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yasu-1234 · 2 months

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friends with benefits with gojo satoru.

pairing: gojo satoru x afab reader words: 5,100 contains: oral sex, squirting, pronebone, choking, and gojo being unserious. mood: playful, sexy, sincere. author’s note: thank you for the kind reaction to lazy sunday morning 🙇‍♀️

You squint at him as you take in his request, wondering if he’s just messing with you as usual. You’re sitting next to him in your apartment unit; the balls of your feet digging on the edge of your couch as you slurp on a cup of boba tea.

“Dude. That’s not funny,” you manage to reply after a long, confused silence. “Like, I know it’s fun when we mess with each other but isn’t this a bit out of line?”

He scoffs dramatically. “I’m serious! Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Honestly? I can’t always tell,” you reply. “Kinda feels like everything is a joke to you sometimes.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m asking you nicely here. Do you wanna do it? With me?”

You open your mouth to respond, but then you realize you don't even know what to say.

Satoru scoots closer to you and leans forward, looking at you from above his sunglasses, his voice dropping into his teacher tone as he explains.

“Look, okay?” he starts. “We’ve been teasing and flirting with each other since the day we met. And I know it’s all jokes but still, there’s obviously some chemistry here. Not to mention that you're fucking hot. And I know you think that I’m hot too. Plus, all your Tinder matches are assholes. And I don’t even have the time to date or meet new people. So you and I are like, our most logical, convenient choice here.”

You huff and smile in disbelief. “Did you just assume that I think you’re hot? Someone’s a little cocky.”

“Come on. You have eyes. Get with the program.”

Your eyes cast a flickering gaze over his body, taking in the chiseled contours of his muscles underneath his– Oh. Ohhh. So that’s why he came wearing a compression shirt. And sweatpants. On a Friday evening. With your favorite cup of boba tea. He shoots you an impish grin as you shake your head at him and set his bribe down the coffee table.

“Fine,” you say. “I won’t deny that we’re kinda, sorta, maybe, compatible. But here’s the thing. I like our friendship the way it is. Why complicate it with some dumb, meaningless sex?”

“No, no, no. But it’s not gonna be dumb and meaningless,” he replies. “Cause it’s you.”

His words snare you speechless, your cheeks flushing red.

“Wait. Dude, what do you mean by that?” You stammer, laughing awkwardly.

“I’m saying I care about you and you mean something to me. If there’s anyone I’d wanna fuck on the regular, it’s you.”

“Satoru!” You lean away. “You really don’t have a filter do you?”

“I’m just being candid here! I trust you.”

He scoots even closer to you, holding you by the forearms. “And you trust me too, right? I promise I don’t wanna hurt you and I’m not playing tricks. I’m just asking.”

“And am I the first person you asked?”

“You’re the only person I’m gonna ask. If you say no, my dick is gonna concave. It’s over,” he replies.

You laugh at his words, and he laughs from the pleasure of making you laugh. Then his smile melts into an unwavering gaze, his eyes soft and sincere, pleading like a touch-starved cat.

“But seriously,” he continues, his fingertips graze your neck. “I meant what I said. You mean something to me. I don’t wanna hookup with some random stranger or a girlfriend who might break up with me. It has to be you, okay? I just know that whatever it is that we have it’s definitely gonna last. Whether it’s friendship or… something else. Something more. I don’t know.”

You can’t help but lean into his touch, “Your logic is so weird.”

“You’re weird.”

“No, you.”

You huff and smile. And then your gaze falls down to his lips. Soft, glossy, and inviting. The air is suddenly warm and still. And the silence between you grows heavy and pensive. With the shared understanding that you are sitting with him on the edge of a crumbling threshold. You look back into his eyes and notice that he’s looking at your lips too. His breathing becomes shallow and heavy with longing.

“What if we just kiss and see where it goes?” you ask.

He swallows hard, his lips parting, “Yeah…”

Satoru takes off his sunglasses and you lean towards each other. Slowly. Seeking reassurance, offering permission, with every inch of space you close between yourselves. At some point, his eyelids fall shut. His silver lashes flutter as he moves closer and closer. You can smell his sweet breath, feel the warmth radiating from his skin, and the firmness of his thumb against your cheek.

You close your eyes and press your lips against his, softly, then with a swift gradation of hunger as Satoru grabs the back of your neck, pulling you against him, deepening the kiss.

“Mmnh… ” You hear a soft hum of pleasure from deep in his chest.

His lips feel soft like rose petals, puckering and relaxing as he relishes the feeling of your lips against his. He’s kissing you. You’re kissing him back. And you start laughing against his lips as reality cuts through that fog. He pulls back, surprised by your reaction.

“What?” he asks, laughing now too. “Don’t tell me I suck.”

“No, no, you’re fine,” you reply. “It’s just—I can’t believe I’m kissing my friend. On the mouth.”

He smirks, “You wanna kiss something else?”

You smack his shoulder, blushing and laughing, “Shut up!”

“Hey, I was quiet,” he yells, gesturing to himself now. “You’re the one who started laughing!”

“Okay, fine! I’m sorry! I just couldn’t take it seriously.”

“We never really took anything seriously. That’s what makes it so fun,” He says, placing his hands on your waist. “I like that we can laugh about everything. Even things like this.”

You smile, “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

You lean towards each other and kiss once again. This time, you part your lips, and his tongue swipes softly against yours, gentle yet demanding, coating your mouth with a sweet, buttery taste. His hands are warm as it rests on your collarbones. And you feel his fingers crawl upwards to the back of your neck, grabbing you by the scalp to hold your head still.

The rest of the world starts to sway and melt into open water. And you cling to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you afloat. You break the kiss to gasp for some air, hoping to feel solid ground again. While Satoru presses his forehead against yours. His eyes shut and his lips trembling, hoping you would let him taste you again.

“We’re gonna keep going aren’t we…” you whisper, breathlessly.

“Hell yeah,” he whispers back.

His hands slide under your thighs and he pulls you to his lap. You lean down to kiss him once again. Satoru moans and grabs your hips to press you down to his crotch, craving some pressure against his aching, hardening cock.

“I just… need your weight… right here…” he mutters in between kisses. His hips press upwards to meet you, and you gasp as you feel his thick girth squeeze and rub between your legs. Shuddering as you wonder how he’ll cram all that cock inside of you.

“You feel that? That’s your fault,” he hisses, sighing in relief.

“Aww, are you that pent up?” You tease as you start rocking across his length, following the slow rhythm of his hips.

“You know it… It’s been a while.”

A strangled sound leaves his throat and his head hangs back from the couch as you grind on him. His eyes shut and his lips parted in relief. He grabs you firmly by the backside, keeping you pressed against him.

A moment later, Satoru tilts his head back up to look at you with a hazy gaze and notices your stiff nipples underneath your oversized shirt. He leans forward and nips at one of your buds with his teeth.

You yelp at the sudden prick of pain, “What the fuck!”

You recoil and cover your chest with your hands.

“Hehe, I've always wanted to do that,” he says. He takes your wrists and pries them away from your chest, holding them tightly behind your back with a single, large fist. “You never wear a bra when I’m coming over. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Or were you hoping that I would?”

“It’s my apartment. I would’ve worn a bra if I knew you were gawking,” you retort.

He leans to press his lips softly on your breast, soothing the sting in your nipple through the fabric of your shirt. You sigh and bite your lip.

“You’re not answering my question,” he says, looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So maybe I’ll just think however I want. And I think you wanted me to see it.”

Satoru starts kissing the base of your neck as his hand disappears under your shirt; you shiver as you feel his long fingers draw a smooth trail up your spine that turns into a light scratch as his hand pivots across your rib and towards your chest. You feel his cock jump underneath his sweats the moment he feels your breast.

“Damn, you’re soft,” he sighs. He bunches the hem of your shirt and raises it up, exposing your breasts to him. “Here, hold this."

He stuffs your mouth with your shirt to hold it up.

Before you can protest, Satoru leans down to drag a soft tongue over your nipple. Then he opens his mouth to suckle as much of your breast as possible. You bite down on your shirt, holding a moan as he flicks you over and over with his tongue, and then finishing with smacking kisses before he moves his lips across your chest to tease the other. Your torso twists and recoils from the raw, yet delicate sensation. But he pulls on your wrists to keep your back arched in his direction. The ache and heat between your legs become more and more unbearable, so you continue rubbing your crotch against the iron-hard bulge in his lap. Giving yourself some much-needed relief.

“Mmmh, that’s right, keep grinding on me,” he murmurs. “Make that pussy feel good.”

You shoot him a repulsed look. Though you're unable to snark at him through the makeshift gag he shoved in your mouth. Satoru laughs anyway, knowing exactly what you’re thinking. You’re such a sleaze.

“Oh come on. I’m how you like me,” he teases. “And if you keep looking at me like that I might actually bust.”

You roll your eyes at him and smile. And that only made Satoru greedier for any and all reactions he can coax out of your body. He grins and sets you back down the couch. Then he kneels on the floor between your legs and drags your shorts and panties down to the floor. You spread your legs for him, almost involuntarily. And he bites his lip as you show him the tender, sopping mess between your legs. His hands on your thighs feel searing hot as he raises your limbs up the couch, planting your feet on the edge of your seat.

“Play with your clit,” he tells you. “Show me how you tease it.”

Surprisingly, you obey. Your hand starts drawing languid circles around and around your bud. He leans in closer to observe you. Noting the rhythm, the pressure, how tightly or how widely you stroke yourself. You realize that he’s teaching himself how to make you feel good. And that only made you rub faster and harder in blatant, bare-faced need.

“Yes, that’s right. Keep going,” he encourages you. “Now put a finger in. Fuck yourself a little.”

You slip your finger and start gliding in and out. He nods and hums in pleasure as he watches you with unabashed lust and fascination. Like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You milk and ride your delicate fingers, stoking and tending to your own pleasure like a flame.

“Okay stop,” he says. He pulls your hands away. “I got the gist of it.”

“The gist, huh?” You taunt. “You think that’s enough?”

“You tell me.”

He parts your lips with his thumbs and glides a wide tongue along your slit. Your back bows and a moan escapes you as he licks you just like that.

Satoru doesn’t even take the time to gloat. His lips and tongue start to slurp and smack relentlessly. Making your toes curl and your stomach writhe. Grabbing a handful of his hair and nearly ripping it off his scalp as he somehow licks faster and sucks harder. With the rhythm and the consistency of a goddamn machine. You bite hard on the fleshy base of your thumb as he pleasures your pussy raw. Focusing your eyes on whatever random object you find in your living room to make yourself last longer. Cause you know you’ll never hear the end of it if you come all over his mouth within the first two minutes.

But then he slides in his fingers. Those fucking fingers. Smooth and long and dexterous as it moves in and out, over and over, curling to press that intense spot just underneath your bladder. You start to feel a deep sense of pressure, an urgency, somewhere inside your walls. That builds and rumbles and sears… and then explodes.

You grunt and arch as you feel a sudden release, something more than a climax. Your body grows taut and snared by euphoria, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your hearing muffled as your ears start to ring. But Satoru’s voice cuts through the haze.

“Whoa there! I didn’t know I was in the splash zone!”

You snap your head back down and your jaw drops at the sight of him.

“Holy shit. Did I just– Oh my god. Oh my god, I'm so sorry,” you stammer, mortified. You grab your shirt to try to wipe him.

“Haha, hey. Relax. You didn’t actually hit me,” he says with a soft, reassuring laugh. He turns his body to an angle to show your watery spent hovering centimeters before his face. “See? All safe and dry. Unlike you.”

“Oh, shut it,” you sigh, panting heavily. “That… seriously never happened before.”

“Really? Never?” he asks with a smug grin, he starts wiping himself with your shirt before tossing it down the wooden floor. "Wow… I'm flattered."

Satoru kisses your thighs and leans down between your legs once again. You jolt and push his head away.

“Wait, I don’t think I-“

“Just a few kisses,” he says in a soft voice. “Just lemme get a few more kisses in there, yeah? I’ll be gentle with it.”

You sigh and slowly let go of his head. Satoru leans in to plant a few soft kisses on your outer lips, on your folds, your entrance–your entire body twitching with every touch of his lips. Then he presses his lips tenderly on your clit. And you feel it pulse and throb as his lips linger and your legs begin to tremble. He finally pulls away, wiping his mouth on your inner thigh.

“If that wasn't one of the biggest ego boosts of my life,” he says fondly.

“Yeah, cause the one thing you need the most is another ego boost,” you retort as you wait for your bones and muscles to feel solid again. “I’ll get you for this.”

He grins, “That a promise or a threat?”

“Maybe both.”

“Alright, bet.”

Satoru stands to push his sweatpants down his thighs. Then he reaches inside his boxer-briefs to draw out…

the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen in your life.

“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself as you watch Satoru shrug off his bottoms and straddle you. Instinctively, you wrap your hand around his cock and start stroking.

He looks at you with a smirk, “Gorgeous, right?”

His cock is long and proportionally thick from crown to root, shaped with a graceful upwards curve. His skin is glossy and flushed pink—wrapped tightly and smoothly around his organ without an inch of loose flesh. It’s almost uncanny how sculpted and elegant it looks. And the idea of his cock sinking past your throat makes your mouth water and your pussy pound.

“Go on, taste it,” he coaxes you. He doesn’t need to tell you twice.

You lean in and wrap your lips around his pretty, pink head—your tongue swirling and catching each leak of precum that drops onto your taste buds. Satoru moans and the neediness in his voice emboldens you to take more and more of him. You start swaying your head in deeper and deeper strokes; relishing the smooth underside of his cock. The thick scent of lavender on his skin and hair. The sweet and acidic taste of his precum. Satoru tries to breathe in deeply, only for his breath to shudder each time you sink your head.

“You’re pretty eager,” he teases, breathlessly. He runs his fingers through your scalp to hold your hair back, wanting to see more of your face as you work on him. “Do you want me to cum that badly? You want me to shoot my little babies down that throat?”

He yelps when you slap his inner thigh, your brow furrowed as you look at him with a flustered and reprimanding gaze. Though Satoru finds it pretty hard to take you seriously with his dick in your mouth. So he chuckles fondly instead.

“Or you can do that. I like it when you try to hurt me too,” he says.

You grab him by the back of his thighs, nails digging into his flesh, and you sink him deeper into your mouth. Satoru hisses and starts moving his hips, meeting your head downstroke. His cock starts to edge towards the back of your tongue, testing your gag reflex with every thrust. But you relax your throat and match your breathing with the swing of his hips, and soon you manage to bury him down your throat to the root. Your nose pressed firmly against the fluffy, white hairs of his crotch. Screw it. You let him hit the back of your throat over and over and over.

"Fuck," he moans. "At least try to make me last."

His hips pick up the pace. And you feel his muscles contract as his cock pushes towards release. You moan and pleasure him with the vibrations in your throat, wanting desperately to fill your taste buds with his cum.

But then he stops moving. His hands holding you stock-still against his crotch. You feel his cock twitch and throb in your throat, threatening to burst. And you can hear the strangled noises and whimpers coming from Satoru’s lips. You look up to him and see the look on his face; his brow is upturned, his eyes closed, and his jaw tight as he bites his lower lip. Looking like an angel in ecstasy. His eyes flutter open to peer down on you.

“Just a little more. Bear with me here,” he sighs. Then the twitching stops and he pulls his cock out. You gasp, forgetting you were holding your breath.

You shoot him an accusatory look.

“Did you just edge yourself?” You ask.

“What if I did?” He asks back.

“That’s not fair! I was winning!”

You lean forward towards his crotch but he holds you by the shoulders, laughing.

“It’s not a competition! I didn’t come all this way just to cum in your hand. Or your mouth,” he says with a smile. He reaches behind him to slide two fingers between your slit, gently caressing your inner lips. “I wanna cum here."

He starts gliding those long delicate fingers, up and down. Parting as he stretches you open. Your eyes glaze over as you feel that familiar heat building between your legs. Perhaps he’s right. Perhaps you would rather feel him burst inside you instead. You start moving your hips to rut against his fingers, your hands rolling your breasts as you gaze at him with cock-starved eyes. Satoru twitches as he relishes that look in your face. Wanting nothing else but to thrust and wring that neediness away.

“Bed?” He asks you.

“Bed,” you answer.

You yelp and giggle as he hoists you up and jogs to your bedroom. He doesn’t want to waste a single second. He flops you down on top of your sheets and takes his shirt off. His naked torso tightens as he notices you admiring his body. Taking in his broad shoulders, his square chest, his tiny waist and those grid-like abs. Eight packs… How many abs does a person need?

Satoru aligns his groin between your legs and lays his cock across your stomach like a ruler; measuring how deep he's about to go inside your body. You shiver as his tip caresses your belly button. Your pussy throbbing in equal parts fear and delight.

"You think you can take all this?" He asks you with a devious look in his eyes, with his lips curled into a smirk.

You bite your lips and mirror his gaze, almost provoking him to try and split you apart.

"Come and find out."

He rubs the tip of his cock against your clit and pushes it inside you. You moan as his thick head stretches you with just enough hint of pain to compliment the pleasure. He leans down and sticks his tongue out, prompting you to suck it and caress it with your own. The sensation of your soft tongues circling each other sends you into a fucking frenzy. You feel your inner walls contract and his groan spills straight into your mouth.

“Shit, you’re actually sucking me in,” he pants. He grabs you by the hair to tilt your head down, making you watch the way his cock sink between your legs—one girthy inch after the other. “Look at it go. Watch how well you're taking me right now.”

You both groan in relief as his cock disappears inside your soft cunt, his tip pressed flush against your cervix. You both take a moment to stare at your interlocked groins in fascination.

And then he looks at you to flash a nasty grin.

“Hey bestie…” Satoru purrs, his voice dripping with mischief and lust. “Guess who’s inside you?”

“Oh, come on!” you groan, smiling deliriously as you turn your head away from him. You try to cover your face, but he pins your wrists to the bed.

“No, say it. Who’s inside you? Who’s fucking you right now?” He insists, giggling. He tilts his body to face you again, preventing you from escaping his gaze. He withdraws his hips and drives his cock upwards with a rough thrust, knocking you backwards. You tilt your head back with a moan as he hits you in the womb.

“Say it,” he urges.

“Who else am I supposed to say? Jesus?” you reply, laughing as he does. “You are. You're inside me. Happy?"

“What am I doing?” He asks again. He starts rolling his hips, fucking you slowly. His crotch rubs against your clit in languid strokes.

“You’re fucking me,” you gasp. Your breath catches as you turn dizzy and nearly cross-eyed from ecstasy.

“That's right,” he replies, now caressing your face. “I got you, okay? I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

“You better,” you reply, wrapping your arms around him.

Satoru withdraws and flips you to lie flat on your stomach. Your legs pressed closely together as he parts your cheeks and aims his cock towards your entrance.

"Try not to gush all over your sheets, okay?" He teases. Then he nibbles your ear and plants kisses on your shoulders.

You sigh, “I just knew you were gonna bring that up.”

Satoru slides inside of you and you squirm and groan against the pillow instantaneously. The friction between your legs feels heightened as your muscles squeeze around him. He starts gyrating his hips, the tip of his cock hitting all the right spots with each downstroke. You grab the sheets and groan as you start kicking your feet from the raw, unadulterated pleasure.

He braces his hands on the small of your back. Then his hips move faster. Harder. Deeper. The slap of his skin nearly echoes inside your bedroom as he fucks the sanity out of your brain with each thrust. Your senses are overwhelmed by all things Satoru–the powdery scent of his skin, his pretty little moans in your ear, his smooth skin against your back, his comforting weight, and his thick cock pumping inside of you. With an angle so perfect and a rhythm so right that you wonder if his body was made for you. You squirm and writhe underneath him as the pleasure engulfs you like a flame. That he stokes and tends until it’s wild and uncontrollable.

You know it’s just sex. You know you’re just friends. You both just wanted to try something fun. Let off some steam. And yet you never felt used for a single moment. And despite all his teasing and provocations you’ve never felt insulted or uncomfortable. Satoru makes you laugh. He also makes you moan. And if he keeps fucking you like this he might actually make you cry.

Satoru collapses on top of you and starts groaning and whimpering against your neck, his abs flexing into stone as he stokes an impending climax.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm so close. Take me there, baby, take me all the way there, please," he rambles. “I want it, I want it, I want it. God, I wanna cum so bad."

He grabs you by the neck to tilt your head up and shoves his soft, sweet tongue inside your mouth. Kissing you with open lips. Saliva dripping down your chin. Then his hand starts to squeeze you, choking you gently and tenderly, and your body dissolves into a pleasurable haze. Your inner walls clench and your stomach tightens. You know you're getting close, too.

"Yes. That’s right. Good girl," he whispers into your lips. "Stay with me, baby. Stay close to me, I can't do this without you."

The pleasure builds, and builds, and builds, and then it shatters you. You start thrashing under his body as your climax rips through and seizes you. White light dances before your eyes and your hearing weakens from the strength of your pulse. Your pussy clenching so hard around his cock that he explodes inside you as well—his cum hot and searing like ignited oil. Satoru’s hips begin to stutter, helpless against the strength of his own spent as it shoots out and fills you straight to the womb until it leaks past your plugged entrance. He cums inside you in choking whimpers and grunts… that fade into a long, satisfied sigh.

“Hah… fuck… holy shit,” he pants. “What was that?”

“I never came so hard in my life,” you whisper, mindlessly.

“Me too… I thought I was gonna shoot my balls out.”

Satoru remains flat on your back, kissing and nibbling your nape as you unwind from the strength of your orgasms. Your bodies stay suctioned together, as still as the air that surrounds you. You seek comfort and grounding from his crushing weight and the heady sweetness of his scent as your mind slips into that blissful, post-orgasmic headspace. He tugs at his dick to pull out, but you’re still clamped and wound up tightly. That’s fine. He didn’t want this to end either. Your walls are just too soft, too warm, and too plush for him to just leave. He smiles and rolls your bodies to the side to spoon you; his arms wrapped around you like a blanket.

Satoru starts rubbing his face against your neck like a sweet, satisfied cat.

“So what do you think? You wanna do this again sometime?” He asks.

You could only hum in approval, your mind and your body feeling weightless and malleable.

“How long have you been meaning to sleep with me?” You ask. “Just curious.”

“… A while,” he answers after a pensive silence. “Does that bother you?”

"I guess not… But we’re still friends, right?” You ask. Wondering if you should even bring this up while he’s tucked inside you to the hilt.

"Friends with benefits, I guess," he shrugs. "But really, we can be anything you want. You already know how I feel so… ball's on your court."

He raises his head to look at you. "Why? You wanna get married?"

You laugh, "Maybe not that!"

“Why not? Lots of people marry their best friends.”

You turn your head and smirk at him, “I let you hit once and now you’re thinking about marriage. I must’ve been such a good lay.”

He smiles fondly and nuzzles your cheek, “You are, though. Seriously, who else can bring me to my knees like that? You’re the best I ever had.”

You roll your eyes and smile, “Now you’re just glazing.”

“It’s true,” He leans back down to kiss a trail from your ear to your shoulder. “I don’t care how you take me as long as we’re together. I like being with you. And now I know I like fucking you too. You’re not getting rid of me now. And like I said before. Whatever it is that we have, it'll definitely last.”

You stay silent, wondering where this all leads. Will the friendship really last? Will it fizzle out? Would you prefer that over a certain, bitter end? Is your friendship now contingent on sex? Will he be worth the heartache if you ever get attached?

Satoru laughs softly at your brooding.

“You don’t have to decide right now, you know?” He says. “Let’s just feel this moment together. Just feel me here with you. We don’t have to worry about anything else.”

He starts rocking his hips gently again, thrusting inside you with a pace so relaxing that you feel your consciousness sinking. He whispers softly against your ear; telling you secrets and sweet reassurances. Promises and high praises.

Satoru has leapt from that crumbling threshold. That boundary. That made you seek forgiveness whenever your fingers touched his hand. Or worry if you’ve taken your jokes too far. And he has opened his arms to you, beckoning you to take that leap and sink into that limbo between friendship and beyond. Promising you that he will catch you when you fall.

i wanted to capture that 'you cryin'?' energy of his and stretch it to a whole fanfic. though i hope it wasnt too much of a tone whiplash (•᷄- •᷅ ;) i just think annoying people is his love language. and he probs gets a kick from your reactions. pls let me know what you think! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و

and thank you for giving this fanfic a chance!

originally posted on ao3 title is based on blurred lines by lauren layne. art by blooneey on pixiv

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vivwritesfics · 2 months

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I'm Having Your Baby

It's None Of Your Business

It was supposed to just be a one night stand. It wasn't supposed to be anything more. But three positive pregnancy tests later and she realises she's fucked.

(I actually don't like Harry Styles)

Warnings: smut, mention of abortion

The bass was thumping, the music blasting and the lights flying in the club. She was letting loose, shaking her hips in time to the music. She was the envy of everybody in the club.

He was across the dance floor, sat in one of the booths lining the wall. In his hands was a jack and coke, the ice in his glass almost completely melted. Although he was on the other side of the club, he could still see her. Actually, he couldn't tear his eyes away.

Something about her drew him closer. He wove his way through the crowds of people until he was standing in front of her, hands of her gyrating hips. Wordlessly she wrapped her arms around his neck and moved her body along with his.

He knew he had to have her. Carlos kissed her that night. He pulled her close as he pressed his lips to her. Before long his tongue was down her throat and they had forgotten about dancing.

She ended up at his place that night. He laid her down in his bed and stripped off her clothes. She shivered in the cool air of his bedroom, but it wasn't long before his warm, naked body was on top of hers, thrusting into her, bring wave after wave of pleasure.

He rolled his hips against her, setting his pace according to his moan. He was completely focused on bringing her pleasure again and again.

Nobody had ever fucked her like that before. No single man had ever made her cum that many times.

But still, she was out of his bed, out of his house before he woke up, never to see him again.

The pregnancy test was taken three and a half weeks later. At 25 days she realised she had missed her period. It wasn't worrying until she remembered her counter in the club.

But she never expected it to come up positive. It must have been a fluke she realised. There was no way she was actually pregnant. Not after a single occurrence of unprotected sex.

But then she took another test. And then another. They all came up positive. Fuck, she really was pregnant. And she didn't even know the name of the father.

Actually, it was pretty easy to find out the name of the father. Her little brother was into Formula One, and she recognised him the moment he walked onto the screen.

She hadn't told her family of her pregnancy yet, and she wouldn't, not until she absolutely had to. She hid her pregnancy tests in her apartment and headed off to spend time with them.

It was a Sunday, so of course her brother was watching Formula One while her mother prepared Sunday night dinner. She was sat behind her brother, sipping lemonade as the driver's on the screen were interviewed.

The camera slowly panned across the Ferrari garage. Her glass dropped out of her hand, shattering on the floor. "What the hell?" Her brother shrieked as he stood up, avoiding the smashed glass.

"Who is that?" She asked as she pointed to the number 55 driver. He looked just as he did all those weeks ago, somehow better in his black fireproofs and red overalls.

Her brother gave her a frown. "That? That's Carlos Sainz, but why do you care?"

But she had already disappeared into the bathroom to throw up until she was dry heaving. Her baby daddy was Carlos Sainz, the world famous Ferrari driver.

It took her a moment to calm down. When she did, she opened her Instagram and went to his account. She scrolled through his account, as if to make sure it was definitely him. But it was undeniable.

It was a gamble going into his messages. But she had to do something to get his attention, had to let him know what was going on. If he didn't see it then so be it, she didn't need him to raise their baby.

Hi, you might not remember me but we hooked up a month ago. We met in the club and I was wearing a red dress with converse. Well, I'm pregnant.

She sent the message and walked out of the bathroom. The glass had been cleaned up from the living room floor and her family were already sat around the dinner table, the race on in the background. Her legs shook as she joined them.

"Is everything okay, dear?" Her mother asked and she nodded her head. She'd tell them, but not today.

Three days later Carlos Sainz messaged her on Instagram. She couldn't quite believe it when she woke up to that notification.

I remember

That was all he said. It was disappointing, actually. Where did she go from here?

Carlos Sainz said nothing more to her, not until a few months later. She got on with her life while their child grew inside of her, and he got on with his.

Or she assumed he did, at least. Actually, Carlos hadn't stopped thinking about it. It was distracting him from racing and training, and stopping him from eating and drinking.

He remembered her from the club, remembered fucking her. Remembered the way his cock slipped through her velvety folds.

It was one night, it couldn't have been his, right?

After four months of needless stress, Carlos finally messaged her again.

I'm sorry to do this but I need you to prove it to me

No, it was fair enough. She grabbed her pregnancy tests, stood in front of her mirror with her bump exposed. That was the picture she sent to Carlos. That was the picture that made him realise that he really was going to be a father.

Fuck. A new wave of stress rolled through him. What was he supposed to do now?

Are you keeping it?

Yes, she texted back. Yes, I'm keeping it

That wasn't the answer that Carlos wanted to see. He was going to be a father and he really didn't want to.

I want nothing to do with it

She sucked in a breath. Fine, she didn't need him. They didn't need him. But still she accepted Carlos' request on Instagram.

Something in her still wanted his attention. As soon as she could, and for as little money as possible, she booked tickets to the next grand prix.

It was hot, swelteringly so. She was dressed in a tight fitting shirt and shorts that showed off her bump. Her parents paid for paddock passes and she spent as long as she could walking in front of the Ferrari garage.

Carlos noticed her, but not right away. It was a minute before he regnised her. But then he was Marching over to her. "What're you doing here?" He hissed as he pulled her away from prying eyes.

She swallowed thickly. "I..." but she had nothing prepared to say to him, no excuse. She'd hoped him just seeing her bump would change his mind.

But it remained unchanged.

"I'm here with my girlfriend. You can't be here," he said. He hadn’t looked at her bump, not yet. "Get out of here," he hissed.

But she stepped up to him. "I'm having your baby, Carlos."

"It's none of my business." He turned on his heel and walked away.

715 notes · View notes

moonsaver · 18 days

Text

Iris family!reader back at it again! Here's part 2 of this, which was VERY incomplete because tumblr decided to bust on me and upload it while i was still drafting!! I think this part might be more confusing, so feel free to ask about it right away!

Taglist is at the end of the fic hehe

Aventurine has an eye for craftsmanship. And very good ears.

You recall vividly. That's the first thing he mentioned about himself when he first introduced himself to you.

You know it's not a coincidence he's reaching out to you. Especially after a meeting with Mr. Sunday, which is his direct, formal contact with the Oak Family. You, on the other hand, were a direct, informal contact. The fact you were barely a notable singer in the plethora of talents Penacony held wasn't what mattered to Aventurine. Neither did it matter that you were from the Iris Family. Because to him, you were a one-way ticket to Sunday's mind.

It's also no coincidence he's decided to drop by after he sees the wide open door of your room.

“I've heard well about your station, friend.”

He makes himself comfortable on the stiff couch of the hotel room, the fabric wrinkling and the frame creaking from the shift in weight.

“I.. don't need your help. I’m fine.”

“Can't hurt to always have connections, keeps you afloat, birdie.”

“Don't tell me that. I don't need any more. I've had enough.”

Aventurine smiles, and leans back into the couch, one of his arms lazily resting on the couch's and the finger of his hand tapping the top of his knee.

“Your earrings are the talk of the town, y'know?”

Your hand instinctively shoots up, and your fingers ghost the lobe of your ear. You're not wearing any at the moment.

“Is that so..?”

Your body language is jittery. Your hands keep fidgeting. Your lips hurt from the constant chewing, your finger rubs your earlobe.

Aventurine fiddles with his own, and gets up. He walks over to you with slow, easing steps.

“There's a cute little section in a few tabloids about those earrings. There's also a little fact that your ears burn red when you lie.”

Aventurine stands in front of you.

“That can't be right. It's totally bullshit.”

He chuckles at your response. He leans in, slowly, his breath ghosts the shell of your ears. The oddly sweet scent of expensive, exotic wine line his cool breath over your skin.

“There's also been that whole buzz about The Watchmaker's Legacy.”

The close proximity renders you paralyzed – many thoughts run through your head; should you push him away? Should you step away instead? Snap back at him?

You feel his gloved finger busy itself with your ear. A snap resounds loudly through your ear, and his hand retracts. So does he.

Your agitated gaze lingers on his smug face, and wanders over to his ears. They're red.

“I'll give you some advice – you should try and take advantage of chaos.”

His hand raises slightly, and his fingers barely kiss the skin of your elbows. It snaps something in you, and you immediately move to step back.

His other hand shoots up and grabs your arm in response.

“We can help each other, can't we, little sparrow? A glimpse of that man's mind is enough for me. I'll help you keep your family all safe and sound.”

“I– don't care what you have to offer. I am not taking that risk! This crap about The Watchmaker, I'm not having it! Find someone else to bother!”

Aventurine's smile widens, his eyes stare down at you. The concentric colours are almost hypnotising.

“Relax. The game's only started, I'm sure there's enough time for you to analyse the situation and pick a side. And things will fall into place all in due time.”

A knock.

Both you and Aventurine snap your heads to the source. The door creaks open.

Sunday stands, composed. His knuckles linger on the polished wood of the door for a few more seconds, before his hand falls to his side. His other hand holds a black, velvet bag.

You forgot to take that back.

“It seems we meet again.”

Aventurine hums.

‐

“Are you perhaps.. unhappy with your current circumstances?”

“No, I'm.. quite pleased with it. Please, don't take anything to heart. I was fervently denying all of his offers.”

Sunday chuckles softly.

“I understand. Please, be at ease.”

Sunday knew what lied in store for him when he became a part of the Family.

As their long-burdened history, all of them were to join and form an impenetrable force, decorating the Dreamscape lavishly for those who had the privilege to deny reality.

Which was ironic.

It was comically ironic.

Such was their torment.

As eagles rip and gnaw the liver of human emotion, such was the painful symbolization of human strive. And this was a neverending story. A neverending performance of a traitor, prisoners and a false dream. A Death that surely extracts the price for all that has been done. A price that grows thick over the bones of each generation, for daring to dream together, for daring to yearn for freedom.

Some knew of this history. Most were not privy to it.

Sunday tells you in passing, as his gloved fingers gently drop the velvet bag in your hand. You suppose it was simple small talk.

A beat of silence passes.

“Ah, I may have fed a false fact to that Tabloid.”

You look up at Sunday.

“Im sorry?”

“I wasn't aware of whether or not your ears turn red. They were eager for a harmless fact, and I conjured up something on the spot.”

“Oh, they.. approached you directly?”

“They first approached Robin, to be exact. I arrived just in time to answer a small question. My apologies for making a hasty decision at a presented opportunity.”

You blink a few times.

“Ah, well.. not like it can be helped now but.. please be careful. One thing tends to lead to another.”

“I've taken note of that.” his eyes focus on the lobe of your ear.

What's he looking at..?

Your hand cautiously reaches up to your ear. Aventurine's earring?

“Oh, um.”

You break out in a sweat, and your shaky hands immediately remove it. You look at the flashy, teal accessory. Then you look at Sunday, gauging his reaction.

He smiles. Perhaps that fact wasn't false.

“I suggest not striking a deal with Aventurine. I can assure your family's security.”

“Oh, I know I just–”

“The Family does not take dealings with the IPC lightly.”

You stay silent.

He sighs, and his gaze seems to soften for a moment. His gloved hand reaches out and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Apologies. The Charmony festival is coming soon. Extra measures have been established. Please, approach me instead.”

His voice softens at the end.

“I.. understand.”

‐

Sunday thinks a change of your career is in order.

A brand new start, a better title, a better colleague.

Somewhere along the way, most of Penacony's more enthusiastic visitors were in the know about you. Your popularity settled comfortably on event lists, and Sunday was steadfast in his promise.

However, there's now an increase in work. Particularly, working late at night with Sunday.

Your job now had strict parameters you didn't have in your former station. Deadlines, reports, even hearsay playing an important role. Although, for once your rusty luck has come into play, and Sunday is much more fair to you than any other manager that you could have been working under, if it weren't for your decision to become a singer.

That being said, the public now saw less of you, which instead soared rumours about you and increased your popularity more. You aren't sure how to thank Sunday – he only gives you a closed eye smile whenever you decide to at least verbalise your gratitude.

‐

“Ah, you should take a look at this.”

Sunday beckons you to come closer, pointing and curling his index finger towards you. You oblige wordlessly, and with a few swift clicks of your shoes, you stand right beside Sunday, leaning a bit to take a better look.

His finger points to several figures in the document, and you hum, eyes scanning through the neatly organised words.

“Does this mean I'll get significantly busier?”

“You best prepare, as per my suggestion.”

You sigh, a bit dramatically, and Sunday chuckles.

“My apologies. I know I've already asked for a lot from your end. I shall support you equally.”

“That's.. well, alright. I was just worried about something else.”

You avoid his eyes, discomfort creeping up on you, as those rumours swirl in your head.

“Be at ease, tell me.”

“It's.. the rumours surrounding me. They're not serious but, recently they've taken a strange turn of events.”

Sunday hums. He gets up, and walks towards a bookshelf, his fingers slide over their spines, and stop at a specific book. You continue,

“It's– um.. quite strange.”

Sunday pulls out the book, and opens it, sifting through the pages with familiarity.

“It was just about the earrings at first but they took a bit of a bizarre turn.. they–”

Sunday snaps the book shut,

“About us. Yes. I've heard.”

You blink a few times.

“They're..”

His fingers trace over the book's cover, before sliding it back into its place.

“Rumoured relationships between us, the debate about work ethics, and the whole lot. Yes, I'm well-informed.”

He turns to you. His all too familiar smile still on his face. His golden eyes seem much more intimidating than they used to.

“They'll die down. I can assure you they are of no importance. However, it helps with your exposure doesn't it?”

He turns his back to you, continuing to look at you over his shoulder.

“They will fizzle out in due time.”

You suppose Sunday is familiar with rumours. But this time, it is only particularly because he created them.

‐

The robin chirps and twits inside its golden cage.

“What's this?”

You smile, a finger gently tapping a bar of the delicate cage,

“It's a robin. I hoped it would guide you during practice.”

You chuckle, and Sunday smiles, both of your eyes fixated on the bird that's chirping and curiously tilting its head at you.

Sunday's encouraged you to practice singing more often inside the office. You've gotten off of your formal duties very late, and as of recent you've scarcely had time to practice. Sunday's insistence led to you often humming and practicing in front of your dressing table. It took a while, but you eased into it fairly well.

Sunday, on the other hand, enjoys your singing more than he lets on. He finds himself humming to your tune every so often, once you've left and no other ambience fills the room. Perhaps that's also one of the reasons he's brought a robin bird to you.

You sing a simple tune, and the robin follows. It chirps happily, and you giggle at its strange antics. And thus, whenever you aren't present, the bird sings in your stead.

It's not soon before the robin loses its vitality, however. A gilded cage is a cage nonetheless.

Your voice was dampened that day. But Sunday had a plethora of ideas rush to his head.

‐

Something's been wrong with your voice as of recent.

You've avoided any strange drinks, even foregoing any kinds of juices, only opting for water. You avoid even spicy foods, settling for blander dishes. Sunday assures you it's nothing to worry about – even Robin faces challenges with her voice sometimes.

You're at your best, only in Sunday's office.

Everytime you sing, your voice flows smoothly, and you hit every note perfectly. It's wonderful, if it weren't for the fact your voice didn't seem to hold this effect outside of his office. You came to this realisation late at night when you tried singing in the bathroom to yourself, your voice kept tapering, and even stopped at some points. The doctors all assured you things were fine, and at best only prescribed some throat medicine. You wonder what's been going wrong.

Sunday isn't ignorant of your recent concerns, either. He seems to be taking it in stride.

The golden cage is on your dressing table, empty. You stare at it, thoughts swirling in your head. What went wrong? Where? Why? What did you do?

Sunday's familiar gloved hands place themselves upon your shoulders again. It's a shame. He says. What is a robin without its voice? He says. It echoes in your mind for days.

“Take a break.” one of his gloved hands make it's way to yours, folded in your lap. He brings your knuckles up to his lips, whispering assurances into it.

“It'll be fine. I'll take care of it.” He kisses between the valley of your knuckles,

“Don't worry. Help me out with the rest of the documents, and we can take a look at your voice after.”

You don't say anything. Maybe because you can't.

“Hmm.. your voice tapers too much at the chorus.”

You sigh. You've lost count of how many times you've had to repeat this song, your voice simply cannot seem to hold true to the chorus that's planned. Sunday flips another page of a long-winded document, and sets it down gently on the table, looking up at you when you sigh and only hold onto the mic with disappointment glazing your eyes.

“Have a seat. Perhaps a break may help you.”

You hesitantly oblige, but sigh again, deeply, as the muscles of your throat ache with the strain and relaxation. You sit down at the makeshift dressing table Sunday managed to prepare for you. His courtesy, of course.

You shuffle around it – your dressing table isn't actually much different than Sunday's office desk. It's littered with event planners, schedules, and all sorts of graphs and figures. Your hands lazily pick up a sheet and scan over it, choosing to at least distract yourself while you give your raw throat a rest.

You hear a muffled creak behind you, followed by a few, small footsteps. Sunday stands behind you in the reflection. His hands gently come up to your hair, fingers running through it and fixing it.

“Some members of the Family – particularly the Nightingale Family, wanted to extend their gratitude to you. You've been arduously managing the crowd and shifting their gazes away from the construction work.”

You hum slightly, your eyes unfocused on the words. Sunday's touch seems to leave you dazed, or rather conflicted, these days.

His fingers leave your hair, and rest on your shoulders. He leans down, his lips graze the shell of your ear. His soft breath tickles your skin, and forms goosebumps.

“And I am.. personally grateful to have you working alongside me.”

Your eyes wander on your table. They avoid his gaze through the mirror's reflection.

“I also.. intend to help you, further than before.”

His voice grows softer and lower, descending into a whisper. One of his hands move from your should to the middle of your collarbone, a lone finger drags up to the middle of your neck. Your breath hitches.

“Mr. Sunday..?”

“It's alright. We needn't be so formal.”

Suddenly, a splotch of colours blur your vision from the corners. You hiss, and groan, immediately burying your head into your hands, striking pain pulses through your head. You close your eyes in efforts to relieve yourself, but it doesn't cease.

“Perfect Harmony.. Order.. it doesn't come easily. Allow me to assist you in reaching that.”

You breathe heavily, the pulsing ache in your head slowly subsides, but the colours remain persistent.

“Sunday..?”

“My dear, let us rejoice. A new chapter of your life has begun. Your family can find ease. We- no, I, can take care of them. Of you.”

You swallow thickly, dread pooling in your stomach. The finger on your neck trails up your neck and pushes your chin upwards, forcing you to face your reflection. The side of Sunday's face is pressed to yours, your eyes are dazed, but his have never been so clear, and bright.

“Just do as you've always done. This is simply to bolt your loyalty, my dear.”

Sunday kisses your cheek, his wings gently flutter on the other side of your face. You close your eyes. The pain subsides into something more blissful, calming. Your body relaxes almost against your will.

‐

Your voice has been perfect as of late. As long as you don't sing for anyone.

Which is to say – you're rendered useless in the grand scheme of Penacony. This terrifies you.

Your family has never been more vulnerable.

What is a robin without her voice? It echoes irrevocably in your mind, the question awaiting an answer. Nothing responds. Nothing, responds.

Empty ballads accompany the marble walls of the hallway leading to Sunday's office. His back is turned to you, his fingers sifting through the spines of familiar books on his shelf. His wings slightly flutter every time your voice hits a high note. Your voice was pitch perfect whenever you sang in his office. Anywhere else? It was a bust. Robin also tried her hand at comforting you, but the tapering edge of her voice only concerned you. An emanator of harmony relied completely on just that to sustain her voice. She'd lost it completely otherwise.

Your lips are raw from the constant biting. Your family tries assuring you they can also pull together scraps and bits to keep themselves afloat; that you've worked hard enough, and you need your rest. Sunday assures their security as always. He's stopped commenting on your concerns with your voice.

“Sunday, my voice..”

“Perfect, my dear.”

He's grown more familiar with using pet names instead of your name. You don't remember exactly when the transition took place.

“No, it's.. I can't sing anymore. I can't perform.”

“Ah, is that so?”

Sunday's deft fingers write something down on a scrap of paper, holding the book open in another hand.

“Not to fret, darling. The public awaits your performance in due time. Take a break for now, and focus on paperwork.”

It does more to discourage you, really.

“I don't know.”

“I know.”

Sunday places the book down gently on his table. He looks at your seated figure, illuminated by the warm light of his office.

Sunday wanted the best for Penacony. But when it came to you, he couldn't help but be greedy. Your voice was beautiful to him. He feels bad, raining on your parade like this. But there's endless amounts of performers who can take your place. There's only one of you who can catch his eye, however.

An empty cage is reminiscent of a happy bird. But a chirping robin is reminiscent of a happy man. Your lost voice still echoes well through the halls, resounding through the marble structures.

A gilded cage is a cage nonetheless. A happier bird is one that does not realise its cage. Sing to your heart's desire in it, he thinks.

Your head falls to your hands again, blurring splotches of colour blaze through your vision and head again – a familiar, aching pulse resonates in your head. Your voice feels trapped. Sunday walks to you, and places a hand on your back, rubbing gently to soothe you. The colours disappear, leaving you in a daze. Sunday leans down to kiss your forehead, relaxing your furrowed brows.

It's true. You've proven it. A bird that does not realise it's true confines. You may be unhappy, but you sing your throat raw, and Sunday is your only audience. Parameters will only get stricter, but it's for your own good. He assures you endlessly, leaving out that one piece of information.

A robin without a voice is nothing but a dull bird. You, without yours, are just his.

Taglist: @sharkiethrts @sarcastic-cookie

434 notes · View notes

writingstoraes · 9 months

Text

the other side 🥡

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!horner!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: this was actually a request but it somehow got lost in my inbox so im so sorry to whoever requested this 😭 i hope you still see this though and i hope u like it! lmk what u guys think hehehe

about: fans adore your support for ferrari, given your dad is literally their rival's team principal.

ynhorner

liked by therealgerihalliwell, redbullracing, charles_leclerc, and 1,201,294 others

ynhorner had the best view at monaco 🏎️

(ps. i hope my dad isn't using his instagram right now)

christianhorner I have no words....

ynhorner see u at home 😘

redgirlz LMAOOO THIS IS SO FUNNY

maxverstappen ??? Hello

ynhorner hi, max :)

daylightcharles if years ago you told me christian horner's own daughter would be openly supporting ferrari i would have laughed in your face

hamilecs not charles liking this 😭

sainzlines QUEEN DO U PLAN ON WATCHING SOMEDAY AT FERRARI'S GARAGE 🎤🎤

ynhorner i would if i'd still be my dad's daughter afterwards

ynhorner

liked by christianhorner, landonorris, pierregasly, and 1,028,248 others

ynhorner i may scream "forza ferrari sempre" during race weekends, but i am my dad's daughter still 🫡

therealgerihalliwell There we go, Dad was waiting for you to wear that 😊

ilpredestinato she is me and i am her (i too, would support ferrari to hell and back)

lovesgasly my ferrari queen ❤️

britcedesbros LOVE THE JACKET drop the link pls 🙏

ynhorner dad brought it home after seeing me check out another ferrari cap 😆

ynhorner recently added to her instagram story!

ynhorner

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc, therealgerihalliwell, and 1,019,294 others

ynhorner clearing my gallery so enjoy this race week’s dump! life's good when i'm not torn between two teams; i can bust my lungs out to "super max" and forza ferrari my way every sunday ❤️

queensland mother pls tell me that man is just an uber driver

charlierari That's literally Charles 😭 loverslane reaching we can't even see the face???

paddockgirlie MAM IS THAT CHARLES PLS SPEAK INTO THE MIC

ynhorner i think my lawyer says i'd rather not say anything 😅

maxverstappen Glad to know "Super Max" is on your playlist

ynhorner are you kidding? i play that when i drive so i can get to where i'm going faster christianhorner Your karting races are not an excuse for you to overtake whenever you want, Y/N ynhorner it's okay i'm driving a ferrari anyway :D

ynhorner

liked by therealgerihalliwell, lewishamilton, charles_leclerc, and 1,503,994 others

ynhorner okay maybe there's another reason why i love ferrari, but it's really not my fault they signed someone so breathtaking and loveable to be their driver 🤷‍♀️

merchamilton someone check up on christian quick

sainzzzzham Y/N IS UR DAD OKAY 😭

ynhorner oh don't worry about him, i'm sure he'll be fine!

charles_leclerc Saw the sign today, apparently that's why you sent me out to buy red poster board?

ynhorner yes, gotta stick to my ferrari girl agenda

paddocklovez MY NEW PARENTS ❤️

maxverstappen Finally, growing tired of hiding Charles when he visits the garage 😐

christianhorner So you were in on this? maxverstappen For legal reasons, I will be blocking you.

------------

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy, @cxcewg, @sassyheroneckgiant (lmk if anyone else wants to be part of my taglist!)

notes: tysm for reading <3

2K notes · View notes

carolmunson · 9 months

Text

caught like a fool without a line. (older!modern!eddie)

part five of who knows how many. orange colored sky setlist.

summary: we've been seeing eddie for a month and the fear starts to settle in. with eddie's past and present making things difficult and your own insecurities brewing, things come to a bit of a head one night when you're out at a bar. featuring older!robin and our favorite guy older!steve from @loveshotzz series 'all i really want is you'.

tw: age gappy (reader and eddie are 12 years apart, but reader is late late 20s/early 30s and eddie and late late 30s/early 40s throughout this story so it's not like so bad). drunk!reader, alcohol consumption, discussions of eddie's promiscuous past (i know some people don't like when eddie is a slut), implied that reader wears eddie's clothes to bed but not that reader is small. gifs by: @keerysbrandnewbg and @eddiemunsonsource

songspiration: open | rhye and feelings | lauv

You swirled the big ice cube in the tumbler with an unenthusiastic flair, making the orangey red liquid in the glass nearly spill. “And I don’t get it, we had a really nice first date and then made out again the next week and talked all the time and now he’s barely texting me back,” you complain, the tart grapefruit of your friend’s new take on an Aperol Spritz floods your mouth at your next sip.

“Maybe he’s just busy,” your friend Charlie suggests from behind the bar, “He’s older, you said, right? He might just not be on his phone as much. Do you like the drink? Is it too bitter?”

“It’s bitter but not in a bad way, in a good citrussy way,” you nod, “And yeah he might not be on his phone as much but then why just sort of suddenly drop off and barely respond? Like, look at this.” You take out your phone, laying it on the bar and scrolling through a plethora of blue texts with some sprinkles of gray in between, “I look so pathetic.” “I think you just really like him,” she shrugs, smirking, “And I think that’s good, you haven’t been this excited about someone for a little bit.” “Yeah, but every time I’m excited about someone it bites me in the ass,” you lean on the palm of your hand, flipping your phone over, “Plus like, I’m not trying to be with anyone like that right now.”

Your friend gives you a look, “Okay, sure.”

“What do you mean ‘okay, sure’?” you scoff.

“You’re not trying to be with anyone like your ex,” Charlie corrects, her dark red lips pulling into a smirk, “You go on and on about how you just want someone to take care of things for you. Maybe he’s that kind of dude.”

“He has someone come every Sunday to clean his house for him,” you sip the drink again, “I don’t think he can take care of anything for me, considering I can clean my own house.” The bar slowly starts to fill up with the after work crowd, leaving Charlie to run back and forth between you and pouring beers for incoming patrons.

“He can afford to have someone come and clean his house,” she says with a smirk, holding down the tap while she fills a glass with Lagunitas, "That's kind of hot." You flip your phone back over and sigh, no new messages.

If anything is true in the music and art world Eddie is involved in it's that Eddie Munson is a professional loverboy. Never with someone for too long, never long enough for them to want something more than fun -- never long enough for 'Are you my boyfriend?' never long enough for 'What are we?' It got easier the older he got, the less women and men cared about labels. You were right to make that judgement about his key carabiner hanging on the front of his keys. Eddie Munson is a slut, and everyone knows it but you.

He had two actual girlfriends in his early twenties, but nothing quite like his friendship with Steve. 'Platonic life partner, sometimes,' they'd list it as -- never too afraid to get affectionate. Hugs, kisses on the forehead, Eddie held him so many nights when Emma died he felt like they left an indent in the center of the bed. He touched and loved the people who loved him back, but to anyone else – he never wanted to get too close. He always gave out just enough of him – enough for people to keep wanting more, a satisfaction he basked in now since he was such a loner in high school with no notches to his belt.

But now he’s blabbering on to Robin over a huge plate of nachos about how you texted him all day. You texted him all day and he had his phone charging in the kitchen while he was upstairs in his office so he didn’t know and now it’s very clear that you’re upset.

"Okay? How is this different from the girl you were seeing over Christmas?" Robin laughs over a mouthful of loaded nachos, a frosty pink Frosé next to her to beat the heat. Her eyes crinkle closed, a smattering of freckles stretching on the apples of her cheeks when she smiles. The heat of a sunburn runs soft pink over her nose, outside of the gray in her sand blonde hair that she'll never dye, she looks almost the same as she did in high school. “So you didn’t text her back,” she shrugs, “You leave her alone, she fades off into the distance – just like the girl before that, and the guy before that, and the girl before that. Why're you talking about it like it's the end of the world?” "I care," he groans, turning his phone to show Robin your messages. You'd sent them every few hours, but most of the messages from the morning and afternoon were from when he was working -- phone nestled on the charger down in the kitchen while he clacked away on code upstairs. By the time he saw them he was embarrassed, and you were probably already at your friend's bar. Eddie tries to explain the whole situation while Robin scrolls through with a careful and soft expression, a tiny smile forming on her face.

“I already fucked it up,” Eddie sighs, pulling his hair up into a ponytail with volume hair stylists would envy. He runs his hand over his jaw, following the edge of it to land behind his neck where he squeeze gently on the muscle.

Robin shrugs again, passing his phone back to him, “Par for the course, kid.”

His eyes narrow, “I’m older than you.”

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, “You always fuck it up, Ed. That's your thing. You walk into a room and someone leaves crying. You've never done the whole sappy love thing with someone, why do you think you're changing your tune now?”

“I know but – fuck Robin, I didn’t even sleep with her yet,” he says a little louder than he intends. His tattooed hand wraps around the Pilsner glass in front of him, dripping in condensation, bringing it to his lips.

“That’s a new development,” she raises her brows, crossing her legs, "You never wait this long."

“I just…I don’t…I shit – I don’t know.”

“What did Steve say?” Robin asks, teeth biting down on the straw to her drink, “He always has good girl advice.”

“I haven’t even told Steve.”

“At all?!” she nearly spits out the frose all over the nachos.

“Rob we just buried Em,” he explains softly, “Like, she’s not even fuckin’ cold yet. I can’t just come out of the woodwork five months later like ‘Hey man, think I actually met a girl I’d consider a future with. We’ve been seeing each other for a month’. And like – what if I’m just psyching myself out? What if this is just an early midlife crisis?”

Robin takes a slow sip, nodding while he speaks before taking a pause. “Ed, I think you’ll feel better if you tell Steve,” she offers, “I think he’d get your head straight about it. But in the meantime, you should text her back.”

“What do I even say?” he huffs, shoving a loaded nacho into his mouth. “Try honesty with a woman for once in your entire life, Rockstar boy,” Robin plasters on a customer service smile that makes him let out a frustrated ‘tsss’, “It won’t kill you.” "Here, I'll text Nance and ask her -- she's our next best bet," Robin takes out her phone and types with the fervor of a teenager with a sugar high. Eddie sips his beer, looking at the screen of his phone while the cursor to type blinks back at him.

You stumble out of the bar, too crowded now to have fun with your friend. Over tired and over served you make your way down the street and around the corner, stopping to lean against the brick wall of a different bar when you feel your phone buzz in your hand. You take a minute, taking in your surroundings. People are so loud down here, and everyone is so pretty. Street lights are there and gone and there and gone as cars whiz passed on Delancey, the bustle of the Friday night life in the LES is a buzz with excitement. You're already a little down for the count. Your phone feels like a paper weight in your hand, sighing with satisfaction at the notificaiton on the screen. But your chest still aches with annoyance, how many times were you gonna get drunk at a bar with a swollen heart over some dumb boy? Man? Guy?

You don't want him to come save you, you know how to get home. You can see the green bulbs of the train entrance and the glow of the McDonalds 'M' on the corner in the distance. Down the stairs, one train into Brooklyn, cross platform transfer -- you've done it drunker than this countless times before. You text Charlie with an air of victory before putting your phone back in your smart black faux leather bag slung over your shoulder. The warm summer air flows over your legs, catching the hem of your a-line skirt -- the light material flowing in the breeze. Time isn't working quite right for you but it feels like it's been five minutes and he hasn't shown up, so you make your way to the edge of the corner to cross.

"Whoa there, Peach," you hear Eddie's gruff voice from the side of you, the pull on your arm the same as when he steadied you at Trader Joe's a month ago, "Careful now."

You pull out of his hold, glassy eyes focused on the black and white stripes on the street ahead of you, "I know what I'm doin'."

“Where are you goin’, huh?” he asks softly. Eddie steps in front of you, guiding you to the light post to get out of the way of other pedestrians.

“Home,” you slur, “M’goin home. Trainssright there.”

“I don’t think you’re good to take the train,” his voice is gentle, hand coming out to hold you at the waist, “I can get you a car.”

“I’m fine.” It's the only sentence that comes out lucid, his jaw ticks.

"You don't look fine," he looks down into your glassy eyes, a look he's seen before. The way his mama would drown herself in whiskey and stumble into the kitchen so the bruises would't hurt so bad. The way an old fling would slur to him about how she can't live without him. The way you look so sad and it's his fault.

"I'm. Fine," you reiteratie. The light changes, the bright white of the walk sign flashes across the street. You go to pass him but his hands place themselves on your shoulders. "You really wanna get boiled alive on the train?" he asks with a smile, "You don't wanna take a car?" You sigh, why does he have to be so handsome? The gin from your last two drinks travels from your head to your thighs, pulling them together at the sight of his smile. He has that ratty vest on, a CBGC t-shirt sticking to him under it, the sleeves completely torn off. He smells like cedar and citrus again, a hint of a left over cigarette. His grays catch the light of the over head lamp, bouncing like tinsel in his pony tail sitting on the crown of his head. "Can we go to your house?" you ask, voice raised a higher octave than normal. His face blanches, "Aw honey, that's not a good idea. I don't want you to think that I --" "Please?"

"Thanks, have a good night," Eddie waves off the delivery man with a smile as he rides away on his bike. With plastic in hand he makes his way back up the stairs where you've set up shop on one of the stools in his kitchen, head down on the island counter.

"Food's here," he says quietly. Dealing with drunk you was very much like dealing with drunk Robin in the early 2010s, overgrown toddler in a bad mood. You let out a half hearted 'Yay', head coming up, eyes half closed in the kind of sleepiness a few mixed drinks and some beers can send you into. He goes into the fridge and pulls out two bottles of Poland Spring and a beer for himself. The waters get placed in front of you while he tends to getting the food plated up.

You ignore the water -- Blue Moon bottle staring right at you, and to be honest -- a cold cirtussy beer sounds sooo good right now. You reach forward, the glass ice cold against your palm now that the liquor has fully settled, heating up your skin. The sound of glass on the counter cobbles through the kitchen when you slide it closer to you, alerting Eddie to the noise.

“Excuse me,” he says sharply, snatching the bottle out of your hand, “Can you behave?”

You pout when his eyes narrow at you, heart thumping guiltily in your chest, shame brewing in your skin. You nod back at him with sad eyes, a twinge plucking in your heart strings.

“Don’t give me that face,” he warns, “Don't act up."

“I don’t like when you’re mean,” you mumble softly, running your fingers in shapes over the butcher's block counter top. He sighs, plating your sandwich and pulling your fries from the bag. He kisses your temple while he slides the plate in front of you. "I'm sorry, honey," he says quietly, but gin always puts you in the mood to argue. "You don't have to talk to me like, like -- you don't have to talk to me -hic!- like I'm a kid," you hurtle out, surprised at your own gumption, "I'm not."

"I know," he says, putting the bags into his recycling bin under the sink, "I'm not talking to you in any kind of way Peach I -- " "You don't even like me," you state. His head cocks to the side, leaning on his hands while they hold on to the edge of the island. "Who said that?" "I was -hic!- I was talking to someone at the bar about --" you start, lump building in your throat, "About you and um -- they said, they said it sounds like --" Your eyes water, "Like I'm just for fun." "Oh," he says, looking down at his hands. The weight of this conversation falling into his stomach from his chest like a deep pit.

"Like I'm just fun for you to play with -- but like, you don't even wanna have -- you don'even wanna h-have-have seggzwithme so like -- you don't even like me." More and more if your insecurities flow out of you like a broken faucet, tears starting to slip down your cheeks.

"And like you probably don't even think I'm pretty."

"Oh, baby, no," he coos, brows tilted in sympathy while you drunkenly let all your sober fears out, "I think you're so pretty."

"So pretty," you repeat, wiping your face with your hands, "But that's it."

Eddie takes a deep breath, coming over to you and pressing his warm soft lips to your cheek, "Let's talk about this in the morning, sweetheart. I'm gonna get upstairs ready for you."

"I should just go home," you sniffle, embarrassment starting to flow through you with your bloodstream, burning all your pores, "I'm sorry." "No, no, don't go home," he assures, nose nuzzling against your cheek, "Stay. Just stay."

He makes sure you eat, watching you come back to yourself the fuller and more hydrated you get. You're easy to lead upstairs, pliant and tired now, needy almost -- not that you'd ever admit to it. You tease him about his 'old man pills' when he takes out his perscription high dose Motrin he got for some old back pain. Great for when you might get a killer hangover these days. You grimace at the Pedialyte mixture he has you drink before you get tucked into his bed -- out before you can even feel him grab the pillows and a throw from the other side of you. He settles in downstairs on the sectional, sighing while he thinks about the way your face scrunches when you're about to cry. He flicks through his Hulu options on the big screen in front of him but nothing really seems to catch his attention. Mind wandering to you asleep upstairs but knowing better than to crawl into bed next to you when you're not yourself enough to say it's okay. The familiar buzz of his phone goes off on the coffee table, when he picks it up his face is on the front screen while someone calls in on FaceTime. "You're callin' late, man," Eddie grins lazily, socked feet sticking out to rest on the worn walnut table in front of him, "You okay?" "Yeah me and Bandit just got in from camping. Got some pics of him to send you, he's such a scamp." "You have fun?" he asks, rubbing his eyes. Eddie's voice is quiet while he speaks making Steve's head cock to the side. The lights changes on his face while he walks from the living room to his bedroom. "Yeah we had a lot of fun," Steve starts, "Why're you whispering?" "What do you mean?" Eddie asks, getting up off the couch to pad back into the kitchen. "You're talkin' all quiet," Steve smirks, "You got a girl over or something?" Ed puts his phone down and huffs while he grabs a bag of chips from the cabinet. Steve giggle, leaning his head in closer to the screen. "You do, don't you?" he guffaws, "Am I interrupting?" "She's sleeping," Eddie says softly, picking up the phone again and leaning against the counter. "Aw, so you ended up texting her back? Good."

"What the fuck? Who told you that?" Eddie's brows furrow, spitting through a mouthful of chips. "Robin, obviously." The light changes on him again while he makes his way to his own kitchen. Bandit's little pants and huffs echoing into the phone, "You think Nancy came up with the 'Hey pretty girl,' opening? She's never been a flirt."

"Well it worked so, congrats."

"Why didn't you tell me about her?" Steve pulls his own bag of chips out. They crunch together. "It just didn't seem right," he shrugs, "Y'know with Emma it's hard to be like, 'Hey I think I might actually see a future with this girl I've only been seeing for a few weeks.' Like, you just lost the love of your life."

"I'm not gonna be sad to hear that you're into someone, Ed," Steve smiles softly, voice calm, "Tell me about her."

So he does, he tells Steve about how he kept running into you that day at Trader Joe's and how he felt so stupid for not waiting at the doors for you but he was too scared. You were so cute in your bike shorts and sneakers, so careful in how you chose the fruit you were gonna get. When he saw you on the platform he knew it was like he was getting a second chance -- "Maybe Em thought you should stop being such a whore and sent her over," Steve laughs. Ed rolls his eyes but can't hold back his chuckle, watching as Steve rests his chin on the heel of his hand while he listens. Eddie talks about the picnic date, how he immediately felt comfortable telling you about his mom. The rain, the kiss in his apartment -- how he could've fucked you but didn't. How all your little dates had gone since.

"Oh so you like her," Steve nods.

"I'm scared," Eddie says quietly. "Scared?"

"What if it's just a fluke and I hurt her? Or I get hurt?" Eddie asks, "And like -- please don't take this the wrong way but like -- what if I put in all this effort and then lose her?"

"Like how I lost Em?"

Eddie nods slowly, not wanting to say the quiet part out loud. He talks about what you said when you got back to his place, how you think he doesn't really like you, how he doesn't think you're pretty. You're just for fun. "But this doesn't feel like 'just for fun', does it?" Steve challenges gently, "Cause if she was just for fun you would've texted me about if she could deep throat or not."

Eddie chuckles darkly, pink rising on his cheeks -- Steve chuckles too. Still gross boys who are gross.

"You should tell her how you feel," he encourages, "What's the worst that can happen?" "Everything."

"Okay," Steve shrugs, "I lost everything. And what happened?"

"We all came to pick you up." "Exactly. We'll be here to pick you up, too. Don't like..." Steve sighs, "Don't just immediately throw something away just because you're not used to it. The more you stand there and think about what you want, the less she's gonna think you want it."

"I know..." "So let her know you want it."

They talk for an hour, both cozied up on their respective couches -- Bandit immediately getting in the frame and yelping at Eddie's face on the screen. The seize in Eddie's chest loosens because maybe this could be okay. Now he just has to make sure you know it.

You wake up the next morning, groggy and dry -- but thankfully not nearly as hungover as you were expecting. Your joints hurt, your stomach's a little jumbled, but no headache and that's what matters the most. You shift in his crisp sheets, turning around to see that the bed is empty next to you -- pillows and throw blanket gone with him. You slept alone. You look at your phone on the bedside table next to a full bottle of water. You chug it while you check your notifications -- 6:11 AM. If anything was true, you always woke up too early when you drank too much the night before. The water sits heavy in your belly, pressing your bladder which was already screaming for you to go to the bathroom. With a sigh you stand up, and when you do, the embarrassment of the night before settles in. Your emotional hangover.

You pad to the bathroom and pee, seeing your face in the mirror like you did the night you got rained out. Your makeup is smeared, face a little bloated -- you do your best to wash it off. The cool water feels good against your skin, still hot from the liquor and dehydration. You pat your face dry and leave the bathroom, lingering at the top of the stairs where he's laying on the couch, already awake. "G'morning," you rasp out. He perks up, head tilting up to look at you from his place in the living room. "Morning, peach," he smiles, "You feelin' okay?"

You nod, ungracefully stomping down the metal steps of the spiral staircase while you get your footing, "Your old man pills must be magic or something."

Eddie pulls back the blanket, scooching back against the cushions to make room for you to lay down next to him, "C'mere, baby."

C'mere, baby runs down your spine, making your throat catch. You make your way towards the couch, crawling in next to him. The living room is quiet, with just some early morning sun pooling into the windows -- like you two are the only people awake on the street this morning. He covers you up, wasting no time wrapping himself around you and pulling you into him, "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah," you nod into his chest, the scent of his skin mixing with the faint smell of cirtus and cedar, "Did you?" "Normally I'm fine on the couch," he says, voice grizzly and sleepy, "But I didn't sleep a wink last night." "Oh, I'm sorry. I could've slept on the couch or I --" "No, it's not that," he shakes his head, catching your gaze, "Probably would've slept better if you were next to me." Your cheeks burn, a smile splittling across your face, "Well I'm here now."

"You are," he nods, leaning up to run his thumb over the apple of your cheek where a stray piece of glitter sits. Remnants of your makeup that you couldn't wash away.

"I'm um...sorry for how I acted last night," you confess, "That's not like -- that's not how I am."

"Don't be sorry," he assures quietly, "I understand." You're both quiet for a moment, the hum of the central air fuzzing the silence between you. "You're not just for fun, peach," he says, a seriousness to his normally playful voice, "I'm sorry I made you feel like that." "I um -- I'm sorry I kind of went a little insane," you shrug, feeling small, "I didn't mean to text all those times and then come here and cry and like --" "Stop apologizing," he says, thumb grazing your lower lip to stop you, "You were just feeling a way, that's okay. I get it." He takes his thumb away, leaning down to give you a kiss that sends you reeling. Warm and soft, delicate. His hands lead his arms around you again, smiling when you reach up to cup his cheek. "I like you," Eddie smirks against your mouth. "I like you, too," you smile when he breaks away. "The deli's open on the corner if you want me to run over and get a bacon, egg, and cheese," he offers quietly. "Why do I feel like you were gonna do that anyway?" you ask in the same tone. "I was," he grins again, "I just wanted to impress you by asking." He sits up, clamboring over you to get some coffee started so it'll be done by the time he gets back. You wait patiently for him, rolling your eyes while he shoves his socked feet in his slides, leaving the house in his pajamas of a t-shirt and black joggers. You prepare the coffees, feeling domestic like you live here -- getting used to where things are already.

He comes back twenty minutes later, sighing when the air conditioning hits him as the door opens, "It's already like, 80 degrees."

"Gross," you reply, face scrunching in the way that he likes, "Coffee is ready." "Oh, thank you." His eyes glitter at the gesture, seeing that you used the same mugs from when he had you over the first time. Those are his favorites, but you'll learn that eventually. The sandwhiches are tossed on the butcher block counter where you cried last night, but your embarrassment melts away when you feel him wrap himself around you again -- like he can't get enough. "I'm playing a show on Thursday at House of Yes," he says, "They're doing a metal theme'd night." "Yeah?" you ask, hands reaching for the plastic baggy and taking out both of your sadwhiches wrapped in foil. His arms still tight around your middle while you maneuver around your kitchen. "You should come," he asks, kissing the top of your head, "I'll get you a ticket."

"I don't know if that's really my scene," you shrug, twisting in his hold to face him, "I'm not like -- I'm not cool and underground like that." "So?" he quirks his brow, "You can be cool and underground for one night to hang out with your hottie rockstar boy-toy."

"That's so gross that you described yourself that way," you laugh, pushing out of his hug and opening your sandwhich, "Like, so cringey, babe." "Babe," he repeats back to you, "I like that. You can call me 'babe' whenever you want." "Duly noted," you agree, teeth sinking into the bread of the roll and breaking into the warm and gooey center. The jumble in your stomach starting to fade away while the grease of the egg soothes it. Eddie takes his sandwhich and coffee to the living room, taking his phone off the coffee table to open up his text conversation with Steve:

she called me babe.

i literally can't even breathe right now.

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#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fluff #older!eddie munson #older!eddie #older!steve harrington #stranger things au #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic

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Subtext and Culture, Young Royals, Season 3, Episode 3

Episode 3 picks up the day after the camping trip, and Wilhelm calls his mom to check on her. She dumps a massive guilt trip on him, maybe unintentionally, and Wilhelm is feeling a little bit down.

Culture: These are Swedish studentmössor. They originated in the 1800's among Nordic university students and they wore them as a common marker. Later, they were adopted as graduation caps for high school students, signifying that they were now allowed to begin studying at a university.

Culture: Valborg, April 30th, is a traditional Swedish holiday where you celebrate the coming of spring with bonfires. It is also the start of graduation season for high school students, and graduates are allowed to start wearing their caps.

Cinematography: This season they started writing most on-screen social media commentary in English, despite those users being pretty obviously Swedish. I suspect it's because it saves them having to subtitle all of them, it makes it a bit easier for all the viewers to follow along.

Subtext: No, keeping up appearances is more important than mental health for the royal family, which is why this is new behaviour that Wilhelm has never seen before.

Subtext: As a reminder of the increased interest, here's a paparazzi intruding on school grounds. Also, where the hell is Malin? Isn't it her job to shoo away photographers?

Culture: Vintern Rasat is a classic Swedish song celebrating spring that's often performed by student singers at Valborg.

Subtext: Boris cleverly offers August individual therapy, something he sorely needs.

Subtext: It's of course a bit ironic that pretty much the entire fandom hates August and has decided that he can't be forgiven or redeemed. Yes, you, dear reader. But Boris lays out a way for August to start his redemption arc. Will it work? Tune in for next week's episode!

Culture: These usernames reek of white supremacy. Norse mythology references are very popular, and 88 means H*il H*tler, so that's the kind of people we're dealing with. The show is also foreshadowing what's gonna happen at the end of the episode.

Blink and you miss it: Linda made Pabellón, a Venezuelan dish. In season 1 we didn't know where Linda was from, but in season 2 she was canonically made as being from Venezuela, just like Omar is in real life.

Subtext: I think August actually cares, Kristina is family to him too, but Wilhelm refuses to treat him as family, so he lies about how she's doing. Not very convincingly, though.

Cinematography: This is an absolutely hilarious shot with a bunch of students anxiously peering out through the windows as the dreaded enemy arrives: Skolinspektionen! Dun-dun-dun!

Blink and you miss it: There's a rainbow flag on the board to the left.

Subtext: Vanessa totally knew she interrupted a makeout session between our boys. Oh, and there's a lot of purple in these two scenes, colour theory exploded with joy.

Subtext: Simon will be proven wrong, someone will be honest.

Subtext: It's also ironic that Simon joins the rest of the Forest Ridge boys pretending to have a great meal together that is totally not stiff and awkward at all, absolutely not.

Lost in translation: Simon Walter says that May 1st is a "röd dag" - a red day, which is how Sundays and public holidays are usually marked in a Swedish calendar. "Bank holiday" is the term used in the UK for public holidays. There are 13 public holidays in Sweden each year.

Culture: Första Maj is the name of the International Workers' Day in Sweden, because it always occurs on May 1st. In defence of Henry and Walter's shared braincell, most Swedes actually don't participate, but it's a bit weird to not even know what it is.

Subtext: This entire sequence shows how Felice's dad tried to stick up for himself, but quickly learned to keep his head down instead and conform and roll with it. And it wasn't just the other students who were racists, the staff was in on it too. This goes for all the shit the students are doing, the partying, the booze, the alcohol, the bullying: The staff is in on it. They know. They're complicit.

And despite all of this, Poppe's immediate answer when asked how his time at Hillerska was, is that it was the best time of his life. This is why schools like this stay the way they are, why they never change, because they're very good and very bad at the same time. Trauma-bonding works, the kids will all get friends for life, they'll forget the shit and remember the good times. They'll become like him.

But when Felice learns what the school did to her dad, she decides to help shut it down, to stop the cycle of abuse. The reason she goes in alone is because she now knows she can't trust her dad, he's gonna defend the school, and she also doesn't want him to know that she snitched.

Subtext: In official surveys, students from schools like this generally rate them very highly. Student satisfaction is very high. Maybe they're lying, maybe they're delusional, but they sure care more about their schools than public school students.

Blink and you miss it: REAL SUBTLE THERE, SHOW.

Subtext: Keeping with the school theme, this is how students defend the shit that goes on. Outsiders are kept in the dark, you don't tell them anything, because they "wouldn't understand", they're missing the "full context", etc. Oh, I don't know shit about fashion, but Fredrika's jacket smells very expensive.

Blink and you miss it: While Wilhelm pinned a polaroid of himself and Simon prominently on his wall, August keeps a similar polaroid of himself and Sara hidden.

Subtext: Micke's redemption arc is in full swing, so why not play a song that reinforces the idea that people can change?

Subtext: August's redemption arc is in full swing, so let's cut to him nervously waiting outside Micke's place for Sara to come home, while the same song is playing. Is he gonna be a villain forever?

Blink and you miss it: Micke introduces himself as Micke af Eriksson when August introduces himself as August Horn af Årnäs. The English subtitles for some weird reason went with "Micke Eriksson of Bjärstad", but that's actually not what he says.

Subtext: Sara is pretty realistic about her expectations of her dad because she's seen this before, but this also applies to her expectations of August, because she knows that he can also slide back into his normal shitty self. Also, she's wearing a purple sweater.

Subtext: In case you forgot, August's dad also struggled with addiction, and died from it, so he and Sara actually has that in common. Maybe there's hope for this redemption arc thing?

Cinematography: I don't fucking know why they included this baking scene. It serves no purpose, and I suspect quite a few people in the production have a serious hand fetish, because what is this? What is this? Also, why are Simon and Wilhelm joining what appears to be a Manor House thing with the rest of the girls? How? Why? This makes no sense! It's very cute, though!

Subtext: Oh ok, we got a social media pic that Sara could see and feel bad for her lost friendships. But man, those Hillerska aprons! On point!

Subtext: This is unfortunately a very common thing for people on any kind of psychoactive medication. How can you tell if you need medication if you feel good right now? Is it lasting or temporary? Can you trust your own brain? Either way, fantastic conversation between Micke and Sara, which starts her on her journey to reconcile with Felice at least.

🎵 I can change, I'm not the same, not forever. 🎵

Culture: The official hat-on-putting ceremony where all the third-year students put on their hats, set to another traditional Swedish spring celebration song: Vårvindar Friska.

Culture: It's Valborg, so Hillerska has their own little bonfire. We saw some students with torches pretending to light it, but it's actually floating in the middle of the fountain so, uh, how did they do that? Normally, your local bonfire or Majbrasa is just a huge heap of wood that you set on fire.

Cinematography: Man, this is a pretty show. Look at that shot. The fire, the sunset, the pool reflection. The end of April is over a month after the spring equinox, so the days are getting longer, and the sun now sets at about half past nine in the evenings.

Subtext: Ok, let's do one more on-the-nose lyrics thing for when August sees Sara back at school. Yes, yes, he needs her.

Culture: I had to post about it immediately after watching the episode, because setting a sex scene to Uti Vår Hage is hilarious. Everyone in Sweden knows it, most people have sung it at school, it's a cute little song about enjoying your garden, flowers, and giving your loved one a wreath of flowers. I can now never hear this song without thinking about this scene. Thanks a lot, show.

Blink and you miss it: Simon fucks Wilhelm. Yay! Versatile supremacy!

Subtext: Sara is still so suspicious of her dad's behaviour, she can't make herself trust that his current good period will last.

Subtext: Even though this dialogue is about how Simon and Sara are so different, it of course also applies to how Wilhelm and Erik were different, because Wilhelm struggles with not being able to handle his duty the same way Erik could.

Culture: Alright, it's time for the actual local Första Maj event in Bjärstad. The town is probably a bit small to have a proper demonstration parade, but there's people with banners and socialist slogans, and a bunch of local organisations have joined in, including Bjärstad BK, the football club Rosh plays in.

Culture: Meanwhile, the absolutely not socialist rich kids at Hillerska are nursing their hangovers and enjoying the day off, and they're doing some yoga and playing some padel instead. As you do.

Subtext: Drugs. He looks like he's selling drugs.

Culture: These apparently confused a bunch of viewers, but they're just raffle tickets. It's one hundred numbered, rolled up, paper tickets stuck on a metal ring. When you buy a ticket you just tear it off at the perforation, and when all tickets are sold you can just break the seal on the ring and pour all the stubs in a bag or whatever so you can draw winners.

Blink and you miss it: Cute kiddo has a pride pin on his jacket.

Lost in translation: The show waited a bit with showing what it says on the banner behind them in the photo, but if you can read Swedish you immediately saw that it says KROSSA ÖVERKLASSEN - CRUSH THE UPPER CLASSES. Oh no, Simon, what have you done?

Blink and you miss it: Like a pack of rabid wolves, the social-media starved Gen Z kids rush to their phones for an hour of glorious feeding on Instagram and TikTok.

Blink and you miss it: I love Vincent so much, he's terrible, but he's just so much fun! The little fist he makes as he says "kampen" just seals it.

Subtext: The show still hasn't revealed the banner text to the non-Swedish audience, but Wilhelm immediately sees it and knows how bad it is and why Farima tried calling him seven times. Also, Vincent is just on a roll here.

Cinematography: Man, this is a pretty show. Look at that shot. Look at how they perfectly aligned the hole in the window with Simon, the police car, and the entrance to their house, as he discovers that someone decided to vandalize it.

#young royals #young royals subtext #young royals analysis #young royals season 3

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achelouise · 20 days

Text

Lies, mysteries, and tricks

Fandom: Honkai Starail

Pairing: Sunday/Gen!reader, MENTIONED Gallagher/reader

Warnings: Spoilers for 2.1! Very toxic, from both sides, I think? Maybe OOC Sunday.

Summary: You learn about Robin's death, and rush to console Sunday. He isn't the thing you should be worrying about, though.

A/N: It's been a while! Came back to write this, because I couldn't stop thinking about this idea. It's rushed, and it's not really well-written, and it's short. Please forgive me~ (I am obsessed with Gallagher rn, so if anyone has any ideas I would love to hear and write about them :D (I still don't know how to properly use tumblr btw))

“Sunday? Are you in there?”

No answer. You drum your fingers against your sides nervously.

“Sunday, can we talk? Please?”

Still no answer. Your heart beats widely in your chest.

You ignore your thunderous heart as you slowly push the doors of the mansion open. The creaking doors echo and bounce along the empty halls, revealing a giant room, devoid of any light. A luxurious bed, dorned with lights and gems and painted with beautiful colors, is tucked away at the very side of the room. Sunday’s bedroom.

The factions had established that, other than the man himself, Sunday’s blood-related family, along with his spouse, would have access to it. Sunday himself had no permission to grant access to anyone, so you are surprised when the bellhop simply glanced at you and let you in without protest.

You could only guess it was because you two were close friends, and they were used to seeing you enter the Pavilion as children. Still, to enter his bedroom must be a breach in security…

But he wasn’t in any other room you could find. Time was slipping, lives were being lost, and you needed to find him. Fast.

You’re not exactly in the know. Most things you know, only Gallagher has told you. But you know full well that Sunday needs support.

“Sunday, please. I know I haven’t visited in… a while. I know what happened, and I’m sorry. Let’s work this out together. Don’t run away. Please?”

Only your echoes answer.

You were rambling to yourself at this point, desperation climbing further and further up to your chest. You have seen what Sunday does when he loses those he loves- and you want to help him. You don’t ever want to see him like that again. Never again.

You glance at the papers scattered on his desk. Maybe they have some information on where he went. He likes to rant in diaries.

You close your eyes, and pray to whatever Aeon you follow.

Forgive my sins for ever trespassing privacy to this extent.

You don’t exactly have a clear mind when you start to rummage through the papers that endured wear and tear. You start to read some.

How could she do this?

It’s fine. It’s fine. Itsfineitsfineitsfineitsfineitsfine

Robin. Dear Aeons, Robin.

When I find the traitor I will make them pay in blo o d

Please don’t leave me please

Please please please please pleasepleas e

Your stomach drops. Poor Sunday.

Something else catches your eye, though. A soft reflection of a photo, pinned at the corner of the widespread desk. You lean over to take a good look at it.

You bite your lip so hard it nearly breaks skin. But even that dulls in comparison to the piles and piles of photos- all of them just you and Gallagher.

There are a wide range of those photos; from you two sitting across each other in the Dreamjolt Hostelry, to your hands linked together, faces flushed and smiles bright. All of them, with Gallagher’s face crossed out with glaring, red circles.

How dare he HOW DARE HE HOW DARE HE

HE DID IT HE KILLED HER HE TOOK HER I WILL MAKE HIM PAY

The words are jagged and rough, as if he had barely managed to carve it out with his bare hands. It is a gigantic contrast to the sweet and elegant cursives he writes in his letters to you. It almost made you believe it wasn’t even Sunday who wrote this.

But you’re not stupid. You swallow the bile down your throat as your stomach churns with heightened fear and uncertainty. Sunday is a clever man, which makes him infinitely more dangerous.

Admittedly, he is far more unhinged than the public understands. You’ve never had a problem with it- only crazy can recognize crazy, and that was probably how he uncovered the plan of that gambler.

This doesn’t work in your favor, though. You don’t want to know what it means when he directs this insanity towards you.

You turn to leave.

“Ah, you found me.”

A hand shoots out to grip your arm, and you have no time to react. Shock, as quick as it comes, is slow to settle down. You try to scream.

“Oh Triple-Faced Soul, please seal this traitor's tongue and palms with a hot iron, so that the traitor will not be able to fabricate lies and make false vows.”

No.

Your whole body goes cold. You feel it- the soft waves of Harmony pulsing in your head, trapping your tongue and seeing through your eyes. You had seen its effect- seen how it slaughters and breaks those who disobey. But to receive this kind of treatment yourself…

You finally process the dangerous situation you’re in, and wrench free from his grasp. You regain your stance as you stumble backwards, a question on the tip of your tongue. “Why?”

Sunday looks… off. His clothes are askew, his eyebags more apparent without the illusion of Harmony, and a smile, out of place and out of his mind. He chuckles, far too gentle, so much so that it sends shivers down your spine.

“You know how this goes, don’t you?” he coos, berating and condescending. “Answer my questions truthfully, or suffer the rejection of the Harmony.”

“Why would I ever lie to you?” you ask, “What is there even to ask?”

His eye twitches. His voice drops an octave, laced with poison and jealousy. “You know perfectly well what I mean.”

He breathes in, regaining his footing as the questions begin. “Are you interested in Gallagher? Is he interested in you?”

You think of him. A few hours ago, he insisted he came along to find Sunday with you. You’re starting to regret that decision. “Yes- and, I… I think so.”

Sunday tsks. “Do you know what he is? What it is?”

You cross your arms. “No. He is not human, but I am not exactly a young damsel in distress myself.”

“Do you not understand? That that man is nothing but a memetic entity, with thousands of truths woven together as a lie? Do you not know that the man you hold hands with killed Robin in cold blood? Why would you want to be with a foul beast like him?”

You are taken aback at the venom in Sunday’s tone. He isn’t even hiding it anymore. His breathing is ragged, and his eyes are blown wide.

“I… didn’t.” you admit, far too overwhelmed by his genuine frustration to confirm the validity in his claims.

Sunday suddenly withdrawals, as if sensing he has taken you off guard. He draws himself to his full height, casting a shadow with the light outside in the halls. The pulses in your head die out, as if they were never there.

“You are being tricked, dearest. He is not the man you think he is. He is a monster, a murderer, that serves under a shameful stain. Join me, in the pursuit of the Watchmaker. We can make all of them pay in blood.”

He rants, and you feel your heart sink. He is unstable because of this recent loss, but he has clearly not lost his mind. There is still rhyme and reason to what he does.

“My past? Hah, let’s not get into that just yet. I’ll tell you- someday.”

You glance down at the hand he offers you. His gaze is tender, but far too fragile. His lips are quivering, a silent plea.

You want to reject him. You want to scream at him, punch him, and run away, as far as possible. Gallagher had promised he would explain himself one day, and you had not mentally prepared yourself to know.

But given the unstable state he was in, it is unwise to simply respond with violence.

You reach out for his hand- only for a blade, dark and violet laced with gold, piercing from his stomach. Blue liquid pours from his gut, and this time, you truly do scream.

You don’t hear anything. The withdrawal of the blade is defeated by the look of despair and shock in Sunday’s eyes. He reaches for your hand, in a blind desperation- only to dissipate at the softest graze into a sea of bubbles.

Your heart thunders in your ribcage. A silent dread washes over you, and you hear your breaths grow shorter.

A lighter goes out.

Strong, warm arms envelop you.

A voice, low and gruff, tells you that it’s going to be okay. The voice hovers over your ear, gentle and sweet, almost fabricated to ghost over your ear in a way you can’t refuse. You don’t respond, though, as you feel a sharp cut to your neck, and you’re out like a light.

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr gallagher #hsr sunday #sunday x reader #sunday x you #gallagher x reader #gallagher x you #hsr gallagher x reader

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goldenamaranthe-blog · 25 days

Text

Happy Easter: Dysfuctional Family

Charlie: (blowing a kazoo through the hotel while wearing white bunny ears and tail, carrying an Easter basket, and throwing bright colored and decorated eggs everywhere)

HAPPY EASTER, EVERYONE!!!

Hazbins: (groan collectively)

Vaggie: (slightly distracted by the tail) Hun, love the enthusiasm, but do you even know the purpose of Easter Sunday is?

Charlie: (cracks open a Cadbury egg and siphons out the innards with her tongue) Isn't it just an excuse to binge on chocolate and snuggle fluffy little bunnies and ducklings?

Angel: (clutches his pearls in ex-Catholic Italian horror) Mama Mia!

Lucifer: *Squeeeeee!* I'll be right back!

Vaggie: I guess that's a more corporate way to put it.

Angel: That's IT!!! I'm making my Mama's Italian Easter Bread! Charlie, you need to be schooled on Easter!

Alastor: Hmmm... I suppose if we're doing a full celebration, I can do a little something to liven things up. (Snaps his fingers, and everyone's clothes are transformed into various colored Bunny footie pajamas)

Charlie: (wearing hot pink bunny jammies and twirls) Oooooh! These are so cuuuute!

Vaggie: (in pastel lavender pajamas and snarling) Cabron!

Angel: (sneaky smirk as he wears a pastel pink and white two-piece pajama suit) Oh, Smiiiiiiles?

Alastor: (simply wearing red bunny ears) No.

Angel: C'mon! Hear me out! (Whispers in Alastor's ear)

Alastor: Hmmmmm.... I'll allow it! (Snaps his fingers again)

Vaggie: (baggy bunny jammies suddenly transform into a black and velvet purple, Las Vegas Showgirl bunny suit with white tail and ears, fishnets, and heels with purple wrist cuffs)

Angel: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! LOOKING GOOD, VAGS!!!!

Vaggie: (growls and tries to cover herself) FUCKING-A, ANGEL!!! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU TELL HIM?!?!?!

Angel: Does it matter? I don't have a soul to sell. (Sees Charlie) Ha! Might wanna focus on your girlfriend, Toots.

Vaggie: What? (Looks at Charlie)

Charlie: (blushing, heart eyes, panting like a puppy, and her pajamas turned into a similar Showgirl suit but red with fox ears and tail)

Vaggie: Ch-Charlie? Charlie! No. No! Charlotte Morningstar, we are in front of guests! Shit! (Runs down the hallway)

Charlie: (hearts explode around her head) Hippity-Hoppity, that ass is my property! (Gives chase)

...........

Vaggie: (rounds back around the corner while carrying Charlie bridal style) Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Lucifer: (rides in on a tidal wave of fluff infused rubber duckies while wearing yellow ducky footie pajamas with orange webbed feet) RELEASE THE QUACKEN!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Alastor: (sighs in aroace exhaustion as a random rubber duck bounces off his head)

Angel: (slowly calming down as he wipes a tear from his eye) It's just like home~

#happy easter #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel incorrect quotes #dysfunctional family #big brother angel #moderator middle child vaggie #youngest sibling charlie #uncle alastor #bunny suit #vaggie #angel #charlie #lucifer #alastor #release the quacken #thirsty charlie #semi feral charlie #bunny suit vaggie #fox suit charlie

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roosterforme · 6 months

Text

Always Ever Only You Part 16 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You're convinced you and Bradley could go on the same date a million times over, and you would find something new to love about it each time. You don't want the weekend to come to an end, but at least you get to enjoy time with a favorite visitor on Sunday evening.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, smut, pregnancy discussion

Length: 5000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

Bradley was dressed and lounging back on the pillows with his arms tucked behind his head. You were getting ready to go out, and he was thoroughly enjoying watching you put on your red lingerie. His favorite set.

"We could just stay in," he murmured as you clasped your bra and rolled your eyes. Your face was made up and you were standing at the foot of the bed wearing barely anything at all. "We should just stay in."

You scoffed and said, "You should let Tramp out so we can leave in twenty minutes. I want to eat hot sauce with my sexy husband."

"Fine," Bradley sighed with a smile, pausing in the doorway to watch you slip your red dress over your head. The same one you wore on your first date together. The one Bradley loved you in every time you wore it. And then he walked through the kitchen to let Tramp outside. Your new French press was on the counter along with the half unpacked Amazon box that neither of you had time to get to all week. But he reached inside and pulled out one of his new notebooks and took a pen out of the drawer.

Bradley had been working late all week for various reasons. He'd missed a lot while he was deployed. Plus the Slayer and Dean court-martial was moving ahead. And also, Maverick had offered him the chance to meet some pilots fresh out of flight school with the promise that Bradley could help with some training exercises in the coming months. He was tired. Next month was his thirty-seventh birthday. He was feeling his age.

He clicked the pen in his hand and opened the notebook to the first page.

My wife does this thing, and it drives me absolutely wild. When I tell her I'm tired or point out a gray hair in my mustache or mention that I've been feeling my age, she just laughs at me. Sure, I can still run ten miles and lift weights for hours on end, but she can wear me out in an instant. Emotionally, mentally, or physically. She can say one sentence to me like, "I want to go eat hot sauce with my sexy husband," and I am emotionally tanked for the rest of the day. Because I fucking believe her. She actually does want to eat her favorite food with me. And she actually does think I'm sexy. And she's too smart, so trying to keep up with her mentally drains me every single time. And physically... Well. That's where she manages to

"You ready to go, Roo?" you asked, walking into the kitchen looking exactly like you had more than a year and a half ago when you and he were just starting to fall in love. Well, he was already half in love with you by the time that first date rolled around. And by the end of the night, he was a goner.

"What's wrong?" you asked, reaching out for his hand with a little crease between your eyebrows.

"Nothing," he rasped as his eyes dipped down to your cleavage. "Just thinking about how I don't even have to try to play it cool tonight, unlike on our first date." He leaned down and kissed your lips softly and then added, "You look fucking incredible."

"I don't care what you say, we're not staying in for the night," you whispered, running your fingers along his tattoo and pulling him in for a kiss that was clearly at odds with your words.

"Whatever you say, Sweetheart," Bradley replied. He let Tramp back inside and then walked out to the Bronco with your hand in his. And then he got to do one of his favorite things. He opened the door for you, helped you climb in, and buckled your seatbelt. But as he started to pull his right hand away from your body, you caught it and held him close.

"Hey," you whispered. "I don't have to try to play it cool tonight either."

"No?" he asked, his eyes fluttering closed as your lips met his.

"No. I love you so much," you replied. "And I would go on the same date with you a million times, because each time would be a little different, and I know I would remember them all."

Bradley could feel goosebumps on your arm, and your eyes looked a little vulnerable. Last time you and he had visited the hot sauce restaurant and the pier from your first date, it had been on your birthday. And you cried that night. A lot. Because you wanted to be pregnant, but you weren't. He briefly wondered how many other times you'd cried for that reason that he didn't even know about.

He wanted a baby. He still did. But it wasn't his top priority. He understood now how much you'd let it hurt you month after month. And it wasn't the same for him. He knew that now. And he didn't want you to feel like you were failing yourself, your relationship or him ever again. Because you weren't. You were more than enough.

"I remember every minute I've ever spent with you, Sweetheart. And I dream about it when I'm deployed. And I want to have decades of stuff to remember."

"Just keep feeding me hot sauce."

"I fucking plan on it."

-------------------------

The ride up to Del Mar was beautiful. The sky faded from orange to purple as Bradley drove and sang along to his Motown playlist with his hand on your thigh. You thought about how you had a panic attack on your birthday after the negative pregnancy tests, but the memory of it didn't hurt as much now.

"What are you thinking about, Baby Girl?"

You glanced at your husband out of the corner of your eye as he parallel parked the Bronco in front of the restaurant. "Honestly?"

He met your eyes briefly as he straightened out the tires. "Yeah, honestly."

"I still want to have a baby, Roo," you said easily, this time without your heart aching. "I still think about it. But it doesn't make me upset like it used to."

He killed the engine, and coaxed you over to his lap. "Come here." When you were settled on him with your hands on his shoulders, he kissed you. "I still think about it, too. I still want it. But not at the expense of this," he added, gesturing between his body and yours before he let his big hand settle on your hip. "I don't want anything at the expense of this."

You took a deep breath and nodded. "Neither do I. And I know we agreed we can talk about this at length in a few more months, but I don't want to stop trying. And if there's still something wrong after a year, maybe we can talk to some doctors?"

"There's nothing wrong with us, okay? There's never going to be anything wrong. But if we still don't get pregnant, there are other options," he told you gently. "Like... fertility treatment or adoption agencies. But whatever we do, it's 50/50. We do it together. And I promise I'll take care of you better than I did before."

You were silent for a beat, because these were things you'd already thought about. "Yeah?"

He nodded. "I'm just saying, if we want a baby, there are other ways to make it happen. But I'm never going to stop wanting to fuck you, so don't think for a second that we're taking that off the table."

You shook with silent laughter before your giggles bubbled over. "Okay, we won't take that off the table, Roo."

He kissed your cheek and said, "Keep your pussy on the table." But he was laughing too, and you felt really good inside. His hands were heavy on your hips, and his lips were nipping at your neck. "Just let me feed you hot sauce and love you, and then we'll figure the rest out later if we even need to. I wanna give it a little more time, okay? Some more time with you off birth control. Some more time with us just being us. Like this."

"Yes," you agreed. "This is perfect. This feels good."

Now he was rubbing his mustache along your cleavage, and you knew you needed to get him inside the restaurant while you still could. "I'm hungry," you whispered.

"Me too," he agreed with a smirk.

"For dinner," you clarified with a laugh.

When you finally got him inside the restaurant, you could hear his stomach growling, so you didn't feel too bad. "Order two meals you want to try, Baby Girl," he said casually once you were seated.

You loved it when he let you do that, which was most of the time. And he always let you finish whichever one you liked better. And he never complained. You could feel his eyes on your body when you walked around to look at all the hot sauces on the shelves. Every time you glanced at him across the restaurant, he gave you a little nod or a wink. And there was no doubt in your mind that you were just as attracted to him now as you were the first time you were here.

When you brought some that you wanted to try back to your table, a brand new bottle of your favorite green sauce was sitting next to your favorite beer. "How am I supposed to deal with you, Bradley?"

"It's your favorite. And it's a tradition."

You laughed. "You bought me a whole case of 12 bottles online."

"You go through a bottler per week."

"That's actually fair."

Then your meals were delivered to the table, and you doused both of them in a rainbow of sauces and started eating. The two of you ended up sharing both meals, because you couldn't decide which one you liked better. And that one beer made you feel calm, and now Bradley's cheeks were rosy. After your conversation in the Bronco and the past week with him, you felt like all of the weight and pressure you put on yourself was easing up.

After dinner, you were laughing as he led you down the sidewalk with his arm wrapped around your waist. And you couldn't keep your hands off him either. "Why are we passing the Bronco? We should go home."

"Not yet," he whispered in your ear.

You gasped. "Are we going back to the silent disco?"

"Well," he rasped, looking at you with a wince. "Not exactly. I've been trying to get you back there for one, but they always seem to be when I'm deployed. But I had another idea. Let's walk down the pier."

You snorted. "You just want a handjob."

"Please," he replied, leading you across the street and down the pier. "Give me a little credit. I don't just want a handjob."

"Well that's good, because there are a lot of people out tonight," you whispered as he spun you around so your back was pressed against the railing and you were looking up at his face. "You're really handsome."

His cheeks were still rosy, but you thought perhaps your words had deepened the color. You ran your fingers along his scarred neck and across his cheek and into his hair. His eyes closed as he enjoyed your touch, and you studied him closely. He looked a little older than when you met him, with a few gray hairs here and there and maybe another wrinkle or two on his face. He'd been through a lot since then. He had the scars on his arm to prove it. But you didn't want to add emotional scars; he had plenty of those already. You just let him melt into your right hand as your left rested on his chest, and you looked at your diamond ring.

It was yours now, but sometimes you still thought of it as Carole Bradshaw's ring. Not in a bad way. Just as a form of recognition. It felt like an honor that you were wearing something so special. Maybe that was thanks in part to the words Bradley had read to you from his notebook. His recent thoughts and musings. But it was clear that some things were more important than others.

"I love you," he murmured, eyes still closed. "Are you ready for your newest playlist?"

"What is it?" you asked, his question pulling you back to the pier and the grin on his face.

"Just a little something I've been thinking about and finally put together." He pulled his earbuds out of his pocket and held one up for you to take. Then he tucked the other one in his own ear and kissed your nose. "It's all the songs I can remember from the silent disco. Plus what we listened to in the car that night. Oh, and a surprise track. Because I know you'll think it's funny."

Your heart swelled as you slid the earbud into place, and a few seconds later, the Cher song that played at the silent disco was on. And your heart was beating a little faster. And you couldn't stop smiling. "You really remembered all the songs we heard that night?"

Bradley shrugged. "I may have missed some. We'll add them if you remember more, okay?"

"I love this," you gasped, throwing your arms around his neck. "I love you."

He kissed your jaw and whispered, "I told you... I remember every minute I've spent with you. Or at least the way you've made me feel at any given time. Maybe the memories of some of the songs are a little hazy for me, but I remember how fucking good you made me feel that night. And how I was proud to be there with you. I still feel that way."

"Fuck, Bradley. You can't make me cry while Britney Spears is playing."

He laughed. "Okay. Let's dance then."

-----------------------

It was dark out. The other people who had been enjoying the view of the ocean from the pier had dissipated. An orange glow from the scattered lampposts softly lit your face like a dream. Bradley had taken to singing all the songs to you, just to hear you laugh and sing along yourself. The random mix of pop songs and '80s ballads and romantic Motown tunes kept a smile on your face. You laughed when Hey Soul Sister played, and you threatened to text Nat. And the whole time, Bradley held you close with his hands at your hips and waist.

"Oh," he said when the music went silent. "That's the end of the playlist."

"It's over?" you asked, leaning back against the railing and looking up at him longingly. You removed your earbud and handed it back to him.

"Baby Girl, it was almost three hours long," he informed you with a laugh.

You tipped your head back and groaned. "It was perfect." Then you gasped softly as his lips found the pretty expanse of your neck and chest which were on display for him. He was sucking gently on your collarbone as you said, "I knew I was in trouble after the first time you brought me here. You were so sincere that night."

Bradley hummed against your warm skin. "I was already thinking about spending the rest of my life with you."

"No! Stop it. We had just met." Your voice sounded breathy as he drew little shapes along your dress with his thumbs, your head still tipped back.

"Didn't matter. Already knew."

Your hands slid up from his shoulders into his hair, and he nibbled along the tops of your breasts as you made the sweetest little sounds. Your nipples were tight peaks against the fabric of your dress, and when Bradley ran his lips lower to feel you, he groaned. The texture of your lace bra filled his imagination with possibilities.

You tilted your head up, and when he met your eyes, you had the audacity to look surprised. "You're hard, Roo."

He raised one eyebrow at you, just short of rolling his eyes. "Listen... when two people love each other very, very much..."

Your laughter filled him. "Oh, is that how this works? You know, that sentence can be interpreted a lot of ways."

He had to close his eyes as you gently squeezed his length through his jeans. "It's how it works with you." He huffed out a breath when you licked his ear and added, "You make me greedy. I want everything."

You hummed softly as you unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. Bradley glanced around to make sure you and he were truly alone as you whispered, "Then let's have everything. Even if it takes some time."

"I love that," he groaned as your cool hand dipped inside his boxer briefs and closed around him. One stroke and he was putty in your hands.

"And we'll start with the handjob that I was seriously contemplating giving you on our first date."

"Oh fuck, Sweetheart. You're too much." Bradley bucked against your belly as you ran your thumb along his balls. He'd let you go a little further with this, but then he was taking you home for the night. Just a little more. Each stroke was incredible as he kissed your lips.

But when you started asking him questions, he should have known he was in trouble. Because you always got unbridled information out of him when you put him in situations like this. "What do you want for your birthday, Roo?"

He was watching your hand pass over his tip as he grunted, "Another sexy calendar."

"That can be arranged," you said sweetly. "And how do you feel about me starting to save up some money for a first anniversary trip?"

"Do it," he growled as you rubbed at his precum with your thumb. But then he wrenched his hips away, and your eyes were transfixed on his cock as it leapt for you.

"You don't want to finish here?" you asked, your eyes moving up his body to his face as you licked him from your thumb.

After he zipped himself carefully back in his jeans, he said, "I don't want to ruin your dress, and I don't want to get arrested. Let's go home." He didn't even wait for you to respond. He just turned and picked you up for a piggy back ride back to the Bronco.

The drive home was similar to that very first date. After you kissed him while he fumbled with your seat belt trying buckle you in, he turned on another playlist before he started the engine. But this time he was driving to the house that you shared, not the apartment you used to live in with Maria. And he didn't have to leave you for the night to prove to himself that he could, and that maybe he was good enough. He was your husband now, and you had deemed him good enough for you.

Bradley's hand was gripping your thigh as he saw the craftsman down the block. As soon as he was pulling into the driveway, you were crawling toward him, and he barely had the Bronco in park before you were straddling his thighs.

"I want you in every way." That sentence was the best example of how you wore him out emotionally. It was fucking beautiful, and he could spend all night just thinking about it. But you were kissing him now, and he was already aroused again as he finally turned the key in the ignition.

"You own me." You really seemed to love that response as your lips stayed gentle on his and your hand drifted down his body to his zipper again. It was so dark outside, even in the neighborhood, but Bradley could see the question in your eyes as you pulled back a little bit. Maybe you wanted to make sure he wanted this, too. Maybe you wanted him inside you instead of anything else. He just wanted to be with you. "Anything you want, Sweetheart."

"Okay."

He shimmied his jeans and underwear down his hips, lifting you up as well with a soft laugh. Then you took his hands in yours and guided them slowly up under your dress. He was treated to the sight of you unzipping your dress and unclasping your bra and pulling them down so he could see your pretty tits and peaked nipples. But then his hands froze under your dress.

"You changed your underwear. Earlier tonight. After I left the bedroom."

Your laughter had your tits bouncing just enough to distract Bradley and lure his lips to them.

"Oh!" you gasped as he sucked on you. "I did. I know you like the red ones, but I wanted these instead. Do you know which ones they are?"

That was a ridiculous question, and you knew it. He ran his thumb up your slit and could feel the satin fabric and the fancy embroidered letters as you bucked. He sucked harder until you called out his name and braced your hands on his shoulders. You were wearing the underwear you had specially made for the honeymoon.

"Of course I know, Mrs. Bradshaw."

"You passed the test!"

Bradley tugged your panties to the side and thrust up into you in one fluid motion until he bottomed out. "That's a test I will always pass."

Your hands were scrambling around his neck as you leaned in closer and kissed him. He led your hips in a slow roll with his hands on your ass and whispered, "Just. Like. That."

You kept the pace going, already panting softly as he brought one hand back up to your tits. His other fingers trailed around your hip, and he tucked them inside the front of your panties. As soon as he brushed your clit with his knuckle, you whined for him. "Daddy."

It had been a while since he heard you call him that. And fuck if he didn't love it. But you looked almost surprised that you'd said it out loud, eyes wide as you rode him.

"I fucking love it when you call me that," he crooned as he pinched your nipple. Your pussy was already fluttering around him as you kept that perfect tempo. Bradley pressed his mouth to yours as you babbled incoherently, and it was just a lost cause as you raked your fingers through his hair. He came inside you as he kept pressing his knuckle to your clit.

"Come on, Sweetheart," he coaxed as your movements sped up and then slowed as your cries echoed inside the Bronco. Then your lips were all over his before you abruptly broke away.

Your voice was a sweet little gasp as you said, "Don't make a mess on the upholstery."

With a laugh rumbling deep in his chest, Bradley opened the door and lifted you down from the driver's seat. "Just one of the many reasons we're married."

--------------------------

You and Bradley were lounging in bed on Sunday morning, and he was doing a really poor job of making you want to leave to meet Cam and Maria for brunch.

"Aren't you supposed to be golfing today?" you asked with a laugh as he pinned your wrists over your head on the pillow.

"Yep," he replied softly. "Supposed to meet Jake, Javy and Bob in less than an hour."

You sighed as his lips met the underside of your breast. "Shouldn't you be getting dressed then?"

"I'd rather go for round three and then drink champagne in the bathtub with you."

Now that did sound nice. The weekend had been so much fun. Going up to the hot sauce restaurant had been perfect. You were exhausted all over from having sex and taking Tramp on long beach walks and staying up too late watching movies last night. And Bradley finished reading his notebook to you and promised he'd start from the beginning all over again. Frankly, you could use a nap already, so you weren't really sure how Bradley was doing so well at the moment.

"I'm supposed to go to brunch," you whispered, and Bradley rolled off of you with a groan.

"I'll get side eye for a month from Maria and Cam if you don't go," he said. "So I guess I'll just go play golf."

"We can do round three later," you promised, kissing his ear as you climbed out of bed and started to get ready. "You want me to bring you back some avocado toast?" you asked with a smile.

He made a disgusted face. "You know I hate that stuff. I'll just day drink and eat protein bars like a normal person until you feed me dinner."

"If I decide to feed you dinner later."

Bradley's face looked panicked. "You have to. Please? Sweetheart," he called, springing out of bed and following you to the bathroom. "Please?"

"You're ridiculous, Bradley. Go get a pack of chicken out of the freezer, and I'll make you some Marry Me Rooster tonight."

"Thank you." He kissed you so long and so passionately, you actually felt a little dizzy when he walked out of the room. "He's ridiculous," you muttered as you pressed your fingertips to your lips.

When you finally made it to brunch fifteen minutes late, Cam was glaring at you. "Maria wouldn't let me order anything until you got here. And I'll just bet you're late because Lieutenant Commander Mustache was doing something nasty to you."

You burst into laughter as you slid into the booth next to him. "I mean... I was just helping him with his golf clubs."

"The two of you are fucking filthy," he replied, flagging down the waitress while you and Maria laughed.

Brunch with the two of them was always fun, and you were on your second mimosa when Bradley texted you.

Bradley Rooster Bradshaw <3 <3 <3: Jake wants to know if we can watch Jeremiah tonight if he can manage to get Cat to agree to go to a movie. I told him I had to check with the boss. He laughed and said he should have just texted you instead of asking me... oh wait, I think he's texting you now. Why did I even bother? And then you got a text from Jake asking very nicely if he and Cat could drop Jeremiah off later on their way to a movie. You told them both yes, and when you got home from brunch, you started to clean up the living room. You found your underwear from last night on the coffee table, and your bra was draped over the arm of the couch.

"Don't look at me like that," you told Tramp. "We were just having a good time, okay?" Then you smiled, because you knew that your pup was going to love licking crumbs off of the one year old visitor and following him around the room. "Your friend is coming over. I expect you to be well behaved."

-----------------------------

"He's just so fucking cute."

"Roo! Stop swearing in front of the child!"

Bradley looked up at you from all fours on the living room floor. "Isn't he too young for it to matter?" he asked in all seriousness.

You were gaping at him like he was an idiot, and he started laughing. "The last thing I need is Cat mad at me because his first word is the f-word."

Bradley rolled his eyes. "If he doesn't learn it from me, then I'm sure he'll learn it from Jake."

"Yeah, well that's Jake's problem," you muttered, ducking back into the kitchen to check on dinner.

Bradley scooped Jeremiah up and said, "You're so freaking cute. Is that better?" The little bubble of laughter he got in response was most likely a yes, so he just went with it. "Let's see here. It's almost dinner time. And then I'll bet my hot wife will read us that book about trucks that you liked so much."

"I'll read it now," you said as you walked back into the room. "Dinner is not quite ready yet."

"Hell yes, she's going to read it to us now," Bradley said as he and Jeremiah crawled across the floor to the diaper bag where the book was stashed. He unzipped it and watched the kid reach in and pull everything out including the book. "Nice work. But my knees can't take much more."

With a groan, Bradley scooped him and the book up and carried them to the couch where you were sitting with Tramp. And you looked calm and relaxed as you held the child on your lap and opened the book. Your voice was so sweet, and you were so beautiful, Bradley noticed that Jeremiah seemed more interested in you than the story at times. And it made him smile, because that was pretty much the same way he always looked at you, too.

But he was done stressing about all of it. Bradley was in love with you, and the weekend was everything he wanted. Having a kid like Jeremiah all to yourselves would be a cherry on top of an already perfect life. And if you and he were both still keen on the idea next year, there were options to be discussed at length.

Bradley let himself hope, just the tiniest bit, that maybe you and he would get lucky before then. But he wouldn't drown in that hope like he had before. And he wouldn't let that hope overshadow how great things were right now. But he wouldn't abandon it either. He laughed as he thought about how insightful his notebook entry was going to be later tonight after Jeremiah got picked up.

"Should I read it again?" you asked, looking up at Bradley.

He kissed your cheek. "At least one more time, Sweetheart. We can't get enough of your voice."

You smiled as he and Jeremiah settled in to hear the favorite story again.

------------------------------

The perfect date to do over and over. Little Jeremiah is too sweet, I'm just hoping Cat and Jake are enjoying themselves, too. Just hang in there guys... Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 17

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circeius-invidioso · 27 days

Text

I do not get why the Red Corsairs are not a popular choice.

Like.

Like here is the elevator pitch for the warband and then we can come to some justified conclusion.

What isn't there to love?

You want me to turn into an infomencial and make a top 3 reasons why the Red Corsairs are great?

Cause I can.

And I will.

The Diverse Working Enviroment

Here in the Red Corsairs we might have started as Ultramarines but the barrier for entry is on the floor. So anyone can join.

You are Night Lord with a bad rep and no ship.

Buckle up we got you covered.

You are a Fallen and have 20 Dark Angels all up in yo business? Trying to shoot down the boss babe you are?

Fear not, or in our case. Know no Fear. We are strapped and don't get clapped.

You are a traitor that likes their Legion but sadly you got in our way?

Tough luck buddy, you will join or die and your geene seed will join our cause. Nothing personal battle brother. Just business as usual.

Everyone is welcome as long as they follow Huron's guidelines and don't aggitate the topless sweaty Khorne worshipping Ultramarines in the basement.

Sustainability

Unlike the corrupt Imperium of man and the corpse Emperor our leader is powered by miracles (which is trully a miracle how he survived but that on the next section), and we use 0 psyckers to power our crap.

Our carbon footprint is also minimum as we use salvaged goods and don't indulge in toxic industries that destroy worlds.

The Red Corsair base of operation is in the Eye of Terror and from there we expand our scope. A place greatly known for its constant shifts, and horrible conditions but the tan our serfs have are spectacullar from all that cosmic radiation.

Finally we are commited to recycling. As in we take from our victims benefactors and put those stolen goods to some great use. Nothing goes to waste, neither mortal, nor static object. If something is not nailed on the floor we will take it.

In fact we might take the floor too and the nails used to set it in place.

Nothing goes to waste!

Unmatched Leadership

Last, but certainly not least.

The man.

The myth.

The Legend.

Huron Blackheart.

Aka Lufgt Huron.

Aka what would happen if we gave a compressed Guilliman a daemonic familiar and left him to ferment in a warp storm.

Not only the name is so edgy you might cut yourself by saying it out loud. But also it's complex enough that if you say it quickly three times without twisting your tongue theres is a chance furniture might start levitating.

The man has put his Ultramarine brain to use and amased enough influence and power to put the Black Legion to shame.

Huron went from 0 to 100 in no time, he is a self made Warmaster. With no daddy issues or troubles in the world, he goes into battle blasting Alestorm in the voxxcasters.

He does not care.

He probably wears this when he wants to relax.

You think he cares?

He does not care.

He has a biker gang specifically organized to hunt down those who have betrayed him.

They slap those things on their armors not for the usual biker reason

(which fun fact the meaning is, 99% of the bikers are law-abiding, where the 1% are not. That's where the 1% comes from. The more you know 🌈)

no they wear that 1% because that's how high are your chances of escaping from them are.

Is that a bit extreme?

Yes.

You think he cares?

He does not care.

The dude once gathered his buddies and decided...

to you know. Have a casual outing. Nothing too serious, it was a sunday afteral.

So they decided on.

Kidnapping Guilliman.

Which they almost did if not for a Fallen of all people getting in the way.

But still.

The mad lad took Macragge's Honour and went on a joyride/ mini civil war.

Who in the galaxy can turn and say.

Yeah, I stole Macragge's Honour, almost captured my old Primarch. Told a daemon prince they are irrelevant on my way there. Anyway after crushing a fool who thought he could take my crown as king of the space pirates, I went to the home planet of the White Scars and kidnapped and tortured their Chapter Master. What did you do this week? 💅

Who wouldn't want to be a part of that?

You tell me I can be an immortal, gorgeous chaos Ultramarine goth boy going on pirate adventures across the galaxy?

Where do I sign up?

I don't need ink for a signature.

I will use my own blood.

#warhammer #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k #wh40k #shitpost #red corsairs #chaos ultramarines #chaos space marines #games workshop #black library #huron is the chaos ultramarines representation we deserve

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vivwritesfics · 16 days

Text

Military Flyover

The dagger squad don't want to do a military flyover of the Las Vegas grand Prix. None of them really knew much about and, those that did only really knew about Nascar.

She hated the Vegas Grand Prix as much as those doing the military flyover. But the cute WSO there to support his friends was making it bearable.

Robert 'Bob' Floyd x F1 driver!reader

5.6K

a/n: yes a military flyover doesn't make sense for vegas buuuut let a girl dream lol - i'm hoping I've managed to write this for an audience that might not really know f1 but idk how confident i am in my abilities lol

Bob couldn't quite believe what the two time Top Gun graduates were having to do. They had completed an insanely dangerous mission and returned to be permanently stationed in San Diego, except from when they were called away for deployment.

They were a part of the military, why were they doing this?

Well, at least Bob didn't have to actually fly. He was a Weapon Systems Officer, he didn't have to take part in this. But he still went, more to morally support his squad.

Nat wasn't happy about have to do a military flyover of the Las Vegas Grand Prix. She, Bradley and Jake were constantly complaining. None of them knew anything about Formula One, not enough to appreciate doing the flyover.

(May I just say, even if they did know about F1, they still wouldn't appreciate it. They'd train for years to be in the navy and now they were having to waste their time on this.)

The flyover was on the Sunday. Only Natasha, Jake and Bradley were taking part. Bob didn't have to go, didn't have to visit the track on the Friday and the Saturday with the three of them.

But Natasha had begged him. "Drive up with me," she'd said to him. "It's five hours and I could use the company."

So, Bob agreed. His dad had sometimes watched Nascar while he was growing up. He didn't know much of anything about motorsport but, if Nat wanted him there, he'd go.

The navy pilots didn't know they'd been invited to meet the drivers. Bob followed Natasha through the paddock. "Getting to meet the drivers might be the only good thing thing to come from this," Nat mumbled as she led the way.

The paddock was buzzing with life. There were cameras following people around, interviews happening as they walked through the paddock. Fans stopped men in team shirts and hats for pictures before letting them continue.

There was a familiar whistle, just loud enough for Natasha and Bob to hear over the crowd around them. They turned and saw Rooster and Hangman striding towards them.

"Where are we meant to be?" Asked Hangman as Rooster pulled off his aviators and looked around. The three of them (Natasha, Jake and Bradley) were in their overalls, looking proper in their uniform. Bob, though. He was dressed down, wearing jeans and a sweater (Vegas really wasn't that warm this time of year), his military issued glasses sitting on his nose. He looked cute, even if he didn't know it.

"Cyclone said the Ferrari garage, right?" She said as she looked between the other aviators. Bob, who had studied the itinerary, nodded his head and the four of them set off towards the red garage.

***

The Las Vegas Grand Prix was a joke. All of the drivers thought so.

The Ferrari drivers weren't happy about it (just like the rest of the grid). They had spent the season struggling behind the Red Bulls and driving on an unknown track wasn't going to help that.

She needed a lot of mental preparation for this one. Just like the other drivers, before the first practice session her only experience on the track had been through sim racing. She was nervous in a way she hadn't been before.

She donned her red fireproofs, the overalls hanging from from her hips. She pulled her cap onto her head when there was a knock on her driver room door. "Yeah?" She called and the member of Ferrari staff walked in.

"The navy pilots are on their way," she said and went to back out of the drivers room.

"What?" The Ferrari driver called suddenly, her brows furrowed. "What navy pilots?"

The member of staff gulped. "They're doing a military flyover before the Grand Prix," she said. "They're on their way here to meet you and Charles," she said.

The driver let out a huff. She grabbed her drinks bottle and marched out of her drivers room, heading to find her teammate.

Charles was doing an interview for Sky Sports when she walked through the garage. She didn't much care, though. She powered on, her hand on Charles's shoulder as she stood at his side. "Chuck," she said, looking at her teammate.

Lawrence Barretto moved his microphone back to his mouth. "Is that his official name for the Vegas Grand Prix?" He asked and moved the microphone towards her.

"Yes," she said as Charles shook his head, repeatedly saying 'no'.

She stood beside him until the interview was over, answering any question Lawrence sent her way. As soon as they were done she grabbed Charles and pulled him away, pulling him further into the Ferrari garage.

"What's up?" Charles asked. He was a brilliant teammate, one of her best friends. They'd known each other for yeas and were close enough for people to think they were together at one point. Brocedes 2.0, many commented on the pictures of the two of them posted on the Scuderia Ferrari Instagram account, as if they were a disaster waiting to happen.

"Did you know we're having to meet the navy pilots doing the military flyover?" She asked, hands on her hips.

Charles furrowed his brows. And then his face relaxed as he shook his head at her. "Start checking your emails, please," he said.

She gently pushed him as a member of the Ferrari staff, the same girl from before, approached them. "They're here," she said and left them to it.

Charles led the way back through the garage, heading to where the navy pilots were standing around his car. Three of them, the three that looked the part, chatted with Fred while one, one that was dressed down, stood to the side.

Suddenly, she pulled Charles out of sight. "What is it?" He asked quickly, concern written on his face.

She looked back around the corner at the pilots for just a second. "Holy shit, Cha, I think I'm in love," she said and Charles just laughed.

"Do you need a wingman?"

She furiously shook her head. "Don't you bloody dare."

She steadied herself and followed Charles over to the navy pilots. Fred spotted his drivers first. He gestured over to them as he back away from the pilots, letting the drivers take over.

Charles held his hand out towards them introducing himself first. She went next, giving them her name as she reached out to shake the woman's hand.

"Natasha Trace," she said with a smile as she shook her hand. "Callsign Phoenix."

She moved on to the man with the moustache. "Bradley Bradshaw, or Rooster," he said and shook her hand, his grip firm. He wore a smile, but it was respectful.

Unlike the man next to him. She could tell who he was from the moment she looked at him, wearing that flirty smile. "Jake Seresin," he said, pulling her hand up to his lips to kiss the back of it. "You can call me Hangman."

The smile dropped from her face and she pulled her hand away, clearly unimpressed. She looked past him, at the guy in the sweater and the glasses. "How about you?" She asked, completely ignoring Hangman. "Are you in the navy too?"

Bob blushed bright red as he stepped forward. "Robert Floyd," he said and shook her hand. "I'm a weapon systems officer."

"Oh," she said. Just that one word and she sounded incredibly fascinated. "Do tell me more."

She'd asked Charles not to wing man her, but he did it anyway. She might not have been aware as Charles spoke to the other navy pilots, doing the job for both of them. (Charles didn't know if Bob was the one she had fancied, but it was easy to guess. He looked like her type).

They spoke for a good twenty minutes before the drivers were told to wrap up the conversation. "You got a call sign?" She asked Bob as she crossed her arms over her chest and leant against the wall.

Jake had been wrapped up in the conversation he, Rooster and Phoenix were having with Charles until that point. Upon hearing her question, he placed his arm around the WSO's shoulders and grinned at the driver. "This is Baby On Board," he said with a grin, going to pinch Bob's cheeks.

Again, his cheeks were flaming as he stepped away from Jake. "It's Bob," he said. "Just Bob."

"Just Bob," she repeated as she smiled at him, completely ignoring everything Jake had said (something that Bob was grateful for). "It's simple, I like it."

Her engineer called for her. She turned and put her thumbs up before turning back to Bob. "Are you staying for the free practice?" She asked and Charles couldn't stop himself from answering.

"Sorry," he said to the pilots. "She doesn't read her emails."

She sent a glare in Charles's direction. The drivers said a quick goodbye to the navy pilots (although she hoped it wasn't for the last time), and got themselves ready for the first practice session in Las Vegas. They pulled up the red and white overalls and placed the balaclavas over their faces.

Bob watched as she pulled her helmet on, hiding her undeniably pretty face. He really did think she was beautiful, and she seemed interested in him, but he wasn't going to read too much into that.

He couldn't see as she gave him a smile from beneath her helmet. When she climbed into the red car with the number 53 on it, Bob knew which one he had to look out for.

The track wasn't ready, everybody knew it. But they didn't know how bad it was until they shower of sparks coming out the back of her car. "What the fuck was that?" She said to her engineer down the radio. "I just hit a fucking manhole cover."

The pilots were leaning forward as she stopped the car. The session was stopped, the other drivers coming into the pits. She jumped out of the car, waiting for it to be lifted onto the truck so that she could look at the extent of the damage beneath.

As the car was taken back to the garage and workers surrounded the manhole cover, she climbed into the medical car and was taken back to the pitlane.

Bob watched as she stormed into the garage, pulling off her helmet and balaclava. "Nine fucking minutes!" She heard her say to somebody in a Ferrari shirt. "I officially hate the Vegas Grand Prix."

She looked around the garage, eyes focusing in on the pilots. They were watching her, too, and she forced her expression to soften as she walked over. "Sorry you had to see that," she said, unzipping her race suit.

Bob shook his head. "'s no worries, ma'am," he said before he could stop himself. When his fellow aviators looked at him, his cheeks flushed red.

"We're just glad to know you're okay," Natasha said for him.

The driver smiled at them. But the interaction was short lived as she was called over to her wrecked car. (It looked fine on the top, but everybody knew the damage was beneath, invisible).

The nine minutes of practice wasn't enough to help the aviators get into F1. Rooster, Hangman and Phoenix wanted to head back to their hotels, but Bob wanted to stick around.

"My dad was into Nascar," he explained as the others left. They nodded, but they knew better. Their Baby On Board had a crush.

She hadn't expect him to stay, that much was clear. She'd seen the other aviators leave and had gotten on with what she needed to do, speaking to the mechanics about the parts they needed to replace and speaking to Fred about the potential consequences.

"Oh!" She said when she saw Bob still sitting there. "I thought you would have left."

Bob gave a polite smile and shrugged his shoulders. "I wanted to learn more."

The smile she gave him matched his own. "Well, you're not gonna learn much here," she said. "Let me get changed and we can get dinner."

Bob didn't expect dinner to be in the Ferrari hospitality suite. He'd didn't exactly think he'd be going out to dinner with her, but he didn't expect this.

She sat Bob down at a table and got a selection of food for them to share. "I can't exactly go crazy," she'd said as she sat down opposite him, placing the single plate in between them. "I still have a car to drive later."

Bob grabbed something from the plate. "Why does that mean you can't go crazy?" He asked curiously, innocently.

Every question Bob had, she answered. He told her that his dad watched Nascar while he was going up but he couldn't get into it. Didn't have the time once he joined the navy.

She asked him all about that, just as curious as he was about her job. Bob knew she was meant to be this big celebrity, but she was normal with him, and he really appreciated it.

He hadn't known who she was going into this weekend, but he heard the way the fans screamed her name. She was so famous, and he was just a boy from Montana.

"Are you and your friends watching anything else of the Grand Prix weekend?" She asked as she ate a piece of lettuce (literally just holding a big piece of lettuce to her lips and crunching on it).

Bob shook his head as he looked down at the table in front of him. "'Friad not, ma'am," he said, looking at her over the top of his glasses. Bob didn't know what compelled him to do it, but he took them off.

"Aw," she said with a pout. "I liked them."

"Really?" Bob couldn't hide the surprise in his voice. "I used to have ones with slightly thicker frames, but these are military issued," he explained, putting them back on his face.

She grinned at him. "They're cute," she said, resting her cheek in her hand. It was undeniably flirty, and her grin was only making it worse. Well, that would have been if Bob could have allowed himself to believe that was flirting with him.

"I could get you tickets, if you'd like," she said. "You and your pilot friends. You can come back back to the Ferrari garage, support us for the rest of the weekend."

Bob gave her a gentle smile. "I'd like that," he said.

They continued chatting until she had to head back to the garage. Bob followed her, walking behind her.

She took him back to the garage, leaving him to stand with the rest of the Ferrari guests while she disappeared into her drivers room. Bob couldn't help but think of her as she got herself ready, getting dressed into her fireproofs and race suit. If Nat was here, he could ask her for advice.

Ten minutes before the start of FP2, she walked over to Bob. He'd seen her dressed down in a Ferrari hoodie and cute cargos, seen her in her race suit, and seen her in her fire proofs, race suit sitting low on her hips.

That was how she walked towards him. He'd seen so little of her, but this was his favourite (and he certainly wanted to see more). "Want to sit in the car?" She asked, hands on her hips.

***

The first thing she did after FP2 was give Bob her phone number. He couldn't quite believe it, and made a mental note to recount everything to Natasha as soon as he got back to the hotel.

"Have you got a way back to your hotel?" She asked, her helmet tucked beneath her arm.

"I, uh..." No, he and Natasha had gotten a cab together.

She waved him off before he could give her a proper answer. "I can drive you, if you'd like," she offered.

That was how Bob found himself sitting in an F1 drivers car, telling her about his childhood as she took him back to his hotel. He told her about his big family and the mountains he grew up around. He told her about when he joined the military, about his first time in Top Gun and his permanent stationing in Coronado.

Before very long they were pulling up outside of his hotel. "Well, here we are," he said, patting his legs. He didn't move to leave the car, but she didn't much mind.

"I really liked meeting you today, Bob," she said as she tapped the heel of her hand against the steering wheel.

"It was lovely to meet you, too," he said.

"Promise you'll text me?"

"Promise."

She held out her pinky finger and Bob wrapped his own around it, sealing the deal. He looked at her one last time and climbed out of the car, heading into the hotel.

Bob couldn't hide his smile as he walked through the lobby and into the elevator. Just days ago he'd hated the thought of a military flyover for the Las Vegas Grand Prix. Now, he couldn't wait to get back to the track, back to the Ferrari garage.

Nat noticed it the minute he walked through the door of the hotel room they were sharing. "Had a good time watching the rest of it?" She asked as she pushed away from the desk in the room.

Bob nodded as he pulled out his phone, clicking on her contact. But, the moment he was there, he didn't know what to say to her. "Nat," he called, looking up at her. "I need your help."

He only needed Nat's help to get the ball rolling. But soon, she and Bob were sending messages back and forth with just a second long gap between. Sometimes Bob took a little longer to reply, but only because Nat was reading the messages over his shoulder and assuring him that she was flirting.

Bob couldn't believe it. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't.

"I'll go with you tomorrow," Nat said as she climbed into her bed. It was incredibly late and Bob was hyper-aware that they were still texting. "Find out if she really is flirting with you."

"Nat..."

"Goodnight, Bob."

Natasha went to sleep, but Bob stayed up. She was still replying to his messages, and he couldn't bring himself to not respond. At least until she turned around and wished him goodnight.

When Bob woke up, she had already texted him. I don't have to be on track until later - wanna get food?

Who was Bob to say no? Natasha grinned as he got himself ready, including his glasses. (He had brought his contacts to Vegas because of how much he hated wearing his glasses. He didn't have time to put them in before they headed to the track the day before, but Nat didn't expect him to wear them now).

He walked out of the hotel, ignoring Hangman and Rooster as they called after him. They sat in the lobby, do doubt waiting for Natasha as they whistled at him.

Bob kept going. He saw her car before he walked out of the glass doors, and had to stop himself from breaking into a small jog. As he approached, she pushed open the passenger side door. "Hey, Robby!" She called, wearing a grin.

"Hey," Bob said, wearing a smile as he climbed into the passenger side.

As soon as he was buckled in, she began driving. "Have you ever been to Vegas before?" She asked as she headed towards the strip.

Bob shook his head. "No, ma'am," he said. It wasn't in the same way he'd said 'ma'am' before. No, those time he had been nervous saying it. This time, it was so fucking cute and she loved it. "I don't get enough leave for that."

"Why do you call me ma'am?" She asked, but she never wanted it to stop.

Bob couldn't stop his smile. "My momma raised me right."

That much she could tell. She parked the car and climbed out as Bob did the same. "Come on," she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him along.

They went to a restaurant. Bob didn't catch the name of it as she pulled him through the doors. Even when sat gave the waiter her name, she was still holding his hand.

They sat down at a table for two. It felt far too intimate, almost like a date. She couldn't order a drink, but insisted that Bob did. He ordered one beer and made sure to make it last through their entire lunch.

She ordered a salad. Bob wanted to do the same, but she could see how conflicted he was. "Have whatever you want," she said, lowering her menu.

So, he did just that. Bob got himself a burger, the cheapest one on the menu (which was still incredibly expensive).

While they ate, Bob couldn't ignore the way her foot touched his knee beneath the table. He gulped as he reached for his beer.

While they waited, she told Bob about how she had grown up. Karting from a young age before moving onto single seaters.

The more she spoke, the more Bob could imagine getting into F1. Watching races, coming to see her in Vegas when he wasn't deployed. He just had to hope she still liked him enough to keep in contact with him.

They spent the entire afternoon together, until she was taking Bob to the track with her. Pictures of the two of them were taken as they walked through the paddock, too close to just be friends.

Once again, Bob stood in the garage while she completed the last practice session. She led, the fastest car until the Red Bulls were released onto the track.

But still, Bob couldn't stop watching the number 53 car. She came into the pits, had her tyres changed and went out a few minutes later.

Bob couldn't help but smile as he watched her climb the leaderboard. When practice ended, she didn't come in right away, doing a practice start with the other drivers.

When she got out of her car, she pulled off her helmet and balaclava, and spoke to her engineers. She had looked so happy when she climbed out of the car, but Bob watched as her face fell.

She walked over to him, unable to keep herself from sighing. The anger dropped from her face, replaced by sadness. "Wanna come sit in my drivers room?"

So, Bob followed her to her drivers room. She led him inside and shut the door behind him, letting out a breath as she leaned against it.

"Everything okay?" Asked Bob as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

She unzipped her overalls and let them fall to her hips. Bob shuffled over on the couch, giving her space. She sat beside him, shutting her eyes as she leaned back. "Because of the parts they'd had to replace in my car, I'm probably going to get a penalty later," she mumbled.

Her head fell onto his shoulder and Bob didn't move. He hesitated before wrapping his arm around her shoulder. That that, she shuffled slightly closer, which Bob didn't mind one bit.

Suddenly, she let out a weak laugh. "You're kinda making me want to stay in the states a little longer, Robby," she mumbled.

He looked down at her. "Would you? Seriously?" Bob could imagine it then, taking her to stay with him in San Diego, taking her to Montana to meet his mom at Christmas.

She shook her head. "I can't," she said and sighed through her nose. "There's one last race before the end of the season."

After that, Bob wanted to say. But he squeezed her shoulder instead.

When her trainer came in, Bob wished her good luck and headed back out to the garage. While he waited, he pulled out his phone and sent Natasha a text. She hadn't gone to the track with him, instead going with Bradley and Jake to the hangar they would be flying from.

If Nat showed Rooster and Hangman his texts, he'd never hear the end of it. But Bob realised he didn't mind. Let them talk, he was here with her.

The first round of the qualifying session was about to start. Bob sort of knew what to expect, she'd explained it to him while they sat in her drivers room, her head on his shoulder. He watched as she walked towards the car, her red, gold, black and white helmet on her head.

She climbed into the car and somebody strapped her in as somebody else spoke to her. She nodded at whatever they were saying and put her thumbs up.

Admittedly, Bob couldn't tell the difference between the practice sessions and the qualifying session. He watched as she went from having no time on the board to being the quickest car on track. But then she was knocked out of the top spot, down in eighth by the end of that session.

Bob had assumed that she was starting the race in eighth position after the eighteen minute long qualifying session. But then she and fourteen other drivers were going back out onto track.

Again she was at the top of the board, knocked out by the same driver. But she stayed in fourth, unable to get a quicker time in before the end of the session.

She went out for a third and final time. Bob heard her calling down the radio as somebody got in her way. But she put an impressive time on the board, finishing third.

It may have been obvious to everybody else in the garage, but Bob had to ask the girl standing next to him. She pushed her dark hair behind her ear and answered with a thick French accent. Bob thanked her and watched as the 53 car came into the garage.

She hopped out, did what she needed to do and came to find Bob.

It was near midnight and she couldn't quite believe he was still there, watching her. They'd spent the entire day together, and she'd loved every minute of it.

"Want me to drive you home?" She asked and Bob nodded his head.

She did just that, driving Bob back to his hotel. "They haven't confirmed if I've got a penalty or not," she said as she drove him. "So, for now I'm starting in P3." She quickly glanced at him and then looked back at the road. "Think you might be my good luck charm, Robby," she said and he blushed a deep shade of red.

She pulled up outside of the hotel, just as she had done the day before. And, like the day before, Bob was hesitant to climb out of the car.

As Bob reached for the handle of the door, she opened her mouth, ready to say something, and he stopped. But she closed her mouth. Still, Bob didn't move.

She sucked in a breath and tried again. This time, words came out. "Can I come up?"

Bob knew what that meant. How could he not? Some part of him had been wanting her to ask something like this for the last few hours. But still, he shook his head. "I, uh, I can't. I'm sharing my room with Nat."

"Oh," she said and looked down at the centre console between them. "Oh, shit. Are you and Nat- I didn't mean to overstep... I-"

Bob quickly shook his head. "No. No, Nat's my best friend, but only my best friend," he said. "But, her bed is a couple feet away from mine, so..."

She couldn't help but let a smile cross her face at that. "Can I kiss you, Robby?" She asked.

He leaned over the centre console. Her arms went around his neck, fingers playing with the short hair at the back of his neck.

Bob kissed her. He closed the gap between them, his arm awkwardly resting on her shoulders as his lips moved against her own. Her nose bumped the lens of his glasses, but neither of them minded.

If the expensive car left room for it, he would have moved her onto his lap. But he couldn't. He pulled away, staring at her as his eyes opened again. "Holy shit," he whispered and she grinned at him.

"I'll come and get you before the race," she said and Bob climbed out of the car.

***

He didn't wake up to a text from her. Immediately Bob's mind played tricks on him, telling him that, after they had kissed, she didn't want him.

He sat in the hotel for half of the day, in a perpetual state of anxiousness. Part of him didn't want to move until he heard from her, until he knew that everything was okay.

"You coming?" Nat asked him. He checked his phone one last time before following her out of the hotel room.

He didn't know what she was currently dealing with, that she had just found out about her grid place penalty. "This is such shit!" She cried as she and Charles walked through the paddock. She'd woken up to the news and hadn't had time to message Bob.

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it now," Charles said, stopping to sign things for fans (signs, hats, and even a packet of oreos). "How are things going with the navy guy?"

She grinned as they kept walking through the paddock. "We kissed, Cha," she said, suddenly much happier.

"Kissed and..." Charles tried to push.

She shook her head. "Just kissed."

Charles nodded as they walked into the garage. "Just kissed, but you wanted more," he said. "Are you gonna see him before we leave?"

"Yeah," she answered. "I'm gonna go and pick him up before the race."

Through the evening, she and Charles did what they needed to do for the race. When she got a minute, she texted Bob, but she didn't have many opportunities to check her phone.

As soon as she had a chance, she ran out of the paddock. She held her phone to her ear as she went, making her way to her car. Bob picked up on the third ring. "Hey," she said, opening the door of her car. "I'm on my way."

Bob hesitated before he answered. "I'm not at the hotel right now."

"Do you still want to come to the race?" She asked quickly.

"Do you still want me there?"

She let out a laugh. "Of course I do, Robby. Give me the address and I'll pick you up."

That was just what happened. She picked Bob up and took him to the track. She promised the other aviators that she would get him there to watch the military flyover and drove off with him in the passenger seat.

"Have you ever been to San Diego?" Bob asked as she drove. It had been playing on his mind a lot since they kissed, his best case scenario (which was currently happening. He could have laughed at himself for being so worried).

She shook her head. "I haven't had a chance to explore outside of the places we have Grand Prix," she answered.

"So, you haven't been to Montana?"

"Nope."

Bob couldn't help but smile. He sucked in a breath, steadying himself. "I don't know when you're gonna have time off, but I could show you Montana, if you'd like."

She grinned at him as she parked the car. "I'd love that, Robby," she said and climbed out of the car.

She checked the time on her watch, grabbed her hand and began running. "I'm late!" She cried. Bob was only happy to run beside her, heading into the Ferrari garage. He slowed to a walk, but she kept going, running to her drivers room to pull on her fireproofs and overalls.

Bob watched it all. He watched as she stood for the national anthem with her fellow drivers, watched as she completed the formation lap from the back of the grid (something he had to ask about), and watched as she raced.

Bob couldn't help but be impressed as she fought her way across the track, racing past most of the grid. She overtook ten other cars, finishing in 5th.

When she climbed out of the car, Bob could see just how happy she was from her body language alone. She did what she had to do, spoke to the team and was interviewed, before she ran over to Bob and threw her arms around him.

"That was incredible!" He cried, smiling down at her. "I didn't realise racing was so exciting."

She grinned and kissed his cheek. "Think you'll watch next weeks race?"

"Definitely," he said.

He hadn't expected her to kiss him in front of all of the cameras. But Bob didn't mind. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close until she pulled away.

"I leave in the morning," she whispered in his ear. "Stay with me, in my hotel. One last night."

"Until Montana?" Bob asked, his forehead against her own.

"Until Montana."

a/n: ok i loved this and it may need a part two lol

#bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd x you #robert floyd #bob floyd smut #bob floyd x reader smut #robert bob floyd #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd fluff #robert floyd smut #robert floyd x you #top gun #top gun bob #top gun maverick

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slaymybreathaway · 10 months

Text

The Swayze Dilemma (Georgie Cooper x Reader)

Warnings: none

Word count: 592

Masterlist

It was 11 am Sunday Morning when I Heard about Jennifer Hansen's death. My family had walked in the door from church when the phone rang.

I wasn't really friends with Jenny but my older brother, Andrew was and the death had hit him hard.

♡

Thqe day of the funeral, my mother decided that it was best if I didn't go. Connie Tucker told my mother that I could stay in her house while my parents and brothers were at the funeral.

Connie was the meemaw of my boyfriend, Georgie and we get along like a house on fire. He'll be staying at her house too, along with his siblings, Missy and Sheldon.

I find Missy very funny and Sheldon has taken a liking to me... I think. It's hard to tell with him. Sometimes when he and Georgie are arguing, I side with Sheldon. It's not my fault that the kid backs up his argument.

When I knocked on the door of Connie's house, Georgie opened the door.

"Hey darlin', what're those?" he looked at the box in hands.

"Hi cutie, These are doughnuts," I stepped into the house. He tried to reach for the doughnuts but I pulled them away before he could. "Ah, wait till I get into the kitchen first," I kissed his cheek and walked into the house.

The twins were in there, Sheldon was struggling to reach a glass from the press. I took one down for him "Here you go love," I said.

"Hey, Y/n watchya got there?" Missy asked.

I opened the box and showed her. She reached for a jam doughnut. "Hey, how come Missy gets first pick?" Georgie asked and swiped one

I shrugged my shoulders although I knew the reason why. Missy was my favourite, she's like the sister I never had. She doesn't really get that much attention at home so she calls me whenever she needs to talk to someone.

Her and Sheldon went into the living room to watch TV with Connie while Georgie and I stayed in the kitchen.

"Hey watcha say to going dancing next Sunday?" He asked and got a Coke from the fridge.

"I never knew you danced Georgie. Yeah sure, I'll meet you at your house around 5," I said and Followed the twins into the living room.

"And the clothes they're wearing, is that what they become a ghost in?" Missy asked.

Georgie and I sat down on the couch and he put his arm around me. "It Depends, in the movie Ghost, Patrick Swayze has on the outfit that he dies in but Casper runs around butt naked," he chuckled.

Connie looked at him all confused. "I made him watch Ghost with me," I said to her. Her expression relaxed a bit.

"Yeah and you were staring at Swayze the whole time," he muttered.

"Of course I was staring, it's Patrick Swayze for crying out loud! Don't act like you don't stare at all the models in your dirty magazines," I said, proud that I got a dig in.

Connie was laughing so hard that I thought she was gonna fall out of her armchair and Georgie's eyes looked like they were gonna pop out of his head. His face turned red, too.

"H-how did you find out about them?" He asked embarrassingly.

Missy and I shot eachother a knowing look. "Lucky guess," I said.

A minute or two later, I turned and looked at Georgie. "I'd pick you over Swayze any day," I snuggled into him.

#georgie cooper x reader #georgie cooper #georgie #young sheldon #sheldon cooper #the big bang theory #tbbtforever

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butididntpourthewhiskeys · 5 months

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50 Things I'm Convinced Taylor & Travis Do - End Game Edition 🏈❤️‍🩹🍂

Yes, I have tried being normal about this relationship. No, it didn't work. Don't take this too seriously. Just a little bit of fluff on this cold Sunday 🥹📚

Taylor sending Donna selfies of herself with Travis with the caption “we miss you!"

Travis walking around her house with Olivia on his arm going “she’s my favorite. now i know, she’s my favorite.”

Travis saying “You too” when the flight attendant on Taylor's jet tells him to enjoy the flight

Travis buying Taylor cough drops at the airport because there’s 13 inside, and the flavour reminded him of her

Taylor not being able to watch old The Voice Kids episodes anymore because it breaks her heart when the kids cry when they’re sent home.

Travis randomly ordering her lunch from a local sandwich shop whilst she’s rehearsing because he knows she forgets to eat and then gets lightheaded

Taylor being used to a random sandwich and a diet coke being passed to her by her team and not even asking whose idea it was for her to take a quick lunch break

Travis finding a note in Taylor’s phone from July with all his green and red flags listed, and quickly noticing that the red flags column only consists of “psychopath: eats pineapple on pizza"

Travis always folding his clothes neatly together whilst being in his own little world when unpacking his suitcase

Travis texting Taylor to ask what her room service coffee order is whilst she’s in bed next to him talking to Tree on the phone

Taylor waking up at night to Travis being unable to sleep and him murmuring “I just realized Donkey Kong is bullshit. He’s a gorilla, not a donkey. Our kids won’t play that game, it’s just too confusing.”

Travis never leaving the house without a pack of gum or mints in his pocket

Taylor grinding her teeth at night and Travis gently waking her up whenever she’s doing it with her face pressed against his chest, reminding her to wear her Invisaligns, and her replying with a tired “thanks, baby” before opening her mouth to put them in half asleep

Taylor being silly and placing her index finger on his nose whenever he naps, asking him to say “oink”

Travis wanting Taylor to get a dog and naming it “Donut”

Travis having a favorite pen and not letting Taylor touch it

Taylor asking Travis to run his hands through her hair when she’s too restless to fall asleep after the show

Travis always waking Taylor up if she decides to sleep past 3pm and peppering her face with kisses

Scott refusing to call Travis any other name than “Trav”

Taylor occasionally asking Travis to hold her hand when she’s got trouble falling asleep and feels anxiety rising in her chest

When Taylor moves away from him in the middle of the night, Travis always wakes up and pulls her back to him, mumbling “Where do you think you’re going, get back here,” with his eyes still closed

Whenever they haven’t seen each other in a few days, Taylor asking Travis if it’s okay for him to share his pillow with her as she feels too far away from him on her side of the bed

Travis kissing the pad of her thumb whenever her hands are on his face as the sun rises

Taylor mumbling “stop being so hot” whenever he flips his pillow to the cool side at night

Taylor before shows always promising Travis that she’s fine and no, she doesn’t want to talk about it, even though he knows minutes later she’ll be spilling her guts, listing off everything that could go wrong.

Travis always explaining to Taylor that his clothes need “a pop of color” and “a pop of swag” because “no one can be sad with a pop of color and some swag”

Taylor squeezing his bum when he walks by the bed to charge his phone, and her mumbling “tight end”

Travis always sending dozens of picture into the group chat with Taylor’s family, making sure to take a picture of any eras tour movie banner he sees, every Taylor Swift mention at the airport, even sending them selfies of himself with a picture of her on the cover of some trashy magazine

Travis always being the last one to sit down at the table whenever they go out to dinner with her family as he doesn’t want to intrude

Scott texting Travis the latest NFL odds and Travis pretending like he didn’t know and thanking Scott for the update

Travis always noticing when Taylor gets nervous, because her chest starts heaving and she starts picking her finger nails whilst she’s in the car, which he always stops by grabbing her hand and leading it to his mouth to give each finger a gentle little kiss

Taylor always apologizing to Travis whenever there’s fans screaming as soon as they see the two together

Travis dancing around the hotel room in his boxers singing “Olé Olé Olé Taylor” whenever she doesn’t want to get up for her flight in the morning

Taylor not struggling to fall asleep or doze off in his arms at all, because she’s never felt safer with anyone, no matter where she is: bathtub, airplane, car seat, sun bed, couch, hotel bed, whirl pool, dinner chair.

Travis thanking Scott and Andrea for doing the dirty thirty-four years ago and Taylor hitting him hard on her birthday

Taylor having a note on her phone with baby names that start with a "T"

Taylor sometimes secretly wishing she’d never had written a love song for anyone before Travis

Travis just randomly staring at Taylor whenever she speaks and her not noticing, but Andrea just smiling at him quietly

Travis always asking Taylor to say “three thin thieves” whenever she’s wearing her Invisaligns in bed, and him dying laughing every time

Travis being able to sense whenever Taylor is about to get emotional or upset over something, and his left hand automatically wandering to her lower back, and the other one to her right hand because he can't stand any space between them when she needs him.

Taylor waking up sweaty at night from a nightmare, and Travis pulling her closer with his eyes still closed going “I got you. I got you, baby.”

Taylor asking Travis to turn up the TV real loud when she’s going to the hotel bathroom in the morning and him overdoing it so that they both end up yelling at each other to communicate through the noise

Travis whispering a low “oh, i love you so much” whenever Taylor turns around at night and opens her eyes confusedly for a second

Travis claiming the little curly strand of hair on her bangs “his” whenever she’s sweaty after her show

Taylor laughing while answering emails in bed because she hears Travis singing “big reputation, big reputation” over and over again in the shower and it sounds absolutely horrible

Travis watching her perform and just shaking his head over and over again because he can’t believe how talented the woman who he wakes up next to every day really is.

Taylor and Travis both being worried to leave the cats alone with his dogs because they both know that her cats will outsmart the doggies and find ways to scare them

Taylor holding up one of Travises giant sweaters in front of her mom while doing laundry and saying “have you ever seen something like this? king kong. I'm dating the king kong.”

Travis sometimes waking up at night and watching Taylor sleep whilst making sure their noses touch gently. Gently enough to make sure she won’t wake up.

Taylor running into Travises arms after each show, kissing him with a giggle on her face and him whispering a gentle “my angel” against her lips without anyone else noticing.

#50 things #taylor swift #taylor swift fanfiction #travis kelce #fanfiction #lmao #fanfic #writing #fluff #fluffy

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