#shortfic

But Lucifer ordered Mammon to stay close to you, and slowly, things changed. He started hanging around without complaining as much even to the point where he helped you with the TSL quiz willingly.

And then strange things began to appear in your room. A shirt that was definitely not yours, a D.D.D. charger you never bought, a small stack of Grimm on your desk and even a deck of cards tucked into a drawer. Sometimes he even let you keep the grimm which shocked you.

As time passed and you grew closer, a random gifts start to appear outside of your door. You thought it was a prank the first time until you opened it. Inside was a real gift. Another time, it was jewelry, and you froze because it looked far too expensive to be random. Sometimes it was just Grimm.

What you didn’t know was that Mammon watched every time. Hiding just out of sight, peeking around corners, heart racing as he waited to see your reaction. He didn’t understand why he cared so much, only that he did. He laughed quietly when you stared at the jewelry in shock. When he won tons of grimm from gambling, his first thought is about what he could bring for you on the way home.

. 𓂃 ࣪ ˖ ♡ 𖥻 your weird heteroerotic friendship with dick grayson. ꗃ dick grayson x fem!reader .ᐟ

──── you'd known dick since you two were just preteens and by the time you were twenty-something, the two of you had become inseparable in so many ways that made people around you very, very uncomfortable. your room was his room. your closet had his shirts and boxers. his dresser had your sleep shorts and panties. you'd see him naked constantly. scars and all. you'd stepped into his bathroom once while he was shaving, towel slung low on his hips. his abs were still slick from the hot shower. on the bathroom shelf, you noticed your pads, some of your favorite painkillers, and even products from the skincare routine you both shared.

you made a noise of disapproval and reached over to fix the way he was holding the razor.

"you're gonna nick yourself, pretty boy."

"then fix it, dove."

so you did. you reached up, cupped his jaw, and carefully guided the blade against his skin, the intimacy of it heavy in the steam-clouded mirror. he kept his eyes on you the entire time, those soft, pretty blues watching you with quiet trust.

"thanks. you always take care of me."

"of course i do," you whispered, brushing your thumb along his cheek. "you're fucking useless without me."

you said it with a teasing smile, like he hadn't been leading teams and saving lives since he was thirteen. he smiled anyway. but your closeness didn't stop at helping him shave. you'd eaten from the same fork, shared water bottles, gum, deodorant—even a toothbrush. you literally farted on him once when he tickled you too hard during a sparring session. you'd seen him throw up more times than you cared to.

and it gets weirder.

one time, during a particularly rough mission, you lost all your clothes. literally everything, including your underwear. so you borrowed his. every last piece. shirt, pants, even his boxers. you walked around the block wearing fabric that had been in direct contact with his dick and sweaty balls, and you didn't even blink. yikes, girl.

and when people asked what you were to each other, you'd both laugh. loud. like the question was fucking ridiculous. you were best friends. duh. but then he'd hand-feed you fries across the table while hanging out with your mutual friends. you'd adjust his waistband before going out and he wouldn't even flinch when your fingers brushed too low. he'd adjust the strap of your bra in public, and people would act like it was some kind of spectacle. for some reason.

one time, after a shower in the batcave locker room, you walked out drying your hair. dick was there too, getting dressed after some random training session. and he looked. really looked. right at your uncovered boobs. then, completely unfazed, he just went back to putting on his pants and belt.

"you know your left titty is bigger than the other, right?"

"it's not like your balls are very symmetrical either."

"touché."

The weight of his departure even when dawn has yet to break plants an undeniable ache inside of you.

You know he has duties that need to be fulfilled, knew what he needed most was an understanding partner that let him work unbothered. A partner that didn’t get in the way.

Now, it was midnight. You were awake on the couch, and your lover wasn’t home. You’ve long become used to this, but it hurts all the same. And of course you couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

You were breaking apart. It felt like all the memories of the past were all that you had left of him. He wasn’t around for the long days and nights you weathered alone. And you loathed the idea that he one day would not return.

You numbly twirl the wedding band on your finger, vision blurring with tears.

A part of you felt you didn’t deserve him to begin with.

You let these feelings of hurt and pain consume you, until you didn’t even notice when the door opened as you broke out sobbing, utterly broken. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You finally notice him once he’s kneeling down in front of you.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes softly, hesitantly, as if afraid of scaring off a wounded animal, and oh, how long had it been since he actually looked at you like that? Since you’ve heard his voice spoken so tenderly?

He’s here. He’s here and all you can do is cry harder.

“Sweetheart, hey, what’s wrong?” He’s not touching you, giving you space and time to talk to him and it hurts, it hurts because you wish he’d wrap his arms around you, crush you so close and hard to his chest and never let you go. And you want him to be tender, and cradle you gently and whisper softly in your ear and you want to hear his steady heartbeat that tells you he’s okay, and he’s here, and he loves you.

But you can’t voice any of this. Not when you’re bawling. You try to call out his name but your voice just breaks and god, you hated yourself so much. You scrub roughly on your face.

“Baby, stop that.”

Your hands are gently but firmly pried away, and he comes to sit beside you, warm hands cupping your face, forehead resting against yours. This feels so familiar and foreign all at once. It’s been so long.

“Baby, talk t’ me,” he pleads. Your eyes wander over his furrowed brows, his eyes laced with a fierce concern and determination all at once. Determination to help you. To comfort you. To give you the space you need, but not being able to distance himself.

You’re sniffling and trying to stifle your whimpers. You try again, whispering his name against his lips.

“Yes,” he says quietly, “I’m here. You’re okay.” He tucks a strand of hair out of your face, and kisses you. It’s like you’re both kissing for the first time and you’re nervous and uncertain. But he still kisses you, and he pulls away but you whine softly, and he chuckles and obliges when you pull him back in.

You’ve finally calmed down enough to settle into a peaceful silence, your arms wrapped around his neck and his arms around your waist.

“Ready to tell me what’s wrong, baby?”

You mumble something along the lines of ‘not yet’, but that doesn’t stop you from whispering your next words: please stay.

So he does. And he just holds you until you fall asleep in his arms, and when he carries you back on the bed and kisses your forehead, he spends what feels like hours just staring at you. At your lips, your cheeks, the delicate curve of your nose.

At the bags under your eyes. The dried tears on your face.

It’s after a long, long period of time that he lays beside you, pulling you close and relishing in the soft sigh that escapes you, the way you snuggle closer into his chest.

When morning comes, you awake to an empty bed.

The disappointment crushes you beneath its weight. And then confusion when the scent of food reaches your nose, and the sound of oil sizzling on a pan.

Your heart skips a beat. Hope springs to life inside you, enveloping you in its warm embrace.

Please stay.

Last night replays in your mind, along with the last words you had said to him.

There’s a tall glass of water on the nightstand. You down it in seconds.

Took a deep breath. Stepped out on shaky legs into the kitchen.

There stood your husband, an apron tied low on his waist, his hand stirring eggs on a pan.

For a moment, you just stare at him, because he’s real and he’s here and the house isn’t cold and empty. He’s your husband. He’s yours.

There were many times in the span of your marriage where you felt like things would always be lonely. That this was just what it meant to marry a man like him, with more duties and responsibilities than you could fathom. Moments where you felt hopeless, and anxious, and scared.

Then there would be moments where you’d wake in the middle of the night, or the early, early hours of the morning before he’d be gone. It was in these moments that he’d be right beside you, holding you close as if shielding you from the world.

No matter what, he had always returned to be right by your side.

His eyes meet yours. He smiles.

soundtrack: ...what are we? - lizzy mcalpine word count: 1.2k

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@f1

liked by mclaren, marissaleclerc, charlesleclerc and others

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f1: LANDO NORRIS WINS THE AUSTRALIAN GP! 🏆🥂

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user2 OMG, WHAT.A.RACE!!!!1 user4 LET'S GO LANDOOOOOOO mclaren our boys started out strong!!! lando 🧡🧡🧡🧡 lnfour what a start to the season 🧡

@paddockgossip

liked by user5,user38, user111 and others

paddockgosip: First race of the season and there's a lot going on already. 👀

As Lando Norris wins the Australian GP, there's more than just champagne surrounding him, his supposed girlfriend, actress Magui Corceiro is around with the Mclaren team. and... so is Marissa Leclerc, she is back in the paddock after months and the two of them shared one more than familiar hug. 👀

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user96 no fucking way user12: the way his hand is literally fisted in her jacket. THAT is not a friendly hug user29 the world is healing user72 THE FERRARI ROYALTY IS BACK! gosh i missed marissa user26 is he with magui? ↳ user5 no one knows ↳ user66 he is!! they have been seen together a million times ↳ user85 i don't think so ↳ user10 bruh, is he fr? magui is right there... user 65 marissa and lando are long time friends babe user66 they are also exes, its weird... user3: for the ones who don't remember, they're THE couple of F1 ↳ user4: and then just... disappeared? no drama no nothing? ↳ user44: kinda user19: i'm child of a divorce

@marissaleclerc

liked by scuderiaferrari,alexandrasaintmleux, lando and others

marissaleclerc: what a special day <3

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scuderiaferrari: leclercs back on top rebeccadonaldson: omg, you're so hot alexandrasaintmleux: love you user5: gorgeous!!!!! user32: fcking royalty user9: i'm conviced you're charles lucky charm user12: is this profile religious? because HOLY HOLY HOLY my eyes were blessed.

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People assume that everyone watching you constantly is the hard part. It isn't. Coming back is.

The race replay kept looping on the screen behind me, and my phone wouldn't stop buzzing with tags, every notification a small, familiar reminder of what it's like to exist in a paddock. I'd forgotten how loud it all was, or maybe I'd just gotten good at not remembering.

There was no dramatic reason I came back to watch races and be near my brother, but there was one for why I'd stopped, and he’s standing right next to me.

Lando and I were always there for each other, so much that it resulted in almost five years of a relationship. We grew up together, and in many aspects, we were raised close to each other and also learnt how to deal with the fame motorsport brought to our lives. Part of those lessons were that we were too young, and too innocent to think our love could resist the many dramas a public life could exist in. 

The first years were a dream, we were able to enjoy each other and learn the true meaning of love, but with time, the conflicts and drama started. We stopped going out because the cameras wouldn't leave us alone, nor the exaggerated headlines.

It got all out of our control. There was a period where I started getting all sort of comments from the internet for being a 'distraction' in Lando's career and even piggybacking off Charles's fame.

I couldn't live like that. It was not easy to let go, not only of Lando but also of the habit of having my life be the way it was, simple. All the dinners with his family, the late-night talks, the gaming sessions, the karting races, was all gone. And I saw myself losing not only a boyfriend but also my best friend.

When I ended things, I felt a part of me left too, and I forced myself to keep my distance, to find a way to deal with all of it and create a backbone, which meant leaving the F1 world that one day was also my world.

And now here he is. Not like the photos, not a headline, just here, closer than he's been in a long time, and I have absolutely no idea what to do. I'd had a whole year to decide how I'd play this moment. Standing here, I couldn't remember a single one of my plans.

I was standing in the garage with Alexandra and Ferrari’s team, as I watched Lando exit his car and rush to his mechanics and team, still in his helmet; it was a well-deserved win, and he knew it.

Charles got closer, and we hugged him, and I felt so happy and grateful to witness this again. The moment I left Charles's arms after celebrating, Lando grabbed me like no time had passed at all. He fisted my jacket and held me tightly against him, lifting me off the ground.

“Mariss” 

“You did it,” I said to his ears, hugging him back and feeling his body vibrate with euphoria.

“Oh my, I made it.” his voice was rough with emotion as he set me down.

He didn’t let go right away; his hand lingered on my back, and our eyes couldn't leave each other's. I stepped back when I heard Charles clearing his throat.

“Okay, that’s enough,” He said as we separated and he and Lando dapped hands

For minutes, I enjoyed how we touched, as it felt like the past; all went away when I saw Lando talking to his rumored girlfriend, Magui. She was hugging his mother, in a McLaren shirt, with her eyes shining as he talked to her and others around.

That’s the reality check I needed.

──────

The party started the way these things always did: bottles of champagne all over the place, music too loud for actual conversation, a lot of people over the DJ booth, and everyone with their usual group.

Alex came back from the bar with Rebecca by her side; the club was packed. Their drinks were full, and Alex handed me a drink I hadn’t asked for but definitely wanted. “So,” she said, sitting in the booth as Rebecca slid on my other side, “That was a lot for the first comeback”

“Tell me about it,” I said, sipping my drink

“And you and Lando?” Rebecca asked in a suggestive tone

"We are friends."

"Marissa," Alexandra said, my name like she was scolding me. "I've known you for years. I was there almost through the whole relationship. That was not a friend's hug."

"And we’re not the only ones to think that."

"Wonderful." I rolled my eyes

"They're not wrong to wonder, is all I'm saying." Alexandra shrugged, entirely too pleased with herself. "Five years is a long time to just cut any type of contact."

I didn't answer that, just kept quiet, accepting defeat.

I found Lando across the room without meaning to look for him; some habits really don't die, no matter how hard you try to bury them. He was laughing at something, easy and loose the way he always was after a few drinks, Magui's hand resting on his arm as it belonged there. She caught me looking. Didn't smile, exactly, not that I did something friendly with my face.

"She's being very subtle," Rebecca murmured.

"I don’t think it’s on purpose and it’s also not her fault."

I meant it, mostly. It wasn't as if I had any claim to stake. That ship had sailed a long time ago.

──────

We stayed for a few more hours; luckily, good hours were I forgot about Lando and all the drama that hug stirred. The girls and I were catching up, dancing, and talking. We were having a blast, maybe because of the drinks, but also because it was fun to be out with my friends and my brother's friends; it’s been a long time.

The vodka kept going through my body, and I was feeling hot; maybe I was feeling a lot of things, including the courage to dance like no one was watching and declaring my love for my friends. 

“You guys are so hot,” I fumble my words as I see the girls in the bathroom mirror.

"You're drunk," Rebecca said, delighted, like this was the best news she'd gotten all night.

"I'm having a moment." I fixed my lipstick with the precision of someone who was, in fact, one vodka shot past precise. "A very normal, very sober moment."

"Uh-huh." Alex was already recording me on her phone, the traitor. "Say hi."

"Hi," I said to the camera, striking a pose that was more wobble than glamour. "This is me. I am thriving."

"You are, actually," Rebecca said, and for a second she wasn't teasing. "It's really good to have you back, you know."

I wasn't drunk enough to get emotional about it, but I was close. "Don't start."

"I'm just saying—"

"If you make me cry in this bathroom, I’ll leave”

That got us all laughing again. Alex gasped, hearing a song it was too muffled for me to recognize.

"That's my song. That's actually my song; we have to go back out there."

"It is not your song; you say that about every song."

"Every song is my song if I decide it hard enough."

We stumbled back out, arms linked so none of us fell over, and somehow ended up in the middle of the dance floor dancing and laughing too hard for any of us to care.

"Okay, okay, that's enough dancing for one night." Charles appeared out of nowhere, hands already on mine and Alex’s shoulders, steering us away from the dance floor.

"We were in the middle of something," I protested.

"You were in the middle of embarrassing yourself. You’ll thank me later.”

Leaving the club was hitting me with a familiar feeling again, of the days we used to go out way more and have fun days like this. Days when I was present and not working. Or pretending to be busy working.

It felt like coming home. That was the problem. 

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@marissaleclerc's story

→WEIRDO (~2k)

X: aizawa x reader

#: meet-cute. meet-ugly? adult reader. gn reader. injured aizawa. aizawa smokes when he's stressed. vigilante aizawa kinda.

N: i think abt this man too much

he's the weird guy in your apartment building who keeps odd hours and never says hello in the stairwell.

sometimes he smokes on his balcony and it wafts in through your window. it's obnoxious, and you're always yelling out the window for him to stop. he never says anything in response, but he always complies. you always shout, "Thank you!" and you think you hear a chuckle.

sometimes you don't see him for weeks at a time. sometimes he comes in limping. he never says a word, never asks anyone for anything, but the landlord never shows up to pound on his door, so you figure, if nothing else, he must pay his rent on time.

yeah, he's weird, but lots of people are weird. he's also not your problem. you write him off as background noise and go about your life.

then, late one night, you wake up to the sound of your door knob rattling and, scared to absolute shit, you peek through the peephole expecting to see a stalker on the other side.

nope-- not a stalker, just a weirdo.

I want to explode, I POSTED THIS ONCW AND TUMBLR LIKE LITERALLY MADE IT DISSAPPEAR INTO THIN AIR HELLO!?

Lucy

-"You better not show this to any of my brothers,"

- He has a secure masculinity so he definitely is not offended, infact he loves it. He just doesn't want his brothers to have leverage over his (by having what other demons may consider 'embarrassing')

- Amused, why are you drawing one of the strongest demons like that and why does he like it?

- keeps it safe.

Mammon

- flustered but HOLY SHIT mc it's amazing

- glad you drew him out of all his brothers

- he's gonna make people to see it "100 grim to see MC's art."

- I wonder why there's the exact dress you drew under his bed?

Leviathan

- how did you figure out he does this type of cosplay??

- just like mammon, he's flustered but is definitely happy.

- will use it as his pfp on all socials

-

Stanley cup

- he LOVES it, especially the cat ears, infact he has similar ones tucked away with all his books

- Has an eye for the fine arts, and this is a master piece

- will flex it to his eldest brother just to annoy him, why else does he have 200 copies?

Asmo

- absolutely ADORES it,

- will use it as outfit inspo and will post it to his socials

- "OH EM GEE MC I LOOK FANTASIC"

- bust bust bust

- complements after complement. You really defined his features there!

Beel

- he likes it more than he can describe with words

- best bet he's gonna hang on the fridge so he can see it every time he goes to eat (all day everyday)

- he also attempts to draw you

Belphie

-"If you wanted to see me wear something like that, you could've just asked me, MC"

- will definitely tease you about it but genuinely does appreciate that you took your time and energy to draw him

- he keeps it under his pillow

》》》》》》》》》

A/N: hi guys I posted a better version but Tumblr made it disappear and I didn't remember everything I wrote sadly, :(. also I have an exam in like less than 2 hours 😨😨

---

The door clicked softly behind him.

You looked up from your spot on the couch, a blanket around your shoulders, book resting on your lap. Pedro shuffled in like a kid who missed bedtime, hair a little messy, hoodie too big, eyes already half-lidded.

"Hi, cariño," you said gently.

He gave you a pout. An actual pout. "Baby..." he mumbled, dropping his bag by the door. "Can you—" he yawned mid-sentence, then blinked up at you like a sleepy puppy, "—can you put me to sleep?"

You blinked, smiling before you could help it. “Like… rock you back and forth? Read you a bedtime story?”

“Yes,” he nodded seriously, padding over and throwing himself into the couch like a man dramatically surrendering to gravity. “All of it. I want the full experience. I’m a baby now. Take care of me.”

You laughed softly as he collapsed into your lap without waiting for permission. His arms wrapped around your waist, face pressed into your stomach like he’d been waiting all day just to do that.

“You’re such a baby,” you teased, fingers instinctively sliding into his curls.

He hummed, already melting under your touch. “Your baby,” he whispered, almost sleepily, lips brushing against your shirt.

"That you are," you said, heart way too full for how long you'd known him. But somehow, this wasn’t new. This version of Pedro—the soft one, the one who clung to affection like a blanket—felt familiar. Like home.

You kept carding your fingers through his hair, slow and rhythmic. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just breathed. Heavy and slow and safe.

“Want me to sing to you?” you whispered after a few minutes.

He nodded against your belly. “Mhm. Something cheesy.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately and began humming some old 70s love song your mom used to sing while cleaning the house. Pedro’s grip on your waist tightened, like he was anchoring himself to you.

“You smell like home,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Your chest physically ached. “Pedro…”

“Hm?”

“Go to sleep.”

“Only if you promise not to move. Ever.”

You smiled, leaning down to kiss the crown of his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

After a while, when his breathing had evened out and he was just on the edge of sleep, you whispered, “Come on, sleepyhead. Let’s get you into bed.”

Pedro groaned in protest, clinging tighter. “Nooo… the couch is my bed now…”

You laughed under your breath and tugged gently on his arm. “You’re gonna have back pain for a week. Come on. I’ll tuck you in.”

That got his attention.

“You’ll tuck me in?” he looked up at you with the most pitiful, sleep-glazed expression.

“Yes,” you smiled, standing up and reaching for his hands. “Like a little burrito.”

He let you pull him to his feet, slow and clumsy, his arms immediately winding around your waist like he needed to keep contact at all times. You walked him to the bedroom like you were guiding a toddler after a sugar crash — steady, soft steps, occasional yawns, and one moment where he stopped in the hallway just to rest his head on your shoulder.

When you got to the bed, you pulled back the comforter and patted the mattress. “In you go.”

He flopped down dramatically, arms wide like a starfish. “Okay. I’m ready. Tuck me.”

You giggled and kneeled beside him, pulling the blanket up over his body. He watched you with half-lidded eyes, the tiniest, dopiest smile on his lips as you gently tucked the edges around his chest and shoulders, smoothing them down like you were wrapping a gift.

“There,” you whispered. “Perfect.”

He reached up with both arms and made a little grabbing motion. “Now you.”

You crawled into bed beside him and the second you were within reach, he latched on — arms around your waist, face in your neck, a heavy contented sigh escaping his lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, already slipping.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I love you too.”

And just like that, Pedro Pascal — world-renowned actor, internet’s favorite daddy — fell asleep in your arms like a big, clingy baby, breathing in sync with your heartbeat.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader 

Summary: Caught in the middle of a Weasley prank, you’re blamed and sent to detention. Only to discover none other than George Weasley is there as well. What should be a short punishment turns into an adventure to the Forbidden Forest.

Content warnings: Flirting, mild tension, unjust detention, George Weasley being charming

Wc: 1.4k

Authors Note: This is my first published fic, any suggestions or comments lmk :) // Masterlist

Some days, Hogwarts was quiet.

Today was not one of those days, thanks to Fred and George Weasley.

On the way to charms, you take the long route, practicing wand motions taught in the previous lesson. But unknowingly, the hallway you’d chosen had been claimed for the prank of the week. 

Hidden around the corner were the Weasley twins. They hadn’t noticed your footsteps down the hall, and you hadn’t cared to notice the unusual silence, or even the bucket in the middle of the hall. 

From the flick of a wrist by Fred Weasley, an ungodly amount of frogs accompanied by green slime like fluid erupt from the bucket.