#and then swoop in to save his husband after

[zulashi-the-writer]

Please write a yandere bakugo headcanon for a girl with a weak quirk

Katsuki Bakugo🧨

Yandere Katsuki: He didn't pay much attention to you at first, you were a part of another class so why would he it was only after a few weeks he started noticing you during lunches the way you'd apologize for someone bumping INTO you, he tched how could someone be so stupid but he noticed the other actions happening how's you'd be bullied by your classmates and you'd just laugh and play it off as a joke and that's when he started getting pissed, he'd start off by just scaring away your bullies and when you profusely thanked him that's when the whole obsession started.

Yandere Katsuki: From scaring away your bullies to being your personal escort to every class your bag slung over his shoulder as he listened to you babble about your day while thinking of ways to steal you away from this world, the world doesn't deserve your sweetness it will only corrupt and destroy you, he can keep you safe he WILL keep you safe no matter the costs, your hangouts would first start off with combat training (he never actually hurts you) to find out your weakness for his advantage, then to arcades and convenience stores getting further and further from school grounds.

Yandere Katsuki: Once he knows you're a bit more comfortable with him, he'd send you a location to meet and when you get there he isn't there so you wait and be attacked by a few guys (he paid them) and when it looks like the end for you he'd swoop in and save you making you feel grateful and safe with him he'd play it off as you are now in debt to him, he will definitely use manipulation to make you reliant on him to the point where you have no one else, friends at school they were making up nasty rumours about you, family their only gonna manipulate you till you have no one, they will all be gone and when you come to him for comfort he'd make you some tea and slip something inside and steal you away.

Yandere Katsuki: At first he'd definitely be under the illusion that you'll just fall madly in love with him and be his little obedient wife that will never leave him and when you wake up you show him that it isn't the case after waking up in a room tied up and him standing infront of you the dots connect it was all him so you start crying and yelling at him and it completely throws him off sync he'll get mad his hands would start sparking then he'd turn into the scary yandere threatening and cursing at you saying you ruined his plan, he'd leave before he blow something up and he'd leave you alone without food or water till he calms down and feels like you've had enough.

Yandere Katsuki: When he comes back he'd become his delusional self again and start being the doting loving husband feeding you himself and holding the cup to your lips as he coos praises into your ears, he'll keep pretending until you fall in love with him start acting the way he imagined you and only when you say yes he'll let you out of the basement and when you get upstairs you'll see that it is a modest house that he made from his dreams the children's rooms already decked out and an officiant already there (against his will).

[midniqhtt]

ᯓ★ robert ‘bob’ floyd

masterlist • lewis pullman • 06/23/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs II gif credit - @/rhaenyratargeryen

here are some bob floyd stories i’ve read, loved, and reblogged. all the admiration for the writers who share their talent so generously. please be sure to read the warnings on each fic. and if you enjoy them, let the author know by a comment, reblog, or both! ♡

⭑.ᐟ 5 + 1 I @withahappyrefrain

You've fallen for your friend and have decided to drop some hints that you're flirting. Unfortunately, Bob doesn't realize that immediately.

⭑.ᐟ friends to lovers I @/withahappyrefrain

⭑.ᐟ request I @/withahappyrefrain

⭑.ᐟ ruin the friendship I @/withahappyrefrain

The night before Bob leaves for Boot Camp, he's learned no one has gone down on his best friend. He's determined to fix that.

⭑.ᐟ the plan I @geminiwritten

the squad are all pretty sure that bob has a thing for you, but you're not convinced, so you hatch a plan to tease him within an inch of his life until he snaps

⭑.ᐟ short skirt weather I @/geminiwritten

you and bob are obviously into each other, but he's hesitant to make a move claiming you're too young for him, until a whole lot of miscommunication—jealousy, tension, the works—and a training accident lands you in hospital...

⭑.ᐟ picture you I @/geminiwritten

you met bob back at the academy and fell for him fast—but you never dared risk the friendship... now you're both stationed at north island and for once the timing might be right, until you overhear him say some things that cut deep and make you question everything you thought you knew

⭑.ᐟ sunflower I @scarletmika

Bob Floyd was head over heels for you from the moment you met. You were the best thing that had ever happened to him. But Hangman knew just how to get under people's skin, too well sometimes, and sometimes frustration hits a boiling point when the people you don't want to hurt are standing in the way.

⭑.ᐟ cliché I @/scarletmika

There's always a joke surrounding weddings that the Maid of Honor and the Best Man will end up falling in love; it's one of the oldest clichés in the book. When you're the Maid of Honor, though, Bob Floyd wouldn't have it any other way.

⭑.ᐟ one last gift I @/scarletmika

Living with Bob Floyd was killing you slowly, especially when you couldn't bring yourself to admit how you felt about him. It's your birthday, though, and shouldn't the birthday girl get whatever it is she wants?

⭑.ᐟ for certain I @marvelwitchergilmore

You're in a secret relationship with a long-time friend and Naval Aviator Bob.

⭑.ᐟ drabble I @ddejavvu

⭑.ᐟ baby on board I @callsign-bobsgirl

There seems to be a misunderstanding between you and the Dagger Squad about your husband's callsign.

⭑.ᐟ bob’s lonely hearts club I @mang0d0ll

bob's all alone on valentines day. but not for much longer.

⭑.ᐟ switch up I @littleenglishfangirl

⭑.ᐟ first time for everything I @tropes-and-tales

⭑.ᐟ friends and lovers pt2 I @/tropes-and-tales

⭑.ᐟ lieutenant steal your girl pt2 pt3 I @/tropes-and-tales

⭑.ᐟ i’m here I @t1red-twilight

⭑.ᐟ four eyes I @promisingyounglady

asking bob to make a mess of himself on your face while you wear his glasses? absolutely.

⭑.ᐟ your bar boyfriend pt2 I @dearsnow

after being harassed by a drunken stranger, your bar boyfriend swoops in to save the day

⭑.ᐟ like peas in a pod I @bradshawsbaby

What happens when two wallflowers find each other?

⭑.ᐟ shopping lists I @sebsxphia

you rush to the shops after work to do a quick food shop, but bob floyd was not on your shopping list.

⭑.ᐟ don’t stop I @/sebsxphia

jake attempts to catch bob out, but bob has something to reveal.

⭑.ᐟ sweetness I @cowboybeepboop

You finally find out the real reason behind Bob’s protective side. 

⭑.ᐟ rich in life I @bloatedandalone04

Bob is known to be the shy, quiet and kinder one of out the whole dagger squad, and he didn’t mind the ‘soft’ reputation one bit, because he knew the real him. The version of himself that came out whenever he got his wife alone, which, luckily for him, was every single night.

⭑.ᐟ the wingman I @roosterforme

Bob never did this sort of thing. Talking to girls and flirting and romance. It's not that he didn't want to, he just didn't really know how. But you were different in all the right ways, and you made him feel confident enough to try.

⭑.ᐟ the kind of girl i could love I @/roosterforme

Bob has a secret admirer, but he's convinced it's actually Jake and Nat messing with him. 

⭑.ᐟ stiff competition I @/roosterforme

After visiting your bakery one time, Bob has a crush on you. The only problem is, so do all of the other guys.

⭑.ᐟ explicitly yours I @/roosterforme

When Bob met you, he fell for you hard and fast. He thought you might be his perfect match, the one that would make his days feel full instead of lonely. He never would have dreamed you had a secret. But secrets are known to be revealed at the most inconvenient of times, and Bob's surprised hesitation could cost him the thing he wants most.

⭑.ᐟ secret wife I @writingdumpster

When you go to pick up Bob at the base the dagger squad finds out that Bob's been keeping a wife from them.

⭑.ᐟ that’s what she said I @lulunothulu

⭑.ᐟ i like the lips you kiss with I @lewmagoo

⭑.ᐟ handsome cowboy I @attapullman

An innocent trip for bread turns into meeting your boyfriend's doppelganger you can't get over.

⭑.ᐟ polaroids I @the-shedevil-writes

Bob keeps your relationship private, but he doesn't try to hide the dozens of Polaroids of you all over his locker and truck. He has a daily routine of taping his favorite Polaroid of you to his jet's console, but when it goes missing, things get chaotic. Luckily, you're there to make everything better.

⭑.ᐟ request I @38livesalone-has3cats

⭑.ᐟ wanna buy you a drink I @anonymooseforever007

It's been five months since Bob's seen his wife, and aside from Natasha he had yet to mention her to his team. He calls it privacy, she jokes it's internalised possessiveness. But tonight, with Penny's help at the Hard Deck, more than one person is in for a surprise. After all, who doesn't love a good innuendo?

⭑.ᐟ sunscreen I @siempre-bucky

Bob burns. Your daughter gets very paranoid when he forgets his sunscreen one morning and insists on bringing it to him.

⭑.ᐟ request I @/siempre-bucky

You know Bob's reserved, his favorite yellow shirt was his comfort source at the beach, but you just want to see his beautiful body underneath it. So naturally, you pin him to the side of the Jeep and tell him he's hot.

⭑.ᐟ touchdown I deactivated blog

When Bob scores the touchdown for the Beach Football game, he surprises both of you by rushing over and giving you a kiss.

⭑.ᐟ all shook up I @lieutenantfloyd

After seeing a trend where military spouses tell their loved ones they aren't allowed inside under the 3rd Amendment, you decide to play a prank on your sweet, returning husband Bob—that is until you get the words out, and he reacts in the only way Bob knows how.

⭑.ᐟ battle scars I @ohtobeleah

Robert Floyd doesn’t take his shirt off at the beach. But when the shirt stays on during sex? You start to wonder what he’s hiding.

⭑.ᐟ exactly what i was texting her I @simpforrooster

your first date with bob.

⭑.ᐟ best friend pt2 I @bradshawsbitch

bob has always known he needs you. but perhaps he needs you more than he himself knows?

⭑.ᐟ examination I @violetrainbow412-blog

Bob suffers a concussion and Nat insists he get checked out. He doesn't seem convinced until he meets the doctor who will examine him.

⭑.ᐟ summertime I @/violetrainbow412-blog

Rooster and Hangman spot a mysterious woman… who turns out to be already taken.

[heartz-for-de]

Pro hero!Katsuki and his injured prohero!wife

I had rlly bad brain rot sorry had to let it out, hope u like this short little thing!

You knew how dangerous pro hero work was, it was something you came to terms with in highschool. It was considered a constant fight of survival.

Deep down, it was never about surviving for you, it was about saving. At the end of the day you knew you were going to die in this feild, and as long as you saved those in need, you’d be okay with that. At least, that was the mentality you had before you married Katsuki.

Your morals had never really been talked about, not until one specific day in your early hero days.

The city was rumbling, three seperate villains all attacking at the same time. The pros were overwhelmed, and things were getting messy. You stood still for a few minutes on ground level, evaluating your surroundings and trying to think of what move you should make next.

When all the sudden, in the corner of your eye, you saw a villain swooping down from atop a building. The civilians at the bottom screamed in terror as one of them got shoved harshly into a cement wall.

There was maybe a millisecond between you catching on and you throwing your body towards the villain. It wasn’t your smartest move, but you knew you could take him down. Obviously he put up more of a fight than you intended.

Hand to hand combat wasn’t one of your strong suits, but that didn’t mean you didn’t know how to fight, you were still a hero after all. You forcefully pushed the villain farther and farther away from the group of people he’d been harming. Suddenly he landed a detrimental hit to your side, the force of which flung you into the side of a building. You heard the wall crunch behind your back before you felt the damage he did to you. You sat in the cloud of rubble for as long as it took to regain your breath before forcing yourself back into action. You weren’t stupid, you waited long enough so that the villain believed you were taken out—his focus now solely on the innocent individuals making the crowd.

You were stealthy enough to sneak up behind him and attack once more, this time with more determination and intention. He fought relentlessly, never letting you get a hard hit on him. But he was getting tired, you could tell. You then looked over his shoulder to see more pro heros headed your way.

In the split second you unfocused from him, he landed yet another blow. This one substantially increased in power. You felt the sickening crack in your side as you laid on the ground. You expected another hit soon after, but you peaked through your blood soaked eyelashes to see more pro heros dealing with the man.

You let out a sigh you didn’t realize you were holding in, the sudden rise of your chest causing a sharp pain. Definitely some broken ribs, you thought.

A few heros on the scene helped you steady yourself. You definitely needed to stop by the hospital before hopping back on patrol. You winced at the pain that flowed continuously throughout your limbs.

With the help of some support heros, you made it safely to the hospital. You got tended to rather quickly, the nurse at your side offering you a quick lecture on being reckless. You laughed it off and assured her of your professionalism.

Your phone buzzed, oh shit.

Kats: what hospital are u at.

(

-Y/n has dropped pin-

You hesitated to give your husband your location. Yes, while you knew he was worried and wanted to make sure you were okay, you also knew that he was most definitely pissed. You two were rarely assigned missions together, since you were both combat heavy, and Katsuki constantly complained about how he wished he could fight next to you. You knew his true intentions were to protect you, but he’d never say that to your face.

It took him a whopping three minutes to get across the city and to your hospital room.

You heard the nurses spewing soft ‘sir you can’t be back here—‘ and ‘it’s pro hero dynamite!’ But his heavy footsteps only continued to get louder. And then before you knew it, you were face to face with a grime covered—and very angry looking— Katsuki bakugo.

“Explain.” He gritted his teeth, the words coming out as a sharp snarl. You knew he wasn’t truly mad, or atleast you hoped he wasn’t.

“Explain what, kats? I’m a hero. I’m gonna get my ass handed to me here and there.” Even with his seething anger in front of you, you tried your best to keep yourself calm. A tactic you usually used when trying to convince him you were okay. It didn’t seem to be working.

“Explain why I was watching the news and saw my fuckin’ wife throw herself in front of a villain instead of calling for backup.” His eyebrows never relaxed as he stared daggers at your bed ridden form.

You squinted at him, unsure of his sudden overbearing worry. You’d been in hospitals before, so had he, but he’d never reacted so rashly before.

“Katsuki, he was going to hurt those civilians, I couldn’t just stand and watch.” You tried to reason with him but he shook his head almsot as soon as you let the words fall form your lips.

“You had no idea what his quirk was—he coulda’ fuckin’ killed you. What if he was some freak with some crazy strong quirk and you did that shit, huh?” He growled out.

“Yeah—what if, But he wasn’t. I’m a top ranked hero, I should be able to handle myself on patrol.” You stated with a tone you could only describe as unshakable. You knew that the both of you were dead set on your point of views.

“A top ranked hero who gives no fucks about her own safety apparently.” His words were fueled with something deeper, and you knew not to take them too harshly. Yet even with that knowledge you still couldn’t help but be taken aback by it.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset right now, Katsuki. This is part of the job—we signed up for this.” His eyes were no longer on you, this time facing the hospital floor.

“I’m upset because I was sitting in my office watching the news, and all the sudden they—they panned to my wife’s body on the fucking ground in a pool of her own blood.” His voice nearly cracked as he paused for a second. “Do you know how scared I was for those few seconds when you wouldn’t get up? I nearly blew up my whole fuckin’ agency.” You could see the tears welling up in his eyes. Throughout your marriage, Katsuki didn’t cry much. Maybe once or twice,but never so openly in public.

“Kats, I’m sorry—“ you tried to get out but he was already speaking again.

“For a few seconds I thought lost you— I thought I lost everything,” he clenched his fists as he stepped closer to your bed. “And it was the worst few seconds of my whole damn life.”

You let the silence envelop the room. You looked down at your hands, unable to look your husband in his eyes. He was partially right—you didn’t think. And you were reckless, not thinking for your own safety. Not thinking about how it would affect him. In the medias eyes you’d probably be portrayed as selfless, but in that hospital room? You realized just how selfish you’d been.

“I should’ve ve been more careful, I’m sorry.” You finally looked up at him to see his soft red eyes.

“You gotta promise me you won’t do that shit again; no more throwing yourself into shit you don’t know you can take.” He demanded.

You smiled softly at the familiar tone of his voice, no longer filled with anger and worry.

“I promise, Katsuki.” You reached out to grab his hand from his side.

He leaned down and let his other hand cradle your face as he placed a soft kiss on your head.

“Not jokin’ either—if I find out you pulled some shit like that again, I’m gonna beat your ass myself.” He let a smile flood his features.

“I fear that would solve literally nothing—and also you need to promise too! The amount of times I’ve had news articles calling about my ‘presumed dead’ husband is proof of that!” You swatted at his side, suddenly remembering his own mistakes.

“Shit—don’t hit me woman!” He slightly raised his voice as he backed away from the bed. “Yeah yeah, I promise or whatever.” You let out a loud laugh at the familiar saying ‘or whatever.’ He used to put it after every serious proclamation in your highschool dating years.

“You sounded just like first year Katsuki right there, babe.” You let out through pained laughter.

He shot you a shocked look, his eyes squinted at you.

“Shut the hell up.” He responded sharply.

Being a hero wasn’t easy, it never would be. But from that day forward you realized you weren’t just fighting for those in need. You were fighting for yourself—more importantly, him.

[dreamersworldduh]

HIS LOVE

• CLARK KENT x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — You'd spent years believing your husband, Clark, was untouchable — the very definition of strength and health. How could he not be? After all, he was Superman. But one night, that belief shattered when Clark stumbled home with the flu — feverish, miserable, and very much human. Suddenly, you found yourself in entirely new territory: caring for the man who had always seemed invincible, and realizing just how much even the strongest among us sometimes need someone to hold them up.

WARNING! FLUFF.

WORDS! 7.2k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Here we are with something cute for our love, Mr. Kent. It was almost a full on smut but I decided to keep it short and sweet—because it was adorable to see Clark all Sicky Vicky. Enjoy your reading ✨🫶🏽

BEING married to Superman wasn't something you stumbled into blindly.

You knew — from the very beginning — exactly what you were getting into. After all, you had been dating Clark Kent since high school, long before the cape, before the world saw him as a symbol of hope. Back when he was just the sweet, quiet farm boy from Kansas who sometimes disappeared without explanation, and who always looked like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders even when he smiled.

You learned early on that loving Clark meant accepting every part of him: the extraordinary, the impossible, the human, and the alien.

The ups were breathtaking. Watching him save lives, watching people's faces light up just by seeing him swoop down from the sky — it filled you with pride in a way words could never fully capture. You got to see the purest side of him: the kindness he gave to everyone, the strength he wielded without arrogance, the way he never hesitated to put others before himself. And you got to see the side of him few others ever would — the man who loved quietly and deeply, who held you at night like you were his anchor, who whispered dreams about building a life together in a little house with a porch swing.

But there were the downs, too.

The late nights where he didn't come home right away because a mission had dragged on longer than expected. The mornings you woke up to find his side of the bed cold and empty, knowing he had heard a cry for help halfway across the world and hadn't thought twice about answering it. The terrifying, gut-wrenching moments when you watched a news broadcast showing Superman bloodied, battered, facing threats you couldn't even comprehend — moments when your heart froze in your chest, praying he would come back to you.

There were the public eyes, the constant whispers, the way your life could never be completely private. You learned to live with cameras flashing when you walked down the street hand in hand, to ignore the questions, the gossip. Being with Clark meant being a part of his legend, whether you wanted it or not.

And yet... despite all of it — because of all of it — you said yes.

You said yes knowing that you weren't just marrying the most powerful being on Earth. You were marrying the man who cried with you during sad movies. The man who burnt toast at least once a week and tried to hide it with that sheepish grin. The man who knew how you liked your coffee, who kissed your forehead every morning like it was a promise renewed. The man who had trusted you with every secret, every fear, every dream.

You had loved Clark Kent long before the world ever loved Superman.

And now, as his husband, you carried both the gravity and the wonder of that love every day. It wasn't always easy — but it was always worth it.

Because at the end of every mission, every battle, every impossibly long day, he always came back to you.

And you would always be there, waiting, ready to be his safe place — just as he had always been yours.

IT was nearing 11 p.m., and the apartment was cloaked in a kind of sleepy stillness that only late-night hours brought. The soft, persistent tick of the wall clock echoed through the open-concept space, mingling with the occasional rustle of pages turning from the stack of unopened mail beside you. You sat at the dining table, hunched over your laptop, the pale blue light from the screen casting faint shadows across your tired face. Half your attention was fixed on clearing out an embarrassingly overdue pile of work emails. The other half? It was firmly rooted in the quiet anticipation of the front door opening.

Clark had texted about forty minutes ago: finishing up at the Planet, be home soon. You'd glanced at the message, smiled faintly, and returned to your inbox—but with every passing minute, your ears were tuned sharply to the hall.

So when the door finally creaked open with a tired groan, you looked up immediately—and froze.

Clark stepped in, and your breath caught in your chest.

He didn't move like Superman. He didn't look like the invulnerable man who could fly through fire and face down titans. He looked... human. Painfully, unmistakably human.

His broad shoulders were sagging under an invisible weight, his damp hair stuck up in uneven tufts like he'd been raking his fingers through it all night. His dress shirt, usually so crisp and neat, was wrinkled and half-untucked, his tie askew. And his face—oh, his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, glassy, and his nose had that slightly pink, tell-tale flush around it.

He didn't even get two steps inside before he pitched forward with a forceful, muffled sneeze.

"hhHH'TSCHhh!... hhh'KNGGSHHh!"

You blinked, stunned.

Another fit hit him immediately, his large frame shuddering with each breathless expulsion. He barely managed to catch the sneezes in the crook of his arm as he stumbled toward the wall for balance, his other hand fumbling for a tissue that wasn't there.

"hh'RRSSCHhhh!... hh'GHhhSHh!"

Your mouth parted, a mix of concern and awe written across your face.

"...Clark?"

He sniffled, glanced over at you with bleary eyes, and gave you the most pitiful, congested groan you'd ever heard.

You quickly pushed your laptop aside and stood up. "Are you—are you sick?"

Clark tried to answer, but his body betrayed him again, doubling over with a wrenching sneeze that nearly knocked him off balance.

"hh'EHHHshh-CHHh! snrfff... 'Scuse be," he croaked, voice rough and wrecked beyond recognition.

You rushed to his side, gripping his forearm as he swayed a little. "Oh my god—Clark, you're sick."

He waved a hand weakly in protest. "I... I'b fide."

You gaped at him like he'd just told you he was an alien all over again. "Clark Joseph Kent. You are absolutely not fine. You're burning up!"

Your hand found his forehead, and your heart leapt. He was running a fever. Not just a little warm—hot. Hotter than any normal person should be. And the worst part? He looked surprised by it.

Clark leaned heavily against your side, utterly drained. "It's just a cold," he muttered hoarsely. "Probably caught it from Jenkins... He was sneezing all over the bullpen today. I figured—figured I'd be immune."

You stared at him, caught between genuine concern and complete disbelief. "You're Superman. You literally shrugged off a plasma blast last month. But Jenkins' sniffles got to you?"

Clark let out a snuffly, self-pitying sound as he pulled a crumpled tissue from his pocket and blew his nose with a honk that made you wince in sympathy.

"Don't laugh," he mumbled, seeing the corners of your mouth twitching.

You tried. You really did. But the sheer absurdity of it broke through, and a breathless laugh escaped you.

"I'm sorry!" you said quickly, reaching to guide him toward the couch. "It's just... You've fought alien warlords. And now you're losing a battle with rhinovirus?"

Clark groaned and all but collapsed onto the couch, flinging an arm over his face. "I'b dying," he said dramatically, voice muffled and thick.

"You're not dying," you replied, grinning as you tossed a blanket over him and began fussing with the cushions. "You're a dramatic overachiever with a cold."

He peeked at you from beneath his arm, eyes glassy but warm. "Lucky be," he whispered.

You softened immediately, crouching beside the couch to adjust the blanket around his shoulders. "Yeah, yeah. You're lucky I love you. Now hush and stay put. I'll get tea, meds, tissues—the whole kit."

As you stood to head for the kitchen, Clark reached out and caught your hand, his fingers wrapping loosely around yours. He looked at you, soft and sleepy, a shadow of his usual strength.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "For always being here."

You squeezed his hand gently. "Always," you said. "Even when you're a sniffling mess."

He smiled—just a little—and settled back into the cushions with another sneeze that shook the frame of the couch. You shook your head affectionately, heading off to get the tea and tissues.

Superman might have been down for the count tonight, but as his husband, you were ready for battle. Armed with honey-lemon tea, menthol rub, and more tissues than a drugstore aisle.

Let the healing begin.

THE morning light bled gently through the bedroom curtains, casting long, honeyed stripes across the soft tangle of blankets cocooning Clark's oversized frame. He was nearly lost in them—only a mop of unruly dark hair and the bridge of his flushed nose visible above the mound of fabric. Every so often, a congested snore or a wet sniffle broke the silence, followed by a faint groan as he shifted restlessly in his sleep.

You nudged the bedroom door open with your hip, arms carefully balancing a breakfast tray laden with comfort: a steaming bowl of broth you'd seasoned just the way he liked, a glass of cool water beading with condensation, a small bottle of cold and flu medicine, a fresh packet of tissues, and a digital thermometer resting atop a folded napkin.

The door creaked softly as you entered, and Clark stirred, letting out a low, half-conscious groan that sounded more like protest than greeting. His eyes blinked open blearily, red-rimmed and glassy with fever. For a second, he just stared at you as if trying to make sense of whether you were real or part of a particularly vivid fever dream.

"Morning, sunshine," you murmured, voice warm and teasing. You set the tray on the nightstand and lowered yourself to sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle him too much.

Clark attempted to sit up, only to collapse back against the pillows with a helpless grunt, dragging the comforter up to cover his face.

"Uh-uh," you said, already reaching for the thermometer. "Don't even think about moving. You're not going anywhere today."

A pathetic groan vibrated from beneath the covers. "I'b fide," he rasped from his cocoon of fabric. "I jus'... need tea. And mayde... a shower."

You pulled the blanket down just enough to reveal his face—sweaty, pink-cheeked, and pitifully snuffly. His hair was matted at odd angles and his nose was chapped at the tip, the clear sign of someone who had blown it far too many times.

"Clark, you can barely keep your head up. You're not going to the Planet today, and you're definitely not flying anywhere." You pressed the thermometer into his mouth before he could launch another weak protest.

He stared up at you with a wounded expression, as if being mothered offended his Kryptonian sensibilities.

The thermometer beeped, and you frowned as you pulled it free and checked the reading.

"102.3," you announced grimly. "That's it. You're grounded."

He coughed into his arm, breath hitching toward another sneeze. "hhh'TSCHHHhh!... hhhH'GGSCHhh! snrf" He reached blindly for the tissues, and you were already handing them to him.

"Bless you," you said, watching as he blew his nose with a long, exhausted honk. He dropped the used tissue into the wastebasket beside the bed and flopped back, his voice a hoarse mutter. "I'b Superman. I should be able to fight off a flu."

"And yet, here you are," you replied, smoothing your palm gently across his sweat-damp hair. "A sneezy, sniffly mess. Which, by the way, doesn't make you any less of a superhero. It just means you're not invincible."

He peered up at you, sniffling miserably. "You're scary when you're in nurse mode."

You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his fevered forehead. "Good. Maybe now you'll listen when I say stay in bed."

You shifted the tray toward him and uncapped the medicine. "Drink this, then try a little of the soup. I'll let you sleep after."

Clark reached weakly for the medicine, downing it with a grimace. "Tastes like... kryptonite in liquid form."

"You'd know," you said, handing him the spoon. "Now hush and eat before it gets cold."

He took the bowl, cradling it in his large hands like it was sacred, then took a slow sip. His shoulders relaxed just a little, the warmth clearly offering some comfort.

"You're the best," he croaked after a moment, glancing at you with bleary gratitude.

You smiled softly, brushing your fingers along his jaw. "I know."

As he settled back into the pillows, still sipping soup between sniffles, you curled up on the edge of the bed beside him, just close enough for him to reach out and rest his hand over yours.

YOU stood barefoot in the kitchen, the soft light of a gray morning filtering through the window above the sink. The air smelled faintly of lemon and eucalyptus — a scent you'd started diffusing last night in a futile attempt to clear Clark's sinuses — and the mug in your hand was warm against your palm as you stirred honey into a cup of steaming chamomile tea. With your phone wedged between your ear and shoulder, you tried not to spill any as you reached for the box of tissues on the counter.

"Yeah, I'm going to be out today," you said quietly into the receiver, your voice steady but laced with fatigue. "Clark's down with something, and... well, he's not great at being sick."

Your assistant on the other end — sharp, capable, and usually unshakeable — paused. "Wait, Clark's sick? As in, actually sick?"

You nodded absently, knowing she couldn't see you. "Flu. Or something flu-adjacent. He's been running a fever since yesterday, barely slept last night. It hit him hard."

"I didn't even think Clark Kent could get sick," she said with surprise. "He always seems like one of those guys who just powers through everything."

You smiled faintly, stirring the tea a final time. "He tries. That's the problem."

A muffled sneeze echoed down the hallway, followed by a rattling cough and the soft thump of something hitting the nightstand. You didn't flinch — you were already used to the chaos.

"Do you need me to handle the meeting with R&D?" she asked after a moment. "We're still expecting updated specs on the prototype by noon."

"I'll send over some notes," you replied, cradling the mug carefully as you moved toward the hallway. "But keep an eye on Luthor. If he tries to pull that timeline stunt again, I want to know before he opens his mouth."

There was a pause. Then: "Copy that. Hope Clark feels better soon."

"Thanks," you said, ending the call with a gentle tap of your thumb.

The house felt different without Clark moving through it — no sound of him shuffling around in socks, fussing over the coffee pot, or humming aimlessly to himself as he pretended to read three newspapers at once. The quiet had a weight to it. All that filled the air now was the occasional sneeze or the low, chesty cough coming from the bedroom.

You pushed the door open gently with your elbow.

Clark was a lump under the covers, curled on his side with the blankets pulled halfway over his head. Only the mess of his dark hair, sticking out in damp waves against the pillow, and the tips of his ears gave away that he was even awake. The tissue box was tucked under his arm like it might float away if he let go, and his glasses — forgotten — sat crookedly on the nightstand, fogged from last night's fevered attempts to stay upright.

You crossed the room quietly and perched on the edge of the bed. "Tea," you said softly.

Clark stirred, blinking at you through bleary, red-rimmed eyes. "You didn't go in?"

"Nope." You set the mug down on the nightstand and reached to brush a stray curl from his forehead. "LexCorp will still be standing tomorrow. You, on the other hand, sneezed hard enough to rattle the window at 4 a.m. So no, I'm not letting you out of this bed."

A sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Did I really?"

"You scared the cat. And possibly the neighbors." You leaned in and kissed his temple, which was still alarmingly warm.

He coughed, the sound rough and exhausted, and reached for the tea with both hands like it was holy. "You didn't have to stay."

"Yes, I did," you said plainly, grabbing a pillow and fluffing it behind his back. "Because if I didn't, you'd try to go to work and then collapse somewhere in the bullpen. Or on a subway. Or mid-commute."

He chuckled, then winced and curled into himself a little. "Okay. Point taken."

You passed him two cold medicine tablets and sat beside him, watching as he obediently swallowed them and took a sip of tea. His throat worked visibly, and then he exhaled slowly, already sinking deeper into the pillows.

"You're too good to me," he murmured.

You stroked your fingers through his hair gently. "I'm just the right amount of good to you. And you'll pay me back in foot rubs, long baths, and a weekend where I don't touch a single dish."

He gave a raspy little laugh, his eyes already fluttering closed. "Deal..."

Then twenty minutes later.

Twenty. That was all. Just long enough to toss a load of laundry into the machine, field two urgent emails from LexCorp's legal team, and—miraculously—put on real pants instead of the threadbare sweats you'd been living in since Clark's fever started. You hadn't even closed the bedroom door behind you when you left. Everything had seemed calm: Clark asleep, soft snores filling the room, tissue box within reach, a cool compress resting on his forehead. Peaceful. Contained.

So when you returned to the living room and were met with a scene that looked like a domestic comedy had collided with a weather disaster, you froze in the doorway, stunned into silence.

There he was—Clark in all his six-foot-whatever, fever-ridden glory—standing barefoot in the middle of the floor wearing his oversized Metropolis Meteors hoodie and a pair of pajama pants that had clearly lost the battle against whatever soup or oatmeal had spilled on them. His hair was a chaotic mess of tufts and spikes, as though he'd been caught in a blender or sneezed mid-brush and never recovered.

In one hand, he clutched a mop like it was some medieval weapon. A thin film of soapy water slicked the hardwood floor beneath him. And behind him? Burnt toast smoldered sadly on a plate near the sink, while the remnants of oatmeal—overboiled, hardened, and now clinging to the stovetop like dried plaster—begged for mercy.

Clark turned to you, watery eyes bright with some blend of pride and illness. His voice came out in a croaky rasp, made worse by congestion, but no less sincere.

"Surprise!" he declared. Then immediately sneezed.

"hhHRRrTSSCHh'uh! ... Hehh'GGSCHh!" The force nearly knocked him off-balance. He wobbled slightly, dropping the mop with a clatter as it narrowly missed your foot.

You stared at him, processing the flood of information: the puddle threatening the nearby power strip, the scorched breakfast, the smell of disinfectant wafting through the air from... somewhere. The man you loved stood like a soggy warrior in the aftermath of battle, looking both miserable and hopelessly pleased with himself.

"Clark," you said, your tone walking the tightrope between horrified and endeared. "You tried to cook... and mop?"

"Multitasking," he croaked proudly, wiping at his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie, which you mentally added to the 'must-wash' pile.

You sighed, stepping gingerly over the puddle and gently prying the mop from his hand. "Okay. First of all, we're not gonna flood the living room. Second, we are definitely not burning toast on my watch."

"I was trying to help," he mumbled, shoulders sagging as the full weight of his fevered rebellion hit him. "I hate feeling useless. Lying in bed doing nothing all day drives me insane."

You softened immediately, kneeling down to start mopping up the puddle. "I know you were. But sweetie, you're literally leaking. Your eyes, your nose, your energy levels — it's all coming out of you like a faucet. This," you gestured to the oatmeal carnage, the scorched bread, and the damp floor, "is not helping."

Clark sniffled, trailing behind you with a roll of paper towels and the expression of a scolded Labrador. "I miscalculated."

"You think?" you muttered, wringing out the mop. "For the record, even at full health, you're banned from solo cooking anything that involves boiling water or bread."

"But I make great grilled cheese," he argued weakly.

"That was once," you shot back. "And it only worked because I supervised and you didn't sneeze into the skillet."

He offered a sheepish, pink-cheeked smile—whether from fever, shame, or both, you couldn't tell—and dropped onto the couch with a weary sigh. He pulled the blanket over his lap and nestled into the cushions, clutching the tissue box like a lifeline. You watched him for a moment: the way his lashes fluttered from fatigue, the soft sniffle that punctuated every breath, the unmistakable vulnerability in how small he looked when he didn't have the strength to pretend otherwise.

"Couch," you said firmly, tossing the now-damp towel into the laundry basket. "No more mop missions. No more breakfast experiments. You're officially on rest duty."

"Yes, Doctor," he mumbled, voice trailing off as his head lolled back against the pillow.

"And you're lucky you're adorable when you're a disaster," you added, walking over to press a kiss to the top of his tousled head.

He murmured something unintelligible and nestled deeper under the blanket, already drifting toward sleep. You stood there for a moment longer, surveying the semi-contained chaos and listening to the soft sound of him breathing. The storm had passed—for now.

And you knew, as you always did, that no matter how strong he was in the world outside, here at home, he was allowed to unravel.

And you'd always be there to gather the pieces.

THE evening had finally exhaled into a rare kind of hush.

Golden lamplight bathed the living room in a soft glow, and the steady tap of your fingers on the keyboard was the only sound beyond the occasional hum of traffic filtering in through the window. You were curled into your usual corner of the couch, a blanket over your legs, your laptop balanced comfortably across your thighs. A half-drunk mug of tea sat nearby, forgotten in the lull of productivity.

The house still carried traces of the day's earlier chaos — the faint tang of citrus disinfectant clinging to the air, and a lingering whiff of burnt toast that not even an open window had managed to erase. You'd spent part of the afternoon mopping up sudsy water and scraping oatmeal off the stove, but now, with everything in its place and your feverish husband tucked away for a nap, the world felt briefly — blissfully — quiet.

Until it didn't.

From the hallway came the unmistakable sound of socked feet dragging across the hardwood floor. You paused mid-sentence, fingers hovering over the keys as you turned your head.

Clark emerged from the bedroom like a man resurrected... albeit slowly and with questionable coordination.

He had a fleece blanket was haphazardly draped over his frame like a superhero cape on its last day of duty. His pajama pants had a suspicious soup stain near the knee, and his hair stood up in jagged tufts, flattened on one side from his pillow and sticking out like a sunburst on the other.

A balled-up tissue peeked out from the hoodie pocket, and his nose... well, it had crossed the threshold from pink to full Rudolph status.

He sniffled, cleared his throat with a congested rasp, and made a slow, exaggerated beeline for the TV.

"I'm picking a movie for us," he announced, voice hoarse but determined.

You didn't look up. "Is this movie going to involve explosions, intergalactic warfare, or dragons?"

"No," he said far too quickly.

You smirked into your screen.

He began scrolling through Netflix with all the gravity of someone solving a national crisis. "Why are all these rom-coms about bakers falling for small-town mechanics?" he grumbled. "Do they think the only career path to love is pastry?"

"It's called joy, Clark," you said, eyes still on your email. "Some of us like frosting and Christmas tree farms."

After a few more dramatic scrolls and a few muttered complaints, he settled on a 2009 romantic drama with a title so generic it might have been randomly generated. The kind of movie that was guaranteed to include a slow-motion kiss in the rain and a dramatic airport monologue.

He collapsed onto the couch beside you with a theatrical sigh.

You didn't react.

He sighed again, louder.

You kept typing.

Then came the nudge: a gentle tap of his knee against yours.

Still nothing.

Finally, the pièce de résistance: a congested whine, dragged out for maximum pity.

"Babyyyy..."

You sighed and glanced at him over the top of your laptop. Clark Kent, usually a beacon of strength and stoicism, was giving you the most pitiful pair of puppy-dog eyes imaginable. His bottom lip jutted just slightly. His hand emerged from beneath the blanket and reached for you blindly like he might dissolve without contact.

"I just..." he murmured, voice thick with congestion, "I just need... something. Contact. A little bit. Like... a foot. Or a shin. I'll settle for shin."

You closed your laptop with a resigned huff and set it aside. "You're impossible."

"I'm delicate," he corrected, snuggling deeper into the couch cushions like an overgrown child. "And love-starved."

You shook your head and extended your legs across his lap. He immediately grabbed the edge of the blanket and tucked it around them like you were royalty and the couch was your throne.

His hand rested gently on your calf, thumb rubbing slow, grateful circles.

"Better?" you asked, resting your head back against the couch.

"Much," he murmured. "You're warm. And not covered in tissues."

A beat of silence passed between you — peaceful, close — before you added, "This doesn't get you out of the kitchen damage report."

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. "I was trying to help!"

"And I love you for it," you said, chuckling. "But I'm also hiding the mop.

He chuckled too, the sound low and wheezy. "Probably wise."

You glanced at him — hair a mess, face flushed, already halfway to sleep — and smiled softly.

No matter the chaos, the sneezing fits, the scorched breakfast, or the mop-induced flood... this right here, the quiet moments tucked between the mess, were your favorite.

You reached over and brushed a stray curl from his forehead, watching the tension melt from his brow before focusing on the movie.

Maybe thirty minutes into the movie, your focus had drifted to the man curled up beside you.

Clark had claimed your legs the moment you'd relented, tucking them over his lap like they were his by right — and honestly, they kind of were. He was still wrapped in that rumpled hoodie, the sleeves bunched at his forearms and the hood slightly askew like he'd pulled it on during a sneeze attack and never fixed it. His cheeks were still pink from the fever, his nose a little raw around the edges, and his hair — good god, his hair — looked like it had squared off with a wind tunnel and lost. But beneath all the sick-day wreckage, he looked content. Warm. Peaceful.

And then, without a word, he reached under the blanket and began gently rubbing your foot.

Your eyes darted down, confused by the sudden shift from passive snuggling to purposeful movement. "What are you doing?" you asked, half-suspicious, half-intrigued.

Clark looked up at you like it should've been obvious. "Foot massage," he said hoarsely, congestion clinging to his voice. "As part of my apology."

You quirked an eyebrow. "I thought the apology was picking a movie and then begging me to let you touch my shin."

"That was the emotional groundwork," he replied, pressing his thumbs into the arch of your foot with surprising skill. "This is the follow-through. I'm a man of layers."

"Apparently."

You leaned back against the couch cushion, watching him. His brows were drawn slightly in focus, lips parted as he concentrated on getting the pressure just right. His thumb traced a firm circle beneath your toes, then slid along the heel, pausing to knead at the ball of your foot like he'd done this a hundred times. It was slow, patient, and unexpectedly soothing.

"You really don't have to do this," you said softly, your voice dipping toward something tender.

Clark looked up at you briefly, and there it was again — that quiet sincerity, buried under the sniffles and the hoodie and the ridiculous mop of hair. "I want to," he said simply. "You've been dealing with me all day — the sneezing, the kitchen disaster, the oatmeal incident... You deserve at least this."

You exhaled, long and slow, as the last of the tension started to melt from your legs. His hands moved with steady purpose, never rushing, never too much. You could feel the care in every touch.

"Better?" he murmured.

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed for a second. "Yeah. Honestly, yeah. Way better."

He gave a crooked, sleepy grin — then sneezed violently into his elbow.

"hhH'RRSSCHhh! ... snff Sorry," he groaned, reaching for one of the many tissues tucked beside him.

"Still romantic," you teased, smiling at him with affection.

Clark gave you a sheepish look as he blew his nose. "I contain multitudes."

You laughed — full and soft and honest. He grinned back at you, flushed and ridiculous and somehow still devastatingly beautiful. Even with a tissue in hand and a voice like gravel, he was every bit the man you loved.

"You're a disaster," you said fondly.

He reached for your other foot with a sniffly sniff and a determined gleam in his eyes. "Then let me be your disaster."

Your chest tightened — in the good way. In the I-didn't-know-I-needed-that-until-right-now way.

You didn't reply. You just watched him, your leg rising slightly as he cradled your ankle, his fingers curling around you with quiet devotion. His touch was gentle, intentional — not just a foot rub, not really. It was him finding a way to say thank you without needing to say much at all. A way of caring for you when he barely had the energy to care for himself.

And in that soft, flickering light — with the bad movie murmuring in the background and the world tucked away outside — you let yourself fall into the warmth of it. His body, his hands, his love. The slow, clumsy comfort of being seen.

It wasn't perfect. It was sneezy, and warm, and chaotic, and utterly human.

And it was exactly right.

As his hands were still on your foot — strong, slow, deliberate — his touch had shifted. The pressure wasn't just for comfort anymore. His thumbs traced firmer circles along your arch, and then up the slope of your ankle, trailing just under the hem of your pajama pants.

You glanced at him, raising a brow. "That doesn't feel very flu-safe."

He didn't look up, just let out a soft hum. "I'm feeling slightly better," he said, voice still rough around the edges, but lower now — velvety, with that familiar weight he only used when he wasn't just being affectionate. When he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that could make him feel better.

Your breath caught slightly as his hands moved higher, both now working their way slowly up your calves under the blanket. His fingers trailed the seams of your pants, brushing lightly against bare skin. You felt heat crawl up your neck.

"I think," he murmured, finally looking up at you through those heavy-lidded eyes, "the most effective way for me to recover is... physical closeness."

"Oh really?" you asked, amused, your voice low. "Is that a scientific conclusion, Doctor Kent?"

He smirked, a little crooked and a little unwell — which somehow only made it sexier. "Absolutely. Proximity to my husband dramatically increases immune response. Especially when said husband is warm, shirtless, and on top of me."

You rolled your eyes, but the flush in your chest betrayed you. "Clark, you literally sneezed on yourself ten minutes ago."

He leaned forward, his hands leaving your legs just long enough to slide over your hips, tugging you closer, until your laptop slipped off to the side with a soft thud. His breath brushed against your jaw.

"I'll try not to sneeze on you," he whispered, voice gravelly and quiet, "if you promise to keep touching me."

His lips hovered at the edge of your throat, warm and soft — and then he kissed you, slow and deep. Not the fevered, messy kind you might've expected, but something more deliberate. Like he was savoring it. Like he needed it.

You melted into it. One hand found the back of his neck, the other slipped beneath the collar of his hoodie, and you felt his skin, warm and humming. His hands gripped your waist, guiding you gently into his lap. He breathed you in like you were the cure to whatever was burning through him.

"Clark..." you warned softly, even as you gave in.

"I'm fine," he murmured against your lips. "I promise. I just need you."

You could feel the truth in it — in the way his hands trembled slightly, not from weakness, but from want. From relief. From the ache he'd been carrying all day, not just in his body, but in his chest.

What started as comfort had turned into something else — something hot and slow and tangled under the blankets, with fever-warmed skin and deep, grounding kisses. He pulled you closer, held you tighter, like maybe this was the only medicine that mattered.

And in that moment, you weren't worried about colds or chaos or chores. Just him. Just this. The soft, breathy sounds between kisses, the rough edges of his voice saying your name, the steady hum of connection crackling between your bodies like electricity waiting to catch.

Clark's kiss then deepened, his hand sliding under your shirt with a warmth that made you shiver, despite the heat radiating from his skin. Fevered or not, there was nothing weak about the way he pulled you closer, like every inch of space between you was an offense he needed to correct.

You straddled his lap fully now, hands gripping his shoulders for balance, his hoodie soft under your fingers. His hands were roaming — reverent, familiar, but hungry — trailing down your back, under your waistband, pulling you flush against him.

"You're burning up," you whispered against his mouth, half a tease, half a concern.

"Not sick," he breathed, lips ghosting along your jaw, your throat, your collarbone. "Just want you."

And god, did he mean it. He kissed you like it was the first time, like he'd missed you for years even though you'd been beside him all day. His lips were hot and slightly chapped, and you didn't care. His fingers pushed your shirt up higher, and you raised your arms just long enough to let him tug it off. The blanket slipped away, leaving the two of you tangled in heat and breath and nothing else.

You could feel how much he wanted you — hard and needy beneath you — and when your hips shifted, drawing a low groan from deep in his throat, it lit something electric between your ribs.

He gripped your waist and rolled his hips up slowly, deliberately. You sucked in a breath.

"You sure?" you asked, grounding yourself for a moment, looking into his eyes.

Clark's gaze locked with yours — glassy, intense, but steady. "I've never been more sure of anything."

You kissed him again — rougher this time — and he answered with equal urgency, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs as he shifted beneath you. You could feel the tension in his body, the ache, the way he was holding back just enough to stay gentle — but only just.

"Bedroom?" you murmured between kisses.

He didn't answer with words. He stood, lifting you easily with one arm around your back and the other under your thighs, making you gasp as he carried you like you weighed nothing. Fever and all, he was still him.

You pressed your face into his neck, laughing breathlessly as he carried you down the hall.

"Clark, you're supposed to be resting."

He kicked the bedroom door open. "I'll sleep after."

The moment you hit the mattress, his body was over yours — warm, solid, flushed with desire and something deeper. He didn't rush. He undressed you with his mouth more than his hands — kissing, licking, biting lightly down your chest, your stomach, your hipbones — like he was committing every inch of you to memory all over again.

When he finally pushed into you, it wasn't rushed — it was deliberate, almost reverent. He sank into you slowly, the stretch and slide sending a shudder rippling through your entire body. The world narrowed to the feeling of him filling you completely, deeply, a perfect, grounding rhythm that made your spine arch and your fingers clutch at his back, desperate for more.

The heat between you was staggering — not just the natural fever of bodies colliding, but something deeper, something burning and frantic and sacred all at once. His skin was almost unbearably hot against yours, slick with effort, his muscles trembling as he fought to keep his control.

Your name broke from your lips in a ragged whisper — once, twice, and then over and over again, like a prayer you couldn't stop offering. Every deep roll of his hips pulled another breathless sound from you, every grind closer to the edge, yet still he moved carefully, thoughtfully, as if memorizing every gasp, every flutter of your heart against his chest.

He leaned down until his forehead rested against yours, his breath stuttering unevenly across your lips, his lashes clumping from sweat. His eyes — blown wide, dark with need and something achingly tender — locked onto yours as if you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

"I love you," he rasped, the words torn from somewhere deep inside him, groaned right into your mouth like a vow he needed you to feel as much as hear.

You grabbed his face between your hands and pulled him into a bruising kiss, pouring all your urgency, all your need, into him. "Then show me," you whispered against his lips, daring him, challenging him.

And he did.

Again and again — harder, deeper, each thrust more desperate than the last, as if he could carve the words into your skin with the way he moved inside you. You lost yourself in him, in the burning crash of pleasure, in the broken sounds he made as he unraveled right alongside you. Together, you fell — into the heat, into the love, into the place where nothing else existed but the two of you, tangled and gasping, holding on for dear life.

THE next morning, sunlight crept in slow and golden through the bedroom windows, pooling across the tangled mess of sheets, limbs, and scattered clothes on the floor. Your body ached in the best way — the kind of ache that came from being thoroughly loved, multiple times, in ways that completely ignored the fact that one of you had been sick just twelve hours ago.

Clark was still sprawled beside you, bare-chested, blanket barely covering his hips, hair even more chaotic than yesterday — and somehow, impossibly, he looked smug. He stretched, yawned, then rolled onto his side and looked at you with a sleepy grin.

"Morning," he said, voice still gravelly but noticeably less congested.

You raised an eyebrow. "Well, someone's immune system seems to have made a miraculous overnight recovery."

He gave you a lazy shrug and leaned in to press a kiss to your shoulder. "Must've been all that... therapeutic physical contact."

"Oh, that's what we're calling it now?" you said, laughing as you rolled onto your back.

He grinned, full mischief now. "Hey, I'm feeling great. Like I could bench-press a tractor and then write a Pulitzer-winning article about it."

You looked at him, deadpan. "Clark, you sneezed directly into my hair last night."

He winced. "That was... accidental. And deeply unfortunate."

You mock-glared. "You're lucky you're hot."

"Lucky?" he said, leaning over and nuzzling your neck. "Babe, you were the one begging for round two."

"I was coerced by Kryptonian abs and a tragic man-cold. There was sympathy involved."

Clark snorted and dropped back onto the pillow dramatically. "Unbelievable. I pour my heart into a passionate night of healing, and all I get is slander."

You smirked and rolled on top of him, straddling his hips, palms flat on his chest.

"Oh, I didn't say it wasn't amazing," you said, dragging your hands slowly down his stomach. "I'm just saying — if I wake up with the flu tomorrow, you're making me soup and watching five hours of trashy reality TV without complaining."

Clark groaned like you'd asked him to fly into the sun. "Five hours?"

"Minimum. And I get full control of the remote."

He squinted at you, then sighed in defeat. "You really know how to keep a man humble."

You leaned down and kissed him, slow and teasing. "Someone's gotta keep you in check."

He grinned against your lips. "Well then, I guess I'll just have to make you sick enough to cash in on your nurse routine."

You pulled back and gave him the most betrayed look you could muster. "Clark Joseph Kent. Did you just imply you'd infect me on purpose?"

He laughed so hard he coughed — which turned into a sneeze — which turned into you smacking him in the chest with a pillow.

You grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked him square in the chest. "I knew you weren't fully recovered!"

"I regret nothing!" he wheezed, laughter already bubbling up again as he lunged for you.

You shrieked as he rolled, flipping you beneath him with ridiculous ease, pinning you under the blankets and grinning like he was twelve and had just won a tickle fight.

It was going to be a long morning — full of teasing and heat and probably a few more "therapeutic" activities.

And honestly? You wouldn't change a damn thing.

[seokminfilm]

fast pace 🍒 choi seungcheol

🍒 pairing, choi seungcheol x reader

🍒 warnings, non-idol au, marriage au, husband/girl dad seungcheol, overprotective seungcheol, wholesome family interaction, seungcheol calls reader "sweetheart" once, suggestive at the end (if you squint)

🍒 summary, your daughter was just like seungcheol—so alike it drove you a bit insane.

🍒 author's note, trying not to tweak out right now (just wrote a whole seokmin fic (@realmofclouds' request) to accidentally delete it all and have tumblr save the now-empty post 🧍) so here's this seungcheol fic to try to salvage something for you guys 😭 trust me i'll write a BUNCH next week to make up for it (spring break week woop woop!) please enjoy girl dad cheol i know i enjoyed writing it SJKJDFSJK

🍒 now playing, fast pace (seventeen)

🍒 word count, 1k (1k exactly what the hell) | for @kstrucknet

when you got the call that you would have to go pick your four-year-old daughter up from her kindergarten class, seungcheol would not rest until you had allowed him to drive you there.

"i want to see what she got in trouble for myself." seungcheol had a streak when it came to his daughter, mi-cheol (she did have part of his name, after all). he could never seem to believe that his daughter would do no wrong, and even when you had told him that she had gotten in trouble, he had asked you "are you being serious?" about seven times before you had broken down and shown him the message.

and so, here you were, sitting in the kindergarten lobby as the two of you waited to retrieve mi-cheol.

seungcheol sat in the chair beside you, glancing down at his watch as he grumbled something under his breath. as a businessman (and a slightly overdramatic father), seungcheol loved when things were speedy, especially when concerning his oh-so-lovable daughter.

seungcheol tapped his dress shoe impatiently on the tile, long eyelashes brushing against his eyebrows as he glared at the constantly ticking clock. sensing his impatience, you place a soft hand on his arm, side-eyeing him as he sighs.

"please, cheol. patience." you sounded like you were talking to a disobedient child—and you were, in a way. seungcheol was just like mi-cheol in that aspect—they couldn't listen to someone for the life of them.

as soon as the thought of your doe-eyed, pouty-lipped baby girl crossed your mind, out she came, backpack in tow as she grinned at you.

"daddy!" mi-cheol runs right past you and immediately clings onto seungcheol's dress pants leg. the smile that breaks on seungcheol's stern features is only one mi-cheol can bring out, and he reaches down quickly, swiftly swooping the four-year-old in his arms as he gives you one last glance before heading to the car.

apologizing on mi-cheol's behalf and signing her out, you follow the two shortly, getting in the passenger's side of the car as you grab the tail end of seungcheol and mi-cheol's conversation.

"so, what did she do?" you ask, knowing good and well it may not be a good idea to hear the story from seungcheol. luckily, mi-cheol steps up to the plate herself, clearing her throat after taking a few sips from her juice cup.

"a boy called me cute, so i slapped him in the face." the sentence is simple, but so absurd at the same time that you can't help but burst into laughter.

seungcheol, on the other hand, is absolutely seething. his eyes are dark as soon as he hears the words 'boy' and 'cute', and you can see him jumping to all sorts of conclusions in his head. his grip on the steering wheel is tight, and he's blankly staring at the road, probably fighting back a profanity or two.

seungcheol was overprotective, everyone knew that—he held both you and mi-cheol to a very high standard, and therefore watched the two of you with a hawkeye. he never let boys near mi-cheol, and lord forbid a guy would try to hit on you—he would let them know their place, quickly too.

"a boy?" seungcheol asks softly (too softly for your liking), and you can see mi-cheol nodding from her booster seat, cup in hand as she lets out a little scoff. "i am not cute."

"oh, baby. you are cute—you just...you don't want a boy telling you that, do you?" you question, and mi-cheol nods, an overdramatic pout similar to her father's adorning her face.

"yeah. the only boy i want to call me cute is daddy." mi-cheol makes a sound that you think may be similar to 'yuck', although it doesn't sound like that in the slightest.

seungcheol’s hard exterior is broken by that sentence in an instant, and he’s smiling from ear to ear in the cutest way possible, nodding as he looks back at his daughter with nothing but pure fondness.

“good girl, mimi.” seungcheol encourages mi-cheol with a proud grin on his face, and you sigh, knowing this would happen—of course seungcheol would say nothing about how his daughter’s actions were wrong.

if anything, he was overjoyed that she realized the rules seungcheol had set in place before she was even born—”boys are a no-no.”

“seungcheol.” you whisper, glaring at him as he catches your gaze. reading the disapproval in your eyes, seungcheol bites back an eye roll before sighing, biting his full lips as he returns to the hard exterior mi-cheol had broken with her confession.

“mimi, sweet baby girl—you shouldn’t handle things like that with violence, okay?. if a boy calls you cute and you don’t like it, tell it to him. don’t let him get away with it, of course, but don’t slap or hit him, okay? will you remember that for daddy?” you can tell it pains seungcheol to give this speech to his sweet little mi-cheol, watching the way his thick eyebrows twitch when he says the words ‘boy’ and ‘cute’.

“okay, daddy. i’ll remember it.” mi-cheol holds a thumbs-up to seungcheol, and he nods, giving her a small smile as he pulls up at a red light. proud of your husband for holding back his overprotective nature, you kiss his ring finger, warm lips ghosting the cool metal wedding band on his finger.

it makes seungcheol chuckle lowly to himself, reveling in your love as he smiles at you, glancing back at his mini-me (who’s currently eating a bowl of cherries).

"you owe me for this, sweetheart." seungcheol whispers, voice laced with a low, suggestive tone as he studies your face darkly. chuckling, you throw your head back, letting it hit the headrest as your hands rest on seungcheol's forearm.

"name your price, cheol. i'll give it to you," you add teasingly, and with the look and smile seungcheol gives you at your words, you already have an idea of what that could possibly be.

[dreamsteddie]

Steve and Eddie childhood friends au where Eddie's mom, Elizabeth Munson, is hired on as Steve's nanny when Steve turns four.

Elizabeth may not have the best reputation in town, but she went to school with Linda Harrington before she threw her life and money away on Al. She was young and foolish and thought he loved her like she loved him. It hurt to be proven wrong, that he loved her modest saving account more than he could ever love her, but at the end of the day, he gave her Eddie, so she carries on.

Linda had known her from before she met Al. They weren't ever friends, but Elizabeth was from a nice lower middle-class family and had long black curls that the other girls could admire. Not popular by any means, but someone who could be partnered up with Queen Linda for a history project without heads turning. Linda also knew from health class that Elizabeth was good with kids, so it's not a complete surprise when she gets a call asking if she'd like to nanny her 4-year-old son, Steve, for the foreseeable future so she can return to work with her husband.

The Harrintons are a wealthy couple, for Hawkins Indiana at least. In the grand scheme of things Richard's position as one of many property realtors in a major corporation keeps them comfortably in the upper middle classes, but the dollar stretches almost twice as far in the sleepy parts of Indiana.

Still, to Elizabeth who has never known more than a modest three bedroom and little Eddie who has never lived outside the tin walls of the trailer park, the Harrington home seems like a mansion fit for a king.

Or in this case, a little prince.

Steve is a sweet little boy, if a little bratty the first few times Elizabeth has to tell him no. When she first comes to the house to be briefed on all Steve's needs and how the house runs, he clings to his mother's perfectly pressed skirts and looks up at him with big brown eyes that remind her so much of Eddie's, full of barely contained curiosity. It doesn't take long after she introduces himself to him, stooping down to say hi and shake his little hand, for him to lose all that shyness and start, trying, to ask her questions. He's not at a place where he can use full sentences, but he makes do with pointing and the words he does have.

It's easy to see that Linda doesn't know how to interact with Steve, telling him more than once to let the grownups talk and to stop holding her skirt. Elizabeth doesn't say anything though, it's not her place and she could really use the job. Edde is sprouting up like a weed, and her previous income from the diner wasn't enough to get him all the things he needed. The Harringtons, for all their faults, are offering her more than a fair salary to look after their son.

The next week, she brings her and Eddie bright and early to make sure they get there just as the Harringtons head off to work. Elizabeth knows Richard wasn't keen on Eddie coming with her, probably not wanting his son to associate with a child he sees as lesser, but Elizabeth quickly realized that matters of the home like childcare were left to Linda's discretion, and she hadn't seen a problem with it.

Steve is waiting for his mother on the front porch, clutching her hand as hard as he can. When Linda pries his hand away he starts to snivel and cry, but to Elizaeth's surprise, he doesn't start to wail and scream. The first time she had to leave for work Eddie just about had a complete meltdown, not understanding where his mom was going or why he had to stay with his Uncle Wayne. Steve stays quiet, muffing his cries in a way that tugs at her heartstrings.

She takes his hand and guides him inside, holding back from scooping him up in her arms like she would Eddie to sing him a song and dry his tears. Something tells him the Harringtons wouldn't appreciate that.

So he waits, watches their car depart from the open doorway, and once she's sure they're completely out of sight she swoops down to hold him in her arms. The act opens the floodgates. Steve starts really crying and wailing into her arms, asking for his mama and clutching hard at the sleeves of Elizabeth's blouse.

That's when Eddie steps in, placing his hand on Steve's shirt and rubbing clumsy circles on the younger boy's shoulder. Eddie's not five quite yet, has about four more moths to go, but he's talking much more than Steve is and seems to relish in the use of his voice. Right now he's using it to soothe Steve, telling him it's going to be ok and his mama will come back and that they can share his mama until she does.

Then he does the damnedest thing.

He starts singing.

It's the same thing she's always done for him. Every time Al comes home and leaves again, when he falls off the jungle gym at the park, when one of the kids in town points out that his shoes have holes in them and that he must be poor. She holds him close, rubs his tiny shoulder, and sings her favorite Patsy Cline song into his ear.

The three of them stay in the Harrington's entryway for as long as it takes for Steve's tears to dry out, starting this new phase of their lives to the tune of Sweet Dreams.

[cheriladycl01]

Could you do fic for Fernando Alonso with wife reader?(no age gap). He saw that someone was flirting with her and she was oblivious to it. Then, he swoops in to ‘save’ her from a bad flirt when in reality they were just jealous. He also feels insecure about his age and to make him feel better, she reveals that she had a surprise for him. You decide what it was. Just something fluff and romantic. Tag me later!! Thanks :)))

You make me feel so …. I don’t know the word in English! -McLaren Fernando Alonso x ObliviousWife! Reader

Plot: Marrying Fernando Alonso was the best decision you ever made, you loved how manly and protective he was with you. However, recently he’s been getting jealous of the other men of the grid and how they treat you.

Fernando Alonso had been your husband for many years. You were sort of childhood sweethearts who married young on a whim and stuck together through it all.

You were able to travel the world with the person, later to be people you loved most. However recently you had a glow about it, maybe it was the fact that you were 1 month pregnant not to the knowledge of Fernando and not yet showing but just had that dewy, glowing skin that made you look radiant.

Everyone in the paddock took notice of this change, not that they couldn’t appreciate your attractiveness before, but now it just made them swoon anytime you breezed into the garage in one of your pretty sun dresses.

Today was no different, it was a beautiful sunny day in Mexico, and you were handing out water and fruit for the mechanics and engineers hard at work on your husbands car. You knew them all by name, you made sure you did, so greeting them was never an issue.

However, nobody told you of the rookie employee that had joined them for Mexico in McLaren garage. You immediately started to introduce yourself to the man, talking to him about what he was doing to the car and asking when he had joined them.

Unknown to you, the mechanic was smitten with you and everything you were telling him about your life. He was listening to every word you were telling him, and that was the effect you had on a lot of people.

“So are you, I dunno coming to the team dinner tonight?” He asks scratching the back of his neck and your about to answer with an animated yes until you feel a hand snake round your waist and pull you closer to them.

You look up and see your husband making you smile and pull him into a gentle kiss.

“Mmm my wife will be attending the dinner” Fernando says, you can’t tell but it’s said with a grit in his teeth and a sharp foxy look in his eyes that tells him to back off.

Fernando was used to you getting male attention, but lately it was constant and you didn’t even know it was happening, you were just so oblivious and he hated that you didn’t realise all these people were flirting with you.

And that mechanic wasn’t even the last of it.

Maybe it was something in the Mexican air, but even Fernando couldn’t seem to keep his hands off you over the weekend, especially after your run in with Lewis, and your old friend Jenson.

When Lewis come up to you, you had a big grin on your face.

“Hey darling. How are you?” He asked kissing either side of your cheeks looking over you with those eyes that would draw any woman in, but you. You had no idea those flirty eyes were intended that way. You just saw the kind chocolate brown and assumed the sparkle and glint in there was happiness to see you.

“I’m really good Lew! Just getting to that point of the day where I’m so exhausted, not all of us are young athletes that look 10 year more youthful than they are” you joked to him making him laugh.

“Mmm you definitely don’t struggle in that department” he says looking over you and you beam at him.

“It’s just so warm, do you recon you can help me take my jacket off? I’m not sure where Fernando is, and the buttons always get caught in my hair” you ask, looking round quickly to see if you can in fact bother your husband with the minor inconvenience at hand.

“Of course, turn around for me” he instructs before pulling your hair back and carefully peeling the tight jacket from your body, now showing off the full look of the sundress you were wearing and how it clung to your most valuable assets in the best ways.

“New dress” Lewis asks observing it making you nod.

“Mmmm, I love getting to wear these kinds of dresses in this heat, they make me feel very pretty” you smile as you shove your hands into the pockets of your dress that when you first got it you couldn’t stop telling Fernando about them, before doing a little spin for Lewis, showing of the small slit in the dress.

Fernando came over the minute he saw the look on Lewis face, who was holding your jacket as he spoke to you.

“Lewis” Fernando faked a smile at the fellow driver, once again wrapping his arms around you so you were in front of him with a tight grip and nowhere to go.

“Hello Fernando” Lewis smiles coyly with a slight smirk. The two make idle conversation before Fernandos dragging you away trying to lightly ask you to stay out in the garage and don’t stray away.

But once he was in the car, you found yourself needing the toilet (Curse the start of your baby sitting on your bladder) and another drink due to the high temperatures Mexico was experiencing that day.

There you found Jenson who was just finishing up with an interview before his eyes landed on you.

“Well if it isn’t Y/N Alonso, looking as beautiful as ever” he grins and you pull him into a hug.

You’d known Jenson for pretty much your whole life being childhood friends from Primary school in the UK. You met Fernando when you went to university in Spain, you always joked that you would have still met someone even if it was later in life because Jenson would have likely introduced you.

So when Fernando saw you and him jokingly messing around with one another his face was like thunder.

Jenson could immediately tell and said a quick goodbye to you not wanting to be at the brunt of the Spaniards anger.

“Fernando baby, what’s the matter?” You ask, coming close to him and trying to thread your fingers through his but he shoves your hand away lightly.

“When will you see it?” He demands and you cock your head to the side, not understanding what he meant, making him groan at how cute you looked.

“See what mi amor?” You ask, using Spanish to see if he’d be calmer.

“You don’t see all these BOYS flirting with you and trying to win you over and you don’t see how it affects me and upsets me! And you make me so mad when you entertain it’s and and I don’t know the world in English because I don’t even think there is a word to describe it!” He exclaims all at once making you step back.

He was really really hurt by all this… and you hadn’t been able to see it.

“Have you ever thought that I don’t notice it because I only have eyes for you?” You ask softly, taking his hand happy and satisfied he lets you this time.

“I know I know, I just think… all of these men coming up to you … they are younger than us and it just makes me think they could give you more than I can” he sighs and looks at you with those little puppy dog eyes.

“Don’t you dare say that!” You exclaim almost offended. He had in fact brought your age into it aswell!

“How dare you say that they could give me more than you can, when you damn well know you’ve given me everything!” You say raising your voice.

“Fernando, I love you, and only you! How can you not see that!” You ask.

“I do see it, I just someone feel insecure and I worry that we are too late to experience certain things and its all my fault coz I put it off because of my career!” He explains and your head cocks to the side once again, wondering what he feels like he’s too late to experience.

“What, what do you think we’ve left too late?” You question.

“Kids, travelling the world without my career being there … I dunno I just had a different timeline for us when we first met” he sighs rubbing his temple before pulling you closer to him and resting his head in the crook of you neck as he takes in your sent.

“Baby, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I was going to wait for after the race so we could tell your parents too but I think this will cheer you up a little … and stop you from worrying about me running over with your colleagues” you joke and he sighs with a light smile pulling back to look over you.

“What is it mi amor?” He asks looking over you. You take his hand and place it on your still pretty flat stomach.

“You can cross a kid of your timeline” you say nervously with a small gulp worried for his reaction.

“Are you being serious?” He asks with a huge grin and he feels around you more to see if there is a more obvious sign.

“Yeah, i only found out before the flight out here” you nod smiling at him and he lifts you up, being as careful as possible with you as he pulls you into a hug.

“I love you so so much! I’m sorry I get so jealous of you, but you can’t blame me when I’m married to such a beautiful woman. Thank you for everything” he smiles pulling you into a light kiss.

Fernando couldn’t be more content with his life right now.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul l @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall l @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[sunskisser]

Hi, i wanted to request a james potter x reader thingy :))

So the idea is that james and reader broke up during hogwarts/directly after because they had the children talk, james really wants to be a father but reader is terrified of pregnancy so they break up. But over the years the reader keeps yearning for james and eventually they meet again when james and lily are together and have baby harry and its just really angsty 😭😭

Hope all of this makes sense i thought of this while listening to a song lyric

thank you for the request babe i love how your brain works <3 this is quite angsty so hopefully you like it! and now i’m curious to know what song 👀

also here’s some shameless promotion for @astonishment’s series with the same name, it’s deliciously tragic (☹️☹️☹️) and everyone should check it out!!

in another life | j.p.

“Calm down, babe,” Sirius mutters as you walk in step, looping his arm through yours.

You nibble on your bottom lip anxiously, sighing as you glance over at him. “It’s not that easy, Siri. I’m seeing him after what — four years? I can’t just calm down!”

He rolls his eyes, reaching towards you and thumbing at your lip to save it from your torment. “You’re seeing me after four years.”

You turn to Sirius, and he huffs out a laugh at your deadpan expression. “Well, you never asked me to marry you.”

Sirius wiggles his eyebrows, his lips curving up into a grin. “Marry me?”

“Fuck off, Black.”

James and Lily Potter were holding a meet-up of sorts, and had invited most people in your year at Hogwarts. You were hesitant to go, given your history with James, but Sirius insisted you tag along. You knew he, Remus, and Peter had stayed in touch with James. Rightfully, you ought to have too. But neither of you tried to; maybe you both knew it was better that way.

Sirius simpers, coming to a halt in front of the large black gates of the mansion. He reaches forward and begins to twist the lock, and you instinctively reach over and grab his hand to stop him. He turns to you, confusion twisting his features. “What are you — oh. Oh, sweetheart.”

He softens when he sees the expression on your face. You’re biting your cuticles, and the anxiety in your features is palpable. Sirius sighs and firmly pulls your hand away from your mouth, intertwining your fingers together. “It’s gonna be okay. Just be cordial with him. There’s no bad blood, right?”

“Right,” you mutter, albeit uncertainly.

“But, um…” he sighs, dropping your hand to rake his fingers through his hair. “There’s something I should’ve told you before. But I didn’t wanna freak you out.”

“What?”

The apprehension in your tone causes Sirius to wince. “James and Lily, they… they’ve got a baby.”

There’s a beat of loud silence as the fact sinks in, a mount of uncertainty and hurt settling in the pit of your stomach.

“Oh.”

You’re trying not to show it, but the heartbreak on your face is painfully obvious. Sirius pouts, moving to take your hand again. “Babe, I’m sorry. I should’ve –”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, the gates swinging open to reveal a beaming James Potter.

“Pads,” he grins immediately, eyes locking on Sirius as he moves towards him and swoops him into a quick hug.

You take the moment to look James over. He looked exactly like you remembered — messy curls, toned biceps, that movie-star grin. Yet something felt different, in the way he pulled Sirius into a hug without all the raucous fervour he would’ve at 16, how he held him so gently at arm’s length while talking to him. He’d softened, you realised, from the responsibilities of fatherhood and being a husband.

They pull apart a moment later, and his gaze drifts to you. His smile loses a bit of its sunshine, not softening but not quite dimming either. “Y/n, hey.”

There’s a moment of hesitation as he looks at you, but then he seems to decide upon giving you a hug too.

“Hi,” you mutter as he shortens the distance between you, needling his arms under yours to press them to your back. You embrace him in return, and a sudden pang of hurt shoots through your heart at the familiarity of the action.

Perhaps he was remembering it too, from the way he tightened his grip. Both of you were heavy on physical touch, and it was undeniably the best part of your relationship back in Hogwarts — how he’d always have a hand wrapped around your waist, how you’d wake up to cuddles and hugs every morning. You didn’t exactly have anyone to hug anymore, living alone.

So you convince yourself that the reason you hold on to James for slightly longer than necessary was because you craved human touch, not because of… anything else.

Finally, James pulls away, his arms dropping to his sides as he gives you a small smile. You plaster one onto your face too, for his sake. “So,” he starts as he turns around, beginning to lead you and Sirius into the mansion, “how’ve you been, Y/n?”

You can feel Sirius’ gaze burning holes into the side of your head, but choose to ignore him. “I’ve been great, yeah. You?”

James nods. “That’s cool. Yeah, I’ve been good too. Things have been fun, but kind of busy; you know, with work and Lily and the baby…” He seems to realise what he’s said, and clears his throat awkwardly. Oh, of course. The baby.

Sirius is beside you in an instant, arching his eyebrows and nudging your elbow to respond.

“Oh, um… congrats on the baby, by the way.”

James turns around to face you as you walk, and you give him a grin to prove that you’re being genuine — to show him that it didn’t feel like there was a knife being twisted in your gut every time the word baby was brought up.

His eyes soften, and you know he can tell how you’re feeling. But he gives you a grateful smile, and says no more as the three of you come to a stop in front of the house.

“By the way,” James mutters as he pushes the door open, “you guys are like, an hour early. You’re the only ones here.”

You immediately turn around to glower at Sirius for subjecting you to more torture than necessary by bringing you early. But he all but smirks as he follows you in.

Your eyes coast around the mansion, taking it all in. It’s decorated in a minimalist aesthetic, white couches and brown rugs. It was pretty, that was for sure; but you couldn’t help but think how different it was from James’ place in the dorm — posters and stickers all over the walls, boisterously red curtains and LED lights. It used to be so full of life.

Honestly, you might’ve guessed an old couple lived here, if not for the small signs of their life as a family — the pacifier on the dining table, a cradle at the far end of the living room, and the heart-shaped photo frames lining the walls.

James watches you, a small smile playing on the edges of his lips. “You like it?”

He knows you wouldn’t like it, it’s everything you aren’t. Your dorm had been just like his; trying to fit as many vinyls and posters onto that small space next to your bed as possible. There would be fairy lights in every corner and succulents on the nightstand, a dreamcatcher which he’d gifted you hanging right above your bed. You were messy, as a person, and with your love too. You thought he was messy as well; but apparently he’d gotten his shit together already.

“Yeah, it’s simple. Pretty.”

“Honey —“ Lily bustles out the kitchen, a small gasp escaping her lips as she sees you and Sirius. She’s holding a ladle in one hand, and has her other arm wrapped around a baby perched on her waist.

You don’t register it when she kisses your cheek and hugs you, asks you how you’re doing and leads you to sit on the couch. Your gaze is locked on the baby, every second spent staring at him worsening the nauseous feeling at the back of your throat.

You must’ve asked for his name, because the word, “Harry,” registers in your head. This beautiful baby, with Lily’s deep green eyes and James’ luscious curls, was Harry.

Would you have named your baby Harry? Probably not, it was too generic. But it was too late now, to pick out names and choose a less boring aesthetic for a house together.

You had lost your chance back in seventh year, that night when you were laying on James’ bed, limbs tangled together as he raked his hands through your hair with all the love in the world. You’re gonna be my husband one day, you’d whispered, feeling so much affection for him you thought your heart would burst. Yeah, baby, he’d replied with a soft smile. We’re gonna live in a mansion, with our dogs and children and —

Children?

I don’t… I don’t want children. And that’s where it all started going downhill, that’s the moment James’ smile turned upside down and his hand dropped from your hair. It had turned into an argument, a screaming match — and eventually a reason to break up. James couldn't understand much you feared it, the pain of pregnancy and the exhaustion that came with motherhood. And some part of you knew that you weren’t blameless either — calling him awful things and accusing him of not loving you; though love was all he ever gave till the day you told him it was over.

The feeling of Sirius’ nails digging into your palm brings you back to the present, and you see him nodding absentmindedly as Lily rambles about how much trouble Harry’s been, and oh, she’s picked up a hobby of crocheting, and…

You flit your eyes to look at James sitting opposite you, gazing at you with his brows pinched in concern. Your emotions must’ve been obvious on your face, then. But he immediately looks away when Lily calls out to him, holding up Harry for him to carry.

You watch silently as James squeezes into the chair next to his wife, taking the small, lovely baby between his large, calloused hands. He smiles at Harry, looking at him though he was the most precious thing on earth. James’ fingers bunch Harry’s tiny shirt as he brings him close to his face, gently pressing a kiss to his forehead. Lily’s head lolls onto James’ shoulder as he shifts Harry into a comfortable lying position in his arms.

There you have it. The perfect family, with the gorgeous wife and the adorable baby and the man who could’ve been yours if you wanted.

It’s too much for you to take, and Sirius squeezes your hand as you start to shake. Harry coos, and you melt at how James’ face breaks into a sunny beam. He tilts his head to press a soft peck to his wife’s hair, and there’s so much love in that simple gesture that you feel like you could die.

You feel Sirius’ worried gaze on you, your hands trembling and your knee bobbing up and down. The taste of blood from how hard you’re nibbling on your lip is grounding; it brings you back to yourself, who you are, and not who you could’ve been.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly from beside you, but it doesn’t get lodged into your brain. The only thing you feel is your vision of the perfect family blurring, soft streams of regret rolling down your cheek. Sirius makes a small noise of pity from beside you, and James looks up instantly, eyes widening as they lock on you. Lily is fast asleep, baby Harry staring at you with his thumb stuck into his mouth.

“Y/n, you okay?” James asks gently, but you don’t reply, still looking at him with that distraught look on your face. You open your mouth, but you don’t seem to have the vocabulary to express the heartache you felt right that moment. It felt strangely like grief; like you were mourning for the version of yourself you never got to meet, for the version of James who didn’t have the chance to be yours.

James' mouth twists downwards in a frown as he stands up and steps closer towards you. It’s like an alarm is set off in your head, and you immediately jolt back to the present, sucking in a deep breath.

Your legs act of their own accord as you stand up, Sirius’s hand falling limp on the couch as he looks up at you in surprise. You gulp down the lump in your throat and fiercely brush the tears away, James coming to a halt in front of you. “Y/n, baby —“

“I’m not your baby.”

James slaps a hand to his mouth, eyes as wide as Harry’s now. “Fuck, no, it — it just came out. I didn’t mean to. Shit, you’re crying.”

“I’m okay,” you warble. James opens his mouth to retort but you don’t let him, knowing that the longer you spent here, the more the gaping hole in your chest would grow. You couldn’t bear it anymore, watching James with his wife and wishing it was you instead. The worst part was that it was all your fault, your stupidity and your rejection.

“I’m fine, really. I…I’m gonna go now, it was nice meeting you. Convey my love to Remus, Peter and the girls.” You pick up your bag, moving to the front door with a befuddled James tracking your movements.

“Y/n —“

“Bye, James,” you call out halfheartedly as you slip into your shoes. He comes to stand at the door, rocking Harry from side to side. He looks almost disappointed as you make to leave.

“I’m sorry.”

You look up, surprised. “It’s not your fault.”

James’ lips pursed together with guilt, seeming like he wants to say something as he opens and closes his mouth. He finally sighs, “It’s not your fault either.

It was startling, how he still knew just the right thing to say — he always had. The regret that had been clogging up your heart for years was drained out upon hearing that one sentence. James didn’t hold the utter failure of your relationship against you, and that was enough. If you couldn’t have his love, at least you had his forgiveness.

You give him a half smile and nod, turning around to leave. You’d go back to yours, more of a house than a home. But at least no one but yourself could hurt you there, there was no one to turn away and no hearts to break. No one to love.

“Hey.”

You spin back around to face the door, heart stopping upon seeing the moistness in his eyes. You hear the scratchiness in his throat as he sucks in a deep breath.

“James…”

“No, don’t — don’t say anything. I just wanted to tell you, um…” he defeatedly runs a hand through his hair and exhales shakily. “I hope we worked out, you know, in another life.”

That catches you off guard, your heart involuntarily squeezing in your chest. James looks almost embarrassed as he says it, but you see the vulnerability in his eyes. He was right — maybe there was some planet on which you were less of a coward, another world where he could put a ring on your finger. He’d been yours to lose in this life, perhaps he was yours to love in another.

You clear your throat, feeling nausea brimming in the pits of your gut. “Yeah, I… I hope so too.”

You spare yourself one last glance at him before turning towards the exit, praying he didn’t see the tears dribbling down your cheeks.

You squeeze your eyes shut and will yourself to trudge forward, before he can call out to you and break your heart all over again.

In a few long strides, you’re out the gates; out of James’ life again.

[miley1442111]

criminal minds masterlist :)

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

aaron hotchner

the problem with arguing

you and aaron run into some trouble at home, what happens when you're taken by an unsub?

breaking rules mr.hotchner? (part 2) better than ok

what happens when you and aaron are left after work alone? (and) surely he'll visit you in hospital, right?

unfair unfair part 2

my take on: season 3 episode 20- Lo-fi

i don’t even know you anymore part 1 part2

aaron is there for you after you spencer break up, romance ensues.

motherly instincts

aaron's overbearing mother makes a comment about your postpartum body, he doesn't react well.

slowly

aaron is there for you during the one of the most difficult times of your life.

fix it | fix it together

what happens when you and aaron are arguing and he compares you to haley, and worse, brings up an annulment?

my boy only breaks his favourite toys

based on the song by taylor swift

fresh out the slammer

based on the song by taylor swift

jealous?

you were to supposed keep you relationship a secret, what happens when a certain doctor develops a crush on you?

guilty as sin?

based on the song by taylor swift

no promises

aaron has to save you from an unsub before it's too late.

safe

you are a victim of an unsub and aaron finally has to tell the team something.

office couch

you and aaron spend some time on his office couch… (18+)

nervous night

aaron is there for you when a night with your sister turns sour.

opening night

aaron misses your opening night, he forgot all about it.

insomniac

how aaron helps with your insomnia episodes.

a great start

how you and aaron end up together after a hostage situation

pinky promises

how you and aaron worry jack, and how aaron finds something out almost 20 years later.

who did this to you?

aaron gets quite the surprise after a mission

telling him

jack can't go to school, so you swoop in and become aaron's hero, he asks two pretty important questions.

drunk confession and the morning after

aaron admits some very cute things when he's drunk.

aaron's admissions last night ended in a proposal in the car. not exactly romantic, but oh well

always

sharing a hotel room forces feelings to the surface.

clingy

aaron acts quite differently with his wife around, which causes eyebrowns to raise and feelings to start getting hurt.

the picture

a late night issue turns into something very nice when your boss that supposedly hates you decides to come clean.

birthday fights & other lies

aaron forgot your birthday which spirals into something much deeper.

cookies

you're the cute barista he sees everyday.

shocker

you have some news for your husband.

insecurity

aaron starts to overthink and doesn't realise how it's impacting the relationship.

safe

aaron had to make sure you're safe, can he get to you in time?

birthday break

aaron almost misses your birthday

protective

aaron (literally) fights for you

believe me aaron is there for you during a particularly difficult case. (18+)

videos and violence an unsub capturing you makes for a pretty interesting love confession

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

spencer reid

thank god for dr. spencer reid

spencer saves you from your shitty family

i don't even know you anymore (part 2) i don't even know you anymore

your breakup with a cheating spencer and the aftermath with hotch

you were right

your husband accepts an invitation on your behalf

in sickness and in health

spencer is there for you when your sick, even with the germs

i’d say yes

is spencer asking you out? you'd say yes.

the tortured poets department

based on the song by taylor swift

stalker

spencer's there for you when the unsub is your hometown stalker, who's still obbessed with you

spencer x gender neutral model!reader

headcanons with spencer and a model reader :)

weird facts

you finally meet spencer's friends/team, only thing is, they don't know you exist.

relief

when spencer can't get to you in time, waking up leads to the team finding out about a few things. Like, you're married. And something else...

mutism

how you and spencer met, the first time spencer heard you speak, and a look into your life together

transfer

how your sudden transfer forces certain feelings to the surface

i wanna kiss you on the mouth

both of you are completely unaware of your feelings, but you speak too loudly and your feelings are confessed.

who’s afraid of little old me?

based on the song by taylor swift

saving you

spencer has to save you before it’s too late

hair tie

spencer's hair is getting too long

the fifth kiss

lila archer gets in the way of you and spencer.

you make me happy

spencer acts quite differently around you and it shocks the team

all alone

spencer doesn't want to get hurt, too bad it hurts you in the process

the joys of a workplace relationship

a new addition to the team causes some very strange conversations to be had- and a very embarrassing moment for both spencer, and you.

confession

spencer's birthday was supposed to be fun for him and his girlfriend, what happens when his mentor (his girlfriends father) shows up at his door?

picking

spencer notices one of your issues, and is determined to fix it.

broadway baby

a secret gets out

revealed

derek tricks you both, uh oh

don’t dwell

you and spencer reconcile after a bad case

controlled turns out spencer doesn't hate you...

under pressure endings are bittersweet...

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

derek morgan

friendly fire

you and derek don't get along very well

high maintenance

you're told your high maintenance, you set out to prove it's not true, it goes badly.

my girl

derek is there to wash your insecurities away (tall reader x derek morgan)

take down

you take down an unsub threatening your husband, derek morgan

labour

derek has to do something when you're three days past your due date (18+)

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

series

pride: you, a bau team member are faced with quite the choice when both aaron hotchner and spencer reid are interested in you, but what will happen when a family emergency calls them into action? And which will you choose?

part 1, (in progress)

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

birthday blues: spencer, your boyfriend makes a choice that cuases something in your relationship to break. can he even fix it?

part one part two(in progress)

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

regrets: spencer, your fiancè comes home from prison and an amalgamation of your grief and his causes the collapse of your relationship. Fast forward five years and the question still stands, can he fix it?

part one | part two (in progress)

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

insomniac au: your life with aaron and jack, working with your insomnia

insomniac

treatment plan (part 1) treatment plan (part 2)

aaron oversteps and it starts a fight.

[some-bunniii]

My Charming Red Savior [2]

・❥ Two odd visitors and a mugging. Can’t you stay out of trouble?

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

x: he’s back!! a little longer this time, 8k words. enjoy!

That evening after meeting Alastor, you sat at your friend’s dining table, your mind racing.

Your finger aimlessly twisted that gold ring he had magically placed on your digit, as you explained what happened. The creep harassing you, Alastor swooping in to save you. All of it laid out for your friend to digest. Which she wasn’t taking it very well.

“I mean, I'm glad that demon helped you out of that, but you should have gotten away as soon as possible! Haven’t you heard what he’s done, what kind of deals people have made with him?”

You sighed, feeling a bit frustrated with your friend's skepticism. "Look, I get it, you're worried. But Alastor isn't what everyone makes him out to be. He helped me when I needed it most. Besides, who are we to judge someone solely based on rumors?"

Your friend leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the ring adorning your finger. "What about that? What if it's some sort of trap he set for you?"

You instinctively pulled your hand back, a protective gesture. "Don't be ridiculous. Alastor wouldn't do something like that. He's... different."

"Different? More like dangerous," she countered, reaching out to grab your hand. "Come on, let me see that ring. We can take it to someone to see if it’s been magically altered."

Dangerous? He saved you from someone dangerous! Yes, he was a demon. A sinner, who probably did some bad things, and most likely continues to do bad things. Except, for the fact he didn’t leave you, a defenseless nobody, to be taken off and.. you couldn’t even think about it. 

You jerked your hand away from her hand, the ring glinting in the lamplight. "There’s nothing wrong with the ring, you’re just being paranoid. It’s.. comforting, actually."

Your friend sighed, frustration evident in her voice. "I just don't want to see you get hurt. Please, at least consider what I'm saying."

You softened, realizing she was only looking out for you. "I appreciate your concern, I really do. But I’m not a child, I can make my own decisions."

Your friend relented after a moment, sinking back into her chair. She nodded slowly, agreeing with your statement.

At that moment, your friend’s husband had entered the room. A large pot of steaming foodstuff in his oven-mitt protected hands as he walked. 

“I hope you guys are hungry!” He said cheerfully, the tension in the room easing with his upbeat demeanor. You quite liked him, he had some good jokes and cared about those around him.

You smile gratefully, welcoming the distraction from the intense conversation. “Absolutely starving,” you reply, grateful for the opportunity to shift the focus to something more light-hearted.

Your friend’s husband sets the pot on the table, filling the room with the delightful aroma of home-cooked food. “Well, dig in!” he encourages, serving everyone generous portions.

As you take a bite, the flavors dance on your palate, and your eyes light up as you eat. 

“What is this?” You turn to her husband, who looked up from his bowl, face stuffed with food.

“Crawfish Étouffée! A popular dish from New Orleans, back on Earth. Do you like it?”

You nodded vigorously. Is this what Jambalaya tastes like? If so, you really needed to try it. Maybe, you’d see Alastor again, and he could give you that recipe he had mentioned? 

As your thoughts drifted back to the red demon, your finger began to twist the ring around your digit once more. Why did it bring you such comfort? You had no idea. 

Sometimes, if you put your hand to your face, you could smell faint traces of his scent, that you had first memorized when you walked side by side with him. It smelled like an old cologne, something that you couldn’t quite recognize from your days. Maybe, it was back when he was alive? 

Lemony, hay-like and grassy. A whiff of licorice. Something peppery too? You couldn’t quite place it. But every deep inhale sent you into a lull. A trance, almost.

Your finger still mindlessly caressed the golden band a while later, during the early hours of the morning. You had been sweeping the front doors to the formalwear store you worked at, tidying up before it would be opened for customers. 

It wasn’t until you heard the sound of someone clearing their throat, did you get pulled back into reality.

“Pardon me, miss. Are you guys open?” 

Turning around to address the voice, you find no one. It wasn’t until you looked down did you see the demon man. He resembled that of an imp. Dark red skin with thin, striped horns that peaked out of the top of his head. 

He wore a white turtleneck, with long white hair that curled around his chin. His eyes were unreadable, hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. They were Ray-Burn glasses. You could immediately tell from the bridge, which were curved to resemble a half-circle rather than an oval. 

You also knew how high-end that brand was, and it wasn’t easy getting a pair either. The wait for those was no joke. And, this style was from their newest collection, which meant that he had to be of some importance to get one so soon.

His posture also struck you as odd, especially for an imp. He stood tall, shoulders back, head held high. Despite being a part of one of the lowest social classes in Hell, the demon regarded everyone and everything around him with an air of confidence and assertiveness. 

It was also odd that he was wearing sunglasses so early in the morning, there wasn’t really much light to need protection from. Maybe he had some bat genetics in him?

You smiled at him, but shook your head. “I’m sorry, sir. We’re closed right now. You’ll have to come back later.”

The imp visibility deflated at your words, a frown etched on his face. You could see his eyes through the shades just enough to show them flicking down the streets. 

“Oh, okay. That’s fine, I guess. Thanks, I'll just.. have to figure something else out.” 

He backed away, as he scanned the nearby stores again. He muttered to himself, too quiet for you to hear, but his tone sounded scolding. As if he was berating himself. The demon bit his lip, as if he was contemplating something.

A pang of sympathy hit you, as you watched him become more anguished. It seemed like he really needed whatever was inside, and you didn’t have a reason to deny him business other than to follow the official hours of operation. 

Placing the broom against the brick wall, you pulled out a set of keys. The demon turned slightly as he heard its jingle, and you met his shaded gaze. 

“There isn’t really anything else I need to do before opening though, so I suppose it’s not a big issue letting you inside.”

The imp perked, a smile blooming on his lips at your words. You bent to turn the lock with a click. Pulling the door handle, you pulled it behind you, allowing the demon to follow you inside.

“That is so kind of you! Truly, you don’t get to meet many kind and considerate people in this place.”

Well, it was Hell. Being friendly to strangers was not a common occurrence. You just weren’t one of the, well, bad ones. Sure, you had some flaws, you weren’t a resident for no reason. But, you prided yourself in having a reasonable moral code.

“Don’t worry, I know what I need. I’ll be quick!” The imp promised, as he passed through the entryway. The large room was dark, besides the morning light casting through the windows.

You flicked on the lights, and the overhead lamps lit the interior of the store. There were mannequins lining the dark-blue walls, styled in different tuxedos and dress shirts. Next to them were rows of shelves, each specific to a type of garment. There were dress pants, vests, shoes, and smaller accessories like ties and belts. 

As you walked behind the black-granite countertop, the imp had hurried over to a mannequin facing out of a glass display. He reached down near its feet, a small shelf lifted from the floor. A pile of red suits was neatly tucked next to the display. 

Gingerly, he lifted to the top piece, examining it thoroughly. After a few moments, he brought it closer to his chest, before turning to you. Your hands tapped against the display of the digital cash register, readying it for service.

You looked up just as he placed the garment on the counter, your eyes scanning the suit. Strange, he was still wearing those shades. You simply smiled at him, before pulling the item closer to you. Carefully, you unfolded it, examining its form.

It was a beautiful red tuxedo, with golden lapels. Dark-red buttons, with white cuffs. It was a women’s suit, which was rare for you to see, since the store mostly marketed towards men. 

“What a wonderful piece!” You exclaimed, your tone dripping with customer-satisfying professionalism. “Getting this for a special someone?” 

The imp nodded. “For my daughter. She runs a hotel a few blocks away, up the hill. The Hazbin Hotel, if you've heard of it? She needed a new suit, and this was the perfect fit.”

The hotel that was supposed to help sinners with redemption? You’ve heard bits and pieces, mostly when you watched that disastrous interview with Katie Killjoy. You couldn’t recall who ran it, though.

“A little, but you sure do have an eye for style!” You nodded, grabbing the small tag from the sleeve to input the information into the register.

“Well, it was my sweetheart who picked it out first,” the imp gushed, “I can’t take all the credit, I'm not good at these sorts of things, anyway.”

“Do they have a background in fashion?” 

“No, they’re an artist,” the demon beamed, his voice growing softer as he spoke of his lover, “I can promise, you’ve never seen a real painting until you’ve seen theirs. If it were my way, I'd fill every billboard with them, instead of those.. repulsive pornography ads they have downtown.” 

The imp held a look of pride and admiration as he spoke, obviously having full confidence in his claim. You pulled up the item on your screen, and read him the price. It was not a cheap suit, but the demon had no reaction to the total and simply pulled out his wallet. 

“Is business running smoothly at the hotel? Do you guys get a lot of guests?”

The imp contemplated for a moment, before pulling out a large sum of money, placing it gently on the counter. You reached for it, before licking your finger and counting through the bills.

“Not entirely. It just opened recently, and, with the demons it caters to? Hah, there’s not many around here with the mindset of redemption. But, I'm going to be helping her out, supporting her with the work.” 

What a nice father, helping his daughter out like that. If only someone like that had helped you when you were younger, maybe you would be stu-

“Especially when it comes to keeping an eye on some of the.. colorful characters she calls staff. Like that Radio Demon.” As the imp spoke, you could hear the disdain in his tone, as he uttered that name. Your head shot up from the bills in your hand at his words.

Radio demon? Alastor? Alastor was working at the Hazbin Hotel? 

“As in, the tall red guy with deer antlers? Carries a staff around with a microphone on it?” You questioned him, excitement lacing your voice.

“Yes. Do you know him? Word of advice, stay away from that demon. He’s nothing but a self-serving, pompous show-off.” 

That couldn’t be true, could it?

Quickly, you placed the bills into the cash register, pulling out change to hand to the imp. As he took the money in your hand, you found it right to defend Alastor.

“He helped me out of a tough spot awhile ago, practically saved my life, actually.” 

The demon regarded you for a moment, eyebrows raised as he took in your words. He didn’t argue, seemingly trying to leave as fast as possible. Back to the hotel presumably. “Hmph. Well, just be careful, you never know with demons like him.”

You were about to wish him farewell and turn away, before his hand lifted once more. Looking down, he held another stack of money in his hands, you could faintly read ‘100’ on one of the bills alone.

“For your kindness,” the demon stated simply, giving you a wink, “I enjoyed our short chat, there’s not many people down here I'm interested in talking to. Go treat yourself.” 

Your eyes widened at his words. How did he have so much money he could just.. give it away?! You almost wanted to reject his offering. But, money was money, so you took them from his grip. 

“I-I don’t know what to say, but thank you! This is very generous of you.” 

He only shrugged, sending you a charming smile. “I am indeed a very generous person. Just don’t spend it on drugs, or anything like that.”

As you handed him the small pink bag, his shaded gaze landed on the ring on your finger, and he leaned in just an inch to get a closer look.

“Boy, that is a fine piece of jewelry you’ve got there! Very nice, was it from a lover? It really makes a statement! Just curious.. do you by any chance know where you got it from?”

You tilted your head, wondering why he wanted to know, was he planning on getting one himself? You just shook your head, you couldn’t really tell him it magically poofed onto your finger by the same demon he held negative feelings for. 

He nodded, muttering something like ‘that’s fine’, before pivoting away from you towards the door. 

“Adios!” He called, a hand in the air in farewell as he strolled to the exit. The bell above the door jingled as it closed behind him, and you saw him step near the curb, away from your view. 

Suddenly, a flash of gold illuminated the small window on the door. Crossing the room, you peeked out the large display window. There was no one on the street, even when you cranked your head to both sides of the street. It’s like he just.. vanished. Strange.

You flipped the large sign on the window from ‘Closed’ to ‘Open’ before returning behind the counter. Your fingers still holding the money he gave you, your mind elsewhere as you waited for the day to begin. 

Your thoughts were still on that encounter when the assistant manager walked up to you a few hours later. He was a rather short, plump man with small horns protruding from his head. His skin was a pale blue, his figure resembling that of an ox. Alan was his name. 

You weren’t very fond of him, he always threw flirtatious comments and jokes at you. Always insisting to join you behind the counter, or lean right over your shoulder when you worked. He reminded you too much of that creep from the streets, which made you uncomfortable.

What was up with you always attracting the questionable suitors? Maybe your friend at the cafe was right, you weren’t going to find ‘The One,’ you’d just have to settle for less.

Alan would always try and pry into your personal life, asking if you had a lover, or kids. You’d simply change the conversation as smoothly as possible. If you told him we’re single, he’d no doubt try and court you. Which made you nervous, he didn’t seem like someone who could take a rejection. 

You weren’t able to say, ‘why yes, I have a hubby of my own!’ because you never had proof. Without a ring, and the rest of your co-workers aware of your singlehood, you knew lying to him would have consequences.

Not to mention, he was your boss. He had power, and unless you wanted to end up homeless on the street, you had to keep a friendly facade with him. 

Luckily, he wasn’t around much. Except today your manager had meetings out of town, and he was the substitute. So, for now, you were stuck with him.

“Hey, you still know how to use that sewing machine in the back, right?” He asked you after you had finished assisting a customer near the large display window.

You nodded, curious about his question. In truth, being a tailor sounded much better than working for customer service. You had spent late nights slowly practicing the craft, on that ancient sewing machine in your basement. Maybe, you’d use that money the imp gave you to buy a new one.

“Well, Darlene just called in, which means I got no one as my seamstress. We’ve got a few pieces in need of mending, you think you can handle that?”

“Oh, sure! I can do that, no problem.”

It was then you heard the bell above the front entrance jingle slightly and the creak as the door opened, which caused you to turn sharply to greet the newcomer. Except.. there was no one there.

That was strange. There were other customers milling about, but you were standing in a position that made it impossible to miss anyone exiting the building. 

“Must be having strong winds or something.” Alan remarked, and you turned back to him. As you moved, you noticed the corner next to the doorway was more shaded than usual. As if a large black shadow had taken residence there. Perhaps an overhead light went out? You’d have to check on that later. 

“Anyway, I wanted to ask you something,” Alan started, a flirtatious smile on his lips as he lowered his voice, “I’ve got VIP access to a new club that just opened a few blocks down. I was thinking you and I could get some drinks and have a little fun, whatcha say?” 

You groaned internally. Not this again. How were you going to say no this time? 

“Well, I mean, um- you see the thing is…”

Your eyes went down to the ring on your digit, that little A shimmering in the light. Maybe, you could use this.

“… I’m already taken!” You exclaim, your hand shooting up to give Alan a front row seat at the prize on your person. 

“You are?” He asked incredulously.

“Mhm!” You nod your head vigorously. “As you can see, this is my wedding ring. I eloped not too long ago, hence why it’s not common knowledge.” 

Hopefully, he would buy your lie.

Alan stood there, his eyes flicking from you to the ring. Was he going to try and fight your claim? It seemed like he wanted to. Before you even gave him the chance to, you whipped towards the door being the counter to start mending.

You had only used the machine in the back a handful of times, but you were trying to become more familiar with it. Nodding, you quickly slipped into the back room. The hum of the old sewing machine greeted you like an old friend as you fired it up and began to mend the pieces in need of repair.

The rhythmic clacking of the needle against fabric filled the air as you lost yourself in the task at hand, the radio beside you playing soft old-timey melodies in the background. You continued this calm pace for a few hours, thankful to be away from Alan and the bustling state of the store.

Until a familiar static-laced voice broke through the music. 

“Hello, sir! My, what a hellish morning it is!” 

Your foot instantly moved off the pedal nestled under the table, the vibrations from the machine ceasing as it stilled. You strained your ears, is that who you thought it was?

“Oh, why hello there! How can I assist you today?” You heard the loud, boisterous voice of Alan as he welcomed the newcomer. Quickly, you left your seat, and peaked through the small crack in the doorway. 

Your breath quickened as your eyes landed on the tall, red demon. Alastor. How did he get in here? You didn’t hear the loud bell jingle at his entrance.

He sported his usual red coat, with his staff resting lazily in his grip as he stood before the demon. He had a large smile on his face, but his eyes spoke differently. He looked absolutely bored, disinterested in the man before him and his surroundings.

“I’m simply here to adjust some wear-and-tear on my suit,” he remarked, “as you can see, my sleeve has taken quite the nasty wound.”

He lifted up his arm, displaying a tiny piece of missing fabric from the cuff. It was a clean slice, as if someone had taken a knife and barely nicked it. Nasty wasn’t exactly how you’d describe it, more like itty bitty. 

“If I may..” Alan leaned in slightly, reaching out to inspect the tear. 

Alastor only pulled his arm back, rejecting the gesture with a subtle yet firm movement.

“I prefer to handle my own attire, thank you,” Alastor stated, his voice carrying a hint of disdain as he withdrew his sleeve from Alan’s reach. His smile widened further, as he stared at the demon. 

Your boss recoiled slightly, taken aback by Alastor’s abrupt refusal. “Oh, of course. My apologies,” he stammered, attempting to regain her composure, “but not to worry, sir! We’ve got fabrics that match and a seamstress to do the work. Let me go grab her for you, I'll be right back!”

You saw Alan turn in your direction, and you backed away from the door. Your heart raced as you realized you were going to actually be face to face with Alastor again. How would he react to your presence?

You shot into your seat, spinning around towards the machine. You stepped on the pedal, and the machine hummed to life once more. The door opened, and Alan poked his head in.

“Hey, there’s a customer who needs some assistance. Get out here.”

His head disappeared from view, leaving you alone once more. Exhaling a large breath to ease your nerves, you rose from your seat. Quickly, you walked over to the door and gripped the handle tightly. Another deep breath, and you pulled it open gingerly before taking a step outside. 

Your boss was back beside Alastor, who towered over the man. As you slowly entered the room, Alastor’s eyes moved to you. They lit up with interest, the smile seeming to shrink slightly. The crooked edges on his smile softened too, appearing more genuine as he regarded you.

“Ah, there you are, my dear! I was hoping to find you here.” Alastor called to you. He stepped right past Alan, completely ignoring his presence as he strode up to you. 

As he closed the distance, you became awfully aware of how fast your heart was beating inside your chest. That smell of lemons and licorice hit your nose as he stood before you, and it eased your nerves as you took a quick inhale of breath. 

He turned, allowing Alan to see both of your faces as he slowly reached out to take your hand. His thumb gently grazed against the gold band and it spun slightly. Your breath hitched at his touch.

“It is so nice to be able to visit my dear wife at her place of work,” Alastor started, his gaze shooting to Alan as he spoke, “and, to meet her lovely coworkers! A pleasure indeed.” 

Did he hear you telling Alan about your ring? He couldn’t have, but there seemed to be no other reason for him to bring up the whole marriage farce.

Alastor turned back to you, finger still softly caressing your hand as he turned his attention to his sleeve. 

“It appears I’ve gotten into another miscommunication with an overly confident adversary, similar to what I spoke to you about before. Would you care to assist me, my love?” 

Your eyes momentarily snapped to Alan, who had turned a paler shade as he watched Alastor’s actions. Now, he was finally seeing who your ‘husband’ was. It appeared to be quite a shocker for the demon.

Your gaze flicked back to Alastor, who stood next to you. That grin of his hiding whatever emotions he was feeling as he slowly released your grip, indicating for you to lead him away.

“Thank you for coming to visit, Alastor. I can stitch that up for you, you’ll just need to let me take it for a bit.” You smiled at him, doing your best to play the part with professionality. What, were you supposed to just start calling him pet names like ‘honey’ and ‘babe’?

“I think I'd prefer keeping it on.” Alastor said curtly, adjusting his collar.

He wanted to still be wearing it while you fixed it? That meant you couldn’t use the sewing machine, without risking injury to him. 

“… I suppose you can just follow me, then.” You replied, turning away as you beckoned him towards the back room. 

Alan didn’t follow the two of you, maybe Alastor’s comments threw him off. You hoped they did, you had enough of that guy for one day. 

You opened the dark gray door, pulling it wide so Alastor could follow behind. The back room was a cozy nook from the busy establishment, half of it transformed into a makeshift tailoring nook. A small step stool nestled among tall mirrors allowed a multi-angle look for customers getting a fitting.

Rolls of fabric lined orderly shelves nearby, accompanied by an array of sewing essentials. In the corner, a small table and chair housed the ancient sewing machine. You walked forward, before realizing 

“Oh, i’m sorry, I don’t have another chair. Let me go get one!” You pivoted to go find a spare, but Alastor only lifted his hand in a sweeping motion, brushing off your attempt.

“Not to worry, my dear! I’ve got it under control.”

He reached a hand forward, gripping the air like he was grabbing the top of the backrest of a chair. He tugged at the air, and a plume of green smoke wafted from his fingertips as he pulled a wooden chair from the smoke.

You stared, mesmerized as he dragged it next to your seat. He gingerly lowered himself, and plopped into the chair. That had to be powerful magic, for him to be able to produce such an object easily from thin air. Just like he did with the seasoning.

Quickly, you gathered the necessary essentials to begin fixing his garment. A couple of needles, some dark red thread, and multiple fabrics that you seemed the closest to his suit’s color. 

While you collected the items in a small bin, Alastor sat comfortably behind you. His nails clicking against his cane rhythmically as the music from the radio filled the room. 

He hummed softly along to the melody, obviously familiar with the tune playing. You had heard it before, a classic rendition of ‘Once In A While’ by Lennie Hayton. It was a softer tune, and an orchestral piece that allowed you to drift into a comfortable lull. 

As you carried the bin back to your seat, you nestled in beside him. There was a small distance between the two of you, your knees a few inches from grazing each other.

“May I?” You asked, holding out your hand to take his sleeve. You thought Alastor was going to react negatively to the gesture, like he did with Alan. Instead, he carefully reached out his arm, allowing you to pull his sleeve down to the surface of the table. 

You tried very hard not to touch his skin, as you adjusted the tear on his cuff to face you. Grabbing a few pieces of fabric, you began to hold them next to his sleeve, attempting to find the perfect match.

“So, what happened this time? Surely, not that snake demon from before.” You spoke, trying to spark conversation with your ‘husband’.

“Ha, I’m glad you do remember our last conversation! I was worried you'd forgotten as the days went by.” Alastor started, sinking deeper into his seat. He placed his cane against the table, 

‘Of course, I'd remember,’ you thought, ‘I can’t get you out of my head, no matter how I try.’

“I had found myself in a rather lively discussion with a particularly vexing imp. Tiny thing, but full of mischief and malice. Managed to get itself tangled in my grip during our little altercation.” He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “I must say, it put up quite the fight for something no larger than a rat. But fear not, I emerged victorious, albeit with a few battle scars.” 

Alastor gestured towards the tear on his sleeve, his eyes sparkling with amusement. You smiled at his words, a small chuckle coming from your throat as you pulled another piece of fabric to his cuff.

Finally, you found the color that matched his attire, and you carefully began cutting a large piece from the roll. 

“I’m going to have to hand sew your tear, is that okay?”

“Of course, my dear! Just try not to poke me, hm?” 

You nodded with a smile, before plucking the small needle from the table. 

With nimble fingers, you carefully align the edges of the fabric, pinching them together to ensure a snug fit. Holding the needle firmly between your thumb and forefinger, you begin to weave the thread in and out with practiced precision, creating neat, tiny stitches along the seam.

“I have been meaning to ask, how did the seasoning I gave you fare?” Alastor spoke, his eyes filled with intrigue as he waited for your response.

“Oh! It was fantastic!” You beamed, your mouth watering slightly as you recalled the wonderful dinner from that night. “They made Crawfish Étouffée, and it was very delicious.” 

“Ah! Yes, that dish was a staple back in New Orleans, when I was alive. Folks would gather all over to get a taste of my mother’s own twist on the delicacy. She was quite the cook, and her skill never faltered.” 

As you listened, you realized his voice softened quite more when he spoke of his mother. That static in his tone seemed to disperse as he mentioned her, and you caught a glimpse of his true voice behind that radio overlay. 

“Well, now that I've gotten a glimpse into such an art. I really am interested in trying your Jambalaya.” You spoke genuinely, your fingers still delicately lacing the thread across his sleeve. 

“I am pleased to hear that,” Alastor hummed, “I’ll have to bring you a sample the next time I'm in the area.”

Silence filled the room, other than the music that wafted from the radio’s speaker. You continued to adjust and stitch together his sleeve, very close to finishing the mending work. 

Even though there were no words spoken between the two of you, the silence was not awkward at all. The two of you simply sat comfortably in each other's presence.

Behind you, the slight crack in the door allowed you to hear the loud voice of Alan, as he spoke to another customer. Alastor’s ears twitched slightly as he heard the demon speaking, his body tensing momentarily.

“Has that wretch been bothering you often?” Alastor spoke after a moment, the static in his voice growing thicker as he spoke of Alan. His claws slightly dug into the table, a faint trail embedded in the wood.

“Well, he doesn't treat me like that succubus did. But, he does not drop the subject of us becoming romantically involved. It gets.. uncomfortable, I guess.”

You sighed as the words slipped from your tongue, a frown forming on your lips as you thought of his many attempts to swoon you. Alastor’s head tilted at your words, that smile cracked even wider as you continued to carefully slip the needle through the fabric. 

“Would you like me to ĐɆVØɄⱤ Ⱨł₴ ₴ØɄⱠ?” 

You jerked your head up at his words, surprise etched on your face as you turned to him. His voice had changed, the last bit of his sentence distorting into pure static, and you almost didn’t catch his words.

The room crackled with energy, causing your hair to practically stand on end. It was chilling, and you shivered subconsciously at the feeling. The room seemed to darken as Alastor stared at you, his pupils shrinking to resemble radio dials.

“Excuse me?” You questioned, your tone never faltering from its original octane. Which surprised you, since this powerful demon was looking at you with such murderous intent.

‘It’s not you he wants to murder.’ the voice in your head whispered. Which made your heart flutter, was Alastor wanting to kill for you? That was.. unconventionally sweet. 

Is that what he did to the succubus the other night when you weren’t looking? 

“If the little oaf can’t keep his words to himself, then there is no place for him to continue to sour your mood.” Alastor explained, his eyes taking their original form slowly as he spoke, and the distortion in his tone subsided.

The shadow festering around you slowly shrank away from your seat, illuminating the room once more. That cold feeling that gripped at your shoulders vanished. 

It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling that left you, even if it smelled of darkness and destruction. It felt almost.. comforting to you. Like the shadow was pulling you into a protective hug, the chill cooling your heated skin into a soothing embrace. 

You only shook your head, “He doesn’t need to die for something like that. And, he’s my boss. Without him, the store wouldn’t run as well.”

Alastor only huffed, leaning back into his seat. His claws left the table, and were instead enclosed into a fist, as he rested his chin atop of it. 

“At least the poor bloke ceased in his courting when he realized another had already taken that place.” He shrugged, his eyes glancing down to the gold ring on your hand.

You halted, the needle hanging in the air mid-stitch. How did he know about you and Alan’s conversation? More importantly, what were his feelings about you still wearing the piece of jewelry? 

“Oh, right. Yes, I’m sorry for still wearing it, I know it was just for that moment and it was stupid for me to think I could keep it-”

“Nonsense! Do not fret, my dear.” Alastor interjected, brushing off your worry. “Think of it as a small gift to rectify the situation you were forced into that night.” 

A gift? He wanted you to keep the ring? 

“You could even go as far as to perceive it as a good luck charm, ha-ha. Trouble seems to never escape you, and if this ring can even give you an ounce of protection, why not keep it on to ensure nothing like that night happens again?”

You smiled at him, your eyebrows raised as you listened to his words. A tiny ring, protecting you? You doubted it.

“Well, thank you, Alastor. It is really nice to know someone cares in that way.” 

Alastor hummed softly in response, his toothy grin softening into a lipped smile as he turned his attention back to the music playing softly. 

The thread tightened snuggly between the two fabrics as you finished the final stitch, your other hand reaching to the small scissors next to you. Carefully, you snipped the thread as close to the sleeve as possible, and you leaned back to take a look at your work.

It looked perfect, like the garment had never taken a hit in the first place. Alastor pulled his arm back slightly, turning it over to inspect it thoughtfully.

“I must say, you have such talent with a needle and thread! When you told me you worked as a door girl, I never expected knowledge of tailoring to be in your resume as well!” 

Your cheeks heated as his compliment, and you began to slowly stand from the seat. For a moment, you wished there was something else wrong with his coat that you could fit. If only to keep him here a little longer.

What a selfish thought. You silently reprimanded yourself for such thinking, Alastor had no doubt better things to do than sit here and chit chat with a powerless nobody like you.

Alastor also left his chair, and he adjusted his collar. He gripped his cane, straightening his posture as he turned to you. 

“It seems every time we’re together, our conversations are never dull. Thank you for assisting me, I’d love to continue our talks but it appears I have other business to attend to.” 

“Back at the hotel?” You asked, as you walked with him to the doorway.

Alastor stopped in his tracks, his eyes widened slightly at your words. He tilted his head at you. “Forgive me, my dear, but I do not remember telling you such a thing. Where did you hear that from?”

Fuck. He never had told you about his place of work, and you writhed slightly under his stare as you tried to come up with an explanation.

“Oh, it’s just an imp had come in this morning, buying a tuxedo for his daughter. He said she ran the Hazbin Hotel. He also said you worked at the hotel too.”

‘And he doesn’t seem to like you.’ you added silently.

Alastor’s grip around his cane tightened, and his smile widened as he thought for a moment. A small chuckle escaped his lips, it sounded dark.

“Are you sure it was an imp, my dear?” He asked slowly.

You nodded, recalling the conversation. “Yes, short with white hair and red skin. Sunglasses too, weirdly. He was quite nice, actually. He gave me some money for helping him, nobody has ever done that for me.” 

“Ha! What a kind soul he must be. Did he say anything else to you, by chance?”

You shook your head, “no, not really.”

“A surprise, really. That imp has a knack for using his charm to bend others to his whim. I'm sure that gesture of his was nothing more than to sweep you off your feet for his antics. I’d keep your distance from demons like him, if I were you.”

Was Alastor.. jealous? He couldn't be. But, it seemed like the feelings between the two were mutual with the way he spoke with disdain. 

The imp seemed like he had someone he cared deeply for, anyway. You were sure his gesture wasn’t anything more than kindness. Although, you didn’t think Alastor would believe you if you told him.

“But, as you previously mentioned, yes,” Alastor changed the conversation, for his sake it seemed, “I do reside at the hotel in exchange for my services. Redeeming sinners is no easy feat, it needs special hands to mold such a dream into reality.”

“Well, I'm sure you’re doing a great job.” You spoke, doing your best to voice your support for him.

Alastor smiled at you, before nodding in agreement. He pulled the door open, and stepped through the doorway. You followed him, stopping at the threshold as he turned back to you. 

He lowered himself slightly, a small curtsy in your direction. As he lifted himself, he leaned closer to you.

“Until we meet again, my wife.” He spoke loudly, most likely for the others in the vicinity to hear. His voice was like honey to your ears as that faint hiss of static dispersed from his tone when his lips settled on wife.

You really did like his voice, and hopefully, you’d hear what it really sounded like more often. His eyes settled on you for a moment longer, as if he wanted to say more. He didn’t, instead turning towards the register across the room.

Leaning against the doorway, you watched Alastor stroll to the cash register. Alan stood behind the counter, and he seemed to shrink slightly under the taller demon’s gaze.

The sharp edges of Alastor’s smile returned as he watched the demon quickly ready the digital display for check-out. His pupils dilating slightly, eyes narrowed as he waited.

You had watched him leave the store, watched him stroll down the street without a glance at anyone else. That mild boredom taking over his features, like it had when he had first arrived.

For the rest of your shift, as you sewed buttons back into place or trimmed stray threads that stuck out of garments, your thoughts continued to stray to events earlier in the day. To that imp, to the ring on your finger, to Alastor and those fluffy little ears on his head.

You were still deep in thought when you clocked out, your feet carrying you out the door as your path led you to the bus stop a few blocks down.

It was a small blue sign, with the symbol of a bus engraved into it. There was no one around, the empty streets quiet as you plopped onto the bench to wait.

Your hands reached into your bag, pulling out your phone from its pocket. You scrolled through your notifications, before clicking on a message from one of your friends.

You were so deep into the screen in front of you, that you didn’t hear the quiet footsteps approach the bench. You didn’t see the knife pointed directly at your face, or the masked man who’s gaze traveled down your form. 

“Hey, you!” A voice coated with malice addressed you.

Your head shot up, and you reeled back at the large knife right in front of your nose. Your heartbeat quickened as you scrambled off the bench, the man only keeping pace with you as you backed away.

“You seem like a nice young lady, and I’d hate to ruin that pretty face of yours. Just give me everything you’ve got, and we can go our separate ways.” 

“I don’t really have anything for you to take!” You said breathlessly, your hands shaking as you pulled miniscule items from your bag. He only ripped the entire thing from your grip, throwing it behind him. 

“What about money? Hand everything over, sweet cheeks.”

You grimaced, before pulling the stack of bills the imp had given you from your person. He ripped them from your grip, before stuffing the money down his pocket.

“That’s all I have, I promise! Please let me go.” You begged, your back hitting the wall of an abandoned building behind you.

You prayed for someone to come to your rescue. Alastor graced your mind, that he’d swoop in to save you once more to save you. He was right, trouble never seemed to leave you.

This time, you’d let him tear this guy apart.

“What about jewelry, huh? I see that ring on your finger, it must cost quite a pretty penny.” The thug sleazed.

Instinctively, you brought your hand to your chest, trying to shield the band from his stare. The demon only closed the distance between the two of you, his mask grazing against your chin as he abruptly yanked you forward.

“Don't fight me, you bitch! Just give it to me, don’t make this difficult.”

His rough hand encircled around your wrist. It was harsh against your skin, and you winced in pain.

“Let go of me! I’ve already given you enough, just leave me alone!” You screamed, hoping someone would come to your aid.

He raked his hand down your finger, the ring slowly moving down your digit as he tried to dislodge it.

It was a snug fit against your skin, and it took him a few moments for him to begin pulling it off your finger. Tears pricked at your eyes as adrenaline pumped through your veins, but you dared not to move with the knife slightly pressing into your side.

Another tug, and the ring grazed over your nail as it was pulled harshly. It wasn’t able to make it past before something strange happened. 

The ring ignited in a green flame, and the thug’s hand shot away as he yelled in pain. It licked at the tip of your finger, but you felt no heat from its touch. 

You barely had time to blink, or scream before the ring exploded. It burst into a large cloud of green smoke that engulfed your figure. Shielding you from your surroundings. Energy crackled in the air, paired with a chill that made your breath visible as you gasped.

It felt like someone had reached out and gripped at the collar of your top, and you felt a much gentler tug and you were pulled backwards.

The smoke seemed to vanish, and you were drenched into darkness. You felt your feet lift off the ground, as if you were floating.

The problem, you had no idea where you were. Your heart felt like it was going to burst as you squeezed your eyes shut. It felt like hours went by, but in truth, it was only a matter of a few seconds that darkness surrounded you.

Just as quickly as it started, it ended, and your closed eyelids were hit with a ray of light. There were voices surrounding you as your feet touched on solid ground, the floor softer this time, like carpet.

The chatter stopped abruptly as you settled in place, and for a moment you felt like curling into a ball and hiding from whatever scene you had been thrusted into.

“Ah, there you are!” A familiar voice exclaimed next to you, static dripping from their words. “I was wondering how long it would be until you showed up!” 

Wait a second, was that Alastor speaking? Was he responsible for whatever the hell just happened?

Your eyes slowly opened, revealing a large room covered in dark red wallpaper that cracked with age. Gold framed the edges, and lights mounted on the walls illuminated a few paintings that filled the empty space.

It looked like a lobby. Couches nestled in a corner around a small box tv. Next to that was a small bar, bottles of liquor stacked on shelves behind the counter. 

Your eyes trailed away, before they landed on a small group of demons in front of you. Your breath quickened in fear, as you quickly scanned over their figures. 

There was a woman in a red tuxedo, her mouth slightly parted in surprise. Long platinum-blonde hair tied into a neat ponytail as it traveled down her back. Beside her, a tall snake held a hand to his chest as he leaned back slightly, as if he was more afraid of you than you were of him. 

There were a few others too, but your mind was racing so fast you weren’t able to get a settle on their frames before you eyes were bouncing around for an exit.

It wasn’t until you felt someone’s arm snake around your elbow did you whip your head to the side, Alastor’s large smile greeting you as he laced his arm with yours in comfort, no doubt noticing the way your knees were about to buckle. 

“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, my dear!” He exclaimed, as if your arrival was expected and totally-not-strange whatsoever. His eyes were soft, doing his best to calm you with his familiar presence. You opened your mouth to speak, even though you weren’t sure exactly what to say.

“Who the fuck is that?” The fuzzy, pink spider demon piped up from the shocked onlookers. A pair of hands on his hips as he regarded you with confusion. 

Your lips upturned into a faint smile, and you lifted your hand for a half-hearted wave.

“Um, hi..?” 

I hope you enjoyed part 2! Sorry for that cliff hanger 😭 i hate doing that but had to end it somewhere haha

and.. hold up yall…

for real?! i did not expect this my first month on this app, nor at all really 😍 what started as “just this one luci one-shot..” became so much more!

Thank you all for the support and love you’ve given me, lowkey itching to buy a computer just for writing (yes, all my fics have been written with sore thumbs haha)

HUGE thanks to @spoiled-slutt for being my beta reader and helping me brainstorm ideas for this part! They’ve been an amazing help, and you should definitely check out their works if they interest you! <3

have a great day, my swans! 🦢

—

taglist:

@the-tortured-poet @anonymousewrites @coleisyn @froggybich @chewbrry @watchinthestarz @mechanicalmari @luxmessorem @plapperlapapp @wonderlife974 @kottenox @cherry-cola-100 @the-shark-named-sharon @rae-pottah @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @corpsebridenightamare @pweewee @nijiru @ourfinalisation @anuttellaa @nonetheartist @bunnypeew @cryptidghostgirl @hxzbinwrites

[fastandcarlos]

: ̗̀➛ IMAGINE

: ̗̀➛ Cuddles Are Home

as max arrives home after a busy day, he's keen to try something new, however it doesn't quite work out as well as he imagined

: ̗̀➛ Sweet Voice

the sobs of your daughter could be heard for miles, but there's one voice that always seems to know the way to soothe her

: ̗̀➛ The Biggest Tease

you're all for supporting max's career, but isn't a sex ban just a step too far?

: ̗̀➛ Restless Baby

1.1k words of dad and husband max trying to fix the angsty mess that he’s made

: ̗̀➛ Padel Queen

when max suggests couples padel with george and carmen, he worries about how good you'll be, little does he know though what a master of padel you are

: ̗̀➛ Never An Interruption

you’re all ready to celebrate max’s win with him, only when you find someone already there to celebrate, you begin to question the role you truly play in max’s life

: ̗̀➛ The Perfect Wake Up

reunited at last, the two of you savour the feeling of finally being back with each other again

: ̗̀➛ Sleepless Nights

as your daughter cries out yet again, you can’t help but feel like the problem, especially when max swoops in and saves the day again

: ̗̀➛Baby Sibling

whilst all his friends are having siblings, your son is keen for the two of you to start thinking about when he can have one too

: ̗̀➛ Bump Cuddles

watching you pregnant is a dream for max, especially with your bump there on offer for him to always snuggle up to

: ̗̀➛ Sleepless Nights

when max leaves you and your daughter to stream for the night, only one of you is happy to let max go and play for a while

: ̗̀➛ Helping Hand

what was supposed to be a nice dinner for the two of you is ended with fans waiting around. with your nerves growing, max is there to protect you

: ̗̀➛ My Little Graduate

you’re all prepared to graduate with your family by your side, and an unexpected extra sneaking into the crowd

: ̗̀➛ Home For The Summer

travelling around the world with max is one of your favourite things to do, however none of it compares to home. even though you can’t afford to make it there, someone else might just

: ̗̀➛ Clingy

how does it feel to have the clingiest partner in the world? well, max verstappen can tell you

: ̗̀➛ All Your Little Things

imagine being able to date the perfect gentleman, well that’s exactly what you get being the one in a relationship with max

: ̗̀➛ She's In Labour, Now?

it wasn’t supposed to happen yet, especially with max preparing for a race…

: ̗̀➛ SMAU

: ̗̀➛ Family Affair

it’s a family affair at the singapore grand prix as the entire verstappen family come to cheer max on

: ̗̀➛ Missing Piece

fans are beginning to notice your absence around the paddock, little do they know the amazing reason you’re finding yourself hiding away

: ̗̀➛ Hometown Glory

it all leads up to the race at zandevoort, and we all know how it ends

: ̗̀➛ Life With The Verstappen Family

a glimpse into the life of the verstappen family and your two little ones who are always causing chaos

: ̗̀➛ A Decade Of Love

as you and max celebrate ten years together, take a look at a snapshot of your social media for each one of those years

: ̗̀➛ Summer Break

with three weeks off to enjoy yourselves, you and max make the most of it adventuring together

: ̗̀➛ "Hey Stranger!"

with your conflicting schedules, match day always clashes with race day. it means it’s been a while since you’ve seen max, until you pull a few strings 🥺

: ̗̀➛ Baby Perez Is Mine

after getting to know your brother’s team mate max, you soon find that it’s more than just a friendship that’s struck between the two of you

: ̗̀➛ TEXTS

: ̗̀➛ Pregnant Wife Texts

[cntloup]

house-husband!Nanami x fem!reader

fluffy fluff, teeny tiny allusion to sex

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Kento hates work. "work is shit!" he said. he ran away from his life as a sorcerer to become a salaryman so he could make enough money to retire and live in peace, far away from people.

he only quit working as a salaryman and chose to be a sorcerer again because he deemed it less idiotic, and of course less depressing after experiencing the misery of the mundane day-to-day life. and he'd have less amount of regret about wasting his time and his work not having any significant impact on anyone.

but life as a sorcerer is far from easy. experiencing failure after failure, losing his friends and students, failing to save the common people, it had taken a heavy toll on him and nearly made him an alcoholic which caused a surge of self-hatred and disgust inside him.

he felt undeserving of your love so he tried to distance himself from you and it absolutely broke your heart to see him like that until you swooped in and took his hand to pull him out of the swamp created by the anguish and torment of the life as a sorcerer. so after witnessing how worn out and stressed he had become due to his work, you sat him down to discuss the situation.

he was hesitant at first when you suggested it, not wanting to burden you any further, but you mentioned how much you love your job and you're in for a promotion soon due to being one of the top employees.

you truly wanted to take the heavy burden off his shoulders and offer some solace instead which you did anyway only by existing, but this newly bloomed idea was a step further towards the life he always dreamed of. so eventually after some more coaxing and persuasion, he came around to the idea.

so he went to Yaga and blurted out, "I quit." and exited the room with no further explanation much to the principal's dismay and shouts of disagreement, but he simply didn't care as he left Jujutsu High for good this time with a faint smile on his face.

it really is a dream come true. he's finally free. and of course he picks up baking considering his obsession with bread and if you share this obsession with him or if you have a sweet tooth, you're in for a treat. he tries a new recipe every day. he has a keen eye for different ingredients and he's a natural at it with how meticulous he is.

he always wakes up before you, taking a moment to admire your beauty illuminated by the morning sunlight. your eyes slowly flutter open, "good morning, sweetheart." he greets which is returned by a sweet kiss on his lips.

and of course sometimes this ends up with your bodies tangled together beneath the sheets as you both pant heavily while giggling, not caring if you'll be late for work.

then eventually after some whining and some more kissing, you detangle your bodies and finally leave the bed.

he makes you breakfast and helps you gather your stuff and get ready for work.

he packs your lunch and always leaves a lovely cute note on it.

he goes over the shopping list you had written the day before while you're gone and makes sure you have everything you need, replaces your used up beauty products if you use any.

also makes sure that every appliance in the house is in perfect shape and if anything needs fixing, he's on it before you even notice it. after all, he wouldn't want his lovely, hardworking wife be bothered by such things.

you never come home empty-handed, always bringing back something for him, flowers or a tie, or simply something that reminded you of him. you always make sure to mention how grateful you are to have him in your life and how much you appreciate him.

"these for me?" he asks with a soft smile which is rare and only you get to witness, "for you, my love." you reply placing another kiss on his lips and handing him the flowers.

once you're at the door exhausted out of your mind, he's there to greet you with a sweet kiss, take off your coat and pick you up, carrying you to the bathroom and gently placing your weary body inside the tub which he has prepared for you.

he sits by the tub and feeds you the delicious meal he has made if you're too tired to do it yourself, and then comes the sweet treat he's made that day which always makes you moan at the first bite, "you're so good at this! fuck!" you say, making him chuckle.

he joins you in the tub after your whiny, yet cute voice calls out to him and you rest between his legs, your back pressed against his firm chest as he holds you in his strong arms and places gentle, languid kisses on your neck and shoulders.

the water temperature is perfect, not too hot, not too cold. and the aroma of your favorite oils and bathsalts takes over your senses as you take a deep breath out of finally being able to relax.

his big, slightly rough hands travel across your midsection, dancing on your skin, his loving touch eliciting soft moans out of your parted lips as your body melts further into his embrace.

he's truly meant to be a househusband😩😭

[demothers-empty-blog]

Hello Mother, I have a fluffy request for you! ^^

How about little spoon König after he has a rough day at work? You can write however you want? (Perhaps laying on top of reader for an idea-)

Have a good day! :D

a thousand apologies for taking so long, anon, darling, giving you the fattest smooch on the forehead pls remember to hydrate, have a good day too!

CW: fluff. reader is chubby

Your husband should be home by now.

He wasn’t scheduled for another deployment anytime soon but, hey, KorTac could quite literally fall apart without him. He’s made the mistake of putting someone else in charge once before, namely Major Horangi. It did not go over too well and that small, once spotless kitchen in the break room turned black with soot. There were back orders upon back orders and to further add insult to injury, he somehow found a way to fuck up how the armoury’s set up.

Rookies do not put things back neatly unless supervised, rookies are good-for-nothings at this stage. Rookies are not intimidated by Kim Hong-jin, but they are of the Colonel.

König found out the hard way that his right hand was better on the field than he ever was trying to manage a whole base. Never again.

Like a tired, single parent, König had to swoop in and save the day minutes after his return. No, he did not like having to deal with a bunch of hangry and nagging soldiers droning on about how inedible the food was in the cafeteria. Horangi was supposed to make stir fry that day but is no longer allowed to attempt anything, or step foot in the kitchen for that matter. It was an unsteady weekend for everyone.

The doorknob jiggles.

There standing in the doorway, footsteps heavy when he enters is your husband, dead on his feet. He looks like he’d been given too much to shoulder, it hurt to see but you push it down.

“My love—” you go to say, but are quickly engulfed and silenced by two burly, damp arms, stripped down to his fatigues.

“Oh, God. You’re all sweaty— and you smell.” To which, your husband chuckles rather weakly in response. König mumbles an apology under your ear, meaty paws mindlessly rubbing up and down your plush body just to ground himself.

To know that you’re here and he’s home.

“Welcome back…” you say.

“I’m so tired…” he manages out.

You tiptoe around his armour and the duffel bag near the neatly put shoes. You make a mental note of tidying up later. Now, your main focus is guiding your husband to your shared bed and not letting him trip over his own feet.

Blame the steady buildup of small problems and technical errors which led König to a bitter defeat, bone tired he felt, too tired even to form a single coherent thought. One would think he was babysitting rather than raising the next line of soldiers. Mind empty, his mixed bag of mumbled grunts and whines of protest were hard to decipher at first but it eventually clicked that the big bastard just wanted cuddles.

“Could’ve used your words…” you say, settling in. He doesn’t like that, words are hard and too much of a hassle right now. König would much rather have you break your head trying to figure out what ‘mph!’ or ‘mh-mh!’ meant.

“I should snitch on you… tell everyone how much of a big baby you are at home.” Another grunt, you can practically hear him frown.

He’s heavy when he lays on top of you, still you card your fingers through his short locks and plant kisses over the crown of his head. You feel your husband begin to relax under your touch, he nuzzles into the softness of your breasts with his crooked nose, eyes closed with a grin on his lips.

“Feel better?” A nod. It’s good enough.

He’s more than enough.

You remained the rest of the evening in bed, soaking each other up, holding the other close, tighter at the aching thought of never getting to do this again. Once your body had gone completely numb and you could no longer feel your left arm and both legs, you gently coax König into switching positions.

To your surprise, he doesn’t take his side of the bed and settles over on yours. He taps his shoulder, broad back facing you, wordlessly letting you know that… he wanted to spoon and more importantly, be the little spoon.

Without question, you swing a leg over his hips and slither your arms around him, pulling him as close as possible. He giggles like a teenager feeling your boobs press against his back and you give him a chastising tut, which spurred him into another fit of high pitched giggles.

“Waaas? You’re comfy…” he says. You huff into the back of his neck while he grabs ahold of your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles.

“Ich liebe dich, meine Frau… you are everything I could possibly wish for.” König falls asleep shortly after a few muttered reassurances and a handful of sweet words. The soft snores emitting from your giant husband was cue that he was out like a light.

God forbid you move now.

[negrowhat]

2024 BL Superlatives

Thanks @lurkingshan for bringing this back!!!!!!!!! Sorry if mine is super long, but I did taper it down a bit.

Best Love in this Tub Scene- For Him. For Him is not a good series. At all, but that TUB SCENE???? 10/10. Honestly I loved the main couple and I wish I could extract them from that horrendous series.

Best Snot-Nosed Kiss Between A Husband and Wife-Meet You At The Blossom. The first kiss in the first ever uncensored Wuxia DID NOT disappoint. It was so sweet and passionate and I know it was freezing cold in that room because there was snot everywhere and I loved every moment of it. Also the makeup department did a good job of making them both look so sickly.

Fave Bittersweet Happy Ending-Love for Love's Sake. I think this series was perfection and it made me cry buckets. I know the series technically ended happily, Myungha and Yeowoon were together, but it hurt me that Myungha had to find his happiness beyond his life. But he did achieve ultimate peace. It felt bittersweet to me and I did cry about it for several days.

Best Make Up Dickdown-Love in the Big City. Go Young's relationship with Young Su was toxic as fuck BUT that one makeup sex scene they had was the best love scene in the whole series. I'm all for a good dick down to combat a heated argument.

Best Torn Up Contract Reaction-Love Sea. The second Tongrak ripped up his contract with Mahasamut the gloves came off. Mahasamut didn't waste time kicking Tongrak's sperm donor's ass and we all cheered! Mahasmut is such a MAN.

Best Use of an Umbrella-Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo. That very ending scene when Juyeong picks Dohoe up from school. It's raining outside and Juyeong is just smiling so brightly and it makes Dohoe smile and Dohoe sprints across the courtyard to meet Juyeong. It was the first time Dohoe ever looked genuinely happy. It was so fucking perfect.

Best Wet Dream had by a 124 Year Old Man-Century of Love. I was going to say Fox Vixen Vee because what a masterpiece of a dream that was, but we're here for San's first wet dream. It was filled with so much emotion. A confession, tears flowing, passionate kisses, and San stripping Vee and himself down. Only to be awakened by a glass of water tipping over. What did that glass of water signify??? Grandpa San's first nut in 100 years. Epic. San could deny Vee all he wanted but that dream confirmed he was sexually attracted to that man.

Ugliest Wedding-Wandee Goodday. Okay I adore OyeiCher but their wedding was so unpleasing to the eye. I hated pretty much everything about it but I did cheer for them getting married. They're truly one of the best already established couples I've ever seen..but they really should've called Namnuea to plan the wedding.

Most Daring Rescue-Two Worlds. Tai rescuing Kram from his father's clutches after Phupha and Jao abandoned him. Tai infiltrated that site like a fucking ghost. Putting on that undertaker costume to swoop in and save his boy who had practically given up on life. Oh I loved the way Kram clung to Tai and how Tai was just so calm and collected. Sure Phupha helped but he deserves no praise.

Messiest Cooking Competition Not Televised-This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans. Between the cheating, lies, deception, and SEX that competition would've been a HUGE reality TV hit. And if Chef Oab had put up cameras in the restaurant everyone would've been able to witness his hot, horny, and inappropriate relationship with a contestant.

Best Dream Relationship-4 Minutes. Wild GreatTyme's most organic and healthy relationship was a dream sequence in Tyme's dying brain. His 4 Minutes was the best version of that relationship.

Best English Lesson-Jack & Joker. Definitely the most emotionally charged English Lesson I've ever seen and now I feel a tingle whenever I hear the word 'Confess' or 'Promise'. Jack was not at all subtle about letting Jack know he wanted him by his side.

Best Popsicle-Dick-Sucking Entendre. Every You, Every Me. Sian came around that corner wearing only a towel and sucking sensually on a flesh-colored-phallic-shaped popsicle. He knew exactly what the fuck he was doing and he just wanted Blue to know that he was ready to suck him off whenever he wanted. Bravo.

Best Series I Never Got-Your Dear Daddy. BECAUSE WHERE THE FUCK IS IT??? I've been waiting for Fluke Pusit and Saeng Nuea impatiently for entirely too fucking long. GIVE IT TO ME NOW!

[esther-dot]

Downton Abbey AUs

Look for the Silver Lining 7k, WIP by @ohhaveyouseenme

“He’s coming to stay…” Lord Eddard Stark’s announcement was met with silence before it was broken by the incredulous scoff of one Sansa Stark. “Here?” she bit out, turning fully away from her father. “With all of us?” Sansa looked around imploringly at the rest of her family.

And Then There Was You 49k, WIP by @periwinkle39

Lord Ned Stark and his family live in a beautiful stately home called Winterfell in the northern English county over which he presides as earl. His wife, Lady Catelyn Stark, is an American heiress whose fortune helped secure the Stark estate and keeps it running. They have three children: Robb, Sansa and Arya. Robb, who was set to inherit everything, has died tragically. By law, Ned’s heir is the next oldest male Stark and that turns out to be a distant cousin named Jon.

Of Love and Land 2k (incomplete but works as a one shot)

A Downton Abbey inspired AU - When Eddard Stark, the owner of one of the largest estates in England, Winterfell, dies on the sunken Titanic along with his wife and sole son, Robb, only his daughters Sansa and Arya are left. Given the absence of a male heir, the estate is inherited by their estranged cousin Jon Snow, who lived the entirely of his life on his own mysterious father’s modest lands in Scotland. While Arya adores cousin Jon, Sansa is as disconcerted by him as he seems to be by her…

The Chauffeur and the Lady 1k (incomplete but works as a one shot)

AU set in 1921 Jon Snow is hired by the Stark family to be the Chauffeur and Jon and Sansa find themselves drawn to each other. Loosely inspired by Downton Abbey

Gifsets: Downton Abbey AU by @winterrobb and Downton Abbey Jonsa and Gendrya AU by @divinespairings

Edit: Downton Abbey AU manip by @sardoniyx, "Marry a man who can barely hold his fork like a gentlemen?" by @azulaahai, “Don’t do this Jon! You can’t just kiss me!" by @jonsa-creatives, “I’m not going to give you an answer until you say it properly.” by @kitten1618x

General Edwardian AUs

Even a Small Love 54k

After the war that sundered her family and tore her homeland apart, Sansa had thought a loveless marriage to a near-stranger a small price to pay for her honor, her safety, and, above all, Winterfell. Over a year later, she begins to wonder if that's really all she wants out of life. Then her husband falls ill.

A Just Woman and an Honorable Man 12k, WIP by @sibyldisobedience

A story of politics, corruption, blackmail, marriage, and love. (an Ideal Husband AU)

The Sweet Intoxication of the Fall 30k by @vivilove-jonsa

When Jon is hired on as the new undergardener at Winterfell, Old Willem’s rules are simple:   “The godswood takes care of itself. The rest of the estate does not. If a task can be done by sundown, I expect it to be done by sundown. If not, go eat your supper and finish it the next day. Don’t neglect the lemon trees in the Glass Garden. They need constant care to thrive up here. Leave Lady Catelyn’s roses that grow there be. She prefers to tend them herself. Leave Lady Catelyn’s daughters be as well.”   Keeping to four out of five isn’t so bad, he reckons.

Cousin Jon ficlet by @amymel86

“Cousin Jon?” Lady Catelyn rolled her eyes in exasperation and set the letter gently down on her writing desk. “Yes, cousin Jon. Who else were you expecting to swoop in and save us from this scandal?” Corresponding gifset

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON SIX - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE -SALTY TEENS - POST CANON - RICKON LIVES - JON X ALAYNE - VICTORIAN - OUTSIDER POV - FIGURE SKATING

[virahaus]

Yes, my dear obikinners,,,, I've got a new idea™.

How about a sailor moon AU 🤭

HEAR ME OUT OKAY.

So. Usagi and Mamoru right? The ultimate power couple. She's the most powerful being in the universe and he's her devoted husband. At the start she's brat™ and even if she improves over time, she's always a brat at heart. He's standoffish, witty, sassy, always right and swoopes in to save the day more often than not. They are both completely obsessed with each other. Usagi is literally jealous of her future daughter. She's a flavour of unhinged that speaks to me strongly of Anakin. Mamoru instead he only looks more normal but he's completely the same as her. Man literally always tries to get himself killed for her multiple times. He also breaks up with her to "protect her", very Obi-Wan's style I'd say. And he's also older than usagi quite a lot. She's in middle school while he's already almost ending high school.

So! After that explanation of my choices let's get on with it for my Usagi!Anakin and Mamoru!Obi-Wan.

Anakin is in his last year of high school when he meets Artoo, a black cat, and gets the surprise of his life when said cat starts to speak and tells him he must protect the Earth for evil forces and find the fabled Moon Prince. Anakin is completely flabbergasted but when he's attacked by some weird people he, under instructions of Artoo, transforms into his battle uniform Sailor Moon. He manages to win his battle with the help of the mysterious Tuxedo Mask, a man who gives him advice but wears a mask.

In the course of the story he also meets the other sailor guardians (and here it would be super fun to have Padme, Ahsoka, Aayla and Ferus as the other sailors lmao). He also meets junior professor Obi-Wan for a chance, since he literally walks into him while he's cursing about his test's score. Obi-Wan snarks about Anakin's poor grades and Anakin is immediately incensed. They remain bickering in the streets for almost half an hour, sexual tension bouncing off of them, and they only get sidetracked because Anakin Is called away by Padme and Ahsoka. Cue the mental fuckery of Anakin in his sailor moon gear completely enamoured by Tuxedo Mask while also having a boner for the stuck up junior professor who he learned teaches at the school near his house and that's why he always manages to bump into him.

(he has some interesting dreams about that)

Not that Obi-Wan is having a good time either. He thinks Sailor Moon is an adorable twink who needs him advice to keep him alive and kicking, and he has to stop himself by looking at his ass when his criminally short miniskirt inevitably rides up mid battle. He has an infuriating brat of the name Anakin Skywalker Always bumping into him and driving him insane with the need to Dom him into academic success AND the dreams of his past life fiancé who literally glows and is the most beautiful creature he has ever seen.

Yes. I like to make Obi-Wan suffer. In the balls especially.

Anyway! I'm also thinking about switching it up the whole trying to brainwash Tuxedo mask and instead having Anakin being the victim cause that's so juicy also. Dark sailor moon Anakin would slap. If you know you know.