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#yes it's ugly. that's the whole point.
bookshelfdreams · 4 months
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yk when you see someone share a finished handmade item that they clearly spent a lot of time and money on and it's just. The absolute tackiest thing you have seen in your life. And then you ask yourself why someone would waste all those resources on such an eyesore.
(no, of course you can't relate to that because you're a much nicer person than me)
In any case.
BEHOLD!
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A wool coat!
The top fabric is handwoven and handspun, the whole thing is sewn by hand, too.
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Leftovers. Barely anything, all things considered, which is very satisfying.
This thing took me well over 3 years to make, on and off. And now I'm done.
Thank you for your attention.
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sofoulandfairaday · 5 months
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i can't decide which i like more:
the idea - very much canonical and in the author's original concept and view of magic - of the dark arts taking a toll on one's exterior and looks. tom riddle sacrificing his beauty willingly in the name of eternal life, black magic as something that innately corrupts. bellatrix escaping from azkaban with the barest vestiges of her ancient beauty. going from one of the most beautiful women in england to a shell of her former self and no amount of dark magic being able to fix it. and she just. doesn't care. goes from pretty, proud and vain in her youth, to the feverish, fanatical glow harry sees in the department if mysteries. finally she sheds the petal of the rose - look like the innocent flower, her master had once said - and only the thorns remain. the parallel with voldemort himself. the idea that they like each other better now, the only ones to like their respective new appearances better. bellatrix because she can taste the power radiating off him, because she knows how resentful he was of his old face. (oh, he's never said anything explicitly, he would rather be flayed alive than speak of his filthy muggle father to her, but she knew he didn't like himself, took no pride in his aesthetics, it was most unusual, really.) the dark lord because he's reminded of her sacrifice - she was the only one who didn't denounce him, who tried to find him - every time he looks at her. she gave up everything for him: her reputation, her family, her freedom, her health, her beauty, her youth.
or.
the horcruxes are an isolated case. not all prices to pay for power are physical. some dark magic sucks at your humanity, your emotional regulation, your empathy and gives back superficial little gifts. its roots are far from the deep anger, desperation to cling to life of an horcrux. these are ancient witches' remedies to be the most envied in the village. the idea that rotten cores hide behind the prettiest faces. and bellatrix was always vain, always took immense pride in her beauty, her black, pure features. when she escapes from azkaban she tries everything in her power to be herself once again. she still drips with obsession but gradually regains all of her beauty too. cruel people can still be beautiful. gorgeous people can still be inhuman. and yet there is something so human about a woman making her way through the ranks of a very militarised group and still caring so much about what she looks like, still having insecurities, being preoccupied with mundane things like age and decay - and hating it because he would hate it, he hates weakness, and still not being able to help herself. the dark lord was always a collector of shiny things, was he not?
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croix-meridies · 4 months
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Every time you are in the modern and contemporary art section of a museum and think angrily “why does this deserve to be in a museum???” I encourage you to actually go and answer that question.
Look at the name of the piece and when it was made, do those give you any clues? What about what it was made from? Google the artist, what in their life would have caused them to make it, what did they say about it? It’s worth it.
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lockedtowers · 2 months
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seeing ppl in the tags super used to the j/apperwock(y) in b/urton's alice and then getting mad at how 'ugly' the s/yfy version is is absolutely hilarious to me bc the s/yfy version is literally just lifted from the original illustrations
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cagesings · 11 months
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they do my girl so dirty
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teamdays · 7 months
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wxs outfit reveal tomorrow (in the voice of the costco founder when referring to his hot dogs) if you fucking change the design of the ugly coat, I will kill you.
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pandaspwnz · 2 years
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can I just say as a formerly morbidly obese person who is now in the lower end of the overweight bmi category that hip dips being an insecurity all of a sudden is fucking ridiculous. I've spent most of my life having more goddamn rolls than the Michelin man and it seemed that as soon as I lost some weight, this magical new insecurity just popped up overnight. I didn't even know non-fat people could have that insecurity and all of a sudden I see it literally fucking everywhere and it infuriates me. If I'm ever slim enough to even be able to tell if I have hip dips or not, I'm gonna be celebrating, not hating myself for it??
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little-cereal-draws · 2 years
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Wanted to try my hand at making human versions of the gods
(Ammit might be next) (maybe)
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orange-sunshines · 1 year
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the most unrealistic thing about mha is that no one publicly drools over katsuki bakugo.
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jamesbukkakebarnes · 2 months
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🙃
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pioneergirlsie · 11 months
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Frickin’ Watermelon
Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader
Summary: The 141 finds out about your skincare routine, and you wonder if one of your teammates might benefit from having one also.
A/N: This is my debut piece for the CoD fandom. I fell fast and hard for MW, and I thought this piece up while scrubbing my face one night, trying to keep the acne at bay. I hope you enjoy!
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As a sniper, you have to keep your face out of sight. You prefer face paint, camouflaging yourself to blend in. You’d gotten quite good as quickly painting yourself and heading out for whatever mission was next.
Unfortunately, on this mission, they decide rather last minute to use your sniping skills, simply shrugging when you asked for face paint. They hand you a balaclava, which would do the job fine.
You slip it on, slightly peeved that you couldn’t use your paint. There is a reason you wear paint. The longer you wear that face covering, the more you feel like you were going to choke on your own breath. It is hot and humid, and the balaclava gathers sweat and oil and dirt and hot breath, keeping them all close to your face.
Wiping the sweat from your forehead, you force yourself to take a few deep breaths, lifting the mask a bit to let some fresh air in from time to time.
You spend several miserable days out on that mission. The final morning when you pull on the balaclava, it rubs painfully against some recently developed acne.
Mercifully, the mission ends successfully, and you return to base. After a quick shower to degrime from your time in the field, all you want to do was fall into bed, but that acne is just getting worse.
Half asleep, you reach for your bottle of face wash. It was watermelon-scented pink gel that works wonders for you. You scrub your face with it, put on some moisturizer, and stumble your way to bed.
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“What do you even need face wash for? Isn’t water good enough for the princess?”
You might have hit Soap for his teasing if you hadn’t detected a hint of genuine curiosity in the question.
“There’s no way water is going to cut through all the grime on your ugly mug,” you tease back. “For a guy called Soap, you should use some a little more often.”
“Ouch,” Soap says with a grin.
After a long day of training, you, Soap, Ghost, and a few other members of the 141 have gathered to just relax. You don’t know how the conversation turned to your skincare routine, but here you are. These boys are oddly fascinated with the care you give to your personal hygiene.
“I’m honestly surprised you guys don’t get acne more often. That one mission a few weeks back, I had to wear a mask the whole time I was in the field, and I broke out so bad,” you said. “It was awful!”
You caught Ghost’s eyes after that remark. *He* wore a mask all the time. But it was different for him. The mask was part of him at this point. It was freeing, somehow, in a way you couldn’t quite grasp; for you, it was smothering.
If you got that bad of acne from a couple days with your face covered, you had to wonder: did Ghost ever break out?
“You know, if you ever want to try it, I can give you a full rundown of the routine. Face wash, moisturizer, the whole works,” you said, directing your comment to Soap. Then, meeting Ghost’s eyes, you added, “You can’t miss the face wash. Bottle of pink gel in with my stuff.”
Soap snorts, and Ghost doesn’t say a word. You didn’t want to straight-out say that he could use your wash if he wanted to. After all, “skin care” didn’t have the manliest connotations. His eyes reveal nothing of his thoughts on the matter.
“Pink? I suppose it smells all fancy, too?” Soap laughs.
“Well, of course! Nothing too girly, though. Just some light, fresh watermelon scent,” you reply.
“Ah yes, watermelon! The manliest of all scents,” Soap says.
This time, you do hit him.
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After a few days away on a mission, you are glad to be back on base. It hadn’t been a bad time out in the field, but it had been boring. You guess that’s better than things going horribly wrong, but you’d like at least a little fun while you’re out.
After a hot shower, you move to the sink to wash your face. You reach for your bottle of pink face wash. As you lift it, you realize it feels slightly lighter than it had before you left. You level the bottle, looking at how much is left. It’s not much emptier, but it’s definitely less than you thought you’d had before this mission.
But maybe you just were misremembering. After all, the bottle was exactly where you’d left it. You liked to display it in the corner with the cute watermelon decal facing outward, and that’s precisely how it had been.
With a shake of your head, you dismissed the thought and washed your face.
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Your strides were quick as you made your way toward Price’s office. He’d asked to see you, and while it wasn’t urgent, you liked to make a good impression by being as punctual as possible.
In your haste, you nearly bump into Ghost, who’s turning the corner.
“Oh! Sorry!” you exclaim as you check up, barely keeping from smacking into him.
He nods at you as he continues on. As he passed, you swear you catch the scent of watermelon. You whip around, watching him walk away, but saying nothing before continuing to Price’s office.
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You clutch the brown paper bag in your hand as you make your way to your lieutenant’s room. After slowly watching your face wash deplete seemingly on its own for several more days and catching a few more whiffs of watermelon whenever you were near Simon Riley, you were fairly confident you knew where it was going.
You didn’t want the man to have to keep using your face wash forever, though, so you’d gotten him a bottle of his own. Unfortunately, the stuff only came in the cute bottle with the watermelon decal, so you also bought a plain opaque bottle to put the pink gel in. You couldn’t resist adding a label with a skull and crossbones on it that read “Poison” just for fun.
The rest of the contents of the bag were some more intense acne treatments for breakouts and stubborn spots along with wipes for the black paint he used around his eyes and moisturizer. You’d also written a note with detailed instructions on how and when and what order in which to use the products.
You were just going to set the bag outside his door and maybe knock and run. The moment you bent to set it down, however, the door swung open to reveal Ghost.
His eyes met yours, then traveled down to the bag in your hand.
“What’s that?” he asked.
You blushed. Why did he have to catch you?
“It’s… um… for you,” you finally blurt and shove the bag at him.
Ghost gives you a suspicious look. He takes it and opens it before you can run. His eyes quickly scan the contents, and he pulls out the “Poison” bottle of face wash. He meets your eyes again. His eyes are nearly unreadable, but you catch a hint of curiosity there.
“Face wash,” you explain. “I thought maybe you’d like your own. And I put in some extra stuff, too. And instructions. If you want. Or if you… don’t.”
*Why* had you thought this was a good idea?
Ghost stares at you for a few more seconds, making you wish the floor would open up and swallow you. Finally, he breaks the silence.
“It was the frickin’ watermelon, wasn’t it?”
You blink. “What?”
“That day we met in the hall. You smelled it, didn’t you?”
“I… I thought I did,” you admit.
“You did a whole three-sixty after I passed,” he accuses. “Shoulda stopped using it then.”
“No!” you quickly say. “No, I’d hoped you’d use it. If you needed to. Or wanted to, even. I didn’t know if you’d really take me up on it.”
Neither of you speak for a moment. He stands there, face wash and bag still in hand.
“I can show you how to use the rest of the stuff if you want,” you suddenly offer.
Ghost gives you a sharp look.
“I mean, I’d do it on my face and explain it. You wouldn’t have to take off your mask or anything. I just thought…” you trail off.
You’ve stared down armed enemies before and not been this nervous. Now you are practically oozing awkwardness. The confident soldier was reduced to a bundle of nerves over a discussion about skin care.
“You wrote instructions, yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He hesitates a moment, shifting the bottle in his hand.
“Better run through it once so I can keep it all straight.”
You give him a bright smile, immediately turning on your heel and making your way to your sink where you keep all of your products. You look around carefully before entering with Ghost, making sure no prying eyes spotted you. Locking the door behind you, you arranged all of your bottles and containers, beginning the lesson.
Ghost listened intently as you explained what each product did and how to best use them, giving a nod here and here. You demonstrated and gave tips, like dabbing the face with the washcloth and towel instead of scrubbing it to avoid further irritation. You went through each step, making sure to take your time.
“And then you take about this much moisturizer,” you say, dabbing a bit on your finger and spreading it. “And you spread it evenly. If you have dry patches, you can give those a little more. But after that, you’re done!”
You turn and give him a smile.
“Thanks,” he says after a moment. “Thanks for… this.” He holds up the bag. “And for this.” He gestures vaguely, probably meaning your little lesson.
“Of course,” you say. “Can’t have my favorite LT going without proper skincare, can we?”
You both stand there a moment more. The silence is not uncomfortable. There’s something there, something unsaid, but you don’t mind. This is enough.
It takes you a moment to realize, but his eyes are smiling back at you.
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talkbycolor · 5 months
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john doe game headcanons . . . ↷
A/N; i'm actually really sensitive about john doe JHSAJHSAJAS
Pairing; "John Doe" x GN!Reader
CW; Just doe being the weirdo we love / PISSPISSPISS / implied cannibalism? not so much tho / ew stinky gay / sex with a hairball
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john doe as a partner.
His love for you is pure, but the lack of understanding in humans makes it complicated, he doesn't know how to express it in a "correct" way.
He has little interest in humans but all his interest in You, do you want to learn to play an instrument? Doe too, he would learn to use a phone to call you although it would be useless since in the end he would follow you to work, he can't stand having you away for even a second!
He tried to eat you (unfortunately not in a sexual way), he wanted to bite, pull your teeth, and tear them out of your cheeks to eat them, you had to use a lot of patience to explain to him that this was painful and you could die
He likes your fluids, your sweat smells so good, it tastes great, your tears, he knows that tears mean something is wrong but he can't help but want to lick them, at least he's like a puppy in that way and that will make you laugh, Doe wants to help! your urine, he will drink it all without a problem, if you are both having a loving session in bed and you want to go to the bathroom, forget it, he will open your legs and help empty your bladder, he loved being your personal toilet, your blood is the sweetest of his paradise, be careful with accidental cuts or his mouth will stick like a leech to your wound
Ideas for romantic activities will probably come from television, be careful what he watches
At this point, Doe lives by and for you, he will adapt to your lifestyle and tastes, although he cannot understand most of them, the idea of "breaking up" does not exist in his head, you can walk away, even stop talking to him and he will continue behind you
But he has feelings, why don't you talk to him anymore? Did he do something wrong? He no longer leaves rats in the kitchen, he no longer tries to make You dinners with raw meat, is that the way he looks? Tell him your standards! Doe will change everything for you, even reality
He can definitely purr, he's more like an old, ugly, stray cat that will rest on your lap, but he's YOUR, old, ugly, stray cat.
He doesn't know how to give compliments, it's more like observations or comments about how you make him feel "You're wearing a big hat!" "A red dress!", "I'm so happy to see you!" but it's adorable that he reminds you that you are his whole life…somehow
It's like having a child at home, in the strangest way possible, he will try to make horrible crafts for you and help with housework without much success.
If you demand sex, Doe would probably do his best to make a nice cock, just for you, or a pussy depending on what you like, he will be submissive but if you ask him to take control he will try
And that will probably be the messiest and hardest sex you've ever had in your life, Doe always adores you like it's your last day on earth so in a sexual sphere it would be ten times worse
If you put on a movie at night, he will fall asleep halfway through, no exceptions, the sound of the television and your smell will be enough
Doe would definitely kill for you, he doesn't understand jokes so please don't say "Ugh I hate that guy, I hope he's dead" because yes, the guy will be dead.
In case You doesn't like the smelly boy, Doe will try to take showers regularly, at least to not smell like something out of the sewer, the pain doesn't matter if it's about you
Loves physical contact and quality time
Surprisingly, Doe has a driver's license, he would be your personal chauffeur, you may think it's an adorable gesture but he just wants to be sure where you are at every hour of the day… and help, of course.
Aside from adoring you, Doe actually has his own tastes and hobbies, he HAS feelings! He has tried knitting since the technology is very confusing, he really is like an old man
He tries to have a good relationship with your friends and family, if you have a big family he will probably feel overwhelmed but that doesn't mean he will stop trying to show that he loves you and wants to be with you.
Your younger nephews love it, they think of Doe as a weird-looking uncle who lets them play with his hair
Doe shirt always has hearts when he looks at You.
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msgexymunson · 1 month
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"Uh, excuse me, I have a job for you."
*Eddie gestures to The Goods*
😏
God why do I have a full blown mental image. Oh and of course, smut ensues. 😅
Warnings: oral male receiving, allusions to fem oral, established relationship.
"Oh, and what am I supposed to do with that?" You ask, curling an eyebrow, but there's a hint of mischief behind your eyes.
"Well, you're not feeling great and you always say you feel better when you entertain for Eddie Jr and the Goblins-"
"The Goblins??" You giggle, hand forming over your mouth to hide your amusement.
"Yeah, the Goblins. Ugly, wrinkly, live in the underdark?" He shrugs with wide eyes, as if this is stated fact.
The laugh that expels from your chest can no longer be hidden, ringing out long and loud. To Eddie's absolute amazement and joy, you fall to your knees.
"So, Eddie Jr's been missing me? And his little Goblins need some attention too, huh?" Small fingers run up Eddie's fly, locating the zip to pull it down with exaggerated slowness.
Eddie's next words are stuttered at best.
"Y-yeah, I-I mean, o-of course, fuck... but th-they ain't little."
Chuckling as you shuffle his jeans and boxers midway down his toned thighs, your firm palms drag up his exposed skin, relishing in the shake that takes over his legs.
"Of course not. Big, manly goblins."
As if to accentuate your point, you roll one of his heavy balls inbetween your lips, tongue circling it wetly.
"O-oh holy- fuck, sweetheart!"
"I thought they were-"
"OK, OK, just- please-"
Smiling and palming his length, you lick his tip, gathering the small pearl of pre cum, the taste exploding on your tongue.
"Aah, yeah, take it princess."
Happy to oblige, you envelop the whole of him into your warm wet mouth, gagging slightly when it hits the back of your throat. Working the moistened shaft with one hand, you swallow around him, revelling in the feel of his throbbing length in your mouth. Its oddly conforting; a distraction to keep you mindful and grounded in the here and now. He feels warm and solid, pulsating with need so violently that it cries for you. A salty, coagulation of a tear; hitting your throat with the tang of requirement.
"Fuck, sweetheart, th-thats, oh fuck, you're so warm-"
Humming in response, you take him deep; as deep as you can go. Swallowing around him again and again, you roll his balls in your soft hands to coax him to completion.
You don't have long to wait.
"Sweetheart, oh holy hell I'm gonna- shiiit-"
Chuckling with him stuffed inside your mouth proves too much for Eddie. With a final shudder he explodes onto your waiting tongue, flooding each sense with his release.
You suck, and suck, until he blindly yanks you off of him with tears springing to the corners of his eyes.
"Job well done?" You ask cockily, the smug grin smeared all over. Until, he speaks.
"Yes. Now, its your turn. Lie back."
Oh shit.
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viennakarma · 3 months
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What would I do (without you)
Fernando Alonso x Reader
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Summary: When Fernando is in a very ugly crash, your anxiety gets the best of you, luckily, he’s there to comfort you.
Word count: 1.7k
Tags: female!reader, established relationship, hurt/comfort, anxiety, Fernando’s crash in Australia (2016), happy ending, not beta read
Relationship: Fernando Alonso x Reader
Note: This is a little treat inspired by the unfortunate crash Fernando went through in Australia, 2016. I'm sorry if it's rushed or full of mistakes. Comments and feedback are appreciated xx
The day was perfect, sunny, warm and you had been accompanying Fernando the whole day, and he wanted you close to him at all times possible, unless he had a meeting or press.
You sat on an armchair, watching as Fernando dressed in his racing gear. You unabashedly watched as he undressed from his shorts and team shirt into his undershirt and overalls.
“You’re staring,” he pointed, not looking at you as he adjusted his clothes.
“What? Can’t a girl stare at her man?” You joked, smirking.
“She can, not when I shouldn’t get distracted by a pretty girl.”
Before the race started, you hugged Fernando, pecked his lips quickly and wished him good luck.
You watched the race from the garage, through the screen, headphones firmly around your head. He had a good start, and was climbing from midfield up.
He was going to turn 2 when you saw that his right front tire touched the left back tire of another car, which looked like a brief touch, but due to the speed, his car immediately broke, and Fernando lost control of the car.
Heart on your stomach, you gasped as the car kept going ahead at high speed, scraping the wall with such force, then as soon as it hit the gravel, the car was lifted off the floor, immediately overturning mid air. The car twisted a couple of times in the air, raising dust and debris, until it stopped upside down against the barrier. The car, or what was left of it, was destroyed in a pile of rubble.
You felt like you were going to puke. Everyone in the garage watched in horror one of the ugliest crashes they had ever seen in their lives. The silence felt like hours, but they were barely a few seconds.
He lost control of the car, he couldn’t even brake to ease the impact, the pain took over your chest like fire spreading quickly and deadly. Your knees were shaky as you watched the screen, and heard the silence stretching in the garage.
“Fernando, are you ok?” The engineer asked via radio.
Everyone waited a couple of seconds, and you felt like you were going to pass out when the silence stretched, everyone waiting for a response.
“Yes,” he sounded winded, voice a little shaky. You breathed again, panting as if you were gasping for air after staying a bit too long underwater.
“The marshals are coming to get you, stay put.” The engineer told him.
Your eyes stayed on the screen, and then you could see him climbing out from the rubble, standing up slowly and limping away from the car. Then he stopped, both hands on his knees, looking like he was having trouble breathing.
“Is he hurt?” You asked, your voice loud but shaky.
“No, it seems like he’s just a little dizzy and breathless from the impact,” someone answered.
You pressed a hand against your chest, trying to ease the pulsating pain you felt. Panting, you closed your eyes for a couple of seconds, only to open them to see Fernando being helped by the marshals, talking to the other driver who he had crashed with.
Eventually, he came back to the garage, finding you and his team. You waited while everyone greeted him, with worried hugs and pats on the shoulder. You waited until he came to you, with that silly smile. He pulled you into his arms and he hugged you, holding you for a couple of seconds. You ran your fingers through his hair, inhaling him in, even if he smelled of cologne and sweat.
Your chest gave in, and he was in your arms, and you didn’t want to let go. Because he was there, in one piece, unharmed. Your Fernando was ok, and you told yourself you had not lost him.
“You’re here, you’re here” was all you could mutter into his shoulder, over and over, confused and trembling.
“I’m here, corazón. I’m right here,” he said back, softly.
Someone called him for his post race duties, and you didn’t want to let go, it took your whole strength to unlatch your arms from around his shoulders. You shuddered as he took a step back.
Everything was a haze after that, Fernando going to the med center to check if he had any injuries, then a brief media walk. Your mind was running a thousand miles per minute, thinking about the crash, about how it could’ve gone so, so wrong.
You sat in his driver’s room, out of it, thinking about all the what ifs, all the possibilities. You could’ve lost him in a couple of seconds, you could’ve been going to the hospital right now, or worse, you could be calling his parents with the worst news ever.
You’re agitated for the next couple of hours. You tried to eat something, but after two bites you felt like you’re going to throw up, so you gave up.
“Corazón? Corazón!” You heard his voice, quickly taking you away from your anxious thoughts.
Fernando looked like he had showered and changed, you stood up, numbly taking your bag and following him. During the ride back to the hotel, you stayed silent, watching the view from the window, holding his hand on your lap, firmly.
He soon noticed how you were too quiet, silent. Your bubbly personality hadn’t shown up since before the race. He knew you must’ve been scared to death, even himself had been.
“I’m going to take a shower,” you said as soon as you got inside the hotel room. Fernando was going to say something but you just turned around and went inside the bathroom.
Under the shower, you closed your eyes, trying to delete the images of the crash from your mind, trying to stop this anxiety bubbling in your mind and heart. Fear slowly gripping your every muscle, and every thought.
Turning the shower, you got out, barely taking time to dry, just dressing in a robe and going outside, water dripping down your legs and dampening the floor.
Fernando, who had just asked for room service, was waiting for you to come out of the shower so he could really check on you. He didn’t have to wait as you came out of the bathroom, still wet, disheveled and terribly pale.
You jumped into his arms and he stumbled backwards until you two sat on the sofa, you on top of him.
“Talk to me, cariño,” he asked, “are you ok?”
As soon as he said the words, you started to sob, crying out loud, shaking and holding him tightly. Your face against his chest inhaling his scent, nuzzling your face into his beard.
“You’re here, Nando,” you puffed, nervously.
“I’m here, my love. I’m right here.”
“I thought- I was going to lose you today,” you managed to get out, between sobs. He ran his hand over your back, hugging harder, kissing the top of your head. “I was so, so scared!”
“It’s ok, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere,” he comforted you.
You kept crying for a few minutes, and Fernando just held you close, running his hands over your body, pulling you impossibly closer, kissing your face. Until you calmed down, and your sobs turned into sniffles. You were still sitting on his lap but you pushed away to look at his face. You held his face with both hands, running your thumbs over his cheekbones, then his eyebrows, then his lips. You observed his face with such worry, such devotion that he was overcome with love for you.
“I’m sorry I’m being so selfish, oh god- you- you were in the crash, inside the car- I’m sorry, you must’ve been so scared! This- this wasn’t about me!” You said, suddenly embarrassed for being so scared.
“Hey, it’s ok, corazón. I understand you were scared. I was too.”
“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, amor,” you whispered, kissing him softly.
“No, don’t apologize,” he whispered, holding your face as if you were a delicate thing. At that moment, you were fragile and worried sick because of him, “you know why I left the car so quick? Because I thought of you and my mom watching the race, I thought about how worried you two would be, so I came out because I wanted to show you that I was fine.”
You hugged him some more, finally managing to calm your heart down, as you settled your face against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. When the food arrived, you ate quietly, still keeping a hand on him, feeling his body all the time.
When you were getting ready for bed, after blow drying your hair and dressing in pajamas, you reached in your bag for something. Fernando sat on the bed, staring at you. Holding the thing behind your back, you went back to him, standing between his legs.
“I need to tell you something, Nando.”
“¿Estás bien?” He asked, worried.
Smiling, you took his hand with yours, and placed it on your belly, holding it there. You raised the other hand, showing him the positive pregnancy test.
“No,” he shook his head in disbelief.
“Yes,” you nodded, smiling.
“¿En serio?” he asked again, just to make sure. But his eyes were shining in barely contained happiness. You held his face, pecking his lips for a second.
“For real, amor. We’re having a baby!” You told him, and he hugged your middle, putting his head under your shirt to lay his cheek against your belly. You could hear him muttering spanish against your skin, 
After quite the scare, you knew you had to forget about a pretty and cute way to tell him, and just show him why you felt so worried, so scared because it wouldn’t be just you losing him, but your baby too.
As you laid in bed, cuddling with Fernando’s face against your chest and his hand holding over your stomach, you ran your fingers through his hair.
“I know it’s part of racing and accidents happen sometimes, but,” you whispered, trying to sound understanding, “could you be a tiny bit more careful? For us?”
“Yes, corazón, I will.”
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