angst. fluff. Based on "What If?" Evil Dr. Strange comes looking for Christine in other universes but is met with you instead.
Andromeda
angst. Defender Strange comes home to his wife and little girl every night—except when he doesn’t.
You're A Stranger
angst. You're in a toxic relationship with Strange.
Christine's Wedding
fluff. Request: hi could you do something about Stranger with the reader at Christine's wedding? The couple had been in a serious relationship for some time, it would be something cute and funny.
3 Minutes
angst. fluff. You're concerned that you may be pregnant and you know Stephen doesn't want kids. Ft. Stony, Peter Parker and Morgan Stark
Old Man
fluff. Who's going to tell her?
6:59 AM
Cape Rescue Blurb
Stephen's Crush Headcannon
Stephen Being Rich AF Headcannon
Stephen Strange Variants Reacting to you calling them Daddy for the first Time During Sex
Stephen Strange Variants Reacting to you being a brat
Stephen Strange Variants Eating P U dollar dollar Y
What your favorite Strange says about you
Prof. Doctor Strange Deux
fluff. You're Stephen's teachers assistant.
Jealous Dom!Reader Blurb
Keep Driving
fluff. Meet Formula 1 Harry.
Impact
angst. Formula 1 Harry crashes.
The Wedding
fluff. Formula 1 Harry gets married.
Maintain
angst. Formula 1 Harry and Daniel Riccardo have a strained relationship.
Friction
angst. Formula 1 Harry and Y/n's fight.
Harry Styles and Y/n Lane-Styles take a Couples Quiz | GQ Sports
Nutella Image Blurb
It's Okay
angst. fluff. Reader deals with an unwanted pregnancy.
Harry Styles’ Nail Artist Breaks Down his Most Iconic Nail Art
The Rumbles
angst. fluff. Your kids experience an earthquake for the first time.
Modified Acceptance Speech
angst. fluff. You won Album of the Year last year so this year you are tasked with presenting it to the winner. This year that's your ex.
Playing Hard Ball
fluff. Meet MLB Harry.
Don't Leave
angst. smut. Your arranged marriage is over.
Irish Twins
You and Harry are buying toilet paper.
Morpheus
Poppies and Cypress Trees
angst. fluff. When Morpheus returns to The Dreaming after his capture the reader is less than pleased.
Grace
angst. He forgives you.
Benedict Cumberbatch
Leave
angst. Benedict is always away filming. Emotions flare when he tries to take your son away to do the same.
Teacher's Pet ft. Tom Hiddleston
Shower Thoughts
Corpse Husband
Corpse_Boyfriend
Leaked
angst. fluff. Corpse's face is leaked.
Minefields
angst. fluff. You choosing to love him.
Cookies and Corpse
fluff. You ATTEMPT to bake on livestream with Corpse.
Heal
fluff. You take a mental health break.
Misc
I'm Batman | Tom Sturridge
fluff. Tom gets his wisdom teeth taken out.
If it's not in my masterlist I don't want you to see it.
okay my favorite thing in the world to do is plan detailed pinterest weddings and i want to feed into your delusions (as well as mine)
so iwas thinking maybe we could do this thing where you tell me what your dream wedding looks like with your comfort characters/person and i create a mood board 🥺👉👈
okay i’ll go first.
beach villa wedding with charles leclerc
highlights and notes
family style dinner because family is important to him
poolside rehearsal dinner because…duh
reserved seating for his lost loved ones
french to english to italian dictionaries to aid in communication
champagne because all the best moments of his life have been punctuated by the bubbly
Summary: A chaotic reader who needs to buy a car, which is ironic considering that all her friends drive the fastest cars in the world. (And in this one, the drama heats up.)
Part 1 w/ Max Verstappen
iMessage
Instagram
iMessage
FaceTime
iMessage
Instagram
Like by y/bffname, danielriccardo, timotheechalamet
y/nusername Your man is taking me to dinner
y/bffname Who’s man??
timotheechalamet Tell him [French gibberish]
y/nusername ahh yes oui oui baguette 🥖
user Wasn’t she just with Max???
Like by y/bffname, maxverstappen1, kylie jenner
y/nusername I’m eating good in this neighborhood
user Her life 😍
user for the streets
user The fact that the neighborhood is Monaco 💀
user No I’m serious what she do for a living other than mooch
Like by y/bffname, danielriccardo, zendaya
y/username Nvm the food was nasty and we left. No offense to the restaurant. Y’all ate. We sure didn’t.
y/bffname You got McDonald’s money??? 🤔
y/nusername He does 🤑
user Can see the gold digger from miles away
user she’s using half of the grid
Like by y/bffname, charlesleclerc, maxverstappen1
y/nusername I’m back to being a passenger princess. 👸🏾
I’ve been thinking about this post since I first saw it. Everyday. The words “intrinsically tied to his grief” have just circled my head. In light of today’s developments, I wanted to share it.
Family Line // “might share our faces, share a last name but we are not the same”
DNA // “are the pieces of you in the pieces of me? i’m just so scared you’re who i’ll be. when i erupt just like you do, they look at me the way i look at you.”
Max loses his temper with your little boy.
Disclaimers and TWs: I don’t know Max personally and I’ve never claimed to. It’s just me and PSYCH 101 against the world! / Mention of Jos and childhood trauma / Am I projecting? Yes.
He wasn’t usually like this. Interestingly enough, your “Mad” Max wasn’t as temperamental as people made him out to be but today, something was different. One thing after the other, stress piled on top of him. He had to do something for work and you had to go into the office and your baby sister canceled on you and now your child for the past 15 minutes has been tugging on his shirt asking him to make him a bowl of cereal. An hour ago, when Max attempted to feed him lunch, your toddler refused, boldly deeming his food as “Yucky!” But now, in his toddler way, he was starving.
“Wait, baby,” Max tried to say but patience is not a virtue toddlers possess.
“Please papa,” he whined after only waiting for approximately 30 seconds.
Max’s fingers were working overtime to type out an email before he lost his train of thought. “I’ll get to it in a minute. Two minutes, baby.”
Max finished up his email with no further interruptions and leaned back in his chair, thankful for the silence. He should have known: silence is not a welcomed sound when it comes to toddlers. It is soon followed by raucous crashing. Max bolted from his chair, heading straight to the kitchen where he found his little boy attempting to pour his own midday cereal. He and the counter were covered in milk, the sound Max had heard was the plastic bowl falling to the ground in an otherwise silent house.
Today was a long day. Your patient had called in for an emergency session, which took ages. These high profile clients had a way of droning on and on about problems that were irrelevant, especially irrelevant to people with bank accounts less padded than theirs. You spoke your mantra to yourself over and over again: I get paid by the hour. Alas, you were going to your warm, happy home where you would fall into your husband’s arms and be unburdened by other peoples’ problems. With a smile from your little boy, who is a little version of the man you love more than anything, the anxiety and anguish would be washed away.
On days like this, at the end of your tether you might abandon your approach on gentle– responsive parenting but Max was usually there when you needed to tap out, and in your child’s short life, you had managed to never yell at him. That is why it was so jarring to find your husband, screaming at your little boy, fingers clutching a cereal box so tightly the cardboard had bent around his hand.
“I told you to wait! Now, look at the mess you’ve made!” His figure was imposing on your son, it was like watching the future chastise the past. Eyes that looked so much like his his own were spewing tears. “Clean it up.”
“Mama!” Your boy ran to you the moment he noticed you finding comfort i, finding shelter in your arms and hiding his face is your neck that
quickly became slick with tears. You attempted to soothe him, rubbing your hands over his sides but being his mother was enough for his crying to quiet. “We can’t cry over spilled milk, can we?” You wiped the remaining tears off his cotton soft cheeks. “Can you clean up the mess by yourself or do you need me to help?”
“No, I can do it!” He marched over to his little kitchen that was partly composed of a cleaning station so he could independently clean up his messes. He pulled out too many paper towels and dabbed up the milk on the floor. With his attention on his spill, you were able to turn yours to your husband.With one finger, you motioned for Max to step into the living room with you where you still had a line of sight of your now occupied son but you could discuss what just happened privately. When you were sure your little boy was absorbed in his task, you confronted your husband.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Yelling at my child like that!”
His body was already tense but when you confronted him his fingers fell from his face where he was pinching the bridge of his nose. He turned to you, “Your child!” He scoffed at your choice of words, “I thought he was mine, too.”
“You yelled at my child. Something we strictly agreed not to do.”
My, you had said it again. My child. The sentence evoked anger in him that he could not place. Choosing to ignore your word choice, “I asked him to do something and he did it anyway. I was disciplining him!” Something he only felt was right as a father, because after all it was his child, too.
“Yelling is not discipline!”
“Clearly, you have no problem yelling when you are fucking screaming at me!” He knew he shouldn’t have yelled but he didn’t like being confronted so he didn’t back down. “It was one time! You’re being unreasonable!”
“I don’t want him to end up as fucked up as you!” The moment it left your lips, you regretted it. There were things you could never take back and this was one of them. Max stepped back as if he had been struck. “I shouldn’t–” you shook your head, wincing from your words as they echoed in your head, “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”
He became mute, standing there, rigid. The silence became heavy, to the point of suffocation. You were happy when it was broken by your little boy, proudly proclaiming, “All done!”
You knew Max loved his child. He would have rather cut off his own arm than to hurt him. It showed in gaze as he kneeled down to speak to his son directly, “Good job, bub. I’m so sorry for raising my voice with you.”
“It’s okay. I forgive you."
When he turned back to you the love he had shown for his child was gone. Your little boy took his hand and led him somewhere in the house, forgetting the rift he had with his father easily. You wished the bigger version of him was that easily forgiving. But you knew better.
“Max.”
“No,” he shut you down, rising from the bed. It looked like he was going to leave but at the threshold of your bedroom, he balled his fist and turned around to face you. “I’m not broken! I know that I’m some sort of project for you but I’ve told you a million fucking times that I do not need to be fixed!”
“You’re not a project to me.”
“Oh please! You’ve been trying to fix me since we met.”
After graduate school, you had found a job in Austria as the appointed psychiatrist of RedBull Racing’s employees, including their drivers, who were mandated to spend at least 4 hours with you a month. For their mental wellbeing as they called it. The company had all kinds of excuses like that. When they offered you the job, with little to no clinical experience, they say it was because they thought you were capable. You were sure the only reason they hired you was because you could speak multiple languages, all the languages they needed you to be able to speak at least. Then again, racing is a high pressure job, your hiring manager informed you as he showed you to your office, and sometimes drivers crack.
You thought they got the short end of the deal until you realized that you were the only psychiatrist for the entire team. All 1400 some-odd employees of RedBull Racing were at your doorstep and Patient 0001 was the worst of them all: uncommunicative and stubborn.
Max spent every session, sat across from you with a blank stare, insisting that he had nothing to talk about. After four silent sessions, you extended an olive branch and decided to talk about yourself hoping that he would loosen up and begin to share with you. Eventually, he did–in his own way. He began telling you more than you cared to know about racing but his impassioned speech held your interest and when conversation lulled, he would ask you to finish the story you started two months ago and he would listen and fall deeper into love with you, with every gesture you made and poor impression you gave.
“I’m not but I—” You were desperately stumbling to find the words to say to assuage him when you realized you were struggling because you were lying. And you never lie to your husband. “Honestly: I think you’re so broken that you can’t even register it.”
You were sobbing now. “You think I don’t know, Max? I’ve slept next to you every night for five years. You wake up scared, terrified..” you thought of long nights next to him, jet lagged because you flew to where he was, you would have run if it meant you could be with him. But you quickly discovered he was a disturbed sleeper. He would mumble to himself, relive traumas over and over again as if he was trapped by them. Stuck in memories as a scared little boy.
When he woke up the next day, he would be unsettled but he would never remember the words he had spoken in his sleep, pleas–begging to be saved, to not be left alone, to be good enough. You loved him so you would protect him from himself, even if it meant never telling him why he woke up with headaches from squeezing his eyes closed.
“I just want to help you,” it was ironic to say when he was the one wiping away your tears. “I’m sorry.”
“You don't have to apologize. I know your opinions on my upbringing. I know the monster you’ve created in your head that serves as my father, what hurts is that you would compare me to him.”
Max forgave you. And you forgave him. That was the easy part. The hard was this:
Max sat across the couch from you and you were no longer his wife. The second you opened your notepad to a blank sheet, your mind did the same.
“Hello, Max. What would you like to speak about?”
“I would like to talk about my childhood.”
“Okay, tell me about that.”
thinking this is part one of new series where we explore challenging moments in parenthood @k-arletsworld aptly named ✨trauma kids✨
(I have ideas for daniel and charles.)
the first time I posted this nothing happened??? so we're going to try this again.
