#fluff post

After years of uncertainty he had a son with you, who’s now five. The concept of sharing is a process, for sure.

It’s been a long day and all he wanted was to come home and cuddle with his wife, so that’s exactly what he did! Suddenly, his son came and saw you two.

“Mummy’s mine.” He whined, attempting to push Simon’s hand off your thigh. Simon laughed, “She’s my wife.”

After a long back and forth he pulled his son onto his lap.

"You see, buddy, your mummy's love is like a big, warm blanket. It's big enough for everyone to snuggle under and feel the warmth."

"But if you try to hog the blanket for yourself, others will get cold. That's not fair, right?"

The little boy chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully before shaking his head. “No, daddy, it’s not fair…”

a snippet: You're sick of watching Simon destroy his skin, so you stage an intervention.

cw: fluff

Pt. 2

this is such a random though I haven't been able to get over.

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Three times a week, Simon would come home and find his roommate, You, waiting for him in your room, an array of bottles from your shared bathroom now arranged neatly on a pull-out table on your bed.

The first time this happened, he was lost. He knew something was off the moment he walked in. You sat on the couch, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back with a headband, wearing a hard expression—one he usually only ever saw on soldiers before a mission.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked, freezing in place. He was actually a little worried, if he was being honest.

“Simon, sit down. We have something to discuss,” you said sharply.

He hesitated, which said a lot. Still, he silently took off his shoes (a rule he’d learned mattered a lot to you since moving in) and sat stiffly beside you.

"I'm sick of it," you spat, your frustration sounding almost like a whine.

"What?" 

"I'm sick of seeing you wear that mask."

He tensed immediately. "Watch your mouth. You have no say-"

"No, you idiot, I'm sick of watching you destroy your skin! I bet if you took your mask off, I'd see pores the size of black holes. Do you know how bad masks are for your skin?" 

Simon blinked, stunned, as you launched into a full-on rant about his skincare habits.

He was so genuinely baffled that he didn’t stop you when you reached up and removed his mask. You didn’t even flinch at the scars that mapped across his face. Instead, you clicked your tongue, shook your head, and scolded him about his acne—something no one ever knew he had except him.

And that was that. From then on, three times a week, he'd come home, shower, and lie on your bed with his head on your lap as you go through a five-step skin care routine on his face. 

Simon couldn’t lie and say he hated it. Because he didn’t. Not even a little. He loved the pampering—the gentle hands on his face, the soft scolding, even the deep shoulder massage you always finished with. You always made sure Simon would be melted into your bed like a puddle, before you ever considered being done.

He always ended up falling asleep there, which naturally became part of the routine.

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But I'll do you one better.

Flambae draping himself over Robert like a cat in order to monopolize as much phyiscal affection as is physically possible. Effectively turning Robert into literal human body pillow.

Picture this: They've just come home from a long day at work, Flambae is tired an sore, tired enough that he doesn't even feel like cooking. So as soon as the two of them walk in the door, Flambae scruffs Robert like a fucking cat, hauls his flat ass over to their couch, drops him on said couch, and then just proceeds to ragdoll on top of him. Nose tucked into the crook of Roberts neck, arms anchored around his torso like a koala bear, their legs comfortably entwined around one another.

They've seen you in so many different forms and past lives. They've probably seen you when you were rich, poor, healthy, or struggling.

So if you think you're not that pretty the way you are, they'll remember your personality, because that's why they fell in love right? Your jokes, your wit, your attitude towards life, your sassiness... And feel content that they've found you again.

If you think you're fat or not eating correctly, they'll think, she's been given a tough set of metabolic and genetic combinations this time, she has more to overcome, and love you harder. They'd never see your physical body and assume you don't take care of yourself.

Optimus: *is bored out of his processor, falling asleep during a meeting*

Megatron: *pops into the room for a brief second and smiles at him*

Optimus immediately brightened up, optics sparkling

Bonus:

They do cat things and have basic cat instincts. Such as meowing randomly, purring, hissing at people they really don’t like, loafing, kneading, fur puffing up and getting frazzled when they get nervous, jumping 8 feet in the air when startled, sleeping in the most uncomfortable positions, landing on their feet after falling from an ungodly height. The whole shebang. They don’t even realize they’re how much of a cat they’re being a half the time, their mannerisms are just that ingrained into them at this point.

Heyy! Morning friendssss and thank you for the request!! Trying to empty out my inbox today 🙈 ok I hope this ok!!

Vox x cat reader (fluff/soft headcannons)

First Meeting / How You Catch His Eye

Vox first spots you on one of his surveillance feeds—probably while obsessively monitoring the Hazbin Hotel or just scanning random sinners for potential “assets.” You’re perched impossibly high on a precarious ledge, tail flicking lazily, then you miss a step, plummet eight stories, and land perfectly on all fours without a scratch. He rewinds the footage three times, screen glitching with intrigued static.

He tracks you down in person (because of course he does) and the first thing you do is hiss at him on instinct when his TV head flickers too brightly. Vox bursts out laughing—actual, genuine static-laced chuckles—because no one has the balls to hiss at an Overlord like that. Your ears flatten, fur puffs up slightly, and he’s instantly hooked. “Well, aren’t you just the cutest little security threat I’ve ever seen?”

He offers you a “job” on the spot (really just an excuse to keep you close). You knead his expensive coat absentmindedly while considering it. He short-circuits for a second.

Daily Life & Cat Instincts Around Vox

You purr involuntarily whenever Vox is in a good mood and scratches behind your ears or under your chin with those clawed fingers. The first time it happens he freezes, screen displaying a loading symbol, then grins like he just won the lottery. He starts doing it on purpose during meetings with the other Vees just to watch you melt against his side and rumble like a broken engine.

Random meows escape you mid-conversation. Vox will be monologuing about his latest broadcast ratings and you’ll just let out a soft “mrrp?” when he pauses. He finds it endearingly distracting and starts pausing dramatically on purpose to fish for more cat noises.

When you’re comfortable (which is rare around most people but happens more and more with him), you loaf right on his desk or in his lap while he works. Tail curled neatly around your paws, eyes half-lidded. He complains about “fur on the equipment” but never actually moves you. Sometimes he even dims his screen brightness so the glow doesn’t bother your napping.

Kneading is a problem. You do it on his suit, on his couch, on his thigh when you’re cuddling. Your claws come out a little and snag the expensive fabric. Vox hisses through his teeth every time but secretly loves the possessiveness of it. “Careful, kitten— that’s Italian leather. …Do it again.”

You hiss at Valentino on sight. Full-on, back arched, fur frazzled, ears pinned. Val thinks it’s hilarious and teases you; Vox finds it weirdly satisfying and uses it as an excuse to keep you away from Val’s studio.

Startle response is catastrophic. Someone drops something behind you? You launch eight feet straight up with a yowl, land on Vox’s shoulders, and dig in with all four paws. He glitches out, screen flashing error messages, but then wraps an arm around your waist to steady you and mutters, “Easy, easy… I’ve got you, furball.”

Affection & Relationship Dynamics

Vox is a massive tease about your cat traits, but there’s an undercurrent of genuine fondness. He loves how unfiltered and instinct-driven you are—it’s the opposite of the calculated, image-obsessed world he lives in.

He installs cat trees and perches all over his penthouse and the Vee tower “for security reasons.” Really it’s so you can climb and watch everything from high places like you love. He calls you his “little overwatch.”

Late nights when he’s overworking himself, you’ll jump onto his lap, start kneading his chest, and purr until he finally powers down and relaxes. He’ll rest his head against yours and grumble, “You’re going to be the death of my productivity, you know that?”

You sleep in the weirdest positions—draped halfway off the bed with your head hanging down, or curled into a tight ball in the sink because “it’s the perfect temperature.” Vox takes pictures every single time and adds them to a private folder labeled “Kitten.exe.”

When you get nervous or overstimulated (crowds, loud arguments between the Vees, etc.), your fur puffs up like a bottlebrush and your tail gets huge and bottle-brush fluffy. Vox finds it adorable and will scoop you up, tucking you against his chest so his static hums like white noise to calm you.

He’s surprisingly protective. Anyone who mocks your animalistic habits or calls you “just a dumb cat” gets a very public, very glitchy dressing-down on live television. No one disrespects what’s his.

Jealousy & Possessiveness (Vox Edition)

Vox’s ego means he gets jealous easily, especially if you show any cat-like affection to someone else (even accidentally).

You knead on Angel Dust once while visiting the hotel? Vox’s eye twitches so hard his screen cracks for a second. He immediately pulls you into his lap the moment you’re back and makes you knead on him instead while broadcasting passive-aggressive commentary.

Alastor exists. If you ever so much as flick an ear in the Radio Demon’s direction, Vox short-circuits and starts monologuing about how “that outdated fossil” could never appreciate a “perfectly engineered little predator” like you.

On the flip side, he melts when you choose him. You hiss at strangers but immediately rub your cheek against his screen or shoulder to mark him with your scent? He practically bluescreens with smug delight.

Intimate / Soft Moments

Grooming is a thing. You’ll lick his screen or his hand absentmindedly to “clean” him. He finds it bizarre and strangely intimate, and eventually starts returning the gesture by running his fingers through your fur in long, soothing strokes.

You land on your feet after falling from ridiculous heights so often that Vox stops panicking… mostly. He still instinctively reaches out with a cable or his own arms to catch you, grumbling, “One of these days you’re going to give me a damn virus.”

helping dean shave ! - drabble

ft ;; dean winchester , gn!reader

sam ver. ◟ edit. ◟ masterlist.

contents & disclaimers: dean being submissive 🥺, reader is referred to as kid & sweetheart, fluff, age gap implied, corny ass writing, intended lowercase, not set in any particular season, not proofread

a/n: this kinda reminds me of soldier boy ngl— should i write for him? i’ve never watched the boys so i’d have little to no knowledge on him 😭 alsooo, when dean calls reader 'kid', its not a weird fauxcst way its like the way that older people call people in their twenties 'kid'.. yk??? anyway, enjoy!