his stoicism that moved your heart faintly beyond the borders of your pity.

“I understand,” he told you, gaze dropping, “I am the last of my people. Sole carrier of a legacy of hunted people. I belong nowhere but with myself.”

“Do you never wish for more?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself, leaning forward in your tower of a chair. “Have you never desired that someone would stay?”

“Who would?” Beorn shrugged, venturing another glance into your eyes. “What have I to offer if I am not game?”

“To me,” you replied, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks, “You have offered kindness. The most beautiful home I have seen. Realer company than the pity nights often given. Your heart is worth far more than your pelt, Beorn.”

At that, it was the great hulking man’s turn to be speechless.

~

You were taken out into the yard, crunching across the crisp green grass at Beorn’s side and handed a dented metal pail. He nodded encouragement and watched closely as you shakily milked one of his cows. Brushed one of the longer-furred ones, a smile crossing your lips. Repeated every animal’s name softly. The skin-changer, as he called himself, all but started at the welcome one of his horses gave, butting her head into your hand.

“She was the most difficult spirit to tame,” he explained.

“Kindred spirit to you, then,” you teased, shyly handing him his brush back and smiling when he did not recoil, mirroring your expression and shaking his head as his fingers closed over yours.

“Yes,” he said, “Perhaps so.”

~

It was at Beorn’s bidding that you returned with him for dinner, this time a roast with savory brown gravy and a variety of vegetables nestled at its side. How all things looked nicer out in nowhere escaped you, but it charmed your soul nonetheless.

The next words spoken cut into your thoughts with a heavy realization: leaving it all would engrave the deepest wound yet.

“Where will you go next?”

Your face fell, fork dropped at your side as you inhaled deeply. “I… I do not know.”

“Nowhere you particularly care to see?” Beorn prodded.

Your breaths sped a bit, bringing you back to the sinking black water of despair that had swallowed you in the woods. Darkness closed in on your vision. “No. I travel only where I have not yet been sent away.”

“And that,” Beorn's eyes were your anchor, the only points of focus remaining through the haze, “Is not what I mean to do.”

You frowned. You looked up from your sticky white sea of oats, the golden ooze of egg yolk spilling onto its borders.

“The decision is your own. I know the feeling of the cage. But the animals…they would miss you. I would miss you. Perhaps I have been alone for too long.”

A bumblebee lazed past your head. One buzz sounded, two, three. Beorn swallowed, stared at you like he had never seen you before. You smiled. His hand crept to rest over yours across the surface of the table. For once, you did not feel like a novelty.

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[theseventhdimension]

Hi! i hope this is the right place to send a request, if not, i hope you don’t mind!

i love your style of writing!

Could i request a season 3 Aaron Hotchner x male reader?

In my mind it’s a fluff comfort fic, where m! reader is younger than Hotch, with the fbi as more like a specialist in science, i guess similar to Penelope.

Reader got somewhat hurt on an away case and now Hotch is trying to comfort him by making him food and giving cuddles?

If you’re interested in writing, i’d be very thankful, if not, that’s completely understandable!

Have a great next week!

Organophospha—What..??

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Male! Reader

Word Count: 2.1k+

DNI: Fem-aligned

Author's Note: Hi! Thank you so much for your kind words and for sending your request—it’s absolutely the right place!

This is such a cute idea, and I've been loving him more and more since I've started re-watching a lot of the earlier seasons, he looked so young then!

Thanks again for reading and for the thoughtful prompt. Hope you have an amazing week ahead!

You weren’t meant to be in the field, Not really.

Most days, you lived behind glowing screens—elbow to elbow with Garcia in the tech bunker, sleeves rolled up and headphones half on. You handled cyber traces, pulled metadata from thin air, and could coax a fingerprint out of a cigarette wrapper like it was a magic trick.

Early twenties, fresh out of Quantico’s specialized forensics program, you were meticulous, brilliant, and better known for your clean lab coats than Kevlar vests.

But sometimes—just sometimes—they needed you out there. When timing was critical. When evidence needed real-time handling. So you went. With your portable kits and calm precision. And you told yourself you could handle it.

Until today.

The house smelled like dust and dry rot—like a place memory had forgotten. You crouched at the edge of the kitchen counter, gloved fingers prying open the envelope with surgical care. The latex squeaked as you peeled it back, eyes narrowed beneath your goggles.

“Print powder ready,” you murmured, mostly to yourself. No one answered. The team had cleared the house minutes ago, leaving you alone in the echo of it. Just you and the evidence. Just how you liked it.

The envelope’s seal cracked open with a faint hiss. A strange hiss.

You froze.

There was a smell. Sharp. Bitter. Wrong.

Your breath caught—involuntarily. Like your chest had just decided it didn’t want to lift anymore.

Your fingers trembled as you leaned back, heart thudding. “Hotch—” you called, weak and low. But even as you spoke, your knees buckled.

The floor met your side in a hard, rattling thud. The envelope fluttered beside you, white paper stained with print powder and something more invisible, more dangerous.

Your lungs felt heavy. Like they were being filled with tar.

Distantly—boots. Footsteps. Voices too sharp to make sense of. And then—

“Get him out,” Hotch barked, voice cutting through the haze. “Now.”

Hands under your arms, dragging you out into the open air. Your vision tunnelled—white at the edges, then black. You felt the light fade behind your eyes, and still, the last thing you saw was him. Aaron Hotchner. Kneeling beside you. Barking orders. His hand on your chest. Calling your name.

When you woke up, the world was far too bright. The hospital room smelled like bleach and plastic. Tubes hissed. Monitors beeped. Your body ached like it had been rung out and hung to dry. But worst of all was the weight.

Not physical—emotional.

The ER doc glanced at the chart, voice clipped but clinical.

“Yeah... we’ve got an early-20s male, exposure to some kind of chemical powder. Respiratory distress, but stable now.”

The nurse nodded, prepping the IV. “Young guy, good chance he bounces back. Just needs rest.”

You flexed your fingers, already itching to get back to work despite the ache. Being a young man in the BAU had always meant proving yourself, even when your body begged otherwise.

You cleared your throat. “Didn’t figure you for the bedside vigil type.”

You swallowed the burn in your throat. You saw him. Sitting in the chair by your bedside, arms crossed, sleeves rolled up, suit jacket folded on the windowsill. Aaron. Always composed. Always watching.

He looked up, eyes scanning your face. You expected him to smirk. To quip back. But there was no amusement in his stare.

“You passed out. Took four minutes to stabilize you.”

You winced, already looking away. “Lucky you were nearby. Would’ve hated to become a cautionary tale in the field handbook.”

“You inhaled methyl salicylate fused with trace organophosphates,” he said. “That envelope was laced.”

“Yeah, I figured that out somewhere around the part where I couldn’t breathe,” you muttered. He stood quietly. His hand reached for a cup of water at the bedside, held it out to you.

You hesitated, lips pressed tight. Then you took it. Your fingers brushed his. “You should get back to the team,” you said, trying to sound casual. Cool. But your voice was paper-thin. “I’m fine. Really.”

“You were unconscious,” Hotch said. “You’re not fine.”

Your stomach twisted. God, you hated this. Being the weak link. The one in the bed. The one watched. “I’m embarrassed, okay?” you snapped suddenly, throat raw. “I feel like an idiot. I opened a goddamn envelope. and got hit with chemicals i can't even spell correctly.”

There was silence. Then a sound—soft, deliberate. The scrape of the chair as Hotch sat back down.

“You followed protocol,” he said. “There was no way to know.”

“You wouldn’t have been that careless.”

“That’s not true,” he said, eyes dark and steady. “And if it were, I’d hope someone would sit beside me like this.”

You looked down at your hands. They were shaking. Hotch reached over and gently covered them with his own.

“Stop pretending you’re not scared,” he said.

You pause, before whispering lightly, like you're scared anyone will hear, including yourself. “..I thought I was gonna die, and all I could think about was you seeing me like that.”

“Like what?” He hums, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Weak. Afraid. I didn’t want that to be the last thing you remembered about me.” You admit.

“..It’s okay to be scared sometimes.”

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t pull away either.

You’d barely been conscious when they discharged you—still dizzy, voice weak, every muscle in your body aching like it’d been twisted into knots. You only vaguely remembered the low conversation at the nurse’s station. The way Hotch’s voice had dipped into something firm—non-negotiable—when he told them he’d be taking you home.

Not to the hotel. Not back to the Bureau. Home. His home.

Now, propped up on the couch with a blanket pulled around your shoulders, you stared at the flickering TV screen without processing a single word.

Your throat still felt raw. Every breath came easier, but your chest was tight in other ways now—like your body was remembering what it had felt like to think this is it. What it had felt like to admit it.

You glanced toward the kitchen. Hotch was there, sleeves rolled up, stirring something on the stove. You could smell garlic. Maybe carrots. Soup. Of course he was making soup.

You cleared your throat and called, “You don’t have to do all this, you know.”

He didn’t answer at first—just stirred a little more before turning off the burner. “I know I don’t,” he said, voice quiet as he ladled the soup into a bowl.

You’d barely taken two spoonfuls of soup when Hotch returned from the kitchen again—this time with a small pill organizer in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

You eyed them warily. “What’s that?”

“Your prescriptions. From the ER.”

You shifted under the blanket, suddenly prickling with discomfort. “I don’t need them.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “The doctor said you did.”

“They mess with my head,” you muttered. “I don’t like how they make me feel. Fuzzy. Like I’m not… sharp.”

“You inhaled a chemical compound designed to impair your respiratory and nervous systems,” he said, quiet but firm. “Your job doesn’t require you to be sharp right now. It just requires you to heal.”

You didn’t meet his eyes.

Still, he knelt beside the couch, setting the pills and water down gently. “Take them. I’ll stay here.”

Reluctantly, you did. The pills sat bitter on your tongue. You swallowed them anyway—less because you trusted the medicine, more because you trusted the man handing them to you. He gave you a small nod, like a silent thank you, and stood to collect the soup bowl.

When he returned, you tried to help—gripping the armrest to push yourself up, one shaky elbow at a time.

“Let me—”

The world tilted. Your knees buckled. Hotch caught you before your shoulder could slam into the edge of the coffee table.

“Hey—hey,” he said, arms steadying you like steel cables. “You’re not proving anything by hurting yourself more.”

You flushed, heart thudding in shame, but he didn’t let go until you were back on the couch. Until your breathing evened out.

“You’re burning through energy fast,” he said, gently tucking the blanket around your legs again. “You need to listen to your body.”

You meant to argue. Instead, you shivered.

Hotch noticed immediately. Without a word, he turned and disappeared into the hall. You heard the creak of a closet door, the low rumble of drawers being opened. When he returned, he held out a hoodie—plain black, soft from too many washes.

You blinked. “Is that—”

“Mine,” he said simply. “Put it on.”

You hesitated, then tugged it over your head. It smelled like him—something clean and warm, with a faint edge of coffee and cedar.

“You always run cold after chemical exposure,” he murmured, adjusting the blanket again. “It’ll pass.”

You sank back, wrapped in too many layers of comfort to deny it anymore. Maybe you weren’t as fine as you thought.

But Hotch hadn’t said I told you so. He just sat beside you. Quiet. Constant.

You winced and pulled the blanket tighter around yourself. “About earlier,” you added, eyes fixed on the floor. “At the hospital. I—uh. I was kind of out of it. I didn’t mean to dump that on you.”

“You mean when you told me you were scared?”

You looked away immediately. “Yeah. That.” He paused. Just long enough to make the silence say don’t run from me now.

“You weren’t dumping anything,” he said. “You were being honest. And you’re allowed to be scared.”

You gave a weak laugh. “Yeah, well. That’s not exactly part of the job description.”

“No,” he agreed. “But caring about you is.” That made your eyes flick back to his. Something caught in your chest.

Hotch stood slowly and settled beside you on the couch. You tensed at first when he reached for the blanket, but he only adjusted it—gently tucking it around your legs, careful not to crowd.

“Eat,” he murmured. “Then you’re going to rest. You’ve been through hell.” You glanced down at the soup. It smelled good. Rich. Comforting. But your body was too tired to be hungry.

“I’m fine,” you muttered. “You don’t have to coddle me.”

“You don’t have to pretend you’re made of steel,” he replied.

You scoffed, softly. “Don’t quote me your own lines.”

But the corner of your mouth twitched, just a little. And when he shifted closer, sliding an arm around your back, pulling you gently into his side, you didn’t pull away.

You leaned in.

Hotch pressed his hand to your shoulder. Light. Steady. Warm. Your head fell against his chest. No words. Just the quiet thud of his heart beneath your ear—constant and calm.

You exhaled like it was the first real breath in hours. And somewhere in the safety of that silence, you whispered, “Thank you.”

Hotch adjusted the blanket one last time, his hand lingering just briefly at your shoulder before he leaned back into the couch.

The room fell into a gentle hush—the kind that only lives in safe places. The soup sat untouched on the table. Your head buzzed with fatigue, but you didn’t quite let go of consciousness yet. Not yet.

Then—buzz-buzz. Your phone vibrated on the armrest beside you, screen flashing.

You grimaced.

Another buzz. Then a second.

You didn’t have to check to know who it was.

The first was a text from JJ:

Heard what happened. Glad you're okay. Let me know if you need anything.

The second, from Reid, came with a long-winded link to an article about chemical exposure recovery times and a timestamped list of side effects you should be monitoring.

You sighed and tapped it on low volume, holding the speaker close to your chest.

You blinked at Reid’s message, the list of symptoms making your head spin faster than the exposure itself.

Then, with a soft ding, Garcia’s voice burst through the phone.

"Hotch said you were exposed?? Are you okay? If you die I swear to god I will resurrect you just to kill you again. Also I looked up your hospital bracelet barcode in the system and—don't worry, you're fine, but still. Text me, precious cargo."

You laughed under your breath—just a breathy huff, but still something. And then, quietly, you locked the screen and turned the phone face-down.

Hotch watched all of it. He didn’t say anything right away. Just reached for the soup again, set it a little closer to you, then rested a hand on your back.

“You know,” he said softly, “they’re not messaging out of obligation.”

You stared down at your lap. “Yeah. I know. Just… it’s a lot. I don’t want anyone making a big deal out of it.”

“They care,” he said, a little firmer this time. “That’s not weakness. That’s family.”

You blinked. Something in your chest gave a quiet twist at that.

And when Hotch let his hand rest between your shoulder blades—solid and steady—you didn’t move away.

[ncillary]

Self Aware AU (Xavier)

Summary: You have the lowest Affinity with Xavier. The reason is because you feel bad for the Queen MC and vow to play only the main story for his path so that you can find a way to return him to Queen MC safe, sound and happy end.

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

Masterlist Self Aware AU

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 [current] | 6 |

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

"Xavier, you sleep well yesterday?"

"Well enough for today, sir." He joked.

The man gave him a hearty laugh, "Good. Today we'll continue some fast movement for the next chapter. Have fun in it and do be careful."

"Understood."

"Oh, how is your caretaker service going."

He turned to see Madam CEO was sitting near the crew. He rubbed his neck nervously. She chuckled.

"That's quite alright. Take your time. But the player could use some help once in a while."

He nodded.

She was his mysterious employer. His job was mainly on modeling the character's movement for the game they were creating. His swordplay skill shone with every precision.

He was proud of his work. But it was not fulfilling enough. Something amiss from his endless swirling of nothingness.

+----------------+---------------------------------+

"Hello, Miss. I wonder why you always sound sad whenever I'm around." He pondered to himself.

He was monitoring this one player when she was gaming as per Madam CEO's request. He didn't receive many requests from madam but when he did, he worked fast like a traveling light.

Until this recent one.

He could hear her but he couldn't see her. The first thought that came to mind was either his phone was having technicality issues or the game updates were bugging. He went ahead and did simple checking on his side including enabling her mic.

"No... wait... please..."

Rigid.

His every fibre was shaken after hearing her voice. The endless swirl spotted a light.

"Please don't make me waste my precious tic- *Tring* wait... 5 star?!"

"Xavier! Yes!"

She sounded super happy when she said his name. He wanted to hear more.

"Hik...Xavier..."

But she sounded super sad sometimes.

"From now on, I'll make sure to get you back to Queen MC and live your life to the fullest together on the promised planet."

He was confused. Thus, he finally took an interest in actually getting to know the game he was a part of.

+----------------------------+------------------------+

"I get why she said it like that but I'm not him. You're not her. Haaa... wish I could tell her that I'm right here."

He saw her gameplay has changed. She rarely partnered up with him for the last month. It might not be a big deal since it was just a game but he couldn't resist feeling dejected.

"Please just increase our Affinity. I'll be having better chances when you feel comfortable enough with me, my counterpart at least."

+------------------+--------------------------------+

"Xavier, you look listless." A staff member nudged him.

He nodded politely before helping around. They were setting up snow-theme decoration for the upcoming video. Wires and devices surrounding the decoration in the middle of them all.

"WATCH OUT!"

He darted swiftly like the light.

*CRASH!!!*

"XAVIER!"

"Don't move him."

"Call medic."

Panicked voices surrounding him. His vision was clear but his hearing was not so much. He could see the staff he saved was shaking as people tried to clear the path for medic. The staff was taken aside for slight bleeding on the leg.

He smiled.

+----------------------------+------------------------+

A month.

That was how long it took for him to be discharged. A month of not being able to care for his gaming partner.

"Haven't been able to force myself out lately. Do others have a higher Affinity with her now?"

His sullen mood was gone the moment he was finally able to lay his eyes on her. Her cuteness was catching up on pulling his lips. His happiness in seeing her made him glow.

"I want to hold her. Dance with her. Having her in the circle of my arms." He silently wishes.

+-----------------------------+------------------------+

It came true. The new birthday banner. His birthday banner. He blushed.

Brows furrowed, "I want her to know. No more secrets. What would be best to do it?"

He pondered innocently.

+----------------------+------------------------------+

He didn't think things through.

"Umm...Hello..."

Silent.

"-sigh- she passed out."

There will always be consequences from actions.

But he was determined to get at least a positive outcome in it.

"Her name. Her number."

He stared at his phone for the longest time just relishing in having her personal information. HIM. Not his game counterpart. HERS. Her own circle and he liked that he was slowly stepping in that circle.

[May we meet in the dream too. My star.]

"I miss you already, star."

"I want to meet you."

+----------+-------------------------+-----------------+

[Will you be opposed for sunbathing in the park?]

Read 12 hours ago

[You want to go for a picnic, instead?]

Read 3 hours ago

He sighed knowingly.

[At least you didn't block me like you promised.]

Read 5 seconds ago

[My star]

Read 5 seconds ago

[Xavier...]

He smiled.

[Took you long enough.]

Read

[XAVIER???!!!]

[Star. Can we meet?]

Read 46 minutes ago

He waited patiently for her.

*Bling*

[Sure. How about the library? We can find recipes together.]

He chuckled. Their first date was already on the point to tease him. As long as he could meet her, he'll be ready to pour all his heart on it.

[Sounds nice. I hope we can make it happen after reading it.]

Read

[Nice.]

She was a bit different on the few texts before they stopped messaging each other after planning the where and when.

"Maybe she's nervous as much as I did."

+---------------------------+-----------------------+

Stepping into the library, blue eyes scanning the crowd. She's nowhere to be found.

Yet.

Lights in the library seemed to give her a spotlight.

My goodness.

How can she glow as soon as she stepped in an hour after he was settling down. He was about to get up when he noticed it.

Another person next to her. A girl. Her friend, perhaps. She was calm compared to his star who was clearly anxious at the moment.

He blinked, "Right. Of course. She must be nervous about meeting me alone."

He waited for them to settle down on any empty spot before he approached them. He needed to be calm about this.

He quirked his eyebrow when he saw her friend leave her at the table and walked behind the numerous bookshelves.

Confused but guessing she wanted to give privacy to them while still being around. He nodded to the conclusion.

Great friend.

He saw she was fidgeting while looking around nervously as he walked silently opposite to her.

He sat a bit far on the six seaters to give her the comfortable space. She didn't notice him and he kept staring. Enjoying being able to see her personally with his own eyes.

No screen.

No more crooked image.

Just her.

His star.

She jumped quietly, hands clutching in front of her chest when she finally turned to him.

Smiling has become a new habit for him.

"Hi, star." Breathless greeting.

She closed her eyes.

Head lulling.

Brows furrowed. His brows.

"Oh no."

Her head in his hand, inches away from the hard surface of a table.

He gave a small laughed and sighed fondly.

"I hope you stop fainting on me, star."

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| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 [current] | 6 [final...] |

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Masterlist Self Aware AU

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[the-palelady]

YAY REQUESTS ARE OPEN! :D can I please have a lil smth with Simon and his squadmate? I thought about this and ho boi now I feel all sorts of emotions.

I feel like Simon is the type of person to sometimes lose it and push himself to his limits, especially during training. And so he would be ok, but Y/n sees through the facade. And so BAM! Simon is laying down from exhaustion, with the summer heat making everything worse. He desperately needs water, but cant move and every recruit is staring.

We see Simon and imediately go Mama Bear ™️, almost scolding Simon for this despite being lower ranked than him. We bark orders at others to look away, while we give him some water behind his mask.

When Simon gets better and remembers, he is pissed that we might have looked at his face, and says so. We sass back that no tf we dont and that next time he should take care of himself. Simon can only be flustered by us, because 1. We are right and 2. We took care of him in the heat of the moment. He can only sit there like a scolded puppy

Guess who has a bigger crush on us now :)))

i’m so so sorry this took so long!! i drafted this up twice and never got it where i wanted it to go, but we’re finally here!!

It had been a week since he had collapsed in front of a group of recruits, and the whole thing replayed clear as day in his mind. A broken record repeating itself in his mind as he did anything and everything to try and forget about it.

Ghost could still feel the exhaustion that seeped into his bones that was somehow worse that day than it ever had been. The sweltering heat felt more like molten lava than anything. It didn’t help the recruits also seemed to get under his skin more than usual, primarily you, your already defiant nature seemingly ten times worse. Yet for some reason that day you were different. Your sarcastic remarks were instead replaced with quizzical expressions, eyes narrowed, assessing him. He could still feel your eyes watching the way his steps faltered, the twitch of his eye when his balaclava seemed to become one with his skin because of the sweat underneath.

He felt like an open book under the scrutiny of your sharp gaze, his patience dwindling at your rare silence.

Until everything went quiet, for just a moment.

Admittedly, Ghost could hardly remember who he was speaking to or what he was saying, likely terrorizing some poor recruit who had messed up their stance during training. All he could remember in that moment was one second he was standing, and the next he wasn’t.

His eardrums rang for a beat, then it was replaced by a voice.

Your voice.

You shouted to some recruit to grab some water, their rushed footsteps padding off somewhere Ghost couldn’t see. His vision was blurred, your figure above him just a shadow in his eyes even as you bent down at his side, grabbing the base of his neck and holding him up.

You mumbled something, your voice soft, caring, a contrast to what he was familiar with when it came to you. Then he felt the push of damp fabric underneath his jaw, moving its way up and over his nose.

At the time, Ghost didn’t register that you had lifted up his mask. Instead, he laid against the ground, neck comfortably cushioned by the palm of your hand that seemed so cool despite the heat that threatened to suffocate him.

“Hey!” He didn’t react to your screaming, only mentally begged that you’d hurry the hell up and press the bottle of water to his lips.

“What did I say? I said turn the around! Gawking like this is a fucking zoo.”

It was like heaven found home within that single bottle of water when it finally pressed to his lips, the cool liquid making Ghost’s eyes almost roll into the back of his head. He barely paid any mind to your annoyed grumbling.

“I have half a mind to kick your ass you know?”

What?

“Our Lieutenant, our superior, supposed to be an example for us, but instead you’re wearing yourself thin. I mean look at you: bags under your eyes, boots hardly tied when you showed up to training. Barely pushing 0900 hours and you’re already on your ass trying to catch a quick fucking cat nap.”

You continue to dig your own grave as you go on about how he isn’t taking care of himself, how he is supposed to be leading you and the other recruits. If Ghost weren’t on his ass he’d throw you off base himself.

However, that’s what he thought at the time.

Rather than ponder on the rage he felt at your words, he instead realized two things, the first being you were right. Ghost always put the job before himself. Things were easier that way. Instead of living in his mind he dedicated his entire life to his career even though it was as physically taxing as it was mentally.

The second thing he realized was that you had seen his face.

At least half of it. 

And for some reason this ate him alive more than the rest of the situation.

A week had gone by and he had done nothing, but allow his anger to grow. Admittedly, you were right. He didn’t take care of himself. Even so, he couldn’t live with the fact that you had seen something that was meant to stay hidden under the shroud of his mask. You had seen the man underneath Ghost, the man he had pushed down and kept hidden for so long.

The anger grew, festering like an untreated wound, puffy, hot, and seething red, blood boiling. Ghost knew anger could lead people to make stupid decisions, and yet here he stood in front of your door, chest rising and falling, fists clenched tight at his sides. His nails left crescent indents on his palms, those same fists coming up to bang heavily on your door.

The sound echoed throughout the hall. Ghost didn’t even notice some people had peeked their heads outside of their doors before retreating back inside. He finally heard the click of your lock before your door slid open.

You wore the usual military issued attire, grey sweatpants and a t-shirt. Your hair was damp, a hand running a towel through it to catch any excess water. Your expression was neutral even when your eyes met Ghost’s, and for some reason his words got stuck in his throat.

“Lieutenant?” He continued to stare at you, almost completely forgetting why he was here, “What do you want?”

The words were caught in his throat. What did he want? Why the hell was he here exactly? It was like all the hatred he held for you suddenly packed its things and vanished. Although he couldn’t say he necessarily hated you. There was just something about you that got under his skin.

The two of you never exactly got along. You questioned authority, his especially. Despite your ability to outperform the other recruits, your behavior was contentious. You were a thorn in Ghost’s side. You’d roll those sparkling eyes of yours when he’d have to adjust your hold on your gun, a rare occasion. He’d bark at you when you’d run ahead of the group during your morning runs. Your head would tilt back as you’d let out a laugh, a sound that made his fingers twitch, a song that he could get used to hearing. You always saw light in a world you knew was so full of darkness, and that just-

“Hellooo? Lieutenant?”

“M’face.”

Your eyebrow arched almost immediately at his words and lack of context, the confusion written all over the way your eyes darted from where his lips would be underneath the mask to his eyes.

“Other day, during training. When I collapsed, you saw m’face knowing damn well I keep what’s underneath hidden for a reason.”

The tone of his voice was accusatory, and he couldn’t help the way he took a step closer towards you. Even so, you didn’t make a move, hip pressed into the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. When Ghost continued to remain quiet, the only thing you offered him was a scoff, looking down at the floor beneath you as you crossed one ankle over the other.

“Didn’t see a thing, actually.”

There it was. The sass. Ghost could already feel a blood vessel coming to the surface right above his eyebrow, twitching, desperate to burst.

“Ya lucky I didn’t take ya arse to the curb the moment ya decided to mouth off, but looking at something ya have no busin-”

“For Christ’s sake…I didn’t see your damn face, Lt!”

Your shout echoed throughout the hall, but this time no one peeked out. Ghost’s searched your face, your eyes closed. Your hand came up to massage your temple.

A sigh left you, “What’s underneath…it’s none of my business. I would never step over a boundary like that no matter the situation. Kept my eyes closed…”

Ghost could still detect the annoyance laced within your tone, but your voice was softer now.

“Just wanted you to understand the gravity of the situation,” your gaze was resolute when you finally looked up at him, “Everyone here knows how…incredible you are at what you do, Ghost, but none of the dedication you put into this job will matter if you don’t take a step back.”

His ribs vibrated with the beat of his heart, his ears pulsated wildly, rendering him practically deaf as you spoke. Johnny and Price had told him a few times to take a break from work. He knew their concern was genuine, but this was different.

You weren’t them. They didn’t pry open a piece of his mind and make a spot for themselves there as you had, insistently taking up his thoughts like some clingy house cat. That anger he felt slowly dissipated into a forgotten mist, evaporating off of him as he deflated right before your eyes.

“But next time you want to accuse me of something, at least ask first before almost ripping the damn door right off the hinges, hm?”

You raised a brow when he failed to answer you, something foreign fluttering within the pit of his stomach when he failed to maintain eye contact with you. Rapidly blinking to disguise his sheepishness, he nodded.

“Y-Yea…”

He chose to ignore the smirk he was met with when he finally looked back at you.