#Look up what foods contain what and make a list of which foods you like contain which thing your body needs

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗟𝗟 𝗡𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗚𝗘𝗧 𝗥𝗜𝗗 𝗢𝗙 𝗠𝗘 lando norris x girlfriend! reader ( angst, dark, psychological horror ) fic summary . . . Your world starts shifting in the smallest ways—laundry folded when you never touched it, bills paid without your input, and letters signed with a name you shouldn’t know. By the time you finally try to run, it’s too late—Lando Norris is already there, waiting, ready to remind you that you were never going to leave (2.8k words)

( my master list | more of lando norris ) ( requests )

this is dark fiction contains mature themes of psychological horror, do not read if that makes you uncomfortable. you've been warned

CONTENT WARNING — ( +18 MDNI, stalking, kidnapping, dark themes, non-consensual acts, dub-con, manipulation & coercion, psychological abuse, captivity, forced dependency, obsession, possessiveness, power imbalance, fear, helplessness, dehumanization, objectification, unhealthy relationship )

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The first time you noticed something was off, it was small.

A shirt, washed and neatly folded on your bed, even though you distinctly remember tossing it into the laundry hamper days ago. Then it was your bills—emails confirming they were paid, despite the fact that you hadn’t touched your banking app. Maybe you were just tired. Overworked. Forgetful.

But then the letters started coming.

They were handwritten, ink pressed deep into expensive paper, each one signed with a flourish.

You don’t need to worry about anything. I’m taking care of you.

Wear that blue dress tomorrow. I want to see you in it.

Don’t think about running. You wouldn’t get far.

The gifts appeared next. Jewelry in little velvet boxes, an expensive perfume you once mentioned liking in passing, delicate lace underwear that matched sets you had lost. Your fridge, which you never remembered restocking, was always full of your favorite foods. 

But it was the missing items that truly made your skin crawl. Panties vanishing from your drawers. The faint scent of unfamiliar cologne clinging to your sheets.

You tried to ignore it. Tried to tell yourself you were imagining things. But paranoia clung to you like a second skin, fear curling in your stomach every time you entered your apartment, never knowing what you’d find. You considered going to the police, but every letter carried an unspoken threat, a silent warning laced between the lines.

And then, one night, you decided to leave.

You packed in a hurry, throwing essentials into a duffel, your hands trembling as you zipped it shut. You didn’t care where you went—just somewhere far, far away from here.

Your fingers had barely grazed the doorknob when you yanked it open—only for it to slam shut.

A hand. Large, steady, pressing the door closed from over your shoulder.

Your breath hitched, ice crawling through your veins as you felt it—warmth radiating from behind you, a body too close, too solid, pressing into your back. The air shifted, the faintest brush of breath against your ear.

Then, the slow, arm snaking around your stomach, firmly holding you into his body to eliminate any space between you..

"You’re not going anywhere, love."

The voice was smooth, edged with something dark. You turned slowly, heart hammering against your ribs as your eyes met his for the first time.

Lando Norris.

You knew his face. Everyone did. But up close, in the dim light of your apartment, he looked different. His usual boyish charm was laced with something more sinister. Possessiveness flickered behind those stormy blue eyes, the curve of his lips almost . . . amused.

He stepped forward, leisurely closing the space between you, his fingers brushing over your cheek before you could flinch away. “You weren’t really thinking of leaving me, were you?”

Your throat felt tight. “Lando—”

“Took you long enough to say my name.” He exhaled, almost like he was relieved, before gripping your chin between his fingers. His touch was firm, not bruising, but enough to remind you of your place. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

Your stomach churned. “Please… let me go.”

His thumb traced your bottom lip, and the smile he gave you sent ice down your spine. “Now, now,” he tutted. “I’ve done everything for you. I’ve taken care of you. And this is how you repay me?”

Tears burned at the edges of your vision, but you refused to let them fall. “I never asked for any of this.”

Lando’s gaze darkened, something sharp flickering across his expression. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “But you’re mine. And I don’t like losing what’s mine.”

You swallowed hard, pulse racing as he pulled back just enough to look at you again, studying every inch of your face like he was committing it to memory.

Then, he smiled—soft, affectionate, like you weren’t his prisoner but something precious, something treasured. “Now,” he murmured, reaching for your duffel bag and tossing it aside like it meant nothing. “Let’s get you out of those clothes. You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?”

The unspoken or else hung heavy in the air, suffocating you.

And for the first time, you truly understood.

There was no leaving.

There was no escape.

You don’t remember how long it’s been. Days, weeks—maybe months. Time doesn’t exist the same way in here.

Lando leaves sometimes. Not often, but just enough for you to feel the ache of his absence. The first time he left, you felt relief. A breath of air that wasn’t saturated with his presence, with the thick, suffocating feeling of his control. But then the hours stretched. The silence became deafening.

You’d never been scared of silence before.

But now, it claws at you. It reminds you how alone you are. It reminds you that if something happened—if the world outside forgot you existed—no one would come.

By the time he returned, you had curled yourself into a tight ball on the floor, your breath shallow, your body trembling. The sight of him standing in the doorway, silhouetted by dim hallway light, should have sent fresh waves of terror through you.

Instead, you exhaled.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Lando murmured, closing the door behind him. He crouched down in front of you, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “Did you miss me?”

You shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have felt that desperate sense of relief, like a drowning person finally breaking the surface.

But you nodded.

His smile was warm, pleased. “That’s my good girl.”

It’s easier when you don’t fight.

The resistance had lasted in the beginning. Stubbornness was stitched into your bones, refusal threaded through your veins. But it didn’t matter how hard you fought—Lando didn’t break. He waited.

Waited for you to come to your own conclusions.

Waited for you to realize that obedience meant warmth, comfort, clothing.

Disobedience meant cold tile floors, meant standing in front of him with nothing but skin, his gaze dragging over you like hands, pressing, owning.

You learned.

Your body still belonged to you, in some small way. If obedience kept his eyes softer, if listening meant he didn’t look at you like that—like something he could devour—then obedience was a small price to pay.

Lando knew it, too.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured when you handed him your empty plate after dinner, your hands shaking just slightly. “I like when you listen.”

You hated when he praised you. Hated the warmth that bloomed in your chest at his words. It wasn’t real. None of this was real.

But your brain was starting to betray you.

Somewhere, deep down, in the parts of your mind he’d sunk his claws into, you wanted to be good for him.

The apartment was too quiet when he left.

At first, it had been the silence that unsettled you. The absence of footsteps, the lack of his voice, the eerie stillness that seeped into your bones like ice water. Even though you hated him, feared him, loathed every breath he stole from your skin—when he was gone, you felt untethered.

Your fingers trembled as you hugged your knees to your chest, curling into the corner of the couch where he usually held you. The collar around your throat felt heavier when he wasn’t there to tug at it, to remind you that you belonged to him.

It had been months now. Maybe longer. Time had turned into a slow, syrupy thing, dripping through your fingers in melted memories of a life you used to have. You barely remembered the scent of your own apartment, the sound of your phone buzzing, the feeling of slipping into fresh clothes that hadn’t already been picked for you.

Because Lando did everything for you.

At first, it had been terrifying—the way he controlled every detail of your existence. He fed you, bathed you, dressed you. He decided when you slept and when you woke, when you spoke and when you stayed silent. When you were good, he rewarded you with soft touches, curling you into his lap and stroking your hair. When you disobeyed… he reminded you who you belonged to.

But something worse had started happening.

You needed him.

Not just for food, or warmth, or comfort. You needed him because when he was gone, the silence was unbearable. Your stomach clenched with hunger even though the fridge was full. Your throat tightened with thirst even though there was water. Every meal tasted like ash without his fingers pressing it to your lips.

And when he touched you—when he cupped your chin and made you look at him, when he praised you, when he let you rest your head against his chest—you felt safe.

It was sick.

It was wrong.

But it was all you had.

Lando had left again.

You told yourself you wouldn’t panic. That you wouldn’t curl into the corner like some pathetic, abandoned pet. You wanted to be alone.

Didn’t you?

Your fingers trembled as you touched the edge of the collar around your neck. The key was gone. It always was. The door was locked.

You could scream.

But who would hear?

A part of you whispered that you could do it. You could find a way out, somehow. You could fight harder. You could—

The thought shattered when the door handle twisted.

He was back.

You froze in place, every muscle seizing, every part of you bracing for the flood of emotions that came with his presence. Fear. Loathing. Relief.

Lando stepped inside, eyes immediately landing on you. His lips curled into something almost affectionate.

“Still sitting in your little corner, hmm? Right where I left you.” His voice was gentle, teasing. “You really don’t like being alone, do you?”

Your throat felt too tight to answer.

He knew.

You had fought so hard not to need him. But he had taken everything. Stripped you down to something weak, something fragile, something that only existed inside this apartment.

“I told you,” he murmured, stepping closer, crouching in front of you. “You don’t need anything else. Just me.”

He reached out, his fingers threading through your hair, brushing the strands from your face, petting you like something docile, something broken.

And you let him.

Because at this point, you were something broken.

"You think you own me?" Your voice cracked as you took a step back, fists clenched. "I’m not your pet, Lando. My soul isn’t yours."

You recoiled when he reached for you, dodging his touch like it burned.

Lando didn’t move after that.

He just stood there, watching you.

No anger. No shouting. Just a quiet, unreadable gaze. His expression was placid—too placid. The faintest curl of amusement ghosted over his lips, as if you were a child throwing a tantrum.

Slowly, he tilted his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Undress."

The word slithered through the air like smoke, curling around your lungs, suffocating.

Your breath hitched. The weight of his command pressed down on you like cold iron, making the room feel smaller, the walls inching closer.

You shook your head—barely. Your throat was too tight to form words.

Lando exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight. "Did you not hear me?" His voice was light, almost playful. "Take your clothes off."

A chill crawled down your spine.

When you still didn’t move, he clicked his tongue. "You love testing my limits. Fine. You can handle the consequences."

The distance between you vanished in a heartbeat.

Before you could react, his fingers curled around the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head in one fluid motion. The rush of cold air against your skin sent a violent shudder through your body. The loss of fabric was too sudden, too exposing.

Your hands trembled at your sides, nails digging into your palms. You wanted to run—to fight—but Lando didn’t allow it.

"Keep going," he murmured, voice smooth. No urgency. No cruelty. Just an expectation. Like this was nothing more than another command you were expected to obey.

Your fingers felt foreign, sluggish, as you undid the button of your pants, slipping them down your legs in stiff, jerky movements.

"Underwear too."

You clenched your jaw.

Your hands faltered, your pulse hammering in your ears. Just get it over with. Just—

"Slower."

A choked noise caught in your throat.

You obeyed.

Your hands shook as you peeled away the last layer, exposing yourself inch by inch beneath his watchful gaze.

When you hesitated, barely breathing, Lando simply held out his hand, waiting.

Waiting for you to give him your underwear.

Shame curled hot in your stomach.

His brow lifted, lips parting slightly, as if mocking your hesitation. Humiliation crawled up your throat like bile.

Your fingers twitched before you finally placed the fabric in his open palm.

Lando examined the garment briefly, then hummed, bringing it to his nose and taking a slow, deliberate breath.

"I’ll let you keep the socks," he mused. "Next time, I won’t."

A warning wrapped in false kindness.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

The worst part wasn’t the act itself.

It was everything after.

The way Lando’s eyes never truly left you.

He didn’t touch you. He didn’t need to.

You felt his gaze.

He flipped through a magazine, occasionally glancing up. Sipped his coffee, watching you over the rim of his cup. Paused mid-step when walking past, his eyes dragging over you like he was memorizing every inch.

It was worse than any touch.

You wanted to disappear, to sink into the floorboards, to claw at your own skin if it meant escaping his stare.

Your arms twitched, instinctively moving to cover yourself—

You stopped.

You knew better.

He wanted you aware.

Of yourself. Of him. Of this endless, unbearable humiliation.

At some point, the shame became unbearable.

You reached for a blanket—just something, anything to dull the feeling of exposure.

A sharp tsk cut through the air.

Before you could wrap it around yourself, Lando was there, plucking it effortlessly from your fingers.

He folded it neatly over his arm. "No."

Your stomach twisted violently.

Your breath hitched as you turned away, arms wrapping around yourself as if that could shield you.

It didn’t.

Then he spoke, and it was worse than anything else.

"You’re beautiful like this."

Soft. Gentle. As if this was normal.

The words shattered whatever fragile control you had left.

A sob ripped from your throat.

You stood there, trembling, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as the tears came—silent at first, then wracking, unstoppable. Your shoulders shook, your breath hitching, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything except break apart right where you stood.

Lando huffed, almost amused, before his hands found your wrists, prying them away from your body. In one smooth motion, he pulled you against his chest, his grip firm, unyielding.

He kissed your head. Rubbed slow circles against your back.

It shouldn’t comfort you.

But it did.

He told you he had to leave.

It was the last race of the season. He would be gone for days. Maybe longer.

And the moment those words left his mouth, something inside you shattered.

"No," you whispered, shaking your head. "No, you can’t—Lando, please—"

His hand reached for his suitcase, and before you could stop yourself, you lunged forward, grabbing his wrist. He turned to look at you, startled.

"Don't go," you begged, voice breaking. "Please don’t go—please, please, I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you want—just don’t leave me here alone—"

Lando sighed, brushing his fingers through your hair. "Sweetheart, I won’t be gone long. You’ll be fine—"

"No, I won’t!" You were sobbing now, gripping his arm like a lifeline, your body trembling so hard you could barely stay upright. "I’ll die without you, Lando—I’ll die in here, I’ll starve, I’ll—"

"You won’t starve," he said, voice calm.

"But I will," you choked out. "Not like that—but I will."

Your knees buckled, and you collapsed onto the floor. Your arms wrapped around his leg, clinging to him desperately. You didn’t care how pathetic you looked. You didn’t care that he was smiling, that this was exactly what he wanted.

All you cared about was keeping him here.

"Take me with you," you whispered. "Please, Lando, please, I’ll be good, I swear, I won’t try to run, I won’t even leave the hotel room—I just—just don’t leave me here, please—"

You were pulling at him, your fingers slipping against the fabric of his pants, dragging along the tiles as he moved toward the door.

And Lando… just laughed.

It was soft, almost affectionate. His fingers tangled in your hair, stroking through the strands as you sobbed into his thigh.

"You really can’t live without me, huh?"

You shook your head frantically.

His smile was gentle as he knelt down, cupping your face in his hands. "That’s what I wanted, baby," he murmured. "I wanted you to need me."

And God, you did.

You needed him more than air.

noice notes 🔊 . . . ( its been a while since I wrote something dark. I wrote dark for Max and Charles, and now it's Lando's turn, most likely Oscar or Carlos next )

[1969chevycamaro]

Hi, I have been through shit before. GOOD ADVICE OP!!!!

You're physical condition affects your mental condition. If you're tired and exhausted, you'll feel like crap both mentally and physically. You need more energy. The two ways to restore energy are sleep and eat. Eating is a more versatile method, but never underestimate a good sleep.

TLDR: If you feel like shit, eat something healthy and make sure you are hydrated

legit the best advice i can give you: feed your friends

any time someone is in any kind of crisis or upheaval, offer to feed them. tell them they don’t have to choose what it is if they can’t make decisions, just ask about allergies and preferences and tell them you’re just gonna make food happen at their house.

friend having a baby? delivery gift certificate to order food to the hospital after the kid shows up.

someone’s relative passes away? offer to make them dinner.

buddy gets laid off? ask if you can order them lunch.

pal stuck in a depressive episode? offer to drive them to fucking mcdonalds, if that’s what they want.

people in crisis are tired and sad and angry and the last thing most of them are doing is thinking about feeding themselves. so if you have the ability or time or money, providing that is always, always a good move.

legit i do this all the time, and it is 100% always appreciated. i have taught all my friends that when something happens, we feed each other. it makes people feel extremely cared for, and I cannot recommend it enough.

[woniedarlin]

Runaway Bride

Pairing: Jungwon x fem! Reader

Synopsis: You are about to marry Jungwon after having a sweet and dramatic relationship for years. Everyone thinks you two are perfect for each other—two pure souls meant to be together. But as the wedding march starts, you panic and run away, leaving Jungwon, the dramatic groom, chasing after his runaway bride. Another cute disaster, right?

Author's note: This is inspired by a TikTok art video that I saw month ago, and it suited the characters of my previous work. Happy Reading!

Warning: This story contains exaggerated drama and humor. Expect a lot of crying.

Permanent tag list: @sol3chu @chlorinecake @13tter @jung1w0n

Sequel of Two of a Kind but can be stand alone!

“I CAN’T MARRY YOU! YOU’RE TOO GOOD FOR ME!” You screamed as you bolted out, the long train of your wedding dress trailing behind you. Tears streamed down your face, but you couldn’t stop running. You had no idea what was happening, but everything felt overwhelming.

Jungwon, in his perfectly tailored groom suit, was running after you.

He didn't know what was happening but wouldn’t let you escape. “WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!” His voice echoed behind you, panicked. He was running fast, but your wedding gown made you surprisingly fast as you sped down the steps. “YOU CAN’T JUST RUN AWAY LIKE THIS!”

You looked back over your shoulder, feeling the weight of your dress pulling you down, but you kept going. “YOU’RE TOO NICE TO ME! YOU’RE TOO PERFECT! I—I can’t keep up!” You shouted breathlessly, trying to shake him off as if it would make everything make sense again.

“I—I—” Jungwon stammered, trying to catch his breath while still chasing after you. He didn’t know why you said this, but he didn’t want to lose you. “What does that even mean?! I’m too nice? Is that a problem?” His voice cracked, his forehead glistening with sweat as he closed the distance between you two. “You’re making no sense!”

‘’AH!’’ You stumbled, nearly tripping on the hem of your dress, but you quickly regained your footing, still running as if your life depended on it. “You always do everything right!” you continued, voice shaky. “You bring me flowers for no reason, you make me laugh when I’m sad, you always know how to make everything better… and I—I can’t keep up with that! I don’t deserve you! You deserve someone perfect, not me!” You gasped for air.

“I CAN BE LESS NICE!” Jungwon cried out as he suddenly threw himself face-down onto the grass. “I’LL RUIN MY HAIR! I’LL—” He popped his head up, dirt smeared on his cheek. He became more desperate. “I-I WON’T COOK YOUR FAVORITE FOODS,” he said, though it pained him.

He reached out to grab your hands, holding them tightly. He continued, “Don’t leave me! I’ll… I’ll learn to be slightly annoying! I’ll forget your birthday! I’ll stop replacing the toilet paper roll! PLEASE MARRY ME!”

You then looked down at him while hiccuping. ‘’You spend many gifts on me! You have too much money!’’

‘’I’LL MAKE MYSELF BROKE THEN!’’

You sobbed loudly, dramatically wiping your cheeks with your veil, which had long since slid crookedly down your face. “NO! I DON’T WANT YOU TO CHANGE!” you screamed, your voice echoing in the open field where you had fled. “THAT’S THE PROBLEM, JUNGWON! YOU’RE TOO NICE, TOO PERFECT, AND IT’S TOO MUCH!” You hiccupped.

Jungwon’s eyes widened, and tears spilled down his cheeks as he reached out to you. “BUT THAT’S WHO I AM!” he cried, his voice cracking. “AND I CAN’T CHANGE THAT, EVEN IF I WANTED TO! PLEASE, DON’T MAKE ME CHANGE BECAUSE I DON’T WANT YOU TO CHANGE EITHER!”

His words pained you as your tears suddenly streamed faster. “I don’t want you to change either!” your voice breaking. “I just—I just feel like I don’t deserve you, Jungwon!”

Jungwon stood abruptly. “And who cares if I think that?! I deserve you! You don’t get to decide how much you mean to me! You don’t get to run away because you think you’re not enough! You are enough for me, do you hear me?! You always have been!”

You let out a loud sob, throwing yourself into his arms. “FINE! I’LL MARRY YOU!” you cried, your voice muffled against his chest as you clung to him. “I’m sorry! I love you!”

Jungwon wrapped his arms around you as tightly as he could. “I love you too,”

You both stood in the middle of the field, crying and clutching each other. Finally, Jungwon pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands. “Let’s go back?” he said softly, though his smile was affectionate.

“Of course,” you sniffled, laughing even as more tears fell.

Jungwon smiled brightly, leaning down to kiss your forehead softly. “Come on, runaway bride,” he said, taking your hand. “Let’s go back and finish what we started. I’ll even carry you so you don’t trip on that dress again.”

Jungwon held your hand tightly as you both made your way back to the church, his other hand gripping your bouquet, which he’d picked up during your dramatic escape. You pushed open the grand doors, and every head in the room turned toward you two. A collective gasp echoed through the crowd as they saw you—tears streaking your faces, your dress a little wrinkled, Jungwon’s hair a mess, and both of you clutching each other.

The officiant is utterly confused, and your family sits with their mouths agape. “What in the world—” someone muttered, but you didn’t hear it over your nervous giggle.

“Sorry!” you chirped. You glanced at Jungwon, who smiled tearfully, his eyes still red. “We, um… just needed a little moment outside. But we’re ready now!”

Jungwon raised his free hand awkwardly in a wave. “Yeah. Sorry for the drama,”

Everyone sighed in relief, though the whispers in the crowd didn’t stop. The officiant hesitated but gave a slight nod. “Very well. Let us continue, then.”

You and Jungwon shuffled back to the altar, hand in hand. As the ceremony began, you glanced at him and caught him staring at you, tears welling in his eyes again. You sniffled, and when the officiant asked you to say your vows, it felt like a dam had broken. “I—I can’t even talk,” you sobbed, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your dress. “I just… I love you so much!”

Jungwon sniffled loudly and covered his face with his hands. “Don’t start crying again! I’ll cry too!” he wailed, but his voice cracked, and his tears spilled.

When the officiant finally said, “You may now kiss the bride,” Jungwon didn’t wait a second. He leaned in, pressing a tear-soaked, clumsy kiss to your lips, and you kissed him back with all the love and happiness in the world. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, though you barely heard it.

You pulled back, still crying, and he grinned at you through his tears. “We made everyone wait, huh?”

You giggled, brushing his hair out of his face. “Worth it,” you whispered before kissing him again,

The world around you is fading into nothing but pure love.

[chocogoldie]

Love Slip

bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

genre: fluff

contains: established relationship, a bit suggestive at one point

short continuation of Nip Slip 18+

It's been a while since the two of you started dating. Approximately three months, two days and forty-three minutes. But who's keeping count?

During your time together, you've come to learn many things about the blond ticking time bomb:

One, he's a very organized and clean guy. He has to-do lists separated into categories in his phones' notepad app, a strict schedule he follows everyday to stay in shape — not that he needs it, but getting to brag about being able to lift you up certainly strokes his ego — and an extremely neat room that stays neat no matter what. He brushes his teeth three times a day, eats healthy meals, has a proper skincare routine and smells of sweet caramel even when he's dripping with sweat coming back from the gym or from an intense training session with your classmates. ln short, his hygiene is top notch.

Two, he's a little bit of a gym freak. Not that you'd ever mind, you even find it hot most of the time, but sometimes he gets provoked by his other gym buddies, mainly Kirishima and Kaminari, to try out all sorts of exercises with you on his back. Push-ups, squats, even yoga poses, literally anything they can think of just to see if it'd work. You've fallen on your ass more than he'd like, or care, to admit. Not because he wasn't strong, no, but because you cannot concentrate on holding onto him for the life of you, always getting distracted by the way his muscles flex and how he grunts from exertion. It's a sight for sore eyes, strands of hair sticking to his forehead while his usually spiky hair dampens and falls down beautifully, framing his face. It reminds you of your first night together, so of course you wouldn't be able to pay attention to anything else. You don't mention how incredibly good he looks in his compression shirts. Yes, he bought multiple after you oggled him up and hinted at loving the way they fit muscly men.

And last but not least, he's clingier than anyone you've ever met which is a stark, and quite frankly adorable, contrast to his sharp appearance. You're working on some assignments? He's bringing you food and making himself comfortable on your bed while putting on a weird dating show on the TV, occasionally checking up on you to remind you to take breaks. You're going for a quick grocery run? He doesn't waste a second to throw on whatever clothes he can find and join you, walking around the store with the shopping cart and imagining you two as a married couple well into your marriage shopping for your little family. You're taking a bath? Scooch over, he's helping you wash your hair and back. You're feeling sad? He's bringing your favorite ice cream and listening to you vent while gently running his hands over your face, back, thighs, arms, anywhere to soothe you. He cradles your face when your sobbing gets louder, pressing his forehead against yours to help ground you into reality, to snap yourself out of your worries by murmuring “I'm here, baby,” or “I got you”. All in all, he's a big softie for you.

He often shows his affection through his actions, but sometimes when the two of you are alone and in the silence of your bedrooms, he pushes his embarrassment aside and spills his heart out. He vents about hero work, about how he doesn't think he's good enough, or rather, nice enough to be a hero, always ending up berating people to hide his true intentions and words. It's something he's always struggled with, but he's been working on it constantly with you, his friends, and in therapy. He tells you everything about what happened during his time in highschool, how the man literally died for a minute, and how much that impacted his life onwards. You listen intently and comfort him through it, crushing him into a tight embrace to remind him you're there for him as well and that you'd do anything to make him happy. He tells you that your presence is enough.

He whispers soft “I love you”'s each night before you two drift off to sleep, letting his hand rest on the small of your back underneath your shirt, needing to feel your skin against his to be able to sleep. The warmth your body provides gets rid of his reoccurring nightmares and allows him to sleep soundly throughout the night with you by his side. And he very quickly realizes he never wants to lose you. Ever.

Because he might've slipped into having a little crush on you, but he willingly chose to fall in love with you.

© chocogoldie 2024. do not translate, copy, or repost.

a/n: a little smth i came up with while waiting for the poll to finish :3 hope u enjoyed it! not proofread

[kining-the-evil]

120 house md :))

Prompt: “Your hair is so soft…” (the prompt list I’m doing it from)

Warnings: none

An: I did House sisnce you didn’t specify a character. If you wanted someone else feel free to send in a new request

“What’s the point of coming to a doctor if you refuse to take their help?”

You watched as Greg paced in front of you, his cane making a hard thunk everytime it hit the ground. He had been complaining for the past 15 minutes about two parents who were apparently fighting him on every suggestion he made for their son who was sick.

The case had already lasted a week, and after your husband refused to come home three nights in a row you had decided to bring in a freshly made meal and force him to eat. Instead, he completely ignored the warm container of food and instead immediately started complaining about the family. Although, to be fair, you hadn’t really been listening to him. Instead you were taking in his appearance.

He was in the same clothes he’d left the apartment in a few days ago, though the jacket was slung over his desk and the shirt was significantly more wrinkled than it had been when he’d left. His scruff had grown out slightly from missing his weakly shave, and his hair… god his hair. It was all messy and sticking up slightly. You couldn’t help but wish your fingers were running through it.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Nope.” You hummed happily as you ran a hand over your skirt. Your eyes glanced back up to see your husband staring at you, and you motioned for him to come closer. When he did you reached up to tug him down onto the seat with you, and once he was at your hight you ran a hand through his hair. “Your hair is so soft…” you hummed as your fingers ran through it.

Greg looked at you for a moment before sighing and turning in the seat to lay down, his head resting on your lap. You took this as permission and began running your hand through his hair repeatedly, scratching his scalp every so often. Your husband was quiet for a moment before launching back into his complaining like nothing had happened.

After a bit the door to his office was thrown open and the three assistants you’d only ever met once came storming in. “House, we didn’t find anything just like I said we wouldn’t-“ whoever it was cut himself off when he saw yourself and your husband on the couch.

“Human error, check again,” Greg demanded without missing a beat, but none of them moved. Greg held his head up slightly to see them better. “What are you waiting for? An invitation?”

“Who’s that?” A man with some sort of accent asked (you a summed Australian).

“The woman who’s gonna watch you all get fired if you don't go now!” Greg snapped, which seemed to be all they needed as the three were rushed out of the room.

“You didn’t tell them you were married?”

“Why would I? I don’t want to appear human,” he said as he laid his head back down on your lap and you continued to comb through his hair

[mariasont]

Office Sleepover 3 - A.H

a/n: yeehaw this took me way longer than i thought but here she be

i feel like im so ass at writing smut so just bear with me yall

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

part one here! part two here!

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which reader gets put on a hit-list and has to stay in the office (kind of based off when penelope got put on a hit-list by the dirty dozen)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, hungover reader, unwanted attention from some rando, awk as fuck reader, fingering, dirty talk, doing the dirty in the office, definitely illegal, definitely probably caught on cameras

wc: 4.2k

Everything hurt--your stomach churned, your head throbbed, and your eyes burned. You squeezed them shut, feeling your body tense against the stiff fabric of the pull-out couch. Fists curled tightly, you gradually let your eyelids part, casting a slow, sweeping glance around the room, trying to piece together what the hell happened.

Pain hammered around the inside of your head. You desperately needed a hefty dose of Advil--ten at least. As though your mind had materialized them, you rolled over to discover a bottle and a glass of water on the nightstand. You assumed you had JJ to thank, though the certainty of that was as fuzzy as your thoughts. Each effort to reconstruct last night's events was a stab to your already excruciating migraine.

You had all your clothes on, that was a plus considering your notorious history with wine and stripping. Stripping. Your hand slapped over your mouth, a floodgate of recollections bursting through--calling Hotch in a wine-induced haze, flashing your tits, asking him to stay.

You were in full-blown panic mode, the sudden urge to throw up clawing at your throat. The bed was empty, save for yourself, but you vividly remember Hotch laying down with you. This only left two possibilities: he left after you fell asleep or it had been a figment of your imagination. You were desperately hoping it was the latter.

But clearly, the universe had its own plan, because there he was, leaning against the door frame, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a paper bag that, by the smell of it, contained greasy food.

With a throat like sandpaper and sweaty palms, you met your boss's gaze. "Hotch," you croaked, pausing to swallow. "Um, good morning--or is it? My sleep schedule's always off after drinking. It feels bright in here, right? It's also kinda hot, is the AC working?"

You impulsively rose from the bed, a decision you instantly regretted as the room seemed to spin around you in protest.

"Sit down," he commanded, a firmness in his voice that brooked no opposition, and you promptly sat your ass back down, watching him with an expectant look.

You attempted to read his face, but it was a blank slate, making you that much more nervous. He must hate you, you figured, because you certainly hated yourself. Your boss had seen your nipples. A wave of heat washed over you, and you clenched your eyes shut, as if that could make this situation disappear.

"Here," he said, handing you the coffee and the bag, then gesturing to the Advil on the counter. "Take that, and I know you might not feel like eating, but it's necessary. The food and coffee will stabilize your blood sugar levels."

"Right, yeah, course," you nod, accepting the items with shaky hands, holding the cup with a grip that's a little too firm. "Listen, sir, I'm really sorry about last night. I promise I don't usually drink that much. I don't even know how I got that drunk, and I know I acted completely inappropriate towards you. If you need to file a complaint, I understand. Again, I'm just so sorry..."

You wanted to cry, but you held it back, knowing it would only make this whole situation worse. You deliberately avoided his eyes, focusing on anything but him while you absentmindedly toyed with the breakfast sandwich in your hands.

After a moment, he releases a soft sigh, the mattress sinking slightly as he settled beside you, his knee gently knocking yours.

"I'm aware this week's been tough on you. It's, uh, clear you weren't thinking straight, and I'm not about to make a formal issue out of a slip-up."

Your head dipped, as you tried to fend off the rising warmth in your face. "I don't think I can ever look you in the eyes again."

"That feels dramatic," he pointed out, a chuckle in his voice that made you glance his way. "Trust me, it's already forgotten."

That was a lie. He may have lacked Reid's eidetic abilities, but there was no possible, imaginative way that he would forget the image of you topless--it was imprinted in his memory. In fact, it had become the sole focus of his thoughts ever since. He silently thanked the gods that it was a Saturday, and he didn't have any pressing work issues.

"Somehow, that's not very comforting," you replied, a suppressed giggle breaking through as you met his gaze. "So, did you, um, end up staying over?"

Your cheeks glowed with a soft pink, hands unconsciously smoothing over your thighs--a nervous habit of yours he had quickly taken notice of. It emerged involuntarily when you faced tough cases, or when your computer took too long to start up, or even when the elevator made an unexpected noise.

"I did," he admitted, "You shouldn't have been alone."

Your whole body felt like it was on fire, and you were weirdly frustrated that you couldn't recall being the same bed as him, being able to feel his body against yours. You bet he was warm, and soft, and large against you.

"Thank you."

His phone went off. "Hotchner."

Your eyes followed his movements, noting the firm nods, watching as he stood, his expression hardening, jaw tightening, and hand coming to rest on his chin as he faced away from you.

The phone call was brief, and he quickly turned his attention back to you. "We've got a case."

And it was quite the case--three male victims, all in their forties. Each crime scene was close to Quantico, about twenty minutes, sparing the team any extensive travel. Though, after last night, you don't think you would have minded if they had been halfway across the country.

You were really banking on Hotch's ability to keep things professional, knowing full well that if Morgan caught wind of this, you'd be better off dead.

The team was huddled around the briefing table, absorbing Garcia's detailed rundown of the killings--they were violent to say the least--with heads bashed in and over twenty stab wounds per victim. Whoever was doing this was angry.

Hotch eventually split everyone up into tasks—Spencer and Morgan to the crime scenes, JJ and Emily interviewing the families, and Rossi was tasked with convening with the local police force. So, you know who that left at the office? You, Hotch, and Penelope. What a great group.

You avoided both of them, a pattern that had become all too familiar you had realized. Hunched over your desk, you were engrossed in sending Spencer images of your latest research on the town. True to form, he responded--Can you just fax that over to the police station?--because god forbid, he has to read it from his phone.

So, there you were, barely resisting the urge to slam your head into the fax machine. You wouldn't consider yourself technology impaired, but to say you were on friendly terms would be overstating it.

"Need help?"

"Oh, yes, please—," you began, but your voice trailed off as you noticed one of the guys from forensics hovering just a tad too close for comfort.

"They're always a bit stubborn," he noted, barely giving you space to breathe before his shoulder nudged against yours as he fiddled with the device, "just a slight...there we go."

The machine sprang into action, prompting you to step back and acknowledge his help with a nod. "Oh, thanks."

"Not a problem," he assured, stepping closer in the process, his fingers lightly brushing your thigh as he pointed out the correct button. "You see, it's all about timing," he added, his voice low and unnecessarily close, "these things can be so fussy, right?"

A subtle nod was your only response, hoping he'd take the hint that you weren't in the mood for small talk. The hangover clung stubbornly, and the whiff of his breath was a cruel taunt against the fragile peace you were maintaining over your stomach.

"So, do you find this kind of tech stuff challenging?" he asked, a little too casually. The question hung awkwardly in the air. You sought to put some distance between you, yet he matched your every move, keeping the space closed. "I mean, I'm pretty good with my hands, not just with machines honestly."

Ew.

You mustered a smile, though you were sure it was more of a grimace. The room felt smaller, the walls inching closer. "I usually manage," you responded, the strain evident in your voice.

He leaned closer, if that was possible, it was like the concept of personal space was foreign to him. "Maybe I can show you a few tricks, help you manage a little better?"

His words were light, but his proximity was anything but, almost suffocating.

Just as you were firmly about to tell him to shove it, a sharp voice beat you to it--probably for the best.

"That won't be necessary."

The forensics guy, whose name you still hadn't gotten, straightened, his smile faltering under the weight of Hotch's piercing, don't fuck with me, stare. A look usually saved for unsubs and incompetent officers, but now it singled out this man.

The same look remained on the poor guy as he directed his words to you, "why don't you join me? We need to go over some case details."

It really wasn't a question.

The man backed up instantly, mumbling something under his breath about just trying to help, but Hotch's glare followed him until he was well out of earshot.

Surprisingly, a similar sharpness was aimed at you as soon as he opened his mouth. "I'd appreciate it if you chose to flirt on your own time, not the Bureau's."

His words landed with the sting of an unexpected slap. You blinked, taken aback. "What? I wasn't--,"

But he didn't allow you time to finish. Instead, he pushed a water bottle in your hands, his eyes scrutinizing your face with such an intensity that you wished the floor would swallow you whole. "Drink. You look pale."

"Gee, thanks," you grumbled, under your breath, more to yourself than him, as he wheeled around and headed briskly for the briefing room.

Your steps lagged slightly behind him, your forehead lined with a thoughtful frown. What was that about? The way he acted--the tightness that had formed around his mouth and the harshness in his words, it was so unlike him, well, at least for it to be directed at you.

The rest of the day unfolded just as you thought it would upon waking--like shit. Hotch kept his distance, his exchanges with you brief and to the point. Every time you tried to grab his attention, hoping to clarify things (why you felt the need you weren't sure), he was already looking else, focused on literally anything but you.

It was painfully evident that he was avoiding any personal conversation with you, a realization that bit deeper than anticipated.

The office slowly emptied, the case binding you and Hotch to the briefing room, the only sounds being the faint gentle tapping of your pen and the occasional snap of your hair tie.

It was late when you finally spoke. "Hotch, this says the victim had fibers under his nails that don't match anything from the suspect's home."

Hotch's gaze snapped up to yours. "Are you saying you think the forensics team missed that?"

You met his eyes squarely, cocking your head to the side at the tone of his voice. "I'm not saying anything. I'm just pointing something out."

He bridged the space between you, his jaw set in a firm line. You could feel the warmth spreading across your cheeks as the distance dwindled.

"I'm just saying I don't want you jumping to conclusions based on underdeveloped theories."

You met his eyes with a glare, your teeth grinding together in the process. "Underdeveloped? Is that how you see my contributions now?"

The space between you had now vanished, your heart racing, finger almost poking into his chest as you spoke.

Hotch settled back against the wall, arms folded across his chest, giving you a pointed look. "I didn't say that," he replied, his voice level, markedly different from your agitated one. "We just can't afford to investigate every insignificant detail."

"Every insignificant detail?" you scoffed, "these are leads, Hotch."

His shoulders lift in an indifferent shrug that made you want to wrap your hands around his throat, and not in the good way. "Maybe. However, we need to be sure before we pursue it."

Drawing in a controlled breath, you fought to stay calm, but he was making it very hard. The sensation was all too reminiscent of college, contending with the overconfident frat boys just to voice your thoughts. That comparison may have been a tad extreme--Hotch was far from being like those insufferable boys, but he was certainly pushing your limits right now.

"I am sure. Why aren't you listening."

"I am listening," he said, but his voice was distant. "I just... I just don't want to get sidetracked, that's all."

"Sidetracked? By what, exactly?"

"I'm just not sure you're all here right now."

You felt your cheeks warming with a tinge of shame, but you pushed back, fists clenched at your sides. "I'm here, Hotch. I'm focused."

"Because last night—,"

"Last night was a mistake, okay? I got it. I already apologized for that. But I'm not irresponsible, my focus is on this case."

A lengthy pause followed, his expression unreadable. "You're certain about that?"

"Yes, I'm certain," you snapped, moving towards him again. "And for the record, JJ said you were okay with us having a few drinks."

"I was," he admitted. "But I didn't think—,"

You didn't let him finish. "What, that I'd get wasted? That I'd do something stupid? I'm sorry I'm not perfect."

"Well, yeah."

"Screw you, Hotch."

You knew that was a mistake the minute his nostrils flared, his chest now a pressing force against yours.

Then, without warning, his lips crashed into yours. A muffled oomph of surprise left you, your hands hanging motionless at first, only to quickly melt, grasping at his jacket, pulling him into you.

It wasn't a gentle kiss, nor was it kind, but it was magic, exceeding anything you could have imagined, setting every fiber of you on fire. His lips pressed against yours with an intensity that drew out a breathy sigh, arousal tingling through you, and your passion rose to meet his, equally hungry, equally desperate.

Your fantasies had never done him justice--kissing him was intoxicating, and now you could feel yourself getting lost in the sensation, realizing it was everything you never dared to hope for.

Drawing back just enough, his hands drew you closer, pressing against the dip of your back, his breath fusing with yours in a dizzying blend, making the air seem scarce.

Against the soft pressure of his lips, you murmured, "I wasn't flirting."

There's a pause as his eyes locked on yours, searching, questioning. Then, his hand settled at the side of your neck. "You better not have been."

Any witty comeback you had dissipated as his lips crashed against yours again, more urgently this time, his hands tracing every contour of your clothed body with an insatiable curiosity.

His grip tightened around your waist, effortlessly lifting you onto the briefing table's cold surface with a resounding thud, his palms then cradling your thighs. Documents and files fluttered beneath you, hopefully they weren't too important. His eyes, dark pools of brown, were meticulously scanning your face.

"You," he breathes out, his voice a low rumble laced with something you couldn't quite place, "have consumed my thoughts since the moment I discovered you on my couch." He inches closer, his breath scorching your cheek as his fingers waltzed a pattern up your thighs. "Do you understand that feeling? The intense frustration?"

You were rendered motionless, frozen in place, scared to even twitch and risk this all being a very realistic wet dream. This was Hotch, your boss, the man defined by his lack of outward emotion. To think that you--of all people--could have an effect on him was an overwhelming concept. The room seemed to tilt on its axis as he gently guided your legs apart, positioning himself between them.

"Y-Yeah, I know," you uttered unevenly, your thoughts scattering as your hands tentatively reached for his collar.

"So, you know what it's like, huh?"

Your nod was subtle, a flustered smile briefly lighting up your expressions.

"And?" he prompts, while his fingers explore the shape of your thighs, squeezing gently.

You squirm under his gaze, the intensity of it making your heart race inside your chest.

"And... it's annoying," you confess, puffing out a breath, trying sound annoyed, but the delicate blush dusting your nose gave you away, you were sure.

"Annoying?" Hotch repeats, his hand tenderly angling your face upward, his smile laced with a taunt. "Is that all?"

You rolled your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "It's distracting," your voice was softer now, desire pooling in your belly as you grasp just how compromising of a position you were in.

"Distracting," he tsked, echoing you once again as he nodded solemnly, pulling your hips into his. Your mouth parted in an 'o' of surprise, your gaze lifting to meet his. "Have I been the subject of your thoughts, then?"

Your head dipped in a nod, your fingers brushing against his firm chest, a soft blush coloring your cheeks. "Maybe a little, in a totally platonic boss-employee type of way."

"Oh yeah?"

You caught your lip between your teeth, considering your next words very carefully. "Well, maybe more than a little, and maybe more than just a boss."

"Oh, wow," his breath was a warm hover over your lips, hanging in the space between you. You ached for the tase of him again, rich with dark expresso and spiced cinnamon. It was a lovely combination. "Sounds serious."

You released a hushed giggle, a light note floating between you as your foreheads met. "It's not like I can help it."

"And why is that?"

"Because," you paused, wetting your lips in anticipation, "you're infuriatingly unforgettable, that's why."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You would."

He was kissing you again. This time a little softer, unhurried, and the whole reason for your argument faded into nothingness. Although if insubordination led to this sweet consequence, it might just become a habit.

His lips traced a path down your throat, prompting your head to tilt back, baring the expanse of your skin to his exploration. Your legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him impossibly close. The world seemed distant, the sensation dreamlike, buoyed by the soft lull of a lust-induced haze.

Reason gave way to impulse; your hands lost in the softness of his hair, your back arching to his hands grasping at your ass, your clothed pussy grinding against his erection.

His hands hesitated, hovering as he reached for your top, his eyes holding yours. "Is this okay?"

You nodded, more eagerly than necessary, but that still wasn't good enough for him.

"I need a verbal yes or no."

Desperation clung to you, a needy sigh escaping you as you squirmed into his touch, his hands halting your restless movements. "Yes, please, Hotch."

"You were so eager to call me Aaron last night. Say it again."

"Aaron, please, I need you to touch me," your voice rang out, imbued with such sweetness making his length constrict against the fabric of his slacks.

His fingers deftly navigated to the hem of your shirt, sliding it over your head with a fluid motion. Your bra was next, its clasp yielding effortlessly to his touch, your tits releasing with a gentle bounce, and he fought back a groan as his large hands enveloped them.

"Every bit as perfect as I remembered," he said, his fingers skillfully pulling and twisting at the nubs as you brought you forehead to meet his, a breathy gasp tumbling from your lips at the contact.

You arched your back into his heads as he let out a soft chuckle, loving the way your body reacting to him. Your eyes held a glazed-over look, lips parted ever so slightly, and you looked up at him expectantly in way that could surely kill him. 

His hands moved slowly down your sides before brushing the sensitive skin under your waist band. You swallowed a gasp, moving your hips into his again, rolling yourself against his stiff erection.

His palms pressed against your hips. "Slow down. Let me take my time with you, yeah?"

You were at his discretion; he could ask you to jump into oncoming traffic right now and you'd probably say yes.

A nod was all you could manage as you fought the urge to move, every muscle tensed, waiting for him to make the first move, but god was it hard. You couldn't really believe this was happening, until the solid press of his thumb against your clit brought the moment into sharp focus. 

"Aaron, god," you gasped, your hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. Your teeth found your bottom lip harshly, trying not to show him just how easily you could come apart right now.

"Is that good, honey?"

Honey. You could practically feel the arousal dripping your thighs as you nodded eagerly.

The pad of his thumb glided between your folds, gathering the slickness to continue his assault against your swollen clit. You buried your face deeper into his suit jacket, attempting to stifle the embarrassing sounds that you couldn't seem to contain. 

A whine of protest filled the space between you as his hand slipped away from your pants. His eyes bore into you as he gathered the strands at the back of your neck, guiding your gaze to yours. 

"None of that. Let me hear you gorgeous."

"Aaron, please, I need your fingers inside me, please."

You were painfully aware of how ridiculous you sounded, knew that if anyone else was in the office right now, you'd be so screwed, fired probably, but as his fingers dipped into your cunt those concerns dissolved quickly.

"Since you asked so nicely."

He was torturing you--his pace aggravatingly slow, working in and out of you as you tried to fight the overwhelming desire to slam your legs shut. It was so much, yet not enough. You ground yourself against his hands as his other hand clamped around your back, keeping you from falling back.

"That's it, baby, fuck yourself on my fingers."

His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, his chest rising and falling in a way that only seemed to spur you on, doing exactly as he ordered. His words felt foreign in your ears, before today you could never imagine him talking like this, so vulgarly. 

"Aaron, I-I need—," you paused, your eyes falling to his pants, more specifically the hardened cock inside them.

"Yeah? Is that what you want?"

"Yes, fuck, please," you gasped as his fingers hit that one spot just right. Your head lolled back as you clutched at his collar, his arm behind you keeping you in place.

"Watch your mouth," he said, and for some reason that was enough to send you right over that never ending ledge, your stomach coiling, heat spreading under your skin, every part of you ached.

"Oh—, Aaron, I-I'm—," you were a blubbering mess, rocking without mercy against his fingers, his thumb brushing against your nub in a way that made you feel like you had met your maker.

"That's it, baby, go ahead."

That was enough for you, your walls clenching around his fingers, back arching into him and you swore for a minute you could see stars. He helped you ride out your high.

You were wholeheartedly convinced; this was heaven. You had died and gone to heaven and the first one to greet you was Hotch, his hands tracing soothing patterns on your bare skin in an attempt to bring you back down to Earth. 

Just as you were about to reach for his pants, determined to feel him inside of you, his phone went off. Of fucking course. He shot you an apologetic look, the sound a wake-up call, pulling you both from the lust-fueled moment. 

He moved back with a couple steps, offering nods and muted words to whoever was calling at 12 am. You were suddenly extremely aware of your appearance--topless and on the briefing table for crying out loud. 

You attempted to stand, your legs betraying you with a wobble that had him instantly clasping your arm firmly, his attention flickering from the phone to the tremors in your stance. You gave him a small in return as if to say I'm fine.

You reached across the table, grabbing your shirt from its discarded state, not bothering with the bra as you dressed quickly. He cleared his throat, causing you to turn, just in time to see his phone disappear into his pocket.

"That was the Stafford police chief, there was another murder," he explained.

"Oh, right, okay, um..." you started, your brain racing into overdrive as you instinctively moved towards the door. "I just need to..."

Your movement was too quick, a dizzying spin that resulted in you tumbling into Hotch's solid frame. His reflexes were immediate, hands clasping onto you once again, preventing you from landing straight into him.

"Whoa, hey, are you okay?" he asked, brows knitting in a frown, "take a second."

"Yeah, um, yeah, I'm good," you managed to get out, even as heat suffused your face. "Just need to get changed, uh, can't imagine either of us want to the team to find me like this."

"Right."

He was still frowning, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss away the harsh lines of his forehead, but you were sure he wouldn't appreciate the gesture. 

You made a beeline for your office, the door's thud barely registering over pulsating rush in your ears. God, you were so screwed.

taglist: @chronicallybubbly @aremuslupinsimp @sky2nd @thisisdaisytrying @ryswritingrecord

[cleolinda]

I wish I had thought of posting this sooner: if you feel like you have to stay because of your pets, those lists do say which shelters are pet friendly. My best friend did run into the problem of a shelter being willing to accept her dog but not her bird (she has found somewhere to stay now). Here are some general tips on how to evacuate with pets:

If you will need to go to a pet friendly shelter during an evacuation, make sure you have the following items ready to go for your pet: a leash and collar, a crate [or carrier for cats or smaller pets], a two-week supply of food and water, your pets’ vaccination records and a current rabies vaccination tag, medications, and written instructions for feeding and administering medication. If your favorite four-legged friend is feline, be sure you bring kitty-litter and an appropriate container, too.

You may not have all of these things (like records) at hand, but as a general rule, try to gather anything your pet uses on a daily basis. I know some of this seems obvious, but sometimes people can just shut down because they get overwhelmed and can’t think through what to do, so they just stay. I wish I’d thought to look this up and post it days ago, but maybe this can help people make some last minute decisions.

If you can’t find a shelter that will take certain animals (I don’t know the restrictions per se), this article about FEMA efforts suggest that even getting a few miles out of the hurricane’s path can be safer. I don’t know the Florida terrain well enough to tell you how to get to higher ground, but even a parking lot miles inland north or south may be safer than your home near the coast. But be careful about getting caught in your car in the storm surge flooding, I don’t want to lead you astray—listen to experts, not me; these are last-ditch ideas we had to spitball yesterday (me on the phone in a different state) when things looked bad.

Anybody who has more info or better ideas for evacuation with pets or last-minute safety, please chime in.

[ipushhimback]

Hi!! I had an idea/request if you say.

Driver x Interviewer!Reader where the driver flirts a lot with them and makes their life slightly difficult but not bc they want to but bc they’ve been painfully in love with the reader for as long as they can remember. Ending is up to you!!

I wanted this to be based off RedBull!Sebastian Vettel like 2010-2011 but idk if you write for him. So any driver would be okay☺️

thanks @gguk-n for the request i really had so much fun writing this! i hope you like how i wrote it <3 but look!

pairing: franco colapinto warnings: none words: 1.3 k summary: you’re an f1 interviewer and franco has a crush on you…

You sprinted to the area where you would interview the drivers as you didn’t hear your alarm this morning - again - looking at your phone to read the notes your boss sent to you. The information contains which drivers you’ll be interviewing and what the most important questions to ask are.

”No fucking way!”, you exclaimed as you stopped in the middle of your little sprint. 

Franco Colapinto was on the list. He was going to drive this race weekend as Pierre broke his arm just about an hour again. 

It wasn’t as if Franco wasn’t a nice guy. He definitely was but he’s been flirting with you since the middle of the 2024 season when he stepped in for Logan at Williams and it has gotten extremely annoying when he started flirting with you in the cafeteria, at food trucks and even in interviews at some point!

You weren’t the only one he flirted with, you saw the interviews of other women being flirted with, and yeah, Franco was charming but when he flirted with you it was different. It didn’t seem like he just joked around. It seemed like he actually wanted to go on dates with you. You really appreciated it. Maybe it was even cute but after the fifth time rejecting him it just got annoying as fuck.

Shaking your head in disbelief you started running again. You couldn’t afford to be late to an interview if you didn’t want to be fired. 

“Y/N!!!!”, you heard a voice behind you. 

“Franco. What do you want? You’ll only be the third driver I’ll interview today…”

”Yes, I know. But look. I brought coffee for you. It is the one you always have. I guess. Wow your legs look so good in that dress with those shoes!.”

You just stared at him because that - bringing you your favorite coffee - was just adorable. But Franco must have seen your face, that was still grumpy thanks to the stress of overhearing your alarm, and immediately stressed. 

“Oh no. I brought you the wrong coffee, right? I am so so sorry. Should I get a new one? Which do you want? I can also bring tea or hot chocolate instead? Or alcohol?”, he said and you just got even more confused. Alcohol? It was only 10 in the morning…

You honestly didn’t have the energy for anything so you just turned around to walk away but stopped after only 3 steps and turned around. You walked back to Franco and grabbed the coffee he was still holding in his hand. Now you again turned around to walk away again. For real this time. 

The first drivers to be interviewed that day were Oscar Piastri, who was an amazing warm up thanks to his calm personality, and Lando Norris, who thank god was also still as tired as you so he was also calm and not like Franco, full of energy. 

Then it became serious. You saw Franco sprinting in your direction so you took a few deep breaths so you wouldn’t throw him in front of a bus. 

“Y/N!!! I am ready! Ask me anything! But first, I have another coffee. Did you like the coffee before? I also have a sandwich for you. But I didn’t make it myself. But I bought it myself. I saw you order it last time at the food truck.” 

Honestly you were really starting to believe that Franco was stalking you. This wasn’t normal. Someone who works with you shouldn’t know this much about your eating habits. Or drinking habits. Or any habits. And those compliments you got way too often from him? His record was seven compliments on a single day. And yes, you did count. 

“Uh… yeah… thanks… Let’s just start the interview, Franco”, you told him though he now looked a little sad while he was still holding the sandwich in his hand. You started feeling bad for him and you had to admit you really wanted to eat that sandwich so you grabbed the sandwich from him.

”Can we now start the interview?”, you repeated and you saw Franco’s face light up again.

”Ok. Just ask. I will answer it all”, he said enthusiastically as he took the mic you were handing to him. 

“So. Now that you are going to replace Pierre for at least the next five races, what are your goals for these?”, you asked him the first question.

”Definitely try to score points and proving I am a good driver so that I have good chances of getting into a team next year. And not just as a reserve driver”, Franco said and you couldn’t help that he was a little nervous as his accent, that got even stronger, gave him away. 

“Do you think you’ll get along with Jack well?”, was your next question for the two years younger driver.

”I certainly hope so. It is important to me and I think for him too. We will see. But yes I hope we will. Of course there is always somehow a rivalry. You want to beat the others to proof yourself but I think we will get along fine off the track”, the Argentine answered patiently, still grinning his signature grin. “You look really pretty today, by the way. Did you style your hair differently?”

“Ok.” You just said ignoring his compliment - you had to be professional - and just asked a couple more questions before the interview was over and Alex Albon, Franco’s former teammate, and Williams driver, was already waiting a few steps away, grinning like he had just won in the lottery. 

“Alex! What is going on? You got pole position for the race?”, you asked him, laughing. Alex has always been one of the drivers you got along best with. He never judged you when you came into F1 as an interwiewer at the age of 21. The last two years he has always supported you. 

“Nope. No pole position. Nothing going on”, he said but you didn’t quite believe him as he looked like he was trying not to laugh. You just hummed though and looked confused. After you turned back to grab a bite of your sandwich you looked even more confused as you saw Franco still standing there. 

“Franco? You can leave? The interview is finished”, you told him and sighed. 

“Oh… oh yeah. Sorry. I’ll leave”, Franco said running off as fast as he managed. 

You shook your head and turned back to Alex. 

“Come on, Albono. Your turn. Grab the mic.” 

Alex didn’t move. Not even a millimeter. 

”You really don’t realize it, do you?”, Alex said smirking. 

“Realize what? Can you just give me a little more information? I cannot read your mind yet. Haven’t learned that. If I had I wouldn’t be here asking y’all questions when you can’t even answer half of them”, you said somehow annoyed. 

“Y/N… I really love you but sometimes you are really an idiot. He brings you your favorite coffee. He brings you the sandwich you always order. He even makes sure you drink enough water!”

“Exactly! He can be so annoying! I just want to do my job and he is always there! It is as if he- oh…”, you stopped in the middle of the sentence. 

Alex just laughed and patted your head. 

“Looks like you finally used the thing in your head called brain.”

”I am such an idiot”, you said facepalming yourself. 

“Yeah sometimes you really are”, your friend just said. ”And now?”

”Now I don’t think he is a stalker anymore… All he did was just because he liked me! I guess I’ll have to talk to him. Tell him I am not interested.” 

***

An hour later you were finished with all the interviews and went to the Alpine garage where you found Franco almost immediately.

His face lit up and he grinned at you. 

In the end you didn’t walk out of the garage feeling sad because you rejected him but with a date in your calendar for the next day… 

a/n: i loved loved loved writing this it was so much fun! idk when i will manage to post next bc i have 4 exams plus the first part of my finals in the next 3 weeks so pls be patient! tags: @strawberryy-kiwii / @a-distantdreamer / @requiemforthepoets / @martygraciesversion381 / @l-vroom4 / @comicqlivy / @sid-is-gr8 / @picklesbuddy93 / @sadiemack9 / @f1fantasys / @cloud-55 / @sunny44 / @widow-cevans / @gigicisneros / @mbioooo0000 / @sinfully-yoursss / @bravo-delta-eccho / @rue-t / @mayax2o07 / @alexanderachillesisgay / @maviesamour / @suhchenjun / @pippyth3hippy / @sweate-r-weathe-r / @joannaln4 / @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy / @aleatorio1234 / @anayaverse / @htpssgavi

[kaciidubs]

Catnip and Kidnappings

Hi, 🧿 nonnie! This one's been a long time coming, and though it doesn't have much smut, I hope you still enjoy it! ❣ Summary: You just needed to go to the pet store for two things - so why were you suddenly in a car with a man you didn't know? ❣  ❣ Word Count: 2.5k+ ❣ Warnings: Mafia! AU, fluff, meet cute, implied danger, slight humor, cat talk, reader is a bit sassy but so is Minho ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: lightly edited ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

Two things. You just needed two things from the pet store, then you would be back home with your lovely tabby cat and show you’d been putting off for the better half of two weeks because it just ‘wasn’t the right time’.

So how, you ask, did you manage to find yourself hurriedly escorted away from the storefront of the pet store by a man you’d just met?

Well, you could target the beginning of the end the moment you stepped foot into the pet store, making your way to the cat aisle on instinct with your goal clear in your mind; catnip and premium cat food.

Premium cat food - you wished you could trick your furry child into eating a cheaper form of food, but his picky eater tendencies had set him in his ways ever since your mother decided to spoil him and introduce him to the world of Sheba pate and cuts of various meat and fish flavors; the same woman who claimed she didn’t like cats, yet bought him almost all of his toys.

Huffing out a quiet laugh at her change of heart, you bent to grab a box of the food packs, silently thanking the corporate gods that it was still on sale, before heading deeper into the aisle to grab the second item on your mental list.

You scanned the rack with the box still in your arms, adjusting it slightly every now and then until your eyes landed on the empty spot that usually had the brand of catnip you needed.

“Wonderful…”

“If you’re looking for catnip like that brand, you could go with the one with the red label - they look different because of the companies, but they’re really the same ingredient wise.”

“Oh, really? Thank-” The next word immediately died on your tongue as you turned your head, ready to thank a store worker but, instead, you were met with possibly the handsomest man you’d ever laid your eyes on.

Sharp eyes and a nose that looked like it belonged on a marble sculpture, paired with lips set in a faint frown and the prettiest jawline you’ve ever seen - he was gorgeous.

He seemed to either not notice your brain freeze or blissfully ignore it as he stepped closer to pick up the container before placing it on top of the cat food box in your arms.

“I have three cats and they all like both brands, there isn’t really a difference besides the fact that you don’t have to use as much of this one as the other one, which makes it better considering the price.”

Once his eyes finally met yours, you felt your brain kick back into gear, “O-Oh, okay, thank you so much!”

He hummed out a small sound of acknowledgement, giving you a curt nod and reaching forward to grab a container of his own; his eyes scanning across the small printed words for a moment before he looked to you once more. “Do you need help? Carrying that, I mean.”

“This? No, no, I’ve got it handled.” You adjusted the box once more, the catnip container sliding to the right until you balanced it out quickly, “All good, thanks again, though.”

Before you could embarrass yourself more than you already had, you thanked him once more and shuffled past him and out of the small aisle in record time, mentally cursing whatever line of fate led you down this path.

Placing your items on the conveyor belt, the cashier greeted you as they scanned your items and you typed in your rewards card onto the card reader’s keypad.

“Are you getting this, too?”

“What?” Looking up, you stared at the catnip in their hand with confusion creasing your brow.

“Um-”

“Yes, we are.”

The familiar voice made a chill run down your spine, your head whipping to see the same man from before, the faintest of curves to his otherwise neutral expression alleviating his otherwise stoic demeanor.

Shrugging lightly, the cashier proceeded to scan the second container before announcing the total.

Pressing his black card to the one-tap reader, he seamlessly slid it back into his wallet before stuffing it back into his pocket, “Think of it as a little gift for your cat, they deserve to be treated.”

For being stunned for the second time that day, your recovery was just as fast, “I’ll make sure to let him know a kind stranger cares about his picky habits.”

He huffed out a quiet chuckle, but that was more than enough to inflate your ego and make your heart flutter, quickly taking back your previous curse to thank fate instead.

After grabbing your bag of items, you made your way out of the store with your new companion following suit.

“So… Was that really just a gift for my cat? You don’t have any ulterior motives, do you?” You mused, turning to look at him fully as you stood outside of the storefront.

Shaking his head, he raised his hands in defense, “It’s just a gift - like I said, I have three cats so I know how it can get, better than most. Besides, the picky eater phase is really rough on the pockets at the worst of times.”

“Well, Miso appreciates your generosity.”

“Miso… cute.” He hummed softly, though his true excitement was evident in the small glimmer in his eyes.

“Do I have the honor of knowing your name?” Clocking the possible unintended implication of the question, you quickly backtracked, “Um- Just so Miso knows who he can thank while eating his pate salmon, of course.”

His lips parted to speak but closed twice as fast, his once relaxed smile turning into a firm line as he looked at you - almost enough to look through you, or rather, past you.

As you went to turn your head to gauge for yourself, you were stopped by the warmth of his hand around your wrist, winning your attention for himself like jingling keys in front of a baby.

“Let me bring you home, and I’ll tell you on the way.”

You felt your heart flutter, though you couldn’t ignore the unease creeping up your spine, “I appreciate it, but you really don’t have to-”

“I just want to make sure you make it home safely.” His mouth pressed into a tight lipped smile and his grip tightened ever so slightly, “Trust me.”

Maybe it was the fact that he sounded so sincere, aligning with the image of the kind man you’d seen in the pet shop, or perhaps it was the way his firm gaze flickered with a hint of urgency, but you found yourself nodding softly.

“Okay.”

With that, you were tugged down the sidewalk and around the corner, hurried footsteps falling alongside his long strides in hopes of keeping up.

“Is- Is there something wrong? What’s happening?”

“Everything’s fine.”

You bristled at his nonchalant, clipped tone, falling back on your pace by half a step. “I have a feeling you weren’t lying to me before, so, please, don’t start lying to me now.”

Feeling your resistance, he took a short breath and spoke, “Nothing’s wrong yet, and nothing is happening - I’d rather keep it that way, if you don’t mind.”

“But what did you see?”

“Someone who has no business trying to approach me in public unless they’re looking to start something they have no chance of finishing. I have no desire in getting innocent people caught up in those types of affairs.”

“Those types?” Your eyes widened as you neared a black car - slim, sleek, and a model that you had no chance of owning for yourself on your current pay grade. “Are you-”

“I’m no one.” He shut you down with ease before reaching forward to open the passenger’s side door, “Get in.”

Putting a temporary pin in your conversation, you quickly slid into the car, the faint scent of jasmine mixing with the musk of sandalwood and leather seats filling your nose; watching through the windshield as the black haired man rounded the car before sliding into the driver's seat.

“I don’t think a nobody just casually owns a car like this,” clicking your seatbelt into place and setting your bag on the floor, you shot him a wary glance, “if you’re going to kidnap me, Miso’s going to be royally pissed.”

The car’s engine roared to life, masking his light chuckle but doing next to nothing in hiding the slight uptick of his lips. “I’m not a kidnapper, though I’ll make an exception if Miso’s as cute as you make him out to be.”

With that, he shifted the gear and drove out of the parking lot, using the one-way street to get away from the pet store and the unknown assailant. Buildings and cars passed by in a blur after you told him your address, your hands nonchalantly turning your phone while the silence was placated with the sound of the engine and the radio - though, you had no hope of hearing what the song was from how low the volume was.

Taking a deep breath, you turned toward him, eyes tracing over his unfairly handsome side profile. “So… Is this the part where you tell me who you are?”

“I told you, I’m no one,” he hummed simply, eyes trained on the road ahead.

“And I told you I don’t like liars - you still owe me your name, you remember that, right? Now, since you’re saving me from some unknown evil, you owe me a full introduction.”

He glanced over at you, amused astonishment filling his face, “For someone who’s in the hands of a complete stranger, you make a lot of demands.”

“Think of it as your atonement for giving me two new life experiences in one when I was minding my own business buying catnip.”

You could just barely catch him rolling his eyes, muttering under his breath and hearing the words ‘worse’ and ‘friends’.

“Minho.”

“Minho?”

Minho rocked his head to the side, huffing, “My name is Lee Minho, I have three cats - Soonie, Doongie, and Dori - and I’m a businessman. I like going to that pet store because they donate some of their profit to shelters, and I know about the catnip brands because I have three cats - changing brands is a nightmare whether it’s one cat or several.”

A small smile found its way to your lips at the new information, your mind running wild at the image of this enigma of a man playing with three cats of his own. “Okay… But, when you say businessman, what type of business do you do?”

“The type that prefers to go unmentioned to civilians for their safety.”

“What- Like working for some secret branch of the government? Are you a cult leader? A member of the mafia?” An incredulous giggle bubbled past your lips, though when his demeanor grew colder, your stomach dropped. “You’re… You’re not, right?”

“What’s your name?”

“What?”

The car rolled to a stop at a red light, granting him the grace to look at you, brown eyes locking to yours with a firm stare. “You never told me your name. If you tell me your name, I’ll tell you my job - it’s your repentance for asking me more questions past my introduction. If you don’t want to tell me, then don’t, but I won’t tell you my job.”

Your name for his profession, your safety in exchange for his safety - it was only fair, truly.

Taking a deep breath, your name fell from your lips with a small air of confidence, “You already know about my cat, and my job pays just enough to support his picky eating habits. I like that pet store because they hosted an adoption event that brought Miso into my life, and I’ve been supporting them ever since.”

He made a sound of confirmation before turning his attention back to the road, pressing the gas as the light turned green and continued the journey to your apartment.

His choice of silence was almost enough to have your conscience second guessing your decision, until you noted the way his fingers drummed against the steering wheel; twitching, anxious, compared to the streamlined, firm grip he’d showcased at the beginning of the drive.

Eventually your apartment building came into view, the car slowing to a stop once he reached the front door.

“Well…” Lingering for a moment longer, you looked at him in hopes of seeing him turn to you one final time to honor his end of the agreement, but when he remained staring at the road ahead, you let it go. “I guess this is goodbye - thank you for what you’ve done for me, Lee Minho, I appreciate it.”

As you went to unbuckle your seatbelt, his hand wrapped around your wrist, his touch sending a chill down your spine and stealing your attention just like he did outside of the pet shop.

“I’m part of the mafia,” Minho spoke plainly, his tone emotionless, statement oriented, “the person I saw earlier was someone we’ve done business with before, some low life’s henchman most likely sent to get even, that’s why I wanted to get away like I did. I didn’t want our chance encounter to end with you getting hurt - you did nothing wrong, and I wanted to make sure you would be safe.”

The mafia… You weren’t sure if him being a cult leader would’ve been better or worse than this, but staring into his eyes, you could feel it wasn’t a joke, nor an elaborate cover up.

“What I said before, about not mentioning what I do for the safety of others… I swear to you that you’ll be safe after this - I’ll make it my personal job of making sure nothing happens to you because of this, okay? No lingering ties or deals to be made, you’ll be under our watch until we take care of that stunt they tried to pull.”

His promise eased the first stretch of fear growing within you, though the rest would have to be handled once you had the proper time to process your less than normal morning.

Nodding, you slipped your wrist from his grasp and grabbed your bag, turning to get out of the car until you froze.

“If you’re worried, you don’t have to-”

You leaned across the center console and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, a sign of gratitude, “Thank you, Minho.”

Reaching into your bag, you placed his container of catnip in his hand then quickly left the car - making your way up the flight of stairs to the lobby’s doors,only to turn around to see him patiently waiting for your entrance before slipping your way past the glass doors.

On the elevator ride up to your apartment, you couldn’t help it as your thoughts ran through the events like a film reel, though you weren’t sure if it was to get over the shock of reality, or to commit the image of that man to your memory.

Lee Minho, cat owner and catnip expert.

Lee Minho, morally gray mafia member.

Lee Minho, a man you hoped you would see in the pet store again.

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: Tagged lovelies will now be done within the comments of the post due to Tumblr's tagging system being broken, thank you for understanding.

@luminouskalopsia, @zaethefangirl, @chxnb97, @sometimesleeknows, @hyunjinloverrrr, @rhonnie23, @channieswife, @beautyinhypnosis

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

[rocketbaby]

Heelloooo! I haven't ever really sent out a request of my own to any author so I'm not sure how it works wizhuejss but omgosh I love your writing so so much I cant help but atleast give it a chance yk :p

I was wondering if you could maybe write a bakugo x reader where the reader is an extremely girly girl and kinda like the total opposite of bakugo? Kinda like how his parents relationship is with mitski being all bash and loud and then theres masaru. I dont mind any scenario you have in mind whether its suggestive or not just have fun while you write it if you want to :p, that's all ty!

MHA master list

I hope it meets your expectations<3 I dunno exactly what you meant by extremly girly girl but I wrote what i thought of when you said that :( . Also please keep in mind I don't write for Kats that much so this is ass. I would say these are mostly some head cannons. Please excuse any grammar mistakes

trigger warning - vulgar words/swearing

Katsuki Bakugo x girly reader

Katsuki never thought he'd end up falling for a girl like you. He actually didn't think he'd fall for anyone at all but here we were.

You were such a sweetheart compared to his rough and mean personality. He honestly has no idea why you'd even like in the first place..when you guys had met he didn't like you at all.

Your personality and just you overall were the exact opposite of him which he hated back then. He told himself that if he'd end up dating someone it would be a person similar to him, with a tough personality and strong character..and then he met you.

It didn't take long for you both to fall in love. He started finding you somewhat cute and he cringed at that thought at first. He couldn't lie though, katsuki kinda liked how you dressed. You would mostly only wear cute,fancy outfits, usually containing of white/pink thigh warmers with a pretty little Skirt and a cute top. You'd also wear lots of accessories like bows, jewelery and more.

Most of the times you wear your outfits in warm,cute colors like red white pink yellow and maybe even light blue/baby blue. Well surprisingly, Katsuki caught a liking for it,for your outfits.

Head cannon that this man becomes a lover boy when he meets the right person

You love him and his personality too even though he's sometimes embarrassing you in public. You'd go out with him on dates and he would randomly start a fight with one of the waitress's there because he thought the food wasn't cooked properly.

You being a sweetheart,tried to calm him down and assure him that it's not the waitress's fault. Of course Katsuki didn't really listen,he made a scene there while the whole restaurant was staring and whispering.

Obviously,you tried interfering.

"Not now,babe. I need to have a talk with the dude who cooked this shit right here. It doesn't even look edible"

You didn't know what to do anymore and you could just stand back and look at him being a dumbass. He was so fuckin embarrassing.

"You expect us to eat this bull crap?! Even a seven year old kid could do better than this!"

"I came out here with my girl so we could enjoy a good meal and this is what we get? They should hire me,for fucks sake! I'll do the cooking!"

He has absolutely no shame.

This took you by surprise but you found out Katsuki loves to watch you do your make up. He often compliments you on it, alongside with your outfits. That's one of the main reasons why he loves taking you out, because he adores seeing you get all pretty for him.

"The makeup really fits you,love. And that little shit you put on your lips,that glossy thingy,it makes your lips look so much more kissable"

Another thing that he really loves about you is your voice. God it sounds so sweet and nice,he definitely forces you to whisper or talk to him while he falls asleep.

You just sound so feminine and that attracts him. He never thought he'd be into that.

It was so calming to him because his voice is rough and sounds mean. He's loud and vulgar and you with your voice are exactly the opposite,that's what makes it so special to him.

Also because he is a fuckin dumbass and a rude bitch, people are never being kind to him and they also speak poorly to him and about him, he's not used to anyone talking so sweetly..so when you did,he immediately fell in love even harder.

He'd lay his head on your chest, getting comfortable and he would just tap your forearm to get your attention properly.

"Mmh..I wanna go to sleep..do your thing baby, please"

You giggle, knowing what he wants. You were confused on why he'd find this so pleasing but it's not like you mind.

He falls asleep the next second. He can't stay up late,never. Not when he hears your pretty voice.

[florencesf1blog]

hii

please number 10 from the smut prompt list no.3 with charles, maybe reader went out to the store or something and he is looking for one of his rings that he lost and finds her toys so he waits for her and makes her use them :)

wrong drawer

Charles Leclerc x fem!Reader

In which your boyfriend finds your…other partner.

Words: 908 Warnings: 18+, toys, voyeurism, language, poorly translated french (they do NOT teach you the dirty stuff in school)

Days like these were your favorite. The short period of time your boyfriend wasn’t occupied with training, racing or whatever media duties Ferrari put him up with. Right now, it was just the two of you.

Usually, Charles his romantic ass would try and go all out for you in the short amount of time you had together. But you assured him that a movie night on the couch would suffice.

The keys jingle as you turn the lock of the front door open, stepping foot inside your boyfriends apartment. You had gone out for a small 10 minutes to get some food, the small plastic bag hanging from your arm. You had expected Charles to be waiting for you on the couch, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Charles?” you call out, but you don’t get an answer. You put the bag down on the dining table, walking around the apartment in slight confusion. He wouldn’t have left while you were out. It made no sense.

Turning the handle of your bedroom door, you slowly open it to reveal Charles. You freeze once you notice the state of the scene. The bottom bedside drawer opened up, now no longer containing what it had before. Slowly, your eyes drift up towards Charles. The devious smirk on his face said it all. Once you opened your mouth to speak, he cut you off.

“Qu'est-ce que c'est?” (what is this?) he asks in an almost mocking manner. He knew exactly what he was holding, the sight of your tiny bullet vibrator in his hands making your cheeks flush red.

Do i lie? Tell him it’s something else? Maybe he’d believe me if i said it isn’t mine? ‘I’m holding on to that vibrator for a friend. Ha-ha’

“Mon cœur?” his voice breaks you out of your thought process, eyes drifting back up to meet this. “I use it when you’re gone. Just whenever i miss you and you’re far away and-“

“Show me.” his low, gruff voice stops your word vomit. And when you thought it couldn’t, your cheeks turn an even darker shade of red. “Show you?”

He nods his head simply, as if it is the most common request in the world. Maybe this should weird you out. Be the point where you cross the line. But the thought of him watching you, showing him that even the thought of him could make you feel that way was way more exciting than it should be.

He gets up from the bed, handing you your vibrator. This wasn’t the first time you’d use it, far from it. But all of it still felt new now that you had eyes on you. Slowly, you pull your sweats and panties down. Charles wat he’s your every move, his eyes roaming over your body. You crawl onto the bed, positioning yourself on your back with your legs up. Like a hawk, Charles watches as you slowly inch the toy closer to your center.

“Plus grand, ma belle” (wider) he commands as his hand ticks your ankle. Your legs spread further, giving him the full view of your wet pussy. You could’ve sworn you heard a growl escape him at the sight, making you feel a bit more confident. Letting the toy run through your folds, it comes to life as you press the button. A sigh of pleasure and relief escapes you as the ache between your legs is getting taken care of.

You position the vibrator on your clit, a gentle moan escaping your lips at the friction. Your hips buck upwards at the sensation, chest heaving up and down. It was a new type of pleasure, knowing you were being watched constantly. You circle it around, adding to your please as you put out a soft “Charles” to break the silence.

“Tellement jolie…” (so pretty) he nearly growls at the sight, his hard on stretching through his jeans. “Putain…” (fuck)

Knowing how much this turned him on it encouraged you to put on a show. Legs spreading wider, moans becoming louder and more frequent. You knew exactly what god him every single time.

You inch the vibrator down, slowly letting it into your pussy with a wet noise. A groan escapes as you move it in and out of yourself, your wetness dripping onto the sheets. You feel yourself get closer and closer as you let the vibrator go back up to your clit and switch in between the two. Charles knows the signs. The way your legs would start to tremble, the way your moans would become more frequent and your breathing heavier.

“That’s it bébé, jouis pour moi” (baby, cum for me) he mutters, and as you glance down at him it doesn’t take long before you do. He was basically drooling over you, his eyes so focused on the way your hand pushed the vibrator in and out of you. It was as if he was absolutely mesmerized. And it was enough to send you over the edge, a string of moans and some curses escaping you.

You let yourself ride out your high before putting the toy down, still panting from the overwhelming sensation. Charles stands back up to his full form, undoing the buttons and zipper of his jeans. He pulls them down along with his boxers, freeing his hard on.

“Nous n'en avons pas terminé, mon amour” (we are not done, my love)

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

A/N: got a lot of lando and oscar requests but thought id do a charles one first for some variation. btw i got like 30 requests within 30mins so i have a lot of writing to do. hope u guys enjoyed thise one :)

[diremoone]

tlc, baby | g. satoru

w — periods, mentions of severe cramps, concerned bf ‘toru who doesn’t like seeing his gf in pain, an author who wanted toji to win the poll but is gonna do all the boys anyway bc toji, and the fact that this is too short and crummy omg (don’t write while hungry haha), hopefully toji’s is longer and better :D

[ divider cred @/firefly-graphics ]

5:14 am

The wake up is sudden, abrupt and extremely painful. You know what’s going on, but the second you try and do something about it, you find yourself sinking to the floor beside the bed in misery.

You really don’t want to walk downstairs, that’s gonna be misery. But if you don’t get and remedy this soon, you fear it’s just going to become worse.

It also sucks because your boyfriend isn’t home. You’d really, really like him to be home. But he isn’t. He’s out looking for an elusive Special Grade curse that nearly took out Mei Mei a few weeks ago on behalf of the stupid elders.

You’d curse them more if you didn’t feel like shit.

You burrow your head into the mattress and focus. Gathering up a little bit of energy, you stand and make your way to the kitchen, only to end up sitting down by the cabinets. You groan, knees up close to your chest to try and relieve some of the pain. You’re tempted to bang your head into the cabinets a few times, but the rationality of not adding more pain to the mix won over.

You can barely think straight; one second there’s the thought of running a bath and the next it’s waves of pain. You think about what’s in the fridge, then you’re overwhelmed by the intense need to barf.

“Fuck,” you mutter.

And then a loud voice echoes through the large home from your bedroom.

“Baaaaaabbbeeee!”

You snicker at your boyfriend who teleported into the bedroom that doesn’t have you in it. You hide your laughter behind your hand until another wave of agony rolls over your uterus and up your spine.

Satoru eventually finds you in the kitchen (after looking in the bathroom and under the bed). His smile disappears the second he sees you, but you don’t take notice since your forehead is burrowed into the wood of the cabinet door. He frowns, not liking the expression on your face.

“Baby?”

Satoru crouches and lowers the black mask you’d gotten him for his birthday. His heavenly blue eyes flicker up and down with worry.

“Monthly,” you manage to get out, and he instantly knows what you mean. Your entire body shakes with a shudder, so much so that the giant man is easily lifting you onto his lap to cuddle, his back now the one that presses against the wall of the kitchen.

Satoru is a heater, nothing short of the furnace that you’ve been in need of. One large, hot hand is pressed against your back, the other tucked against your lower abdomen in just the right spot. And the relief you feel makes you literally dizzy.

Your massive boyfriend however, is even more concerned than ever. The amount of stress he’d felt release from your body was nothing short of insane to him. You’d always relax and let go of all your stress in his hold, yes, but the amount of tension to how limp you were in his big arms was borderline upsetting.

You’ve never been this tense, this stressed. How long had you been like this before he was home?

“I’ll be okay,” you speak to him breathlessly. “I just need something for the pain and something to eat.”

Satoru lists off some things in the pantry and fridge, all of which makes your stomach turn and just burrow your head into his shoulder more. It isn’t until he gets to the sweeter side of the food you do have does the nausea fade away.

He reluctantly pulls away and grabs a familiar looking container on top of the fridge with a mischievous smile, one of his hands still holding yours as he stretches his massive 6’3 body across the kitchen to nab the period painkillers you need.

You don’t see him shove them and a small water bottle in his pocket, but you see him wrap his giant hand around the white container right before he fucking lifts you up off of the counter with one fucking arm and carries you back to bed.

But you don’t complain. You’re way too lethargic and fatigued. And why would you anyway?

He places you back on your side of the bed and gently plops the white container on your lap before kicking off his shoes and whips off his jacket so dramatically that you laugh. You scream as he jumps on the bed, almost on top of you. Satoru does nothing but laugh like a lunatic in return while he turns on the TV across from the bed.

Like magnets, you two end up snuggled deep into the big, thick pillows your boyfriend has propped up behind you in an instant. One of his arms is wrapped around you as you nestle into his side. But the fun doesn’t last. Your brows furrow as another wave of searing pain washes over you from your uterus. You groan and dip your nose into his collar, sharply inhaling and shakily exhaling.

“Here’s the magic pills, baby. Take ‘em.” Satoru’s voice is not the same, high-pitched excitable one he normally has. It’s the deep voice, the one he uses when he’s diving into his emotions. It’s the voice that he uses when he’s sharing his love with you in bed, or when he’s simply just loving you and taking care of you. Just like he is now. The tone of his voice is calming, relaxing, reassuring; all of the above makes your brain go fuzzy.

You pop the pill-shaped-relief in and chug it down with water and ‘toru wraps his arm around you, tugging you to him sweetly. He pops open the large white container, revealing all the chocolate chip cookies inside of it.

You laugh. “Oh my god, Satoru! This is what this is?”

“What else could it possibly be?” he jokes.

Not even a few minutes later though, the agony returns. The tearing feeling from your uterus is almost too much, lasting almost all the way through the Disney castle intro and the first couple minutes of Big Hero 6 with your head tucked into your boyfriend’s collar.

Satoru presses a kiss to your head and puts his hands in the same spots from earlier, with just as much tension leaving your body. He exhales silently.

“Go to sleep, baby,” he tells you. “It’s not worth it.”

“Want to…” you mumble, then let out a heavy sigh as heavy cramps roll over you again. “You’ve been gone a week.” You aim for a cookie and eat it in two bites.

Just like the cookies, you’re sweet — too sweet and too good for him, and he swears by it. He presses another kiss to the top of your head and replies, “Spend time with me by getting some sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up. And I’ll take care of you tomorrow, too. Whatever my girl wants.”

“…. Sure?”

“Positive.”

“…..Mmmmm’kay.”

Satoru knows you’re still awake and working through the pain even half an hour later. You may not be watching the movie, but you’re still listening, giggling when Fred screams, “CAR!” to Wasabi as the villain tries to kill them.

It’s not too long after that though, he feels your cursed energy finally relax. Your body is clearly slack against his own. He chuckles at feeling a little bit of drool soak through his shirt. You’re in a deep sleep, thank goodness. And he hopes it stays that way. The medicine worked. He wasn’t sure if his eyes could take the sight of your cursed energy bearing that much sufferance much longer before cracking himself.

Satoru closes his own heavenly blue eyes to sleep. Yeah, he’ll definitely be here tomorrow. Taking care of his woman was going to be his first priority. Mission be damned.

”G’night sweets. See you in the morning.”

@vagabond-umlaut — @heresan — @dellalyra — @torusmochi — @nayrring — @out-of-reach22

[omega-e123]

some headcannons i like to use when shadow has a sick s/o

-he knows every medicine in the book due to.his time on the ark, so he goes through a mental checklist of the ones that will help you wvery time you get sick

-he cuddles the shit out of his s/o as long as they are okay with it, he gets worried about losing them when he sees you sick like that.

-shadow when hes not cuddling and comforting you while your sick will cover you in a weighted blanket to simulate the deeling of beibg cuddled.

-shadow also has a tendency to hoord medicine due to his fear of losing you to sickness, so anytjing in the books you could need he probably has two of it.

-shadow will worry if he doesnt start to see improvement in your system in 24hrs after the sickness started. So he will book you a doctors appointment and gently drag your tail there.

-if you have trouble with the taste of medicine, shadow always has a chaser near by somewhere. The hedge will make you take your meds then imediantly have you taking chocolate sryup as a chaser after to help with the taste.

-shadow sees you even more like maria when your sick so hes voice will rarely go above a soft whisper when your sick. Him mimcking his old behavior with maria.

-shadow loves to handmake soups for you with the knowledge he has, they may not be perfect but they are a labor of love.

Thats my gush have a nwiceee dwayyy.

Oooh! I love these headcanons! Thank you so much!!

✾ He definitely tries to keep more solid medicine rather than liquid, knowing how awful they taste! Some of them can’t be helped though..

✾ Imagine even after taking the chocolate chaser, a twisted, disgusted look is still plastered on your face. Shadow snorts, “That bad?” before kissing you. You’re not focused on the taste anymore!

✾ The great thing about having Mr. Ultimate Life Form as a partner I s getting all the kisses in the world without worrying about getting him sick.

(:̲̅:̲̅:[̲̅:★:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

You open the doors to the medicine cabinet. Nono, not the one in the bathroom. Shadow keeps a separate small cabinet in the corner of the bedroom stocked up with every over the counter and left over prescription medicine you’ve ever had.

Hung on the inside of the door is a meticulous list of all the expiration dates. Below that is a little container of directions to most of the medicine. At the very least, the ones that don’t have the directions and ingredients on the bottle. They’re more so for you than him, in case you need something while Shadow isn’t around. Each bottle is organized alphabetically by name and not by the generic name.

Of course he knows what medicine is stocked, which one is for what. All the information about medicine is up to date.

Staring at the two main painkillers for headaches, you couldn’t decide which one to take. Shadow informed you to take a specific one first to see if it helps, but the memory evades you.

You’ve been so deep in thought, you hadn’t noticed that your partner had been calling you to the dinner table to eat. When he walks in the room, he spots your small frame sitting on the floor in front of the cabinet. Shadow’s arms rest crossed over his chest. “What’s wrong?,” he speaks up, effectively startling you. Turning to him, he simply raises a brow, waiting for an answer.

“Stupid headache.. It’s been progressively getting worse. I thought it was cause I wasn’t getting enough water but… Anyway, which one?” You hold up the two containers, the labels facing him.

A finger points to the red bottle, “Acetaminophen. Take one and see if it gets better. If not, use the other. Food is on the table and Acetaminophen is less likely to cause stomach irritation.”

Classic Shadow. Even with that near expressionless face you could tell by the slight tension between his brows and word choice that he’s concerned for your well being. For a brief moment Shadow disappears. In the time that he’s gone you put back the other container in its rightful place. Reappearing, the hedgehog has a glass of water in his hand. Ruby red eyes watch as you pop the pill in your mouth. A hand is outstretched to pass you the glass.

After taking the medicine he hoists you up princess style. “Shadow! Put me down! I can walk on my own! It’s just a headache!,” you protest. To no avail, Shadow hold you tighter as he walks around your shared home. A smile finds its way to his lips as you ‘struggle’, “You’re not putting much of a fight. Besides, I thought you enjoyed getting royal treatment?”

He’s not wrong—

[trashogram]

He Chose You (Pt. 8)

Lucifer/Reader: Lucifer chooses you to be the mother of his child. Rated E.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 13.5 | Part 14 | End

The illness persists in the weight of your skin over your bones yet the loss of actual muscle and fat that turn you skeletal. Your legs become bow-like and pain radiates just above your hairline. Your vision crackles with scattered flashes of black dots, and you drink like a man lost in the desert. 

Only foods that are red stay down, and even then you only nibble at peppers and plug your nose at the raw meat you stuff in your mouth. You feel the sunlight outside your window when you open it up and stick your hand through, as walking out of your apartment is a chore you can only handle once a week at most. 

Once a homebody, reclusive out of necessity and exhaustion from simple interactions, you now live for Lucifer’s chatter. His presence abates your fever, physically and emotionally. The dependence on him, as sweet as he appears, makes you itch inside. 

Everything is terrible, you tell yourself at least once per day, as the illness persists. 

But if Lucifer is good at anything, it’s providing you with distractions from the ever-present suffering.

—

The sounds you made put the Angelic Choir to shame. 

“Lucifer, don’t say that!”

The King of Hell’s laugh was muffled as he stayed buried in your cunt. The memory of you being so flustered was almost just as sweet. 

He eyed your tightly screwed expression just over your growing belly, and felt gratified at his idea to have you propped up by pillows from head to hips. With the boost, Lucifer could watch you enjoy yourself and remain comfortable. 

Let him feel the springs of your mattress dig into his knees and stomach. They were secondary to the pain of his own hardness straining in his slacks. 

A keen from you, and the feeling of your nails as they raked through his hair and over his scalp, had Lucifer moaning. His eyes rolled back, momentarily blinded by euphoria. 

“Ooh!” 

Eyes snapping open, Lucifer lifted himself from the bed quickly. His tongue slipped out of you, dripping onto the sheets when he was mindless to reeling it back in.

“Why’d you stop?” Your whine between quick pants made him blink.

One eye at a time. 

“I thought I hurt you.” He smiled, sheepishly, once his tongue was back in his mouth. 

His mauve-lids and golden lashes fluttered when you wiped the slick from his chin. There was no missing the color that had returned to your cheeks with all the exertion he was putting you through, and he felt a swell of pride at being able to breathe life back into you. So to speak. 

“Heaven help me.” You said, sarcastically. 

Breathlessly.

The Devil’s hips jerked when your hand rose to grip a fistful of his blond hair. You manually lowered him back between your legs, heedless to the way his entire frame shivered.

— 

‘I think I… I think I’m in love with her.’ Lucifer looked so earnest, meeting the glow of Ozzie’s stare. 

The Sin clucked a tongue in his King’s direction, shaking his head. ‘Well, don’t tell her that. You’re gonna scare her away, man.’ 

—

Lucifer watched you fall apart from just his tongue (its length and width being inhuman notwithstanding). 

You were so beautiful like this. Legs shaking, body spasming, letting go.

‘I love you.’ 

Man’s (alleged) Greatest Enemy could just barely contain himself. 

‘I love you I love you I love you’ 

—

Lucifer brings you another scroll one sunny day, and you find it riddled with names. 

“I’ve been thinking about what to call him or her, so I made a list! …Kinda, sorta during a meeting… whatever, it wasn’t that important!” 

Oh, you could see that. 

“Do you like any of them? Which are your favorites? No! Gimme your top 5!” His jubilation is so innocent, but something inside you hitches. 

“Does it actually matter what I think?” You chuckled. 

“Of course it does!” He cried. “You’re the mo— uh… you’re putting in most of the work!”

The weak save went unchallenged. You were already circling names, likening the process to navigating a minefield as you looked through a long line of names you couldn’t even pronounce or read. 

‘Ehb 

Horus

Azor 

Carlton’

“What about a girl?” Lucifer asked out of the blue. 

Your head cocked to the side as you realized your picks had been relegated to just one side of the endless list. That he’d written down names for boys and for girls struck you as odd. 

 “You think it’ll be a girl?” 

Lucifer looked at you with a curious gaze. “Could be, couldn’t it?”

After a moment, you shrugged. “I guess so…” 

The King’s confusion crinkled around his eyes and caused an uncanny few lines in his otherwise perfect forehead. You flick the pen at him teasingly to wipe the look from his face.

You write a few names down, and watch with a smirk as his frown turns upside down. 

‘Adrienne 

Charlotte

Maleficent’

You ignored the painful thought that this was a pointless endeavor. Naming a dead thing.

—

With eyebrows raised, you sat waiting dutifully, hands clasped over your stomach while he rummaged through the box. 

“Aha!” He pulled out two red objects, one in each hand, and knee’d the chest out of the way to present them to you.

“Surprise!”

Two remarkably crafted stuffed animals were set before you on the couch cushion. 

Goats. 

It took you a second to place them, staring at their intricate appearances — covered in fluffy red fur from head to cloven hoof, with large yellow eyes and tiny red smiles stitched on their stark white muzzles. 

Shiny, metallic-looking horns curled over the curvature of their little heads, tips almost touching the tiny approximations of wings protruding from their backs. You noticed that the little wings were also sticking out of the backs of their tiny tuxedo suits; solid black to further contrast their Luciferean color schemes. 

An uncharacteristically high-pitched squeal escaped you. 

Damn these hormones. You internally chastised yourself while reaching out to finger at the detailed plushies. 

“They’re so cute!” You admired the unbelievable softness of one’s fur, hand overlapping with Lucifer’s as you turned it this way and that. His grin was so wide in your peripheral vision as he soaked up your fawning.

“Aren’t they?!” Lucifer squealed along with you. “They’re twins! But see this one has lighter fur and this one has sharper eyes. I tried to give them little differences so they had some individuality.” 

“Michael and I looked so similar in the Beginning, a ton of people always got us mixed up. Sometimes it was fun, but I got tired of hearing him bitch about it after the first couple centuries.”

A more serene countenance overtook your counterpart, with his line of sight drifting off to the floor beside you. Lost in thought. Or perhaps reminiscing. 

“Michael?” You asked gently. 

“My brother.” Lucifer replied. 

“Ohh, I think I remember… is he a Prince of Hell too?” 

The formerly Divine man frowned. “… No. Not him.”

A shadow fell over you both, distant sadness suffusing the air. You reached for him instantly, only for Lucifer to switch on like a lightbulb and grin manically. 

“Oh well! Who knows, maybe he took Dad’s side just to make sure no one ever confused us for each other ever again!” 

You pulled away. “… right.” 

Lucifer shook his head after a glance in your direction. 

“Um, so, I was thinking…” He began. “Maybe we give one to the baby an-nd… one could stay here… with you…” 

There was no hiding the confusion that crossed your face. 

You ‘tsk’ed. “You wanna deny the baby half this cuteness?” 

In response, Lucifer tittered, still adamant on looking around the room instead of meeting your gaze head on. “Hah, no. I was thinking that, maybe, we could keep one of them here and… and then they could reunite every time the baby and I… or just the baby… visit…”

Slow realization made your already weak constitution roil. 

Perhaps, if you’d been yourself and not the hollow shell of a person you’d become while pregnant, you would’ve been angry. Or upset enough to shout. Maybe you would’ve gotten up and left him there on his lonesome, wordlessly demanding he not entertain that idea ever again. 

Certainly, the You from before this insane, impossible scenario wouldn’t hesitate to react melodramatically. 

You sighed, fiddling with one of the goat’s tails. “Oh Lou…” 

He cringed beneath the weight of your words, laden with a heaviness that harshened his already guilty conscience. 

“Wait, before you say no —” Lucifer felt his mouth running away from him. “Maybe you could think about it and then decide? Maybe after they’re born?”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything. I don’t expect anything from you.” 

“You’re expecting me to be its mother.” Your tone broke no room for argument. 

Mauve eyelids drooped as Lucifer looked down in shame. “I — ”

“I wouldn’t make a good mom.” Your statement stopped him in his tracks. 

Frustration simmered in Lucifer, slowly creeping into his expression as you continued, unrelenting. His posture went rigid, hands beginning to clench at his sides.

“It’s not that I don’t care. I probably care too much, actually.” You admitted.

It was true. Regardless of your paranoia and how justified it was or not, the sole basis for why you felt the need to argue in the first place —

(And wasn’t that just pathetic? You had feelings for the Epitome of Evil and had entertained being safe and happy with him) 

— the reality was that you’d been a broken human being before this cosmic impossibility entered your life. 

“I just don’t…” You sighed. “I wouldn’t be a good part of their life if I was in it.” 

Your head whipped up, vision spotting when Lucifer blurted:

“You are the best part of my life.” 

He looked angry. Furious. So much so that the sclera around his irises began to radiate a blood-red. 

“Do you know how hard it is? To leave you? I have to convince myself every single time that you’ll still be here when I return!” Lucifer claimed. “And soon I won’t even be able to do that!” 

“I don’t want to say goodbye forever! I… I l…” 

You shuddered, stiffening in your seat. As soon as he realized, Lucifer’s display was cowed. 

“Fuck, are you alright? I’m not — I don’t know what came over me!”

You shook your head. “No.” 

“It stopped.” You whispered. 

Lucifer’s grip trembled around your wrists. “Stopped?”

His breathless echo of your words drew your eyes up. You saw the storm brewing in his ruby eyes, as even though he waited for you to elaborate, a million thoughts pelting at his brain like hail. 

“The pain stopped.” You said. 

Your hands felt over the bump beneath your breasts, as if you might find the imaginary ‘off’ button and turn it back on.

It was ludicrous to think about, but you immediately wished for the agony that had been crippling you to return if it meant that this baby wasn’t… wasn’t… 

Tears glistened in your eyes. Lucifer drew you to his chest in spite of the fear that was pulling his shoulders taut. 

“Wh-what did you do today? Anything different?” The ex-Angel asked shakily. 

His eyes scanned you up and down, lingering on the little dolls he’d just gifted you. 

“No… n-no, nothing different.” You said. “I was in bed all morning, and th… then Cass was here and we had tea… we went out and walked a little bit outside.” 

“Did you fall?” The King hedged. 

You gasped, eyes widening. Instinctively your arms wrapped around your middle at the foreign feeling emanating from within. 

“Did…! You fell??” He panicked, grabbing onto you like a life raft. “Where? On what?!”

His words drifted away as you were enveloped in the strangest surge of feeling you’d ever experienced. 

You could only just muster up the energy to shake your head. 

Sudden warmth. 

And pressure. 

A tiny flutter, one you’d never felt before. 

You inhaled quickly yet deeply at the feeling of something pressing against your belly-button from the inside. 

It made you grin, hands coming back to grab for Lucifer’s own and to pull them to your stomach. “They’re alive!” 

The man’s jaw went slack, staring sightlessly for just as long as it took to soak up the sudden heat there. The baby took pity on its poor, trembling father and kicked again. 

It was Lucifer’s turn to gasp, looking back and forth between you and the bump with dawning awe. 

“It is!” He laughed, a tad bit hysterically. “It — they are alive!” 

“… And… glowing…”

“You’re glowing!”

*** Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision, @marydragneell, @lafy-taffy, @fandom-imagines1, @loquacious-libra, @glowymxxn, @avadakadabra93, @froggybich, @hamthepan, @ukor02, @adaizel, @boogiemansbitch, @vinillies, @lbcreations-blog, @thesoundresoundsecho, @serenity-loves-red, @alientee

[lavandulawrites]

The Grocery Trip

Yandere Alhaitam x reader

I had a dream about yandere Alhaitam and me going to a grocery store (though in the dream it was in the modern era). I wanted some sort of unhealthy drink powder and he refused to buy it. I just felt like I had to make this scenario into a fic. I am thinking of writing different grocery store scenarios with different yandere genshin men.

Masterlist

Word count: 597

The grocery store was quiet save from the bell which chimed whenever a customer entered. A colourful isle caught your eye. Rows upon rows were filled with colourful items from Fontaine.

You turned to your grey haired companion. “Can we take a look at the new items from Fontaine? Please?”

Alhaitam’s expression unamused. “Fine” his answer followed by a sigh. His hand that were not holding the basket, linked with yours. The gesture was meant to look like a romantic gesture, but you knew he was only trying to make you stick with him.

Upon a closer inspection some of the various Fontainan gods were things you had never heard off. Some were nutritious meals that you only needed to heat up and some were rather unhealthy snacks.

A orange red container with a logo of a smiling strawberry caught your eye. Frizzy Pop. You took a hold of the container and turned it around to read the description. It was some sort of powder you mixed with water to get a sweet and refreshing drink. Just what you needed.

With a smile you turned towards Alhaitam. “Can we get this? It looks really delicious!” you waved the box in front of his face which earned you a scowl.

“Absolutely not” his expression stern.

You rolled your eyes “Why not?”

He grabbed the Frizzy Pop out of your hand and inspected it like it was a the most serious thing. “You can’t even pronounce 85% of these ingredients”

“Ugh come on!” you threw your head back and dramatically sighed. “Why must you be so strict?”

“Call me strict all you want. I just care about your wellbeing. Is that so hard to understand?” Alhaitam crossed his arms. His muscles flexing slightly with annoyance.

You whined and dragged your hand across your face in irritation. “I am my own person. I don’t really need to listen to you!”

“Oh yeah? What would be of you if you didn’t, hmm? Would you perhaps be living on the streets? Oh that’s right… You would” his eyes cold. What he said was true. He had indeed helped you out of a though financial crisis and given you a place to live. In exchange he had kept you under his watchful eyes in the name of love. At least that’s what he so bluntly called it.

“It’s a drink powder Alhaitam. It’s not a big deal! And besides I already follow your recommended nutrition plan”. He had given you a long list of foods you could and could not eat. He had been very strict about it and he made few exceptions. He said it was in your best interest. You did argue with him at first. You hated how he thought he had the right to choose what you ate or not, but after a while you stopped with the arguments. You had noticed how on edge he had been lately and you knew very well that he was extremely close to just look you away in his house.

“It is a big deal. If you actually had any knowledge about nutrition and different ingredients you would know what I mean” he scoffed. His arrogant tone making your eye twitch.

“Now let’s put this back and pay for our things” he put the container back in place.

He squeezed your arm with his bicep in a warning. “ I really do love you, you know?” he pressed a quick kiss on the top of your head. His blue orange eyes filled with love deeper than what you could ever wish to understand.

[leighsartworks216]

Not my fandom, but #15 for Zayne?

Intrusion

Zayne x gn!Reader

Prompt from this list

15 - hugging each other

I didn't intend to actually write these tonight bc I have a lot of downtime in the morning and I Need Sleep, buuuuut this one hit different idk

Warnings: hurt/comfort, caretaking, pre or early relationship, depression, food, hugging, crying

Word Count: 857

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Zayne knocks on the door lightly. It's late. Far later than is normal to be visiting. He'd hate to wake up one of the neighbors and give them a bad impression of you, especially right now.

You'd been practically radio silent all day. He's so accustomed to you sending him emojis and random videos, to have absolutely nothing come in was disconcerting. On top of that, when he messaged you asking if you were okay, it took several hours before you responded.

I'm fine. Just tired, sorry.

Did you stay up late last night?

Yeah, I guess.

Are you feeling well?

Don't worry about me, Zayne. I'm perfectly fine :)

Each insistence only stirred that uncertainty in his gut. You may not want to inconvenience him, but he needs your intrusion on his life. Otherwise, it would be the same, day to day. A cold, dark existence, with a sweet treat the only thing to draw him away from the mundanity.

He knocks again, slightly louder.

The door opens a crack. Your face is obscured in shadow, hidden from the dim light of the hallway, but from what he can tell, you look rough. You don't meet his eyes. You just stare at his tie.

"H-Hey," you draw out, trying to act casual. Maybe he'd believe the act if you weren't hiding. "What brings you here, doc?"

He inhales. Why must you keep insisting on putting barriers between you? "I'm not on duty, at the moment," he reminds you curtly, but his tone softens as he continues. "I wanted to make sure you ate something today, so I got takeout from a restaurant on my list."

You stare at the plastic bag of takeout he holds. He can see the gears turning. The hesitation as you realize the amount of food he's gotten. "Zayne, I-I can't possibly eat that much."

"I ordered some for myself. I haven't had a chance to eat dinner yet." He nods his head slightly toward the door. "May I come in?"

He watches with bated breath as you debate your options. He can see the way your eyes flicker from the bag to him, like you're weighing the pros and cons. You get food, but you have to let him in. From the faint growl of your stomach, it would seem that the choice is made for you.

You slowly open the door.

The apartment is dark, which isn't surprising. Still, Zayne navigates it with no issues. He toes off his shoes and replaces them with the guest house slippers with familiarity. You trail behind as he heads for the kitchen. He adjusts the lights to be set to a dim glow, allowing for enough light that he can see what he's doing without being too harsh on your eyes. Though, now that he can see, he can see the heavy bags under your red-raw eyes.

"Did I wake you?" He keeps his voice purposefully low.

You stand by the doorway, arms crossed, as you watch him bustle about. He retrieves two plates from the cabinet and divides the containers from the bag into what's his and what's yours. As he does so, he removes the lid from one of the containers and slides it over to you. The warm aroma of soup fills the room.

You shake your head. He watches from the corner of his eye as you sidle over, slippers scraping quietly against the tile floor. When you pick up the cup of soup, it feels like a brick has been removed from the wall.

He transfers food to the plates. A healthy serving, to be sure. He tries to keep the amounts relatively similar, but it's clear he's added slightly more to your plate than his own. Once they're ready, he sets your plate in front of your seat - designated as such from the times he's come over in the past - and his plate in front of his seat. Before he sits, he reaches up into the cabinets once again to retrieve some glasses.

Arms wrap around him from behind, nearly startling him into dropping the cups. Your head rests against his back. Your hands hold onto each other, as though resting them against him would be the thing to make him pull away.

"Thank you..." you mumble, only just loud enough for him to make out.

He moves like he's trying not to startle a wild animal as he lowers two glasses to the countertop. He sets a hand on your arm, to keep you from letting go, as he turns in your embrace. His arms wrap themselves over your shoulders, around your back, hands flat against you to draw you into his chest. Your hold tightens around him. Your hands fist his work shirt. Your head is tucked securely under his chin.

He says nothing of the way you shudder as your breath catches in your lungs. Nor does he say anything as he feels a wet spot form in his collar.

Instead, he rubs your back in soothing motions. "Please tell me the next time you're hurting," he pleas in a whisper. "Don't shut me out."

---

I'm gonna put my little end note here that I had on AO3 cuz I still feel like gloating:

"I feel the need to gloat about the title because it goes both ways!!! Zayne needs your intrusion on his life because otherwise he'd be no better than Dawnbreaker, but you also need his intrusion on your life to help you through whatever's bringing you down!!! Very proud of this"

---

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