#i love scotty to be honest

[5sospenguinqueen]

Pocket Money | Lance Stroll x Reader

Summary: Since the start of the relationship, fans have been convinced you're only with Lance for his money. When he mentions your future in an interview, they accuse you of trying to baby trap him.

Warnings: Swearing. Angst but mostly just for sadness. Hateful fans.

Female reader with various facelaims. Pics found on Pinterest.

A bit different to the other three.

next.

Main Masterlist

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

YourUserName just posted

liked by lancestroll, chloestroll and others

YourUserName lovely london was kind enough to be sunny for me this weekend 🇬🇧

2,385 comments

chloestroll i’m still so jealous that you didn’t take me

→ YourUserName yes but if i had, i’d have spent the entire time trying to stop you from running off with a brit. i doubt scotty would appreciate that

→ scottyjames31 do NOT let her run off with a british man

→ YourUserName make sure you behave yourself then

User1 oh, so she’s on yet another holiday funded by her sweet, naive boyfriend who can’t tell he’s with a gold digger

User2 that’s it sweetheart. post pics of your trip that your boyfriend undoubtedly paid for whilst he’s busy racing all weekend without your support

User3 she’s quite possibly the worst wag. give the role to someone who would enjoy being there

→ User4 it’s not a fucking role, sweetheart. being someone’s fiancée is not a role you play, and i think y/n happens to do an amazing “part”

danielricciardo bring me back some crunchies

→ YourUserName no, i got into trouble last time. your trainer told me that you’re not allowed them

→ danielricciardo boo, you whore

User5 so she’s on yet another weekend away in london the same weekend that lance is racing in jeddah? can she make it anymore obvious that she doesn’t support him?

→ User6 her job means she has to travel a lot - just like lance - so unfortunately she cannot follow him around the world

→ User7 you tell ‘em, honey. y/n is a successful businesswoman but everyone seems to forget that? she makes every race when she can but sometimes she can’t get out of work

→ User8 at the end of the day, their relationship is none of our business

astonmartinf1 missing your face in the paddock this weekend

→ YourUserName i miss you too! although i bet nando is enjoying the peace and quiet

→ astonmartinf1 can neither confirm nor deny but he did mention something about yapping

User9 this is so cute. the way his whole face lights up when he’s asked about/talks about her

User10 not lance revealing that y/n would run away and marry him just to call him her husband

→ User11 yes! but he’s so dedicated to giving her the wedding she wanted since she was a child. these two have my whole entire heart 🥰

User12 ugh, where can i get a lance stroll? the way he loves his fiancee 😍 and not him being desperate to have babies with her

User13 so is this confirmation that y/n is pregnant? like, if he wants a baby in a year, then..?

→ User14 wouldn’t surprise me. if they get married, he can still make her sign a prenup and divorce her without a worry, but a baby would tie him to her for life so she can continue to spend his money

→ User15 okay but i’m with you on this. it’s the best way to ensure she can keep him around in some way because let’s be honest, their relationship doesn’t seem the best

→ User9 what the fuck is wrong with you two. where in that entire interview were you getting the impression their relationship is on the rocks? he’s literally planning an entire life with her???

→ User15 yeah and where is she? unbothered in london. she’s only with him for the money and that’s the only reason why they’re engaged.

→ User13 they’re engaged because they love each other! he’s also the one who said he wants her to have his children so he can keep her home????

→ User14 no they’re engaged because for some reason, he’s infatuated with her and she’s only using him, and she’s clearly tricked him into wanting children without realising that’s further entrapment

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

YourBrother just posted

liked by danielricciardo, yourbestfriend and others

YourBrother when sprout takes time out of her busy life to visit, Nonna cooks a whole feast (can you tell who the favourite is) tagged: YourUserName

879 comments

YourCousin the only reason we look forward to y/n coming home is because nonna feeds us GOOD

→ YourCousin2 agreed, nothing to do with us missing y/n at all

→ YourUserName this is why i left 😂😭

User1 anyone else find it odd that she’s in a different country again on race weekend? i mean, i know her and lance were still a couple last month but i’m starting to wonder if that’s changed

→ User2 she’s also not been active on socials despite that being part of her job description?

→ User3 can you blame her when everyone constantly hates on her

→ User4 being on media isn’t part of her job, she just liked to share her adventures with us and some of you arseholes ruined that.

User5 oh my gosh, her parents are so cute together. i want to be like that when i’m older

→ User6 and her brother and SIL curled up in the chair together. this family really do produce the cutest couples

→ User7 looks like the only absent spouse is lance :(

→ User8 um because he’s currently in china? he has more important things to be doing??

User9 i love that her brother's first idea to cheer her up is to give her beer

→ User10 well, at least we know she’s not pregnant currently

→ User11 thank god. we know lance is free from her in that aspect

→ User9 seriously? making these comments on twitter wasn't bad enough, you people are actually commenting on her BROTHER’s instagram

(Comments have been disabled for this post)

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

astonmartinf1 just posted

liked by estebanocon, YourUserName and others

astonmartinf1 our first race back in shanghai sees a p7 finish for fernando with the fastest lap. lance comes home in p15 after contact earlier in the race

1,443 comments

User12 literally give the seat to anyone other than lance stroll please

User13 can we all stop hating on lance, please? it was an accident, they happen

User14 not him blaming danny ric. sweetie, the car has brakes for a reason

User15 danny ric was fuming but also seemed like he was trying not to be

→ User16 no literally. it was like he was trying not to say something but in one interview slipped up and said that lance has been really distracted due to issues at home

→ User17 i saw that! and the way he ran away after like ‘oo the team is calling me’

→ User18 are we smelling a breakup?

User19 i personally think lance stroll shouldn’t be in f1 but can we take a moment to think that whilst it was really bad driving, he’s not been himself lately? he looks really sad in all the media things

→ User20 literally, like he’s constantly coming under hate for his fiancée, and then she hasn’t been to any races recently and he’s not talked about wedding planning once. this is the man who was telling everyone about his wedding even if they didn’t ask

→ User1 maybe he realised that his girlfriend was a gold digging bitch

→ User2 literally. he talked about having children with her and then realised that meant she’d never leave

→ User3 you people are actually crazy. how do you turn a man talking about wanting children into the woman he loves trying to baby trap him? y/n has never talked about wanting kids

→ User4 this. like i definitely think they’ve broken up but for all we know, it could be that lance was talking about children and y/n realised she wasn’t ready/didn’t want them.

User5 can’t believe people are still running the baby narrative. we know nothing about their relationship because they’re quite a private couple - and after this, we can see why - and yet people have somehow created a whole drama about babies from nothing

User6 i know lance is one of the more private f1 drivers but i really think he needs to comment on this? the amount of hate y/n is getting is insane and shouldn’t be ignored

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

YourUserName just posted

liked by estebanocon, danielricciardo and others

YourUserName the view from my office is better than yours. sorry, not sorry

863 comments

BestFriend i’m looking for a woman in finance, trust fund

→ YourUserName you know you’re welcome to my trust fund anytime

→ BestFriend the best sugar mommy i’ve ever had

YourBrother congratulations on your promotion, shithead. one step away from ceo!

User7 wait why did no one tell me she was running a company?

→ User8 babe, we’ve been telling you bitches this from the start! but none of you listened

chloestroll congratulations, business barbie 💕

→ YourUserName thank you, music barbie 🤍

→ User3 so chloe is still here? does that mean we’re still getting a wedding

→ User9 idk. lance isn’t in the likes..?

→ User10 @ chloestroll please tell us what you know. Some of us are rooting for them to end up together

User11 so she goes radio silent for three months just to come back and pretend like she has a job? nothing about the man she supposedly loves?

→ User12 seems shady to me. you got caught out for being a gold digger so now you’re going to act like you actually go to work?

→ User13 i really hate people like you

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

Baby Fever Angst Series

Tag list

@lav3nder-haze @minkyungseokie @callsignwidow @luvrrish @fall-bambi @evans-dejong @sadsierra2 @justdreamersdream @spookystitchery @dark-night-sky-99 @elijahslover @gaypoetsblog @luckyladycreator2 @bborra @mrosales16 @reguluscrystals @raizelchrysanderoctavius @tvdtw4ever @alwaysclassyeagle @gigicisneros @spanishcorndogs @dullypully @thecubanator2 @goldenharrysworld @awritingtree @jxnellat @sbrn0905 @leclercsluvs @hc-dutch @mxdi0 @buckybarnessweetheart @ironmaiden1313 @dreamercrowd @yourbane

[holylulusworld]

Indecent Proposal (4)

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.

Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, shitty boyfriend, the reader doesn’t take shit from no one, sexy mobsters, slow burn (kinda), implied character's death

A/N: This is a shorter, interlude chapter. I wanted to go straight for the smut but decided against it because…I’m a tease :)

Indecent Proposal (3)

Indecent Proposal masterlist

“What’s this?” Steve holds up your scrapbook. “That’s pretty. It looks like you put a lot of effort into this book.”

“It’s a scrapbook,” you sigh, and grab the book. “Forget it. Whatever I dreamed of back then will never come true. Maybe I should burn it.”

“What do you mean, doll?” Bucky worriedly places his hand on your shoulder. “What did you dream of? And why do you think this will never come true?”

You sigh again. “Mr. Barnes, with all due respect, look at the mess my life is right now. My boyfriend sold me to you. And whatever you want from me is far from love. All you want is my womb.”

Steve frowns deeply. They didn’t think so far. All they had in mind was to make you theirs and fill you up. “Doll…we…” Steve shakes his head. “Buck?”

You wave them off. “No biggie. Life fucks you over most of the time. It could be worse, right? Scott could’ve cheated on me with his ex and sold me to his bosses.” You chuckle darkly. “Oh-wait. He just did that.”

“Y/N, we are not so bad,” Bucky grins at you. “We promise to never cheat on you. You are the missing piece Stevie, and I were looking for all our lives.”

You sneer. “Let’s try to be painfully honest. You want to stuff me with dick and knock me up. There is no way out for me. How could I escape you and your husband?”

You walk toward your bedroom, ignoring their boring looks. If they force you to accept your fate, you won’t roll over and just take it.

“You stole her scrapbook?” Bucky grins as his husband thumbs through your scrapbook. “You are a dangerous man, Mr. Rogers.”

“She wanted me to throw it away,” Steve huffs. “I took it with me to find out more about Y/N than her blood type and what she does for a living. If we want this to work out, we should…”

“Buy her flowers,” Bucky suggests. “And invite her to live with us.”

“Slow down, Buck. We should ask her on a date first. But flowers are not the worst gift for a first date.”

“How about we murder her enemies too,” the brunette grins darkly. “I know she doesn’t want us to kill Scottie boy, but I’d love to do more to him than break a few bones.”

“You know…” Steve dips his head and smirks darkly. “We could just let him disappear because he fucked with us. He lied and broke our deal by not telling Y/N about the deal.”

“I love how you think,” Bucky cups Steve’s face, looking him deep in the eyes, “and I love you, baby. You know that, right? Y/N is going to be an addition, but she’ll never take your place.”

“Buck, if I’d believe for one second you want to replace me you would end up bending over the table, your ass spanked raw,” Steve chuckles at his husband’s expression. “Oh, you’d love that, huh?”

“We will see, Stevie…we will see…”

“Far well, Scottie boy.” Bucky locks his gun and tugs it away. “This was much too fast and painless for that bastard. I should’ve broken a few bones or cut him open.”

“A shot straight through the heart. Good job.” Steve leans over Scott’s lifeless body. “Y/N can never know we killed him after she asked us to not do it.”

“We did it for us, not her. Y/N’s hands are clean. She had nothing to do with this, Steve. But I agree. She should never get to know about what happened tonight.”

“She wanted a dress like that for her wedding? Nice. Very nice.” Steve is obsessed with your scrapbook. He read every line and looked at every picture. Steve even ran his fingers over the fabric samples.

“Stevie, what are you doing with the scrapbook? Do you want to find the perfect wedding dress for her or more?”

“I want to get to know her better. Y/N put a lot of effort into creating this book. We should take our time and find out what she wants and likes.”

“Hmm…that’s not the worst idea, Steve. Give me that.” Bucky snatches the book out of Steve’s hands. “Let’s see what we can do for our doll…”

[glossykissies]

i would love to know more about the mean! linecook!scott au, like how did you first meet him?

so i’m thinking classic sunshine x grumpy trope, scott is the head linecook but also pretty much runs that kitchen like the military because he thinks everyone else is too incompetent to do so. he sees you bumbling in as the new girl, all excitable like a puppy and clumsy on your feet and thinks great, just another person i need to accustom to the ways of my kitchen. she is pretty cute, but that’s besides the point.

you even try and make it a point to introduce yourself to him, nearly walking smack bang into his chest as he towers over you, staring at you analytically as he snaps his gum at the back of his teeth. your manager said no gum was allowed in the kitchen, but you guess this scott guy does what he wants.

“oh! nearly ran into you, i’m sorry!” you grin, holding your hand out for him to shake. he stares at it, then back at you as you happily introduce yourself retracting your hand. “i’m new here if you hadn’t noticed. pretty nervous but everyone seems really nice so far, i’m kind of a people person so i think chatting to customers will be fun to be honest. i know people say you get bored of doing that kind of thing but i’ve always liked it. i’m a yapper. it’s kind of my thing! you’re not talking.” you cut your ramble short with a nervous swallow and he slowly raises his hand, placing it on your arm and gently moving you to the side.

“you’re in front of my work station.” he responds bluntly and your face falls a little.

“right! that’s my bad.” you nod, and surprisingly he turns his huge body to face you. seriously, he was so tall he made the kitchen feel smaller. scott digs in his back pocket for a moment before pulling out a small, seemingly new notepad with a pen wedged into the side and presses it firmly into your palm.

“this is yours. waitresses are meant to bring their own but i know you didn’t. you lose it, you gotta remember everyone’s orders. we don’t do taking orders on your phones notes app, it looks juvenile. so don’t lose it. on fridays we serve hot plates so wear long sleeves, you’ll be carrying a lot on your arms and you don’t wanna burn yourself. you drop those plates because they are hot, i’ll be pissed. when you come into the kitchen you walk straight through behind whoever is infront of you to the designated station, you take the food and then walk around the back and out that door. you hang around, or reverse back on yourself you could walk into someone and drop the plate. won’t be happy about that. you drop something, you clear it up. you spill something, you wipe it up — and if someone out there yells at you…” he pauses finally, softening his firm tone only a tiny bit. “you tell me. alright?” he starts chewing again, raising his eyebrows impatiently for you to respond.

“yes sir. i mean, just— yes.”

“good. go sign in.” he nods his head dismissively, turning back to his station and you scurry off to mark yourself as present on the register.

“that scott guy is scary. i think he hates me.” you whisper to an older waitress, a girl around 10 years your senior who’d been working at the restaurant for a while. she scoffs, a look on her face like she knows something that you don’t.

“s’the most we’ve ever seen scotty-boy talk. he likes you.” she reassures before striding off to work. you turn your head, twiddling your new pen in hand as you go to look at him, and he’s already barking orders at his team. wouldn’t hurt to get on his good side.

[landograndprix]

My yellow ✾ d.r

summary: you're not the only two who love your marriage.

requested: yes!

a/n: I'm having way too much fun with these, please keep requesting them 🥺

☆☆☆☆☆

y/nricciardo

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 802,786 others

tagged: danielricciardo

view all 1,421 comments

y/nbabees here she goes again, what is the context bestie????

danieldr3 what love language is this?

y/nricciardo tough loving

charlos5516 and they say romance is dead

loverskies29 Daniel is holding up 4 fingers...4th album soon? 👀

y/nluvu god I hope so it's been too long :(

danielricciardo exploiting your husband again?

y/nricciardo so he is good for something?

norrizz4 should we get the divorce papers ready? 👀

ricienation mother make new music please we've been starving, there's no crumbs left

☆☆☆☆☆

danielricciardo

liked by landonorris, y/nricciardo and 798,543 others

danielricciardo happy birthday to the wife who has the best husband in the world, you're so lucky to have this handsome men by your side, you should always remember this. Happy birthday, my luv. ❤️

tagged: y/nricciardo, landonorris

view all 876 comments

landos4 crying why'd you post a picture of lando 😭

leclercc_16 that's his wife, what do you mean?

y/nricciardo can confirm, I'm just a side piece.

landonorris thanks luv. ❤️

scottyjames31 love the cake, facts were spoken.

dr3ln4 watch it scotty, her next song will be about you 🤪

scottyjames31 it'd be an honor

y/nupdates y/n is a whole mood in the last picture, unbothered queen. ♡

dannyswife favorite couple 🥰

y/nricciardo posted on their story

☆☆☆☆☆

y/nricciardo

liked by mclaren, danielricciardo and 178,254 others

y/nricciardo something in the orange

tagged: mclaren, danielricciardo

view all 978 comments

sharlos55 supportive wife y/n activated

y/nricric you don't understand how much I've missed you on the grid, you looked fabulous once again 😍

y/nricciardo using my man's and his team to promote my new song once again? you bet your sweet ass I am. #ColorsComingSoon

y/nfan004 rip to the people who don't read the comments 😭

Bott_ass you can't just drop this out of the nowhere, I'm hyperventilating 😫

danniericario I'm convinced flipping you off is Daniel's way of saying I love you

y/nricciardo oh no, he really can't stand me but same to be honest

danielricciardo ❤️

dr3ln4 babe wake up mom and dad are being mom and dad again

☆☆☆☆☆

y/nricciardo

liked by danielricciardo, pierregasly and 217,111 others

y/nricciardo it's been a while but after months of writing and producing with the best team ever, my new song Colors is out now on Apple music & spotify 🧡

view all 1,999 comments

zoeeeey I could've used a warning of sorts 🤯

mickschummy when have we ever had a solid release date for anything, bestie is so chaotic she'll drop an song or album whenever she wants 😭

y/nnnnn2000 we've been fed!!

redbulldanny is this song about Daniel?

y/nricciardo don't tell him, it'll boost his ego 😉

landonorris this about me, right?

charles_leclerc this will be on repeat for days!

thefridgirlies we love a bunch of supportive friends 🥰

danielricciardo big fan of this

☆☆☆☆☆

y/nricciardo

liked by carlossainz55, danielricciardo and 214,542 others

y/nricciardo three years ago, this man made the best decision of his life by marrying me. It's amazing how we've tolerated each other for this long but all jokes aside, thanks for making me feel loved every hour of the day ♡♡

We'll keep saying it; marry your best friend ❤️

tagged: danielricciardo

view all 1,216 comments

sainzchili happy anniversary to you 2! 💞

landonorris congrats mom and dad ❤️

landochaos have they adopted you already?

Isahernaez happy anniversary! ❤️

y/nricciardo ❤️

chilileclerc_ your up next Isa!

dannielricc 3 years?! It seems like yesterday we first saw you in the paddock 😭

danielricciardo and here i thought that we were just partners for one night. ❤️

maxmaxmax DANIEL 💀 💀

☆☆☆☆☆

☆☆☆☆☆

danielricciardo posted on their story

[edutainer2022]

With Jeff's return, there's a new dynamics of there now being two father figures on the island. And some unaddressed logistical and legal issues arise. This is a Jeff and Scott story. I'm always fascinated with them navigating things new and old, post Zero-XL.

As ever, many thanks to @janetm74 for support! Another night of bombings brings on a fic.

TWO FATHERS (TWO SONS)

Being dead was tedious, as it turned out. But not as tedious as coming back to life. The paperwork alone was threatening to swallow them whole. Jeff had a strong suspicion he hadn't even been privy to the worst of it - Scott handling the steel cage fights with the various red tapes across various countries, Tracy Legal, the TI Board, and the GDF. With a strong, if discrete, assistance of John's hacking and communication skills, he suspected (but never asked, for plausible deniability). He was more than greatful for that. His own energy was mostly channeled to gruelling rehabilitation and reacclimitization, and to not going insane from joy of being with his loved ones again. He was prepared to wrestle back every second the exile in deep space cut off his life expectancy. Truth be told, he'd be more than happy to let it all be and just stay on the island, basking in awe at his amazing boys and friends. But his sons were adamant the world got Jeff Tracy back, reinstated to his full glory - Scott's the strongest voice in the chorus. So he rolled with it. He could never again deny his eldest anything.

He might have kept to himself the increasing worry over the hue of grey pallor and deepened frowns exhaustion was casting over Scott's features those days. Every trip to the States or elsewhere to deal with the ever arising issues - an unseen struggle. Jeff's return was supposed to lift the burden off of his boy's shoulders, not add to it.

He was lounging on the couches that afternoon too, waiting for Scott to come up from the hangars. One just landed into the pool, heralding Scott's return from yet another trip to New York. In the meantime Jeff busied himself with going over more rescue logs. A habit he tried to dedicate whatever spare time he got to. Dear God, there were so MANY rescues over the past almost decade. So MANY close calls.

The elevator clicked and Scott came round the corner, his suit jacket already off, tie loosened. The young man's face looked wane, lost in thought. Jeff waited till Scott sat down next to him on one of the couches. He'd adopted another new habit - to ask how his boy's were openly and mean it. To process every word for concealed pain. But Scott was more or less an exhibit of how he felt - forehead pinched in a frown and eyes squeezed against a building headache. Jeff was half of a mind to skip chat (and possibly a nightcap) and altogether to order his son to bed, braving The Look. But Scott spoke first.

"Dad, I need to fly you in to see the lawyers and the judge next time. To transfer custody."

Oh... Jeff hadn't given it much thought, all the other priorities and sensations vying for his attention upon return. He just resumed being the boys' Dad - never for one second over the solitary years away had he stopped thinking of himself as such. But of course, Allie and Gordie having been orphaned minors, guardianship arrangements must have been made. It didn't surprise him one bit Scott had stepped up. As he did with everything else. If Jeff were honest with himself, his eldest did so a lot longer than eight years.

"Gordon aged out, but Allie's still a minor. I will need to forfeit guardianship and return parental rights to you."

There was a weariness in Scotty's voice, in his whole posture. An air of defeat. Jeff raised a hand to run a circle over the hunched back in a silk dress shirt, but his palm hovered millimeters shy of contact. It was supposed to be for the better! Their world was finally, painstakingly turning the right side up again. Scott was never supposed to be a father to the Tinies. If anything, Jeff had harbored tentative hopes his eldest might have started a family of his own by then. Yet he couldn't deny that for Gordon and even more so for young Alan - Scott was the one father figure they knew best. Allie was just a little kid when Jeff went missing, and now he was an incredible youth - brave, kind, smart, funny, exceptionally skilled and professional. He was growing up to be a remarkable man that Scott raised him. Jeff was still catching up on a decade worth of cultural trivia and technological updates, he couldn't presume to be making fully informed choices regarding the boy's future. He knew what he had to do. His hand landed on the son's shoulder finally and gave it a warm squeeze. Scott looked up, wrought with worry.

"I think we should leave it as is, Bluejay. Allie is gonna be eighteen soon, so the point is moot. This changes nothing for us here, at home. I'm your Dad. I will always be! But for the world of college funds, and insurances, and stock options - you're his parent."

Blue eyes regarded him with doubt. Scott drew in a breath to protest, but Jeff was not done.

"Allie will trust you with things he would never share with me as he grows older. Just you wait! For that you're his parent too. You have been for a while, son. I wish things were different, I wish I could lift that much weight off your shoulders. But I promise to be there every step of the way - for him and for you."

Scott's lips were moving to say something, but no sound followed. Damp blue gaze was searching Dad's face, astonished. But even despite welling tears, his son's features looked lighter. Calmer. Like an old ache got soothed. Maybe it had.

Jeff gave his elder boy's shoulder another soft squeeze and moved to stand up, having made up his mind.

"Fancy a nightcap, son? C'mon, I know you haven't worked through ALL of my good stuff. And then you're going straight to bed, Bluejay!"

He made a pointed gesture that probably resembled his own mother a bit too much. But he could indulge himself in mischief just that once. His failed attempt at a stern glare was met by a smile and mirth dancing in bright blue eyes. As Scott sprung up to follow him, sketching a salute, he could consider his goal accomplished as a father for the night.

[theemporium]

Thank youuuuu for going with my request, loved it soooo much.

Could you maybe do a Daniel x Sunshine set amid Scotty and Chloe’s wedding, and when Chloe throws the bouquet, sunshine catches it, and the entire room looks at Daniel while he blushes.

I saw a reel like this, and i can totally imagine Scotty running up to Daniel and saying “you’re next” lmao😭

So much love~💚

thank you!! and thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

You had never been to Venice before you joined Daniel as his date to his best friend’s wedding.

It was a beautiful city, one that you had seen countless times in videos and pictures and movies. You always imagined it would disappoint if you ever saw it in real life, maybe that was a reason you always held back from visiting in the free time you had between each half of the seasons.

But when Daniel asked you to join him for Scotty’s wedding—someone who you had become close to as well—you had no reason to deny the invitation. And you were glad you did because it was even better than any screen or camera could ever capture.

CLICK!

You turned your head, finding your boyfriend grinning behind his camera as he clicked another picture of your expression before setting it down on the table. He reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers together before pressing a kiss to the back.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Daniel asked, his thumb smoothing over the back of your hand.

“Just thinking,” you murmured with a smile.

He raised his brows. “Oh, that can’t be good.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed. “It’s just…so romantic here,” you said to him with a shrug. “Like, I know people always go on about Paris but this…this is something else entirely.”

He had a deeply contemplative look on his face. “Would you wanna get married here?”

You blinked, almost like you weren’t expecting the question. “I don’t know, to be honest.”

“Where would you wanna get married?” Daniel asked before he flashed you a sheepish smile. “Hypothetically.”

“Jumping the gun a bit there, Ricciardo,” you mused but there was a smile on your face too.

He just shrugged. “I like envisioning our future. I just wanna know what your version looks like.”

“And it’s a wedding?” you asked.

“Our dream wedding,” he corrected as he placed another kiss along your knuckles. “It’s gonna be everything we want and more.”

“And more?” you teased. “You’re making big promises here.”

“And I intend to fulfil them all,” he retorted playfully, his eyes glancing down to your lips. You had forbidden him from kissing you before pictures in case it ruined your makeup. But those were over now and there was no reason he couldn’t—

“BOUQUET TOSS! C’MON UP, LADIES!”

You barely got a chance to say anything as you felt hands pull you off your seat, only having enough time to give your boyfriend an apologetic smile before you were tugged into the crowd of women in the middle of the dance floor.

You stayed back, happy to just observe as Chloe moved to the front, looking like a goddamn Disney princess as she grinned at the crowd before turning her back to everyone and tossing the bouquet of flowers over her head.

You were surprised when you found them heading straight towards you.

You could hear the cheers of the other wedding guests, clapping and laughing as you glanced down at the flowers in your hands, and then almost instantly your eyes went to Daniel.

He was already staring at you, a wide grin spread across his face. He wiggled his brows playfully which only made you laugh with him, despite the heated flush covering your body at all the attention.

Daniel couldn’t tear his eyes away from you as Scotty made his way towards him, throwing an arm over his shoulder and giving him a playful shove.

“Guess it’s you next, mate, eh?” Scotty teased.

Though it seems impossible, his grin widened. “Hopefully.”

.

[hooked-on-elvis]

APPRECIATION POST

ELVIS AND THE BLUE MOON BOYS: As told by Scotty Moore.

On a December 27th SCOTTY MOORE was born.🎈 I'm a little late but I wanted to celebrate this special month and date still in 2024. So here's a little summarized story, from Scotty's POV, of how it all started to happen in the music industry for him, Elvis, Bill and D.J,, our dear Blue Moon Boys. The story of how Rock and Roll music was born when initially three young men formed a trio in mid-1954.

I must begin with an observation: "That's Alright, Elvis: The Untold Story of Elvis' First Guitarist and Manager, Scotty Moore" by Scotty Moore as told to James L. Dickerson, from where this excerpt above comes from, is a GREAT book! A definite Elvis and Rock and Roll music fans "must read." I'm yet to read Bill Black's story in "Don't Be Cruel, Elvis: The Bill Black Story" by Paul F. Belard and DJ Fontana's memoir book ("D.J. Fontana remembers Elvis")... but I'm taking my time enjoying Scotty's book for now. It's full of details and I'm impressed with each little part of his (their) story in those pages. People are not usually that interested in musicians as much as in the lead singers, specially if they're not musicians themselves, like me - but Scotty Moore had a very interesting life, besides the book is so well written, honest and fun you can't seriously feel it's even close to being uninteresting. Reading Scotty's book I never had the feeling of wanting to skip the story to the part where Elvis comes into the picture because Scotty's own story is that incredible! I mean it. Anyhow, I'm just sharing how much reading Scotty Moore's story was so important to me and made me feel a deeper appreciation for the Rock and Roll history as a whole and also it helped me better understanding Elvis as a person and how he came to be the legendary artist he became. I didn't finish the book yet, but I can tell from where I am in my readin that having Scotty, Bill and D.J.'s support, guidance and friendship was crucial to the rise of Elvis Presley as we know.

For the record, it actually started with Scotty Moore chasing his dream, cutting a record at the Memphis Recording Service and being asked to audition Presley afterwards. To think Scotty wasn't even supposed to be born! Haha... we'll get to that.

PICTURES: Three-months and five-years old Scotty Moore.

Winfield Scott Moore III (December 27, 1931 – June 28, 2016) was fond of music since he was a child. One of Scotty's bigger brothers gave him his guitar as a farewell gift when Scotty was five years old and his brother, Ralph, the youngest son in the family prior to Scotty being born, joined the US Navy (picture 1 is Scotty wearing a Navy uniform his brother sent him while he was serving). Scotty Moore had four siblings, three boys and a girl. In ascending order of age, they were Carney, Mildred Lee, Edwin and Ralph. His sister, Mildred, sadly passed away when she was only fourteen years old and Scotty wasn't even born yet. It was a hard time for the Moore family, but that sad event in their story was the reason why Scotty existed. Scotty's father, Winfield Scott Moore, found relief for his grief in music, playing fiddle and the banjo, instruments he taught himself how to play. Later he would teach his children how to play guitar. His mother, on the other hand, never got over losing her only girl. Scotty's brothers were born respectively in 1911, 1913, 1915 and 1917. Mildred, born in 1913, died in 1928. A couple of years later, Mattie Moore, Scotty's mother was already thirty-eight years old while her husband and Scotty's father was forty. Regardless of their age, she was so inconsolable over losing her only girl child, they decided to have another baby, hoping for another girl. That's when Scotty was born, in 1931. Scotty laughed when sharing this story. His parents never treated him as if he was a mistake, always showed him the same love they had for all the other children. However, being born with a huge gap regarding the other children in the family (Scotty's brothers were already 20, 16 and 14 when he was born), was not that easy. He felt left out simply because his siblings were in different moments in life than he was. Growing up as the only children in their household possibly contributed a lot to Scotty's relatively reserved, cautious, sober but highly creative personality.

The Moore family — L-R: Edwin, Scott (father), Carney, Ralph, Mattie (mother) and Scotty.

Given the circumstances surrounding his family, as the Great Depression hit hard, Scotty and his brothers grew up watching his father playing music in square dances and parties to help supplement the family's income. Eventually all the boys were involved with music, joining their father in a family band and playing together to help making ends meet. Like them, Scotty grew to love music but found in his guitar more than a way to unwind or to make a few bucks, he actually got serious over playing music and eventually went to dedicating most of his free time to improve his guitar skills.

"Scotty wanted to go fast. He wanted to play music you could dance to. It was as if there was some yet undefined, an inner rhythm simmering inside him, something wild and raw trying to break out into the light of day."

Excerpt "That's Alright, Elvis: The Untold Story of Elvis' First Guitarist and Manager, Scotty Moore" by Scotty Moore as told to James L. Dickerson.

Growing up, Scotty did not find his vocation in school. In his words, he "didn't dig" the school, being an average student. He dropped school for one year after completing the ninth grade, dedicating his time working in the family's farm, but not enjoying the work decided to go back to finish his high school education. In January 1948 Scotty followed his older siblings' steps and decided to enlist in the U.S. Navy. He was only sixteen at the time — the minimum age to join the Navy was eighteen or seventeen, with parent's permission. Therefore, Scotty had to lie about his age. He was lucky his father was supportive. According to Scotty, that was the only time his father lied, to help him. At the age of sixteen, Scotty Moore was a Navy man, still he never left his guitar aside. During his time in the Navy, Scotty formed different bands. One of them even had a fifteen-minute radio show on radio station KPRO in Bremington, Washington, and also played at clubs and parties off-base.

"When he played song the way they were written, they somehow came out different - faster, more energetic. On the outside, Scotty was cool and collected, and shy country boy. On the inside, he was bubbling with emotion. Music was his release. No one had ever heard music the way Scotty heard it; no one had ever felt it the same way."

Excerpt "That's Alright, Elvis: The Untold Story of Elvis' First Guitarist and Manager, Scotty Moore" by Scotty Moore as told to James L. Dickerson.

PICTURE: (1) The USS LST-855, the first ship on which Scotty served in China, and its officers. (2) Later, Scotty served in Japan and Korea on board of the aircraft carrier USS Valley Forge. Picture shows Scotty (left) with musician friends on board of the USS Valley Forge.

Scotty had to become a man fast, the Navy training and his time serving were enough to achieve that. Still, when he returned home to Tennessee after being discharged from the Navy on December 4, 1952, with a China and a Korean service medals in his collections, he was still headset to make music his life and main source of income. By 1954, while he worked at common jobs to make a living, after all at the tender age of 23 he was already a former Navy man, married (then to Bobbie Walls, his second wife) and had two children from his first marriage (to Mary Durkee) he needed to support — Linda Moore, born in December 16, 1950 and Donald Moore, born also on December 16, but in 1952 — Scotty had been trying to gather musicians to play in his free time around Memphis and its neighborhood. Those musicians groups had many different formations, none in particular and no official band for a while. it was upsetting since Scotty took playing music seriously. He looked for musicians as passionate and dedicated to music as himself to form a band and, eventually, he would find those musicians who would encourage him to pursue his dream even further.

Scotty's first real band, a band he formed (under contract and all, quite unusual at that time for small bands) and to which he was the manager to, was the Starlite Wranglers — Lead vocals by Doug Poindexter, Bill Black on bass, Millard Yow on steel guitar, Clyde Rush on guitar and Thomas Sealy on fiddle. Just like Elvis but prior to him, Scotty did cut a record with his band at Sam Phillips' Memphis Recording Service facilities (Sun Records) in Memphis, Tennessee, in May 1954. That's how he got acquainted with Sam. The songs they recorded were "My Kind Of Carryin' On" (A-Side) and "Now She Cares No More For Me" (B-Side).

However, the Starlite Wranglers did not succeed as Scotty hoped for. Still, he continue to perform live in small gigs with his band, concerts he would book himself. At that moment, it was enough satisfying that he had a band with a real record out but he wanted better, he needed more. Scotty continued to visit Sam Phillips at Sun Records, hoping the man could get him a better chance to succeed in the business next time around. One summer day in 1954, Scotty was asked by Sam Phillips to audition Elvis Presley for him, to find out if Elvis was worth his time, money and records producing skills, following the suggestion of Sun Record's secretary Marion Keisker, who had been chatting with Elvis back and forth since he got into the studio in July 1953 looking to cut a private record as a gift to his mom, as he said. Marion was enchanted by the young's man politeness and lovable personality but also with his persistence in making music his real job. Scotty, on the other hand, knew nothing about Elvis, had never seen him until that point. He decided to invite Bill Black to help him out with the audition at Scotty's home (983 Belz street, North Memphis), a house that shared the same neighborhood as Bill Black and his wife's home. It happened on a Sunday afternoon: July 4, 1954. That same day, after the audition, Scotty gave his approval to Sam Phillips and they all got together at Sun Records. That's when "That's All Right, Mama" a 1946 blues song originally recorded by Arthur "Big Boy" Crudup was covered... but at Elvis, Scotty and Bill's brand new style.

PICTURES: 1. Scotty Moore's home in 1954, at 983 Belz street in Memphis, TN. The street was renamed and now (as far as I know) it's the Eldridge street, North Memphis. 2. Bill Black's home at the same neighborhood (967 Belz street). Moore and Black were neighbors in mid-1954 after the Blacks (Bill and his wife Evelyn) told Scotty and his then wife, Bobbie, about a home available for rent there. They first auditioned Elvis in Scotty's home on July 4, 1954, according to Scotty "Elvis arrived shortly after noon." ••• Credits (pictures): Mike Freeman on Flickr, pictures taken on February 21, 2011. Additional info: Youtuber Billy from "Spa Guy" channel visited the address. Here's a video uploaded in 2017 that shows the sites: "Elvis Presley Audition Scotty & Bill."

Scotty had a long story with music of his own prior to Elvis coming into his life. He knew much more about the music industry than Elvis at that point when they met (mid-1954) and so did Bill Black, both already used to entertaining small audiences in honky tonks, which proved to be just what Elvis needed, jovial musicians with a passion for music as strong as his own, but people that could school him on the business.

The trio was a perfect match. Elvis' voice and the attention he got, the curious gazes from both youngsters and adults, interested not only in his voice but also in his flashy looks and unusual movements onstage, combined with Scotty's management skills and Bill's boldness to experiment with sounds and the great enthusiasm and energy he brought onstage, encouraging the rather shy young Elvis to let loose and show everyone his true self, was like the stars were finally aligned when those three met. When Elvis already had a deal with Sun Records and was finally a music artist as he dreamed of becoming, a member of the trio gathered by Sam Phillips to which Scotty Moore naturally took over the management responsibilities (in contract signed on July 12th, 1954 just a few days after Elvis' first audition with Bill and Scotty), due to his previous experience as a band manager. Initially, Scotty Moore was the only person actually booking gigs for them. The easiest way for Scotty to introduce his new band to the public was by incorporating the trio as "special guests" to the Starlite Wranglers shows. One of the sites they played at was the Bon Air Club, a bar at the outer rim of the city (Memphis) limits. That was before Elvis and The Moon Boys could even have a name, as it would be for a little while...

The group's name soon after would come. Taken from the B-side of "That's All Right, Mama", "Blue Moon of Kentucky," a Bill Monroe hit from 1946 that was recorded at Sun Records by Elvis and the boys just a couple of days afterwards, on July 6, 1954.

"With 'That's All Right, Mama,' Elvis took a blues song and sang it white. With 'Blue Moon of Kentucky' he did the opposite: he took a country song and gave it a bluesy spin."

Excerpt "That's Alright, Elvis: The Untold Story of Elvis' First Guitarist and Manager, Scotty Moore" by Scotty Moore as told to James L. Dickerson.

Already on the road, a little while afterwards the three added a drums player to the group, D.J. Fontana. They'd met and become friends during the Louisiana Hayride gigs, where D.J. was an in-house drummer on its Saturday night radio broadcast. Hidden behind the curtains onstage for a Louisiana Hayride performance of Elvis and the Blue Moon Boys, on October 16 1954 at the Municipal Auditorium in Shreveport, LA, D.J. had his first taste of what it was like to play with the boys. D.J. said about playing with them: "I figured the best thing for these guys was to stay out of the way, why would I clutter it up with cymbals? I'll just play the back beat and stay out of their way. They already had the good sound."

Scotty's management on Elvis' career didn't last long, tho. As a local musician with no connections in the business that could give the band a national break, Elvis' management contract was given to the deejay Bob Neal, a friend of Sam Phillips, and, not long afterwards, to Colonel Parker, who would take over Elvis' destiny from then on. Scotty shares in his book that the moment he talked to Parker he could feel Elvis and the Blue Moon Boys as they were was not far from becoming history. He wasn't wrong. but that's another story. The boys still had time to be featured in some of Elvis' most remarkable films released in the 50s, as "Jailhouse Rock" (1957), and definitely left an everlasting mark in music and a legacy that'll never be forgotten.

It was crazy being a musician for Elvis Presley, sure, but those three guys rocked and, IMHO, the Blue Moon Boys are the responsible ones for Elvis getting to be so demanding on hiring his musicians when he went back to performing live, in 1969, after the end of his Hollywood acting career and a hiatus from live performances that lasted seven years. At the beginnings, Scotty said there was a point [at the peak of the Elvis Mania in the 50s] where they couldn't hear any music during the concerts, so they had no option but to guide themselves by Elvis' moves onstage to get an idea of what part of the songs they were supposed to be playing. D.J. Fontana said he could hear the music but couldn't see the other musicians when he started playing with the boys. Elvis couldn't hear himself in most of the shows in the 50s, specially when things got bigger and wilder from 1956 on. Elvis was a perfectionist and he expected his musicians to follow his lead onstage. He would gesture to them whenever he wanted a change in the pace or sound... when to begin playing, when to pause, when to lower the music, when to come to an end. Elvis liked how intuitive, quick and responsive to him Scotty, Bill and D.J. were onstage, and that established his standard for what good live musicians were made of. Other than a perfectionist, Elvis was quite methodical character in work. He wasn't one to get easily convinced into changing his way of doing things if he liked the way they worked before. That's another great insight Scotty's book gives us. As the band was originally composed by three members, they didn't have a lot of instruments to fill the sound in records, so Sam Phillips decided to put Elvis' vocals at the same level as the instruments as he produced their records. Elvis liked how that sounded, so much so that he just hated when people (and I mean Colonel Parker) wanted to bring his vocals front and put the instruments more or less in the background, which happened in some of his later records. Colonel Parker reasoned with that saying Elvis' fans wanted to hear Elvis' voice, nothing more and Elvis didn't agree in the slightest. Other example of Elvis being resistant to changes in the music business was in 1969 at the American Sound studio, when the way of producing records was very different than in the 50s, being more common to tape the parts of the songs separately (backing vocals, instruments and leading vocals) because that gave a better opportunity to explore with the sounds to the music producers, allowing them to reach different sounds than recording songs with all of the musicians playing and singing together in the same room as in a live concert could give. Elvis had a little bit of a hard time accepting it. He loved how the 50s music was made. That, my friends, is how the Blue Moon Boys era and his experience recording at Sun Records was dear to the King's heart.

Well, not so full of dates and details but that's it. Just a summarized story of the beginnings of Rock and Roll music in the 50s. In Scotty's book it's all way more interesting, I guarantee you. The point is... those guys were a force of nature together. They were different, fresh, exciting... as a team. It was not only about the lead singer for a while. Scotty was quite shy and modest, yet very mature and serious over playing music, while Bill Black was fun and energetic onstage, giving Elvis the encouragement to act more wild and bold onstage too, little by little but quickly becoming as untamed as he could be, inspiring fear and frenzy into the "square" 50s society. EP learned a lot about how to be an exciting entertainer at that time.

Scotty, Bill and DJ... I will always appreciate your efforts and dedication to music. You were extremely important, taught and guided Elvis while he was finding his way in the industry. Your place in history is permanent, and so is our gratitude. Don't be fooled, my friends, we still feel the direct impact Elvis and the Blue Moon Boys caused in the entertainment industry. They rocked our world.

I specially will always appreciate Scotty Moore being stubborn on his passion with music. In a world where so many people are wannabes, so many try to make it and give up when things get rough and life happens, Scotty's vision and creativity helped change the course of music forever. It wasn't easy. Scotty, just like Elvis in a future time, lost his (first) wife - among other reasons - because of his music inclination. Scotty and Bill were a reflection of what Elvis was, if we take a closer look at their private lives. As I said before, they matched. It was meant to be.

Happy heavenly belated birthday, Scotty. I hope I did justice sharing a little bit of your story. I am an admirer of your work. Even not knowing the least about music technicalities, I know enough to be certain your guitar playing talent inspired many great musicians that would come after you. Your story is unique and so special. I feel blessed knowing a little bit of who you were and how you felt. God bless your soul, dear Scotty. ♥

[tagsecretsanta]

From @littleoldrachel

From @littleoldrachel to @sofasurf

Let your heart be light

“I just don’t understand why you leave it to the last minute every year, Allie.”

Alan’s bedroom is an explosion of wrapping paper in a garish glitter snowman print. Every attempt to manoeuvre it has only cascaded silver glitter into every crevice of the fluffy carpet—or worse, burrowed into Alan’s palms, no matter how many times he’s scrubbed them. Strings of gold ribbon, webs of sticky tape, and an assortment of gifts lie tangled at the centre of the mess, with at least four pairs of open scissors perfectly positioned to do some damage. 

The paper he’d thought was so cute when he ordered it online is now haunting him—most disturbing were the trails of glitter that swilled around his shower water earlier. (He also doubts that it fills his rescuees with reassurance when he leaves sparkly handprints on them as he lifts them out of whatever horrifying situation they’ve found themselves in. Although… the little girl who’d asked him very earnestly if he was a fairy since he was leaving such a shimmery trail made the whole thing rather more cute than annoying.)

Still, curse Gordon for encouraging Alan's poor wrapping paper decisions. 

“Please, Scott,” Alan wheedles. He hesitates, then pulls out the big guns and widens his eyes to pouting proportions. “I'll never get this done in time without you.”

Scott rolls his eyes, but he does inch forward from where he's leaned against the door jamb, his crossed arms loosening slightly. 

“It's ten to midnight. Christmas Day is literally minutes away, Allie,” Scott says, and Alan can tell he's trying to channel Commander Tracy—if only he could contain his fond smirk. 

“It'll be faster if we work together!” Alan blinks slowly and deliberately, puppy-dog eyes unwavering. 

“Quit trying to be cute.” 

“It's a lost cause!” Gordon's voice calls out from the hallway, and Alan is so intent on flinging himself across the room to hide the squid's present from view that he doesn't even have the time to be indignant. 

Scott frowns and turns. “Why aren't you in bed?”

Gordon's unruly mop of golden curls appears in the gap. “The mother-henning again, Scotty? Really?”

Scott ignores this. “You're usually first in bed on Christmas. I remember this because you were always the first one to come bounding into my room at four in the morning, shrieking about what Satan had brought you.”

“Satan?” Alan yelps.

“Hey, dyslexia is a cruel mistress!” Gordon scowls. “I liked it better when we were making fun of Allie-”

“I didn't-”

“But if you must know, I was checking on Virg.”

Scott straightens at once, every bit the soldier he once was. (Alan sort of hates it, if he's honest; it feels painful how easily the Commander comes out, even in the one place they are supposed to get to be soft and safe.)

“What's wrong with Virgil?”

“Stand down, soldier.” Gordon yawns so hard his jaw crackles. “Virg is fine. He took a few knocks on this afternoon's rescue, and I just wanted to check he wasn't doing his usual stoic thing.”

Scott frowns. “He didn't mention that in the debrief-”

“Virg hiding injuries? Gee, I wonder where he learned that,” Gordon says dryly, and Alan snorts. “He's fine, Scott. Just bruised and cranky.”

“I'll check in on him in a bit,” Scott says, more to himself than anyone else, and Gordon shoots Alan an exasperated eye roll that has him grinning. Then, Gordon's eyes rove over the disaster site that is Alan's room, and his eyes widen. It's a mark of how tired he must be that he doesn't even quip, just slowly backs away from the mess. “On that note, g’night!” 

Alan waits till Gordon's door has closed before he clambers up off Gordon's gift: a truly hideous Christmas jumper decorated with a Santa Claus riding a flamingo float. 

Alan's gifts to his brothers are always the most heinous jumpers he can find - after all, what on earth do you give a family made up of billionaires? - and the public loves the annual auction of the jumpers as part of the Tracy family charity drive. He's pretty proud of himself for this year's effort. 

“The sooner you help me, the sooner you can go and bother Virg,” Alan says sweetly, holding up the scissors to Scott. 

Scott lets out a put-upon sigh, but he's never been able to resist his littlest brother – as Alan well knows – and he takes the scissors reluctantly. 

“Fine, but I'm tagging you in on helping Grandma with the lunch tomorrow.”

Alan pulls a face. He adores his grandmother with his whole heart and soul, and yet her incompetency in the kitchen is nothing short of deadly. Still, if it means an end to the scratchiness of glitter on his skin, he'll go for it. 

“Deal.”

*

Twenty minutes later and faced with a wrapped jumper that looks more like a piece of crumpled trash than a gift, Alan is regretting his recruitment choices. They’d massively underestimated the size of the paper they would need and had been forced to attach another sheet at a strange angle to cover the gift, leaving the snowmen oddly distorted.

“I thought you'd be good at this,” he says despairingly, poking at where the wrapping paper has bunched and torn. “Isn't the army big on neatness?”

Scott slaps his hand away. “You're making it worse! I'm just out of practice.” He has glitter smeared in his eyebrows from his constant head-in-hands-exasperation, and it's the kind of ridiculousness that pours warmth into his chest; they may all be public figures, and they may have had their grief made an aching, public thing, but only Alan and his brothers get to witness Scott Tracy being silly. 

“Scotty, you have five siblings; how can you possibly be out of practice?”

There's an awkward pause as Alan tries – to no avail – to fold down the corners of the lumpy package. When it finally clicks that Scott hasn't come back with a witty retort (and Alan's tired, okay? Three back-to-back rescues and his brain has turned to soup), Alan looks up sharply. 

“I usually get Virg to do mine,” Scott admits grudgingly, and Alan gapes. “He likes it!” Scott adds defensively, shuffling his stance in a very un-Scott-like move. “Says he finds it ‘mindful’ or whatever.”

“Great! Then I'll ask him to do mine!” Alan scoops up an armful of crumpled wrapping paper and tangled ribbon, making to stand. 

Scott laughs. “Not so fast, kiddo. Virg may or may not be injured—and even if he weren't, he has a strict deadline for wrapping applications.”

Alan's mouth moves silently, trying to catch up. “How long has this been going on?”

“About… five years?” Scott scrunches his nose. “Maybe longer?”

“And why am I only hearing about it now?”

Scott shrugs. “It didn’t start as a whole thing; I was getting more and more stressed about not being ready for Christmas with all the Tracy Industry stuff, and it was when he was following me around like a shadow because he was worried, and then he just helped… and kept helping.” Scott shifts his weight again and places the next jumper – John’s – in the centre of a fresh sheet of paper. “And then Gordon cottoned on, and–"

“What?!” Alan’s outrage is like the sharp sting of a torn-off scab. “Gordon knows and he didn’t tell me?”

Scott blinks at him. “We all know, Allie. John found out… somehow, because he’s John. Kayo walked in on Virg wrapping all her birthday presents. Didn't you always wonder why the presents we give Virg are wrapped like shit, and ours belong in a gallery?”

“I can't believe there's been an underground present-wrapping operation this whole time.”

Scott grins and shakes his head. “I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out, Mr Built-A-Damn-Rocket-At-Twenty-Years-Old.” He’s folding the paper around the jumper more carefully this time, creasing sharp folds instead of simply rolling it. “Hold,” he says, and Alan obediently presses his hand over where the paper meets. Scott places a tiny square of tape over the join, and Alan frowns.

“We’re going to need more than that, Scotty. You know we can afford more tape if we run out?”

“Do you want my help or not?” Scott says, elbowing him. He does grudgingly place another piece alongside it, though.

There’s a brief lull between them as they focus their efforts on the present, which is looking considerably less Frankenstein’s monster-like than their first attempt, even if they have reams of paper left over.

“You’re right, though, I did use to be better at this,” Scott says quietly. “Someone had to be after mom—well… let’s just say that dad wasn’t exactly great at being there to pick up this kind of thing.”

Alan’s heart clenches, the familiar wounded creature that it is. Scott rarely talks about the time after mom’s death—and usually, only in relation to the impact it had on Virgil (an all-consuming, terrifying depression) and John (vicious intrusive thoughts and anxiety). He and Gordon had been too young to remember things being any different, but with the benefit of hindsight, Alan can recognise how tough it must have been. It’s uncommon for Scott to talk about what that was like for him: the lynchpin to bind them together with too young hands for such a burden. Alan feels a little like he’s handling a frightened animal in the face of Scott’s pain, but he makes an interested noise in his throat, allowing Scott to shift his hands wherever he’s needed.

“It was rough, sometimes,” Scott allows. His voice is soft and his expression distant. “I didn’t want you and Gords and Johnnie to miss out on any of the Christmas build-up stuff – and Grandma tried to be there – but I was only a teenager. Sometimes, even now when I’m wrapping gifts, I can feel that stressed boy, juggling nativity plays and gifts for teachers and Christmas jumper days–" He cuts himself off sharply. “Sorry, you don’t want to hear all this.”

“I do,” Alan says, and the desperation bleeds into his tone more than he wishes. “I do want to hear it—I’m… I’m sorry we didn’t realise how much it was for you to manage.”

“You were four, Allie, I didn’t want you to realise.”

“Still.” His arms tingle with the urge to fling them around his oldest brother, to brush his thumbs under the eyebag-crevices he’s too young to have, to smooth the crinkle of his brow. Instead, he stares down at the paper beneath his hands and swallows.  “I wish you talked about it more.”

Scott pauses, fingers hovering over where he’s poised to place the final strip of tape. “I’m trying to. Virg tells me I shouldn’t keep it all bottled up.”

“Yeah well. He’s pretty smart, you know?”

Scott laughs, and the movement softens his forehead and creases the lines around his mouth. It’s lovely. It’s as it should be. “I know.” He sits back on his haunches and the two of them survey their handiwork.

It’s a great improvement on their first attempt, even if all the extra paper ended up bunched and bulky around the edges. Scott ties a ribbon around it lengthways, and Alan slaps on a sparkly bow.

“I think we nailed it,” Scott says, eyes twinkling.

The bow promptly falls off the parcel.

Alan scowls, reattaching it more forcefully—enough that he feels the centre of it click and then a horrid, tinny version of Jingle Bells starts playing. Alan and Scott stare at it in horror as a children’s choir begins yowling over the top of the music, and Alan reaches out to try and stop the caterwauling.

“No!” Scott seizes his wrist, eyes wide. “Don’t make it start again!”

As the final line rings out, the bow plops off the parcel again and Scott’s eyes narrow. “It’s fucking with us.”

“Language!” Alan says gleefully, and Scott nudges him.

“It’s cursed, Allie, I’m telling you—”

“Don’t be silly.” He applies featherlight pressure to the bow this time, but as his hand moves away, the song starts up again. “I didn’t even press it!”

The music plays through once… and then immediately starts up again.

Scott and Alan exchange a look, and then the corner of Scott’s mouth twitches and it’s enough. Alan bursts out laughing – loud, hysterical sounds that frankly improve the awful music – with Scott close behind him. The music chunters on cheerfully in the background, but Alan is warm with sheer delight at the expression on Scott’s face, the way he’s bent double with the force of his laughter, how light he seems for the first time in months.

“You’re right – it’s haunted,” Alan manages, which only sets Scott off again. In the background, the song stutters on way-ay-ay-ay-ay, like some crazy club remix.

“Why – did you get – singing ones?” Scott wheezes through laughter, and all Alan can do is shake his head.

Eventually, as the music grows tinnier and tinnier, Scott staggers up and flings the cursed decoration through Alan’s balcony doors, until it lands with a plop in the pool. He turns back to Alan, grinning so wide and wild that Alan feels giddy all over again.

Seeing his brothers happy fills his heart to the brim, but seeing Scott happy—it’s molten gold flowing into every last crack and chip in his chest, leaving him warm and light and whole. He wants to capture this moment in a glass jar and hold it close on his darkest nights. He wants to lock away this memory and protect it against the future versions of Scott who will be stern and burnt out and beaten down. He just wants Scott to be happy.

It’s an impossible dream. Or at least, an impossible consistent dream; after all, Scott has surely the most stressful job in the world and sends his brothers out into the field every single day without being able to know for sure that they will return. He plays both mother and father, presents the perfect CEO, offers the ideal PR needed—it’s too much for anyone to hold and be happy. Scott is the first to admit that there are always people they can’t save, always situations they can’t control, and always moments that are missed (even if his hypocritical arse won’t accept that itself).

But Alan can start with this—with Christmas. With family and presents and ridiculous wrapping paper. And maybe – maybe – it will be enough for now.

*

BANG!

Alan jolts awake so fast that black spots burst in his vision as he sits up. Scott is already on his feet beside him, ever the soldier, tiredness cast off like a cloak.

“Whoops.” Their grandma’s voice floats up to them, and the brothers exchange a look before Scott offers a hand to Alan.

“My money’s on a cooking disaster,” Scott says conspiratorially, and Alan sort of hates him for being so awake at this moment.

Alan groans as he accepts the proffered hand, his own free hand rubbing at his aching neck. The two of them had finally fallen asleep around two in the morning, slumping into a messy pile surrounded by wrapping paper and decorations. Alan feels considerably worse for wear as he rubs glitter from his eyelashes, but he allows Scott to pull him from the room in the direction of their grandma’s mumbled cursing.

“What time is it?” he yawns, wincing as his thumb hits a particularly sore knot in his neck.

Scott casts him a pitying look. “You’re too young to be aching like this, Allie.”

“Yeah, Allie. Spare a thought for the old man over here,” Gordon’s voice is gleeful as he slings an arm over Alan’s shoulder and nods at Scott. “And it’s just gone eight.”

Scott flips Gordon off over his shoulder, which only makes Gordon grin wider still. He’s just in swimming trunks and still drips pool water across the corridor, skin cool against Alan’s sleep-sensitive arms.

Their smiles fade as they round the corner to the kitchen, where they see Grandma staring helplessly at the oven – a scary enough prospect on its own – from which black smoke is pouring. The glass has shattered inwards, and a thick, acrid stench fills the air. The three boys freeze for a fraction of a second before Scott and Gordon leap into action, flinging open the oven door and yanking out a charred and blackened unidentifiable mess.

Grandma blinks in confusion. “I was just preheating the oven for the turkey,” she says. “What’s my Christmas cake doing in there?”

Gordon widens his eyes at Alan from behind Grandma’s back, his message clear: DO NOT SPILL THE BEANS. Alan does his best to blink innocently back at Grandma—to pretend that he and Gordon didn’t hide it in the oven earlier this week to avoid having to eat any and risk their stomach linings.

“Well?” Grandma turns to look at Gordon, who quickly schools his features into something bewildered. “Care to explain?”

Thankfully, Virgil chooses that moment to stumble into the kitchen, beelining for the coffee machine. He stabs blearily at the buttons before Scott takes pity and sorts his espresso. Virgil blinks dopily at Scott in response, patting his head tiredly and slinking over to the island stools.

“Morning, Virg,” Gordon says brightly, and Virg grunts something in response.

“I’m very well, thank you so much for asking. And a merry Christmas to you, too!” Gordon continues, and Alan sees Scott bite back a smile.

“What happened to the oven?!” John joins them, pale and sleepy-looking but far more awake than his older brother.

“Someone ruined my Christmas cake—and now the oven is broken!” Grandma says, and her gaze flits to the turkey sitting on the side, ready to be roasted.

Alan frowns. “But how will we roast the turkey now?”

There’s an awkward pause. “Are you sure it’s broken?” Scott asks, crouching to examine the nobs and dials. He twists a few experimentally, and the oven belches out an almighty groan of more black smoke. “Okay! Message received!”

Scott stands and glances over at Virgil. “Virg, can you take a look at it?”

Virgil shoots Scott a look over the rim of his mug. “You want me to glass-blow a new oven door?” Alan had forgotten how sarky early morning Virgil can be and he loves it.

“Virg.”

Virgil downs the remainder of his piping hot coffee and stands. It takes him all of two seconds to declare the oven out of action: “It needs at least three replacement parts, even if the door were reparable,” he tells them, the wonders of coffee returning a sharp precision to his tone. “I can make a version of those parts, but it’ll take too long for today.”

“What are we going to do?!” Alan yelps, flushing as everyone turns to look at him.

“We could… have a barbecue?” Gordon suggests, squinting at the prepared turkey. “We could slice it into strips, set up on the beach…”

Scott snaps his fingers at Gordon, smiling wide. “Yes! Great plan—”

“What can I say? Here to save Christmas,” Gordon smirks, grin only widening when his brothers roll their eyes in unison.

*

Several hours later, they have hauled the barbecue down onto a quiet strip of beach, with Brains and Virgil talking quietly as they man the barbecue and bicker about the most effective use of space on the grill. Almost everyone else, bar M.A.X and Grandma (who are lounging on blankets on the sand), has been recruited for a game of chicken fight, with the added challenge of battling the current of the tide as it sweeps in and out.

From atop Kayo’s shoulders, Alan takes out John with ease, grinning as his brother falls off Scott like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Grub’s up!” Virgil yells, and the four of them scatter, hurrying towards the shore. Alan can’t help the bubble of laughter that escapes him as Kayo and Scott become entangled and flop together in the foamy edge of the water.

By the time the two of them are back on dry land, everyone else is tucking into their Christmas lunch, appreciative hums echoing across the group.

“There’s sand in my turkey,” John says with a frown, and Scott laughs.

“Better that than Grandma’s special stuffing recipe. Nearly cracked my tooth with that a while ago.”

John rolls his eyes, but obediently chomps down on the sandy turkey sandwich. He’s a little paler and thinner than his brothers like him to be, but his smile is bright and lovely even through a mouthful of chewed bread and meat.

By nine, the sun has begun to creep towards its bedtime, pouring pink and gold across the sky in a beautiful cascade of colours. The smell of barbecued meat blends with the salty sea air, undercut with the coconutty scent of John’s suncream.  

The Tracy family shows no such sign of calling their celebration to an end—Gordon and Scott have roped Kayo and M.A.X into a game of volleyball, with the little robot strangely nimble across the loose sand, whilst John, Brains and Grandma alternate between roasting marshmallows and playing increasingly competitive card games.

It’s nothing like the Christmases Alan grew up watching in movies and on TV, nor is it like the ones his schoolfriends used to wax lyrical about.

Somehow, it’s even better.

(Alan thinks that has a lot to do with how loud Gordon’s laughter booms across the beach, how bright Scott’s smile is, and John’s playful smirk that only ever comes out around those he’s truly comfortable with.)

And yet, despite how pleasantly full he feels and how much happiness sings in the air, there’s a weight on his chest that he cannot shift. It prickles with wrongness in the face of so much joy, and Alan feels like he’s dragging their celebrations towards misery as he sits by himself and gazes out at the ocean.

At that moment, as if he can sense Alan’s rising distress (and perhaps he can; Virg has always been weirdly perceptive about these things), Virgil plops down beside Alan and offers him a soft smile. “You good, Allie?”

Alan nods, then leans his head against Virgil’s shoulder, allowing his older brother to tuck him tighter into his side. All his brothers hug differently, but none of them truly envelop him as Virgil does. “Just thinking.”

“Warned you about that,” Virgil murmurs and Alan can hear the smile in his voice even though he can’t see it. His hand comes up to the back of Alan’s neck, and he begins massaging out the knotty tension in Alan’s neck. The relief trickles warm and grateful down Alan’s spine and he sags further into his brother, trusting and knowing that he will be held.

“I wish it could always be like this,” Alan says after a beat or two.

Virgil pauses. “Like this?”

“Like…” Alan waves a hand. “I wish Scott could always be this relaxed. And John could always be here. And we could always be this happy.” A sharp longing ache lodges in his throat, and he has to fight to get the next words out without it catching. “I wish we didn’t have to give up so much to have these moments.”

Virgil is silent for a long time, his grip tighter around Alan. “Me too,” he says at last, and it’s so un-Virgil-like to admit something even vaguely selfish that Alan would pull away to stare at him if he weren’t so damned comfortable. “But Allie—I think that’s also what makes these moments so, so precious. That we know what it is not to have them. That we know what they cost.”

“That doesn’t feel fair,” Alan says, hating the petulance in his own voice.

If Virgil were replaced by Gordon, there would be a quip about life’s not fair and a joke to distract him from the ache of it. Scott would be frantic to try and fix it, and John’s analytical mind would identify all the illogical and untrue aspects of that statement.

Virgil just holds him impossibly tighter still and meets him with an empathy Alan didn’t know he needed. “I know.”

Virgil holds him together as the aching grief of all that has been lost – all that continues to be sacrificed, and all the moments to be missed in the future – spreads and crashes over Alan—

Then all at once, the grief ebbs away like the tide retreating.

Virgil presses a kiss to Alan’s crown. “You good. Allie?” His voice is soft and warm, and Alan knows that he’ll stay as long as Alan needs him to—that he doesn’t even have to ask.

This is what makes it easier for him to nod and mean it this time.

“Want a marshmallow?”

Alan hesitates and nods, allowing Virgil to pull him up and tug him back towards the makeshift campfire. Scott, Kayo, Gordon and M.A.X have abandoned their game at last, and have squished themselves around the fire too, though they shuffle over to allow room for Virgil and Alan to squeeze in beside Scott.

“Alright?” Scott murmurs to Alan, and Alan nods. The prickling fades, tucked between his two oldest brothers, across from the jokey antics and quiet intelligence of his other two brothers, beneath the protective gaze of his sister and grandmother—and under the twinkling light of his mom’s star. He’s so damned lucky, despite it all, to be so loved like this.

“Happy Christmas,” he says softly, and Scott smiles.

“Happy Christmas, Allie.” He ruffles Alan’s hair and Alan laughs.

Christmas may not look the way he thought it would be growing up, and it may be a long time before they get to be together like this again. Another Christmas may be full of injuries or loss, and it may feel harder still to rise above the weight of their collective grief.

But Alan vows that he will do everything in his power to keep giving them Christmases like this, full of light and laughter and love.

For this Christmas is theirs and Alan will hold it tight and precious against his heart.

[skipper1331]

Obsessed // Alessia Russo

Alessia and you were lying on the couch watching modern family. Well, that was the original plan, however Alessia had a different one. The TV shouldn’t have your attention. Alessia should have your attention.

"Lessi, what are you doing?" you giggled.

The striker had her hands on your sides, pulling you into her while peppering kisses all over your face.

"I‘m so obsessed with you, baby." Her eyes were nothing but full of love. Still, all these years later she made you feel like a lovestruck teenager.

Alessia often used that phrase. Because it‘s true. That girl was head over heels for you and has been since the moment she met you.

Many years ago

Alessia and her friends were playing football in the park.

And then there was you walking around with your little brother. Normally, you would be studying but your mother was still working so you had to take care of your brother. You enjoyed it though. Your brother was a little sunshine. Smiley, goofy, laughing. A boy who enjoyed his life.

"I want a dog, missy. You know? It would be so cool! I could play with him all the time. While I throw him his toy I would train my arm. So I can be like gramps." Your grandpa was an absolute legend in handball. The same passion he had, your brother has now. And to be honest your brother was quite good at it.

So the reason why you were at the park was to let him play. You knew there was a little goal which he could use. Nobody used it. You have never seen someone besides your brother use it.

As soon as he saw the goal he ran to it and threw the ball. "MISSY! HURRY UP!!!" he shouted while you walked (slowly in his eyes) to him. His shouting got Alessias attention. She and her friends a bit away. But not only Alessias attention, everyones attention. They all shared a look before they looked towards the both of you. When Alessia saw you her world stopped. You might think of it as a cliche but Alessia Russo had never seen a girl prettier than you. She watched the way you played with your brother, the way you would jump in the wrong way so the ball would go in, the way you played catch and throw.

The whole time while playing with her friends she couldn‘t focus. She was too focused on you. Too obsessed with you.

Her touch was sloppy. Her passes were sloppy. Eventually her friends gave up on having a good game. When they started their journey home Alessia thought about doing it too but she couldn‘t go home without knowing your name. She would regret it. Being bold in that moment she walked over to the two of you. "Wrong choice of sport, mate" she joked. "Hi, i‘m Al-" she couldn‘t even finish her sentence because your brother was so offended. "Excuse you! My gramps is a H-E-R-O in this sport." She didn‘t think that her choice of words would lead to this. She just wanted to get know you. "Scotty, be nice. She was joking." In that moment she could‘ve sworn that she was about to faint. Your voice was music to her ears. "I‘m Y/N"

And that‘s how your relationship started.

some years ago

Alessia and you have been a couple for about 2 years and you both couldn‘t be happier. But what Alessia was feeling right now was anything but happiness. Her day already started shitty and it only got worse. Last night she forgot to charge her phone so this morning it didn‘t have any battery. As a result she couldn‘t read your daily morning messages. In school she found out that she left her homework at home which were due today and training in general was just not it. The worst part of all was that she missed you. She wanted to be in your arms. They would make anything better. Immediately after training was finished Alessia made her way home. She knew you were at her house waiting.

You and her mom were sitting in the living room talking about the new recipe she tried a few days ago when a moody Alessia came home. She didn‘t even say hello. She just walked up to you, grabbed your hand and pulled you along with her. In her bedroom, she wordlessly laid you down on her bed and flopped onto you. Instantly your arms went around her. Her face was hidden in the crook of your neck while she inhaled your scent. "Hard day today, baby?" you asked quietly. You could feel her nod. You pressed a kiss to her temple and started tracing patterns on her back, so she would calm down. You didn’t know how long you‘ve been doing it but when you heard her sleepy voice say "I‘m obsessed with you" you knew she was about to fall asleep.

a few years ago

It was family trip time.

Alessias family had invited you to come with them to Italy. Of course you agreed. You have never been in Italy before and with all the stories Alessia told you about her nonna you were excited to meet her. Alessia loved Italy. How couldn‘t she? She loved everything about it. The food, the people, the weather, everything. And now the person she loved most came to the place she loved. She was excited. On the whole journey (the flight and car rides) to her nonnas she couldn‘t shut up about the things she wanted to show you. She was so enthusiastic and full of joy that you couldn‘t stop smiling (at her).

In the first week Alessia showed you around, took you on romatic dates and you, her and her family had almost every night a game night. It was perfect.

One night her nonna made dinner (she always did but this time it was different) she asked you if you wanted to learn how to make a real italian lasagna. You didn’t let that opportunity slip through your fingers. Her nonna showed you how to make the perfect lasagna and while she taught you it she also taught you some italian words and phrases.

Alessia was head over heels. She loved that her nonna liked you, she loved that you and her nonna connected so well. She felt special because you were special. Her nonna had never asked someone who was not blood related to help her make her lasagna. Not one of her brothers girlfriends, nobody. The only thing Alessia could do was watch. She watched you the whole time with big heart eyes. "You really love her, don‘t you?“ her brother asked, snapping her halfway out of her trance but not completely. “Yeah. I‘m so obsessed with her.“ she answered honestly, still with her eyes fixed on you. What she didn’t realize though was that her answer was in fact loud spoken. Not in a whisper like she thought. "I always knew you‘re obsessed with me“ giggling you pressed a kiss on her cheek. Her face turning a deep shade of red. "Look at the lasagna we made!“ you stated with so much pride in your voice. You were really proud of that lasagna, hoping it would taste good. "It looks almost as amazing as you“ your lover replied whilst smacking her arm around your waist. "smooth“ the other Russo brother laughed.

The rest of the night was filled with a delicious meal, laughing and enjoying each others presence. That night was one of the happiest Alessia ever had. She was in the country she loved, around the people she loved most. She was at peace.

present

"Still? Years later?“ you whispered against her lips, an inch away. ”Yeah“ she breathed.

With that being said she kissed you. She kissed you like there was no tomorrow. She kissed you like you were the only girl in the world (because for her you were). She kissed you like she would do it for the rest of your lives.

After all those years Alessia was still obsessed with you and neither of you wanted it any other way.

—————————

[inkievoid]

Leon definitely did this for all his wife’s pregnancies but I think for Scottie in particular, she’s a lot older, probably got really self conscious when she started to gain weight and look more pregnant. Particularly when she’s in her third trimester, and she’s got a baby bump. Her clothes don’t fit at all and she’s uncomfortable. Of course she’s done this before but it’s different now. He’d go out of his way to make her feel beautiful, to let her know she’s still gorgeous to him. She’s also extra sensitive right now, and he’d be so gentle with her, and make sure his girls knew to be careful with what they say and do

Leon in general is affectionate to his family, especially his wife. He's extra affectionate when she's pregnant but this time around it's like he's a whole different kind of supportive man.

Constantly checking in, even a few times throughout the day. I'd imagine she goes a little stir crazy during pregnancy cause she's not able to work (Terrasave would definitely not let a pregnant woman around virus strains cause God forbid anything happen!)

Whenever he can be, Leon's home. Constantly being on the edge of overbearing but knows his limits by now with her, this ain't their first rodeo together after all. But the last two times you could bounce back pretty easily. Now this is considered a late in life or as the doctor so lovingly called it a "geriatric pregnancy" since you'd be in your 40s by now.

You can't help but dwell on all the possible issues or how you'll be after. HOW YOU'LL LOOK AFTER!

Will Leon still find you appealing?

You're honest enough with each other to come forward and talk about problems big or small. You've literally held him through full on breakdowns before. He's cared for you when postpartum hit you after having Cecilia and you felt like less of a mother for not connecting with her right away like with Violet. You're each other's rocks. Of course he'd still love you and find you just as gorgeous as the moment he laid his eyes on you.

He tells you not to worry about clothes, they're just clothes. They can fit again eventually. But he knows how you find comfort in having him around somehow. So you two start sharing a wardrobe. Sweats, t-shirts, and his jackets. It's nice having him there even if it's not physically. Even just his cologne stuck to his jacket collar is nice against your sensitive pregnancy nose. And he gets the benefit of watching you walk around in his clothes. And smiling in the bask of your glow.

He'd sit down with the girls in one of their rooms while you were napping and give them the talk. Being completely honest about how mommy's sensitive and they all need to stay aware of everything while she's like this. Cecilia wouldn't get it right away, obviously, she's younger. But Violet would understand. She'd even get into the habit of checking in on her mom and micro managing her sister whenever something came up. Talking on the responsibilities of making sure she kept her entertained so Leon could spend time with you.

It really does take a village to raise a child and you're very lucky to have people who care. To have raised 2 great girls already and have a husband who loves you unconditionally.

[fizzigigsimmer]

Back At One Part 2

Pairing: Caligator, Billy Hargrove x Gator Tillman

Fandom Fusion: Stranger Things & Fargo S5

Dom/Sub au

*Title taken from this truly sappy love song by Brian McKnight that these boys would NEVER admit was kinda okay lol.

<<<<PART I

“When is that fella of yours gonna make an honest man out of you?" Dot asks, just as Gator reaches for the pans stacked on top of the fridge, and he jerks, pulling too quickly, sending a cookie sheet clattering toward the kitchen floor - he just manages to save it. Scotty raises the cover of her book to hide her face, but his ears work just fine and he hears her snicker.

"What do you mean?" he gripes as he fumbles with the cookware. This is what he gets for trying to do something nice for his boyfriend on his birthday. "Billy's already registered as my dominant."

Which means if Gator really does burn the house down trying to make this fucking cake, Billy can have the honor of identifying his barbecued remains and save Dot the trouble.

Dot’s giving him this look though. Like she can see right through his bullshit. Let's get real. She always could read him like a book and play him like a fiddle.

“Alright, lets bake this mother fu-uuning,cake” Gator self corrects, remembering Scotty at the last minute. Shit that was close. Dot only has a few rules for when they’re together: no talking about the past when Scotty’s in earshot and no potty mouth. She literally calls it that. It’s kind of annoying though, cause the kid is like twelve right? Gator could curse in three different languages by the time he was twelve. But apparently that’s not the thing to be proud of that he thought it was when he was twelve.

“Real nice save Hon.” Dot laughs at him.

“Yeah yeah. Let’s just do this.” Gator grumbles in reply, and they do. 

Dot ties an apron around Gator's waist and hands him a mixing bowl while Scotty eagerly climbs up on a stool to read out the recipe as they work. She’s only meant to be walking him through the basics of a simple white cake with Billy’s name spelled out on it, but somehow the kitchen quickly descends into chaos. 

"Okay, first we need to cream the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy," Scotty reads.

Gator dumps an entire stick of butter and a heaping cup of sugar into the bowl. He picks up the electric mixer and jams it in after, cause that much he can figure out for himself. Only it sends a plume of sugar into the air the minute he powers it on. 

“Holy shit!”

"No, silly!" Scotty giggles. "You have to soften the butter first or it won't mix right."

Grumbling, Gator fishes the hard butter out of the bowl and tosses it into the microwave. A few seconds later, there's a loud pop - because he’s a fucking idiot and apparently it doesn’t take more than a few seconds to warm butter. One glance inside confirms the worst: the stick is now a molten mess, and butter drips down the microwave door.

"Oh honey," Dot sighs, grabbing a towel to wipe up the mess. "Just grab another stick and leave it on the counter for a bit to soften."

“Jesus. Come on. Get your head in the game!” Gator admonishes himself, trying to shake off his embarrassment and the feeling of shame welling up inside of him from fucking up something so simple. “I have cooked before. I’m just -”

What? Nervous? Fucking stupid? What else is there to say when he can’t even melt butter.

Dot lays a hand on his back. She doesn’t need to say anything, and she doesn’t as she hands him a clean bowl and Scotty reads out from Dot’s phone that it’s time to sift the dry ingredients together. He upends the bag of flour over the sifter, and thinks it might be too much. It definitely is, because he doesn’t get more than a few taps in before flour has started to overflow everywhere, dusting his hands and the arms of his black t-shirt. But hey, some of it is getting into the bowl.

Somehow with Dot's patient guidance and Scotty's enthusiastic "assistance", they manage to get the cake batter mixed and poured into pans. Gator slides them into the oven, sets the timer, and leans back against the counter with a sigh, his shirt and jeans thoroughly dusted with flour, bits of batter streaked in between.

Dot chuckles as she hands him a damp towel. "Well, that was an adventure. I think Billy will appreciate the effort you put in, even if it's not perfect."

Gator wipes his hands and grumbles. "It better turn out decent after all that. I still think I shoulda gotten him something else though. Something big, to really wow him, y'know?"

Dot studies him for a long moment, and then finally broaches the subject that has been festering like a smelly turd in the corner of the room.

"Want to talk about what happened at the store today?"

No. No he really fucking doesn’t. Gator turns to snap on the faucet, thinking that he’d like to stick his head under it and drown himself right about now. He focuses intently on scrubbing the batter caked on his nails instead.

"Nothin' happened. She was a stuck-up bitch is all. Lookin' down on me like I'm nothin' just 'cause I ain't some fancy dom in a suit."

He hears Dot murmur something quietly to Scotty about going to get her things together, and grunts in acknowledgment when the twerp says a shy goodbye before slipping from the room. He immediately feels like shit, because Dot can’t really punish him anymore - it’s not her place, and she’s got too much respect for Billy to overstep - but she can take away the one thing she knows he really wants. He wasn’t ready for them to leave, but he can’t blame Dot for not wanting her kid around him when he’s like this.

Her family is not something that Dot plays around with, and Gator might be someone she cares about, but there’s a stark line between whatever the hell they are to each other and the beautiful thing Nadine - fuck - Dot, built for herself with her own grit and guts in the aftermath of the Tillmans.

He understands. He gets it. He does. And yet he still flinches when she speaks again, body somehow unprepared for her to still be there even though he would have heard her leave if she wasn’t.

"She shouldn't have treated you that way," Dot says softly. "But Gator, how you reacted wasn’t like you. I haven’t seen you do something that rash in a long time. What’s this really about?”

Gator's jaw clenches and his hands still, suds dripping from his fingers into the sink. The air grows heavy with all the things unsaid between them.

"It’s nothin'. Alright?" he mutters unconvincingly. "I lost my cool is all. Won't happen again."

Dot sighs and leans her hip against the counter next to him, arms crossed. Her eyes are filled with gentle understanding and he hates it. Hates how much it reminds him of his mom, and all the times after, when she was gone and it was Dot standing in her place, filling the void as best she could. Hates most of all that he’s never been strong enough to resist the comfort Dot offers and the temptation to fall apart in her arms. She was his safety, even when safety was a lie and she was just a kid who couldn’t do shit to keep herself safe, let alone him.

But no matter how hard Gator had tried, he’d never stopped needing someone to lean on and take him apart and clean out his rust and dust, to put back together again good as new. That’s his curse, the sub in him, which is hard to swallow most days but Billy makes it better. No one does any of that for him like Billy Hargrove does. Even when Gator makes it hard on him, Billy always knows just which way he’s bent and how to fix it. Yeah it bugs the shit out of him, but he wouldn’t know what the hell to do with himself now without it. If Billy left he’d -

Stop that shit! He flinches away from the thoughts, and reminds himself for the umpteenth time that Billy isn’t going to leave him over some dumb shit like a lame birthday gift. He needs to just quit already. Why can’t he make the thoughts stop?

"You've been doing so well lately, Gator. Really making progress in therapy, communicating better when you’re dropping... What happened today?" Dot presses again.

Gator's throat works as he swallows hard. His hands clench the edge of the sink, knuckles going white. He doesn’t want to talk about this but maybe it will help. God he hopes it helps.

"I just... I wanted to get him somethin' special, y'know? Somethin' to show him how much he means to me." His voice cracks slightly on the last word and Dot's face softens. She reaches for him, laying a hand on his shoulder. 

"Oh honey... Billy knows how much you love him. You don't need fancy gifts to prove that."

"Don't I though?" Gator argues, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. "He does so much for me, Dot. Takes such good care of me, even when I'm a pain in the ass. And, like when am I not a pain in the ass, huh? You were gonna kick his ass and like send him to the Gulag. How am I worth that?”

Dot laughs, giving Gator's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Listen to me. You are a pain in the ass, but only when you’re trying so hard not to be the sweet, kind, and wonderful man I know you are. You're a good boy, Gator. You always have been. And yes, at first I was worried when I found out your Saftey-Dom had a thing for you. Who wouldn’t be?”

Gator shrugs away her very good point - doms who are employed to counsel and provide subs with therapeutic care are bound by a strict code of ethics. Billy could have been in deep shit if anyone other than Dot had found out about their relationship before Billy stopped being his therapy dom.

“I kissed him Dot, and he never let it happen again while I was still just a case.” Gator laments. “That’s what I’m talking about though, all I could do was think with my dick - meanwhile I could have seriously fucked up his life. And he still took care of me!”

“He did. Which is what convinced me he’s the best thing for you.” Dot says. “It’s because he loves you for who you are, flaws and all."

Gator shakes his head, jaw tight. "You don't get it, Dot. I'm not...I'm not good like you keep saying. The shit that goes through my head sometimes…”

He trails off, shame burning hot in his gut. He can't even bring himself to say it out loud. But with Dot he doesn’t need to. 

She was there through the worst of it. She’s seen the worst of him. Shit Billy knows about, but hasn’t seen. Hasn’t really lived it, the way Dot had to live it, and maybe that’s why Gator’s been fucking everything up. 

Maybe he’s trying to see once and for all whether or not someone who isn’t trauma bonded to him will stay once they see him for what he really is.

"I know I'm fucked up, alright? I know I got a long way to go before I'm anything close to the kinda sub Billy deserves.” He tries to shrug off the admission like the words aren’t sending pain twisting inside him like a knife.

But Dot, perceptive as always, cups Gator's face, turning him back to meet her gentle gaze. "Oh honey... Is that what this is about? You want Billy to collar you?"

Gator's breath hitches. Hearing it stated so plainly sends a jolt through him, equal parts longing and terror. He jerks away from Dot's touch, arms wrapping defensively around himself.

"No! I mean... Fuck, I don't know," he stammers, the words tangling on his tongue.

Dot is quiet for a long moment, letting his confession settle heavily between them. When she speaks again, her tone is thoughtful.

"Have you talked to Billy about this? About wanting his collar?"

Gator barks out a harsh laugh. "No. No fuckin' way. He'd probably laugh in my face if I did.”

Dot's brow furrows, her eyes shadowed with concern as she clicks her tongue in admonishment. "I don’t believe you really think that for a second. That Billy would laugh at you for expressing your needs."

Gator's shoulders hunch, defensive. He keeps his gaze fixed resolutely on the mixing bowl in the sink, watching the dregs of batter slowly dissolve under the running tap. The sweet scent of vanilla and butter hangs heavy in the air, incongruously cheerful.

"I didn't say I needed it," he mutters. "I'm just sayin'... a guy like me askin' for a collar. It's funny right? Like, I’m not some needy bitch who needs a collar to keep from dropping, and I don’t need Billy thinking he gets to boss me around more than he already does. Guy’s an absolute control freak."

"Uh-huh and you love it. I've seen the two of you together. The way Billy is with you... It's special. He'd move heaven and earth to make you happy. To give you what you need." Dot says. Her voice is soft but sure.

Gator swallows thickly, his eyes stinging. He blinks rapidly, determined not to let the tears building behind his lids fall. "Sure. Why hasn’t he done it then? I’d put that shit down in two seconds, but he hasn’t even tried. Y’know?"

And the reason why is obvious. Yeah, there’s the fact that Gator doesn’t need a collar, but even if he wanted one he’s too much work, too damaged.

Dot sighs heavily, like he said the last part out loud.

"Honestly Honey, I think you should think about it from his perspective. With the way you talk about it... He may not realize how much this would mean to you. Billy does a good job, making sense of what’s going on in that squirrel head of yours but he’s not superman. Talk to him.”

Gator grunts noncommittally. Because hell no. He will not be begging his dom to collar him any time soon thanks, but he doesn’t want her to worry either. 

Dot says she has to get Scotty home in time to start dinner and he follows her out to the front door where Scotty is waiting with Dot's purse and her school bag. He sees them off with a wave and a promise to attend some talent show at Scotty’s school next week. Dot gives him a kiss on the cheek, urges him to talk to Billy one more time and reminds him that her mother-in-law knows the president, and really can get Billy thrown in the gulag if he really does laugh in Gator’s face.

And then he’s alone. Alone with his thoughts. Which is frankly the best way to be. Gator can think much more clearly about this now that Dot’s not here, reminding him of the past and making him feel weaker than he actually is. He can totally still salvage this situation. He’ll just make the cake really impressive. Like those 3D ones that look like real shit? Billy loves to chill with him on the weekend and watch that show where people try and guess which random item is cake or not. Gator’s usually tied up, plugged or gagged when that happens so his memories are a little hazy - but it doesn’t look that hard. It’s just cake right?

When the timer goes off Gator brings the cake out of the oven.

He whips out his phone and starts scrolling through cake decorating videos on YouTube, determined to find something suitably impressive. His eyes light up when he spots a tutorial for a realistic 3D surfboard cake, uploaded by some fruit calling himself Barry Bakes. He doesn’t really want to take advice from some dude with pink hair, a full face of makeup, wearing a sparkly crop top with the word TWINK encrusted on the front, but the cake is undeniably badass.

"Alright, let's do this," Gator mutters, cracking his knuckles. He fast forwards through the beginning of the video, impatient to get to the good stuff.

First step - carving the cakes into a surfboard shape. Easy enough. Gator grabs a serrated knife and starts hacking away at the layers, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration. Crumbs fly everywhere as he saws off uneven chunks. When he's done, he steps back to survey his work. It...sort of looks like a surfboard. If you squint. And tilt your head to the side.

Next up - the "ocean" frosting. Gator mixes a batch of blue buttercream, dumping in what is probably way too much food coloring, but whatever at least he softened the butter without blowing up the microwave this time.

Gator continues to follow along with Barry Bakes' tutorial, growing increasingly frustrated as each step seems to go awry. The blue buttercream frosting he mixed up is a garish turquoise color from the excessive food dye. It's also too thin and runny, dripping off the cake in gloopy rivulets.

He blames Barry, that fucking fruit, because if he weren’t so hell bent on turning everything into some kinda innuendo maybe Gator could actually concentrate on what he is doing!

"Shit shit shit," Gator grumbles under his breath, frantically trying to smooth the messy frosting over the lopsided surfboard shape he carved. It's a losing battle. The cake looks like a melted smurf.

Next, Barry cheerfully pipes delicate white frosting swirls and curls to create realistic seafoam on his perfectly smooth blue surfboard. Reminding the audience that big tips are better for piping, and everybody loves a good pipe.

Gator glares at the screen. His own piping bag is loaded with frosting that's somehow both too stiff and too drippy at the same time. When he tries to pipe, it comes out in sad, deflated spurts. He can only imagine what Barry would have to say about that.

"Motherf-!" Gator bites off the curse, chucking the piping bag down on the counter. This was a stupid idea. He's no baker, who was he kidding? He should've just bought Billy a damn gift card like a normal person.

Dejected, Gator slumps against the counter, hanging his head. Failure churns in his gut, sharp and nauseating. He can't give this monstrosity to Billy. He just can’t. Can’t bear to watch him try to hide his disappointment.

Frustrated and embarrassed, Gator gives up on trying to salvage the cake. In a fit of pique, he grabs a spatula and starts roughly shaping the blue frosted mess, not even bothering to smooth it out anymore. He carves angry slashes and gouges into the cake's surface with the edge of the spatula.

Before he even fully realizes what he's doing, the cake has taken on a new, crude shape under his hands - a lumpy, misshapen hand with the middle finger extended in an unmistakable gesture of "fuck you".

Gator steps back, breathing hard, and stares at his handiwork. The hand is far from anatomically correct, with uneven sausage-like fingers and a palm that curves at an odd angle. Globs of sticky frosting cling to the digits in gloopy turquoise clumps. The raised middle finger lists slightly to the side, like it's too heavy to hold itself up properly.

It's possibly the ugliest cake Gator has ever seen. So ugly it crosses the line twice and becomes perversely impressive in its sheer awfulness. A surprised, slightly unhinged laugh bubbles up from his chest as he takes it in.

This is what he has to show for his efforts. This fuck-ugly, lewd gesture of a cake, cobbled together from the dregs of his failure. It suits him.

“Yeah don’t know what the fuck else I expected.” Gator grumbles, despondent. He goes to the fridge to fetch a beer and tabs it open roughly, determined to drink thoughts of the stupid cake away. 

He’s not crying over cake like some lame ass. It’s whatever. It’ll probably still taste good, and if Billy doesn’t like it he can throw it in the trash. They’ll order a pizza or something and Gator will ride him till his dick goes numb and call it a night. Happy birthday.

Gator stomps to the bedroom he and Billy share and pulls out the trunk where he keeps his hunting gear from under the bed, because it’s been awhile since he polished his knives and that always helps lift his mood. He takes the trunk out to the living room and gets to work. Ques up his workout playlist on his phone and connects it to the TV so he can put it on blast.

It helps a little. Allows him time not to think. But the time gets away from him, because he doesn’t even hear the sound of the front door opening and closing. 

Billy's entrance is marked by the faint scrape of his boots against the hardwood floor as he turns the corner into the living room. He pauses briefly, taking in the scene before him—Gator, surrounded by an array of gleaming knives, his trunk spilling open on the coffee table, and the ear splitting rifts of heavy metal blaring from the television speakers.

A faint smile tugs at Billy's lips as the dom sets down his bag and sheds his leather jacket, revealing the broad contours of his chest hugged by a tight white T-shirt. The room is thick with the scent of metal and leather, a comforting familiarity that wraps around Billy like a second skin. He approaches Gator slowly, noiselessly, his gaze fixed not on the array of blades but on the man holding them as gently as baby chicks.

Billy casts a long shadow across the coach and Gator finally notices him. He jumps up, fumbling the knife in his hands which clatters to the floor. The music crescendos, a dramatic backdrop to the moment. Gator lowers the volume, and whips around to glare at Billy who laughs at the fright he gave him.

“Hey, Baby Gay.”

“Don’t call me that!” Gator snaps. “And don’t sneak up on me. I was like, this close to killing you!”

“Oh?” Billy arches a mocking brow. “Probably shouldn’t have dropped the knife then.”

“Haha. Very funny asshole. You’re lucky I did,” Gator grumbles in reply, bending down to pick up the fallen knife. “You know how sharp one of these babies are? With one o’ these I can cut through the shell on a coconut just like that.”

He flicks his wrist to demonstrate the ease with which he could peel Billy’s flesh off, and Billy gives him this look - like Gator is just fucking adorable - and it’s god damn condescending, is what it is. But it also makes the back of Gator’s neck tingle with awareness, and his dick try to get hard. So yeah.

It’s probably a good thing that Billy’s so distracted anyway. Because swearing at his dom is firmly against their rules on account of the fact that Gator uses it as some kinda defense mechanism to keep Billy at arms length.

Or that’s what Billy said anyway when he made the stupid rule. Gator doesn’t make the rules here, he just follows them.

“I’ll count myself lucky then. I think I’ll get a beer. You want one killer?” Billy asks, already on his way to the kitchen. 

FUCK! The Kitchen. Gator remembers too late that he forgot to clean up and do something with that awful cake and scampers after him.

Billy strides into the kitchen before Gator can stop him.

His stomach knots as Billy pauses, his gaze landing on the misshapen dessert surrounded by strewn icing bags, crumbs and powdered sugar. Slowly a grin spreads across Billy's face, and blue eyes sparkle as he turns to look at Gator, where he lingers hesitantly in the kitchen doorway.

"Is this cake trying to tell me something?" he teases, amusement rich in his voice. He leans forward slightly to inspect the cake more closely. "Is this your way of telling me you don’t want to sixty-nine later, or is it a failed science experiment? Hard to tell."

Gator feels heat rush to his face, embarrassment mixed with irritation bubbling in his chest. He knows Billy is just poking fun, yet it stings, tapping into that deep-seated insecurity instilled by years under his father's critical eye.

"Scotty was here with Dot and it gave us something to do. That’s all," Gator mumbles defensively, his words sharper than intended. Then, unable to stop the words from tumbling out recklessly, he adds, "Just thought it would be nice to share, but you don’t have to have any if you’re just going to be an asshole."

As soon as the words are out, Gator regrets them. Swearing at Billy is one thing, but lying to him breaks one of their most cardinal rules. It’s not just about respect; it’s about trust.

Billy’s expression shifts subtly; the playful light in his eyes dims as he adopts a more serious demeanor. He closes the distance between them with measured steps. "Gator," he says softly yet firmly, "That’s the second time you’ve pulled that tonight. Watch it.”

Gator snaps his mouth shut and fumes silently, hanging his head. God, Billy sounds so disappointed in him and it’s worse than he even imagined.He wants to puke.

“Did Scotty really make this?” Billy asks, and Gator can tell just from his tone that Billy already knows the answer, but he’s waiting for Gator to fess up to it. Gator shakes his head, hot tears stinging at his eyes that he blinks away as rapidly as he can.

“It’s for you.” He confesses, feeling a weight lift off his chest despite his overall misery. “I made it for your birthday, and you made fun of it.”

“I did.” Billy acknowledges too easily for Gators liking, but before he can say anything Billy goes on. “I could have handled that better. You’re right. But before we get to that, don’t you have anything to say to me?”

“No. Can’t think of anything.” Gator immediately denies, because how is it fair that he has to apologize for a little white lie when he only did it in the first place because he knew Billy was going to laugh. He knew it.

“Oh?” Billy’s face is impassive but he’s unhappy with Gators answer. It crackles in the air between them. “Do you need a reminder of the rules?"

Gator swallows hard, defiance battling with remorse inside him. He shrugs stiffly, avoiding Billy’s gaze. “Let's just forget it. I don’t need a lecture right now.”

“I’ll decide whether you do or not.” Billy’s tone is calm but carries an undeniable edge of authority—one that sends shivers down Gator’s spine and fear bolting through him all at once. “You know, I was looking forward to a nice night with my boy. Didn’t know I was coming home to a brat.”

Gator ignores the voice inside that screams for him to stop stop stop, barreling ahead in desperate angry defiance.

“Fuck you and what you want! Maybe I want a boyfriend who knows how to lighten up huh?  Sorry I’m not your perfect little bitch. Go cry about it to someone else!” 

His insides shake from the fear and lingering tension. Gator has just royally pissed off his dom. It’s in Billy’s eyes and the slow exhale of breath he takes. Punishment is inevitable. Gator longs to take it back but he can’t - can never take it back - and nothing will fix it. Or fix him. He’s all wrong inside and nothing works no matter how hard he tries.

But the thing is, Billy is safe.

Billy is angry and Gator is terrified and trembling but It’s nothing like it was before, in his father’s house. When the fear of a hand went bone deep and lived in his nightmares.

Gator loves Billy’s hands. They way they touch him. The way they hold him fast and glue him back together. They’ve never let him down those hands, which is why Gator is shaking like a leaf right now, terrified that they won’t reach for him.

He didn’t yell those things at Billy because he wants more space. It’s stupid, he knows, but he yelled them because he needs Billy to take over. He can’t stop himself running full speed ahead toward a punishment. Billy will straighten him out. He can trust Billy to know what to do even when he’s lost sense of which way he’s turned.

Gator’s dom considers him for a long moment, the silence stretching taut between them.

“Go in our room and get me a paddle.” Billy finally orders. Then, deliberately turning away, he starts rummaging through the kitchen cupboards - no doubt in his mind apparently that Gator will obey him.

Of course he does. Knees shaking, Gator stumbles out of the kitchen because now that he’s driven them to this point his skin is crawling with the need to make it right. He’s aching with the need to be good so bad his knees feel like jelly and it’s everything he can do just to follow the order. He wants to hit the floor - go to his belly and plead for his dom’s forgiveness but that’s not what Billy asked for.

He will be good. He’ll make Billy forget that mouthy idiot who talked back and clearly had shit for brains. He can be such a good boy. The best boy! Just give him a chance and he’ll come wagging his fucking tail.

It’s pathetic.

But it’s also a relief, when he returns to the kitchen a few minutes later with a paddle from their toy chest and sets it on the table and Billy acknowledges it with an approving nod.

“Good boy.” he says, and Gator’s knees buckle. He catches himself on the table, holds himself up with palms pressed firmly to the wood because Billy hasn’t told him to kneel yet. He forces himself to focus on Billy as the dom takes an empty glass vase inexplicably sitting next to a bag of rice on the table, and places it on the floor between their feet.

Gator watches warily as next, Billy grabs the open bag of rice and tilts it sending a stream of white grains cascading down onto the tile. He stops when the bag is empty and kneels briefly to stir through them gently with his fingers before straightening and meeting Gator’s eyes again.

“Pants off.” he orders, and Gator sucks in a breath. He doesn’t have to ask why, and doesn’t bother, cheeks hot with shame as he reaches for his belt and gets to work.

"On the floor," BIlly commands softly, when Gator is down to his underwear. The dom points to the pile of rice on the floor.

"Kneel."

And Gator folds like fucking cake batter, sweet sweet relief coursing through his veins. He puts himself at Billy’s feet where he belongs, where he wants to be and shudders, biting his lip to stop himself from begging for the dom’s touch. He hasn’t earned that. Doesn’t make him want it less, but he can be good for Billy and prove when he remembers how.

Billy picks up the paddle that Gator chose – sleek and dark, crafted from polished walnut. As Gator settles on his haunches, head lowered in submission.

“You picked the heavy one. My favorite.” Billy remarks. “That why you picked it, or do you just really need to feel it tonight? You can answer.”

“Want to feel it.” Gator licks his lips. “Want you to be happy.”

“Good boy.” Billy says, leaving Gator to wonder which he is pleased with: that Gator wants his ass beat so raw he can’t sit or Gator wanting those things because they please his dom?

“Alright Baby, are you listening? I want you to pick those up and put them in the vase. Count each one,” Billy instructs, motioning toward the scatter of grains. His voice is firm. It brooks no argument.

Gator looks down at the nearly indistinguishable mass of tiny grains and feels a rush of frustration. "All of them?" His voice is a mix of incredulity and unease. What if he can’t do it? What if he can’t be good and Billy is disappointed in him again?

“Every last one Baby boy," Billy confirms with an implacable nod. “Don’t think about it. It’s not your job right now to think. Just do what I ask you to do. Can you do that?”

Gator takes a deep breath, steadies himself on the sound of Billy’s voice and nods. He can do that. He can follow Billy’s instructions. He doesn’t have to worry about ho much rice there is or whether he can even find it all. That’s not his to worry about. Not his place. He just has to listen. 

He reaches out shakily to touch the closest grain, his voice barely audible as he starts, “One… two… three…” His fingers tremble slightly; counting each grain feels like an impossible task. But Billy never sets him up for failure - not the way his dad used to. Billy doesn’t ask him to do things he’s not capable of just to fail. He asks Gator for things he knows he can do, and if he fails anyway it’s because Billy wants to be there when he breaks. He won’t leave Gator laden with shame and misery that will eat away at his insides.

As Gator focuses on the rice, Billy steps behind him. Without warning, he brings the paddle down gently but firmly across Gator's backside. The sound cracks sharply in the air, followed by another count from Gator's lips that judders from the impact.

“Four… five…”

Billy administers each swat in time with Gator’s counting—methodical and paced.

The pain is not harsh but it accumulates with each slap—the stinging warmth spreading across Gator’s skin contrasting starkly with the coolness of the floor beneath his knees and hands. Tears prickle at Gator’s eyes as he continues—his voice breaks around “twenty-nine… thirty…” 

It’s more than just physical pain; it's a release valve for all he’s been holding inside. Every impact sends ripples through him, but it’s not just his body. It does something to his soul too that he can’t explain. Something he no longer wants to deny.

“Let it out,” Billy murmurs close to his ear between paddles—a soothing contrast to the sharp swats.

“Thirty-one… thirty-two…” The numbers start blurring together as sobs hitch in his throat. The task which seemed merely frustrating at first now feels poignant— slowly, bit by bit, Gator cleans up the mess on the floor, and swat by swat Billy cleans up the mess inside. He doesn’t hit Gator after every grain, that would be excessive. He takes breaks at interment periods, spacing them out so that it’s impossible for Gator to try and guess when he might start up again. The fresh sting whenever he does is brutal, worse in some ways than if he had just continued until Gator’s cheeks were numb.

“Two-hundred and ten…” 

Billy pauses, placing his hand gently on Gator's shoulder as he surveys his progress.

"You’re doing well," he encourages softly, and that little praise, that nothing bit of touch, is enough to break him. Gator chokes on a sob, hot tears spilling down his cheeks despite his best efforts to hold them in.

“Keep going.” Billy reminds him and Gator nods emphatically, tears dripping off his chin, because he hadn’t meant to stop. He was doing so well. Billy said so. He’ll never stop. Not until Billy tells him too.

With shaking hands Gator pinches grains of rice between his fingers and continues to count aloud between sobs and hits from the paddle—each number spoken is more than just an acknowledgement of rice grains; but of his submission to Billy. 

Billy’s little murmurs of praise and sounds of pleasure make him feel high. Like his head is floating in the clouds.

He loves subspace. Wishes it were easier for him to reach and he didn’t have to be taken down so hard. But finally he feels the familiar edges of it and the tears fall faster as he lets himself go.

Gator sinks into the feeling of weightlessness as it rises up to take him. Billy maintains a rhythm that is both firm and considerate, attuned to Gator's responses—his body language, his breathing, his blown out pupils and slurred speech. 

This is no longer about punishment. It’s a guided breakdown.

As Gator’s cries begin to subside into quiet murmurs and his ability to speak leaves him, Billy lessens the intensity of his strikes until he stops altogether. 

“That’s enough. You were beautiful Baby.” Billy halts Gator’s hands woozly still trying to lift rice and the sub sags against him. “You’re always so good for me baby boy.”

He brushes his fingertips along Gator's heated skin, tracing the raised welts along his buttocks and thighs softly, and making him shiver. Gator’s mouth stretches in a dopey lopsided smile, beaming from inside and out. He soars. Works his mouth to ask Billy to do it again - he can take more - but can’t get past the mushmouth.

The room is heavy with the scent of sweat and leather, the only sound now the quiet thud of Billy’s heart and Gator’s shaky breaths.

Hands roam over Gator’s back and legs, soft, soothing caresses that glide over his flushed skin. Billy leans close, his breath warm against the nape of Gator’s neck, whispering reassurances that float through his head like feathers.

The shift is gentle, a tender transition as Gator's breathing evens out and his trembling subsides. Billy’s hands are confident, knowing exactly where to touch to bring Gator back from the intense high of subspace. With each calculated stroke on his back and whisper against his ear, Gator feels the ground slowly come back under him, the weightlessness dissipating as reality takes hold once more.

Billy finally eases back, giving space for Gator to gather himself in the afterglow of their session. He cups Gator’s face tenderly, wiping away the trails left by tears with his thumbs. 

“Talk to me, Gator. What’s been eating at you?”

The use of his real name pulls Gator further out of his dazed state. He blinks slowly, focusing on Billy’s concerned face, grounding himself. “I... I’m scared,” he admits, voice still hoarse.

“Scared of what?” Billy probes gently, petting the long side of Gator’s hair now.

“I’m scared I’m not enough for you,” he confesses, dropping his gaze to where their fingers are entwined. He knows the words will hurt Billy. Make his dominant frown in the middle of his brow and start thinking of all the ways Neil Hargrove used to tell him he was a waste of space - too broken and wrong to ever take proper care of a sub. Nothing could be further from the truth. But if there’s one thing Gator knows it’s daddy issues and how they can haunt you.

But to his surprise Billy’s expression doesn’t change. He just nods quietly, still petting Gator’s hair. “Why would you think that?”

Gator hesitates, lips parting but no sound coming out. He swallows hard and shrugs.

“Listen to me Baby.” Billy says after a moment, fisting Gator’s hair between his fingers and tugging until he brings his eyes up. “You’re what I want. You. Even when you’re being a greasy dirtbag leaving your shit everywhere and blaring your candyass music.”

“Hey, lay off my Skyfire man.” Gator can’t help but smile, because Billy’s lips have curved up in amusement and they’ve had this argument a dozen times or more and it just makes him feel so good, that Billy pays attention to which albums he gravitates to depending on his moods. “They aren’t candy. Fractal is the best album produced since Reign In Blood.”

“Why are we talking about fucking Slayer, or Skyfire, right now when Ride the Lightning exists?” Billy growls, tugging on Gator’s hair until his scalp stings just the sweetest bit. “I should beat your ass again just for that.“

“Yeah. If you wanna.” he pants, eager, and Billy’s smiling mouth kisses him, hot and hungry. Billy licks into Gator’s mouth, possessive and sweeping, until he whimpers. The dom nips at his plump lower lip with a grin before pulling back.

“Don’t think you realize how sore you’re gonna be when you come down off this high babe.” He says. “But you heard me right? When I said I loved you? Cause I do. I wasn’t about to lose you before over shitty timing, and I’d never let anything take you from me now. Not Dot. Not him. Not anyone or anything. Okay?”

Gator shivers, but even the mention of his father can’t intrude on the blanket of safety Billy has woven around him, the sure way his gaze holds Gator and rings with truth.

“Yeah.” he sighs, breathless.

“Yeah?”

But it’s not good enough, according to Billy’s tightening grip. And fuck that feels good. Gator is suddenly aware of how hard he is in his briefs, but it’s strangely distant. Like he’d be happy to just sit here hard for another hour or more, letting Billy play with him.

“Yes Billy.”

“Good boy.” Billy's voice is soft, infused with a warmth that seeps into Gator's bones, coaxing his tight muscles to loosen.The room around them—their living room with its deep blue walls and plush gray couches— disappears momentarily, focusing all existence on their intimate bubble.

Billy lifts Gator’s chin so their eyes meet. "Nah nah, stay up for me Baby boy. I need you present." His thumbs brush under Gator’s eyes, rubbing warmth into his skin while he waits for Gator’s eyes to focus. "I think it’s time I show you something," Billy continues, when Gator’s gaze is clear once more.

"In the bedroom," Billy instructs softly, "In my sock drawer, there's a small white box. I want you to go and bring it to me."

Gator feels a jolt run through him. It shocks him rather unpleasantly back to reality, like he’s been dropped from a short height.

“Wait what?” he tries to ask, tries to think, because Billy can’t be hinting at what his muddled brain is trying to convince him he is. Can he?

“Shh. Don’t ask questions.” Billy warns. “And absolutely no peeking either. Just go get it.”

Gator’s movements are slow and automatic as he stands and makes his way down the hallway. This isn’t happening. Well obviously it is, he is on his way to their bedroom to open Billy’s drawer - which is strictly hands off unless he has permission - and get some mysterious box. But it’s probably like some new toy they can enjoy together. Maybe Billy went out and finally got those chains Gator found on that web store, the ones with the studs that dig into your wrists the more you struggle? He’s going to feel so owned wearing those. It’s gonna be great.

He’s convinced himself down off the ledge by the time he gets to the bedroom, but his heart hasn’t gotten the memo because it starts going double time in his chest as he reaches for Billy’s drawer. It slips open smoothly under his fingers which are trembling slightly. From fear or excitement, he isn't sure.

Inside lies a small white box, unassuming in its simplicity yet Gator just stands there and stares at it like it’s a bomb for a full minute before lifting it from its nest among Billy's socks. The weight of potential futures presses down upon him as he clutches the box in his hands.

He should be a good boy. He can just turn and go back into the living room and - Fuck it! Gator’s not kidding anyone. Least of all himself.

Before he knows it, Gator has torn off the ribbon and lifted the lid on the box to peek inside.

And there lies a beautiful black leather collar, its surface smooth and flawless except for the bold engraving of 'GATOR' studded across it in shining silver letters.

Gator stares at it in disbelief, eyes flooding with fresh tears. His heart trips over itself in his chest, thrumming against his ribcage like a caged bird desperate for flight.

The room is silent except for the sound of Gator's shallow, ragged breathing. Gator runs his fingers over the cool, shining letters that form his name, the studs scraping against the pads of his fingers sending tingles through him.

He lifts the collar, feeling its weight in his hands. It's heavier than it looks. He brings it closer, inhaling deeply—the leather smells rich and earthy. It’s the good shit. Supple and strong enough to take some serious pull, and yet the inside of the collar is lined with soft velvet, ensuring his comfort.

Something white resting on the blue lining of the box catches Gator’s eye. It’s a folded card, its crisp edge nearly taller than the sides of the box. Gently plucking it up, Gator flicks it open and scans, eyes widening at the one word message inside.

Peeker!

An unexpected burst of laughter escapes him as he wipes away tears. The simple word on the card speaks volumes, but so does Billy’s presence in their bedroom doorway where Gator finds him leaning when he looks up.

Billy is gazing at Gator with an intense mixture of emotions.

"Do you like it?" he asks, and there’s something like worry there. As if Gator might actually have shit for brains and do all that stupid stuff he’d told Dot he’d do back when he was scared shitless. All because he’d convinced himself that Billy wasn’t true - that he’d disappear like every other good thing has.

“Yeah.” Gator sniffs through his red nose, rubbing fiercely at his eyes. “Shit man. How long have you had this?”

“Since right after your birthday actually.” Billy confesses with an easy shrug. Like he isn’t just standing there admitting that he bought a collar for Gator and has been hanging onto it since September.

“Billy! It’s fucking March!”

“I know! I thought if I forbid you from going through my drawer eventually you would. I know what you’re like.” Billy said. Meaning of course he knows that no matter what, Gator eventually messes up.

But Billy says, “I guess I underestimated what a good boy I’ve got, huh?” with this soft look in his eye, like he’s looking at the best sight in the world and not his fuckup boyfriend standing in the middle of their bedroom in his tighty-whities.

Gator might be melting a little, which is why he has to sit down heavily on the bed before he crumples.

“Hey Billy?”

“Yeah, Babe?”

“I’m your sub…” Gator begins and Billy laughs, the sound loud and full of joy instead of mockery.

“No shit?”

“Come on, Billy please. Don’t be mean.” Gator whines, lifting the hand still holding the collar wordlessly and Billy finally takes pity on him and crosses the room to take it from him. Gator trembles, straightening up and bending his neck a little to give Billy room as he claps it on. He gasps a little, shuddering when Billy leans back and the heavy weight settles against his skin.

"You’re my sub," Billy repeats with finality."With or without this. But when you wear this, I want you to remember," he pauses for effect, letting his fingers softly caress down Gator’s neck and over the dark leather. "You’re my gift. The love you give me, makes me Gator, and I thank whatever lucky stars I’ve got that you came into my life when you did. Okay?"

A simple nod is all Gator manages in response; it’s all that’s needed. The smile that spreads across Billy's face is radiant—as if a piece has clicked into place within him too.

Carefully, lovingly, Billy cradles his chin and pulls him into a kiss.

It tastes sweet… like buttercream icing.

[astranite]

Love is Stored in the Pasta

Scott, John and pasta.

This started off from a tumblr post 'cause somebody needed to cook that guy some pasta!!

Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, really very mild scott is hangrysad, ft john's space issues, Chronic Illness, as thats what im treating it as and its not the focus here he's just living with it, Scott Tracy has ADHD, this is important, Autistic John Tracy, lowkey here but also Important to me, this is fun and fluffy and i love them, i hope this is like a warm comforting bowl of pasta to you too

---

“We need to talk,” John said.

On the other side of the call, Scott’s hologram slumped over his desk, his head landing in his hands. “Oh God.”

“I found your search history…” John began.

Scott peered out sheepishly from behind his fingers. “I can explain!”

“It’s just pages and pages of pasta?” 

John was puzzled, honestly. Five to ten recipe blogs and that was Scott trying to decide what to make for dinner during a meeting or while he was struggling to concentrate on work. During lulls between callouts, he and John would sometimes debate options together. More than forty separate sites visited at 3:12pm on a Tuesday afternoon and Eos had flagged it for John, on suspicion that Scott’s computer had been hacked by a malicious entity or some other AI virus.

Scott went from double facepalm of despair to full on faceplant, his head hitting the desk with an audible thunk.

“Why so much pasta?” John questioned. Now his curiosity was piqued, he couldn’t let it go or he’d be doing EVA work later, still turning over possibilities in his mind, which wasn’t conducive to the constant concentration needed while floating around in the vacuum. Outside, any misstep would be your last.

“I dunno. I just feel like pasta,” Scott mumbled into the wood.

Scott sounded…weird. Like he was about to start laughing, or coming down with a cold.

“Scott? Are you okay?”

It had better not be another flu; corralling Scott to take care of himself was hard enough even if he wasn’t feverish. John wouldn’t be able to come down either, quarantined up in Five unless he already had it. Was the slight tug of a headache at his temples from his sinuses beginning to clog up too?

Scott hadn’t looked up yet; his shoulders were shaking. John wiggled his fingers anxiously.

“Scotty?”

Big brother’s head shot up at the nickname John so rarely used. Had John intended to provoke that reaction? The name had been a slip of the tongue but if he was was honest, he sort of had meant to jar Scott out of his thoughts. He never called Scott, Scotty unless he was scared though. And Scott not answering him did tick tick tick up his system from yellow alert into red.

“I’m fine, it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” Scott’s words ran over each other in an attempt to come first. His voice sounded oddly wet.

Tears, yes those were indeed tears dulled by holographic format, tumbled down Scott’s cheeks.

As soon as he saw John looking, Scott turned away.

Suddenly, John landed on the spark of insight that he had a hunch would crack the code to his big brother’s distress. “Have you eaten anything all day?”

Scott dug around for tissues in a drawer of the desk and gave a half shrug. “I guess not—not really? I tried to before you say anything. Got a mouthful of breakfast in and then there was a call out. Lunch didn’t happen, there was a meeting, I had to make coffee, I ran out of time. I don’t really feel hungry though…”

That did explain a few things. It was well known family lore that Virgil and Alan got hangry, and Gords went all sad and mopey. Scott and John himself though, they got …really, unstably emotional. 

So yeah, hence the unexpected bursting into tears. John got the whole shit interoception and not even noticing if you needed to eat while you were buried in work thing; Scott was way too used to ignoring his body too. 

John took a deep breath. “Scott, and I’m one-hundred percent serious about this, do you want me to come down there and make you some pasta?”

Thunderbird Five systems whirred around John in the quiet as Scott hesitated.

“Maybe,” he whispered. “Or you don’t have to, I’ll wait, Virge’ll be doing dinner in a bit anyway.”

“Virgil won’t be up until past sunset after the hours Thunderbird Two was out yesterday and into this morning,” John said gently. “You need to eat before then.”

Nor would an overwhelmed Scott and the kitchen be a good combination at this point, and John saw the moment Scott realised this, while fidgeting with the rubix cube on his desk. 

“I want to do this for you,” John told him.

Scott dashed at his eyes, sniffled a few times and finally capitulated. “Okay. Thanks, Jay.”

John smiled and signed off, heading for the space elevator. He was usually so far away, he was right now, but it was in his power to close off that distance when he needed to and today he could use that. 

He farewelled Eos; she so often missed him but the opportunities to run the space station on her own that weren’t emergencies where he was incapacitated excited her. They showed how much he had come to trust and rely on her. Plus she got full reign of their virtual chess set.

On Earth, Scott was waiting for him as the elevator docked, his hands stuck casually in his jeans pockets but looking as pale and wobbly as John felt. His face was still tearstained.

“Hey.”

“Hey to you too.” John took a few heavy steps before throwing himself at Scott, wrapping his arms around his brother tightly, all the while careful not to knock him off balance. Scott stiffened then melted into John. 

Usually that interaction went the other way around. 

Scott used the extra height space gave John to rest his head on him without having to duck down like with everyone else. John hugged him close and comfortingly as his fingers tap tap tapped their rhythm at Scott’s shoulder. All of it meant I love you.

“Pasta time?” John said eventually.

Scott nodded silently, following when John started off towards the kitchen. The raw rock wall of the hanger was rough and vividly solid in its three dimensions, as John ran his hand along it for balance as he walked that initial part. He was touching the Earth, he was in the Earth, he was on Earth.

With cold water from the fridge dispenser and the fizzy, brightly coloured tablets shook out of their tube, John made up lidded cups of electrolyte drink for himself and Scott. John needed to be sculling the stuff perpetually to stay upright down here, and he would not be at all surprised if Scott was dehydrated too. It might to something for John’s headache, could go either way for the nausea coming on.

He put a large pot on the heat. One advantage of having a stove so high powered that it could nuke anything it touched was that any volume of water boiled fast. 

An entire packet of fettuccine got tipped into the enthusiastic cacophony of bubbles. John poked at it with a pasta scoop, regretting that he hadn’t snapped the long pieces to actually fit in better. Ah well. 

He shook in an excessive-to-anyone-not-him amount of salt with a shrug ‘cause he needed it, before having another go at separating the pasta. The pasta scoop was quite an effective implement for that, there were reasons after all it was Gordon’s favourite utensil as John remembered from previous discussions. One could also use it to mash potatoes when held vertically, if one so pleased. His second favourite was the tongs as they could be clicked like crab claws and used to pinch unsuspecting siblings. 

Scott watched from his place slumped over the kitchen bench on a stool, chewing on the ragged skin at the edge of his thumbnail. He was trying to work on a couple of screens pulled up as holomonitors, as unsuccessfully as could be expected. John came over and hopped up to sit on the bench, clipping through the projected email inbox and meeting minutes so Scott dismissed them. It was with a sigh of relief.

They smiled tiredly at each other.

The pasta! John tapped at his uniform comms watch. “Eos, set a timer for the pasta, please?” John shaved the minute that had already passed off of the box time and then another couple to ensure it wouldn’t come out mushy.

“So what sort of stuff on pasta do you feel like? There’s a good lot of options you were looking at earlier.”

“We don’t have the ingredients for most of those, I checked. No eggs and no mushrooms so no carbonara. Technically that wouldn’t be authentic carbonara though. No cream cheese. We missed this week’s supply run so we don’t even have any frozen peas!” Scott threw his hands up in the air.

“Hmmm. You feel like something creamy?”

“Yeah. Honestly at this point I’d eat anything.”

John swung his legs and tapped his fingers on the counter while he thought.

“I believe some bacon is hiding in the bottom of the freezer so that’s something. And…” he trailed of as he moved his head too fast and set off a wave of dizziness as he looked around the kitchen.

“Avocado!” Scott exclaimed.

“Avocado?”

“Funny story, we ended up with several cases of them after that rescue on that farm where we saved the whole village and nearly all their trees from catastrophic flooding. They really need eating too and there’s only so much toast you can stand.”

“I have heard theoretically of putting avo on pasta and it does sound good. Mmmm bacon and avocado, John hummed. “Worth a shot?”

Scott reached towards the fruit bowl in answer, grinning at John. “Soon we will have pasta!”

John peeled off the upper half of his uniform and tied the arms around his waist in preparation. In the subtropical summer down here he was already getting too hot and while the temperature regulation built into his suit would do its best to make up for his own body’s lack thereof, it felt weird to have everything covered up from fingertips to neck down here while he was cooking.

Scott began to giggle.

“Huh?” John said, extremely eloquently.

Scott gestured at him. 

“My suit?” Was something up with his suit? The full gloved hands and sleeves flopping about without John in them had been known to amuse the lot of them on occasion, ever since he’d used the empty suit as a phoney decoy of himself to trick Eos. It was pretty funny now no one was in mortal peril and Eos was his friend.

“Your face!” Scott exclaimed.

“What’s wrong with my face?” 

John frowned. Was it his fringe that never could survive true gravity? He hadn’t gotten freckles while he’d been down all of half an hour and inside, had he? Then he looked down.

His t-shirt had a photograph of his face printed on it, and across the chest, emblazoned in neon orange read the words ‘Space Face’, courtesy of one particular fish brother. Ah yes. That.

John sighed, resting his chin on his hand to hide the smile he couldn’t quite control. “Not exactly subtle, is it? In my defence this was the only one in my closet that was clean and you can’t exactly see it beneath my suit. It’s all Gordon’s fault anyway!”

Scott was still laughing, albeit a touch hysterically and at him, but John took it as a win regardless.

Eventually Scott grabbed himself a cutting board and knife to get to work on the avocados as John carefully slipped off the bench, steadying himself on the counter as his ankles went noodley so he could handle the bacon. 

Bacon, bacon, now where had he seen that bacon? He had the image of it in his head, but that was only one piece of the puzzle, a photograph, humanly imperfect, memory woven out of instinct. Digging about in the deep freeze which the evidence pointed to as best John could tell had his fingers feeling like he’d stuck them out in space with out gloves on. They ached sharply as John cursed his crappy circulation. 

He gladly found the bacon though, lurking at the second darkest depths. He would not be willing to venture into the midnight zone of Unidentified Frozen Objects and charred dinner leftovers put away for ‘later’. He chucked the packet into the microwave and thawed out his hands by running them under lukewarm water, wincing all the while. If he’d thought this through, if he’d been smart enough, he would’ve put his suit gloves back on—his space rated, cold proof, most definitely impervious to domestic appliances gloves— and saved himself the pain.

Scott came over to rinse his avocado green hands. He dried them off then wrapped his arms around John’s waist so he could lean on him, giving in for a moment in face of daunting gravity. With Scott, he could because Scott got him; they both could.

“You alright?” And there was big brother smotherhen coming out.

John flexed his defrosted fingers. “I will be.” He turned and smushed his face into Scott’s neck for a little bit, hugging back, Scott rested his head on John’s, and they stayed there for a while.

They were both fading. The pasta would help with that, Scott really needed to eat and so did John at this point, the half a dry bagel for breakfast and another at lunch hadn’t really been enough. The trick now was finishing the task that felt as if it expanding faster by the second than the Universe, as measured by the Hubble Constant was. They could do this though. Together.

Scott chopped up the bacon roughly and John cooked it, hissing back when it spat hot oil at him. 

When Eos notified them the timer had gone off, and John had very scientifically tested the pasta was done by nomming on a bit, he called Scott over carry the large pot to the colander in the sink to strain. 

“Gravity plus boiling water plus my space noodley arms are probably not a good combo,” he laughed. 

He was getting better at knowing his limits. Scott’s smile was small and proud, he saw John.

Scott stared at the bacon with the intensity of a starved wolf with its mouth watering, then stole some pieces hot from the pan and burnt his mouth. Scoff Tracy strikes again. 

They dumped the pasta in a big mixing bowl with the mashed avocado, a little lemon juice, the bacon, and a whole lot of salt, pepper and parmesan cheese, mixing it together with the big pasta scoop.

John swayed on his feet then, grabbing onto Scott to stay upright for long enough to decide actually the best place for him right now was sitting on the kitchen floor just here. John folded himself down to the ground in a slithering pile of too long, too bendy limbs, Scott wordlessly guiding his descent. 

“You want me to grab some sporks to eat with?”

“They’re splayds, technically,” John remarked. He gave Scott the thumbs up anyway, while he rested his spinning head on his knees.

Scott waved about his ‘sporks’ acquired from the cutlery draw with a victorious grin before he sunk to the ground to join John.

John took one, passing the pasta to Scott once he was settled, lanky legs stretched out for miles, bumping into John’s.

“We forgot plates,” Scott said.

John shrugged. “At this point, who cares. We have pasta.”

“We do.” Scott blinked for a moment. “I didn’t before and I wouldn’t’ve but now we do.”

He hugged the warm pasta bowl to his chest, and when John observed more closely he saw the tears collecting on Scott’s eyelashes, sparkling in the kitchen light as he looked up at John.

“Thanks. I love you so much, Jay.”

John gave him a gentle smile, ducking to knock his forehead against his brother’s shoulder like a cat. “Love is stored in the pasta.”

Scott smiled back at him and they both dug in.

It was good pasta.

Really good pasta, because he was here with Scott and through everything they had made it, together.

[allisluv]

Please give me some Scott McCall headcanons

scott mccall deserves the entire world! head canons under the cut tori <3

• he’s definitely a cuddler and he loves being the big spoon. he can’t sleep without the sound of rain in the background.

• he loves conspiracy theories. his favs are about the illuminati.

• he’s the mom friend. you need something? scotty’s your guy. his bag is constantly stocked up with pads, tampons, tissues, a first aid kit, pencils and pens.

• he’s a huge believer in everything happening for a reason. he’s the type of person to ask google if your zodiac signs are compatible.

• hes a horrible speller and he has to get lydia to read through his work before he submits it.

• he’s a sucker for a rom-com and by the end of the movie, he will be crying.

• i think scott’s a cat person, to be honest. i feel like he’s petrified of big dogs 😭

[alexiavettel]

Ten things I hate about you

pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

word count: 2.9k+

warnings: age gap, explicit language, allusions to sex, drinking, mentions to death, motorsport accident, angst sometimes, rbr mentions (ew), Horner mentions (he’s not the bad here), no use of Y/n, Daniel Ricciardo is a walking cliché (it’s actually cute for me) and Michael and Scottie are actually babies. 

summary: The ten reasons why you hate Daniel Ricciardo through the years. But remember, the line between hate and love is thin, be careful…

I hate the way you talk to me,

“What are you doing here kid? This is an adult RedBull party, you shouldn’t be here”

“Shut up Ricciardo, I deserve to be here as much as you”

“For being the boss daughter? Wow how deserving!” 

“And what are you doing here? I thought you jumped off last year”

“Y’know gal once you go Danny Ric you never want to go back, your daddy likes me so here I am”

“Dear god, I thought that after you were a coward and moved to Renault I would never have see you again out of the paddock” 

“You don’t what you’re talking about, girl” the older man towers over you in the corner of the saloon.

“So unbothered until someone call you coward, right? You’re childish Ricciardo, that’s what you are”

She hates when he calls her kid. 

and the way you cut your hair.

“Oh my god what have you done, cowboy?” 

“Liked the new cut, golden girl?”

“Wow stopped calling me kid, it’s a significant development Ricciardo”

“Want me to come back calling you kid? ‘Cause I don’t mind”

“Shut up, and to be honest no. I don’t like it, the new cut just shows your age better you’re almost going bald man be careful” you said laughing.

“What wait really?”

“Your hairline looks like circuit corners, to be honest. But hear my wise words big boy, let it grow more than you’re used to. Curls look good on you”

Daniel always have his curls looking good now. 

I hate the way you drive my car.

“C’mon girl, you drunk too much” 

“OH DANIEL! What are you doing here, handsome?!” you might had a little too much long island iced teas

“M’gonna take you home, come on” he took your both hands and led you to the exit

“What about my car? She’s my precious daughter I can’t leave Daisy alone!”

“You named your car? You scare me sometimes little girl… You’re lucky I took an Uber, ‘gimme the keys” 

“Don’t talk about Daisy like that!” you drunkenly shouted in the parking lot

“You’re joking you drive a manual! You have a fucking Supra what are you? Brian O’Conner?” he put you in the passenger seat and belt you on.

“Not like you’re not a fucking formula one driver, huh? Lucky me! And don’t talk about Daisy like t-that she’s purple not orange like in fast and furious” He just rolled his eyes and started driving.

“Didn’t know you could drive, even more a manual”

“You say that because you never saw me drifting”

They spend the next night drifting in an empty parking lot. 

I hate it when you stare.

“What are you looking at mate?” Nico asked the younger man

“N-Nothing” he stopped staring at you across the paddock

“Hmm ‘nothing’ right? The ‘nothing’ you mentioned is that one covered in Red Bull merch staring back smiling right now?” Daniel immediately looked back searching for your smile but just found you laughing at one of Albon’s jokes.

She felt his eyes burning into her, she always did. 

I hate your big dumb combat boots,

“Ouch! Daniel!” You shouted after he stepped on your foot in the middle of a dinner at your dad’s house with some friends, former drivers. 

“Sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean it” he gently caressed your hair with an apologising smile 

“Okay but why the fuck are you wearing combat boots? It’s a dinner Dan, I thought you had a better sense of style”

“Sorry darling it’s not about the boots, it’s my big feet and y’know what they say-“

“Shut up, Ricciardo”

He gifted her a pair of combat boots on her birthday. She wears it at every opportunity. 

and the way you read my mind.

“Stop. Stop thinking too much” he caressed your cheek 

“But I am not-“

“Yes you are, I can almost hear your thoughts and I know they are plenty. Just don’t make a big deal out of it, if you want to stop and pretend I never kissed you we can do it…”

“No-"

He kissed her goodbye that night, and did it almost all the others nights too. 

I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme.

“I have something for you… I asked Michael to put it in your driver's room” you quietly whispered while passing through him in the McLaren hospitality 

“Late valentines' gift, darling?” he said laughing.

“Maybe…”

You were scared of being a little too fast, but it was inevitable. You hate the things he makes you feel.

When the man found the sunflowers in his bed he was beyond surprised. But the two letters between the yellow fresh plants made a glint appear in his eyes. The first one had “about you and me” written down in the envelope. 

“I have sat upon the seashore

and washed away my fears.

I have lived so many days now

that they are turning into years.

I have walked up in mountains.

I have splashed around in streams.

I have conjured up ideas

that have moulded into dreams.

I have seen a thousand faces

And I've matched a thousand smiles.

I have been to so many places

that I'm losing count of miles.

I have heard the wind, so gently,

cause the trees to creak and moan,

but I have never felt a heart

as perfect as your own”

And the second one had “about your eyes” written down in brown tint. 

“You hated your eye colour,

called it a dull and dirty brown

Wished for the deep blue of an ocean,

where admirers hearts would drown

And it pained me when I realised,

you'd never see it like I do

The way your eyes hint a story,

that I want to read right through

They hold specks of stolen sunlight,

that you'd miss with just one glance

And a depth of raw emotion,

that can freeze you in a trance

They're a fix of melted chocolate,

when I'm craving something sweet

But hold a gaze that's so unwatering,

that I find it hard to meet

I fall right down the rabbit hole,

when I look into your eyes

The brown of earth's unfettered beauty,

that I yearn to memorise

When I was tired of not belonging,

they made me feel like I'd been found

And I hope you never say again,

That your eyes are simply brown.”

He even posts pics of his eyes now.

I hate it, I hate the way you’re always right.

“You need to stop running away! You want to end this or not? You want to keep hiding us from your dad like an afraid little kid? I do EVERYTHING to be with you but in the moment it gets a ‘little too real’ you run! That’s what you always do!” Daniel never screamed at you but today has been an exception.

“You don’t understand, Daniel! It’s not just my dad, it’s a lot more complicated than that!-” you mourn sitting in the sofa

“What? Have you realised that I am ‘too old’ for you? That you are wasting your time with me? That the public and your family will criticise us?”

“You are not old for me, babe… But they will speak y’know? I hate the media speculating about me with every single driver, but what if that damages your future in another team? What if your fans start treating you differently alleging that you ‘groomed’ me since we have known each other since I was 18? What if-” you started walking towards him

“You are too much worried about me, darling. Think about yourself. Think about us, how happy we make each other. I know you’re scared, babe… But that is what would make me happier. We can wait how much you want but I’m scared too. I’m scared you’re going to leave me for someone better, you have so many options it just doesn't make sense why you chose me…” he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and caressed your cheek after

“I am never leaving you. I am just scared” his eyes gave you the comfort you were looking for, that you always searched

“But love is scary. Specially after we couldn't even tolerate each other and now we are, this” he pointed between you “I have fears and more fears with you, but our love is bigger than all of them. If you want to be with me, for real, you also have to learn to surpass your fear. We are a team, darlin’”

He was right. He always is.

I hate it when you lie.

“You are a fucking asshole, Daniel!” You shouted after closing his door.

“I am sorry-”

“No you don’t! You could’ve died, Daniel for god’s sake. You could’ve died and I would only know after receiving a hospital’s call. You lied to me, you promised ages ago that you would never… I don’t understand, like I really don’t.”

“Darling, listen-”

“Daniel, I can't hear your voice right now. It’s making me angrier and I don’t want to act irrationally”

“Can I just explain why I lied?”

“Now? No. Please go away, I really need to think. Alone.”

You don’t understand, he had a car accident during the testing for the 2021 season and said it was nothing much. You watched everything on tv and didn’t looked too bad, but you were worried either way. The g forces are too much sometimes, but he swore he was fine. Long story short, he was not. He literally disappeared for more than 24 hours and you were looking up plane tickets to Bahrain when Michael called you telling what happened.

When Daniel crashed a part of his helmet was broken, and his head hit the neck support. Obviously could’ve been worse, but the amount of blood that came out of him was scary. Michael send you some pics after you almost threatened him of death, he explained that Daniel had only a small opening in his neck. And he was conscious enough after the crash to get out of the car, message you and go walking to the medic station. But unfortunately one blood vessel has been hit in the process and he was having an internal haemorrhage.

The thing is, he was notified before the surgery and he answered your call saying that “I am completely fine darling, just gotta do some exams and gonna be back to sleep in the hotel in some hours. Don’t worry, I love you” the first time he really said those words, and could’ve been the last. 

She said I love you back. And took care of him until he was good to go back.

I hate it when you make me laugh, 

“Oh my fucking god, Daniel! My dad is going to kill us” you said laughing after being thrown in your father’s pool with Daniel. His Monza win meant more to you two than you had expected.

“He can kill me if he wants, but it was worthy. At least I’m going to die happy. I could die happy whenever I’m with you” he kissed you messily. 

“So cheesy, Dan ew. But if you really meant it, I hope it’s going to take a bit more to your death ‘cause I have no plans of ever leaving you”

“And I am the cheesy one-?”

“WHAT THE FUCK YOU ARE DOING HERE?” Oh that must be your dad… oops?

He always loved her laugh, even when they hated each other… The sound of her laugh always was the closest thing to heaven, for him.

even worse when you make me cry.

“1st task: word search, find your gift.”

No fucking way, Ricciardo. You say “I’m sad” in one day, and in the next you wake up with this note in the bed. The only possible answer in this messy word search was office. When you got to his office desk a box of chocolates was waiting for you, with another note, this time in the format of a heart.

“2nd task: i need to be fixed, what am i?”

Just could be the wardrobe door, that shit almost knocked you up one day. Just right, honey. You found a little cute poem with another note.

“I don't want a fairytale

ending with you.

I want to be there

to help you face

your fears and 

to help you overcome

your failures.

I want to give you

the kind of love

that's not distorted

and fabricated,

but real, raw

and honest.”

“3rd task: complete the sentence, w__r_  __  _ s_en_  m__e  __me  on  _ho_e?”

With an embarrassing amount of time, you discovered to be “where do I spend more time on phone?” and that must be the main bathroom. In the mirror lipstick were marking the words

“4th task: i am in your most peaceful place”

with a little flower in the end. There’s only one place.

When you opened the wooden door that separates the living room from the garage and garden you felt tears burning your eyes. Daniel were sitting in the garden with sunflowers, picnic basket, plenty of fruits, drinks and food in general. 

“Sorry about the lipstick I used an old one and I swear I’m gonna clean after and-”

“You’re the most cheesy, cliche and argh I don’t even know what to- I fucking hate loving you!” How could you get so lucky? This 5’10’’ aussie, who has the biggest smile, loudest laugh, the best hug ever and seems like his life mission is making you the happiest person alive.

“Darling, don’t cry please! I hate when you cry!” he walked over you

“You were the one that made me cry!” you laughed sniffing giving a kiss in his cheek

“Eh… I might actually have one more thing…”

“What? I don’t think you can surprise or make me cry even more-” you said cleaning away your tears.

“Surprise!” You were wrong. Definitely wrong. Inside the picnic basket instead of more food was a little dog puppy, which couldn’t even open his eyes properly in this light. They furr shined in the sunlight, nose slightly scrunched and tail faintly moving side to side.

She thought the first time she would cry for a man, that it’s not her dad, would be after a heartbreak not for a cliché surprise.

I hate it when you’re not around.

“I’m sorry, babe. I promise after this work I’m gonna get on the first plane to you, and then we can enjoy my summer break together. I swear”

That was the third time he said it, the only time he promised tho. It’s hard to get that much time to spend with your boyfriend, and then he still works in his holidays.

He did what he promised but after 3 days. 3 whole days of his absence, it’s different when he’s in the paddock. At least you got a bit of him, the good morning and good night texts, facetime before sleeping and the most important thing of your life: your dog.

When he is not around, she feels like the loneliest person in the world.

and the fact you didn’t call.

It has been a while since that happened but you still remember how the feeling was. The feeling of being just a piece of meat, just drunk sex, a replacement, an embarrassment or worst, a regret.

Your first time with Daniel was after his win in Monaco, 2018. Both drunk not only in tequila and whiskey but in lust. To be honest you don’t remember much of this night, but you remember him. And he remembers you. His hands were imprinted on your curves. Your fingers tangled in his hair. When you woke up in an empty bed, in a hotel room that was not yours. You remembered all too well.

You remembered that he didn’t call. You remembered that he ignored you in the garage and the paddock. When you finally got to ask (you sneaked into his driver’s room) why he was running he admitted “I just can’t even think when you are around now! All I have is memories when I look at you, and that makes me fucking mad! It makes me wanna hate you more but also makes me wanna kiss you more and fuck you more and I can’t! We shouldn’t. It’s wrong. I assume the responsibility, I’m sorry”

That was the first and last time he didn’t call.

But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you,

Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

“So you hate loving me? Relax I hate loving you too” Daniel gave his characteristic laugh after you finished saying your poem at the end of your wedding vows.

•

“We are a team, in this life and all the others". That was the end of his vows, you could see he was shaking the entire time. You risk it looking at Michael and Scottie (obviously the best men) and they were crying like babies, pretty much more than you. 

“See why I hate loving you, Ricciardo” you mentioned cleaning your tears half laughing and you could hear the guests laughing with you. 

“You’re a Ricciardo now too, darlin’”

“You can kiss the bride now”

This was not the end. She still hates Daniel, everything about him, but especially, how much he was easy to love. He promised they were a team and he will always deliver on that, the love of this life of his and all the others too.

@laura-naruto-fan1998 enjoy <3

my taglist!!

[monzamash]

❝ what am i to you truly ? a puppet to be used to get what you want? ❞ + daniel 🥺😩

on our side daniel ricciardo x you | 1.1k — i combined this prompt and “did you just seriously insinuate i would do something like that to you?” because we love the drama, don't we folks? x

“You good?”

Daniel’s raspy voice stirred you awake, the exhaustion of too many night shifts strung together and the red wine he’d graciously provided for dinner had caused your weary eyes to close just for one peaceful, silent moment.

“Yeah, just needed a minute... it's so rowdy out there.”

The dip in the bed had your head tilting to the side, eying Daniel as he slumped down beside you, laying back on a bed that didn’t belong to either of you. In reality you didn’t know whose bed it was; maybe Scotty’s, maybe Sean’s – neither of you cared now that the dinner party had entered the wee hours of the morning.

“It’s been the longest day in history, I reckon. Trust those two to have the most extravagant wedding rehearsal dinner known to man…” Daniel sighed, hands linked behind his head; distressed curls falling every which way.

“Well, we are talking about a Stroll funded wedding event so not surprised that they’ve gone all out… Thought maybe there would be a flurry of doves as we walked in, it was that beautiful.”

Daniel chuckled at your joke and glanced your way, eternally in awe of how effortlessly funny you were. Quick witted and sharper than a tack like you’d always been; since the day he met you all those years ago.

“Should suggest that to Scotty for the big day – he’s all about the theatrics and hoopla… Christ, he might actually do it,” Daniel scoffed, making you chuckle and catch his eyes – gleaming and bloodshot from jet-lag.

There was a beat before his question; a question that you didn’t expect to get and certainly one you didn't want to receive.

“You ever think about getting married?”

The scoff that bubbled in your throat surfaced, eyes now widened at the man looking back at you with intrigue. Was he seriously asking you that? You? The girl who couldn't hold down a relationship because she's hung up on a man she can't have? Him.

“To who?” You asked, voice higher in pitch than you would’ve liked.

“I don’t exactly have a line of men queuing up around the corner…”

You cringed at the self-deprecation, wishing you’d gone with something less sad but the words spilled before you could catch them, painfully honest.

And Daniel’s quirked brow didn’t help you feel less desperate, “Oh, you know I’m camping out to be at the front of that queue.”

His tone was light-hearted but you knew that he wasn’t joking around. You’d found yourself here too many times, on too many late nights – fantasying about what could’ve been, maybe what should’ve been with the two of you. The almost’s, the close calls, the declarations of love when it wasn’t “the right time” and the apologies the next day when you wake up filled with regret, wanting nothing more than to pretend it didn’t happen because “your friendship means more to me than anything.”

It was cyclical.

“You promised we wouldn’t say things like that anymore, Dan.”

It was his chuckle that set you off, ringing in your ears like a taunt. It was as if the pain you felt every time he dangled himself in front of you, forbidden fruit, meant nothing to him. Like it didn’t rip his heart out of his chest, when it did. Having you as a friend killed him, every time he heard your voice on the phone, every time he made you laugh. Deflecting was his defence mechanism because admitting how he truly felt would hurt more than just you and him now. 

“I’m deadly serious…” You reiterated, staring into the windows of his soul, or so it felt for him as he watched your pupils widen.

“I know.”

And Daniel did know. He knew all too well the feeling of watching you happily in love – even if it was fleeting. But now it was his turn. The action of finding someone new was never intended to be vengeful or mean-spirited; it was just the way it was. Timing never on your side.

“But sometimes I think about getting married and when I do, I know you’re the only person on earth that understands how I feel… what that could look like and that might not be fair but it’s the truth.”

Daniel looked back up at the crown molding ceiling, hands clasped over his stomach, rising and falling with deep breaths. His heart was pounding, confessing his feelings was never easy when it came to you – and that was part of the reason you were laying side by side as friends, nothing more.

“You’re right, it’s not fair,” You stated, still staring at his sharpened jawline, tensing at your words, “I feel like… I feel like I’m just a puppet to you – a puppet to be used to get what you want whenever it doesn’t work out with your flavour of the month and… and…”

Daniel shot up, elbow buried into the mattress as he propped himself up beside you. As soon as you looked into those dark brown eyes, your heart shattered into a million pieces – the look of complete horror staring back at you as you stuttered through the sentence you wished you never even started. Regret getting the better of you.

“Did you just seriously insinuate i would treat you that way? After everything we’ve been through?” Daniel was stunned, gobsmacked by how differently you had perceived your relationship. Disposable.

He never wanted to make you feel that way, not ever.

“I fucking love you. I’m in love with you. And you know that. I know you do and I know you feel the same, which is why I sometimes keep my distance, especially when you’re with someone because I know what we have isn’t normal. I know it isn’t a normal friendship 'cause the reason all of my 'flavours of the month' leave is because of you.”

“Because they see the way I look at you and apparently it’s the same way you look at me so I dunno what to tell ya? You’re not a puppet and you never have been, it’s just… when we do get the chance to be together… in that way, I can’t say no to you… You’re you.”

Daniel reached down and softly brushed the pad of his thumb across your reddened cheek, a single tear rolling down the flushed skin as you let his words wash over you. He was right about all of it; he always was. He was the rational one, levelheaded and steadfast. But his words could only ease the pain so much.

The room was quiet, erratic breaths were the only sound being caught in the thickened air. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of your lungs, confessions somehow confusing the situation even more. Closure now being the only remedy for the heartache.

“If all that's true then, what do we do?”

Your voice was meek, barely a whisper as Daniel fell back onto the white linen duvet, hand searching for yours. You did what you always do and laced your fingers together; a comforting gesture to ease the sadness and gentle squeeze for good measure.

“I don’t know.”

Daniel genuinely didn’t know what to do and you could tell by the way his eyes darkened and the smile lines that were almost always visible were gone that he was as clueless as you. Stuck.

Because timing was never on your side.

a//n — don't know how many angsty drabbles i can write to be completely honest 'cause this hurt 😂 but hope you liked it x masterlist | askbox

[t0ast-ghost]

“Since the Cerritos is statistically the horniest and least romantically committed crew in Starfleet, we have no married officers aboard.”

- Lower Decks S4 EP6

First off if this is referring to just their current time period then yes I’d probably agree BUT since it’s a show and I think the creators were making a clever nod towards other shows I’d like to point out some things

This’ll get long. (Spoilers for TOS, TNG, DS9, & SNW)

TOS:

Both Spock and McCoy are divorced (McCoy twice over)

Whatever was going on between Spock and Chapel ???

Kirk is apparently too committed to the enterprise (yeah definitely the ship… nobod-nothing else) to commit to any of the women that he has definitely fucked

Kirk didn’t commit to Carol Marcus and she had his son

The Shore Leave episode

Theodore Sturgeon’s letter about the Shore Leave episode

Episodes with “Paradise” in their name

Must I bring up Amok Time?

Half the crew is just in love with the ship and all their relationships fail. The one time someone tries to get married their spouse dies

TNG:

Jean Luc is happy as is … Q however

Q is the horniest motherfucker for that frenchman and I’m counting him

Riker

Beverly with the ghost

Oh yeah Jean Luc literally kills two spouses (Crusher and Sisko) he’s actively uncommitting the romantics

The show’s SECOND EPISODE is where everyone gets super horny and fucks each other

Even the “emotionless” android gets some (I cannot blame Tasha one bit, Godspeed)

That’s all I remember from this show

DS9:

JADZIA DAX MY QUEEN

Julian Bashir’s original name was Dr. Amoros. He is doctor dick.

Lwuxana Troi wants Odo so bad but that goop ain’t committing

Whatever is going on between Odo and Quark

Need I mention Garak?

Mirror universe (Kira is about to kiss herself)

Almost every character is dating each other in this show and they made it canon for several but they all fall apart (Except Rom and Leela cause they’re perfect)

The O’Brien polycule… I drew it out but it got more complicated than the O’Briens (basically Julian is best friends with Miles who is married to Keiko. Keiko was on a shuttle while pregnant with Julian and Kira when there was a crash and Julian had to transfer the child from Keiko into either him or Kira, so Kira volunteered. She ends up living with the O’Brien’s while carrying the child and bonds with both of them (to the point both she and Miles think it’s weird). Kira eventually gets with Odo who is Quark’s nemesis and Quark is crushing on Jadzia who is exes with Julian who is (somewhat unknowingly) courting Garak. Jadzia Dax becomes married to Worf but I think her and Sisko have definitely fucked. Sisko is married to Kasidy and enemies with Gul Dukat who reciprocates that but is also fixated on Kira who hates him. Did I miss something?)

Now, I bet they did not count DS9 in their statistics because it’s a station not a ship but also because they’d always win this contest

SNW:

Spock and T’Pring

Spock and Chapel

Spock and Kirk

Other Kirk and La’an

Kirk and Carol ???

(All of them fail that’s why I bring it up)

Pelia has been married to another woman (not canon but it’s gotta have happened, right?)

Whatever was going on between Una and Neera in the court episode

There’s no way Uhura’s in a relationship (they might set her up with Scotty next season but I’d like to see her and Chapel)

The others do not seem romantically committed to other people

Pike’s weird dinner parties

To be honest Lower Decks is maybe the most outright vulgar in its language but most of the time it’s a feel good show about a bunch of best friends. Their captain is married, their CMO and head security officer are in a (happy?) relationship, and third thing here.

I haven’t seen any of Voyager or Enterprise and I don’t think Discovery is that horny/romantically uncommitted