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#*comfort fic
ca-8 · 3 days
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I really really loved your DogDay fic (like a lot), so I thought I'd request a DogDay x player reader fic about the nightmares both of them would more than likely have when this is all over and they've escaped Playtime Co, and how they'd try to be there for each other when they happen.
Black curtains smothered their view. (Y/n)'s body was light. Someone must have carried them from the sweet warm hug of their mattress and into the shadowing atmosphere. Fabric rippled and swayed gently just barely beneath their falling figure, separating inches before contact... And so, falling past the waving curtains that faded harshly into cracking rubble.. Falling past the growing cracks swirling into light pink, stretching tubes and blue fuzzy ropes... Falling into hell's fiery, drifting red smoke through long, thin fingers that cursed away flesh... Elliot's voice welcomed them once again.
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DogDay x Reader Rippling Deja Vu (Part 1)
(WARNING: The following contains scenes of graphic body horror and mutilation)
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Wet spider webs caught them, like a Venus fly trap breaking the fall of a frightened butterfly with a torn wing. A chill ran down their spine, causing them to stir in their sleep, and soon, (Y/n)'s eyes fluttered open. Dim flickering light beamed down them, watching them. Cold goo kissed the back of their neck. They shuddered and pulled themselves up, dragging behind lines of webs connecting them to their new bed. It tugged, urging (Y/n) to fall back into its embrace, until the lines finally broke. They collapsed on freezing tile. When (Y/n) opened their eyes, the first thing they saw were the tattered clothes they wore on the day they entered the gates of hell: a dirty tank top torn at the side and thin jeans caked in dust and dried blood. Their eyes widened. "No...No no no no no....!"
Rapidly swatting off the remaining clinging webs, (Y/n)’s bottom collapsed onto the tiled floor. Their quick and heavy breaths rushed into the dusty cold air, flailing around in tiny clouds before fusing with the hallway’s stretching darkness. After finally casting off the last piece of the web, their hands suddenly went still, trembling in place, then clenching into fists a few times as if they were holding a Grabpack’s trigger.
(Y/n) looked up. Blinking light illuminated parts of the stretching shadow for brief seconds, beckoning them to let them light their way. But they couldn’t move — they wouldn’t dare move. As soon as they’d jump to their feet, something meant to lie still, something first made for play and learning and innocence that then would become a shell for screams and blood and torn flesh, would come after them and pull and dig and prod and eat at each breathing morsel they offered. (Y/n) sat still, very, very, very, very still. 
Then they got up. Their trembling body begging to stay safe under the only working light began to get pulled by marionette strings. (Y/n) started to choke on their cry for help and fought with every atom within them to stop moving, but the blackened jaws had already consumed them. And through all that desperate effort, a pathetic whimper only left their lips. 
GO BACK
RUN
HIDE
HELP
THE HOUR OF JOY
One, then four, then ten, then innumerable warnings laced in trauma appeared under the blinking lights. Blue and red and yellow overlapped with one another, shouting over each other, screaming at a once naive, curious fool. (Y/n)’s body didn’t listen, it just had to see what that gorgeous cherry red light was growing in the distance.
They attempted at another cry for help, but only another quiet muffle sang along with the factory’s distant curling cogs. First wiggling their fingers, then shooting their hands up to their face, (Y/n) felt for a mouth, a hint of lips or drool or just anything, but nothing. Just a blank (s/c) canvas of skin. Their throat erupted in shouts and wails, they even tried pulling at the canvas, and still nothing — the fool had become a shrieking tomb. 
The walls stopped moving, and they looked down to see their legs glued to the floor. 
And the ground began to roar.
Ripples and rumbles threw (Y/n) off their feet and forced them to watch the rear of the hallway. Flickering lights hinted to the devastation’s core; a flash of a human skull protruding from rising, cracking tile, a glimpse of light showing onto its growing body that melted from bone to a curling wet tongue rounding into a pink and blue twirling body, and that blinking, twirling body grew larger as its organs and bones stuck out and into darkened pink, stretching arms, weaving through a monstrous ribcage, tying together blue and purple fur and paws with ravaging whetted claws, growing and growing and growing against the cracking floor and screaming walls, growing and growing and growing and growing and growing
until it stopped.
And the human skull twisted, slowly rotating on its spinal column. Curling all the way around, blood rained from inside the splitting bone, emitting an appalling crackling echo as bits of it snapped off onto the ground. One of them hit the fool in the forehead. Finally, it stopped once completing its orbit.
It stared at (Y/n), and (Y/n) couldn’t help but stare back at it. Naked teeth and unblinking empty eye sockets, sloshing pulsating guts and creaking legs. They wanted to run, to hide, anything to stay as far away as that thing as possible. Its mouth opened, and its jaw stretched down and down and down toward the floor, bits of bone snapping and muscle from beneath bulging from the holes and stretching and stretching and its teeth reached to the ground and dug underneath the tile. 
It stopped. It winced. It pushed forward, claws scraping against the tile as its mouth excavated gathering tile, making the walls and ceiling screech such a deafening bawl. Faster it crawled, right down the hall, right towards (Y/n).
Right as glowing dots of life awoken in those empty sockets, they regained control of their body again. They scrambled onto their feet and bolted down the hallway. 
“A……?”
The hallway seemed to curl in on itself, but that didn’t stop them. (Y/n) so desperately wanted to cover their ears from that godforsaken screech but they couldn’t risk it. They just had to make their legs push faster, no matter how much they ached or cramped or were being sucked into the earth-
“..An…l….”
They were slowing down. Something of a thousand pounds became attached to their ankles and drove them into the melting floor. They yelped and fell right onto burning slosh, howling in pain and immediately yanking themselves up. Pained gasps and whines heaved from their lips, and they looked back to see the boiling floor had engulfed their legs, spreading up to their calf. (Y/n) spotted sections of their skin closer to its mouths peeling back to reveal bubbling muscle, before it all were to be swallowed. 
“....Angel…”
They tried hauling themselves up, but grew unsteady and fell back on the burning slosh. (Y/n) let out an agonizing cry as skin began to peel off from their arms. Smoke rose from their body, as if the spirits of their faded bits were already accepting the inevitable end. They peered over their shoulder — the creature was standing over them.
“.....Angel…!”
It dug up their body. (Y/n) violently flailed against its gasp, and through their tears they saw muscle plunging from their arms and legs and more of that thing’s hands wrapping around their tiny, weak, insignificant body, twirling around their waist and making them feel their spine slowly snap.
Agony, sweet deserving agony, topping with the fool’s suffering melody
“(Y/N)!” 
And they were back in their bed’s warm embrace. 
(Y/n)’s eyes snapped wide open, letting out a fresh, tearful waterfall streaming down their flushed cheeks. The first thing they saw in darkened solace were a vast, open, empty mouth and eyes that were scrunched up in blazing worry. But this uncanny face was that of familiarity, of warmth, of real joy; yet they couldn’t stop the quickened breaths.
“Angel, it’s okay, look at me, everything’s okay,” DogDay said, although by the tone of his voice, he was starting to panic as well. 
With trembling, non-melting arms, they cautiously hauled themselves up, and their breathing began to slow. Putting his giant paws against their back and on the side of their face, DogDay gently shushed them as his thumb stroked their wet cheek. 
“That’s it, just focus on breathing, you’re doing so well, angel…” With that giant smile as bright as the sun, his guiding whispers lit up the room. Before they knew it, the alerts for death rang silent and (Y/n)’s heart became steady. DogDay sat down on their bed and placed them on his lap, and for a few minutes, he held them close to his fuzzy, vanilla-scented chest. 
Then, (Y/n) spoke up in a hoarse voice: “I’m sorry.”
DogDay stopped petting their head for a second. “Now what are you apologizing for, angel?” he uttered in bewilderment. Words bubbled up inside their throat but they couldn’t bear to speak. He looked down and continued to stroke their shaking head and back. “Another dream about the factory, I take it?”
(Y/n) tensed up and nodded. His grip on them became tighter, but not too tight. 
At first, he didn’t know what to say. Decades of being trapped with nothing but tiny savaging predators taking joy in tearing off his skin little by little, day after day, left him blinded in miserable need. In rare moments of peace, he always dreamt about an angel descending from above and down in the hellish depths that once housed happiness, and blessing those worth saving with freedom. But not once did he see him reaching that freedom; in fact, he still wonders to this day what he did to deserve being one of the only survivors after failing so many so dear to him. And he despised it. 
The DogDay he was conditioned to never think about himself so much. He should always know what to say, especially now. His beloved angel had suffered through so much just like he did, and to make matters worse, they were apologizing for it. If anything, he should be the one…
…”I’m sorry too.”
“What?” (Y/n) gazed up at him. Even in the darkness, the light in their beautiful eyes beamed such radiant sacred life. Life that he swore to protect since that day.
“I-I’m… I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to witness and endure so much, I’m sorry I couldn’t help you when you saved me, I.. I’m sorry that you took in so much pain, I-! I…” DogDay took in a breath — ‘don’t cry, this isn’t about you.’ — “I…I’m sorry, angel. You’ve been through so much, and for our sakes… for my sake.”
He embraced them back into his chest, squeezing his eyes shut to fight back stubborn tears. “You have every right to be like this — to cry, to lash out, to get so, so scared — after everything that’s happened, you’re allowed to be this vulnerable more than anyone else.” 
They were so quiet. ‘Did I say the right thing? I didn’t make them upset, did I?”
But he did. Something inside (Y/n) cracked at last. Their chest tightened and pulsated and wallowed up, and something crawled up their throat that made them gasp for air and for more of him. They quickly wrapped their arms around DogDay’s torso and let out a shuddering wail as tears flowed freely down their cheeks and onto his chest. 
Feeling his heart hammer against the wet spot they buried their face in, he froze in place. Then his smile drained every ounce of uncertainty, and he held his angel once again. 
“That’s right, angel, let it all out. You’re safe right now,” he softly muttered to them, letting a tear fall from his eye, “and I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again.”
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AND that’s it for right now! As with the last request, there’s a shorter word limit for posts that directly respond to Asks, so I’ll be cutting it off right here and will be posting a Part 2 soon! Sorry this took me a bit to release; new college quarter is starting and I've had a little bit of writer's block, but I have overcome it!! Thank you so much to @paragon-of-obsessed for requesting this, and extra thankies for liking my last DogDay fic! This was so much fun to write, and I can't wait to dive into the next part!
Like what ya saw? Well you can commission your own private piece now!! Read more about that here! Thanks so much for reading, and have a great day!~ 💜💜💜
(Also my ao3 is the_real_catnap_98 if ya wanna follow me on there - same posts are (gonna be) on there + fanfics staring my OCs!! (...and a self-insert, lOOK lIFe iS HArD-/lh)
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Coraline
Synopsis: Y/n’s childhood and history with her parents has always stayed a secret, and she likes it that way. Until a journalist reveals the truth, and everything seems to come crashing down at once.
young female driver reader x 2023 F1 grid
A/N: a few things for this fic: reader will be 20 years old, had driven for alpha tauri since the beginning of 2022, the 2022 is the same as the 2023 grid, and please look at the trigger warning below.
Trigger Warning: This fic contains abusive parents, talks of eating disorders, neglecting a kid, verbally abusing a kid, signs of depression, and a lot of hurtful comments in general. This fic is not meant to idolize or romanticize having abusive parents or depression. If anyone finds anything particularly disturbing with this fic, do not hesitate to let me know and I will fix it.
tagged: @treehouse-mouse
2023 was supposed to be a good season for Alpha Tauri. The cars looked good, your driver pairing was solid, and the hopes were high for your junior Red Bull team. You could only laugh at the naivety of it now.
Most of the season was exceptional; you and Yuki Tsunoda brought in points almost every weekend, your team was seventh in the constructors championship, and overall, you were having a great time traveling around the world.
This was your second year in Formula 1, and now that you weren’t a rookie anymore, you could have more fun now that you knew what you were doing.
Some people just don’t like others being happy, though.
With less than 10 races left, you walked into the paddock for the Monza Grand Prix Thursday afternoon feeling optimistic. This was the second race after the summer break, and Alpha Tauri was expected to do well in Italy.
Your press officer, Ally, greeted you in your garage, and after saying hello to Yuki, you followed her out of the garage and into the media pen for a press conference.
You walk in to see Lewis, Carlos, Lando, and Fernando and talked quietly with them as the press in front of you get settled. “Everybody ready? All right, first question please” One of the directors asks, as a journalists speaks up.
“Lewis, you’ve witnessed the infamous ‘Monza Curse’ multiple times in your career, do you think the theory is true and will it strike again this year?”
“Um, no” Lewis chuckles. “I don’t believe in the curse, but it would be nice to see someone new finish first today, and if a curse is what it’s going to take, then yeah, why not”
The five of you laugh, not noticing the second journalist beginning to speak. “Y/n, what do you have to say about the recent article published regarding your past with your family?”
You instantly stop laughing, hoping you misheard the man.
“Sorry?”
There’s no way
“The article? That was recently published concerning your past with your parents, what do you have to say about it?” The journalist stared at you curiously while your mind blanked for an answer.
You had no idea what article he was talking about, but if it concerned your past with your ‘family’, you knew it wasn’t anything that should be published.
Suddenly there’s movement in the midst of the media pen, and your press officer emerges from the crowd. “Y/n, come with me” She pauses, seeing one of the directors nearing out of the corner of her eye.
“It’s urgent, I need her” You’d take any excuse to get away from the current situation, so after exchanging a look with Lewis, you follow the woman into the paddock towards your garage.
Once you were both in the safety of your drivers room, you turned on her. “What article is he talking about? What’s going on?” You said, voice heavy with concern.
Ally hesitated, looking uncomfortable, before answering. “This morning, an article published a story talking about you and your parents, and the-um, harsh history you have with them” She hands you her phone, said article already open.
“I think it’s better if you read it yourself” The bold letters blink up at you, clear and sullen.
“F1 DRIVERS UNCOVERED: THE REAL REASON WE DON’T SEE Y/N L/N’S PARENTS”
Your heart falls to your stomach and your hands start to shake as your eyes skim over the words of the most invading and overwhelming article you’ve ever read in your life. Whoever wrote this, wrote it in hopes of exposing every secret of your past, and further tangles the truth of an already over-complicated background.
The real reason your parents are never around you is a reason you hate talking about.
You first realized it when you were around ten years old, the way your parents never looked happy around each other, and always tense around other parents. The way they never said ‘I love you’ or kissed each other goodbye. It confused you, as these were the things you always saw your friend’s parents do, but you were too young to understand at the time, so you mainly ignored it.
It wasn’t until one night when you were eleven that you heard an argument erupting from your kitchen, one about money and divorces and you. The shouting continued for ages, until you heard one statement, loud and clear.
“Think about this, she’s getting good in those karting competitions of hers, and according to other parents she could go really far in this thing and get money from sponsorships and mentors. So let’s just give it a little time, make sure she gets better and gets paid, and the money will go to us and eventually she’ll leave to Formula- whatever and we won’t have to worry about her”
You put your pillow over your head, turned around, and went to sleep sobbing that night.
From then on, there was no ‘I love you’s’ or kisses goodbye even to you, and eventually, no happiness in your house. The ‘other parents’ were right, the older you got, the farther you looked to go in racing. Just before you turned 13, the three of you moved to a city in England so you could pursue karting further, and that’s when it all got worse.
You competed in countless competitions, and every race you won, the more criticism you got from your mom and dad. The second you stepped off the 1st place podium, your parents were waiting to comment on your driving and the techniques you should’ve used to win.
They never let you focus on anything but karting, letting you go nowhere but the track and to school, and made sure you were always looking for ways to get better. They ruthlessly compared you to kids in other series that were performing better than you, and countered every compliment someone gave you with a complaint.
All of this seemed like a dream compared to the treatment you got when you lost. Whether it be second, or tenth, every race you didn’t come first in was a loss, and your parents simply didn’t accept this.
When you lost, they’d make you practice on track for twice as long, no matter the weather, and berated you the second you started to complain. They limited your diet after your losses, claiming you needed to be lighter if you wanted the kart to go faster.
Your mother and father gave you this relentless attention with anything regarding racing, but the moment the topic drifted, you were neglected. There were no family dinners or movie nights, if you wanted something, you were going to have to buy it with your own money, and if you wanted to go somewhere, you needed to walk or find a ride because they refused to drive you anywhere if it wasn’t for a race.
There was no other family to go to even when things go impossibly rougher; you had no other relatives in the UK, and you couldn’t exactly ask your friends if you could live with them.
So you endured these conditions, all the way through the F4 British Championship, F3 and F2. You turned 18 while you were in Formula 2, and the second you did, you took the little money you had, and rented an apartment in South England, where you’ve been living ever since.
Your parents constantly contacted you in whatever ways they could, but you very quickly made sure they didn’t know where you lived and were never given paddock passes again. No one knows any of this anyway; when people ask where your parents are or when they’d get to meet them, you just shrug and say, “they couldn’t make it”
You haven’t seen your parents in person since you were 17, and you’ve done everything in your power to keep it like that.
Though with a few thousand words and 4 hours, one nosy journalist has managed to unravel all your work and growth and release it into the world.
You’re broken out of your stunned silence when Ally puts a hand on your shoulder. “I’ve set up a meeting with Alpha Tauri and Red Bull’s PR managers so we could figure out what we should do next to keep the press off your back, okay? The meeting’s in fifteen meetings, so I’ll leave you for a while”
Ally takes her phone back and exits the room to leave you standing still in the middle of it, astonished and speechless.
The meeting goes as well as you expected it to go. You shared as much as the truth as you saw fit, and came up with a statement to post with the rest of the PR managers. You were confirmed to go back to the media pen to finish interviews an hour later, and while no one asked you about the article, you could tell it was the unanswered question they all wanted to raise.
You are able to avoid most of the press of the remaining of the Italian weekend, and stuck to answering race-related questions only, your safest and only option, Ally told you later. You finished the Grand Prix P10, and flew home still sullen.
You spent the two weeks in between Monza and Japan in your apartment, regretfully thinking about all those years you had to spend under your parent’s treatment, and trying to forget them with simulator work.
You arrive in Suzuka, quiet and unsmiling, and try to ignore the shouting of the press that greets you on your way into the paddock. Ally guides you away as two new voices greet you.
“Hey Y/n, how are you?” Lewis asks, pulling you into a side hug and stepping into place beside you.
“Are you okay? You seem off” Charles says concerned, meeting you in a handshake.
“I’m fine, my flight just got in late last night so I’m tired, that’s all” You half smiled in response, hoping it was believable enough.
“Sure?” Lewis presses father. “Yeah, I’m okay” You nod.
“Okay, well, we’re still going into the city after media today?” Lewis asks. “Of course, I’ll meet you guys at my hotel after” You assure as you near the Alpha Tauri garage.
“See you then, and try to sleep a bit, yes?” Charles says before the two men walk off together.
Your friendship with the two drivers started because of the Spanish and British Grand Prix’s, the two races that gave you your two highest race finishes, and ended with two of your closest friends. Spain was a great race for both you and Lewis, yourself in P4, him in P2, and after non-stop talking in the paddock, you flew back to the UK together, effectively starting the friendship existing today.
You’d been friendly with Charles previously, but after his P9 finish in Silverstone and your P5 finish, he realized in a conversation before an interview that you were undeniably good at cheering people up, and you guys have been close since.
You’ve talked with them since Monza, of course, but not about the article. They want to talk to you about it, you can tell, but Charles and Lewis aren’t the type of people to just come right out and ask if you’re feeling okay about your history with your abusive parents being exposed to the world.
They also don’t want to pressure you into talking about something you clearly don’t want to talk about, so if all they can do is help distract you from the media, they’re going to.
Your night out with the Mercedes and Ferrari drivers does distract you; Lewis leads you and Charles to different shops and restaurants all over Suzuka, talking and laughing the entire time. You take a few photos along the way, and you go back to your hotel still smiling.
You kept your good mood until qualifying on Saturday, and are brought back into the reality of racing when you only manage P11. It’s technically not bad of a result for your car, but P9 or P8 would’ve been better right now, because all you can think about is what your parents would’ve said if you finished P11.
They’re paying you millions of dollars to race for them and the best you can do is eleventh?
You think you deserve to be here?
They are hundreds of other drivers that would do so much better than you
You are nothing compared to the other drivers
You’re lucky if you keep you seat next season, I know I wouldn’t let a P11 driver on my team
You go quiet at the thought, and get through post-race media stoic. You leave with your trainer as soon as you can, avoiding Lewis and Charles’s eyes on your way out. You have a week before you have to leave for Qatar, and spend a countless amount of hours on your simulator, hoping this time it’ll make a difference.
You flew into Lusail not knowing what to expect other than hot weather, and unfortunately you were right. You felt the heat as soon as you got in your car for FP1 on Friday and was already dreading the rest of the weekend.
You qualify P11 for both the race and the sprint, and end up in P12 for the two. You felt terrible after Sunday’s race, both physically and mentally, and you’re already berating yourself for your performance by the time you get weighed.
Charles and Lewis are in your post-race press conference group, and you can see them exchange a look after every cold and detached answer you give. You only stop to talk to your friends for a few minutes afterwards before you excuse yourself to go cool down, and leave minutes later with the defense of needing rest.
You fly back to the UK with Lewis, and you’re glad the two of you are asleep for most of the trip so Lewis won’t ask you to talk about why you’ve been so quiet.
The 10 days you have until you fly out to Austin are spent mostly on your phone, looking at all the comments people have been making about you since the article came out, saying how you probably deserved the treatment that you got, and how Alpha Tauri needs a more “stable” driver if they want to advance in the championship.
You don’t do much except exercise and train on the sim in those days, finding neither the desire or energy to do anything else.
Even though everyone is happy to be in Texas that week, you can’t find the energy to truly smile once that weekend. Charles and Lewis are practically stuck to your side, and even though you can tell they’re dying to ask you to talk about it, they only ask a few times if you wanted to tell them something, and when you denied, and simply offered companionship through silence.
It’s another sprint race, and you only pull off P12 and 13 for qualifying and the shootout, and drop a place by the end of both races.
You feel more frustrated with yourself than ever; you don’t understand why you can’t work with the car like you once used to, and you can’t even figure out how to again. You were doing so well until that fucking article came out, and all the sudden you don’t know how to drive.
The worst part about it is that every race, more and more people are realizing how you’ve been under-performing, and how people are starting to question your ability to drive for the junior Red Bull team.
You aren’t stupid, you know how things work at Red Bull, so you know that if you don’t pick your pace up soon, you could end up without a seat for the 2024 season.
This thought alone starts to destroy you, and soon you can’t even deny how burnt out you are. You pick up on the forced habit of not eating much, and making yourself to do nothing but train and look for ways to be better.
You spend the days before Mexico with data analysts and strategists, looking for any and every way to go faster. You dedicate too much time looking at successful F2 drivers, hearing Liam Lawson’s name come up too much for comfort, thinking about how Dennis Hauger had been looking fast in F2.
It’s a terribly unhealthy time killer, one that makes you look sick and go quiet. Charles and Lewis aren’t the only ones exchanging concerned looks now; multiple other drivers on the grid, friends with you or not, notice the change in your behavior and quickly grow worried when they hear Yuki’s description of you.
The drivers aren’t stupid either, they all know about the article that was published in September, and most of them would be lying if they said they hadn’t looked at it in curiosity. They’d also be lying if they saw their eyes didn’t widen in concern or eyebrows didn’t furrow with worry when they read how terrible your parents treated you.
The grid saw how the comments got nastier and nastier under your lessening social media posts every day, and even asked your PR officer multiple times to make sure she was managing your accounts and making sure you didn’t see what people had to say about your background or yourself.
They saw how you got quieter every race, how you stopped hanging out with Yuki and Charles and Lewis, no matter how many times they offered. They saw the rumors of you and your 2024 seat, how apparently Helmut Marko was paying close attention to you and the clauses in your contract.
They asked a lot, if you wanted to talk or if they could help in any way. It was always the same response; a weary smile, a small shake of the head, the words,“No, I’m fine, just tired” and an excuse that you were needed in your garage or media pen.
So they try to help in more discreet ways; when Yuki is asked about your position on Alpha Tauri or your future with Red Bull, he calmly assures that you are working hard with the team, and is doing everything possible to understand the car.
Charles, Lewis, and a few other drivers make a routine of coming to your driver’s room, most of the time just to sit with you as you look at data, or talk with you when you’re feeling up to it.
Mexico goes somehow worse than Texas, and you finish with your lowest result in F1 yet, P15. You try to be as approachable as possible in post-race media, but your sullen face gives you away.
You leave with Ally and your trainer to catch your flight to Brazil mere hours after you passed the checkered flag, and spend most of your time in Sau Paulo alone in your hotel room, replaying every hurtful comment either your mother and father or fans have said about you, and debating whether or not it was true.
You walk into the Brazilian paddock Thursday morning more grateful than you thought possible that this was the third-to-last race of your season.
And according to over twenty media sources, your third-to last race of F1.
After a public statement made by Marko talking about how Red Bull was “considering your future with their junior team” every journalist in the F1 community has decided that it means this was your last season in F1.
And honestly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Whether you raced in 2024 or not, you just wanted to go home and avoid the press for three months.
It was another sprint weekend, and another terrible qualifying and shootout. You placed 15th in both sessions and kept your place in the sprint, and spent a quiet Saturday evening in your hotel.
You could feel almost every journalists eye’s turn to you as soon as you walked into the paddock on Sunday. You arrived early that afternoon to get some extra data-stuff done, only now realizing that it gave the growing group of reporters behind you more time to ask you questions.
“Y/n! Can you tell us about your future in F1?”
“Will you have a seat next year?
“Y/n, what does Helmut Marko think about your decrease in performance?”
“Does your past with your parents have anything to do with your recent race results?”
You try to keep your face emotionless as you make your way into the Alpha Tauri garage and to your drivers room. You prepare for the race with your personal trainer and look over the arranged strategies for Sau Paulo while you wait for the go-ahead to get in your car.
Due to all the crashed-out cars, you ended the race in P12 in front of Oscar Piastri and Daniel Ricciardo. Statistically speaking, it was one of your better 2023 races, but everyone knows if it wasn’t for all the DNF’s, you’d finish in the bottom five.
You know that everyone knows this because just before you walked into the media pen after your race debrief, you saw Christian Horner and Marko speaking to your team principle, and after Yuki’s P9 finish today, it didn’t take you even a second to understand who they were talking about with disappointed faces and multiple shakes of the head.
Sure, this could mean nothing. This could just be a conversation between the three people that control the top team and it’s junior team. But you also like to think you’re a bit smarter than that.
You walked deeper into the crowded area before the three could see you, and walked to the first open journalist you saw, in hopes of leaving early.
“Y/n, hi! Not too bad of a race for you today, I guess?” The man asked, pointing his microphone towards you
“Yeah, not too bad. The car felt pretty okay and there was a bit of pace, but not enough to overtake or anything, clearly” You reply.
“Can we expect more race pace from you in Las and Vegas and Abu Dhabi?”
“I mean, it’s a bit too early to tell, but we’ll hope and see what comes out out of the practices” The man nods before looking down at his notebook.
“And your seat for Alpha Tauri next year, we know you’re apart of the confirmed driver lineup for 2024 but Helmut Marko states that there are attainable clauses in your contract, what do you think about that?”
You’re caught off guard by the question, but right when you’re about to respond, the man continues.
“Surely, Alpha Tauri isn’t really considering keeping you for next season, are they?”
You’re standing in front of the man speechless now, your brain barely comprehending what’s being spoken.
“Because I know the last thing a team wants is an incapable driver that is too emotionally effected by her “traumatic” childhood to race,” the volume of his voice starts to increase, and other drivers are starting to focus on your one-sided conversation.
“I mean, c’mon, no one even believes that even happened to you, and if it did, your parents were probably right for doing it-”
Your hands are shaking, eyes are wide with shock, body suddenly freezing, and you don’t even think you’re breathing. All you can do is listen as this man goes on and on about how you’re a shitty driver and deserved how your parents treated you.
You’re only broken out of your trance when an arm clad in red wraps around your shoulders and pulls you through the paddock. You’re not even aware of the yelling from a certain Mercedes drivers gets quieter and quieter as you’re brought into your driver’s room.
You’re being sat on a couch, and suddenly Charles Leclerc’s face is right in front of you, hands on your shoulders and eyes filled with concerned. “Y/n? Y/n, look at me, please, Y/n-” Your eyes dart to him and in an instant, everything from the past five minutes comes rushing through your head, and you can’t stop the tears that start to fall down your face.
“Oh, Y/n” The Ferrari driver moves to comfort you, but stops as you begin to cover your face and move away.
“No, Y/n, it’s okay, please, let me help you, Y/n” Charles wraps his arms around you in a hug as your body begins to shake with uncontrollable sobs.
“I can’t- I can’t do this anymore, Charles” You say in between breaths.
“I have to quit or something, I can’t keep doing this Charles, I can’t” You let your head fall on his shoulder, as the man tries to calm you down.
Charles’ heart is breaking as he comforts his friend; he remembers loving his first few years in Formula 1, how everything was so new and exciting to him, he could never not want to race, not then and not now. But to hear one of his closest friends breakdown because of how much she hates being there, makes the man’s heart shatter.
The door abruptly opens, and for a moment, all you can hear is the low angry cursing of Lewis Hamilton, until he sees you and Charles, and his face immediately softens.
“Love, I’m so sorry. That guy is a complete arsehole, don’t listen to him” The British man says as he takes a seat beside you and wraps an arm around your shoulders.
“I don’t know what to do anymore, I feel so stuck in this place where everyone is always talking about what happened and I don’t know how much longer I can go through it” You say, your voice breaking off with another sob.
Charles hushes you once more, exchanging a worried look with Lewis as you pull away from him again. “I’m sorry, I know I should be doing better and everything but I just can’t-” You say, voice shaky through the tears.
“Don’t for one second be sorry that you’re not competitive right now. Y/n, thousands of people are talking about the one thing that hurt you the most, and I understand why you feel this way, just please, love, for your own good, let us help you. I promise it will make you feel better” Lewis assures, grabbing your hand.
So for the first time, you do. For over an hour, you tell Charles and Lewis everything that happened when you were younger, and how the article has made you feel since then. They listen quietly, nodding once in a while to let you know they understand, and gave you a hug when you stopped talking.
“Do you feel better now?” Lewis asks.
“Yeah, not entirely, but better”
“Good, that’s all I wanted to hear,”
“Are you ready to go home now? There’s a plane waiting for us, if you want”
“Definitely. I need to go home” You say as Charles helps pack up all your things and Lewis makes sure there’s a car waiting for you two outside. As you’re all walking through the nearly-empty paddock, Charles turns to you.
“I have to go back to my garage, but please Y/n, if you ever need to talk, call me? I want to help you, I don’t want to see you like this again” The Monegasque brings you into a hug.
“I know, Charles, I will” You promise.
“Okay, I’ll see you before Vegas, yes? Feel better!” He calls as he moves backwards and further into the paddock.
“You promise?”
Lewis asks you hours later in the front of the airport in England, just about to get into separate cars.
“Yes, Lewis, I’ll call when I need” You say to the older man in a hug.
“Alright, text me when you’ve made it home and make sure you get some rest. Don’t be too hard on yourself either, you don’t give yourself enough credit for everything you do” You smile at him.
“Okay, I’ll see you before Vegas?”
“See you before Vegas!” He shouts from his already-closed car door.
When you do see the two next, they make sure you’ve made an appointment with a therapist and are setting up a meeting with your PR manager to put together a statement in regards to your well-being the past two months.
Charles and Lewis make sure the media inside the paddock is severely monitored and checked before being allowed near the drivers, and help you fall back into healthier habits.
These changes don’t happen overnight, and they don’t take affect overnight, but you do use the winter off season to make sure these changes are helpful and working.
The three month break is utilized to mentally and physically prepare yorself in time for your 2024 seat at Alpha Tauri that was re-confirmed after your P8 finishes in Las Vegas and Abu Dhabi.
The media still knows everything, and you haven’t completely forgotten your childhood, you never will, but dealing with it still gets easier.
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chuunai · 3 months
Text
baby daddy nikolai ! who merely stares at you at first when you say you’re pregnant. he didn’t like it at first. a baby would tie him down, lessen the freedom he craved. but he already tied himself to you through love. plus, he could teach the kid to annoy sigma.
baby daddy nikolai ! who complains when there’s no kicks when he places his hand on your belly. it’s dumb that he won’t be able to feel anything until the fifth or so month. often when you’re napping, he’ll prod at your stomach and try and will it to somehow move. if his baby takes after him, it’ll be one energetic little hellion.
baby daddy nikolai ! who gleefully shows off ultrasound photos to fyodor and sigma, excitedly blabbering about the baby to his ‘best friends’. fyodor takes the role of godfather while sigma wisely chooses not to involve himself in the mess. he’s scared too. the clown having spawn? nuh-uh.
baby daddy nikolai ! who steals so much baby stuff from stores. cute plushies, pregnancy pillows, toys, etc. you don’t approve—he doesn’t care. he claims it’s saving money for the kiddo.
baby daddy nikolai ! who uses his ability to randomly grope your bigger tits out of nowhere. gloved fingers suddenly tweak at your nipples while he laughs from a nearby room. his dove’s got some pretty big milk jugs now.
baby daddy nikolai ! who doesn’t let your pregnancy get in the way of sex. he’ll spoon fuck you from behind, rubbing your swelled belly while also pinching your boobs. he cums inside, naturally. you’re already pregnant, so there’s no harm!
baby daddy nikolai ! who insists on your child having a patronymic name. his baby will inherit his ukrainian ancestry, and he doesn’t take no for an answer. this includes him cooking ukrainian dishes for you so the baby can get used to the dishes pre-birth.
baby daddy nikolai ! who decides at the end of the day that this pregnancy is yet another expression of your shared free will. he put the baby in you and you decided to carry it. if that’s not proving his fixation of freedom and escape, then what is?
Tags: @twst-om-lover, @sinfulthoughtsposts, @xxcandlelightxx
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lijojo · 8 months
Text
how the genshin men rizz you up
premise: although you two have been dating for some time now, they never keep trying to charm you. what are ways your boyfriend keeps you on your toes?
WILL get into your favorite books/shows and try to copy your favorite characters
sometimes while you’re just chilling, he’ll walk into the room reading one of your books or having your favorite show playing on his phone. and because your tastes aren’t always shared, you’ll raise an eyebrow in question. “i thought you didn’t like it.” 
he doesn’t say anything, just merely shrugs at you and simply goes on with his day. and after that point, whenever you try to playfully glance over his shoulder, he flinches away. you’re confused, but don’t really say anything else. you trust him. if he didn’t want you to know, you’d respect that. 
you’d never expect two weeks later to be greeted with the sight of him with a fake rose in his mouth dressed as your favorite character you’d been gushing to him about for the past two months. you’re 100% sure he ordered his costume right off of amazon, with the way it barely fits him.
“why hello there,” he greets, still with the flower in-between his teeth. outstretched in his hand is a bag of your favorite candies. there’s something about his wig that makes this situation seem unreal. even if your favorite character shared the same hair color as him, he still puts on the wig, as if to really sell it to you.
you don’t even bother trying to stifle your laugh. if your carrying anything, you drop it immediately to bend down, cradling your stomach. “oh my god,” you say in-between chortles, wiping away a stray tear, “you are so cute.” 
he pouts. “is it not good?”
you can barely contain your smile. “it’s perfect.”
“but you’re laughing. you’re not supposed to do that. you’re supposed to get flustered and play along while i sweep you off your feet.” 
you tenderly take the candies out of his hands and put it on the table, placing his terribly-placed wig down along with it. running your hands through his hair, you kiss him softly. he’s quick to reciprocate, quietly moaning and cupping your jaw. he matches your pace, if not a little more eager. 
“don’t you worry, you do that already.” 
alhaitham, zhongli, gorou, tighnari, scaramouche, xiao, thoma, ayato, baizhu
bluntly expresses his feelings towards you
almost painfully so. 
“you look sexy in that hoodie.” 
“i know,” you reply monotonously. “i also know that we’re in a grocery store right now and there are children here.” 
he’s not always straightforward about his thoughts, but on days he’s feeling especially affectionate, the words slip right through. 
“listen, i just think the way you wear them is really cute. not anyone can pull it off, you know? but you do it so effortlessly. it makes your butt look super squeezable,” he comments, grinning when you give him a glare. “your face in general is just very hot. it’s just my type. i didn’t even know i had a type. i think i have a crush on you, honestly.” he leans his head on your shoulder, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “you always know how to make me feel like a nervous teenager all over again.” 
“that’s very sweet,” you say with a chaste kiss on his cheek, “but i don’t know if saying this in the middle of the self-checkout is appropriate.”
he huffs, scanning the fruits and vegetables. “it’s fine if the children hear that, though, right? it’ll teach them to be more expressive.”
“i guess that’s true,” you humor him, “still, i’d appreciate it if we could enjoy this moment where it’s quieter.”
he contemplates before nodding. “okay, if that’s what you want.” he fixes his posture. “anything for you.”
you smile. “thank you.” 
when you get home, he continues to shower you in compliments. as he takes the large haul of groceries out of the car, he rambles. like a puppy, he trails after you as you unlock the door to your shared house, letting him inside to put all of your groceries on the dining table. 
“i just don’t think i appreciate you enough,” he mutters. “whenever you get me coffee in the mornings, i never thank you, but you spoil me as if i did anyway. i know sometimes i get mad at you for disagreeing with me but later on i end up regretting it.” 
he takes out the eggs carefully as if they were his own children and puts them in the fridge. “you’re always looking at the pros and cons for me, even when i don’t want to hear them. i love you so, so, so, so much. i appreciate you and respect you. even when you sometimes don’t want to cuddle.” he laughs, taking the strawberries out of your hands to put them away.
“i love our relationship dynamic, did you know that? because i know that. we’re always making sure we don’t go crazy. like that one time you helped me calm down when i was having a bad day. i love how you and i always tackle our problems together, whether they’re shared out not. you never make me feel like a bad person, just in progress. and i love how you trust me enough to open up to me, i know it hasn’t been easy but i appreciate that you’re always trying. you make loving you seem like the only right answer.”
by the time he’s done talking, you’ve put everything away. he ends his talk with tranquil silence, gathering the empty grocery bags and setting them aside for later use.
this time, you’re actually flustered. “where did all that come from?”
he doesn’t always get like this. sometimes he’s a little quieter, sometimes he gives you a small “love you” and it’s all you need to know. 
he shrugs. “i don’t know. i just felt like you needed to know and i had to tell you right away.” 
he gives you a little kiss like it’s nothing and goes to turn on the tv, leaving you speechless. in your previous relationships, romantic or platonic, no one had really taken the time to acknowledge your efforts so directly. you’d spend hours if not days worrying if your affections were equally reciprocated (or at least appreciated). being so openly appreciated was a new feeling that left you feeling open and vulnerable, which you were beginning to learn wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling at all. 
thoma, childe, itto, gorou, heizou, kaeya, kaveh, venti 
writes love letters to you
he writes them everywhere. on post-it notes, on pieces of scratch paper, on the margins of your work notepad (although you’ve had to hide them at some point because they were starting to get outside of the margins and you still needed them to write in). 
in these little notes, he’ll write all sorts of different things. whether it’d be how much he loves you, about a particular moment you shared that he felt was precious (he’d write it in specific detail, as if it were an excerpt from a novel), or any miscellaneous thoughts he believed was important to convey (”you looked really cute in that dress that other day. i love how you looked so happy in it.”).
he writes things as he thinks them. sometimes you two will be watching a movie together and he’ll have an ‘aha’ moment, get up, and grab a piece of paper to write in.  
and then he’ll leave them everywhere. 
everywhere. you once found a note just as you were putting your clothes in the washer. (”oh, i must’ve left it there.”)
one day, you end up asking him why he writes them, even though sometimes they’re not even intended to be read by you.
“i heard that you remember things better when you write them down,” he started. “sometimes i’d get little thoughts of you and i thought it’d be a waste to forget them.”
you open your mouth to say something but he continues. 
“on anniversaries and stuff like that, i always end up forgetting what i want to say. i’ll get so nervous or in the moment my mind will go blank. i don’t like that. so i thought that if i wrote them down, it’d help me remember exactly how to put my feelings into words.” he turns to look at you and beams. “and if they also help remind you how much i love you, then i’d say it’s an added bonus.” 
alhaitham, diluc, cyno, kazuha, albedo, baizhu, zhongli, xiao
makings kissing a game
whoever gives the most kisses wins. of course, neither of you are keeping track, but that doesn’t stop him from planting a big kiss on your mouth in the middle of the movie and saying, “fifteen points!” 
and naturally, not one to lose, you take up the challenge. you plant two kisses. that is where it escalates to the point where you two are trying to kiss each other without being kissed. it ends up with a lot of strange head movement that results in a fit of giggles. 
he kisses you on the cheek when he hands you your coffee like it’s a habit. in early mornings, when the two of you are still waking up, he’ll whisper a soft “five points” with a raspy voice. when you lunge to get him back for it, he’ll dodge, rubbing his eyes and pointing a little finger at you. “haha missed me.” 
on days you have work, if you don’t give him his goodbye kiss he’ll catch you on the way out. he’ll follow you groggily, silently. mid-way with putting your shoes on he’ll plant his lips on yours. his hand comes up to cup your face, gently caressing the apple of your cheek. you’re expecting him to murmur some amount of points at that point. but instead, he smiles into the kiss and hums. “i love you,” he whispers, “have a good day.” 
you end up leaving with a racing heart. although you’re used to his antics, he never fails to remind you how swoonworthy a simple kiss goodbye can be. 
venti, childe, ayato, heizou, tighnari, kazuha, cyno, kaveh, thoma, kaeya
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littlejuicebox · 1 month
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GINAAA MY GIRL!
Sending you a dadstarion prompt because you already know I LOVEEE your dadstarion content.
How did Tav find out she was pregnant with baby Gale? And how did Astarion react to the news?! Inquiring minds want to know.
To have and to hold.
Such a lovely prompt, my friend! Hope you like it!
Summary: Astarion turned mortal a few months ago, and this is his first-time experiencing illness of any kind. Unfortunately, as soon as he recovers, you start to show signs of sickness as well. Your condition is a bit different from his, though. (For more of this series check out the ‘Dadstarion’ section of my master list.)
Tags/Warnings: Dadstarion, domestic af, fluff, talk of illness, talk of vomiting, the mildest of angst with the mostest of comfort, pregnancy, etc.
A/N: I work in healthcare, not law, so I can’t guarantee the legalese is accurate lol.
Word count: 2.3K
-----
“Don’t come closer, darling, I’m disgusting.” Astarion groans from where you find him one morning, curled up on the bathroom floor.
It had been a few months since Gale of Waterdeep cast Wish, and from that moment until now the retired rogue had been a happy, healthy mortal. There were so many benefits to curing his vampirism that the elf never fully considered one of the major downsides… illness.
He’d never experienced a malady like this in his life. At least not in the one he could remember.
It’s horrible.
How had his little love or any of his friends endured this, more than once, in the past ten years?
Astarion is quite certain he contracted food poisoning from that questionable slab of salmon he ate at the Blushing Mermaid yesterday evening. He never did understand why you liked eating at that lowbrow tavern in the first place.
You crouch to examine your husband, pressing a soothing hand onto his forehead before running it down to cup his cheek.
“Astarion, my love, you have a fever.” You murmur, frowning with concern as you push sweaty curls from his face.
“Please make more obvious observations, dear,” Astarion gripes as he forces himself to sit up, still clutching his stomach. Gods, the vile churning in his gut is incessant.
He’s about to continue on with his quip, but the sudden urge to be sick forces the elf to shut up and scramble to the toilet. You hear the sounds of violent retching moments later.
“We are never going back to the Blushing Mermaid,” Astarion grumbles once the wave of illness subsides. His face is pressed against the toilet; all sense of decorum is gone. The rotten fish poisoning his insides won over any bits of pride he might have been clinging to.
You move to grab a wash rag, dampening it under the tap before kneeling back down by your husband.
“Poor thing,” You coo, folding the cloth in half before dabbing it against the back of Astarion’s neck, hoping to ease the fever.
The elf’s eyes flutter closed as he allows you to fawn over him for a moment. And then he groans and flicks his hand, palm faced downward, as if trying to shoo you away. His voice is hoarse when he says, “Just leave me here and go get ready for your meeting, darling. I’ll be fine.”
“In sickness and in health, remember?” You ask, running the cool cloth over Astarion’s face, causing him to sigh thankfully at the slight relief, “I’ll send word to the other Counsellors to inform them that I won’t be attending. You’ve never been ill before; I don’t want to leave you like this. Wyll can fill me in later.”
“Yes, ‘in sickness and in health’ and all that, darling, but those vows also included ‘until death do us part’ and I was an immortal vampire when we made them. So you were technically entering that verbal contract under false pretenses, which one could argue means it’s null and void. Go to the meeting, it’s—“
Astarion almost manages to finish his rambling legalese before more putrid liquid spews out of his mouth. When he’s finished vomiting, he whines again, any bit of stubborn resilience and feeble attempts at selflessness abandoned.
“On second thought, maybe you should stay here,” He says, his chest heaving with exertion as he clenches his eyes shut, “Please tell me you have a spell for this.”
“Unfortunately not, my love. I only have a spell for curses. Best I can do is half a bottle of Elixir of Health, some ginger-peppermint tea, and a bath.” You sigh, already crossing the bathroom on your way to the tub. You fiddle with the taps for a moment to start the bath and then begin to pour oils into the flowing water.
“Deal,” Your husband mutters, peeling off his sweat-soaked night shirt, “But none of that vile honey you got at the market here in town for my tea; I want the one Shadowheart and Lae’zel sent from Neverwinter.”
“Anything you say, Lord Ancunin.” You joke, rolling your eyes at your husband’s fussiness. He’d barely regained his sense of taste a few months ago and already favored upscale ingredients and meals, as if mortal food hadn’t been but ash in his mouth for two hundred years.
The elf glares at your insolence but doesn’t retort; he’s too busy trying to keep himself from vomiting again.
*
The following morning, Astarion wakes feeling much better. Practically brand new, in fact. It seems the potion and your strange flower child medicine must have done the trick. He sighs a breath of relief and then rolls to snuggle against you for a few more precious moments. He reaches his arms out and grasps at nothing but air.
The silver-haired elf immediately frowns and sits up. That’s exceptionally odd. You were not a morning person; you never had been in the ten years he’d known you. You always slept in longer than him, even in the wilds. On more than one occasion he’d had to lure you out of your nearly comatose slumber with the tempting smells of coffee and breakfast.
Astarion hears you gagging in the bathroom and goes to investigate. He soon finds you clinging to the toilet, practically mirroring how he looked the day prior.
“Oh no, little love, do you think you have food poisoning, too?” He questions, frowning slightly before kneeling down to press his hand against your forehead just like you’d done to him, “No fever, though.”
You whine, leaning into your husband’s hand before grumbling, “Damn the Blushing Mermaid straight to Stygia! Why do I even like that place, again?”
Astarion laughs, “I’ve been wondering the same thing for years, dear. I hope now you’ll finally reconsider. Do you want some tea and a bath?”
“Please,” You say, just before another wave of nausea hits you, forcing you to throw your head into the toilet and gag. Frustratingly, not much actually comes out despite the waves of sickness coursing through your body.
Gods, you wish you could simply vomit and feel relief.
Astarion begins to prepare the appropriate remedies, much like you’d done for him the day before. Thankfully, you seem to recover much faster than he did, and by midday you look and feel completely normal.
Good thing, too. You two were out of any elixirs that may have helped you had your ailment been as severe as Astarion's.
“Perhaps I’m just a better healer than you, darling.” The silver-haired elf teases as the two of you take afternoon tea in the sunroom.
“Perhaps I’m just stronger and more resilient than you, my love.” You retort, wrinkling your nose in jest at your husband.
He chuckles softly and then presses a kiss to your nose, “Agree to disagree.”
*
Astarion thinks the two of you are past this bit of bad luck, but when he wakes the following morning, he hears you retching once again.
When the elf finds you in the bathroom, appearing as almost an exact repeat of yesterday, though perhaps a bit worse, his brow furrows.
“Darling, I'm worried now. You look more ill than before. Perhaps we should take a trip to Jaheira? I can head to the apothecary for another Elixir of Health while she looks you over.” He murmurs gently, extending his hands to pull you to your feet.
You simply nod in agreement, too nauseated to do more than follow your husband’s lead as he slips you into a set of robes and ushers you into the carriage.
*
When Astarion returns to Jaheira’s after dashing out to the apothecary, he finds you sitting at the druid’s dining table. The two of you stop whatever hushed conversation you’d been having and turn to look at him in unison.
“Feeling any better, Tav?” He asks, coming to stand by your side before placing a worried hand upon your shoulder. You simply cover your hand with his and nod in response.
“Much better,” You say, flashing your husband a small smile. Something about your expression looks hazed, as if you’re stuck in a daydream. Poor thing, you're probably exhausted and experiencing brain fog.
“I’m sure you’ll be just fine with the teas and medicinals I’ve given you,” Jaheira assures, her eyes flickering between the two of you. She grins for the briefest moment before falling back into her typical, more serious demeanor.
Astarion swears he feels like something is off, but when he turns to give you a questioning look, you’re the picture of happiness as you sip from your tea cup, finishing it off.
Well, at least you’re doing what Jaheira has prescribed.
“What about the Elixir of Health I’ve just purchased?” Your husband asks, lifting the bag in his hand, “Will that help?”
“Oh, I recommend you keep it for something else. I don’t think Tav needs it for this,” The druid responds before standing, signaling it’s the end of the visit. She was always quite straight forward and lacking in certain genteel social graces, in Astarion’s opinion.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with the Harpers.”
You quickly bid your goodbyes and Astarion helps you back into the carriage, eager to get you back to bed so that you can sleep off the rest of this sickness.
*
Astarion notices you’re uncharacteristically quiet on the carriage ride home. He typically doesn’t mind when you’re in one of your pensive, stoic moods. But this illness of yours had him more anxious than usual and he had to know more about Jaheira’s examination results, if only to ease his own worries.
“Darling,” He starts, taking your hand in his. But you don’t seem to hear him; you’re still lost in your own little world.
“My love,” He says, this time a bit more urgently, squeezing your hand just enough to pull your attention to him, “What did Jaheira say, exactly? Did she mention how long this illness will last?”
“Oh, the nausea will probably go on for a few weeks,” You reply, a goofy, lopsided smile breaking across your face. You cannot stifle your grin at the little secret you know you’ll be unable to keep for more than a few moments longer.
“Weeks?” Astarion questions, his voice pitching up with worry and brows stitching together in concern.
Why in the hells are you smiling? What druid bullshit was in the tea Jaheira gave you?
He folds his arms across his chest, not at all pleased by the lack of seriousness you seem to display. The idea of you being sick for weeks makes his heart hurt and his stomach churn as if he’s still sick. He could never stand to see you uncomfortable.
“Tav, are you drugged? This is serious. I fail to see what there is to be smiling about right now. You’re going to be nauseous for weeks and you can’t use an Elixir of Health? Are you absolutely sure Jaheira even knows what she’s—“
“I’m pregnant, Astarion,” You interrupt, and you cannot help but to laugh at your husband as his mouth hangs open mid-sentence, frozen in shock.
He blinks for a moment or two, otherwise completely still as his brain rushes to process the new information.
When the elf finally regains his composure and finds his ability to speak, he shoots out a flustered, rambled, “Darling, I— I’m sorry, can you repeat that? I’m not certain I heard you correctly. The road is quite bumpy and the wheels of the carriage are loud— I think they need oil— and the horses—“
You laugh and firmly grasp your husband’s hand, wholly capturing his attention before murmuring, “You ridiculous elf. You heard me the first time. I’m pregnant, Astarion.”
You don’t think you’ve ever seen a bigger grin cross your husband’s face.
“Tav, darling, I— gods, just come here to me.”
Astarion’s lips crash into yours, and he’s smiling into the kiss as he threads a hand through your hair, intent on pressing you closer into him. A tiny, delighted hum escapes your husband as he uses the kiss to express all the feelings he cannot yet put into words.
When he finally pulls away, he cups your face with his hands and peppers a few more kisses upon your lips.
“Is this your way of telling me you’re happy about this, Astarion?” You ask, grinning at your husband as he gazes upon you with the most besotted eyes you’ve ever seen.
“Thrilled, my love,” He whispers, before pressing forward to kiss you again, trying to convey the depth of his excitement with his affections. He doesn’t let go of you the rest of the way home, almost desperate to cover you in worshipful kisses, each one a little vow of love to you.
You notice he's unusually quiet, but then, he’s far too busy smiling and smooching to do much talking.
*
Later that evening, you move to get out of bed and head toward the bedchamber door.
“Ah, ah, ah. Where do you think you’re going, little love?” Astarion calls, already tossing his book aside to follow after you, “What do you need? Let me bring it to you.”
“I just wanted a cup of water, Astarion. I can go get—“ You start, but he quickly presses a kiss to your lips, effectively quieting you.
“Hush, my love. You’re still nauseated and you’re carrying very precious cargo.” He gently chastises as he turns you by your shoulders and steers you back toward the bed.
“You’re being dramatic,” You grumble, sitting back down in the bed and wrinkling your nose at your husband.
“Perhaps,” He agrees, grinning down at you as he gently folds the blankets back around your legs, “But you knew exactly the type of theatrics you signed up for when you married me, darling. 'To have and to hold, to love and to cherish' and all that, hm?”
And in that moment, Astarion was certain he’d never love and cherish anything more than you.
Nine months later, the little silver-haired newborn he held in his arms would prove him wrong.
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kotoku · 1 month
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ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ꜱɪᴄᴋ! ꜱ/ᴏ
pairings - sunday x sick !reader
content - reader is sick and sunday spends his day taking care of you / fluff / comfort / sickfic / a lil bonus scene :)
warnings - none
⋘ ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ... ⋙
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↻ It wasn’t often that you would get sick, but if you found yourself starting to exhibit symptoms of the flu then Sunday would clear his schedule to ensure he had the day off
↺ If he wasn’t able to completely clear his schedule, then he’d do his best to call and check on you, having another family member or worker tending to your needs
↻ I can see him as being a mother hen when you’re sick, always checking in on you and getting everything you needed
↺ He’ll make sure you always have tissues and a rubbish can near you, an ice pack or heating pad, a glass of water or tea, etc…
↻ If there isn’t already medicine on hand, he’d personally send someone to get one or get it himself
↺ Getting it himself would be the last resort as he would like to be by you 24/7, in case anything were to happen then he’d be right there
↻ Sunday would take over any chores that you normally did, cleaning and disinfecting around the place while you slept
↺ If you had to work that day, he’d call in for you so that you could have a couple days of rest
↻ He’d make sure that you would eat something that would be light on your stomach
↺ Meals consisting of different soups and a couple of diced fruits, refilling your water here and there (he’s kind of your personal maid at this point)
↻ If you need help taking a shower, he would assist you, washing your hair and massaging your scalp gently or scrubbing your back
↺ Sunday would find you especially cute when he’s drying your hair, you just look so soft 
↻ Although he would try his best to try and not get sick, a couple kisses (mainly on your forehead or hands) couldn’t hurt..could they..?
↺ He probably would get sick by the time you are feeling much better, and as disappointed as he is that he has to miss out on work while burdening you with his sickness, he would be so grateful that you’re willing to take care of him
↺ Sunday would insist that he could do things on his own but you’d help him anyway, eventually he just accepts his fate
↻ Sunday would make sure that the room is comfortable for you, as in the lighting from outside isn’t too bright or it isn’t too hot or cold in there (just in case you were sensitive to sounds and light)
↺ Personally, headaches where light and noise make it worse are something I HATE 
↻ If you need help falling asleep, he’d hum a lullaby (could be one of his sister’s songs or something from his childhood) or talk to you about anything (lulling you to sleep with his voice)
↺ Once you are asleep, he’d place a soft kiss on your forehead while holding your hand, tucking you in, and remaining by your side for the rest of your sleep
-----
The city noises were muffled, the lights from outside leaving the room dimly lit through the curtains. The temperature of the room was neither too hot nor too cold. Sunday had ensured the room was to your comfort, not wanting to worsen any headaches you may be experiencing. 
Under thick comforters, you laid restlessly. As much as it was important to rest, you just couldn’t find a comfortable position. A knock at the door interrupted your struggles. 
“Darling? Are you alright?” Sunday opened the door slightly, allowing the light from the hallway to seep in. 
Fidgeting in your shared bed, you shook your head no, trying to refrain from straining your sore throat. 
“Hm… You can’t sleep?” A nod of your head confirmed his suspicions. 
He walked into the room, shutting the door behind him, and taking a seat near your spot on the bed. “Is there anything that I can do to help you?” Sunday hummed in thought, moving a strand of hair away from your heated forehead. You nodded again.
“...Do you want to hear a story?” In different circumstances, you would’ve chuckled at his suggestion, but you wouldn’t mind him telling one if it meant hearing him speak. Nodding with a small smile, you made yourself comfortable. 
Sunday looked down at your hand, caressing your palm deep in thought. His wings slightly perked up once he found something to share, looking back up at you. 
“During my childhood…”
For the rest of the night, Sunday would recall fond memories of his childhood, some that you’ve heard before and others that were new to you. Nevertheless, hearing his voice calmly recount stories had lulled you to sleep, your grip on his hand growing lax. Sunday noticed you had fallen asleep and his stories slowly came to a stop. 
Smiling adoringly at your relaxed figure, he pulled the comforters up a little higher and gave a small kiss on your forehead. 
“Goodnight darling, I will be here by your side until you wake. Sweet dreams.” 
----- 
↻ Once you wake up from your slumber, Sunday would be resting his head on your stomach, wings fluttering every couple of minutes
↻ Eventually, you would fall back asleep, hand resting on his head after running them through his messy strands
↻ Needless to say, with Sunday as your personal caretaker, you would be better in no time
⋘ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ⋙
note - thank you guys for reading! i am so so happy you all are enjoying the work i put out. currently, i am working on a request so stay tuned, not gonna spoil the content! ;)
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heyitsme1040 · 4 months
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Don't Drown Me Out [b.b]
summary : Training in the gym, everything was going okay. Until Steve managed to knock Bucky to the floor, causing Bucky to have a flashback. His mind takes him back to what they did to him in Hydra. Slowly, reader manages to bring Bucky back to the present again, away from the painful memories that still affect Bucky. 
pairings : Bucky Barnes x Reader
warnings : PTSD flashback, discussion of torture, (if I missed anything let me know!)
word count : 800
AO3 (x)
a/n : Day twenty-eight of Comfortember is here! The prompt was ‘flashbacks’. 
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You were training at the gym. Natasha was guiding you through the steps to disarm someone while they have you in a choke hold. You could see across the room, on the mat, Steve and Bucky were sparring. Bucky seemed off, Steve was landing more of his hits than usual. You kept an eye on their session while focusing on what Nat was telling you to do. When Steve landed a harsher blow, Bucky stumbled. While he was regaining his footing Steve managed to swipe Bucky’s feet out from beneath him. The instant Bucky hit the map, you were walking over to them. It wasn’t the fact that Bucky fell, but the way he landed. It was like he wasn’t here in the present. 
As you stepped onto the mat, Steve held his hand out to Bucky to help him up. Except Bucky scrambled away from the offered hand. He was trying to keep as much distance between himself and Steve as possible. Steve’s brows furrowed and he took a half step closer to Bucky. At the movement, Bucky curled in on himself like he was trying to protect his vital organs. 
“I’m sorry,” Bucky’s shaking voice whimpered out. “Please, I did my best. I’ll do better next time.”
Steve squatted, not moving any closer to Bucky’s curled up form. “Bucky.”
“I can do better, let me prove it.”
You walked behind Steve, making sure to stay in Bucky’s line of sight. You slowly walked closer to him, paying attention to Bucky’s form. As you got closer Bucky stayed still, not trying to distance himself. Holding your hands up with your palms facing Bucky, you knelt on the mat by his head before sitting fully and crossing your legs. 
“Bucky,” you lowly said, keeping your voice soft. “Can you hear me baby?”
Bucky turned his face toward you, but didn’t respond. His eyes were unfocused, but moved like he was watching something far away. 
You lightly set your hand next to his, “I need you to take a deep breath. You’re okay, love, you’re safe. You’re in the gym. It’s just me, you, Steve, and Nat in here. We’re at the compound in upstate New York.”
“New York…” Bucky slurred the word. 
“Yeah baby. We’re in New York. You were sparring with Steve, remember?”
“Steve?” 
You motioned for Steve to come closer, “He’s right here. He managed to knock you off your feet, that’s all. Everything’s okay.”
Bucky uncurled himself slightly and placed his hand on top of yours. 
“Hey pal,” Steve gave a small wave. 
You lifted your other hand to cup Bucky's check. He pulled away slightly before fully leaning into your touch. You gave him a tight smile, trying to keep yourself from falling apart. You hated how much Bucky's own mind tormented him. It was bad enough he witnessed the ghosts of his past when he was asleep, but now you wondered how often they haunted him while awake.
Bucky took a deep breath and wet his lips, "When am I?”
"It's the twenty-first century.” Steve spoke up. "And you've been free for a few years now.”
You stroked Bucky's check with your thumb. His stubble scratched nicely under your touch. "Can you tell us where you were just now?”
Bucky shivered despite the sweat clinging to him. "I was in the training cage. Back in some Hydra base. They used to have their best agents fight me. I was meant to fight them to the death, and they were told to beat me until I passed out. When I'd lose, I'd wake up strapped to a metal chair. That'd shock me. Except it was different.” 
"Baby,” your voice trailed off, your heart aching for him.
“They weren't wiping me to start over. They were punishing me. They only stopped when I passed out from seizing. That's how they discovered it takes my body longer to heal my mind than it did the rest of me.”
You wrapped your arms around him. You didn't care that the two of you were laying on a sweaty mat. You didn't care that Nat and Steve could see you clearly clinging onto Bucky. All that mattered was having Bucky close to you. You clung to him, trying to protect him from monsters that were no longer around. Bucky wrapped his arms around you, pressing you as close to him as possible.
"You're safe,” you couldn't tell which one of you your words were meant to comfort.
Bucky nodded against you. The two of you stayed there, present in the moment. You heard the door to the gym close, informing you of Nat and Steve leaving.
“I'm so sorry you had to go through that,” you spoke into his neck.
Bucky squeezed you tighter, "If it means I got you, then it was worth it. Every single time.”
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Author's Note : Reblogs are appreciated, likes are welcome, and if you want to read more of my fics then maybe follow.
©heyitsme1040 If you find this post on any platform under a username different than heyitsme1040 it is not their work.
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lordlydragon · 1 month
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I'm sick and fucking mute rn and I want comfort so here ya go
Tags: sick!reader, throwing up, cramps, migraines, your boys helps through them all.
Ghoap x sick!reader head cannons
Soap is differently a sibling he gives middle child vibes and I am here for it. While Ghost has been taking care of Tommy for years
So they both definitely understands how to help when their s/o is sick.
So when you run to the bathroom after a couple days of not feeling well they knew something was up.
Simon takes point and runs into the bathroom, putting a hand on your back rubbing soothing circles and gently bushing your hair out of your face.
And hearing you their poor s/o retching violently in the bathroom it broke both of their hearts.
Helps you stand if unsteady and trys to make the process of brushing your teeth to be as easy as possible.
Helps you get into a hot shower to steam away the sick, standing with you to be your steady rock, gives your scalp a nice message and helps you clean up
While Simon is taking care of you in the bathroom, Johnny is putting a simple stew in the stove that can simmer for a couple of days (his nan's secret remedy recipe)
Makes honey tea for your sore throat and leaves (haha leafs) that to steep while he sets up the couch/bed to be a wonderful nest so you can be nice and comfy.
Carefully picks out PJs for you (it's Simon's shirt and his sweatpants)
When you and Simon get out of the bathroom John takes over your care. Gently coax you into the nest has a bucket and icepacks on stand by.
While Simon takes a second to breathe and check on the tea that Johnny made before coming back to you two for a cuddle
Johnny has your favorite comfort movie/show playing softly in the background while you lay on him. Your back to his chest loosely holding you so you don't feel trapped.
When Simon comes back with tea for everyone, all three of you settle in for a cuddle
Johnny and Simon will switch out at times
One will be there to cuddle you while the other does any necessary chores around the house, or grabbing things you need
Your throat is sore and you want something cool?
Simon gives one of his favorite ice lollies
Your stomach is cramping?
Johnny has a heating pad and ice packs to keep you cool while the heating pad works it's magic on your stomach
Your head hurts? Johnny has some pain medication and his nan's stew to help ease your stomach
While Simon is give you another one of his amazing scalp massages
Both of them will hold an ice pack to your head for as long as you need it
Taglist: @glossysoap, @violet-phantoms, @warenai, @divine--serenity, @ghastlybirdie, (also if you don't/do want to be in the taglist hit me up with a quick dm)
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sleeplessdreamer14 · 1 year
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quiet night, apocalypse
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request: no
fandom: treasure planet (2002)
relationship: jim hawkins x gn! reader
summary: Jim comes to you in the late hours of the night in search of the safety of your embrace.
contains: anxiety comfort, reverse comfort, sleeping in the same bed, profoundness, some use of artistic license, a bit poetic at the end
a/n: I love that I can just write these whenever I want
It was half past 2 am, and Jim was still awake.
He’d gone to bed hours ago, but found himself unable to fall asleep. Even with his window open, the night was still a bit too quiet. It’s wasn’t that he wasn’t tired. He was rather exhausted, in fact. But his mind just wouldn’t stop running.
There wasn’t even one particular thing he was thinking of, just the lingering feeling that something bad was going to happen, whether it be in the near or distant future; a fear that had a nasty habit of plaguing him in the latest hours of the night when he was left alone with his thoughts. After hours of trying to drift off to sleep, Jim couldn’t take it anymore and pulled the covers off of himself, climbing out of bed and carefully treading out of his room, keeping one arm extended outwards to feel for the door since his eyes had not yet adjusted properly to the darkness.
He was careful to close the door slowly behind himself, turning the knob as to make as little noise as possible. Jim kept one hand against the wall as he walked down the hallway, his eyes gradually adjusting to his surroundings with the help of the moonlight shining through the window.
Finally, he came to the door to your room. As he reached for the doorknob, he froze in his spot and began to reconsider. It was so late and chances were you were probably fast asleep by now, and he already felt bad for wanting to wake you. But then he remembered your words from a while back, reminding him that he could wake you if he needed you. And right now, he did. Plus, he knew you would feel bad if he lost any more sleep because he decided to try and dealing with his anxiety alone.
With the same precision as before, he carefully turned the knob to your bedroom door and tip-toed in to see you lying fast asleep, kinda sprawled out along your bed, your lips parted slightly.
You had left your curtains open, allowing the silvery light of the moon to shine into your room and into your bed. He could see your back and shoulders rise and fall steadily with every breath you took.
Now he felt really bad for what he was about to do.
Jim proceeded with caution towards the vacant side of your bed and gently lifted the covers so he could slide into the spot next to you. As he expected, you must have felt the mattress dip as he climbed into your bed, causing you to stir in your sleep. A meek groan sounded from you as you stretched and rubbed your eyes, peeking one eye open to see your boyfriend timidly positioned on your bed next to you.
Once you registered the situation, you rubbed your face and propped yourself up on your elbows. With a sniffle, you asked if he was okay and what time it was in a hushed tone, your voice a little groggy from going hours without using it.
Jim took a breath in to respond, but came up empty, unsure as to how to explain why he was in your room at 2:30-something in the morning. He muttered shy apologies for waking you and rubbed the back of his neck, glancing between you and the window as he stumbled over his words.
This wasn’t the first time Jim had come to you like this, and he knew you wouldn’t sling off at him for it, of course, but he was still a bit sheepish. Coming up empty, he merely let out a slow puff of air through his nose and let his shoulders slump in defeat as he stared at his lap.
That on its own answered the first half of your question, and your expression shifted into one of sympathy as you sat up in your spot on the bed, lazily opening your arms as an invitation to come to you.
Jim quietly accepted, scooting closer to you so he could comfortably fit into your arms. You shifted around slightly just to ensure your legs wouldn’t get sore as you slowly rubbed gentle circles over his back. After the first couple of times, you had grown familiar with what to do in this scenario. You pulled away gently and reached over to open the covers further, patting the spot on the mattress next to you.
Moments later, you were lying on your sides facing each other beneath your comforter, your legs loosely entangled. Jim had rested his head on your chest with his arms wrapped around your middle while you had one arm draped over his shoulder while the other gently stroked his head.
“You’re okay,” you spoke in a hushed voice, taking your time with your words and tightening your hold on him ever so slightly, and he did the same. “It’s alright now… Everything’s gonna be okay.”
Jim felt his eyelids begin to fall closed as he left his mind start to shut down, allowing him to only put whatever energy he had left into breathing. There was no fire, no storm, no disaster, there was only you, with him, in this room. Tonight, you were his, and he was yours. And so it would be come morning, and for as long as you two wished. It took a while, but eventually, your sweet nothings began to fade out as he finally succumbed to exhaustion.
And at last, the night was truly quiet.
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surielstea · 1 month
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Caretaker
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Pairing: Azriel x reader
Summary: Reader is sick & Az being the best bf ever
Warnings: slight suggestiveness, tooth rotting fluff
A/N: Literally wrote this when I was sick asf and high on cough medicine so I hope this makes sense 😭😭
2.2k words
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My body tremors as another weak cough racks through me, my throat pulsing at the feeling. Watery eyes form tears, sliding down the bridge of my nose and dripping onto the plush pillow beneath my head.
I stare out the floor to ceiling window, marveling at the way the sidra morphs starlight into rainbow refractions. I sniffle, one of my nostrils completely closed off and making it a challenge to breathe. It was late. I didn't know the exact time but from the moons position in the sky I could guess it was far past midnight.
My mate hadn't come to bed and I debated clambering out of this all too hot bed to go and find him, wrap my arms around his waist and guide him back to our bed. But I can't expose him to whatever virus plagued me, in turn getting him sick, no matter how badly I missed his touch. It was already a risk to share the same bed, I couldn't push it.
Madja stopped by earlier and gave me a tonic to help ward off the cough but there was nothing she could do beyond that. I took the tonic minutes ago, the effects still settling in, I just hoped the cough would cease long enough for me to be able to fall asleep.
It's been days, my mate was convinced I was getting worse. He surveyed me like usual, but his gaze turned soft and pitiful every time a raucous cough came over me. Shadows kept me company, swirling fluidly against my back in a reassuring manner, the chill touch of them making me cool off from my heated state.
There was a soft knock at the door and I didn't have to look to know who it was. I adjusted under the covers, using my strength to sit up and lean against the headboard, teary eyed but making eye contact with the large winged male in the doorway. "Az." My voice was practically a whimper, a feeble excuse at calling for him.
"My love," He drew a long exhale, my sickness seemingly weighing on him as well.
"You can't be in here." I murmur, wiping my tears and wishing it was his hands instead of mine doing the act.
"I miss you." He offers me a soft smile as he tilts his head against the frame of the door, his silhouette from the hallway light made him look like some sort of angel.
"I don't want to get you sick." I shake my head, holding my arm out as if to shield him away but we both knew I held no power at the moment.
"It wouldn't be so bad," He tries to lighten the mood with a shrug. "I'd be off work, we could quarantine together. We'd read and cuddle and I could actually go within a ten feet radius of you." His words were convincing, and the idea has a smile tugging at my lips. That is until a croak of a cough rattles my body and I remember how irritating this illness is. I wouldn't want him to have this, ten foot radius or not.
"It's hard enough to stay away from you, don't tempt me." I sigh, allowing my bones to sink into the large matress.
"Worth a try." He mirrors my smile. "Do you need anything? Tea or soup?" He asks and I twist my lips to the side as I ponder what he could give me that would ever amount to how badly I want him and him alone. "A good book perhaps?" He arches a perfect brow. It pains me how well he knows me.
"A book would be nice." I hum and he pushes from the doorway, excited to accomplish a new task. His gaze lingers on me before he closes the door and his silent footsteps recede down the hall.
I look back out the window while I wait, fiddling with the mating ring around my fourth finger. My cough seemed to have settled, I'll have to tell my brother to increase Madja's salary for her admirable work — or maybe I'd pay her directly myself. As soon as I'm better I will, whenever that might be. I release a long sigh and allow my eyes to shut for a moment, I must've slept for half the day earlier but that didn't stop the rest from weighing at my heavy lids.
Before I dared slip into a sleep the spymaster opened the door with a multitude of items in his hands. I couldn't help but smile. The night courts intimidating Shadowsinger was at my door, with soup and tea and a book, taking care of me. He had one of the world's deadliest knife's at his thigh and he probably used it to cut open my tea bag.
"Az, I'm gonna cry." I warn. My already watery eyes verging on tears as I think about how much he does for me.
"No don't cry." His brows crease as he sits on his side of our bed, placing a bowl of soup down on my nightstand. "I tried to follow your mom's recipe but it won't be as good." He frowns and there's nothing more I want to do then kiss the pout off his perfect face. "And this is hot, so don't drink it for a few minutes." He places a steaming cup of tea beside the soup. "And this," He holds up a worn paper back book. "I went to Nesta and asked her for the best romance novel she could think of and she gave me this so." He places it on my lap. "Hopefully it's as smutty as you hope." He mutters beneath his breath and I flush hot but blamed it on my fever.
"Thank you." My voice was a rasp, he looked to my eyes. Hazel laced with love and admiration, the emotions reflecting on the golds and greens of his irises.
"Get some rest after eating, you have to get your strength up so I can get my sparring buddy back." He placed a hand on my forehead to check my temperature, something on his expression falls when he doesn't notice any difference from the last time he checked my temperature.
"Is Cassian not good enough anymore?" I scoff.
"He's not you." He huffs and an upside down smile spreads over my expression.
"I know you're sick but I really want to kiss you." He admits and just the idea makes me feel warmer inside. I grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him into me, his upper half hovering over me as I plant my lips onto his. I grin against the sensation, it's only been a few days but gods, how did I forget how perfect it felt to have his mouth against mine?
He pulls back first and I debate chasing him back but he pecks my forehead and I settle for it, leaning back onto my headboard yet again. "I'm going to finish up an assignment then I'll come to bed, okay?" He gets up from the bed and my eyes follow.
"Mhm." I nod tiredly.
"If I find you reading that book when I get back I'm taking it away." He warns and I bite my bottom lip mischievously.
"Goodnight lovely." A shadow tucks a strand of hair behind my ear as I watch him make his way to the door.
"Night Az." I muse in reply, already reaching for my bowl of the nostalgic meal.
About an hour later I had finished my entire bowl of soup and cup of tea. Both of them reminding me of my mother humming her favorite songs as she sewed her dresses, of Rhys teaching me how to fly before I could even walk, of Cassian brawling with my brother when he first moved in, and of Azriel's warm embrace.
I was curled into a ball with a mage light over my head, flipping through the pages of the romance novel Nesta lent me. It was a fantasy with just the right amount of erotica, the kind that would make any female flush. There were a few times when I'd have to close the book and take a breather before opening it back up, which meant it was perfection.
The door opened with a creak and I slammed the book shut the way a teenage boy might with a nude magazine. Azriel crinkles his brows at me and I look at him guiltlessly. "Evening handsome." I greet and he blinks at me like I'm crazy.
"Why are you being weird?" He utters, coming further into the room and closing the door behind him. I fold my lips inward to keep myself from laughing or possibly exposing that I was reading absolute filth just moments ago.
"Just reading." I shrug innocently and he narrowed his gaze in on me but seemed to let it go when striding over to the armoire to change. I watched him shamelessly as he stripped off his shirt, golden tan skin inked in swirling black. He shuffles through the drawers, giving me a full show of his muscular back and those large wings. My breath hitched as I stare without caution and a small chuckle sounds from him. He knows I'm watching, and at this point I can't find it in myself to care.
"Are you flexing on purpose?" I ask him as he discards his leathers for a pair of lounge pants.
"I'm not flexing love." He confesses and my stomach does backflips. Cords of muscle rippled from his shoulders down to his bulging arms, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little turned on. And he was just standing there. He turns to look at my tinged cheeks and it only makes me blush more. The eye contact just might kill me. The nonchalance and causality of it made my stomach churn, as if he wasn't standing there in front of me shirtless.
"You're teasing." I set my book on the nightstand and sink down into my pillows.
"How so?" His question is half a laugh because he knows what he's doing.
"I can't have you right now." I whine like some sort of child, pulling the blankets up and over my head so I don't have to look at his chest that seemed to be sculpted by the gods themselves. The bed sinks and I know he's now beside me. I can't help but gravitate towards him only to stop myself because I know cuddling would get him sick.
His strong arm wraps around my waist and pulls my back to his chest.
"No, Az I don't want to get you sick." I protest, pulling away with the weakest strength since the predicament at hand wasn't all too bad.
"I already told you I don't care if I get sick." He brings me in closer and who was I to deny my mate's embrace?
It was nice to lay beside him, nice to have his warmth radiating onto me. I missed him even if it's only been a few days, even if he still sleeps beside me every night. I missed the physicality of it. Azriel's never been one for touch but sometimes I go through phases where if I don't have my hands constantly on him I'd collapse.
So I allowed myself to lean into his chest, matching my breathing to his and intertwining my hand with his scarred one. "I love you." He hums into my shoulder, placing gentle kisses to the crook of my neck and a soft smile spreads across my lips.
"Would you still love me if—" I begin but he doesn't let me finish,
"Yes." His tone is confident and didn't waver for a beat.
"You don't even know what I was going to say." I pout and I feel him shake his head against me.
"As long as you're still you, I love you." He professes and I flip around to look at his golden eyes that the stars themselves were outmatched against.
"I love you too." My voice is a mere whisper but a wide grin takes over his face, revealing his dimples. His smile was so bright I thought for a moment that sun wouldn't rise in fear of rivaling it. "And I'm totally getting you sick." I threaten but he doesn't seem to mind, especially not when I lean forward a few inches in order to kiss that grin.
"Sleep, love." He coerced and pulls me into his chest, his wing draping over me like a blanket, blocking out any seeping light from the moon outside. "I'll be here in the morning." He muses, smoothing a scarred hand over my hair. He continues to play with the strands until I'm drifting off into that touch, his warmth inviting me to sleep.
Azriel was quick to follow, once he noticed my breathing even out. Shadows settle around us as his lids grow heavy and his weight falls into the bed. With me in his arms it was easier for him to sleep, the comfort of knowing I'm safe while in his hold pushed him further into that sweet relief of rest.
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Maybe R wandering around confused when sick and maybe they get lost for a bit so Wandanat are freaking out and trying to find R
Fevered Confusion
Pairings: Wandanat x R
Word count: 1K
Summary: With a high fever and a confused state reader wanders off freaking out her girls. Where did she go? Will they find her?
TW: Like one swear word, wandering off, fever
A/n this is cute. I like it lol.
It was hot. Too hot. In fact, it was scorching. Where was Wanda? Where was Natasha? Vaguely you remembered them saying something about getting soup and medicine but in your fever addled state nothing seemed very real. It was winter so how was it so hot? Winter. Yes, thats the solution.
Sitting up took a lot of effort as you peeled back the sweaty sheets. The wet cloth on your forehead dropped to the floor as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. Standing your legs felt weak and shaky as you slowly walked to the door. Once in the hallway you began to slowly make the walk to the elevator.
“Jarvis the roof.” You mumbled.
“It appears you are running a fever Ms L/n it would be unwise to enter the cold weather without a coat.”
“The roof.” You mumbled again.
“As you wish.” The AI said and the lift began to move. When the doors opened the crisp cool air of the winter winds hit you in full force and you shivered despite the heat crawling down your spine. Walking over you curled up in a ball with your back against the railing. Was it too hot or too cold? Whatever it was it wasn’t comfortable. You shivered again and hoped it would help the fever you knew you had. Slowly your eyes drifted shut, the exhaustion of doing anything other than lying in bed hitting you as you drifted off.
Meanwhile Natasha had just gotten back from the store with more medicine. Wanda had just finished making the soup and they met in the kitchen to gather the supplies before going back to your shared room. You had been sleeping when they left and were hoping to get back before you woke up. Carefully Nat opened the door Wanda was close behind holding a tray of everything you could ever need. Entering the dimly lit room Natasha took note of the lack of human shaped lump in the bed. She swore softly as she pulled the covers off completely. The bed was soaked in sweat meaning your fever had gone up. And if that alone wasn’t cause for concern the fact you weren’t here anymore certainly was.
“Jarvis when did Y/n leave?” Wanda asked growing slightly panicked at your absence. You were in no shape to defend yourself if needed.
“Ms L/n left the room approximately ten minutes ago.”
Wanda opened the door to the bathroom just to check you hadn’t fallen asleep on the floor there or something. When it was empty her concern only grew.
“I’ll check the lounge. You check the kitchen she might have slipped past us.” Nat said and Wanda nodded before taking off down the hall. The two girls both searched with no reward. You simply weren’t there. They had reconvened in the kitchen again and Nat had an idea.
“Jarvis, do you know where Y/n is?” Nat asked annoyed she hadn’t thought to ask the AI earlier.
“Ms L/n took the elevator to the roof around fifteen minutes ago.”
“Shit.” Nat swore. In your unstable state being in the cold for too long may not be good for you but it depended on how high your fever was. You were also in no state to be walking around anywhere let alone the roof where you may fall. Both girls rushed to the lift and ordered Jarvis to take them to the roof. As the doors opened Wanda was first to catch sight of you curled up and shivering. She rushed over with Natasha close behind. Wanda crouched next to you and placed a hand on your sweaty forehead. Your fever was still present and quite warm as she frowned at the touch. After a minute nat reached down and despite her small size sh scooped you into her arms in a princess carry. You muttered something they couldn’t make out and you snuggled your face into her chest. Nat chuckled softly.
“Silly girl.” She said worried at how warm you were. “Why did you come all the way out here hmm baby?” She asked and you nuzzled into her more.
“Come on let's get her back into bed.” Wanda said standing up and leading Nat over to the lift again. As they made their way back to your room, she held you close. Your soon drifted back to sleep in Natasha’s arms as she walked, the soft pace and slight rocking of her movements lulling you to sleep. Once back in your room Wanda used her magic to clean the sheets before Natasha set you back down in the nest of blankets and pillows. You stirred slightly and Wanda rubbed your arm to rouse you.
“Baby girl it's time to wake up honey it's time for some medicine my sweet.” She said and you groaned making nat chuckle again. You lightly slapped her hand and Wanda pouted when seemed to wake you up. Starting with getting a read on your temperature Wanda slipped the stick in your mouth only removing it once it beeped.
“101.7” she said frowning and nat grabbed the glass of water and tablets.
“Drink.” Nat ordered and handed it to you which you took with shaking hands. They watched you take the meds before Wanda began to pick up the soup. Based off how badly your hands were shaking she elected to feed you herself. Nat jumped onto the bed and wriggled up behind your o she was against the pillows. She pulled you so you were sat between her legs as she rubbed your back. Wanda sat on the edge of the bed and began to feed you the soup. You rested against Nat and in your fevered state giggled as Wanda began making airplane nosies. You were very childish when sick and both girls found it adorable as you opened your mouth for the soup before eating it with a dopy lopsided grin. Wanda wiped your mouth off and chuckled as you snuggled into Nat’s neck. Setting the almost empty soup to the side Wanda curled up with you and nat as you fell asleep in their arms. Fever or no fever they found you adorable and sweet.
MASTERLIST
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The coolest mom
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masterlist
summary: you and your mom had always been able to bond over your shared love for motorbikes
pairing: Natasha x daughter reader
warnings: none 
genre: fluff
words: 1020
a/n: This was inspired by a request I got and I just found it adorable! I’ve always went on rides with my dad on his motorbike and it is my favourite thing ever. last year we went on a road trip to Sweden and it was so much fun!
You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work
 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|
Your mom had always been a big lover of her bike. She had always preferred riding her bike over taking her car. When you came into her life that didn’t change, and it didn’t take long before her obsession with motorbikes rubbed off on you. 
You loved going on rides with your mom and you couldn’t wait until you could ride yourself. 
When you were younger you used to be scared when Natasha went faster. You always felt like you would fly off, and that thought scared you. 
However, Natasha was always there to reassure you. When you would wrap your arms around her waist a little tighter, she’d lay her hand on yours to let you know she knew how you felt. Sometimes she’d slow down a bit if that’s what you wanted.
However, now you were older, and going fast was your favourite thing. Riding at high speeds simply made you feel free, and there was no better feeling. 
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“Hey mom, we have to go! I’ll miss class!” you yelled through the house as you stuffed your lunch into your schoolbag. 
“One second!” you heard a voice yell back. 
You sighed as you rushed to put your shoes on, knowing it would definitely take longer than a second. You liked being on time. There wasn’t a single occasion where you were not on time. However, Natasha felt a little different about that. 
She wasn’t a late person in the slightest. She was more of a, perfectly on time person. Something that bothered you beyond beliefs. 
“Mom!” you yelled once more as you went to pull your jacket on. 
Natasha walked into the room, putting her jacket over a chair as she reached for her shoes. “Calm down, sweetheart. We won’t be late, I promise,” Natasha smiled gently as she tied her laces.
“You don’t know that, mom. Traffic is terrible at these times,” you explained as you crossed your arms, waiting for your mom to finish. 
“Traffic won’t be a problem,” Natasha simply stated as she reached for her motorbike jacket. 
“Put on your jacket and change your shoes,” Natasha stated as she walked towards the garage, taking your backpack and grabbing her keys on her way. 
You smiled excitedly as you quickly changed your shoes, grabbing your jacket and rushing after Natasha. It wasn’t often that she took you to school on the motorbike, so when she did you were more than happy. 
When you walked into the garage you saw that Natasha had already put on one case on the back of the motorbike. She put your bag into it before she opened the garage, rolling the motorbike outside while waiting for you to grab your helmet and your gloves. 
Once you were all dressed up in your protective gear (because no matter how experienced Natasha was with driving, she would never ever drive herself, or let you drive, without protective gear on) Natasha helped you on the motorbike, starting it and driving it to school.
Everyone at school knew who your mom was. I mean, obviously they did. Their class mate had the actual Black Widow as a mom. 
Of course, Black Widow or not, Natasha was still the coolest mom at the whole school. Nothing beats that feeling of everyone staring while you have the coolest entrance to your school day. 
------------------------------------------------------------- 
School itself was boring, to say the least. 
Luckily, when it was finally over Natasha had driven back to school to pick you up, and instead of driving home, she drove the bike to the beach. 
Once she parked it she helped you off, locking the case at the back of the bike to keep your bag safe. 
You took her hand as you walked onto the beach, heading for the beach cafe to grab some hot chocolate. 
“How was school?” Natasha asked as you were walking over the sand, the beach cafe already in sight. You simply shrugged in response. 
“School was school. Some assignments here, some homework there, you know, the basics,” you told Natasha as you kicked some of the sand. She simply hummed in response.
“So what do you wanna eat? We can do dinner at home, or we can grab some fries here?” Natasha asked.
“Can we eat fries and watch the sunset?!” you questioned excitedly, hugging Natasha’s arms and looking up at her with big eyes. Natasha let out a laugh. 
“Of course we can my love,” Natasha stated as she gave you a kiss on your forehead. 
“Go pick out a spot. I’ll order us some hot chocolate,” Natasha said when you arrived at the beach cafe, motioning her head to the soft couch like structures outside. 
You nodded as went to pick the best spot, giving you the perfect view over the ocean, and hopefully, the sunset. 
Once Natasha came back with two hot chocolates she settled into the seat beside you, enjoying the little warmth that the sun still radiated even at this time of day. She sighed contently as you cuddles up into her side, laying your head on her shoulder and crawling as close as you could to her.
“Hey,” Natasha started, nudging you slightly. “You know I love you more than anything in this world?” 
You giggled and blushed slightly, lifting your head to give Natasha a kiss on her cheek. “I love you too,” you told her, laying your head back down and snuggling into her side again. 
After eating your dinner and watching the sunset, you drove home in the nice cool air of the spring evening, enjoying the slight afterglow the sky held as the sun fully disappeared out of sight. 
You wrapped your arms around your mother’s waist just a little tighter, laying your head on her shoulder as she drove through the small roads that led from the beach to the big roads. You knew that you would never feel as content as you did right now. 
(I’m so sorry I feel like this is trash. It’s messy because I didn’t really have a storyline. I promise I’ll have something better for my next fic)
Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @simp-erformarvelwomen @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @mxximoffswifey @lorsstar1st
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dorotheataylor · 2 months
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Hugs and kisses
Pairing- Peter Parker x GN!Reader
Summary- Sometimes even the strongest ones need comfort and Peter finds it in your arms.
Warnings- none literally, this is just a soft fic coz peter deserves all the love and hugs in the world, my poor english is a warning tho :’)
Word Count- 687
A/N- I thought of this while listening to ‘Sweet Nothing’ by Taylor Swift and here it is. Also I changed fandoms lol. dw i still write for harry potter but i’ll write for marvel too now. And this can be read for any peter but I imagined tasm peter here :3 Hope y’all like this <3
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You were about to get into bed, after having done your nighttime skincare and changing into your pyjamas, when you heard soft knocks on your window.
You went over to open it, knowing it was Peter. Whenever he visited you after his night patrols, it was always near this time. You would go on about your day while he told about his and then went to sleep together while snuggled close to each other.
Today it seemed a little different. Because when you moved the curtains to get a look at him, his expressions were different from what they always were. Like he was upset about something.
You quickly unlatched your window and let him inside. You turned to face him and furrowed your eyebrows when he didn’t meet your eyes.
Something was definitely up.
“Peter, love, is everything okay?” you said softly, not wanting him to break. “You know you can tell me anything,” you start, wanting to break the silence, but he flinches at your voice. you let out a shaky exhale and step forward, reaching a hand up, slowly, like approaching a skittish animal, to press your palm to his cheek. he unconsciously chases the warmth, his hair parting to reveal his eyes, sadder than you’ve ever seen them. your heart lurches for him. “oh, Peter.”
He leaned in your touch and sighed in content. Slowly you lifted your other hand to cup both his cheeks while he looked on the verge of tears.
“I- I just needed to see you. He- he said that,” Peter couldn’t even bring himself to properly say that. After that random bad guy he had just fought told him he had attacked you, he needed to make sure you were okay.
“It’s okay, Peter. I’m here.” You said, voice still soft as you start to caress his cheek with your thumb.
Peter couldn’t keep it in anymore, as he immediately buried his face in your neck and held you tightly, as if he were afraid you’d disappear.
You, on the other hand, couldn’t stop your heart from breaking after seeing him in such a state. The way he sounded, the way you could feel his tears on your neck, you couldn’t help but shed some tears as well as you spoke soothing words to him.
Moments like these brought comfort to Peter. Him in your arms, you holding him tightly, speaking softly and trying to comfort him, he sometimes wonders what he has done to deserve this, to deserve you. Your arms were his go to place when things got hard, being spiderman wasn’t easy. And it felt great that you out of all people knew about him and still loved the real him.
Both of you stayed in each other’s arms for what felt like an eternity, with none of you wanting to let go of each other. But you didn’t mind it, Peter deserved all your love and affection.
After few moments, you slowly spoke, breaking the comfortable silence you both were in, “lets get you changed so that we can cuddle in bed. Sounds good?”
He seemed hesitant to let you go, but he loosened his grip and pulled away to look you in the eye, arms still loosely wound around your waist. He seemed almost meek like this—to the point it almost felt like you’re not looking at the strongest. Right now, it kinda just feels like you’re looking at a man—a man who has the entire weight of the New York on his shoulders. 
“Thank you, Y/N.” He said, his voice still wavering. “You- You’re everything. God I love you so much.”
You smiled gently at him as you cupped his cheek again, he kissed your palm, and you said, “I love you too, Peter. More than words can express.”
With that, Peter cupped your face and brought his lips onto yours, pouring all his love, affection, fears and everything he felt for you into it. You kissed him back with same passion, sealing a promise of never leaving him into this kiss.
Because maybe in that moment, this was all you both needed.
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chuunai · 3 months
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baby daddy dazai ! who first feels a wave of panic when he sees the discarded positive pregnancy test in the bathroom trash can. you’re pregnant. with his baby. the thought of leaving you during the night briefly enters his mind, but it soon leaves after he remembers the promise to odasaku that he made. be on the side that protects people. well—that includes this baby, too.
baby daddy dazai ! who decides to bring it one night when you two are cuddling in your shared futon. he’s there to hold you as you cry and cling onto you, reassuring you that he wouldn’t leave and that’d he be there for you and the baby. later, when you’re calmed down, he insists on sleeping with his head on your stomach.
baby daddy dazai ! who’s there for you during your brutal first trimester. the constant morning sickness, fatigue, mood swings, etc. he lessens his suicide jokes and attempts, focusing on you.
baby daddy dazai ! who brags about your pregnancy at the ADA. instead of doing his work, he shows off your ultrasound photos—hanging them up on his desk so everyone can see. kunikida’s happy for you both, but he’s done hearing about baby this, baby that.
baby daddy dazai ! who marvels over your swelling belly, rubbing it hesitantly. he spent years taking lives, and now he’s made one with you. it terrifies and excites him. he’s glued to your baby bump—have fun trying to keep his hands off it.
baby daddy dazai ! who complains to your unborn child about work and how annoying chuuya is. as annoying as that redhead is, he’s deemed godfather of the baby. someone’s gotta pay for the expenses.
baby daddy dazai ! who refuses to let you do anything when you reach the end of your pregnancy, even learning how to cook your cravings so you don’t strain your body. you want to go pee for the tenth time today? he’s carefully leading you there. your waddling is funny, too, and so he can’t resist giggling. you shut him up with a swat to his head.
baby daddy dazai ! who can’t wait to hold your hand during labor. to see the product of your love and hold it in his arms. protect and love it, too. he hopes it’s a boy. odasaku’s name would suit his baby well.
Tags: @twst-om-lover, @sinfulthoughtsposts
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leezlelatch · 8 months
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What I Was Made For
Terzo x F! Reader - Comfort, skin to skin, love confessions. Sometimes you just need your Papa.
Terzo’s chasuble falls off his body in a rush of satin, pooling at his feet. His gloves come off in equal measure, tossed to the floor carelessly. He removes each layer of clothing with hurried hands, stopping only when he’s standing before you in nothing but his underwear. He slides into the seat next to you, his arms wrapping around your waist in a firm grip as he drags you across the leather couch. You don’t say anything as his hands lift your shirt and usher you out of your leggings, joining them in a heap on the floor next to his papal vestments. 
“Terzo,” you finally break, your voice small, and he shushes you. A long finger slides beneath your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes are warm, even the white one like liquid as he regards you with a concerned and adoring smile. 
“I am here, piccolina,” he whispers, bringing your hands flat against the expanse of his chest to feel his heart beat steadily against your palms. “Do you feel me? I am here. I am here with you.” He continues to murmur this as he pulls you into a more comfortable position, cradling your head lovingly into the juncture of his neck as he reclines on the couch. “Feel my skin against yours. And breathe, mio dolce amore.”
You close your eyes and take a deep breath. He smells like caramel. He smells like your favorite candle. He smells like a warm pie baked in the chill of fall. He smells like home. You turn your nose into his skin and nuzzle against it, and Terzo almost coos, a sweet noise leaving his lips followed by a small chuckle. A chuckle of near disbelief as he pulls you closer. 
“Ah, what you do to me, eh? Make your Papa such a mess! I thought that was my job,” he squeezes you to him for a moment. “I will have to try harder, si?” He’s smiling, a contentment to his voice that you don’t think you have ever heard before. 
“You fluster me,” you murmur into his skin.
“Hmm? What was that?” He teases. “Speak up. Your Papa has a hard time hearing over his bravado, you see.” That makes you laugh, your body shaking on top of his. Terzo laughs with you, deep and joyful, and relieved. “There you are. Come along now, dolce.”
“I said, ‘you fluster me’,” you say a little louder, turning to hide your burning cheeks in the crook of his neck. You feel the brush of his lips upon your forehead and you grow quiet, sucking in a short and shaky breath. 
“Thank Satan,” he whispers, lips fluttering against your skin. “I was worried you were falling too close to the edge, and I could not catch you. My only choice, you see, is to fall with you.”
“I don’t want you to fall, Terzo,” your voice is quiet, sad. Your fingers draw through his chest hair, expression thoughtful as you rest skin to skin against him. His fingers copy your movements through your hair, his right hand sliding down to glide a gentle thumb across your cheek. 
“But that is the beauty of our love, is it not? We are clumsy together. We fall. And then we kiss each other’s bruises. They hurt a little less each day. Turn from black to yellow. And then they’re gone. Perhaps we shall look back on them, but they won’t hurt anymore. We will just remember the kiss,” his accented voice, melodic and warm, washes over you like a blanket. 
You start to sit up, Terzo following you, his fingers grasping at your skin. He is nearly desperate for you to understand. To help you through whatever melancholy is stuck to your precious heart. There are many things Terzo would admit to failing at in his lifetime. This would not be one of them. 
“Let me kiss them, amore. Please,” he begs softly, hands at your waist, massaging the soft skin there. “With you is where I am safest. Let me be safe for you.” 
The face of the former antipope in front of you is bare of makeup, his brow furrowed, the divot between his brows deepening every day. Crow's feet stretch from the outer corner of his eyes, marking a path of laughter across his face. Silver cuts through dyed black hair. He is the most beautiful man that you have ever seen. 
“I love you,” you tell him. Honest and hopeful and raw.
Terzo hands are on you, pulling you firmly back into his lap, wrapping arms and legs around you until any outside viewer wouldn’t know where you ended and he began. He’s heaving great breaths, bordering on a sob as he holds you so tightly against his flesh. 
“I love you. I love you. Satana, grazie per questa benedizione. Grazie, grazie,” he whispers fervently, pressing kiss after kiss against your temple, your cheeks, any inch of you he can reach. It has you giggling, and then he laughs too, and you’re both smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. 
“I don’t even remember what I was sad about,” you finally say, looking into his eyes, your lips mere inches of his. Terzo smiles, softer now, sweeter. 
“Exactly,” he whispers.
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littlebabyyd0ll · 6 months
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KINKTOBER DAY FIVE, FIRST TIME PARENTS
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After your daughter’s very first birthday, you and Steve admire the life that you’ve made for yourselves together.
Dad!Steve Harrington x Mom!reader
Warnings: Not much, talk of birth and Steve’s horrible parents. Talk of being young parents. Reader is described to have long hair.
Enjoy!
Main Masterlist ! Kinktober 2023
It’s quiet. 
Too quiet. There hasn’t been a moment like this since Laila was born, a whole year ago. To the day. You spent Halloween night last year with a scrunched up, sweating face and pushing with all your might. One good thing comes with having a child born on an evening of festivities — birthday parties. Yours and Steve’s home comes alive on her birthday, with people celebrating and bringing their own little ones, everyone dressed up as characters from books or TV shows. Yourself and Steve had dressed as Leia and Han, with Laila snuggled down in an ewok onesie. Steve had insisted on you dressing up as her namesake – since you had refused to name your actual daughter leia. Steve, in his ever loving and altruistic glory, had let you have your way. It’s not very often that Steve doesn't bend over backwards to make you happy, and he’s come so far to the teenage douchebag that tried to hook up with you at a halloween party in your Junior year. 
You look up at your husband now, tucked up in his chest as he stares over the bars of your daughter’s crib, and you’ve never seen something more beautiful, so peaceful. You admire him as he admires the creation that you made together. His hair is falling from the hours of wear on the spray, half of the luscious locks covering his forehead. His white shirt is untucked from his blue jeans, Han’s signature belt discarded somewhere. Your own outfit is a mess too, crinkled up, a stain from Layla’s throw-up hours earlier resting on your shoulders, hair let down from the signature buns. A dreamy sigh flows from your lips as you stare up at your lover, your height difference even more prominent without your party shoes on. He’s so soft, so soft despite everything he’s been through, despite the scars lining his back, despite the viscous words from his asshole father, despite the way that everyone believed that he would grow into nothing – probably spend the rest of his life at Family Video after he chose not to pursue college. He’s so kind, so caring, so loving. The man has nothing but love in his heart for you, for the baby that lies peacefully asleep. 
He doted on you desperately while you were pregnant, and has been the same ever since Layla arrived. 
He dotes on you now, without realising it. One of his large hands stokes down the length of your hair. The other warms the curve of your waist, and his heartbeat is enough to settle your own. Though it beats much faster every time you look at him. 
“We have a one year old.” He acknowledges lowly, in those voices that you use to try not to wake her. Still, he speaks like he can’t believe it, and neither can you. The time has flown by so quick. 
You hum in reply, pushing your face a little deeper into his chest. You can’t wait to give him his dream, provide a family of Harringtons that love and adore one another. Harringtons that support each others dreams and aspirations, that believe in one another despite all else. You can’t wait until that next positive test, to give him another baby, to see him flourish in the same way that he does with Layla, being her father. He’s perfect. 
“She looks more and more like you every day.” It's not strictly true, because Layla most definitely looks more like Steve, with her button nose and dark brown irises, she only really has your hair. But still, you entertain his notion. 
“She’s the prettiest little girl in the world.” 
Finally, he looks down at you. His hand is still moving against your hair, and he tucks some away behind your ear. His lips curl upwards at the way you look up at him, the same way that you looked at him when he very first saved you from the Demogorgon. It’s a look that says you’d never accept another fate, never breathe in a universe that doesn't have him in it, and where he isn't yours to keep. You look at him like he hung the moon and stars, with your chin against his beating chest. He would never trade anything for this – for his girls. 
“You’re my girl.” He murmurs before dropping a kiss on your lips, then to your forehead. “My two girls. Given me the best life I could’ve ever asked for, you know that?” He gets sentimental a lot, but it still pulls at your heartstrings and has your eyes filling with tears. He places his hands on each of your rosy cheeks, thumbs swiping at the tears that fall. Because, suddenly, you've realised that you're the luckiest girl in the world. Perfect husband. Perfect daughter. “You're the best thing that ever happened to me. Made my dreams come true.”
“I love you,” You croak between tears, and you wish that your motherly hormones would give you a days rest. 
Steve presses his lips to yours once more, before tucking you back into his chest. He releases a heavy sigh as you both look down into the crib. “I love you so much. I love you both more than anything in the world.”
And in the moment of silence that follows, you thank your lucky stars that they gifted you with such devout love, and the most handsome boy in Hawkins.
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