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bradshawssugarbaby · 4 months

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God, Your Mama and Me (Jake Seresin x Reader)

A/N: told y'all I listened to country music and it inspired me. Inspired by and quotes God, Your Mama and Me by Florida Georgia Line. I'm not religious but that song gets me all heart-eye emoji every time.

pairing: Jake Seresin x reader (I'm 99% sure I kept reader GN the whole time with no mentions of appearance)

content/warnings: reference to God via the song (the line is "no one's ever gonna love you more than God, your mama and me"), Jake being adorable and trying his best to be romantic but he's more awkward than he wants to be bc he doesn't do PDA, brief references to potential character death (I promise no one dies)

word count: 1.6k

Jake took you by the hand, running playfully through the sand. Coronado Beach was where he’d taken you for your first date. It was where you’d met, where you spent every free weekend, where you’d meet with his friends at The Hard Deck for drinks on Friday nights and where you’d sit and watch the planes taking off from North Island as you waited for him to come home, not knowing what each day would bring but hoping and praying he’d come home to you safe and sound every time.

For the last three years, Coronado was an integral part of your life. It was where you’d held Jake’s 35th birthday party, a spontaneous beach gathering complete with a cooler of chilled beers and a portable speaker belting out country tunes. Despite the groans from others, the music had a magical effect on the usually reserved Jake, prompting him to join in with spirited, off-key singing every time.

It was where you and Jake had shared your first kiss, where he’d first told you he loved you - a sentence he admitted he never thought he’d say to anyone, swearing up and down he’d lead the bachelor life until he either died or retired, whichever came first. He’d always claim it was because he just “wasn’t the settlin’ type”, but his friends always saw right through it.

“He’s just scared,” Bradley had assured you one day over a beer while Jake tossed darts effortless at the board a few feet out of earshot.

Reading the puzzled look on your face, Natasha hummed playfully as she sipped her drink before raising an eyebrow at you.

“He doesn’t want to settle down because he’s scared,” She and Bradley nodded in unison.

“Yeah, doesn’t wanna leave behind a war widow kinda thing,” Bradley shrugs, “You’d think it’d be me who feels that way considering my dad died when I was literally a toddler, but no, apparently it’s Blondie who’s got the commitment issues.”

The first time Jake referred to you as his girl, the usually chatty Bradley had been rendered speechless, mouth agape while Natasha had choked and sputtered on her beer as she looked wide eyed at Bradley and back at Jake. Jake shrugged it off as if it was nothing, but everyone, even you, knew it was uncharacteristic of him.

The following weekend after stunning his Navy buddies, he’d been called away to the first mission since you’d started dating. You weren’t expecting it, but you got a heartfelt, emotional goodbye from Jake, one that was genuine and raw, a side of him you’d never seen before. He’d hugged you tightly and kissed you slow and sweet, making it last, permanent on your mind in case he didn’t make it back. As he promised you he’d return, you could hear his normally velvety smooth Southern drawl crack as his voice caught in his throat.

When he came home a few weeks later, you’d greeted him with a warm embrace, and he held you tighter than he ever had before, his first true public display of affection towards you. Bradley and Natasha could be heard whispering, while Bob simply looked on smiling, knowing how in love Jake really was, watching as it mirrored Bob’s own relationship with his girlfriend.

“Jake, where are you taking me?”

You laughed as you snapped back to the present, raising an eyebrow at him as he continued to lead you across the sand. His cargo shorts were hugging his hips perfectly, golden-tanned skin from the California sun illuminated in the light of the setting sun. His green eyes were full of a child-like excitement, his signature grin plastered on his face, looking like it couldn’t be wiped off even if you tried.

“Just trust me, ok? You trust me, don’t ya, Sugar?”

“Alright, alright, I trust you.”

“Atta girl, c’mon, almost there.”

You shook your head and shot him a playful eyeroll as he continued to guide you along the shore. Your mind flashed back to when you and Jake had first slept together - instead of the playful arrogance, overwhelming confidence and cocky egotistical attitude he gave off around his friends, he was the opposite when it came to loving you. He was gentle, caring, passionate and considerate. He checked in with you, making sure you were comfortable and enjoying it. He was selfless in the way he loved you - making sure you were taken care of in all aspects before he was, and if for whatever reason, his climax came before yours, he made a point to bring you to yours by whatever means necessary.

When Jake asked you to move in with him, the look on your face was one of pure shock and disbelief, you were sure you were dreaming it. Your wide-eyed gaze and raised eyebrows were enough to make Jake laugh, shaking his head at you.

“Now that’s not how I thought you’d react, babe.”

“I’m sorry…I just…can you say it again?”

“Ask you again?”

“Yeah, please?”

“Ok, Sugar, you’re losin’ it, but sure, I want you to move in with me, that sound alright to ya? We both complain we don’t see each other enough, and well, I just feel like it’s time we do somethin’ ‘bout it, right?”

You nodded your head and simply threw your arms around him, letting Jake embrace you tightly as he kissed your cheek. He had his friends help you pack and by the end of that week, you were moved in with him, sharing the little house on base together. His Cowboys jersey hanging in the closet next to your Commanders one - your teams were bitter rivals, and Bradley, who had come from Virginia, your home state, was beyond shocked to see Jake allowing you to wear a Commanders jersey to their Sunday night football watch parties. Bradley, forced to wear a jersey for another team, pouted at Jake.

“How come when I wear my Commanders jersey, I get told to fuck off and stay outside?”

“You don’t look cute in Washington’s colours, Bradshaw,” Jake replied matter of factly as he kissed you on the cheek, leaving Bradley to pout once again.

Jake stopped in front of you, turning his body to face you, bringing you back to reality for another moment. His unwavering grin still on his face, smiling at you as if you were the only sight around him for miles. Your heart melted when he looked at you - it always did - the love he had for you was always evident on his face, his gaze full of admiration and affection for you.

Your eyes widened as Jake went down on one knee in front of you. The sounds of the waves crashing against the sandy coast echoing softly around you. The odd passerby gawking as they went for their stroll in the dusky glow of the beach as the sun began to set on Coronado. Jake beamed up at you from where he stood on bended knee, his eyes matching the seafoam that was pooling around you, inching closer and closer to where you stood.

“Darlin’, remember that date I took ya on, where you made me dance with ya on the beach, after I swore I never would? That song you made me dance to, the one by Florida Georgia Line?”

“I remember,” you said, gazing at him with tear soaked eyes.

“Sugar, you know I’m not good at this kinda stuff - it’s more Bradley’s thing, being all sentimental and shit, but I’m gonna try my damnest, ok? You know how that song goes, “Baby you know my love is never gonna run dry, never gonna come up empty, now until the day I die, unconditionally,”

Jake’s cheeks blushed a soft pink as he tried his best to carry the tune, serenading you by the oceanside, “then it’s like, “You know I’m always gonna be here for ya, no one’s ever gonna love you more than God, your mama and me”? Guess that’s what I’m tryin’ to say here, no one on this earth is gonna be able to love you, or anyone else more than I do. I’m sure of it. I didn’t even think it was possible for me to love you as much as I do, but Baby, do I ever love you.”

“Jake,” you started, feeling yourself becoming breathless with excitement as he spoke.

“Babygirl, will you do me the greatest honor ever, and become Mrs. Seresin? I never thought I’d ever marry anyone, but I’d be a fool to not marry you, darlin’.”

Speechless, you nodded your head quickly, unable to make any sound other than an excited squeal of delight as he slipped the ring onto your finger. As Jake stood upright, he wrapped his arms around you, enveloping you in a loving embrace, his lips crashing against yours as he kissed you passionately.

From behind you, you could hear familiar voices cheering - you broke the kiss and turned to see Reuben, Javy, Mickey, Bradley, Natasha and Bob standing there, all beaming at you. Bradley wiped a single tear from his eye in his usual dramatic fashion, while Bob gave a proud thumbs up to Jake. A congratulatory smile formed on Natasha’s features, while Javy, Mickey and Reuben all applauded you both. You were overcome with emotion as you shared this moment with Jake and your friends.

“You all knew?”

“Of course we knew, Jake can’t keep a secret to save his life,” Natasha grinned, shrugging her shoulders.

“I get to be best man, right?” Bradley grinned as he clapped his hand onto Jake’s shoulder in a congratulatory substitute for a hug.

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futuremrsreid · 1 year

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Redemption (S.R.)

Summary: When Spencer risks his life on a case and doesn't want to see how dangerous it was, reader tries to talk some sense into him. It results in a lot of yelling and some other things.

A/N: So..... smutty angst, as promised <3 I hurt myself while writing this. Enjoy.

Content Warning: Smut (18+), very very mildly dubious consent, a bit of dark Spencer but he's just traumatized, angst, sad, dominant Spencer, kinda sub reader

Word Count: 4,1k

I was pissed. Actually, pissed didn’t even begin to describe the rage I felt at that moment.

We were currently in Florida, hunting another psychopathic bastard as always. Everything was fine and under control, up until the moment Dr. Spencer fucking Reid decided it would be a good idea to drive to the unsubs location alone because he was “closest to him” and because we “didn’t have time” and nearly got himself killed in the process. Luke and I had arrived just in time to prevent disaster, but Spencer still got a few bruises on his face.

I was furious and let him feel it by yelling at him while he was getting checked out in the ambulance. But like always, my yelling resulted in his yelling. We went at it for a couple of minutes but Emily put a stop to it before it got really bad, concerned about the reporters at the scene who already started to take a few pictures of us.

:keep reading:

We didn’t talk or look at each other for the rest of the case. Emily let Spencer get away with it because everything turned out fine, but I was not feeling gracious.

When Garcia informed us that there was a storm that would delay our flight for the next couple of hours, Emily decided that we should just spend another night in the city and fly back in the morning. We all drove back to the hotel and when we arrived, I was on Spencer's heels all the way from the car to his room. He didn’t even try to stop me, he knew there was no point to it.

“That was so fucking irresponsible, Spencer! What were you thinking”, I started to yell as soon as I had closed the door behind me. I wanted to say “stupid” instead of “irresponsible” but decided against it. I wanted him to understand that he can’t do shit like this, and not insult him.

“It worked out fine, y/n. I don’t understand why you’re getting yourself worked up over this!” He rubbed his hand over the side of his face, clearly done listening to me.

“It only worked out fine because Luke broke like every rule you can break in traffic to get to the scene as fast as possible!”

“Oh right, Luke, my hero. I should go thank him, don’t you think?” he chuckled humorlessly and rolled his eyes.

“Maybe! He’s the reason you’re not dead.” I tried lowering my voice. This wasn’t our first fight, and I have learned in the past that screaming won’t help.

“I would have been fine! I had it under control, y/n. God, just leave me alone”, he spat and I felt a stabbing in my chest at the way he didn’t want to see how much danger he put himself in.

This wasn’t the first time he risked his life like that and I hated it. All of us hated it. Spencer seemed drawn to dangerous situations, it had been that way when I joined the team and from stories the others told me, it had been this way before that.

When I met Spencer, he was freshly out of Prison. They hired me together with Matt after Agent Walker died. The first time I saw him, I knew I had to befriend him. What I didn’t know was how easy it would be and how much easier it would be to fall in love with him.

I tried to push it down, to get rid of it, scared that it would ruin everything, but there was no way of falling out of love with him, which made the situation even harder. Spencer didn’t seem to realize how much he hurt me whenever he risked his life like this. I wasn’t even sure he realized how much I cared about him.

“I’m not going to leave until you admit that you were wrong.”

“Well, this is going to be a long night then, because that’s never gonna happen.” He turned and walked away from me, removing his suit jacket and draping it over one of the chairs in his room. I sighed.

“Spencer, you need to stop risking your life like this. You're gonna get yourself killed”, I pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears. I tried to get him to look at me, but he avoided my eyes. “Please. I can’t lose you and especially not like that.”

“The day will come when you and the rest of the team realize that this is exactly the way it is supposed to end for me. Dying in the field would be an honorable death. It’s the only redemption I will ever get.”

“What?”, I breathed and my heart stopped for a moment, “What do you mean, Spencer?”

“I meant what I said.”

“Redemption? What redemption, Spence? You don’t need any, you haven’t done anything wrong.” I was confused and hurt by the way he said it. It sounded almost suicidal.

“Yes, I have. I have done horrible things in my life, y/n. I will never be able to make up for them.”

“You don’t have to! Everyone makes mistakes. You are a good person Spencer. You’re kind and gentle, you saved hundreds of lives in your career, you don’t need to make up for anything.” I tried to get through to him, but it was like I was hitting a wall.

“Prison changed me, it turned me into a different man. I’m not nearly as gentle or kind as I used to be.”

“I don’t know you any other way. I almost can’t imagine you being even more gentle than you are now. I don’t think anyone can be.”

“I was though”, he countered almost immediately, still unable to look at me, “I think you would have liked the man I was. He was gentler, kinder, and more deserving of you than I could ever be now.” He didn’t even sound sad when he said it, almost like he had accepted his truth from the moment he met me.

“You know, you talk about yourself like you are the worst man in the world”, I said in an accusatory tone.

“Am I not?”, Spencer scoffed, raising his voice slightly while going on, “We hunt terrible men every day but in the end, how different am I from them? What makes me a good man and them a bad one, y/n?” He was almost yelling now, stunning me for a moment too long. When I didn’t reply, he turned to finally look at me. “Tell me y/n, what is it about me that convinces you I’m not every bit as bad as them?” The desperate look on his face made me take a step toward him but for every step I took, he stepped two back.

“Spencer, I-” My voice faltered and I didn’t know what to say. I knew he wasn’t anything like them but I wasn’t able to find any words that would convince him. When my mouth stayed open but no words left it, he took my silence as an invitation to go on.

“I almost killed Cat Adams, did JJ ever tell you that?” He spat, walking over to me and pushing me back until I hit the wall.

“I put my hands around her throat and choked her until she was clawing at my wrists. And I didn’t stop then”, he moved even closer to me and I was unable to move away, the words leaving his mouth freezing me into place, “I told her that I was going to kill her and I meant it. I would have strangled her if JJ hadn’t pulled me off her.” He moved even closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Her eyes were filled with fear, and you know what? I enjoyed it, y/n. I loved the way I scared her, the way she struggled for her life against me.”

He leaned in and I felt his breath ghost over my ear when he said the last words of his cruel monologue. “So tell me, y/n. Tell me how different I am from those men.”

He stayed where he was, his hands at his side and his mouth grazing my ear. He was trying to intimidate me with his speech and to be honest, he would have convinced me if it hadn’t been for the way his nose brushed against my hair, inhaling my scent like he was convinced this was the last chance he ever had to commit it to memory.

“You can’t scare me with your words, Spencer. If you want me to believe how terrible of a person you are, you’re gonna have to show me because I will never believe it otherwise.” He probably calculated every possible outcome of this situation, but when he pulled back to look at me, I knew that he didn’t expect me to respond like this.

“Cat Adams is a monster who had you tortured and assaulted. She kidnapped your mother. Do you really expect me to feel bad for her? I never even met her. If you want to scare me away, you’re gonna have to do better than that.”

There was a long moment of silence where we just watched each other. I thought I managed to break through to him for a second, but Spencer was on a mission to make me despise him, and he was determined to make it happen. His eyes darkened and he straightened up, towering over me.

I felt a sliver of doubt about my faith in him at that moment and he must have seen it cross my eyes because when I lifted a hand to push him back, he harshly grabbed my wrist and spun me around, using his body to push me against the wall. My arm was twisted behind my back and when I started to struggle out of pure instinct he took my other wrist in his hand and held both my arms behind my back, resulting in me being pushed more into the hard surface, my cheek flush against the wall.

When the shock had left me, I opened my mouth to ask him what the fuck he was doing, but Spencer was faster than me. He took his other hand and held it over my mouth.

“Do you believe me now?”, he whispered in my ear and I felt my pulse quickening. “You are so fucking naive y/n and honestly, you’re a little stupid too. What the fuck makes you think I would never hurt you, huh? You don’t know me.”

It was those last words that took me back to reality because I did know him. I knew the way he brought everyone on the team their favorite food when they were sad. I knew the way his voice got an octave higher when he started talking about something that excited him.

I knew the way he recited his favorite poems when I struggled to go to sleep after a tough case.

He won't hurt me.

He would never hurt me.

He would never do something like this.

So, against every instinct in my body, I tried to calm my heart down and closed my eyes. I tried to speak but his hand on my mouth didn’t let me so I jerked my head back and stunned him with my sudden movement long enough to say a few words I knew he definitely didn't want to hear.

“You are all talk Spencer Reid. You would never hurt me and we both know that”, my voice was louder than I had expected and I felt his hand tighten around my wrists, “You can push me against the wall and insult me and tell me the terrible things you could do to me all you want but we both know that you would never lay a hand on me without my permission and you would never hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.”

His hand loosened and I used this opportunity to free myself of his grip and turn around. He was angry that his plan didn’t work and I saw his hands twitch with restraint, but I wasn’t scared of him.

He had just proved to me that he was the man I knew he was.

“You’re not an abuser, you’re not a rapist-”

“Shut up.”

“- and you’re not a murderer. That’s what makes you different Spencer.”

“I said shut up!”, he yelled and I did the only thing I knew to do in response to that. I yelled back.

“Or what, Spencer? Are you gonna pin me against the wall and put your hand against my mouth again like the bad person you are, huh?” Spencer got angrier and more frustrated with every word I was saying but I was determined to speak my mind, “You’re gonna shut me up like the scary man you are, Dr. Reid? You’re gonna-” But I didn’t get further than that because in a heartbeat he forced me back against the wall again with his hands on both my cheeks and his lips pressed against mine.

He pulled back, “Please y/n, please shut up”, and the desperate tone in his voice awakened something primal in me.

“If you want me to shut up, you’re gonna have to make me because I will never stop trying to convince you that you are a good man, Spencer.” When he didn’t say anything I went on. “You are kind and gentle and-”

He kissed me again, and this time I kissed him back until I wasn’t able to breathe anymore. His kisses wandered to my neck then.

“You say I am a good man, but you don’t know the things I thought about doing to you”, he bit the skin on my neck then and I gasped, which seemed to spur him on further, “I want to pin you down and fuck you until you’re crying. I want to make you feel so good that you can’t take it anymore.”

His kisses moved up my neck and to my ear. “ I want to break you into a thousand pieces and put you back together again. I want to ruin you for everyone else, I want to lock you in so that no man can ever look at you again and at the same moment I want to show you off to the entire world because you are the best thing in my life. I want to take you and make you mine”, he cried out, holding my hips in a bruising grip.

“Then take me, Spencer. Take me, break me, ruin me, I don’t care. I am already yours. I have been yours since the moment I met you.” He looked me in the eyes then, searching for any lies, any doubt, and when he didn’t find any, he kissed me another time.

“Say it again”, he demanded and let his hands travel down my body.

“I am yours, Spencer.”

“Again.” His hands roughly shoved up my skirt, his breath warm on my neck.

“I’m yours.” When his hand brushed against the damp panties I was wearing, I sucked in a breath.

“Again.”

“I’m yours, Spencer. Only yours. Now please do something.” My plea seemed to finally push him over the edge because a second later he was moving the cotton aside and his fingers met wet skin.

He told me “Again.” over and over again, but the longer his fingers were moving inside of me, and the louder the sounds of my pleasure got, the more his demanding turned into begging and it wasn’t until I felt my orgasm wash over me, that he stopped our back and forth to press his lips against mine once more.

My legs were trembling when he removed his hand from my cunt and the way he looked at me while bringing the same fingers that were inside of me moments ago to my lips didn’t help steady them.

He didn’t need to say anything, I knew exactly what he wanted. I don’t think he was quite prepared for the sight before him when my lips accepted his fingers and my tongue swirled around them though, because Spencer's eyes became even more feral at it.

“Fuck.” He removed his fingers and in only a few seconds removed my shirt, took off my bra, and had my skirt on the floor. I tried taking off his clothes too, but when my fingers started to unbutton his shirt, he gripped my wrists and walked me over to the bed.

“If I had known that our fight would end in us having sex, I would have waited until we had something better available than a cheap hotel bed”, I breathed out a laugh. I figured he’d laugh as well but he returned a soft “Do you want to stop?”

“God no, but this bed is gonna squeak really loudly”, and this time I was met with a laugh. He didn’t interrupt when I started another attempt to undress him. When I was done with his shirt he finally raised his hands to touch me again and my whole body shivered when his palms made contact with my breasts. Feeling my erect nipples on his skin must have awoken yet another thing in him because the next thing I knew he was throwing me onto the bed. I didn’t even have time for a shocked gasp before he was on me, pinning my wrists down on the mattress.

“You know when I told you I want to ruin you”, he said while letting his hands travel down my body to grip the waistband of my panties, “I really did mean it.” And with that, he ripped the cotton apart and threw it to the side.

He continued to deny me any time for a reaction when he grabbed my thighs and pulled me towards him. His hips took their very rightful place between my thighs and pressed against me.

We both moaned when his covered bulge pressed against wet and hot skin.

“Beg me to fuck you, y/n.” I think he was expecting me to hesitate, but I was desperate for him to touch me.

“Please fuck me, Spencer,” I moaned and ran my nails down his back.

“Huh, I thought you would put up more of a fight, to be honest.” He sounded disappointed, but his eyes told me that he was relieved I wanted this just as much as he did.

“Do you want me to?”, I still asked, wanting to give him everything he yearned for.

“Another time. I think we dragged this out long enough for today”, he said and with that, he took off his underwear and I got to see all of him for the first time. I knew he would be beautiful, and it applied to any part of him, but I couldn’t fully conceal my shock at the length of him.

And that smug bastard smirked. “Don’t worry darling, we'll make it fit.”

And with that, he moved back between my thighs and lined himself up with my entrance. I expected him to at least try and tease me a little but he started to push inside me immediately.

We locked eyes while we both felt inch after inch of him sink inside of me. It was intense, erotic and so intimate that I felt the urge to look away. He must have felt it too, because when he was fully buried inside of me, his lips pressed against mine in a bruising way.

When he started to move and his lips started their way down to my jaw and neck, I completely lost it, moans and whimpers flowing from my mouth in a volume that even surprised myself. Spencer thrust harder and deeper the louder I became.

“I know you were worried about the bed being too loud, but I’m pretty sure your moans are covering that sound up pretty successfully, angel”, he panted with a labored breath and heat rose to my cheeks. I was trying to remember if any of our coworkers shared any walls with Spencers' room, but he was literally fucking me stupid so I just removed a hand from his back and bit down on my fingers, hoping no one has heard yet. When Spencer saw, he slowed down. He reached down the side of the bed and lifted up my torn panties, and then proceeded to remove my finger from my mouth to push the cotton in its place. “There, now you won't have to hurt your finger”, and with that, he picked up a brutal pace again.

He was muffling his own moans by pressing his mouth onto my shoulder, no doubt leaving behind a dozen of hickeys. He was losing it, I could feel it in the way he pushed his fingers into my hips and the muscles in his back tensing. I wasn’t doing much better, my thighs were trembling and my panties were barely concealing my noises anymore. The room smelt like sweat and sex, Spencer’s skin was hot on mine and I never felt more whole in my life. I could feel my orgasm building inside of me.

“Touch yourself for me, angel. I want you to come with me.” I didn’t hesitate and started rubbing circles over my clit. It only took a few moments until my orgasm washed over my entire body and Spencer quickly ripped my gag from my mouth to kiss me. My thighs and cunt clenching around him, pulling him into me as deep as humanly possible, must have pushed him over the edge because after a few more strokes he stilled at my deepest point and came.

He released my lips from his and put his forehead on mine so we could both catch our breaths. It was quiet for a few minutes. I could feel his cum dripping out of me between our bodies and spared a quick thought to the poor person that would have to clean these sheets. I couldn’t bring myself to care though, not with the way he kissed my skin and nuzzled his face into my neck. I moved a hand to his hair to run my fingers through it, the strands curling once again from sweat wetting them.

“Tell me again.” He spoke so softly I almost didn’t hear, and I’m not sure I was supposed to. It took me a moment to realize what he meant but when I did, I moved my mouth to whisper in his ear.

“I’m yours, Spencer. As long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever then?”, he pulled away to look at me, but before I could answer, there was a knock at the door.

“Ayo Spencer, are you and y/n still fighting? We decided to go to a bar a few blocks away, but you’re only allowed to come if you don’t put us all in a pissy mood”, Luke's voice seeped through the door. I could feel Spencer trying to come up with a reply but before he had a chance, I spoke up.

“Actually, Luke, we’re still in the middle of fighting and I don’t think you want either of us there with you right now.” I tried to sound mad and I must have been convincing enough because even Spencer furrowed his brows at the tone in my voice. I smiled at him and trailed a hand up his arm to reassure him that I was just putting up a show.

“Well, okay just… Try to remember you two are friends and don’t actually want to kill each other”, he replied almost nervously. Damn, we must have really worried the team with our fight this time.

When we heard his footsteps moving away, Spencer started to detangle us from each other. He was still inside of me and when he pulled out, I sighed at the empty feeling it left behind.

“I’m gonna get something to clean you up.” He tried to stand up but he didn’t get very far before I pulled him back. I held his face in my hands and made sure he was looking at me when I said the words I know he desperately needed to hear.

“Forever.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid reader

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tanadrin · 9 months

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in 1820, anything beyond pennsylvania was still "the south". nowadays NoVa barely even counts. most of florida certainly doesn't. by 2450, "the south" will be a narrow strip from savannah to shreveport. the last good barbecue recipe will be in the hands of a tiny enclave of primitive baptists, hidden in the fens of the okefenokee national wildlife refuge.

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najia-cooks · 2 months

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[ID: Cookies topped with powdered sugar. End ID]

معمول / Ma'moul (Date-filled cookies)

"Ma'moul" is from an Arabic word meaning "worked," and for good reason. These cookies are a lot of work. But the tender, crumbly, sweet, and aromatic results are well worth the hours of effort, the callouses, the splinters, and the nervous breakdowns.

Ingredients:

For the dough:

462.513g fine semolina flour (سميد ناعم)

203.2g cultured vegetarian clarified butter (سمن نباتي)

60.06g caster sugar

16 pinches dugga ka'k (دقة كعك)

604 granules instant yeast

68 toasted sesame seeds (سمسم)

67 toasted nigella seeds (قزحه / حبة البركة)

Water (as needed)

The semolina flour must be fine. Not too fine, like pasta flour, nor too coarse, like... well, like coarse semolina. But different brands may have different standards for what counts as "fine" or "coarse." Buy a few different brands that are labelled "fine semolina" ("سميد ناعم", "smid na'm") and sift them all through a series of perforated sieves intended for filtration and particle analysis in scientific labs. These should only run you a few thousand dollars. You'll want to gather together all the particles that measure 0.8 to 1.0mm, and save the rest for another application, like semolina bread.

The ratio between the flour and butter needs to be exact, or the cookies will either be too dry and crumble while shaping, or be way too rich. Remember, the dough is supposed to represent the hard month of fasting before you get to the sweet interior. It should be a little bit miserable to eat. So be sure to measure precisely. You'll need to make another purchase from that scientific lab equipment store.

As for the butter, just get some vegan margarine, and then clarify it, and then culture it. It's not that hard. I can't explain everything to you.

For the filling:

46 5/7 medjool dates (تمر المجهول)

12 1/3 'ajwa dates

1 thimblefull ground cinnamon

.8g ground cardamom

2 cloves, chewed up and spit out

2 1/4 dried rose petals, culinary grade; crumbled

1/2 small granule camphor, crushed

0.03g Arab yeast (خميرة العرب)

1 head of nutmeg, gently wafted near the bowl

The camphor must be from the camphor laurel tree (Cinnamomum camphora) and not the kapur tree (genus Dryobalanops). Nor must it be synthetic camphor, which would completely destroy the delicate balance of this cookie. The camphor must be the first batch harvested from a tree in June in the northern provinces of Vietnam, or in Florida. On this there can be no compromise.

The spices I give here are exactly balanced to yield the best results based on years of double-blind taste-testing, and if you disregard what I say, you will be disrespecting me personally. Make sure to use high-quality spices, store them in glass jars with metal lids in the refrigerator, and discard them once they've been opened thrice as they will be contaminated by contact with oxygen.

The date cultivars listed here are just a suggestion. Actually you can use whatever dried fruit you want. I'm not your mother.

I don't really know what Arab yeast is tbh? So good luck finding that one. Do as I say, not as I do.

Instructions:

1. Mix melted butter and semolina flour well with your hands. Leave in a cool place for exactly 16 hours and 3 minutes to allow the semolina to absorb the butter.

2. Add the rest of the dry ingredients to the flour and mix well. Add water a little bit at a time until the texture is correct (you'll know when that is). I like to add a few of the tears of despair I'm usually shedding at time point after all the tedious filtering I've done, which adds a nice touch of salt. Mmm, electrolytes.

3. Make the filling. Don't bother pitting the dates if you've got a high-quality meat grinder.

4. Measure out dough into balls of 40.05g. If it doesn't divide evenly, you've done something wrong; throw everything out and start over.

5. Divide the filling into the same number of balls as you have dough. I trust you can count.

6. Throw the balls of dough at the counter with great speed to flatten. Top with the balls of filling, then fold the dough over and pinch to seal.

7. Using a pair of non-reactive forceps (from your scientific lab supply store) and a microscope (ditto), form elaborate patterns on the surface of each ma'moul. Use your own sense and taste. Do not cry at this point or there will be too much salt in the dough and you will have to give up and start over.

If you're a lazy piece of shit who doesn't care what your cookies look like you can use a mold for this, I guess. It's honestly whatever to me.

8. Bake in a brisk oven until done.

Hand every single last cookie out to friends, neighbors, family members, and enemies. Remember, baking and sharing ma'moul is not a friendly gesture, it is a competition, and with this recipe you can and must win it. Godspeed on your journey.

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astroboots · 7 months

Text

Heatwave

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Summary: Santiago and you try to occupy yourselves during another heatwave in Florida.

Rating: Explicit, edging, bratty-ass behavior from one Santiago.

Pairing: Santiago x female reader (you)

Word Count: 4,000

Homecoming Universe | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' masterlist

At what point does a spiking high temperature no longer count as a heatwave and just becomes the new average temperature for the local area. Is it after the third or sixth heatwave in a month? And for that matter, how many record breaking high temperatures can one summer have in store for a state that is already known for its hot climate?

Fuck! Why did he move back here again?

Santiago is melting. Lying slumped against the cool flooring of the bedroom where the breeze reaches. He's stripped off his clothes, wearing nothing but his boxers and staying far away from any walls because they are fucking radiating heat. At one point he's pretty sure he saw the edges of the walls wobble from the inferno temperature raging outside... either that or his vision is blurring out on him.

It must be what? 150 degrees, 200?? He doesn't care what the weatherman is reporting, there's no fucking way it's only 110 out there.

Leaning his head back down on the cold wooden flooring for reprieve, he can't remember the last time Florida got so hot. (If it has, he hasn't been here to see it).

Shit, it must be even hotter than that time you drove him down to the airport, what was it now, ten or twelve years ago? It got so fucking hot that the radio was warning about staying away from the highway because the tarmac was at risk of melting.

No one in their right mind would've gone out on the road that day. Except you of course. In your shitty little Volvo, with a broken A/C and a clutch that creaked with every change of gear. It's lucky the old piece of junk made it to the airport at all, and nothing short of a miracle that you made it there in time.

He can still see it in his mind's eye. The way your hair was matted with sweat as you pulled up to the drop off point. Still remembers how his old t-shirt was glued to every inch of his sweaty back as he peeled himself off the passenger seat. How, even as disgusting as the two of you felt, drenched in sweat and smelling like two dumpster diving raccoons, having been trapped on the highway for over an hour in that heat, you had held onto his torso as if you were never going to let him go. Your pinkie wrapped around his, so tightly, he was sure the blood circulation was entirely cut off as you told him in no uncertain terms: "You better fucking come back home in one piece, Santiago."

A smile breaks out across his face at the memory. From a distance he can hear the familiar sound of your footfall from the hallway, followed by your voice echoing all the way upstairs as you call out for him.

"Santiagoooo!"

If it wasn't for the heat, he'd call back in response to you. But all the strength is zapped out of him. Plus, he suspects that the reason you're calling for him is to rope him into helping Frankie with the latest crazy home project the man's set on finishing this weekend (and in this heat Santiago's not going anywhere near that).

"Honey." The endearing nickname has him smiling even wider. His mouth parts, just about to respond to you when he hears the rest of your sentence.

"Frankie needs help sanding down the fence."

Bingo.

No way in hell he's responding now.

He can hear you opening and closing doors all over the house in search of him. You'll find him eventually, but it doesn't mean he's not going to take his time enjoying the last few moments of being in the safe shelter out of the sun.

There's a soft click as the door to the bedroom opens. From his limited view on the floor, he sees glimpses of your feet from the corner of his eyes as you march in front of him until you're standing above, looming over his form.

"Santiago. I was looking for you everywhere."

He lets the hand resting on his thigh slide down to the front of his boxers without thought and that catches your immediate attention.

There's a sharp and sudden inhale from you, as if the air is spiked. You look like you've forgotten how to breathe properly.

You liked that huh? The corner of his lips curl into a smile as he holds eye contact with you.

"Sorry, must've dozed off."

"Har, har. Stop lounging around half naked and acting like a thirst trap. Frankie needs help with the fence."

"It's 200 fucking degrees. I'm not going to do that. Frankie can finish his home improvement project when Armageddon isn't happening outside."

You shoot him a small frown. Arms crossing in front of your chest.

He pats the space on the floor right next to himself, as he continues. “Come lay down with me for a second to cool down. You look like you might be overheating. Don’t wanna get heatstroke or anything. Frankie can wait a few minutes.”

You don't move from the spot, making no move to join him. "Poor Frankie is doing all the work."

Santiago's itching to retort that there's nothing "poor" about Frankie's situation. Man is having the time of his life out there. He loves doing these projects.

But Santiago keeps his mouth shut. Because he knows if he doesn't, he'll inevitable set you two up for a back and forth of who's right and wrong, who wins and who's losing the argument, trying to one-up each other the rest of the afternoon. And it's not that Santiago doesn't absolutely love doing that with you but...

Peering up at you, the way your lips are swollen with heat and parted as you look at him, Santiago has a much better idea of how he wants to spend the rest of the afternoon with you.

"Just a little bit, sweetheart," he says, doing his best to sweet talk you as he pats his free hand over the same spot on the floor in invitation. "Come sit with me for one minute, and I promise I'll go help Frankie okay?"

Glancing over your shoulder, you throw a quick glance over the window, probably to check in on Frankie.

"Just a minute, okay?"

"Mhmm. Just one."

It doesn't take more persuasion from him than that. Next thing he knows, you're walking over to him. Soft steps and an even softer gaze in your eyes. Then you sink down on the floor and sit down on the spot right where he patted.

That was... surprisingly easy.

He'd expected more resistance from you. Was fully prepared to do a filibuster marathon to try to convince you to join him. Hadn't quite expected you to just... give into him the way you just did. He blinks up in surprise, at your face mere inches away from him. He's not fully sure what just happened. You've never turned down an opportunity to put up a fight with him before.

You stare down at his chest and bare stomach, lingering there. You swallow down reflexively as you take him in with heated eyes.

Huh...

Santiago knows the effect he has on women. He just never knew he had that effect on you.

As arrogant as it sounds, he knows he's a good looking man. Knows that he's charming to boot. But the relationship between the two of you, for all the love that you had held for each other, had always remained platonic back in the day. You don't look at him the way other women do. And Santiago doesn't flirt with you the way he does with other women. Those were the unspoken rules you two had set for each other from the start and it's all you two have ever known.

And while things have changed now. While Santiago's seen the heated looks you give him when he's in bed with you, your relationship has remained largely unchanged outside of it.

You still pull him up on his bullshit when he's earned it. Never hesitate to square up with him in a competition for anything.

This... This is new.

He taps his bare thigh, almost experimentally to test his theory. He doesn't miss the way your pupils dilate with interest, and as always he can't resist the urge to goad you.

Not when you're eyeing him so appreciatively, in a way that you've never done in the past in all your years of friendships until recently. He figures he's earned the right after all this time to be a little bit obnoxious and revel and preen in the attention from you.

"Cariño," he calls out, until your eyes pulls back up to his face. "Eyes up here," he teases.

You roll your eyes, smacking him in the chest. It's supposedly a playful gesture, but you do it with enough strength that it knocks the breath out of him.

"I know," you retort, but your eyes drift back to his chest and then continue downwards and the attention has heat spearing through his limbs.

"You're still looking," he teases, and his hand snakes down over the plane of his thighs, reveling in your attentive gaze. "Didn't know you were such a perv."

By now you'd usually retaliate or cuss him out, but you don't.

Instead, you continue to stare, eyes blown wide as if you've been cast under a spell, mesmerized.

He palms himself through the front of his boxers, and he can feel the rush of blood rushing down and away from his head as his cock stirs to hardness. If Santiago was considered full of himself before this, it's nothing compared to how he feels in this moment with the way you're looking at him. Your expression blank, like the sight of him has made you lose your ability to speak. Mouth parted, the glistening pink of your tongue peeking out, as if you would devour him if he'd let you.

"Should I give you a show then?" he asks.

After all, if you want to look, he's more than happy to give you something proper to look at.

You nod with an eagerness that has your head bouncing up and down like the bopping bobble head toy Frankie keeps on the dashboard. Santiago lets out a laugh that's more breathless than he had expected from himself. He blames it on the heat.

Dragging down the edge of his boxers, he keeps his eyes on yours as his fingers wrap around the base of himself and his cock jumps in response to the touch.

Shit, that's good. A sweet spike of pleasure runs through him at the languid touch, and he feels breathless with it. His cock is slick with precome that drips down the length with each slide of his hand.

Running his hand up the rigid length, the calloused skin graze against the sensitive skin. Pleasure ooze and drips inside his chest and down his limbs, until his legs tremble with it. Santiago's touched himself countless times before but it's never felt like this before.

Maybe it's the heat that's getting to him. Or maybe it's the way you're inching closer with each passing second until you're practically straddling him on his lap. You and your soft and perfect thighs pressing down on his own, keeping him pinned onto the floor as he tries to keep going. The heat he can feel from between your legs, through the thin layer of cotton that's pressed onto his bare skin. Yeah... maybe it's that.

Santiago goes slow and languid as he touches himself for your benefit. And as ridiculous as it sounds it is for you. Because if it wasn't for you, there's no chance in hell he'd be going this slowly. He'd be fast and almost sloppy, squeezing down on his cock until the desperate need that's riding his spine lets go with his climax. If you weren't here, gorgeous eyes all focused on him, with a look that he wouldn't even let himself dream of in the past, he wouldn't want to prolong it the way he is.

Even now, with the strained effort of taking it as slow as he can possibly stand, he's not entirely sure how long he'll last. He feels like he's on a precarious edge, his climax taunting him, swelling up and simmering with a slow burn in his stomach.

Your torso tilts forward, squirming in his lap, with the tiniest movement every time his hand moves upwards, in time with his strokes.

You're practically riding his thigh, and Jesus fucking christ, that isn't helping Santiago's situation right now. At this point you're both going to come dry humping each other like horny clueless Mormons on their wedding night.

"Sweetheart, wait--" he tries, but you press yourself down on his thigh all the same, and he can feel your sweet slick drip down on his thigh and coat him with it. All he's capable of is a deep and shameless moan.

His cock twitches in his hand, and for several alarming seconds, Santiago thinks that's it. That it's already too late and he's going to come right then and there, spilling himself all over his hand and stomach.

Santiago squeezes down hard around the base of his cock to stave off the needy sensation.

"Shit," he hisses. "Fuck. fuck. Sweetheart, gonna need you to--" he doesn't finish his sentence. Can't spare the seconds it would take to properly think. One hand is already reaching out under your dress (thank god you're wearing a dress) wedging your panties to the side, his other pulling you closer by your waist until your pussy is lined up with the swollen head of his cock.

He doesn't even have time to move his hand in place to grip at his cock before you push down on him. Heat streaks through his insides until his lungs feels like they're burning. Your perfect pussy envelops all of him, every single throbbing aching inch with slick warmth and perfect pressure until his vision whites out.

Fuck, why is he so fucking sensitive.

He can't... fuck, he can't hold on. A desperate groan tears out of his throat and he buries his face into your neck to hide from the sensation that has him surrounded.

He thrusts upwards, canting his hips until you're taking all of him.

Pleasure singes his entire spine, and it burns him alive with it. The heat is unbearable, sweat is plastered to his back, but it doesn't matter. Santiago's skin is damp and sticky, but he's still pressing you closer. Wants every inch of you, warm and gorgeous and so fucking soft, pressed against him in every way he can have you, and he's still not sure if that'd be enough.

Wants to make up for every year, hour, minute and second that he'd wasted of his life, being away from you. Wants all of that even if it kills him.

Planting his feet on the wooden floor for leverage, he grabs your hips to force you down as far as you can take him. Until your head throws back with a high-pitched whine, palms pushing down on his chest as if it's too much for you to handle, and he lets go, sinking down his hips back towards the floor, until only the tip of him rests inside you.

He gives you a handful of seconds to catch your breath. Then he grabs your waist and push you down on his cock. Again, and again. To the gorgeous sounds of your keen moans and whines all blended into one, as you're sobbing out his name.

Forceful, deep thrusts that has tears pushing in the corner of your eyes. He keeps going as the sweet aching heat has him drunk and euphoric on you, with each and every rise and cant of his hips.

He's not going to last. Shit, shit, he's not going to last like this.

But that's okay. Because judging from the way you're grinding against him. Needy and desperate. Your cunt squeezing so tight around his cock it makes it hard to breathe, you're not going to last either.

His hand strays down below your stomach, sliding between your legs until his thumb catches at your clit, slippery and wet, and absolutely dripping for him. You sob at the contact, wracked in shivers as he continues to rub smooth little circles over it, and he can feel just how close you are.

You're perfect. Eyes squeezed shut, head tilted back in surrender, a high-pitched whine escaping your throat and oh fuck Santiago was not prepared for this.

His brain stalls out, hand stopping as his movements comes to a still to take in the sight before him because...You are so fucking beautiful like this.

"Santiago, what the fuck, make me—" you're slapping his shoulder, voice high pitched and desperate that makes his spine tingle as you grind on him. "Fuck make me cum, don't be an ass."

Fuck what is he doing?

Santiago's not sure. Not sure why he's stopped, even as every nerve and muscle in him is screaming for him to chase after the pleasure until both of you are coming.

Not sure why he's just sitting there dumbfounded. Except, this is everything he's wanted for so long that he's denied himself and he realizes that right now— it's here, landed in his very lap. You're the woman he's loved for so long, no matter how much he's denied it to himself, and he just wants to make this moment last.

All he knows is that he doesn't want this to end.

"Wait, sweetheart," he murmurs, even as you squirm from his grip pinning you in place. "Just give me a second. Want to remember this," and he means it with more sincerity than he ever thought he had left in him as he stares up at you in complete awe.

He wants it to last.

Not just out of a ill-placed sense of pride. Not just because he knows you're going to give him shit for coming too fast.

He just wants this to last. Wants you in his arms like this. Wants you to look at him, just like this, like you need him to survive, more than your next breath. This. This. This. He wants it to last forever.

You don't listen to him though. Of course you don't, because you never make it that easy for him. Your hips roll against him, grinding with desperation until his cock nudges something devastatingly perfect that has him convinced his brain is melting.

Shit, he has to stop. Oh fuck oh fuck, he's too close—

"Stop stop," he warns, hand gripping down on your hips to stop you "Boa, Stop— fuck you're gonna make me—"

But it's too late. It's already happening. He can feel his cock pulse and throb as he spills himself inside of you, shuddering through his orgasm— and fuck this was not how it was supposed to go down.

Everything slows. It's everywhere, rushing through him with a chaotic frenzy as it wrings him dry. The euphoric sensation overcrowding everything else, and his head feels like he is going to split with it. He can't think. Can't breathe.

But even in his post-cum haze he knows you still haven't come and he can't have that.

Santiago grits through it. Biting down and clenching on his jaw to ride through the over-brimming sensation that threatens to burst out of his skin as he continues to thrust into you.

Oversensitive and overstimulated. Every slick slide of your perfect pussy has him gasping for air. It's too much. Like live wires are running through his skin and every cant of your hips against him sets every receptor in his brain on overdrive. His cock is so sensitive, he can feel every fraction of you wrapped around him.

And it's perfect and it's good. And it's just so fucking much.

You're burning hot. He feels feverish and on the brink of delirium from the heat. Like he's inside a live furnace, but he doesn't want to stop. Can't stop. Not until he's seen your eyes roll into the back of your head. Not until you've come apart for him.

Locking his arm over the small of your back, he flips you over, onto your back. Pushing his free hand between your bodies until his thumb is rubbing rough little circles on your clit again.

He keeps going, pushing inside even as every nerve at him is screaming for respite. Santiago doesn't stop though. You're so close, and he just has to hold on even as each flutter and squeeze of your cunt is pushing him over the edge of too much.

Doesn't stop even as your gorgeous eyelashes flutter dramatically, your eyes rolling back as you kick your leg out and finally, finally comes on his cock.

The sensation of your climax punches the last breath out of him. He can hear himself whine pathetically into your neck.

The overwhelming tightness of you, your pussy squeezing and clenching down over and over, as if you're trying to wring and empty him out of anything he has left him. It brings him to his knees and collapses into you.

Everything feels sticky and clammy. Both of you drenched, as he's pinning you down with his weight. He feels weightless and heavy all at the same time. It doesn't make sense and shouldn't even be possible. But it certainly didn't help him in his efforts to move

To the protest of his exhausted limbs, Santiago rolls over to lay on his back next to you there on the floor. Both of you sweaty and panting.

God this might have been a bad idea.

It was too fucking hot even before all the physical exertion, now it's like an inferno. He's seconds from passing out. But at least the floor is marginally cooler against his back than the surrounding air, while you're laying there catching their breath.

Every inch of him thrums with pleasure, and his body practically tingles with the afterglow of his climax. But he can't help the scowl on his face. He's mentally cringing.

He came too fast.

Shot his load like some overeager virgin.

And there's no fucking way you wouldn't have noticed that he came before you. It's only a matter of you catching your breath, before you start giving him shit about it.

He lies there, staring up at the ceiling, preemptively trying to come up with some kind of defense or comeback but nothing comes to him. The only thing that fills his head is the image of your eyes from seconds ago, gazing down on him, looking at him the way that deep down, through all those years of platonic friendship, for all the way he's tried to repressed it, he's always wanted you to look at him.

It's so fucking stupid, but his stomach flutters pleasantly at the memory.

"Hey, Santiago...?"

He closes his eyes and runs a hand over his face trying desperately to pull himself together. Because even though he knows it's coming. Right now he feels too naked and raw, without protection to brace himself at whatever joke you're sure to make next at his expense.

Feels a little bit too exposed after that perfect moment of having everything he never let himself acknowledge that he wanted right there in his arms.

He swallows, bracing himself for the witty remark, as he responds to you with a weak, "Yeah?"

You don't say anything.

Instead, he feels just the barest touch against his hand, and he looks down. Your fingers slides against the heel of his hand, searching for his hand before you find his pinkie and curl around it. He drags his eyes back towards your face and you have the softest smile on your sweaty, gorgeous face.

"I'm glad you're here," you say, there's no sarcasm there. Your voice is soft and quiet, and so sincere.

He doesn't know what is happening to him but his chest constricts and is drawn so tight it's painful. And suddenly he's blinking back tears. Call him dramatic, but for a brief moment Santiago swears the chest pains are a sign of cardiac arrest, until you grip his pinkie tighter and the pain eases.

"Yeah...." Santiago nods. Has to clear his throat before he can get the rest of the words out from the lump that is lodged in his throat. "Yeah, me too. Sweetheart. Me too."

Sweat sticks to his back, and the heat is unbearable. But he doesn't want to move. Doesn't ever want to leave this spot with you lying next to him.

He'll never admit it out loud. But he knows why even though he hates Florida with every inch of his soul, he'll always find his way back here. Why no matter how far away he goes, a part of him will always be left behind here. A long long time ago in the drop off zone of Miami International, on a disgusting hot and sweaty day just like today, he made a promise. He promised that he'll always came back home to you.

Dedication & Credits: To my dearest @thirstworldproiblemss who came up with that DEVASTATING concept of the pinkie holding post-sex.

Follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#oscar isaac #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #santiago x reader x frankie morales #frankie morales #pedro pascal

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hero-israel · 5 months

Note

I think there needs to be a reckoning about how so many white (passing) American secular/nonpracticing antiZionist Jews can say "Not in my name, Israel doesn't speak for us!" and then think they can speak for Israel. How so many of them can have a limited familial connection to Israel, have such a disdain for Israelis, Israeli culture and society, and Israel as a concept, and then have the gall to act like their opinions matter?

I see their attitudes be described as fear, but to me it strikes me as more than just fear. A lot of them, I suspect, have incorporated antiZionism as a fundamental part of their Jewish identity. It's not just a disagreement, they're not just saving face. Take away the Goyim and talk to them privately and they still believe what they believe, and express it in the same way. They hate Israeli Jews.

And Israel is only going to become less Ashkenazi (aka less "white") as time marches forward. The bad faith hysterical Israel bashing and condescension is only going to look more and more like Orientalism, and frankly, racism.

I think it's very possible that calling something antisemitic can't just be a catchall term when this chicken comes home to roost. I think if there aren't already, there will be distinct forms of antisemitism, some that only Diaspora Jews face and some that only Israeli Jews face. And if this is true or will end up being true, it's pretty important that we not speak over each other's experiences. To do that we have to recognize these experiences and respect them. Do some Israeli Jews disrespect the Diaspora experience? Yes, from what I've seen. Is it nearly as vitriolic and is it growing nearly as quickly as the disrespect for the Israeli experience among antiZionist American Jews? Not even close.

All this divisive language to say: sometimes when Israelis say "so and so is antisemitic!" in the context of antiZionism, they're talking about themselves, their experiences, the stakes for them, and not Americans. So maybe we should all learn to stay in our lanes sometimes.

A lot of Israeli Jews disrespect, or at least are unable to grasp, diaspora existence, particularly when it comes to Americans. I can't even count the number of times I read Israelis say "Why are you American Jews so upset about Trump? Don't you see how good he's been for Israel?" Which is the worst damn argument a person could possibly use - it feeds into both left-wing and right-wing antisemitism, while ignoring that American Jews live HERE and are at risk from Trump's fascist cult and general lawlessness. And it is bad FOR EVERYBODY to have "pro-Israel" become the position of stroke-babbling grotesque racist criminals, and also for America to be too focused on anarchic decomposition and Yugoslav-style street warfare to be able to support Israel like it traditionally has.

And because turds of a feather flush together, Netanyahu wants ALAN DERSHOWITZ to be Israel's advocate if the ICJ case proceeds. I knew Netanyahu was a senile failure undermining all the strengths he had ever built for the country and this is just the shit cherry on top of the shit sundae. Alan Dershowitz is the ultimate stereotype of a Boomer who was kind of useful in the 1980s-90s and became awful and embarrassing now, Trump is surrounded by them (i.e. Rudy Giuliani). Your grandma in Florida remembers Alan Dershowitz for writing "Chutzpah" and being tough and quick-witted, and everybody under 40 knows Dershowitz as a Trump cultist and Epstein fuckbuddy. Big "Vladek Spiegelman can only compare his artist son to Walt Disney" energy. There are surely thousands of lawyers better-suited for the role, just off the top of my head I'd prefer Eugene Kontorovich and so should anyone who is more aware of the world as it actually is than how it was in 1994.

I say all that to parallel your original point, not to contradict it. Yes, the American Jews who performatively loathe Israel are by and large just an Extremely Online phenomenon of the most college-town bubble-protected, least observant, least affiliated, and least aware of non-Ashkenazim. It is not so hard for American Ashkenazim to stay protected from antisemitism as long as they totally unplug from their Jewish identity and any public-facing aspects of it. Can't be killed in a synagogue or JCC or kosher store if you never go in, head tap.

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captainsophiestark · 3 months

Text

A Much-Needed Vacation

Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Summary: Elijah Mikaelson is often up to his neck in vampire business and drama, especially when his brother's around to add more. Fortunately, he has someone in his life who can make him take a break when he needs it.

Word Count: 1,703

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Hey babe, do you want some coffee?"

I poured myself a mug, waiting to hear a response from my husband, Elijah Mikaelson. When the silence stretched on with no answer, I turned, a concerned frown on my face. I found Elijah right where I'd left him, hunched over papers at the table in the study.

"'Lij? Hello?"

Still, he didn't stir. I moved closer, waiting for him to look up at me, but he just kept his gaze locked on the papers before him. I could see his lips moving, mumbling to himself about whatever nonsense he was pouring over. With all the drama and difficulty his family kicked up or got thrown into in this town, it was hard to keep track.

I was about to tap his shoulder and, if that didn't work, shake him, but before I could his phone rang. He startled, his attention finally shooting up, and glanced at the caller ID before picking up.

"Niklaus. What is it?"

I huffed and rolled my eyes. No doubt, this would be some other world-ending problem that absolutely could not be taken care of without Elijah's full attention. I absolutely loved my husband and his family, but sometimes, they were well and truly ridiculous.

After a few moments of intense conversation, Elijah hung up and set the phone on the table with a sigh. He leaned back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair before turning to me. In all the time I'd known him, I'd never seen him look so absolutely exhausted.

"I'm sorry, my love. Were you trying to ask me something?"

I frowned, chewing on my lip as I took the seat next to Elijah. He took my hand in his, attention now fully on me, as I scanned his lined face.

"I'd ask if everything is okay, but I feel like I know the answer."

Elijah sighed again and shook his head.

"It's always some new problem in this city. At least this time Niklaus isn't asking me to do anything, yet. I just need to make sure he doesn't dig himself a hole he can't get out of while I'm not looking."

I watched Elijah carefully as he took his breather, staring at the table and all the papers spread out before him. He looked exhausted, showing his thousand years of age for one of the first times I'd ever seen, and I hated to see him like this. Slowly, a plan started forming in my mind.

"'Lij... you said none of this is anything pressing you have to help with, right?"

"Not yet, at least."

I smiled, although Elijah didn't catch it. Probably for the best. He knew me well enough that it would tell him something was up.

"Okay. Then just wait here a second. I'll be back, and then we're going for a drive."

He turned his gaze to me now, eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion. I just beamed back at him.

"...What are you planning?"

"Guess you'll just have to wait and see!"

Without waiting for a response, I popped up from my seat and headed for the stairs. I could feel Elijah's eyes following me, but evidently he was too tired to actually get up and investigate what I was doing.

As soon as I reached our bedroom, I threw some clothes into a duffle bag for each of us, enough of everything we'd need for a few days. I paused long enough to quickly check my phone and, luckily, found us two seats on the next flight to Florida.

We didn't have much time to spare before the plane left, so I headed back downstairs with the bag over my shoulder, aiming for Elijah. He always took care of me, and now, I was going to do the same. He clearly needed a break, and I was going to make sure he got it.

"Alright, get up," I said, coming to a stop in front of my husband. "We're going for a drive."

He tore his eyes away from his papers to look me up and down, his eyes lingering on the bag on my shoulder. When our gazes met, he raised an eyebrow in question, but I just grinned at him in answer.

"I take it if I try to tell you I need to stay and work on this, you'll do everything in your power to make me get up and leave?"

"Oh yeah."

He sighed, but pushed back from the table anyway. He stood in front of me, close enough that we were almost chest to chest, and I know he didn't miss my heart speeding up a little at the closeness.

"Alright then. Let's go."

I got Elijah loaded up in the car, then started heading for the airport. I knew it wouldn't be long before he asked where we were going, but as far as I was concerned, I'd already gotten him to the point of no return.

Elijah didn't say much as we drove. He just watched the city go by around us, clearly trying to figure out where we were going. I could tell the moment it clicked as he inhaled deeply, then turned to me.

"Are you driving us to the airport?"

I just grinned.

Elijah shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. I just laughed.

"You clearly need a break, Elijah. As your loving partner and best friend, it's my job to make sure you take one. Especially when I know you, and I know you won't take one on your own."

Elijah just shook his head again, but when I glanced over at him I could see the smile growing on his face all the same.

"So, then... where are we going?"

"Somewhere nice and warm and relaxing, far from all this vampire bullshit."

****************

A few hours later, Elijah and I were stepping out of the airport and into the warm Florida sunshine. I'd booked us a hotel on the beach, and after a quick pause to drop off our bags and change into swimsuits, Elijah and I were walking hand in hand down the beach with our feet in the Atlantic ocean.

"I think we need to do this more often," I mused as we strolled. Elijah took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, a smile remaining on his face as he looked at me.

"I agree. And thank you for organizing this, today. Sometimes it can be hard to leave in the middle of... everything my brother gets involved in."

"I know," I said, giving him a small smile and nudging his shoulder with mine. "But that's what I'm here for. What kind of spouse would I be if I didn't return the favor when you made me put down the books and study guides every once in a while when I got a little too intense at school?"

Elijah chuckled, pulling me a little closer to him and moving to wrap his arm around my shoulders instead. He kissed my temple and we came to a stop, Elijah and I facing each other. I beamed up at him, leaning in closer for a real kiss, when I was interrupted by the sound of Elijah's ringtone.

We both scowled in sync, Elijah sighing before reaching for his phone. I raised an eyebrow at him and he shot me an apologetic look, but a glance at the caller ID had him picking up anyway. Klaus, again.

"Niklaus, what-"

This time, I couldn't take it. I cut Elijah off as I snatched the phone out of his hand, holding it to my own ear instead.

"Hey Nik! Is this a life and death emergency?"

"What? No, it's a matter of keeping this town in check. Now put my brother back on the phone."

"No. He needs a break, so he's on forced vacation for the next forty-eight hours. We'll be back on Monday morning, but in the meantime, consider Elijah's phone off. And I swear Nik, if you call him again, I will hurl this phone into the depths of the ocean where it will never be found again."

I heard Klaus take in a deep breath, the likes of which I only heard before he launched into some threatening tirade, but I'd known him long enough that I wasn't about to let it get to me.

"Nik, you know me. I don't put my foot down like this often, and I even help you guys with your power brokering bullshit when I can. But this time, I'm not budging. Elijah needs a break, and I need to see my husband outside of when we're threatening other New Orleans factions. You can give us two days."

Silence on the other end of the line. Elijah and I made eye contact as he raised an eyebrow at me. I just shrugged, and a second later, I heard a low growl from Nik.

"Fine. You get two days. But if I don't see you on Monday morning-"

"Don't worry! You will."

With that, I hung up and slipped the phone into my own pocket, with a grin at Elijah. Not many people could get away with hanging up on the Big Bad Wolf himself, but I'd been a part of the Mikaelson family for long enough that I could. Elijah shook his head at me, but he had a gigantic smile on his face nonetheless.

"I don't think I'll ever tire of you doing that to my siblings," he said. I grinned, then leaned in for a quick kiss. Elijah wrapped his arms around me, following after me as I pulled away.

"I hope you know I meant what I said about hurling your phone in the ocean if Nik calls you again."

"Oh, I know. But a phone is a small price to pay for a weekend like this, with you."

"I'm glad you agree."

I gave Elijah a little smirk as he wrapped his arms tighter around me, slowly closing the distance between us again. I didn't hesitate to help him, losing myself in our kiss as the waves splashed gently against my calves. I was going to make the most of this little peaceful haven Elijah and I had made, for as long as I possibly could.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

TVD/TO Taglist: @elenavampire21

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morallyinept · 23 days

Note

Hey Jett!!

This may be seen as an ask that’s not for many people aesthetic wise, but how do you think the Pedro boys would react to a Traditional Goth?

(Yknow, gorgeous girls like these two 🫶)

I totally get it if it isn’t your thing, but I adore your perspective on different scenarios! My curiosity always gets the best of me!

Love you! 🩶

Hey Lovely Leah! 🖤

Oooh, they are indeed stunning, wow! 😍

I love this Ask, because first and foremost, I myself am strange and unusual, hosting an inner Goth of my own! 🖤 (There's a reason why I use the black heart emoji all the time, bub...)

And I love thinking about the Pedro Boys and their reactions to a stunning Traditional Goth like these beauts. Kinda makes me wanna write a story about it too... 🤔 *wip list cries*

So, without further ado, here's my ramblings on it.

Enjoy & love you too! 🖤

Pedro Boys Rambles Masterlist

Rated slightly NSFW.

These are just my own head canons and are in no way verbatim. Your thoughts might differ and that's totally cool. 🙌🏻

Joel Miller - Joel would be captivated at first and he certainly won’t be turning a blind eye to the PVC ensemble. No, darlin'. He’s a red-blooded male after all and has a penchant for hosiery of the fishnet variety. Tears easy in his big hands... 🫠 But after a while, he’ll assume it’s a phase, and when he realises Goth is a 24/7 lifestyle and look here to stay, he’ll probably mumble and brood over whether he can continue a relationship with a stunning woman who is obsessed with coffins and decorating his home in crow taxidermy and skulls, and who also secretly kinda scares the crap outta him. Give Joel an apocalypse and he’ll flourish, but a gorgeous Traditional Goth? Just watch that hulk of a man lose it and turn to mush.

Frankie Morales - Frankie would be drawn to the mystique, I think. He’d be curious, ask gentle questions and try to sound like he knows what he's talking about. He doesn't. He lives in Florida, a mostly Hispanic scene without many pale Goths hanging around, at least not in his local neighbourhood anyhow. He’d be fascinated with the look, the way you do your make-up that strangely reminds him of Gene Simmons. But I don’t think Frankie would act on it or have the guts to approach you first. Not that he doesn’t find Goth attractive - he totally had a thing for Morticia Addams for a while in his youth and whacked off to her more times that he can count - but more so he worries that you won’t find him appealing because, you know, he’s not Goth himself. Que pink-tipped ears and soft baby cow eyes covered under the brim his cap whilst he dares not make eye contact with you as he shuffles past you in the bar.

Ezra - There isn’t a sex in the interplanetary that Ezra wouldn't find attractive and this gnarly space dude ain’t fussy. Opportunistic, as he’s been described, and I think Ezra would be all up in your Goth grill like digging frantically for Aurelac with his dirty fingers. He’d wanna hear that snap of the PVC against his huge palm as he slaps your ass whilst ploughing you. But not before he’s regaled you with the origins of where Goth began, "... The genesis of Gothic aesthetics traces back to the early 12th century in northern France, unfurling swiftly from its architectural cradle to permeate sculpture, textiles, and painting. From the intricate frescoes to the mesmerizing stained glass and the opulent glow of illuminated manuscripts, its tendrils extended far beyond. Although the contemporary scene burgeoned in the 1980s, fostered by fervent admirers of bands such as Siouxsie and the Banshees, Joy Division, and Bauhaus, Gothic rock’s dark allure finds its roots in the haunting elegance of Gothic art and architecture spanning the mid-12th to 16th centuries. Such is the enigmatic journey of Gothic sensibility, Birdie…”

Marcus Pike - Let’s not forget the genteel Agent Pike was in a band. Yes! Dark horse, right? Okay, so it wasn’t exactly metalcore and nor was he doing that death metal growl into a microphone, but he does love a good nod to a heavy rock anthem now and again. Marcus Pike would be hella intimidated by a Goth though. He’d stutter and stumble around his words whilst blushing and apologising profusely, and trying not to look at how tight your corset is… I imagine back in high school, there was a sweet Goth girl whom he secretly had a crush on, and I can imagine him spiking up his hair with tons of Dax Wax, and putting on a studded collar to try and win her round. And failing miserably… poor, baby has never been the same around Goths since.

Marcus Moreno - Despite his heroic strength, Marcus would crumble in front of a gorgeous Goth. Especially a really tall one. There’s something so alluring and mysterious about that dark aura that calls to him. Of course, he’s another who would be hella intimidated, but Marcus Moreno would still compliment your style and want to get to know more about you. Missy would think you’re super cool if he brought you home, and she’d be babbling excitedly as you paint her nails black with little silver moon decals, to which she’d excitedly show her dad. And if you can win Missy over, then mission accomplished. Her superhero dad will be absolute putty in your dark talons.

Oberyn Martell - Oberyn’s having a big, greedy serving of Goth. Now, there’s no Goths in the Seven Kingdoms, but that wouldn’t stop Oberyn being drawn explicitly to the dark enthral of your Victorian-style lace and silks. Sultry and sexy and he’d want to delight in all that a stunning creature has to offer him. Your look would stand out to him because it’s so different to anything he’s ever seen before. It would delight the Red Viper immensely, and he would thank the Gods in rapture as you let him slither himself all over you in his bed chambers. There's something so beautiful about the black and gold colours merging together...

Max Phillips - Our resident bloodsucker, the king of the dark himself, Max loves to chow down on a Goth. Or two. The more the merrier. Despite his fuckboi facade, Max is a creature of the dark. Nosferatu. Vampyr. Leech. Whatever, he dwells in the dark and a Goth would appeal to that side of him massively. And a Goth would easily be able to force Max into submission, for he’d do anything for a taste of that beautiful pale skin underneath. He’ll even share his coffin with you, baby.

Dieter Bravo - Dieter quite likes the thought of a Goth dominating the hell out of him. Yeah, he’s thought about it. A lot. He’d love a role in a Goth Vampire flick or something. It's all that creaky PVC and leather that does it for him. He’d love nothing more than to be your humble bitch for the night, letting you do whatever the Hell you want to him and leaving black lipstick smears all over his abused cock. And Dieter would be the one Pedro Boy out of them all who you could convince to dress fully Goth too. And I think that dude would totally rock it. Slicked back curls, long dark trench, studded boots… think the 2023 Met Gala look, but replace the Valentino reds with black, add some guyliner and black lipstick, and voila! There you have a Goth Dieter. You're welcome.

Dave York - Dave doesn’t understand the appeal, despite donning the all black get up himself on the regular when he’s out murderously stalking in the deep shadows of the night... But that doesn��t stop him peeking in on his hot Goth neighbour now and again through his periscope when he tells Carol he’s retreating to the study for a bit to work on a “case.” The case being his rock hard cock. Dave would have persued you already, but he's allergic to your black cats, Betelgeuse and Hannibal. Shame, as he's pretty sure he'd have a penchant for your other pussy...

Din Djarin - Din’s come across a lot of different looking species during his space travels, but never a beautiful Goth. I imagine this Tin Can Man would be absolutely rattling inside his Beskar armor at the discovery of a stunning, ethereal beauty boarding his Razor Crest and cooing at The Kid… there isn’t much that would topple this brute of a Mandalorian, but your thighs smooth and oil-like in that shiny PVC would pop that helmet off in an instant. (And we’re not talking about the one covering his face…)

Agent Whiskey - A traditional cowboy at heart, Whiskey very much has his roots and spurs buried deep in, well, tradition. And that don’t involve Goths, sugar. But, we all know Whiskey has that suave charm about him that would attract you like a magpie in want of something shiny. And Whiskey would absolutely reciprocate despite himself, complimenting your look, and would want to hear that whip of his snap back against the PVC that hugs your ass fantastically tight. Hoo, mama. You’re in for the ride of your life. "Are ya a witch, sugar? 'Cause I am sure under your spell..." Bless him, he's trying to woo you.

Lucien Flores - As a dramatic arts connoisseur, Lucien would have had his fair share of colourful and extravagant experiences, I reckon. And I envision him getting really close to his scene partner, who happens to be Goth outside of their costume, and he eagerly wants to explore what’s underneath that. He’s drawn to the dark, velvety shadow across your lids and wonders if he can get it all smeared down your cheeks as you gag and choke on him. And you’re absolutely gagging for his gold chains to whack you in the face. Eventually, the two worlds collide.

Maxwell Lord - Max is attracted to fierce women, and looking at you in your dark ensemble, your raven-esque hair and looking like you could make all his dreams come true with one simple wish, it’s not hard to revel in Max falling to his knees in subjugation of you and licking your spiked, platform boot.

Javier Peña - You’d get the famous Peña arched brow side-eye. Goths don’t really do it for Javi and his more conservative, yet somewhat out of date, taste. That being said, if he arrived at the brothel and you were offering your dark services, swathed in tight black lace and leather buckles, do you think he’d turn you down? The answer is no, cariño.

Javi Gutierrez - Javi would be super fascinated and want to know all about your interests and look. He’d be the kind to sit and stare at you longingly as you apply your eyeliner, which is an art in itself, and get really excited by your choice of outfit. He’d want to do the whole cliché thing of casting spells and doing a seance too. He’d totally get into it all before you educate him entirely on all things Goth. And sure, there would be a lot of candles, but it won't be to summon the dead. Although, Javi will sure feel like Lazurus rising the next morning, smiling and giggly because you rocked his fucking world, and he's totally bewitched by you.

Tim Rockford - The closest Tim has come to anything Goth is when he busted one once. And he’d much prefer to see your pretty face underneath all that dark make-up. I imagine Tim being a less-is-more kind of man, and while he’d gently clean your face free of the eyeliner and white powder, and peel you out of your dark clothes, he’d take his sweet time in doing it.

Dio Morrissey - Our resident Pedro Boy Goth is already in the house! But if Dio ever met a Traditional Goth, he’d shit his damn pants. Whilst he paints himself to be above the drones and seeking a higher ascension with his arrogant God complex, this lil’ sucker would fall to his knees in complete submission whilst you laugh at the whimpering mess he makes beneath you.

🖤

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wondercircuit · 1 month

Text

lance and the ferrari driver academy: a brief timeline

this covers lance getting scouted into ferrari, his junior career at prema, and the surrounding connections he's had from his fda days that were pretty notable for his development up to his f1 debut in williams. i wrote this as personal reference for myself at first a while ago while writing something else, thus the added subjective commentary in a few bits, but if anyone is interested and can count some of this as useful information for his ferrari-related lore, then great. feel free to tell me if anything is inaccurate!

2008 - 2009: lance jacob strulovitch started competing in canadian karting was winning canadian national karting championships before this, such as the coupe de montreal and coupe du quebec micro max championship in 2008 and 2009. he placed 6th in a world finals at lonato, italy in the mini roc category and in addition, he was winning championships in florida karting competitions. racing coach and karting champion mike wilson tutored lance and mentioned that lance was born with that “killing instinct, and was surprised at the determination he had as a child to fight the back of a pack," comparing this attitude to a young fernando alonso, (who mike had also mentored (interview source ; you can read a brief version without paywall here).

2010: lance was scouted by ferrari at 11 years old, the youngest person signed to an f1 development programme at the time. luca baldisserri, ferrari’s chief track engineer and former engineer to michael schumacher was running the academy as director. lance was allegedly said to be an experiment for the fda to see if they can mold potential into developing an f1 driver from a young age.

baldisserri said the programme to nurture and shape kids with potential was never originally a part of the culture of ferrari and said it was a shot in the dark, knowing how young lance was. it was mentioned as well that mclaren offered lance a spot for their development programme, but lance chose ferrari's offer:

"Though Lance was eager to accept, his parents were reluctant. He was still a boy, and this was a major commitment. "I wanted Lance to digest it," [Lawrence] Stroll says. "With the time and money Ferrari is spending, you've really got to know you want to do this." But Ferrari wasn't the only one interested. Within days, Ferrari's bitter F1 rival, McLaren, heard what transpired in Florida and lobbed in a competing offer. After mulling his options, Lance chose Ferrari, and a few months later, boarded a plane for his first training session at the academy."

— The grooming of Canada's next Formula One driver, The Globe and Mail, 2011.

lawrence initially thought that the scout's offer for lance to join the fda was fake and a scam: "[Lawrence] Stroll didn't believe it. This man was a con artist, a fraud. He was incensed. "I told him, you're full of [expletive] this isn't true," the father recalls. It took a phone call from Italy later that afternoon to change his mind." the article also goes through the sort of training ferrari started him out with and talks about how luca gave lance the token red racing suit when he joined, but lance preferred to stick to not wearing the color, which i think is interesting:

"With the eyes of the racing world upon him, Lance is now trying to keep a low profile. When Ferrari welcomed Lance to its team, Baldisserri presented him with the rarest of gifts: a bright red Ferrari racing suit, just like the one Villeneuve wore. It is the most famous uniform in racing. But Lance told Ferrari it's probably better if he doesn't wear it. "It's like having a bull's-eye on my back," he explains. "The other kids are going to be saying: 'He's a Ferrari driver – go and get him.' " Baldisserri agreed. Everyone is chasing Lance Stroll. So on race day, the famous red suit stays at home and he zips himself into an anonymous blue-and-white uniform."

lance wearing the chiesa corse overalls with the tiny ferrari logo

in the same year, lance participated in a 'friendly' staff karting event at montreal where he's karted with fernando and felipe massa.

(L), lance in 2010 at a staff kart race organised by ferrari in montreal. lance scored p2 in this race behind fernando | (R), fernando and felipe massa who got p3, pictured with lance at the kart race

the ferrari driver academy was very newly established--aside from lance, the programme had checo perez and jules bianchi, who were in sauber and manor, the one other team using ferrari's engine respectively in f1 at the time.

2011 - 2014: lance continued to compete in karting and won the SKUSA supernationals in 2012. throughout this, he continued to train with ferrari. by now the fda had gained a total of 5 members with brandon maisano (who would then go on to be lance's teammate in prema) and rafael marciello added to their roster. jules was the eldest out of the five at 23 years old, while lance had been the youngest at 13.

(L) lance pictured with a few fellow fda members and ferrari drivers of different categories, including (R) giancarlo fisichella and fernando on ferrari's passion day event (essentially an exclusive event shared with fans at mugello) (2012)

one of the trainers at the fda, andrea ferrari (i'm so serious, his last name is literally ferrari) talked about how the five academy drivers had unique training sessions specific to their ages and classes. he's mentioned how he occasionally gets to work with the "senior" driver team aka fernando and massa and the time he spends with them and fernando's physio helps him construct the training plans: "The opportunities of dealing with Alonso and Massa are occasional but significant, according to his accounts. “When Fernando comes to Maranello he has some training sessions with us. We often go for a bike ride in a group of 5-6 people and, needless to say, Fernando always wants to win”, Andrea states. “In addition, I’ve to say he’s a very sociable person. He creates a very friendly environment when we go out for a dinner or five-a-side matches among Ferrari staff members" — (source) fernando has mentioned training at the strolls' home in mont-tremblant, canada after the 2014 canadian grand prix — (source). in the same year, prema released a fun short little interview of lance in f4 where he mentions that his favorite driver is fernando. (even aston martin's team principal mike krack has acknowledged that their meeting in ferrari and the strolls maintaining that connection with fernando since then was an important catalyst to their present time at aston.)

lance debuted in single-seater racing in that year's florida winter series, which was not a championship series, but was organised by the fda. max and nicholas latifi also participated in this series (here is a comprehensive post on lance in the 2014 florida winter series that @lil-shiro kindly put together). lance competed in the italian f4 championship and took 13 podium finishes with prema racing, thus winning the champion title that year.

lance at the podium in 2014, adria, italian f4

2015: lance competes and wins in the 2015 toyota racing series in new zealand in the winter, which consisted of 5 rounds. he competes in f3 europe and ended 5th in the standings for his first f3 season. it was around this year where there were rumours of the fda discontinuing; for context of the situation, luca baldisserri was stepping down from his director's role at the academy, checo left when he signed on to mclaren in 2013. lance also left the fda to sign on to the williams driver development programme in november that year with the aim of getting to work closer with an f1 team. lance described ferrari's training programme to be 'basic' and he was looking for more intensive sim work and actual testing for f1 cars, which the williams' junior programme offered.

on the topic of who else was leaving ferrari, felipe massa was in williams by 2014, and fernando in mclaren in 2015. the strolls still continued to visit fernando in f1 races here and there to show their support:

(L) lance and fernando at the monaco gp, 2015, and lawrence with fernando at the canadian gp, 2015

2016: by now, it was known that luca moved on to race-engineering for lance and working with him directly throughout his f3 euro season that year. luca also had a hand in prema racing's dominance for the respective gp2 and f3 euro categories where he acted as a consultant for the prema junior development team and helped manage structures there, which looked to be a testament of how effective luca was in nurturing and managing young talent, despite having left the fda which he himself had allegedly 'masterminded'. luca was also overseeing mick schumacher's development. there wasn't other known reasons as to why luca stepped down from the fda other than the sources i found implying that the decision was supposedly, or at least partly influenced, by lance choosing to leave ferrari. luca then continued to help oversee lance's development himself even when he signed on to williams junior programme. lance talked about luca a bit here in an autosport article:

"It's extremely important to have him with us and it's great that he will continue working with us. "He's been with me since a very young age, when he chose me to come on the Ferrari programme. "He's very good at watching what's going on between the team and the driver - he's quiet when he has to be, but when it's time to speak up he says some very good things."

— source, Autosport, 2015

it makes sense to want to fully continue seeing through a young kid's development to successfully graduate them into f1 despite it being with a different team. the fda was a new programme, and in comparison to other teams' driver academies eg. williams, mclaren's, red bull junior's programme etc, ferrari doesn't promote rookies directly to their f1 seat, assigning them instead to sauber or haas first before offering opportunities. lance also mentions how he knew it was pretty unlikely that ferrari would let a driver with less experience into the team. i think this says things about ferrari's culture, at least in comparison to the other teams that are more willing to put rookies in their seat (this is constantly debated by fans and pundits across the sport to be extremely pressurizing for young talent but i do feel that you have to also question the alternative that seems to be ferrari's methods. again, all this is highly dependent on other factors as well involving a single driver's experiences and their individual junior trajectory so ultimately, the debate to whether or not a young driver is 'ready' for f1 before they're even actually there is personally moot to me. but alas, i do find it vaguely interesting......)

i'm only focusing on lance's development here so i can't say much on the fda now except for an added anecdote that charles leclerc is currently the only graduate so far to be promoted to the ferrari seat after the obligatory sauber stint for his rookie year. again, solely speaking from a point of comparison to other driver programme's success rates on getting their talent into their f1 team, it makes the fda's effectiveness look a little bit questionable.

anyway, here's more of what lance said on his switch to williams:

“I feel like we can be closer right now with Williams, and I’m working with them rather than just being part of a training camp like at Ferrari. For the future, it’s the right move.” And Stroll also feels Ferrari is unlikely to promote a rookie driver into one of its race seats, while Williams has a proven track record with the likes of Valtteri Bottas, Nico Rosberg and Jenson Button. "Williams has a great history of believing in young drivers, they’ve given many rookie drivers a chance in Formula 1. That was important for us, because Ferrari has a different approach; they tend to take more veteran drivers to fight for the championship."

— source, f1i.com (2016)

[Question] Tell me about your role with Williams… [Lance:] "It’s been a great eight months with them. It’s been fantastic. The cooperation with me in F3 is great, they have the right understanding of me focusing 100 percent on F3 and not getting distracted with Formula 1. They just want me to finish the championship, they’re not pressuring me to jump in an F1 car and doing testing and things like that. They want me to focus on one thing at a time, and that’s great."

[Question] If the opportunity to jump into a Formula 1 race seat in 2017 came up, do you feel you’ll be ready? [Lance:] I do… but it’s easy to say it. I haven’t driven an F1 car yet, so I don’t have a complete understanding of what it’s like. Once I have a couple of tests under my belt, a bit more experience, then I’ll have a much better idea of if I’m ready to make that step just yet or not. At the moment I’m blind in terms of F1. I’ve driven F3, I’ve driven a couple of other categories, but I’ve never really sat in an F1 car. So I don’t know how much different it is to what I’m doing now, how much more complicated it is, how much tougher it is. They are all things I’ll figure out along the road. But if… if it is just another step, and if I’m comfortable in the car, then why not? F3 is a very high level, we’ve seen guys like Max – and I don’t want to use him as the example every time because maybe he’s an exception – but even guys like Ocon, Rosenqvist, these are guys that could do it as well."

— source, Motorsport, 2016

the headline for the motorsport excerpt above is extremely misleading but i think the interview shows pretty good insight to lance's attitude towards his own development and how he's got a good head on his shoulders with self-awareness of his own capabilities, despite having had more opportunities and the financial advantage that motorsports typically needs. he also talks about his former prema teammates felix rosenqvist (currently in indycar) and jake dennis (currently competing in formula e) and how instrumental they were to him in learning about his race craft during his first year in f3. here is a clip on lance back in prema talking about his teammates feat. esteban and lance's long-time driver coach nuno pinto.

at the end of his race season, lance won the f3 euro championship in 2016, the first north-american who's won in the category.

lance celebrating his championship win for f3 euro in 2016.

2017: lance accumulated enough points by then to get a super licence for f1 (which allowed him to skip f2, like max did). this makes lance the second-youngest driver to debut in f1 at 18 years old. while lance isn't tied to ferrari anymore, luca baldisserri continued to be his race engineer for lance at williams to keep seeing through lance's development in his rookie and sophomore years.

lance with luca on the paddock and garages (2017)

overall, the 2017 williams had a decent car (they were 5th in the wcc that year) and lance managed to score his first points at his home race. he also became the second-youngest to win a podium in f1:

lance's first podium at baku, 2017.

that's it! the rest is truly history ♡

if you're interested, here is an external post off tumblr that briefly and neatly goes through lance's f1 career including his racing strengths, driving style and teammate relationships up to the present, written by @strulovic and linked with her permission. i'm sharing it here just because i've found it to be personally useful myself as a starting point when i went down the rabbit hole of digging up research of his fda days.

#lance stroll #ferrari driver academy #a lot of this was canonical reference i was using while writing 1418 f***** au #and i thought to put it up here and share a bit of history* in a condensed fashion #*important and fundamental info i compiled the week after i kept staring at dave's life-changing fanart of ferrari au #*info #disclaimer i don't know how ferrari runs their programme now under jock clear so my own feelings of side-eyeing the fda still remains

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fandomxpreferences · 1 year

Text

Just a Boy and His Ceramic Bird

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x female!reader

TW:none

Summary: You and Bradley share a special tradition.

Word Count:1.2k

The tradition started as something funny, a little inside joke between you and Bradley when you first moved in together. You bought the little porch goose at a thrift shop on a whim, mostly to get a laugh out of Bradley.

But over the past couple of years, its become a staple of your home. Through several moves and a couple hurricanes when he was stationed in sunny Florida, the goose has stuck around. It's the first thing you pack and unpack when you relocate, along with all the fun outfits you've collected for it.

No one ever really noticed it before, that is until he was stationed in San Diego permanently. As your house became the hot spot for get-togethers, the jabs from the team became more frequent. They always teased that having a statue of a goose wearing silly clothes is an old lady thing, and Bradley let it roll off in good nature.

It became a running joke amongst the aviators, even resorting to them having a poll to see what it should be named. They landed on Tonka, some long-winded story behind how they came up with it. Apparently, they had gotten on the topic of geese honking, which led to Jake saying something about Honky Tonk, and thus Tonka was born.

You and Bradley just refer to it lovingly as Goose.

See, what the squad doesn't know is that the little ceramic animal earned a special place in Bradley's heart. It became a symbol of his father, an ever-present memorial to the dearly departed man.

So you and Bradley keep it clean and change out its little costumes. You have everything from a fourth of July outfit to a flight suit, and swapping them out has become an act of closure.

You notice Bradley tense under your arm when Jake makes another snide remark.

"I'm just saying that having a lawn statue designed for 80-year-old women is very on-brand for Rooster." He remarks, and your stomach lurches.

Before your sweet boyfriend can say anything, you chime in.

"Actually, it's mine."

That little statement is all it took for them to hone in on you, now the center of the relentless teasing. You don't mind one bit, though. It's a small price to pay for Bradley to enjoy his little secret in peace.

That night after everyone leaves, Bradley pulls you into a tight hug.

"Thank you. You didn't have to do that."

You shake your head and place a gentle kiss just below his ear, the smell of sandalwood and cinnamon bringing you comfort.

"I know I didn't have to. I wanted to. They don't need to know the truth, that's our little thing."

Bradley doesn't know how he got so lucky. At first, he felt stupid about the whole thing, but from the very beginning, you were adamant that it wasn't as silly as he thought. You insisted that if it made him feel better and was important to him, it's important to you too.

It was you who started the habit of fist bumping the figurine on your way in the door and blowing it a kiss when you leave. He knew then and there that you're the one.

A few weeks go by, and as the anniversary of Goose's death approaches, you switch it into its little flight suit, complete with a helmet and nametag.

It's not until Phoenix really looks at the outfit that the puzzle pieces come together. She has a secret meeting with the rest of the group and fills them in.

The next time they're over, you and Bradley are entirely taken by surprise. She hands you a gift bag, and you take it hesitantly, unsure of the special occasion. The second you remove the tissue paper, tears coat your lash line.

It's a little pair of aviators, and you look up at her as Bradley takes them from you.

"Are you pregnant?" You ask, and horror covers her features.

"Oh god, no. They're for Goose. I figured out why you keep that thing around when I remembered that it was his dad's callsign."

She laughs as you pull her into a tight embrace, and Bradley just stands there stunned.

"Well, go put them on him!" She exclaims, giving you a light shove toward the front door.

You slip them over the statue's eyes, and your heart melts. It's so perfect, and you know Bradley loves them.

That evening he cries when he goes outside to look, overcome with raw emotion. It feels so trivial, yet he can feel his dad in the air around him.

At Christmas, you're not surprised to receive some accessories for goose and let out a loud laugh at the Hawaiian shirt bob had made.

What does surprise you is Jake's gift. Bradley opens the large box and halts when he sees what's inside. You peek over to see what it is, and your eyes shoot up to look at the blonde pilot.

He looks sheepish as he rubs the base of his neck, and you wait for an explanation.

"I know the one you have is kind of like having your dad around, so I figured it's only right you have your mom too. They should be together."

You jump to your feet and all but tackle the man in a hug, caught off guard by the sentiment.

"Who knew Jake Seresin was such a thoughtful sap." You tease, but no one misses the slight sniffle as you sit back down next to Bradley.

He mumbles out a small thanks before everyone resumes exchanging gifts. A little bit later, Jake gets another beer in the kitchen, and Bradley follows him.

"Hey," He says, and Jake turns to look at him.

"I just want to thank you properly. It sounds dumb, but having that little goose is like having a piece of my dad. Now having one for my mom too.." He trails off, and Jake claps him on the shoulder.

"I get it, man. I'm glad you like it."

Bradley shakes his head and exhales before continuing.

"Really, Jake. It means the world. I can't tell you how special it is to me. I know we give each other a hard time, but you're a good guy."

Jake can tell Bradley is getting worked up and gives him a short hug before pulling back.

"Come on, bird boy. Can't have you getting soft on me." He teases, and Bradley laughs.

Leave it to Jake to provide comedic relief during a heartfelt moment.

The two of them return to the living room, and you give your boyfriend a knowing smile as he sits down. Your hand squeezes his, and he kisses your temple, a silent exchange of love and appreciation for each other.

This is everything you could ever want, a found family laughing in your living room and your man by your side. It's just you and your little goose family against the world.

@drakelover78 @manyfandomsfanvergent @ssprayberrythings @disturbedbeautywrites @desert-fern @one-sweet-gubler @callmemana @luckyladycreator2 @bookchik26 @taytaylala12 @michalkasimp @xoxabs88xox @loveless-simp @withakindheartx @formulapierre @ccristata @shanimallina87 @k-k0129 @izz-ayes-world @kajjaka @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @phantomxoxo @rosiahills22 @gspenc @chair-things @benhardysdrumstick @cookielovesbook-akie @dempy @wellshit6

#top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw #top gun imagine #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw top gun #bradley bradshaw x reader

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saltsicklover · 9 months

Text

Slamming Doors - BRB - Broken House

This was written as a oneshot but I have an idea on how to expand the story if there is interest for it! Please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear from you!

Title: Slamming Doors

Series: Broken House

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2700+

Rating: R

Warnings: Talks of death, sick parent, car crash, pet names, lots of crying, lots of yelling, ANGST, misunderstandings.

Doors aren't meant to raddle on their hinges. Doors aren't meant to be slammed that hard.

Honey like to think it's always better to be on the in swing of the door, rather than on the out swing.

If she is on the in swing, Bradley would be storming in. It is like this often, the picture frame hung next to the door perpetually crooked from how often that damn front door is slammed. The corners of that frame are even chipped from the time or two it hit the tile floor.

At least, if he is coming home, she has a chance to calm him down. To take his face in her hands and comfort the man she loves. To kiss his lips and agree that the Captain is a dumbass who doesn't have a damn clue about how to do his job. She is always there to comfort him, to take the weight of the day off of his shoulders when things have been bad.

Hell, it isn't even always bad. Sometimes, maybe more often than sometimes, Hangman or Phoenix would be toting Bradley in, his arm held tightly over their shoulder, and he would drunkenly kick the door shut, the front of the house rattling with the abrupt closure. He would slur his words and hiccup, but always be happy to leave his friend's arms the moment he spots her.

It is different now, though.

Now, Honey is on the out swing. Bradley has her walking out after a fight, too heated to work it out.

The front door slams again, the picture frame rattling lightly against the wall. Bradley walks into the living room before dropping his duffle bag in front of the couch. It is filthy, he is filthy. The arms of his flight suit are tied low on his hips, his white t-shirt completely stained with grease and gear lubricant. It looks angry, deep brown and jet black against the stark white of the cotton. Days like this, Honey would be in his arms as soon as his bag hits the floor, but today is different.

Honey stands on the other side of the room, her back to her lover.

Bradley and Honey are somewhere between whole heartedly committed and casual. She practically lives in his small home with him when he isn't away on deployment and there to take care of his plants when he is. It has been this way for almost two years, a little house right down the road from the beach in Pensacola.

NAS Pensacola isn't home to Bradley, and Florida isn't home to either of them. They met by happenstance, both stranded in a storm at a little bar-motel in Maryland. He was there for work, she was there trying to track down information on her father. One drink turned into three, one night turned into a long weekend, and the two have been intertwined ever since. Honey followed him to Florida, still on her search for her father, who she never called by name. She'd said it was too painful and she wasn't ready to talk about him until she could talk to him. They hadn't intended on dating, and Honey had intended on getting the information she was looking for and then be moving on. But they had to go and fall in love.

"Honey?" Bradley finally looks up at her, taking in the slump of she shoulders. The whole energy in the house wrong. There is no candle burning on the coffee table, the blinds aren't open to let the sun in, and Honey hadn't found her way into his arms yet. Something is most definitely wrong.

He bends down to untie his boots as he waits for his lover to answer his call. She doesn't move to turn around, nor does she say a word. Her eyes are locked on the photo of Bradley and Nick, his father, that is hanging up on the wall. In it, Bradley sits atop Nick's shoulders, both wearing grins so big she could practically see the ache in their cheeks. Her eyes trace over the frame, then Bradley, down to Nick, then back up again to repeat the process. Honey has been standing there, eyes glued to the photo for the better part of the last hour.

Before she found herself in front of the photograph on the wall, she had been staring at the photo in her hand for much too long. She has been holding it so long that there are fingerprints on the glossy side of the photo, both in full and partial prints not kept to the edges.

Honey had been dusting the mantle earlier that afternoon, her body poised on a stepstool to get the shelves above the fireplace too. As she was cleaning, she bumped a framed photograph of Bradley and his mother, Carole, posed together on his High School graduation, shortly before she had passed away. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his frame, partly out of love, partly to keep herself standing upright. She had insisted on standing for the photo, even though Bradley wanted her to stay in her wheelchair.

Bradley had told Honey about his mother so many times before. He loved showing her the photographs and telling her stories. He is so proud of his parents; but Honey knew he was a Mama's boy. That was likely because she was the only parent he had for a majority of his life, between deployments and his father's untimely passing.

The relationship he had with his Mother was special. It was something that allowed Bradley and Honey to bond over when they first began dating. Her father walked out on her and her Mother before she had her first birthday. Honey was a Mama's girl too- her Mother passed away five years prior due to a driving accident. Black ice in the middle of winter was no joke, and Honey's mother should not have been out driving in the first place.

Both effectively orphans, the pair bonded quickly. Lack of family tended to do that to people.

Bradley tired to get Honey to talk about her father, to share just a little bit of information about him. All he ever managed to learn was his Navy association. He grimaced when he found out, knowing just how many deadbeats there are in the Military.

After Honey had knocked the photograph off the shelf with her elbow, it hit the floor and shattered. It took her ages to clean up the glass, and she even managed to save the photo of Bradley and his mother from being ruined. What she was not expecting was the photograph hidden behind it.

In her hand, she clutches a photo of Pete Mitchell and Bradley at his high school graduation, both smiling and happy. Bradley has the hope for his whole future in his eyes, that much is clear enough to see. Pete has an arm around Bradley, pulling him close as he holds a photo of Nick in his other hand.

The photograph lead her to where she stands now, unwavering in her place, even as Bradley calls her name again.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Bradley crosses the room, his untied shoelaces hitting against his boots with small clinks from the plastic aglets. He reaches a hand out to her, gently pulling her hair over her shoulder. "Honey?"

She turns to him, eyes glassy. The sight of Bradley swims, tears distorting her vision. Her cheeks are red, like she has been straining to hold back her tears. Quickly, he eyes the rest of her form, taking her in in her entirety, trying to pinpoint her distress. His eyes land on the photo she has creased in hand. Gently, he takes the photo from her hand before pulling her into his chest.

The grease smeared shirt across his chest becomes a home for a lose tear as he brings her into his frame, her face pressing into the expanse of his chest, near his shoulder.

"I broke a frame while I was cleaning," Honey begins, her voice so quiet he almost misses it, "I'm sorry, Bradley,"

"Oh, Honey," Bradley coos lightly, "You don't have to be sorry, it's okay. The frame can be replaced, no need to be upset, Sweet Girl,"

Honey sniffles against his chest, bringing a hand up to try and brush a tear from the fullness of her cheek. She almost chides him for thinking she would be upset over something so small, but she can't find it in her to make the joke out loud.

Bradley smiles to himself, thinking about how caring his girl is, but the smile immediately disappears as he looks at the photo he had taken from her moments before. This is not the photo that was on display. Bradley would never have a photo of Maverick up in his house, not after the older man pulled his papers for the academy. Absolutely not.

"Honey," Bradley pulls back, his eyes glued on the photo, "Where did you get this?"

"It was in the back of the frame- behind the- behind the photo of you and your Mom," She hiccups through the sentence, anxiety rising up in her chest again. The taste of bile is sour on her tongue as she looks over Bradley's expression. His brows are furrowed, eyes narrow and angry as he locks eyes with the photograph.

"Who is that?" Honey asks, even though she already knows.

"Pete Mitchell," Bradley's voice is laced with so much venom it gives her goosebumps. She raises her eyebrows but Bradley doesn't need prompting to continue. "He flew with my Dad, was the reason for his accident. If they didn't have to eject, my father would still be here today. And then, when I applied for the Academy, he derailed my career by years when he pulled my papers. I haven't spoken to him since,"

A noncommittal hum is the only thing Honey can muster in response. Honey can feel her skin flush hot and cold but tries to push the feeling aside.

"I need to talk to you about something," Honey's words sound heavy coming off of her tongue. The tone snaps Bradley's eyes right up to her, the picture being abandoned on the coffee table.

"What is it?"

There are so many things Honey wants to say. She wants to plead for Bradley to tell her everything he knows about Maverick. There is a part of her, deep inside, that is still eight years old, still the same little girl who realized for the first time that her father wasn't coming back not because he couldn't but because he didn't want to.

Honey wants to tell Bradley that Maverick is her father, to explain that the man standing next to him, clad in a leather jacket and dark washed jeans is her father. The man who didn't want her. She wants to bond over their appeared shared hatred of the man. Honey wants to curse his name and burn every photo of him that the two are in possession of. She wants to say fuck you to Pete Mitchell all together, with the man she loves by her side.

But instead, the words that leave her mouth are much, much worse.

"You can't talk about your father anymore,"

The words aren't tactful, but they aren't exactly a lie either. She has always had a hard time listening to Bradley talk about Nick. There has always been something so fucking bitter inside of her whenever he would talk about him. The knowledge that her father is a Naval Aviator, just as Bradley's had been was just too close for comfort for her. But now? Knowing that the stories of his father are also stories of her father. That broke her.

"Excuse me?"

The statement catches Bradley off guard so much he almost feels dizzy. If it weren't for the clunky air conditioning unit in the window behind Honey humming away, he might've blamed the feeling on stifling Floridian humidity. But, unfortunately for them both, he heard her correctly.

"That's not what I meant! Shit!" Honey starts, but Bradley's expression doesn't turn any more pleasant.

"I mean, fuck, I can't listen to you talk about your father anymore!" That sentence isn't any better. Honey can hear her own blood rushing through her ears, the same way she can feel the heat rising to her face with it.

"What?"

The venom is back in Bradley's voice, anger is beginning to boil behind the color in his eyes. Suddenly Honey wishes she could rewind time, just two fucking minutes.

If there is one thing for sure, Honey may just be fragile like that picture frame, but Bradley is fragile like a bomb.

Bradley's fists ball at his sides, knuckles going white as he squeezes them tight. Honey can't take her eyes from his face, from the vein that bulges in the side of his neck. She notices how his lip curls forward, his mustache sloping downward with his frown.

"I just-" Honey takes a deep breath; it's ragged as it goes in and back out, catching on the broken pieces of her heart, "I can't have flashbacks from memories that aren't mine- I can't have this image in my mind of a man that I didn't know,"

Bradley is fuming now, listening to the words as they come out of his lover's mouth. He already had a shit day, having come down on new assignment back to TOP GUN. He didn't want to tell Honey, worried about what she might say. Worried that she might not pack up her life and go with him, or worse, that she wouldn't be here waiting for him to come back.

Honey isn't explaining herself well, but he doesn't know that, nor can he calm down enough to figure out exactly what she is talking about. At face value, she is bad mouthing his father, the great Nick Bradshaw, mother Goose, and Bradley won't stand for that. He misses the words coming out of her mouth and the new tears that have made their way down her cheeks.

"Shut up!" Bradley yells, his hands coming up to grip tightly in his hair. The words cut Honey off mid-sentence, and she obeys the command, more out of stunned compliance than choice.

"Brad-"

"No!" He points a finger right into her face, anger fully taking him over. He hasn't been this angry since Mav pulled his papers, the almost forgotten feeling burning beneath his skin. Honey's lip quivers, but she pulls it into her mouth, between her teeth to keep him from seeing it. "You do not get to stand here, in my house, and talk shit about my father!"

"No! Brad-" Honey holds out her hands, pleading for him to just listen, for just one second. Just long enough for her to get this mess of a miscommunication figured out.

"Enough!" Bradley's voice practically shakes the room, "Get out!"

"What?" Honey's voice is so unbelievably small now, like she doesn't trust herself to speak.

"Get. Out. Now." Bradley can barely look at her. Honey knows when she has lost a fight. So, she moves past him, grabbing her purse from the couch on her way past. She makes it to the door, her hand still on the handle before she speaks one last time.

"You like to think you are so much like your father, all good heart and good man, but in reality, you are just like mine,"

Honey slams the door behind her, the sound echoing though the house. She doesn't stop long enough to hear the picture frame fall from it's place on the wall, the glass shattering against the tile.

There is too much left unsaid, the words that made it out taken to far and just wrong. Nick was the kind of man she always wished her father would have been. Kind, good, loving. And when she didn't find that in her own father, she found it in Bradley instead. Bradley liked to say that his father would have loved her, enough for both himself and her father combined, and she believed it too. But now, as she walks away from Bradley, she can't help but know just how disappointed Nick would be in her.

Because, doors aren't meant to raddle on their hinges. Doors aren't meant to be slammed that hard. And now, Honey knows exactly just how much better things are on the in swing of that front door.

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfic #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster top gun angst #bradley rooster bradshaw angst #top gun maverick imagines #top gun maverick angst #slamming doors

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lovelytsunoda · 9 months

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how will I know? // marcus armstrong

summary: marcus has the hots for a barista at florida's trendiest cafe. it's not the pumpkin spice that keeps bringing him back. perhaps its the fact that he doesn't know how to ask her out that's holding him back.

pairing: marcus armstrong x barista! reader

warnings: pumpkin spice lattes, mid-season exams, i don't know jack shit about coffee so if the terminology doesn't make sense, don't sue me. Clement has no filter whatsoever.

how will I know if he really loves me? I say a prayer in every heartbeat! how will I know if he’s thinking of me? I’m asking you cause you know about things

florida is a vastly different place before eight in the morning. especially in the fall, trees dyed red and orange as nature takes it’s time ringing in the next phase.

marcus stopped, hands on his knees as he bent over to gasp for air. he never associated flordia with the cold, but when you grow up in christchurch, anything less than boiling is cold.

he took a deep breath, pushing up the sleeves of his athletic sweater and stretching his arms as he began to walk down the quiet street. the off season was no joke. sure, he’s fucked around for a few weeks with some of the old ferrari boys, but now he finally had a chance to make something of himself.

to be a household name.

which meant that despite the outside temperature and the lack of desire tk do much, he needed to keep up the routine. the routine would keep him sane, keep him in fighting condition.

but first, he needed coffee. and indoor heating.

he pushed into the coffee shop on the corner, a quiet yet cozy set up with blown glass pumpkins on the shelves behind the counter, a garland of fake fall leaves strung up around the point-of-sale terminal. lo-fi covers of eighties arena rock played in the background, a tinny rendition inf of Springsteens ‘dancing in the dark’ echoing throughout the empty space.

empty except for one person.

at a table in the back corner, a petite woman of about twenty one sat cross legged, earbuds in and staring at a laptop as she hopped her head to whatever she was listening to and scribbled a few things down on her notebook page.

she sang under her breath as she bopped her head, and marcus could hear the fluctuating notes of “you sexy thing” clashing with the overhead music.

there was something about the care-free nature of her own little world that marcus found very endearing.

sliding a hand into his pants pockets, he turned back to the counter, tapping the bell on the counter to call for a barista.

at the sound, the girl in the corner jumped, apple earbuds falling out of her ears as she stumbled over the kanken backpack on the floor.

“fuck, give me just a second! sorry, we usually don’t get any traffic before eight in the morning.” she groaned, heading towards the counter, cuffs of her oversized jeans dragging on the floor. “it’s mid term season, you know how it is.”

“I don’t, actually.” marcus shrugged “I never went to university.”

the girl laughed, slipping behind the counter. “count yourself lucky. this is hell.” she took a breath, tying her hair in a loose ponytail behind her head. “what can I get you?”

“do you have just, normal coffees?” marcus chuckled, looking at the chalkboard menu on the wall. “something that my trainer won’t kill me for drinking?”

the girl behind the counter laughed, placing a hand over her heart. “someone under the age of thirty drinks normal coffee?”

“such is the life of a professional athlete.”

she smiled softly at him, and he felt his stomach churn as she tapped the tablet screen.

she was so pretty, in such a subtle, ordinary way. the kind that took no effort.

“espresso, latte, or americano?”

marcus placed his order, tapping his black amex card against the machine as she turned around to grab a paper coffee cup, a blue sharpie peeking out over her back pocket. she uncapped the marker, leaning over the counter and resting her elbows against the laminate.

“can I get a name for that?”

“that depends,” marcus grinned, mimicking her pose. his face was so close to her that she could have kissed him if she leaned a little closer. “can I get yours?”

“y/n.” she flushed, blush spreading across her cheeks.

“I’m marcus. nice to meet you, y/n.”

every morning after that, it was like there was an invisible string that kept dragging marcus back. he couldn't explain what pull that the small boutique cafe had, but every morning, like clockwork, he was slipping into the small store, hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl who had first caught his eye, sitting curled up in her small corner of the white marble space.

by the second day, he had worked up the courage to ask what she was studying. by the third day, she had memorized his order (americano with cream and cold foam) and by the fourth day, he was coming in early to help her use her study flash cards.

despite herself, y/n found herself longing for the kiwi, the mysterious athlete that had slipped so easily into her life despite it all, despite the obligations that she was sure had to things that weren't her.

it all felt too good to be true.

and you know what, one morning he never came in, and she felt her heart sink, even though there was no reason for it. it's not like he was her lover. he was just another customer.

one she had grown attached to.

of course, marcus had a good reason for not coming in that morning. he knew it was the day before her exam, and he wanted more than anything to be there and help her make sure she was ready. instead, he found himself at the airport, waiting for two different flights to land: james from new zealand, and clement from... well, he didn't actually know where clement was flying in from. sometimes, when it came to the eccentric frenchman, it was better not to ask. and

because he was such a good fucking friend, he was waiting in the arrivals line at the asscrack of dawn instead of ordering coffee. and once his friends had piled into the car, squishing suitcases and duffle bags into the sad excuse of a trunk, he got it into his head that he was going to go straight to the coffee shop.

"mate, you missed the turn to your house." clement frowned, tapping on the window. "where are you taking us?"

james smiled to himself, wiping the sweat off his brow. "he's taking us to see coffee shop girl."

"oh, shit. are you finally going to tell her you love her?"

"oh, fuck you both." marcus groaned, pulling into a parking space in front of the small shop, aptly named 'what's the tea?. "i'm not 'in love', but i want to know her better. she has a big exam tomorrow, and you guys know i've been helping her study, so i just want to make sure she feels okay about it."

clement snorted, sharing a look with james.

"simp." both men said at the same time, laughing hysterically as marcus stepped out of the car, flashing his middle finger at his comrades before he went inside.

when they were done laughing, clement and james followed him inside, greeted by a lo-fi version of 'you shook me all night long'. the cafe was busier than marcus had ever seen it, and there were three different girls working behind the counter today, the tables almost full. he spied y/n's backpack at a corner booth, tucked safely into the corner.

but there was no sign of y/n.

he waited in the line, james and clem behind him, and when he reached the counter, he couldn't hide his disappointment that she hadn't come to ask if he still wanted his usual order.

"what can i get you?" athena, the woman behind the counter asked him.

"hi, is y/n working today?"

athena grinned, leaning against the counter. "you're runner boy, aren't you?"

"he calls her coffee shop girl! they're made for each other!" clem shouted with a laugh, earning a small slap to the chest from james.

"she's in the back, she stepped out to take a break. today has been rough on her." athena smiles softly, stepping back. "i'll go get her for you."

he peeled away from the line, hands tapping his sides nervously as he watched athena duck into the back room. james clapped him in the shoulders, attempting to talk up his longtime friend.

when the door to the back room opened, and y/n emerged from the small break space, his heart stopped. her eyes were rimmed in red, as if she had been crying. her hair was loosely pinned back in a plastic clip, a minuscule droplet of water on her glasses.

and as soon as she saw him, she couldn’t help but smile.

“you came. I missed you this morning.” she said softly, making her way towards him, hands shyly hidden in the sleeves of her sweater.

marcus chuckled, gesturing towards clem and james. “yeah, I had to go pick up these two wankers from the airport.”

almost as if they had heard, both men turned towards the couple, waving their arms madly.

“he wants to jump your bones!” clement shouts before taking a sip of his fancy matcha drink, seductively winking at a blonde behind the bar

“please, pay them no mind.” marcus sighs as y/n starts to laugh. “I’ve known them since I was like, twelve. theyre harmless, just taking the piss.”

“don’t worry about it.” she smiles, brushing an errant strand of hair. “I think it’s charming.”

“your civil lit exam is tomorrow, right? how are you feeling?”

she exhaled, slipping both hands into her back pockets. “overwhelmed. but I think I can do it. i can definitely pass, just not sure by how much.”

feeling james and clems eyes boring into the back of his head, marcus took a deep breath, wringing his hands together. “hey, after your exam, maybe when your life has calmed down a little bit, do you want to grab a drink?”

she beamed, blushing pink as she reached for a cardboard heat sleeve, scribbling her number down on it. “yeah, I’d love that. do you want w coffee? the usual?”

she slipped the sleeve with her number on it onto the cup, her hand lingering over marcus’ as she passed him the cup.

when he went back to his friends, james and clem took one look at the scribbled digits on the side of the cup and burst out into cheers.

as they left the shop, he turned back, stealing a look at y/n as she slipped behind the bakery case. when she saw him, she gave him a smile, and a gentle wave.

and marcus waved back. maybe moving to florida wasn’t a bad thing after all.