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augustinescruelsummer · 9 months

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MEMORIES | CP10

IN which you and Christian exchange heartfelt memories from your relationship while watching the stars, surrounded by a warm night fire.

fem!reader x cp10

content: fluff. teeth rotting fluff. reminiscing. she cleans a wound of his. the World Cup injury. christian’s a lovesick softie !!!

AN: this is so sweet like my teeth are rotting after writing this wtf. I actually have no idea where this came from it feels like the deep hell pits of my brain but I lowkey really like it LMFAO. Also this GIF? MY GOD. LORD. I am FINE.

WC: 2.7k

"REMEMBER that time you went flying into the goalkeeper at the World Cup?" You ask Christian while he nurses a beer, the fire pit providing a warm haze to the domestic night. The sky was crystal clear, minus the smoke your fire provided the air, and it was a perfect night to gaze at the stars. He chuckles softly at the random comment while running a finger down your hair, "How could I forget?"

You didn't know why you made the comment, suddenly overwhelmed with a collection of nostalgic memories while gazing into the fire between you two. Maybe it was the domesticity of the scene, the sun just setting over the horizon on a cold night, the two of them cuddled under her favorite blanket pointing out stars.

"What made y'think about that?" He prompts further, readjusting his arm to allow her more space to come closer. A soft smile falls over her lips as she fully recalls the memory.

THE MEN'S WORLD CUP. 2022.

A sound of horror falls from your lips as Christian goes to kick the crucial goal, flying into the goalkeeper. You watch intently as a blur of trainers come sprinting over to him as he holds his groin in pain, people repping the American flag around you craning for a look at the scene. He had been down for a couple of minutes, partly in pain and appreciating the goal he had just scored. You had felt nauseous, partly due to the fact you'd never seen Christian be intensely injured on the field. He attempts to stand on his own and walk towards the medical facility, but his face contorts with pain as his weight collapses almost instantly on a nearby trainer. His teammates look on despondently at the American boy and his abrupt exit, congratulating him on the phenomenal goal.

"I was so embarrassed," he recalls looking down at you, pulling you out of the trip down memory lane. Your eyebrows furrow at the comment, never knowing he felt like that.

"Why in God's name would you be embarrassed about an injury, Chris?"

He shrugs in an attempt to dodge the question, leaning forward with a long stick to probe the firewood around.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question," you push as he spends longer than necessary on a piece of wood that didn't need adjustment.

"I honestly don't know. The whole time I was in my own head thinking about how not-badass the debacle was, and at the end of the day I knew I was never going to live it down. Interviewers asking me if we could still have children because of it and the picture from my story getting leaked. I was playing for the damn United States and was going to have an early exit because of a groin injury. It brought the team publicity at the end of the day, but I was still mortified."

You lean back to look at his expression while he reveals his thoughts, comfortable in confiding. "It felt like I was 14 years old getting punched in the balls at recess," he adds with a soft chuckle, turning the neck of the bottle around nervously.

"I thought it was quite the badass exit," you told him confidently, "You went viral on social media for being attractive and diving into a goalkeeper for your country. You were labelled Captain America. That is nothing to be embarrassed about."

A grin creeps over his bashful expression and your heart warms at the sight of it.

"I was worried about you in the moment," you told him earnestly as more of the memory unfolded in your mind.

MEN'S WORLD CUP. 2022.

Qatar. A country you knew next to nothing about when it came to locations of hospitals. Your hands were shaking at the whispers Christian was being sent to the hospital. There was no crash course on what to do when your husband gets injured in the World Cup. You flip your phone over in your hands, making the decision to exit your place in the stands. The match had continued and you considered staying, knowing Christian wouldn't want you to worry, but that was inevitable.

"I was researching hospitals left and right, wondering where they would take you," You recalled, not missing the feeling of dread that overcame over not knowing where Christian was being sent.

"Still can't believe you took a fucking Uber in a foreign country to come and find me," he said with a snort. Christian's heart heated at the thought of it, his wife doing anything she could to come and find him. Even though he was delirious due to the pain meds, Christian had still found time to text you where they were taking him. You were in the next Uber to him the second the text hit your inbox.

MEN'S WORLD CUP. 2022.

You gazed into his room, a nurse patiently attempting to take his vitals as he held a thumbs up and snapped a picture of him laying on the bed. The match was on the TV still, Americans rallying to celebrate the valiant efforts of the team. A grin was plastered on his face watching his friends embrace each other. "It's called soccer!" Musah screams at the camera lingering by him, the saying a play at Christian's viral photoshopped meme. You revel in Christian's laugh before bursting through the door, the nurse just finishing his vitals.

"Hi baby!" He greets when you appear in front of him, the excitement of seeing you after a major win outweighing any logic as to how you got here. Sickeningly, he would do the whole thing a million times over just to be babied by you.

The memory is snapped when Christian once again returns you to the present moment.

"God, I don't think I've ever seen someone so proud of me," he said while laying a chaste kiss on your cheek. "I thought you might be upset or embarrassed about the whole situation, but I was incredibly wrong. My girl took pride in the fact her husband put their kids on the line for America."

"Hell yeah!" You chanted, pumping your first in the air. You laughed at the recollection of social media going wild after the event was over, fans wondering if their favorite football couple would still be able to have children. Talk about patriotic.

The fire crackled as a comfortable silence enveloped the couple once again, both of them in their own world thinking about heartfelt memories.

Christian, thinking about when he tied for the 17th International Goal Record in qualifying against Mexico, pulling up his jersey to display his celebration. "MAN IN THE MIRROR," his undershirt read in haphazardly written Sharpie, a true display of his poor penmanship. The moment froze in time, though, when he looked up from his shirt into the boxes and made eye contact with you in the crowd. He swore his heart stalled.

Along with the rest of the American crowd, you were screaming his name out for all the field to hear. His name, an action that had him transfixed watching the stands. You stared at him, shouting the three syllables of his surname, which were heavily enunciated so he knew what was being chanted.

He rose his pointer finger up at you, a sly wink in your direction catching the eye of the camera man. He followed the receiving end of the wink, and there, on the jumbo tron, was you turned around pointing at the proud PULISIC plastered on your back while he motioned towards you.

He took a swig from the bottle beside him to distract his mind from going down every single memory his heart held with you. It was a tempting offer. Christian watched you adjust so your head was in his lap, folding the blanket over both your bodies to fit. You scrolled through the Barnes and Noble app searching for a new book to read as Christian watched the stars twinkle in the night sky.

"Whatcha thinking about, Chris?" You pat his knee a couple moments later to catch his attention, noticing the dazed look in his eyes.

"You."

Your heart sped up at the word, confident it was now a puddle on the lawn. He continued his thought without being prompted,

"Thinkin' about that time when I scored my first ever goal in the pros and you blew me a kiss, and I knew right then that I was gonna marry you." He grinned wickedly down at you, "Thinkin' about that time I scored and the screens caught you with audio screaming I was your 'Captain America'. Hearing my own wife use the nickname was the only thing left needed to die peacefully." He gazes down at you lovingly, capturing your lips to secure the sentiment and sweetness of the moment shared.

"Those two moments you just described," you told him suddenly flipping to where you lie on your back, gazing up at his face. "Are some of my favorite moments too. I was so proud of you I thought my heart would burst, and I was wondering how much jail time I would serve for jumping the fence."

"Jail time?" He asked inquisitively with a laugh, "I don't know what'd I would do if security tried to manhandle you off the pitch for jumping. I wouldn't have enough time to stop laughing to help."

You both giggled at the thought of it. "Y'know after I called you Captain America on the 'tron, I sat back down and went on Amazon to get you a lego set of his shield. It didn't come in the mail until three weeks later because it had to be custom made."

He splits into a smile thinking about the gift, it sitting on the trophy case in the bedroom. It hadn't been moved since he placed it, being featured in personal interviews in zoom calls during lockdown. He took anytime to talk about it when given the opportunity, being his favorite gift ever. It was a fairly large shield, custom made and built with a "Pulisic" engraved in an arch into the middle.

He remembered when he unwrapped and squealed like a little girl, holding it in his hands like a newborn. "Baby, this is the best gift I've ever gotten! It's not even near my birthday!" You had come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist fondly.

"I got it 'cause I love you and I'm proud of you," you told him, leaving a sweet kiss in between his shoulder blades. He blushed under the praise. "Can I frame it?" He asks, gently setting it down on the kitchen counter. "Do whatever your heart desires, baby," you told him with a joyous expression.

"Y'wanna hear my memory, Chris?" You ask him while staring at the stubble beginning to grown in on his face. You take notice of an ingrown hair that needs to be removed before he starts itching and complains at the burn. He hums an affirmation, finishing off his beer.

"My memory is when you got that nasty turf burn after a Chelsea match, and instead of going to have the trainer clean it, you brought it home for me to deal with."

He laughs wholeheartedly, "What can I say? There's nothing better than being babied by your wife." You roll your eyes at him, appreciating his full honesty. Christian has no shame in his love for his wife.

You had freaked out when he walked through the threshold of your old shared apartment, his shoes squeaking on the freshly cleaned carpet.

"Christian!" You had chastised from the couch without looking up, "Take your dirty shoes off, were you raised in a barn!?" He doesn't respond, causing you to look up with a frustrated demeanor, before taking notice of his bloody knee.

"Christ, baby, I thought you would've gotten that looked at before you left the field," you said, beckoning him closer. Christian tries to not let the joy he's feeling show at the thought of you having to take care of him, knowing it's about to occur. He's a softie, what can he say?

"I needed my favorite doctor to look at it?" He tells you with a charming grin, phrasing it like a question in an effort to avoid a lecture.

You don't put up a fight, guiding him to sit in one of the dining chairs while you disappeared into the bathroom to get antiseptic and Advil. You pour him a cup of water, double checking to make sure you were giving him the right amount Advil. You always had an irrational fear of your star boyfriend overdose on it because of a misread by you. Satisfied with the information the bottle had given you the previous ten times you had read it, you reentered the battlefield, aka Christian's knee.

Meanwhile, Christian had been smiling like a fool at the TV running post-match highlights of his game. It was such a small thing for you to turn the matches on while working from home, but it meant the world to him. He knew you had probably sat on the couch with your feet tucked under you, the work iPad you lugged around resting in your lap as you worked. The TV was probably set to a low volume, not loud enough to distract you, but quiet enough so you could still listen for your husband's name. You wore an oversized Chelsea T-Shirt, his name adorning the back per usual.

"This is gonna sting," you told him drily, holding no sympathy for your husband at the moment. He had to know you were not qualified in any sort to be cleaning up a pro soccer player's wounds, but yet here you were at 11:30 on a Monday night.

"I have work tomorrow," you stated as you stared at the alarmingly late numbers on the oven clock, which motivated you to harshly rub the antiseptic onto the burn.

"Jesus, baby! Is it really necessary to do it this rough?" He asked you, biting his lip. You didn't respond, outstretching your free hand for him to squeeze which he took gratefully.

"You know, if the team trainer had done this it probably would've hurt less," you said through gritted teeth, taking one last swipe down the wound.

"Ok, ow! Fuck!" He whined at the contact and you rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to call him a big baby. You were not particularly inclined to be dealing with his antics this late, even though you loved Christian more than anything. You slapped a bandage onto the burn, placing a kiss to it, making the classic smile return to his face at the tradition.

"I'll make you breakfast tomorrow morning to make up for the fact I kept you up," he told you while sliding off the chair. You smiled at his words, always a giver.

"Baby, it's fine. You can if you want to, but I tend to your wounds and shit because I love you and want to take care of you." You gave him a kiss on the lips before handing him his water and Advil. "I put you out some sleep clothes after the game ended, I figured you'd be tired," you said while filling up your own water bottle at the fridge. Christian smiled like a fool, wrapping you into his arms for a proper hug once you were done at the fridge.

"God, I love you. Thank you," he said, placing a kiss on the top of your head before making his way to the shower.

One of your favorite things was reminiscing on moments like these with Christian, moments where the health of your relationship shown through. There were so many you could laugh about with him. Christian stood up after another stretch of comfortable silence, attempting to put the fire out to the best of his abilities. You folded the blanket up and placed his bottle in the trash facing away from him. You heard the whoosh of the flames going out, and then felt a tattooed arm wrap around you, scooping you up. He carried you into your house bridal style, a delirious grin on his face the whole way up the stairs, drunk on the joyous memories.

#christian pulisic one shot #christian pulisic fluff #christian pulisic #christian pulisic blurb #christian pulisic fic #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic x you #football x y/n #footballer x reader

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augustinescruelsummer · 9 months

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Me turning into a 40 year old soccer mom with the damn gif keyboard every time I’m on tumblr is becoming a serious problem. send help.

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augustinescruelsummer · 9 months

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caption so real

He’s so SMASHILICIOUS😞😞

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augustinescruelsummer · 9 months

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late launch ✷ cl16

genre: mobile au

Fans are upset that you and Charles have never posted each other. Internet semi-bullying ensues – and maybe even works.

auds here... first social media thingy in a WHILE i felt the need to do it. i hope u all like it i missed making these bahahhaa

Liked by f1, yourusername, and 769,034 others

charles_leclerc Summer break almost on! #F1

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landocentral late comments but post y/n when

ynangel liking each other's posts is literally the only way we know u two know each other

chaarlito post y/n

sainzist When will you post your gf

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charles_leclerc 🤍 yourusername

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f1 We're so here for this.

yourusername Heeyyyy babyyyy :)

ynfansusa IM FREAKING OUT

landonorris same ynfansusa

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augustinescruelsummer · 9 months

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SPILT | CP10

IN WHICH Christian has to learn how to properly communicate and control his insecurities, or else he risks losing his favorite girl.

Christian Pulisic x F!Reader (She/Her)

WC: 3.6k (got carried away. sometimes I like writing.)

GENRE: angst -> fluff (my fav genre)

INCLUDES: jealousy (christian), odd dude, christian struggles to communicate his feelings, happy ending, reader puts christian in his place, healthy resolution of an argument, curse words

CLINK. The glass goes flying to the ground before her hand can reach out to grab it, the pieces splintering onto the hardwood floor. A gasp comes from the bartender at the mess. Her smile fades quickly, staring blankly down at the hazardous shards under her feet. She swallows nervously at the sharp cut edges enveloping her.

“I am so sorry,” the apologies begin flowing out of her mouth as the ongoing patrons turn their heads curiously at the commotion. Her head begins to go dizzy at all the attention. The spilt drink’s owner, a slim-built boy with a polo shirt and khakis, looks at her unaffected by the debacle.

“It’s seriously not a problem,” he says, his squeaky voice greasing her axnieties into a higher gear. She hops off her chair, crouching down to attempt to grab the pieces into her hand, refusing to get caught in a trap by a trust fund baby. The sliver of flirtation in his tone was causing her hot temper to flare alongside the boiling anxiety.

“Hey, hey!” The boy says pointedly, “Don’t do that. You’ll cut your hand open, we can’t have that.” He places a greasy hand onto her shoulder, the action causing her shoulder’s to jolt forward at the unwelcome touch. Her mind was racing over the spilt glass, her anxiety doing its best to remain present. Her mind was swimming of outlandish theories. Was the bartender going to banish her permanently? Would Chris be mortified if he saw the mess she made at his favorite celebration spot?

She had gotten here early to surprise him, after he informed her the team was going out to his favorite bar to celebrate his game-winning goal in overtime. She had watched from home, her heart beating like a drum as he the ball soared into the net at the last second, the camera catching a joyous Christian, the sight her favorite thing in the whole world. Greasy-hand waves his hands around frantically to call a busser over to aid with the cleanup, suddenly deciding to be concerned with the glass splitting open her fingers. She rolls her eyes at the action, he had spent the last three minutes ogling her form crouched over said glass. Probably a good thing it's on the ground now. Karma?

The female bartender manages to calm her down, informing her she would not, in fact, be removed from the bar for a simple accident. One that truly was not her fault. “He should have known better than to sneak up on you like a creep,” the bartender had added when she explained how it happened.

Greasy-Hand had decided to stop ogling and make his way over to her, placing his glass down in front of her by reaching over unexpectedly, without the slightest introduction. The random touch (sound familiar with this dude?) had caused her to send the glass flying onto the ground. She watched nervously as the kind woman swept the glass pieces up, sending warm smiles and reassurances as she huddled by the crime scene. Her nails were bitten down to the cuticle from the anxiety of the situation. She had completely zoned out in her own world, meaning she was unaware to the greasy hand lurking on her shoulder. The hand sent incredibly (un)welcoming feelings down her back, causing shivers to go down her spine at the circles being drawn, snapping her out of her trance. She removed the hand with a frown, looking into Greasy-Hand’s eyes. The notion made her miss Christian dearly, hoping he would walk into the door at any minute and put her frantic worrying to rest.

Christian was yet to show up, and she sat at the bar with a downturned frown staring into the abyss of her whiskey glass. She unlocked her phone once again as Greasy-Hand jabbered on, searching for a sign from Christian. No texts, no calls.

“Excuse me,” she told Greasy-Hand without looking up from her phone, sliding off her barstool and into the bathroom. Her eyes were glued to her phone as she made her way into the women's restroom at the end of the hall. She didn’t even care if he was still in the middle of a sentence, the overwhelming fear that Christian had curved her was overwhelming. Was he leaving her? Her last message sat there, read.

From: Chris<3

The team is going to The Hook soon. Potentially see you within the hour?

To: Chris<3

Kk! See you soon!

Her message sat there delivered from two hours ago, the receipts showing he had read it thirty minutes following send. She locked her phone and fixed her hair in the mirror, hoping she didn’t look as anxious as she felt. Busying her hands with retucking her Pulisic jersey into her bra, she thought about her game plan. She was going to march out of this bathroom, turn Greasy-Hand down, and take her ass home to cry at Christian’s inability to properly communicate. Right. Sounds like a plan.

She swung the door open with a newfound confidence, finding Greasy-Hand still lurking by the bar. He was beginning to start rambling again, but she held a hand up, not allowing him to continue.

“Look, I appreciate you looking after me when the glass shattered, but I’ve been stood up by my own boyfriend. I appreciate your rambling company while it lasted.”

What the fuck was that, she thought, that was so unsmooth.

Greasy-Hand, once again, placed that chilling hand on her shoulder and began another ramble about how happy he was to be able to fill Christian’s shoes. Which was not at all what she had just told him. Clearly he had missed the point.

“New couple alert?” A rich voice asks loudly as he approached the bar, irises darkened, locked in onto the greasy hand stealing the soul out of the circulation in her shoulder. Her stomach dropped at the sight of Christian, in his trousers and Team USA t-shirt pressed perfectly to him, an angry expression plastered on his beautiful face. She tried to communicate with her eyes, signaling nonverbally to the hand on her shoulder. Christian, in his immature fit, completely ignores the signs and continues to comment, his notorious green streak coming out mercilessly.

“I wish,” Greasy-Hand says to Christian, not realizing his importance in her life. She grimaces internally at his comment, hoping the bar floor would open up and swallow her whole. She would never have to face this level of embarrassment ever again. Christian sends him a tight lipped smile, leaning against the bar casually. “She’s quite the flirt, isn’t she?” He says to Greasy-Hand cooly, looking straight through her. The dropped stomach bottoms out, her blood turning cold at his insinuation. He slides his card across the hardwood to the awaiting bartender. She attempts to push his hand off her shoulder harshly, expression fading as he clamps it back down.

Christian, observing the struggle sharply, suddenly kicks back into a conscious state of mind, not consumed by his childish fit of jealous rage. “Let her go,” he barks angrily at the knockoff frat boy. He pockets his wallet before crossing over to the pair with two strides. Greasy-Boy grins wickedly, “I thought you were encouraging me to have a turn, though?” He spits mockingly at Christian, tightening the arm and pulling her into his sweaty body. Her face contorts with uncomfortable panic, Christian recognizing the signs of an upcoming panic attack. “I’ll split your fucking skull if that hand isn’t removed in five seconds,” he says calmly, grabbing his drink from the bartender without letting up eye contact. Greasy-Hand’s face pales, suddenly clicking the name on the back of her jersey and the man in front of him’s connection together. “That’s what I thought,” he smiles mockingly as the scared-shitless boy busies himself to the other corner of the bar.

Christian opens his mouth to being apologizing for his behavior, watching as she stares up at him with a blank expression, riddled with anxiety behind it. She doesn’t give him the chance, shoving off the hand encased over hers. “No boyfriend of mine will ever disrespect me like that!” She tells him, staring him daggers as her heel spins and marches towards the bar entrance. The cold air hits her the moment she steps outside, ignoring the calls of Christian after her. She manages to lose him during the short trip to their temporary flat, only a half mile away. She angrily twists the key into the lock, flinging it open. She knows Christian is not far behind her, because he never lets her walk home by herself at night, no matter how angry he is. She throws her shoes haphazardly, grabbing a fork and ice cream pint before marching up the stairs. The door opens hurriedly as she reaches the top of the stairs, making a dramatic show of slamming their bedroom door closed and locking it after.

He reaches the door in a matter of seconds, banging on the door to announce his presence. How kind.

“Open the fucking door, baby.”

She snorts internally at his false change of heart, opting not to respond. Secretly, she already is beginning to fold in her independent stride just by thinking about the tight fitted jersey. She stabs her utensil into the ice cream, letting out a groan when realizing she had grabbed a fork. “I know you’re in there,” he adds after hearing, to which she rolls her eyes. Can men just go away sometimes? “I don’t want to speak to you, Christian,” she says through gritted teeth, suddenly more concerned with how she was going to eat this ice cream with a fork.

She thought he had gone away due to his silence, giving her peace to weigh the consequences of shoving her hands into the tub. Suddenly, the door knob began to shake and in comes her (not) knight in shining armor.

“Did you just pick our fucking lock?!” She asks inquisitively, adding unsafe bedroom lock to her ongoing list of problems.

“I’ll fix it later,” he shrugs nonchalantly, strolling his way into the bedroom like he owns the place. Well, I mean.

“That’s not really the issue here,” she sits up, waving her fork in his direction for emphasis, “what the hell am I going to do when someone breaks into the house and kills me because our LOCK can be picked with a hair pin.”

Christian softly chuckles at the aggressive change in subject stealing the opportunity to come stand in front of her. “I’d be awake and ready to slaughter them before they even reached your side of the bed, sweetheart.” He softly runs his knuckles down her cheek, his thumb stroking her jawline. “Can I talk about what happened tonight?”

“I thought you were leaving me,” she told him honestly, running the number ten pedant along its chain anxiously. “He reached over me and caused me to drop my glass, and I assumed he was talking to me because he felt bad for the accident. I wasn’t even focused on what he was saying, I was too worried on if I had done something to upset you, but then I realized there was nothing I could have done. See, I’m your number one fucking supporter, but your refusal to communicate with me and causing me unnecessary anxiety is getting old. Something has to change, Chris.” She shut her eyes, willing the tears to stay at bay and prove she was not going to back down into his touch. When they reopened, two tears simultaneously fell down, causing Christian to reach out and wipe them with his thumbs.

“Don’t cry, please. Not over me,” he said breathlessly, resting his forehead on hers.

“How can I not?” She wailed, a sob overcoming her at the selfish statement. “My own boyfriend doesn’t even trust me? Instead of helping me out, he makes an assumption I’m cheating on him and humiliates me in a locally frequented bar? Instead of grovelling and mumbling your sorry-ass apologies you tell me not to cry over you? What else is there left to do Christian?”

Her head sits in her hands, a cry of frustration leaving her lips at his silence. Christian takes a step back, his mouth opening and closing. She begins to grab her pillow and blanket, gathering them up into her arms. He reaches out to grab her arm, “This conversation is far from over.” His tone was soft, but the words enraged her even more. “If I remember correctly, a conversation takes two people. Sitting there and gaping like a fucking fish because I finally put you in your place is not that.”

“Jesus Christ, I just need a moment to put my thoughts together!” He exclaims, running a hand through his hair.

“Christian, don’t you dare start raising your voice at me as a way of deflection because you’re too fucking scared to put your pride aside and own up to your own actions.”

She breezes past him, the door slamming in her exit. Christian stands in her wake, the room suddenly way too cold and empty. “Fuck!” He screams out, standing in silence by himself in the shared room. His heart races in his chest, hands shaking.

They both go through their nightly routines on separate sides of the apartment, the unresolved argument somehow causing tension even with the distance. Christian can practically feel the knots in his back and his chest, from the thought of losing you and intensive soccer. He brushes his teeth in the mirror for the first time without you somewhere near him, his heart dipping at the realization as he spits into the bowl. He shuts the lamp off and climbs into the cold bed, a sigh and a singular tear escaping him once he realizes he can’t roll over and pull you into his side.

He’d been wallowing in his own mistakes and tears when the bedroom door creaked open slightly, the light from the hallway illuminating her face. She was wrapped in their favorite blanket, her makeup smeared down her face, making his heart twist into knots. The sight of her looking so distraught made every part of his body set on fire in fury at himself. “Hi baby,” he croaks, his voice raspy from crying, “Are you ok?” She stuffs her hands into his men’s national team hoodie, taking a deep breath. “I just wanted to tell you I love you,” she says, her voice cracking halfway through. He swears his heart simultaneously cracks and heals at the words, knowing he still has a shot at fixing things. “I love you,” he responds, sitting up in the bed that now seemed way too massive for him.

She tried to ignore the way her heart dipped at the sight of him, his curls sticking up in every way, his shirtless torso somehow gleaming from the minor light. She knew it was a bad idea, and she was still no where near being over the events, but somewhere in her brain she knew neither of them would be sleeping tonight without each other. She also knew it was essential for her to uphold her golden rule of life, always tell the person you love them. Her feet pad over to the edge of the bed, now standing in front of Christian’s side. He scoots over hopefully, outstretching his arms nervously. She climbs straight into them, snuggling her face into his chest.

He grabs onto her tighter than he ever had before, his fingers gracefully scratching up and down her back. He reaches his head down and presses a chaste kiss to her collarbone, his light stubble and the sensitivity of the area making her giggle. He switches them into a spooning position, his leg locking over her to freeze her in place. “So you don’t run away in the morning and I can give you the best apology you’ve ever heard.” She lets out a complacent laugh, easing his heart into a stable beating.

The morning sun woke Christian up instantly, the golden light illuminating his golden eyes. He attempts to not get completely sidetracked by her and the way morning light makes her angelic. Although, to him, she always looks that way. He tumbles out of bed, the events of the night prior rolling through his head. “God, I’m a dick,” he mumbles to himself walking down the stairs, straight into the kitchen. Acts of service, he recalled in his head as he unloaded the mini waffle maker. He tended to be an awful cook, but his relationship was riding on these damn waffles.

6 failed attempts at waffle batter later, he had three relatively presentable waffles to give his lady. He prided himself on his ability to make coffee for you, and was not about to break his hot streak. If even, this coffee would be his best. After plating his masterpieces into an appetizing breakfast, he wandered into the laundry room. He stared down into the hamper with a scrunched nose. “Jesus,” he mutters as he catches a whiff of his soccer clothes. He picks up his jersey from last night, holding it outstretched with one hand before taking a risky sniff. “Dear God,” he says at full volume, shaking his head at your poor soul doing his laundry for him. “I’m a grown fucking man making my girlfriend do my laundry, especially my soccer clothes. What the fuck is wrong with me?” He says as he throws a tide pod into the fresh load of disgusting soccer clothes, shaking his head at his own antics. He turns to the dryer, taking out specifically your clothes and folding them into neat little piles according to article of clothing. She had so many clothes it seemed like a load of laundry was his whole closet. He grabbed her favorite hoodies out of the dryer as well, throwing them into her pile. His fingers snag on a flashy undergarment, humming to himself. “Hope I get to see this soon.”

Christian plasters a smile on his face a half hour later. The dishes have been unloaded, he folded and put your laundry up, and is now carrying up your homemade breakfast to the shared room. He gently shakes you awake after pit stopping in the bathroom, making sure he smelled of her favorite aftershave. Christian also spent a considerable chunk of time analyzing his sleeve of tattoos, silently willing them to look extra attractive today. He gave a quick flex before walking out and shaking you awake.

She wakes up groggily, her hair a knot on the top of her head, the soft material of Christian T-shirt almost putting her back o sleep instantly. The sight of Christian, shirtless with her favorite sweatpants of his laying low on his hips jolts her awake. He sets the plate and coffee down on the nightstand, a sheepish smile on his face. “I believe the panel would like to hear me give a speech.” You laugh lightheartedly at his joke, dramatically motioning for him to continue. Coffee in hand you tilt your head up at his nervous expression, “Your beloved panel is ready to continue.”

He runs his hands threw his hair one last time before giving himself a quick pep talk. I can do this. It’s not like her breaking up with me is my greatest fear. That’s not going to happen, though, because I’m about to prove how great of a man I am. “I lost my shit last night for no good reason. I have no backing for why I did what I did, beside the fact that I can be petty and have a gnarly green streak. Those are not, and will never be in this relationship, a valid reason for the way I behaved. I’m apologizing not because I just want you to forgive me, but because I want you to know that I hold your love and trust like it’s the most important thing in the world, and last night I didn’t show that. I love you for many reasons, but especially for your ability to challenge me to consistently be a better man for you and prove that you deserve the finest. I appreciate you keeping me In check more than you know. I know I’ve been lacking recently, and I can only say the fast paced change to AC Milan Is draining all of my energy. You didn’t know that, though, because of my dumbass’s inability to communicate, which is going to change. We’re a team and I need to treat us as such. Safe to say I will be keeping my green monster in check from now on, because you mean more than anything to me. I have a streak of insecurity and that was what took over me last night, even though it was my fault you were left alone. My inability to communicate my feelings and plans to you is changing, and I’ll prove it to you.”

A moment of silence enraptured the room, her jaw falling open in shock. Christian communicated his feelings. The first step in progress. “I folded and put away your laundry, started a new load, and undid the dishwasher. Just the beginning of proving how committed I am to this relationship and keeping it strong on my part, which I’ve been failing at.” What the fuck, Chris? She takes a long slurp from her irresistible coffee, staring up at him through the mug. He nervously shifts from foot to foot, and maybe it made her sick, but she was partly enjoying him squirm over losing her. It made a woman feel powerful, what can she say? She sets the mug down, silent tension cutting the room.

“Christian,” her voice cuts through, with a chiding tone that made his heart start palpitating. “Kiss me and prove it further.”

—

babe wake up augustinescruelsummer finally fucking wrote again.

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic fluff #christian pulisic angst #christian pulisic fic #christian pulisic one shot #football x y/n

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augustinescruelsummer · 9 months

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this made me laugh out loud bc it’s so real HELP “ik you from TikTok” 😭

My f1 phase is back

Im not mad

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augustinescruelsummer · 9 months

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This is so fucking funny like I’m cackling

THATS A WIN!

plus brock has himself a little giggle over quinn misfortune

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augustinescruelsummer · 9 months

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steering a little away from my usual content to make a quick post about f1 this weekend!

I hate this weekend, with my whole heart. growing up, spa was my favourite track to watch and I’ve even driven it before but now all it ever reminds me of is the loss of two drivers and the potential loss of more.

this weekend, I hope you can all join me in remembering anthione and dilano and praying for a safe race for everyone else ⭐️

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augustinescruelsummer · 2 years

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coruscant culture | the mandalorian

pairing: the mandalorian x f!reader

synopsis: the mandalorian has to drop off a bounty at a bar in Coruscant, and takes Grogu’s mother with him. little to his knowledge, she knows a thing or two about how to deal with the scumbags of the Coruscant streets.

wc: 2.1k

an: currently in my star wars era, but trust me this won’t be a regular thing. i’ll be back writing for hangman tomorrow! i just wanted to write a lil star wars thing for my fav tin can and character of the franchise.

The hefty Mandalorian grunted a string of curses under his breath as he dragged the knocked out bounty into the Razor Crest. He knew the heavy bounty could wake up soon, so it was imperative that he was frozen in carbonite as soon as possible. Mando knew that if he woke up it would be easy to subdue him again, but he didn’t want you to have to see that.

The bounty melted easily into the carbonite and Mando sighed as he closed the doors to the freezing chamber, and his thoughts turned over to you instantly. What had you been doing without him? Were you able to entertain yourself? Was the kid sad when he was gone? The Mandalorian knew the kid was far from sad when he was gone, because you somehow managed to keep him happy almost always. Mando was not excited to make the journey into the downtown district of Coruscant with you on his arm, but he knew it was more risky to leave you unattended in the ship at night here. Fortunately, he would rather you be eye candy for street rats than turn up dead in a burglary. Quite a romantic, he is. He made his way into the kitchen of the ship, finding a note saying you had gone to the market with the Child. Mando tried to shake his feelings of anxiousness away, knowing you were plenty capable of keeping your own self and the kid safe. While he waited for your return, he chose to take a quick shower in the fresher and attempt to clear his cloudy head.

It was odd to come to a planet like this for a bounty hut, but where money was Mando came. He personally was a big fan of the planet and the flashing lights were a nice change to the usual deserted feel of his hunts. He had read a multitude of stories about the days when Coruscant housed the senate and the Jedi Temple, and a piece of him wished he could have been present during that era. A big piece. The culture of Coruscant had changed rapidly when the Jedi Order fell and the wrath of Darth Vader clouded the sun of the galaxy. Nonetheless, the beauty of the planet was unchanging, but the people within it were the pollution.

It had been a simple hunt, someone who ‘forgot’ to pay their debt. The poor soul would be coming in warm, but Mando was still awaiting your arrival before he could officially begin the turn in process Usually, he would never take you to the drop offs, but he also wasn’t a fool. You were safer with him. He crumpled your note up in his gloved hands, tossing it in the waste bin with a harshness. The Coruscant market during the day was filled with watchful guards, so he was trying to be optimistic. Mando knew you wouldn’t have ventured out unless it was completely necessary, but he still couldn’t help but feel angry. You knew how nervous it made him when you went out on your own.

He sat and stewed in his anger until you got home. When you arrived, he was getting all his affairs in order for tonight’s drop off. “Hi, Mando!” Your soft voice greeted him, an instant contrast to the tin can’s glum body language. You dropped your market bag on the table, and Mando’s face softened when he saw you. He could never stay mad at you. Grogu was perched on your hip, decked in his own dark brown robe you had personally made him for cold winters. His ears poked through the holes you had made in the hood, and the Child extended his hands towards his father. The Mandalorian melted on the spot, instantly taking the green fellow into his cool hands.

“Are you sure you would like me to go tonight?” You asked Mando, a certain edge in your voice. The man recognized it as fear, but yet he didn’t know why you were scared. He would keep you safe. He would always keep you safe. He put the last of his negotiation papers on the stack and met your gaze. Your hair was pulled into a simple side braid, little hairs unintentionally falling out onto your face. You wore a light tan robe with the hood pulled down, and Mando tried not to get caught staring. His face heated up when you snapped your fingers in front of his face, snapping him out of his trance. He stuttered before reassuring you that, of course, he wanted you there.

“I’m going to make the baby dinner before we leave, and if need be he can eat on the way.” You told Mando before trotting off into the kitchen to begin preparing the kid’s meal. The Mandalorian watched in awe as you cooked all of them dinner, and tried not to let his oglign be too obvious. You and the Child had an instant connection when you met the pair, and even Ahsoka had confirmed the strong bond. It was an odd thing to find, but ever since then you had taken on the kid’s motherly role. Ahsoka had informed the Mandalorian that it was probably due to your strong presence with the Force she had sensed.

–

THREE MONTHS AGO

“Is that a rare thing?” Mando asked, trying to sound disinterested. In reality, he was bubbling with the fact that the kid was going to have a hot mom. Ahsoka pondered for a moment, walking with Mando along the pond. She turned back and locked her gaze on you, watching as you fed the Child soup and told him about all the things in nature. Grogu managed to pick up a rock with the Force during Ahsoka’s thinking, and you squealed in pure delight. “Mando!” You cried with pure joy on your face as you pointed at the kid. “Look at your baby!”

Mando began to laugh, the sound filling Ahsoka’s ears. It was a sound she never thought she would hear. The bounty hunter was always cold and precise with his words and actions, never breaking his facade. She considered making a comment on your relationship, but eventually decided to let it be. A smile overtook her own face as she watched you encourage Grogu to keep trying after the rock flopped onto the soil. “If she was older, she would have been a Jedi. I sense it,” Ahsoka said while taking a deep breath. “Grogu needs her. He needs to have someone to connect to the Force with him until you find Luke.” Mando winced at the thought of giving his kid up, but let the Jedi continue.

“Perhaps,” Ahsoka began before stopping herself. She cast a glance at the tin man, who was still watching the green furball and its parent. She began her thought over. “Perhaps Luke would want her to stay.” Mando instantly wheeled on Ahsoka, a flare of uncontrollable jealousy appearing in his chest. “It would make the most sense,” she continued, not even attempting to be defensive. The cunning woman completely ignored the glareful stare Mando was shooting, and began walking back towards you. “Maybe he could train her as well.” The Mandalorian did not respond, instead falling into step. His heart constricted at the idea of having to give you and the kid up to some hotshot Jedi.

“Alas,” Ahsoka started after a moment of silence, a cheeky grin on her face. “I can sense you aren’t keen on the idea of losing your lover, no?” Mando stopped in his tracks, and Ahsoka could sense the eyeroll he was doing under the helmet. She kept walking, not even daring to look back at her friend. “Just an observation,” she smirked before pulling the hood on her robe back as she approached you. The kid had since fallen asleep in your warm arms, and you were packing his things up. “Don’t let the kid make you cut your conversation short,” you told the pair, more addressing Ahsoka than Mando. “This little guy just gets tired after the Force takes hold of him.” You lifted the kid into your arms as you stood onto your feet, wiping the dirt from your knees. It was quiet between the three of you, but the sounds of birds chirping in the distance filled the void.

“Well,” the Togruta smiled while clasping her hands together. “I think you know what you need to do, Mandalorian. I wish you the best.” She turned her attention to the Child’s caretaker fully and grinned, “And, may the force be with you.” You swallowed at the intensity of the comment, knowing she probably sensed your presence with the force. You nodded your head and began walking back towards the Crest without waiting for your Mandalorian. He soon fell into step with you, but if he noticed a change in you he didn’t inquire.

–

The Child snacked on some to-go food you had prepared while you made your way through the streets of Coruscant. It had gone downhill since you had last been here, and you could tell even Mando was beginning to regret his choice on bringing you and the Child. He had stayed strikingly close to you the whole journey, even placing a hand on the small of your back when he deemed you strayed too far. Mando stopped in front of a large neon-lit bar and nodded his head. “This is it,” he said, trying to sound as confident as he could. He noticed your expression change at the location, and you were suddenly turning pale. “Are you ok, mesh’la?” He asked, concern filling his voice. You ignored his question, instead choosing to begin walking into the bar.

The entrance of the infamous Mandalorian made heads turn. Mando walked with a bold sense of cockiness, instilling fear on those who even glanced at him for a second longer than he deemed necessary. And the people who dared to even stare at you for more than a moment’s notice? They would cower when he glared at them from the helmet. He kept his hand on his blaster holster, the other limp by his side. The sound of his heavy boots clunked through the bar, which didn’t help in being discreet. You walked silently beside him, taking notice of the familiarity of the bar. Grogu twitched in your arms, before mewling and settling into your shoulder. Mando pulled back the curtain of one of the back rooms and a group of mismatched species sat in the booth. Women were draped over each of the four men, except for the Rodian sitting in the center.

“My Mandalorian has arrived,” The Rodian announced to the table with a gleaming sense of arrogance in his voice. Mando didn’t speak, instead pulling up a hologram image of the bounty being placed at the group’s warehouse. “My payment?” He inquired after the Rodian silently hummed at the image before him. You could sense the fear in the man, even though he was heavily attempting to cover it with arrogance. He was doing a good job. He waved his hand around in the air, almost dismissing the idea of Mando getting his payment. You cringed at the action, knowing that was more than enough to get the Mandalorian riled up. You were correct, as his dominant hand instantly began to reach for his spear.

The Rodian's eyes widened and he quickly shouted, “No!” It was a meek sound, and you could tell his fear had caught the rest of the group off guard. He then melted back into his facade and made a longshot to try and restore his arrogance and dignity. “How much for the woman?” He asked charmingly, a group of snickers arising from the comment. Your face ran hot as the Rodians shot you a wave, flipping an Imperial credit up into the air. “Come on, Mando,” he faked exasperation, “Let me take her off your hands. I don’t need the kid.” You could feel Mando’s anger from here, but the last thing you wanted was for him to start a fight in this bar with you here. You ran a hand up his arm in an attempt to comfort him, and smiled when he relaxed under your touch.

“Ah, I see,” the Rodian sneered as he watched the contact between the two of you. “You want to keep the whore for yourself, eh?” The comment was a low blow and even you knew the wretched man was doing it just to see how far he could push the Mandalorian before he broke. You didn’t want Mando to break, because it would expose his weakness. The kid and you. In a swift motion, the long and threatening beskar spear was pulled from its position on his back. It was lodged against the Rodian's throat before you could even blink, and you watched as the rest of the group cowered in horror. You glanced down at the child, and when seeing the fear in his eyes, you reached out to Mando. “Your child is here,” you remind him calmly as he pushed the spear farther against the throat of the man. Mando softened at your words and pulled the spear back, not daring to glance at you and Grogu.

“All of you give me all the credits you have, now!” Mando barked at the group, the spear still sitting menacingly in his large hands. They all scrambled to empty their pockets, and the Rodian made a show of pouring them out messily. He glared at you as he did it, the action not going unnoticed by your Mandalorian. “Leave my lady alone,” he snapped, and grabbed the Rodian's wrist. He snapped it and a cry of pain left the group’s leader. “Mando!” You chastised instantly, knowing he forgot the presence of the child. Deciding that you didn’t want to take anymore unnecessary shit from the creepy Rodian, you made a show of using the force to drag one of the circular credits into your hands. You smirked as you handed it to the child to play with before pulling your hood back. “I believe we are done here,” you told the Mandalorian, knowing his expression was flabbergasted under the beskar. You began to walk out of the back room, not waiting for your Mandalorian. You knew he would follow wherever you came.

“So, you know a thing or two about Coruscant culture apparently?” he asked, a teasing tone to his voice as you guys made your way back to the Crest.

“Something like that,” you responded, shifting Grogu in your arms adoringly.

#starwars #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian fluff #dindjarin #din djarin x you #mandalorian #mandalorian x you #din djarin fic #mando fic #mandalorian fic #star wars fic #star wars oneshot #star wars blurb #book of boba fett

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