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lilspacewolfie · 2 months

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Papas Caring For Hospitalized Reader

Spawned from pure self-indulgence. I've been through more hospital visits these last four weeks than I have my entire life. I want someone to bundle me up and make my hand better. I hate hospitals and operations *sobs*. Enjoy nonetheless!

Content: 2k words, Papas x gn!reader, SFW, bullet-pointed format, mentions of hospitals, needles (only mentioned), mention of general anaesthetic, angst, hurt/comfort, anxiety, lots of sweetness, you're getting pampered, no beta we die like nihil!)

This man will do everything in his power to make sure you’re looked after and relaxed.

Tea for days! He will try different flavours until he finds the one you like.

Dives headfirst into deep research as to which herbs help your injury heal, as well as calm your nerves. He knows his plants well, but he wants to know more. You deserve the best of the best.

Insists on going with you for infirmary visits even when you tell him you’re fine (you’re not really, but you just don't want him to worry.)

He will anyway.

Chronic worrier, especially given his age.

He takes his health VERY seriously, yours too! The Ministry has the best medical care around.

If you need a wound cleaned, stitches taken out, or other medicines, it's the place to get it.

Primo will be with you as much as he’s able to, even if that means he’s sitting for a long time while you’re being treated.

When you’re free and discharged—bandaged, bruised and probably feeling sore, he’ll take you back to his room for some TLC.

Will have a bath or shower with you, (in his jungle of a washroom), depending on what you prefer and smother you with all your favourite scents.

He’s a deeply caring individual and shows it openly.

Will speak gently to you, whisper sweetly and ensure you’re not overstimulated more than you have been.

“Shh, I know. I know amore. It’ll be over soon, just breathe for me.”

He knows how much you hate hospital/doctor visits.

You can squeeze his hand if you want.

If you need space for a bit after everything, he’ll gladly give it.

If not, prepare to receive a lot of kisses, especially on your forehead (a lot of them, like… SO many.)

He will help you bathe if you’re unable to, running a foaming washcloth over your skin carefully.

Let him wash your hair! It’s one of the things he adores doing for you!

Once you’re washed, warm and feeling more relaxed it’s time for more tea in bed with a snack if you want one!

He insists. Even if you don't feel like eating, try to drink something for him <3

“It will help you feel good and relax, Il mio fiore.” (My flower)

Fluids are important (wink-wonk).

Reminds you to take your meds like clockwork (always with tea and water)

You’re his petalo (petal) and he loves you dearly.

Will wrap you up in the mountain of blankets and faux furs he has on his lush bed. He’s old, he feels the cold more than others. At least he has you to keep him warm.

Secondo hates when you’re hurt/hurting in any capacity.

Even if it's something minor, he’ll worry about it to the point where he loses sleep over it.

He’s a big, brooding mother hen.

The Emeritus curse of being a chronic worrier doesn’t stop at Primo.

This man wants you to be okay and it kills him when you’re not.

Will also go with you to the infirmary and stay with you.

The staff always find him a little intimidating, but they know he’s just worried sick. He’s kind to everyone, but honestly, he won't speak much unless spoken to.

“Are you alright, mio tesoro?” Is what he mainly asks, his voice so low it's close to a rumble.

Tries his best to make you feel relaxed.

Will make really, god-awful dad jokes that are so bad you do laugh.

He will quietly hold your hand the entire time, rubbing his bare fingers over our knuckles.

You rarely see him remove his gloves in public, but he HAS to be touching you. He insists.

He’s had enough knocks and breaks in his life to know how fragile the human body can be, but also how incredible it is at self-repair.

That doesn’t mean he views you as a fragile thing that needs to be wrapped in wool, but he loves you so deeply he would if you let him.

He admires your strength and resolve as you put up with being poked and prodded (by needles or with doctors.)

Once you’re released from care, good luck getting him to be anywhere less than within touching distance.

You’re getting a kiss. Lots of them. Mostly chaste and gentle.

You can tell it's because he worries about hurting you.

He relaxes a bit more when you kiss him HARD and bite at his bottom lip.

Will also help you bathe and shower. Again, touching distance. Just let him be near you for his own sanity.

Though he wouldn’t be upset if you need some space. He’s very understanding if you’re overstimulated.

Will linger outside the door in case you need anything.

Let him dry you off and dress you in comfortable clothes. He can see you that way.

He can see you’re still with him and that you’re safe.

He’ll touch you slowly, running his large hands over your skin.

Will spoon you once you’re in bed or let you curl into him.

He’ll bury his nose in your hair, breathe you in and say a wordless prayer to Lucifer that you recover quickly.

“Ti amo.” You hear him whisper as he presses a kiss to your forehead and strokes your hair.

Only falls asleep once he’s sure you have, holding you close the entire night.

Terzo. Oh, Terzo.

Emeritus curse of being a chronic worrier? Check. Turn it up to eleven.

Unlike Secondo, Terzo is open with his worries.

He’s a fair mix of his brothers, both gentle and occasionally stoic given the shape you’re in.

If it's something minor, he’ll try to play it off with a bit of humour like he tends to do. He’ll make bad jokes (oh ho, you thought Secondo’s were bad just wait for this.)

If it’s something you need an operation for, this man will be silently out of his mind. *insert any internally screaming gif here*

He takes pride in his appearance, but you’ll start to notice cracks—dishevelled hair, a button not done up or a smudge of his paint.

It would worry you more if he didn’t have Omega or one of his brothers to make sure he’s drinking and eating regularly.

Tries to hide his stress. Fails. Rinse and repeat.

He doesn’t want you to worry about him, you’re the one in pain, about to be put under and Lucifer… What's he going to do if something happens?

He loves you. Adores you. You’re his life.

He knows how much you hate being stuck in hospitals and it pains him to see you stressed. The last thing he wants to do is add to that, so he’ll play it cool.

When you go in he’s pacing the halls.

Rest assured, the healthcare of the Ministry has you in safe hands.

It puts Terzo at ease, but don't expect him to leave your side when everything is over. He will sit at your bedside, kiss your knuckles and stroke your hair.

Let him touch you. Just let him.

He’s been through so much heartache in his life.

Will kiss each of your fingers and whisper sweet words to you.

“You’ll be okay, vita mia. Cuore mio. I’m here. I’m with you.” (My life. My heart.)

Maybe he’ll hum some songs too.

You’re his everything.

Once you’re ready and well enough to leave, you’re getting pampered to hell and back. This man worships the ground you walk on.

Whatever you want it's not too much. A bath? A shower? Just to get into bed and fall asleep? Terzo’s right there with you.

Dinner in his massive, plush bed with your favourite movie.

When you’re ready to sleep he’ll plaster himself to you. He would crawl inside your skin if he could.

Fitful sleeper. Wakes up a few times just to make sure you’re ok.

Eventually sleeps soundly once you kiss his worries away.

Stroke his hair. He’s a sucker for that!

*Copia is not Nihil’s son in my verses/AUs unless explicitly stated.*

He’s learned bad habits from the Papas it seems.

Worrier. Yes, it's chronic. Seriously, are we sure this isn’t like the flu?

Paces a lot.

Good luck getting him to sit still.

If he's not pacing, he’s as close to you as physics will allow.

Lots of touching. Will rest his head by your hip if he’s tired from all that pacing.

Perfect opportunity to run your fingers through his hair.

He’ll hold your hands and kiss your knuckles.

All that stress tires him out.

“Mi dispiace, amore. Non sto aiutando,” he’ll whisper brokenly. (I'm sorry, amore. I'm not helping.)

You two probably end up curled up on the bed of the infirmary together if you have been waiting a while. A nap won't hurt.

You kiss slowly as you get comfortable, limbs tangled.

The angle is a bit awkward.

The sleep helps but he’s still going to be stressed when he wakes up.

Will get you anything you need. A drink or food, perhaps one of the really nice yogurts they do at the visitor's cantine.

Will ask the nurses and doctors SO many questions. He likes to be informed. Gets stressed if anything is unclear.

Maybe he should be in this infirmary bed and not you.

Prepare to be coddled once you’re discharged.

You’re both taking a long, hot bath or shower.

He wants to wash you down so he can see you and make sure you’re ok. Lots of tender kisses to your skin.

Ends up with you in his arms under the hot water just swaying together.

You’re wearing his clothes. No, not just because he likes how they look on you but because they’re baggy and won't irritate your skin *cough*. Sure Copia.

He’ll order your favourite food and you can watch a movie in his room together.

Will mother hen you, constantly ask if you need anything, and make sure your water glass is full.

He probably will cry. It’s just been so much.

You can cry together if you want. You both understand.

Also like clockwork when it comes to medication (if you’re taking any.)

Curls up in bed with you. You both sleep like the dead after such a long, stressful day.

Breakfast in bed when you wake up.

*Copia is not Nihil’s son in my verses/AUs unless explicitly stated.*

Copia might not be of the Emeritus blood, but unholy shit does the curse of being a chronic worrier catch like wildfire.

He’s Papa now he’s gotta be strong.

Will put on a brave face. But underneath he’s still the cardinal he was years back.

He’ll worry and fret and pace. There's no changing some things.

While he’s outwardly less anxious, this poor man has so much weighing on his shoulders after he took over to front the band.

Inwardly it's chaos.

His hair is never quite as smoothed back as it normally is and his paint is a touch worn.

There are some things you can't change about a man. Not really.

Prepare to be coddled, again. The mother hen has never left the coop.

He’s going to pamper you when he gets you back to his room. Of course, you’re staying with him, he’s not letting you go.

So. Many. Kisses.

This man loves kissing you. He adores you so.

A bath in his spacious tub is just what the doctor ordered. You lay against him and relax in the dim with only the light of candles.

Finally lets himself cry.

You shush him, kiss him and remind him that you love him and that you’re ok.

He loves you so much he can't even express it. The thought of losing you kills him.

He tries to push your hands away when you take a cloth to his paint. You’re the one who's been hurt and poked at all day, he’s supposed to be caring for you!

Eventually relents because you both know you need this.

More kisses and mutual washing. You love seeing how his skin pinkens across his cheek, arms and back. It brings out the pretty freckles all over his body.

When you both get into bed, tangled up again, Copia will whisper how much he loves you until he’s too tired to talk anymore.

You both sleep like the dead.

masterlist ⛧ Ao3

#ghost #the band ghost #papa emeritus i #primo #papa emeritus i x reader #primo x reader #papa emeritus ii x reader #papa emeritus ii #secondo #secondo x reader #papa emeritus iii #terzo #papa emeritus iii x reader #terzo x reader #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #gender neutral reader

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whumphoarder · 4 years

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Who Needs Disney When You Have Russell Crowe?

Summary: When Peter’s ear infection gets a little out of hand, Tony and Morgan have slightly different ideas of how to help.

Word count: 1,874

Genre: Sickfic, domestic fluff, Whump Lite™

A/N: Thanks to @xxx-cat-xxx for beta-reading and ideas <3

Link to read on Ao3

Peter wakes to the sound of quiet whimpering.

It takes a few seconds for his groggy brain to register where he is, but the warm glow of the bunny-shaped night light on the opposite wall illuminating the Arendelle toy castle and the pile of stuffed animals on the floor gives it away. He’s in Morgan’s room. Morgan, who insisted on getting a bunk bed for her sixth birthday so that she and Peter could have sleepovers whenever he came to visit.

Morgan, who is clearly in the midst of a nightmare.

“Mo...” Peter whispers hoarsely. There are a few more quiet, pained whimpers. “Mo,” he tries again, louder. His left ear is throbbing and it’s ridiculously stuffy in this room—he’s actually sweating. Kicking the tangled bed covers off of himself, he lifts a hand to tap the wooden bed frame over his head. She stirs. “Morgan, wake u-up.” His voice cracks on the last word.

Morgan sits up in her bunk. “Yeah?” she asks drowsily. She leans over the edge of bed to look at him, strands of her long hair falling in her face. “What is it?”

She doesn’t seem particularly upset, which Peter finds strange. “Did… did you have a b-bad dream?” he asks.

In the dim light of the room, he can just make out her curious expression. “I don’t think so.” She swings her legs over the side of the bed and shimmies backwards down the ladder. “Did you?”

“Wh-What?” His ear is ringing, the pain feeling almost bone-deep. There’s another whimper, barely audible.

“You’re crying,” she says simply, perching herself on the edge of his bed. Her brow knits together. “Are you sad?”

Peter wipes the back of his hand roughly across his face and finds it’s wet with tears. It takes a second for his addled brain to realize that she’s right, and then an instant wave of self-consciousness washes over him as he looks into the eyes of the frowning six-year-old. “No, sorry, ‘m fine.” He pushes himself up on his elbows, hurriedly brushing the tears away.

Morgan’s eyes go wide. “You’re bleeding!” she gasps.

“Huh?” Peter follows her horrified gaze down to the pillow he’s been using. It’s covered in something dark and sticky. Alarmed, he lifts a shaky hand to his throbbing ear and feels more liquid trickling down. “Oh – um – wow, uh...”

“I’m getting Daddy!” Morgan declares, jumping up from the mattress and spinning on her heel. “Hang on!”

“Wait, no, don’t freak him—”

But she’s already out of the room.

“...out.” With a small groan, Peter carefully sits the rest of the way up and flips the lamp on. The pastel lilac pillowcase is stained with a mixture of blood and yellowish fluid. Grimacing, he grabs some tissues from the box on Morgan’s dresser and dabs them carefully at his dripping ear, hissing sharply at the stabbing pain it causes.

Within a minute, Morgan is back, dragging the hand of a disheveled but surprisingly alert-looking Tony in after her. “See? He’s crying and bleeding out of his ears!” she blurts.

“Just one ear,” Peter corrects, lowering the tissue down to look at the fresh blood and pus on it. “Gross...”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh, well in that case I’ll just go back to bed—you’re perfectly fine.” He moves over to the bed, Morgan following close behind. “Anything you wanna share with the class? You take any good hits to the noggin’ recently? Blow something up?”

Peter shakes his head as much as he dares, which only increases the ringing sensation. “No, nothing like that,” he mutters. He wishes this was something cool and Spider-Man related, but he’s pretty sure it’s just his patented Parker Luck™. “Ear started hurting a couple days ago,” he admits. “Thought it would go away.”

Tony pulls out his phone and flips on the flashlight. “Can I see it?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, wincing. He bites his lower lip and does his best to keep as still as possible as Tony peers into his ear with the light.

“What does it look like?” Morgan asks curiously.

“Ugly as hell...” Tony mutters. He flicks the light off and turns to Peter. “Pretty sure you ruptured your eardrum, kiddo.”

“Ah.” The pain seems to ramp up with the confirmation. That checks out. Certainly feels like someone just bored a hole through his ear. He can feel the fluid dripping out down his cheek.

Tony must notice it too because he grimaces and pulls a couple more tissues out of the box to hand him. “You know, if you weren’t feeling well, you could have told us that when you got here,” he points out. “Instead of waiting until”—he glances at his lock screen—“3:37 in the morning.”

Peter manages a small smirk. “Gotta keep you on your toes. You know, now that you’re retired and all...”

Looking very unamused, Tony extends a hand and helps pull Peter up to standing. The movement only increases the throbbing in his ear and Peter squeezes his eyes shut tightly against a wave of dizziness.

“Alright?” Tony checks, still gripping his arm tightly.

“Yeah,” Peter breathes, the ringing growing louder. “Sorry. Just... really hurts.”

“He can have some of my medicine,” Morgan offers in a slightly hushed voice. “The one Mommy gives me when my ears hurt.”

Tony lets out a short laugh. “That’s nice of you, sweetie, but I don’t think grape-flavored Children’s Motrin is gonna cut it here.” He gestures up to the top bunk. “Why don’t you hop back up there and try to sleep some more while I go get Peter fixed up?”

Morgan sticks her lip out in a pout. “But I’m not tired now.”

Instant guilt comes over Peter at having woken her up, but Tony doesn’t miss a beat.

“Nope, you are, you just forgot,” he says knowingly. He lets go of Peter’s arm for a second to scoop the now quietly giggling six-year-old up and deposit her on the top bunk. “Count some sheep, kid,” he advises, flipping off the lamp and snagging Peter’s ruined pillow to toss in the laundry.

With Morgan situated, Tony guides Peter out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He leaves Peter to clean up in the bathroom before heading to the kitchen in search of some kind of painkiller that might work on an enhanced metabolism.

Eventually, Tony returns with a bottle of Tylenol-Codeine, a glass of water, and an apologetic look. “It’s the strongest stuff we’ve got here. Might take the edge off at least.”

Peter murmurs his thanks and takes the pills, mostly to humor him. They both know it’s a lost cause. He can burn through a dose of morphine in less than ten minutes; there’s no way over-the-counter meds are going to do anything.

“First thing in the morning, I’ll take you to see Bruce,” Tony promises. “We’ll get you on some antibiotics and something better for the pain.”

Peter just hums in response.

Tony sighs. “We can try a heating pad,” he suggests. “That helps Morgan sometimes.”

“Sure.” Peter shrugs, listless. He’ll do anything at this point to make his ear stop aching.

Tony locates the heating pad and gets Peter set up on the chaise section of the couch under a blanket with the heating pad resting on the pillow under his ear. It helps marginally, which is slightly more than Peter can say for the pills.

“Sorry, kiddo. If only you’d known me in the nineties,” Tony says with a sad chuckle. “Could’ve tried all kinds of stuff on you.”

Peter lets out a short, empty laugh. “Yeah, too bad. Sure May would’ve loved that…”

Tony settles down onto the other end of the couch and flips on the TV for distraction. After a bit of channel flipping, he picks a period war drama about a badass sea captain fighting during the Napoleonic Wars, starring Russell Crowe.

(It was that or “My Strange Addiction” on TLC, and neither of them felt like watching a woman eat a couch).

Peter doesn’t exactly sleep, but he closes his eyes and drifts in and out while the movie plays low in the background. He’s kind of queasy—probably a combination of the otherwise useless drugs and the low grade fever he’s pretty sure he’s got going—but it’s nothing too awful. At least the sounds of cannons firing and battles being waged on screen drown out the incessant ringing in his head.

He isn’t sure how much time passes before a new voice joins the mix in a stage-whisper:

“Are they gonna cut his arm off?”

Peter’s eyes snap open. He sees Tony dozing on the other end of the sofa, so he sits up a little straighter and turns around to look at the staircase behind him. Sure enough, Morgan is sitting on the fourth step from the bottom, just high enough to see over the couch to the TV.

“I thought you went back to bed,” Peter whispers.

Morgan shrugs. “Counting sheep is boring.” She stands up and tiptoes down the rest of the stairs and into the living room. “Are they gonna cut his arm off?” she repeats.

Peter looks back at the movie. The ship’s doctor is in the midst of a rather intense amputation scene on a young boy’s infected arm. “Yeah, looks like it,” he says through a wince. He should probably change the channel to something more child-friendly, but Tony’s got the remote balanced on his knee and he’s all the way on the other end of the sofa. Oh well.

Morgan nods at the screen, looking impressed. Then she looks back to Peter. “Does your ear still hurt a lot?”

“Nah, it’s not so bad,” Peter lies. “No need to cut it off or anything.” He scoots over on the cushion a bit. “You wanna sit here with me?”

“Yeah.” She nods and hops up onto the couch beside him, snuggling against his right side. “Did Daddy give you medicine?” she inquires.

“Yeah, he did,” Peter assures.

She nods approvingly. “And did he give you the heater thingy?”

Peter lifts the heating pad up slightly for her to see. “Yep.”

“Good.” She nods again. “And cuddles?”

“Eh…” His gaze drifting to his quietly snoring mentor, Peter smirks a bit. “I think I’m getting too old for those.”

“Everybody needs cuddles,” she says knowingly. Scooting a little closer to him, she wraps her arms around his waist. “See?”

A small smile creeps across Peter’s lips. “Yeah, I see.”

They sit there for a moment, Peter doing his best to focus on the steady pressure of the six-year-old’s gentle squeeze rather than the thumping in his head. It’s almost peaceful.

“Either that, or you need a stick,” Morgan pipes up, breaking the spell.

Peter’s brow furrows. “A stick?”

“To bite down on,” she explains, pointing at the TV. “Like the boy in the movie.”

Peter blinks, then shifts his gaze sideways to the little girl watching nineteenth-century field surgery technique with genuine interest.

“It’s so he doesn’t scream,” she informs.

Peter holds out his hand. “Just give me the remote, Mo.”

Link to all my fics

If you enjoyed this story, you might also like: Adventures at the Stark Lake House

#peter parker whump #sick peter parker #irondad fic #morgan stark #peter parker #tony stark #earache #ear infection #ruptured eardrum #fluff #domestic fluff #stark lake house #flump #my fic

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metalheadcowboy · 3 years

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🐸 of course

Cute!!! I love the frog emoji!! <3

But this is one I think about ALL the time!

Catboy Steve hates baths with all of his soul. Like, he’ll do anything in his power to avoid them he hates them so much. And no matter how many times Billy tells him that grooming is not enough he’ll deny it, and deny it, and deny it until Billy has to force him into the bathtub.

It gets to the point where he and Steve come up with a chart of designated bath days for him. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday he bathes and in the beginning Billy made him promise not to argue and he did promise, but, of course, it feel through.

Billy swore that the neighbors thought he was killing Steve during bath time because he would scream, hiss, screech, anything it took to get Billy to give up. But, Billy didn’t give up easily, much to Steve’s own dismay. He would wrestle Steve’s clothes of of him, which was a struggle of it’s own while Steve clawed at him. But getting Steve physically into the bath was a whole different struggle. He had to somehow find a way to get him in the tub without splashing water everywhere. He failed at this almost every time.

But, once he finally got Steve in the bath, and toweled up all the spilled over water, Steve was pretty cooperative. Sure, he had a frustrated look on his face throughout the whole bath, but he was still cooperative. But Billy didn’t miss the way he purred when he massaged shampoo and conditioner through his hair or scrubbed his tail with a special soap of it’s own. And he liked to think that, maybe, when Steve got over his over-dramatic self, that he enjoyed bath time.

But if there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that Steve’s favorite part was getting out. Steve always smiles when Billy runs a soft, fluffy towel over his body and giggles when he ruffles his wet hair. He always puts Steve in one of his own soft hoodies after a bath along with a pair of flannel pajama pants. Usually Steve wouldn’t sleep in pants, but after baths he likes to feel especially warm.

After bath nights Billy makes sure to be especially sweet to his boyfriend making him a warm cup of tea, settling on the couch and watching TLC (Both of their guilty pleasure channels.)

But there are some times when just needs to take some time to himself, when he needs to think things over. These are the times when Steve decides to take baths on his own, these are the times when Billy knows somethings wrong, that Steve’s upset over something.

He gives Steve his time of course to just think about things himself, but after about thirty minutes he’d knock softly on the white wooden door that leads to the bathroom. He would wait for the quiet ‘Come in.’ before stepping in. Steve wouldn’t look at him, would simply stare down at the bath with his ears pressed flat against his head, letting his hand make soft waves through the lukewarm water. Billy would quietly strip down to his underwear and slide into the tub behind him, wrapping his arms loosely around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. He’d ask ‘What’s wrong kitten?’ and let Steve talk to him about what the matter was rant to him about what happened while Billy nobs along and hums in acknowledgement, hands gently rubbing over the soft part of his stomach and he speaks.

After Steve decides he’s ready to get out Billy would dry him off and wrap him up in nothing more than a blanket and walk him to their bed so they can tangle limbs and cuddle listening to the soft purring coming from deep within Steve’s chest.

Send me your favorite emoji and I’ll give you a Catboy Steve hc 🥺😽

#Steve Harrington #Billy Hargrove #Haringrove #Stranger Things #Catboy Steve Harrington

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ff15trashgoldenslumbers · 7 years

Note

How would the chocobros be with a really short S/O? Like 5ft or shorter?

I too am vertically challenged, so I assume they’d treated them very similar to how i’m treated by my tall friends.

~~~~~

Noctis

“Need some help with that?” Noctis would asked playfully, only to get a sassy little pout in return.

“I’m already up here!” You would replied, already standing on the countertops to get whatever you needed, knowing that the Prince put it up there so he could make fun of you. Despite you only being 5 foot, your Prince Charming stood at a beautiful 5 foot 9.

Making him perfect model height, and the Prince of high reach places. Snagging your chips, you turned back towards your boyfriend already knowing where he was standing, directly underneath you, as you dropped them on his face before starting your journey of climbing down the countertops.

“Aww, I love my tiny sweetie.” Noctis would mockingly coo, as he held your chips above his head, out of your reach, resulting in you bouncing and clinging to him to get them back.

“Noctis give them!”

“Gotta pay the Noct tax.”

You’d roll your eyes but given into the “Noct tax” a kiss for every inch that the Prince was taller than you. Jumping back onto the countertop you’d lean forward, pressing kiss, after kiss against the man’s face, finishing by planting a big wet one on his lips.

“Happy?”

“Yes, you’re tax has been accepted.” Noctis would smile, handing you your chips, “Now for your Prince tax!” He would call before scooping you off the counter to go and cuddle on the couch while you two surfed through Netflix to find something boring to watch.

“Just so you know, I didn’t vote for you.”

“Who cares, you’re stuck with me.”

Noctis would lay down on the couch, maneuvering you just right, or what he called the teddy bear position, where he’d wrap his arms and legs around you, and either fall asleep or cover you with kisses until he fell asleep.

He would often state that you were his perfect little teddy bear, and if that made him happy, than you were happy to be so petite.

~~~~~

Prompto

“Choco-Selfie.” You called, holding up your phone, only to have your boyfriend take it, as his arms were much longer, and be able to get the two of you within the shot.

“Perfect, just like my little Chocobae.” Prompto cooed, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He was often the shortest one in his group, despite the fact that it was only by a single inch from Noctis, but Hey! Gladiolus and Ignis both were 6 foot tall giants who wouldn’t look super small compared to them?

“Where to next?” You inquired, only to turn as Prompto pointed toward the roller coaster he had his eyes on since stepping into the amusement park. “I don’t know…”

“What’s wrong? Will it upset your stomach, or are you too scared?” He giggled playfully.

You blushed softly, “I don’t know if I’m tall enough.”

Prompto’s eyes immediately widen, he hadn’t thought of that, when he planned this date, you came up to his neck, but he was so used to hanging out with tall people that he simply forgot that his adorable girlfriend was short.

“We…we don’t have to go on that if you don’t want, we can do something else.”

You puckered your lips putting on a determined face, “No! I should be tall enough! Like everything else around here says like 4’10 and I’m taller than that!”

“Yeah, sweetie but only by like 3 inches.”

“Those 3 inches are everything!” You called, before turning dramatically, your adorable sundress flying in the wind as you marched toward the roller coaster. Moving to the sign of the Moogle holding the yard stick, and you barely came up to the height requirement. Turning to Prompto you gave a smug smile as the blonde gave you a peck on the cheek.

The two of you moved into the line, only for Prompto to watch as you became more and more fidgety the closer you got to the ride.

“What’s wrong sweetie?” Prompto asked, as they strapped you both in.

“I’ve never been on a rollercoaster.” You admitted as the crew cleared you for launch. “I’ve always been too short.”

At this point it was too late to step off, so Prompto could only hold your hand, as you were all launched forward. Only for the ride to be over in less than a minute, as the bars rose allowing everyone off.

“That wasn’t so bad.” You smiled, “Wanna go aga…, Prompto?”

The poor blonde seemed to have had his heart stop as you pulled him off the seat, and escorting him out the exit. Setting him down on a bench before running to get him some water. After getting him to come around the two of you both decided to keep it to more tamed rides for the day.

You even had the blonde win you a large stuff Chocobo, from a shooting game that engulfed you every time you attempted to hold it. Which seemed to bring that smile back on his face and quite a bit of picture evidence.

Prompto absolutely adored his mini girlfriend even if sometimes he forgot that she was mini.

~~~~~

Gladiolus

At this point you didn’t even attempt to fight it, you were currently tossed over your large boyfriend’s shoulder, arms crossed and legs crossed at the ankles. One of his large beefy arms wrapped around your torso. Skirts and dresses were no longer in your wardrobe, unless you were wearing shorts or tights underneath.

At least you got a good few of that beautiful sculpted ass in motion.

“We’re almost at the truck, Babe.” Gladiolus called, well stated more to your ass.

“Cool, I’ll just be hanging out here.” You muttered.

This was suppose to be a relaxing hike through nature as you both enjoyed it, but your huge ass boyfriend ended up slipping into a bad habit he had gotten into since you started dating. Just picking you up at a moment’s notice.

Standing side by side it was often strange to see just the opposites that you were, you didn’t even come up to his shoulder, you hardly came up to his chest.

You already found it hilarious that you at 5 foot even, had managed to score a guy that was 6 foot 6 inches, and built like a tank. Yet that one time where you got a cactuar needle in your foot and the big guy had to carry you back to the car on a date, he hadn’t put you down since.

Everywhere at the drop of a dime. Sitting in the car, you’re now on his lap, standing within his way, not anymore you’re now hanging out in the air above his head, just standing there minding your own business, whelp now you cradle comfortably in the crook of his arm.

You didn’t mind it, like it was amazing to always feel shielded and loved. Yet sometimes it could get a little tricky, like the first time that you both slept in the same bed. The man rolled over, and dragged you closed, cuddling against you, as Gladiolus was a very huge cuddle bug. One buff arm laying right underneath your boobs, the other tucked underneath both of your heads as you laid on his bicep like a pillow, it was the most comfortable you have ever been in your entire life! And now it was hard to sleep without your Gladdy blanket.

Plus adding your cuddle Gladdy, with wearing one of his shirts, it was heaven! All of his shirts reached your knees and hung off you so much. Your favorite was getting into one of his hoodies and than flailing around wildly should he try to pick you up, he normally win, but you put up a fight.

Yet with most people being shorter than him, you expected for him to be used to looking down. Nope, not the case, as there has been many times where you accidentally scared the man, because he wasn’t use to you being so short. Your personal favorite was the time that you simply wandered into the living room, while he was facing you, asking him.

“Gladdy, do we…”

“Shit!”

“Did I scare you? I am so sorry.” You managed through your laughter and tears, you hadn’t expected for him to jump that high. Yet still it happened at least twice a week.

“When we get home, I’ll give you some TLC, Babe.” Gladiolus smiled.

“I’m not even hurt, you’re just carrying me.” You argued.

“Well, than I’ll still give, some TLC because of how much I love you.”

“That would be more romantic if you weren’t talking to my ass.”

~~~~~

Ignis

“Iggy.” You purred, finding your tall boyfriend stretched across the couch, a rather rare sight considering the job that he held and unfortunately how much it could run him ragged.

“I do apologize, My Dear, I can move.”

“No, no,” You smiled, as you crawled onto the couch laying across the man so that your head rested on his shoulder. “This is much better than the couch.”

Ignis gave a soft chuckle, circling his arms around you, giving you a gentle squeeze.

You couldn’t help but pout, Ignis always seemed to be this way with you, gentle squeezes, soft caress. At first you figured that it was just his demeanor and the man was a soft person. Yet the more you watched him, you noticed he didn’t treat anything else that way.

Ignis seemed to treat you very glass like. Always so soft, always so gentle. You had bought it up to him time and time again, explaining that you’d be fine with firm hugs or kisses. Yet the man always seemed to go back into his more softer ways.

You were more forceful with your kisses, taking the man’s head within your tiny hands and showing him the way you wish to be ravished, but he would somehow take over and make everything so soft and sweet.

It was a little strange, as you often wore heels to give yourself some extra height. Yet should you wear your flats, you hardly came to Ignis’s shoulder. As there was perfect amount of 1 foot of height between the two of you.

“Iggy.”

“Yes?”

“Hug me tighter.” You replied, as the embrace would tighten only minisculely. “Tighter, Ignis.”

“My Dear, I do not wish to hurt you.”

“You’re not going to hurt me, tighter.” You moaned, kicking your legs in a mock tantrum, only to feel those lean muscles tighten around you to the perfect amount of an embrace. “Perfect! Iggy hold me like this from now on.”

“Darling, isn’t this too tight?”

“No, this is perfect, it feels so nice and warm, and I can feel your love for me.” You giggled, stroking his face. “I’m not glass, Ignis, I’m just small.”

Ignis placed a kiss to your forehead, “I shall remember that, My Dear.”

You knew by the end of the week he would slip into the loose embraces again, but all it took was you climbing on him again and demanding the correct hug.

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