#thank u kait <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[murderballadeer]

1975, 1967, 1999, 2001 🧘🏻‍♀️

jeanne dielman for 1975 in the heat of the night for 1967 but i'm a cheerleader for 1999 and spirited away for 2001 <3

[ghosthoodie]

your agents + pacer test whos dying first

DISCLAIMER: i’ve never done the pacer test so this is my best guess LOL

[tigertrack]

i believe in wavy-haired knives and straight-haired vash supremacy

[spacephrasing]

i'm thinking about changing my name and/or choosing another name in addition to kait

[cohendyke]

16, 57, 66

HII KAIT 💕💕💕

16- when did you first join tumblr?

i’ve left and come back a couple times! first time was in 2014 when i was in grade six and in the throes of my sherlock phase… i had a different blog in hs and i’ve had this one since 2020!

57- are you a morning person?

FUCK no my ass is in love with the snooze button. but if there’s something important early in the morning i can get up and run on adrenaline… it probably doesn’t help that i can’t do caffeine though

66- do you believe in marriage?

i would love to have a wife and kids someday maybe even with a minivan are you kidding…… i think i could avoid the mistakes my parents made 💪💪💪 (im sorry that was probably tmi but <3)

[stevebabey]

apologies in advance ehehe🕺🏻: fmkk (fuck marry kill kiss bc there's four of him) - s1, s2, s3 and s4 steve harrington 😁

literally what da hell kait 🧍‍♂️ im tryna have a celebration and u wanna cause a CRISIS? kidding this is actually so straight forward 2 me bcos i didnt like steve til s2 LMAO

s1 steve: kill it will be a quick painless death <3 sorry but also no im not those for those khakis he wears he almost deserves it

s2 steve: ok now the crisis hits. s2 steve would fuuuuck so good, he's still angry and at max bitchy mode. and yet i give him just a kiss ! it'd be real good, just once, in the rain or smth and it would change the trajectory of his life

s3 steve: we're just building up LMAO. u know what it is 😏 he's maximum babygirl like by law, i have to smash. bonus points if its after all his injuries and its tender loving sex <3 & i get to top him lmao

s4 steve: MARRY !!! pathetic man who works at the family video i am on ONE KNEE !!! kidding he's not pathetic but he will be my wife <3 we're wifed up no joke

join the celebration!!

[dukesmebby]

kait!! hi hon how are you?? just dropping by to let you know that i love you and you’re so cute <33

ivy!!!😭 you’re too cute i love you sm<333 im doing pretty good actually (today lmao) how are you doing??

[stvharrngton]

27! for the ask game💖

27. What’s your favorite book? Or just one you’ve read a few times? 

……does fanfiction count? 😭 honestly i have not read a single book since i did my degree i just don’t have the attention span for it anymore

the last books i actually remember reading are the first game of thrones book and a whole new world: a twisted tale

💗 asks 💗

[maxlarens]

hi lilli!! i heard angst and i came running, how about searching for each other in crowded rooms, finding each other everywhere with logan or oscar, whoever sparks the most inspo, but plot twist—not being able to be together for some reason (the why is totally up to you, feel free to ignore if this isn't your cup of tea). thank u thank u <3

kait!!! hello!!! thank u for sending this in!!! im gonna do oscar 😁 it genuinely hurt my feelings SO BADLY to not have them make up at the end of this. so i sympathise with everyone that im about to make sad it was a bad time for me too❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

It's familiar, this feeling.

The squeeze of your chest, the grieving, panicking thing climbing up your throat. You've been feeling it a lot lately, every time you catch a glimpse of someone with hair the same colour as Oscar's; wearing clothes you swear that he has; a person with the same shoulders, the same gait.

You've been seeing him everywhere. You just think you have. Monaco is small… not that small apparently.

When it had first happened, at the beginning of summer break, you’d half expected to be back together within a week. For Oscar to message you and half-beg to talk to you again. In your dreams, you’d both come grovelling back to each other, apologising for cruel words, making amends for various mistakes. Then you would kiss him and you’d tell him how much you love him and things would get better.

Instead, you’ve spent weeks of your summer break totally and utterly miserable. Missing Oscar like a phantom limb. You reach for him, he’s not there. You go to text him, find a thread of messages discussing the logistics of returning the other’s belongings.

You sit in your flat and you watch the Lord of the Rings trilogy twice in a row twenty two hours and forty-four minutes because it doesn’t remind you of Oscar and it occupies your time in a way nothing else can right now. You cry until your eyes are puffy and you write in a diary you’ve never touched before, because it needs to go somewhere. The feeling stuck in your throat needs to be written down said out loud and you can’t say it to Oscar, who you would usually tell everything, because he needs “distance from you right now”.

Briefly, you convince yourself that “right now”, indicates that there still might be a later for the two of you. That this thing between you that’s fallen to pieces might one day be salvaged. In the quiet moments of Lord of the Rings you spiral down a rabbit hole of ways to get Oscar back, pathetic fantasies of how you might convince him to talk to you again. Then Arwen says, “I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone” and you cry for two hours straight.

You sob, your face in your pillow and you think that was supposed to me! That was supposed to be us! And maybe it wasn’t, maybe you’re not an elven maiden giving up her immortality for a mere man, but you love Oscar. You wanted to spend the rest of your life with Oscar. And now… now…

Well—

It is the waiting that’s the worst.

No texts, no calls. Lando sends you a few, but you can’t bear to hold a conversation with him, knowing he’s playing both sides. And anyway, you’re just thinking about Oscar. Is he there? Is he reading your texts? Seeing the pathetic selfies of you on your couch in days-old PJs? Is he staring at your stagnant text thread just like you are? Has he blocked you?

Your every waking thought is consumed by him. You drag yourself out of the apartment for coffee down the street and you wonder what he’s doing. Has he been rotting at home like you? More than likely he’s been doing things. Playing padel with Lando, going out for lunch, training at the gym, FaceTiming his family.

You feel sick to you stomach. You can list on one hand the activities that you’ve done since Oscar broke up with you at the beginning of the month:

Sleeping, crying, watching Lord of the Rings, ordering takeout, training because you have to. Going for coffee had been a big step out of your current comfort zone. You’re wearing pants that aren’t sweatpants… you’d even showered properly for fuckssake.

You got your most noise-cancelling headphones on, blasting sad Taylor Swift (who you don’t even like. It’s just something to fill the void) and staring down the barista so you can lip-read if they’re saying your name or the words Large Oat Latte. And then—

Then. The barista is mouthing Oscar and your stomach lurches as the exact object of your ire temporary depression walks to the counter. You try to convince yourself it’s not him, you keep seeing him places but it’s never really him. But it is, that’s his burgundy shirt, his swoop of hair, his knobbly little ankles.

You release a ragged breath that you hope isn’t too loud. You duck your head, try to avoid his gaze as he turns, pretending that you haven’t seen him. Try to look occupied by your phone though you’ve only had time to open to your home screen. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, you blink furiously, trying your best not to fall apart in this coffee shop.

At least he’s not with someone else, you think as a tightness crawls up your throat to settle at the base of your tongue. But he looks happy, he looks fine, he looks better than you feel right now. God, what if he’s better off without you? What does it mean that you don’t seem to better off without him?

There’s something wet sliding down your left cheek and then you see Nike trainers entering your vision, still directed firmly downward. Someone puts a hand on your shoulder— you don’t jump but it’s a near thing. You reach up to slip your headphones off, wiping the tear discreetly as you go. Then you look up and it’s him, it’s Oscar.

He’s holding out a paper cup labeled, Oat Latte and smiling at you tightly.

“They were calling your name,” he says by way of explanation.

“Right,” your voice is shaky, weak, “Thanks.”

He nods, you take the coffee, careful not to touch his hand. You’re trying to swallow down the lump in your throat that’s rising rising trying to claw its way out of your mouth. You blink away the tears filling the corners of your eyes. You can’t look at him.

You’re looking up at the ceiling instead, biting the inside of your mouth. Breathing in and out, in and out.

He says your name, and then, “Do you want to talk?”

You feel like a tonne of bricks has just hit your chest. Knocking the wind out of you. Tears, hot and wet, are slipping down your cheeks. You can’t speak, you turn around and leave the coffee shop without saying anything because surely you’ll just start crying if you open your mouth. Oscar finds you again across the road, in a dark cobbled alleyway. The heel of your hand is pressed to the middle of your chest, you’re hiccuping, trying to stifle heavy sobs that you’d much prefer to let out in the privacy of your own apartment.

“Hey,” he says, gathering you into his arms before you can push him away, “It’s okay.”

You whine, collapsing into his chest, face pressing into his shoulder, “No, it’s not.”

You cry loudly, trying fruitlessly to keep the sobs in. Oscar’s hand rubs comforting circles into your back, which makes it better until you realise it’s Oscar, which makes it immediately worse. You stay there a while. Until your eyes are puffy and your throat sore.

“Better?”, Oscar asks, the crease between his eyebrows prominent.

You sigh tiredly, shrug, “Sure.”

Your coffee is cold now, your chest feels void, hollow.

You shake your head before Oscar can say anything further, before you’re set off on another fucking pathetic crying fit in the arms of your ex-boyfriend, “I can’t talk, Oscar. I really can’t.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding and swallowing some lump in his own throat.

You bite down hard on your tongue. Turn to leave the dark alley to go home, your back prickling with Oscar’s wet brown-eyed stare on you. He lets you leave. You spend the ten minute walk wiping tears before they fall and itching to run back, to kiss him, to pour all the emotion in your chest into some physical action.

There’s an awful grieving ache in your chest that’s carving out your insides and when you check your phone after walking in the door there’s a text from Oscar that reads:

I miss you. I’d really like to talk to you soon.

not sure if it was weird but the lord of the rings Mentions were kinda about how you’re in such a fragile state during a breakup that something as irrelevant to your break up at lord of the rings will make you cry for hours for no real reason. (and not to expose myself but after a break up i did watch the lotr trilogy two times in a row. told my friends and got a text from one of them asking if i was depressed 😭 like yes… temporarily alright)

send me a prompt/req + driver and i'll write something. pls check if my requests are open first 💖

[katsu28]

hi my lovely kait!

i saw your requests were open and i actually was thinking about if ive ever requested smth from you before (i think maybe once but im not sure)

i was wondering if i could get ‘Kissing away their tears’ with charles but i wouldn’t mind if you wanted to do it with anyone else as well! i’ve been craving some hurt/comfort.

love you and have an amazing day <33

hali!!! love u love u thank u for being so sweet <3 here's some hurt and (hopefully) some comfort for u!

charles leclerc x reader, 1.4k. request something from here!

You can tell that Charles is dejected the moment he climbs out of the car. He doesn’t have that spring in his step he usually gets after an exhilarating race, and his feet drag on the asphalt as he trudges over to the weighing station with the rest of the grid, barring the podium goers. 

Carlos finished high up in the points, which is a win for Ferrari and you know Charles is happy for him, but you can’t imagine what it must feel like to constantly miss out on points and positions while his teammate consistently comes out in the top five every time. 

Formula One is a different breed of competition—your teammate might be your friend, but they’re also one of your biggest rivals. You fight to keep your seat, race after race, season after season, and this downhill spiral Charles has been in ever since his home win has been disheartening to say the least. 

You don’t know much about the strategy of it all, but you know Ferrari’s hasn’t been working out for him. He’s had a rough go of it lately, and your heart hurts for him. 

Charles looks up to where he knows you are, lifting his hand in a haphazard wave at you before being ushered away to the media pen. You’ll wait for him where you always meet him after races.

Somehow, he looks even more defeated than before as he trudges into his driver room after post race interviews conclude. He throws his paddock pass off to the side. You’re sitting up on the countertop, legs swinging mindlessly, only stilling when Charles shuts the door behind him. 

“Hey,” You say softly, gently. 

“Hi. Thank you for coming.” He tries his attempt at a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. You hold out your arms, and immediately, Charles steps forward, folding himself into your embrace. You know Charles well enough to know that he won't believe you if you compliment him right now, so you don’t. You sit with him in the heavy silence instead, waiting for him to make the first move. “I’m sorry I could not do better.” 

“You did the best you could with what you were given, Charles,” You say assuringly, rubbing a hand over his shoulders. He sighs long and hard, like you’re just telling him what he wants to hear. “I’m proud of you.” 

“Can we just go back to the hotel now?” He asks quietly, muffled because of how his face is buried into your neck. “I’m done for today. Anything else can wait until tomorrow.” 

“Of course,” You hum, carding a gentle hand through his hair one more time before releasing him. Before he can get too far, you kiss him, short and sweet. He smiles then too, a little bigger than before, but still quite sad. 

Charles puts on a pleasant facade as you make your way through the paddock back to the car park, taking pictures with waiting fans, signing things for them if he can reach them like most drivers do whilst leaving the track. Most of them are sweet to him. They tell him to keep his head up and believe, that a few bad races don’t discredit how talented of a driver he is. 

There’s a few hecklers as usual, upset fans who’d made bets on Charles’ performance and lost that money, people who say he could be doing so much better—as if them telling him that would magically make everything alright again. You give your own deadpan stare to that lot from where you hover a good distance away from him, not caring that they can definitely see you. 

Charles may be media trained, but you’re not. You have no problems with shutting up a few twats with your expertly crafted death glare. Fred Vasseur might call you in for a meeting with the PR team if he sees the photos on social media, but you don’t care. 

The car ride back to the hotel is understandably silent, but Charles still holds your hand tightly, rubbing absentminded circles along your skin because it soothes him, every so often lifting it to press a kiss to your knuckles. You don’t push him to talk, and you don’t think you need to. You know him well enough to know he’ll let you in when he’s ready. 

Dinner is room service and holds a little more conversation, though you can tell Charles is still off in his own world, thinking about everything that’s gone wrong these past few races, wondering if he could’ve done anything to get a better outcome. 

You come out of the bathroom after brushing your teeth, well and ready to go to sleep and forget this day, but instead you find your boyfriend sitting at the end of the bed, hunched over with his head in his hands. At the sound of the door opening, he looks up, and you can tell he’s been trying hard not to cry. 

Glassy eyes stare back at you, the beautiful green eyes that you adore filled with so much pain and sadness it makes you want to cry too. His teeth dig hard into his bottom lip, but it still wobbles just the slightest. 

It isn’t until you’re across the room, sliding on your knees to hug him against you that the final string holding Charles up snaps, and he leans into you heavily, pressing his face against your shoulder with a shuddering breath. He cries and cries, and you let him, holding him as tight as you can just so he knows you’ve got him. 

You’ve always got him. 

His body shakes with silent sobs, hot tears soaking into your shirt, and all you can do is murmur quiet reassurances into his ear, even if the feeling of wet cotton against your skin makes you want to peel yourself out of it. Charles needs this, needs to let it all out so he can focus on what lies ahead without being dragged down by the past. 

Eventually, his sobs come to a hiccupping stop. He lifts his head, red rimmed eyes meeting your own tearful ones. His nose is even running a little bit, and if it were anyone else you’d push them away, but it’s Charles. “I’m sorry. I don’t—I don’t know why…” He trails off without finishing his sentence, seemingly at a loss for words. 

“Oh, my love,” You sigh, stroking both thumbs over the apples of his cheeks. You press your lips against his, hoping it can convey just how much you love him without you having to even utter the words, wiping away his tears gently before drawing back to look at him. As much as you hate it when Charles cries, he’s pretty like this. Tears cling to long, dark lashes, mussed hair a soft tornado of brown from how your fingers had been running through it. “You have nothing to be sorry for. And you never have to explain anything to me, yes? I’m here for you, always, no matter what.”

“Thank you,” He murmurs, leaning back in with his forehead against yours. “Thank you, mon amour. Your support, your love, it means everything to me. You are why I can keep doing this. ” 

You shake your head. “No I’m not.” Charles cocks his head, and you poke his chest, right over his heart. “That is why you can keep doing this.” 

One more poke, this one softer and on his forehead. “And this. Your mind and your heart, your determination, your strength, that is why you keep going. You are the most hard working, talented, brilliant driver I’ve ever seen. You can bounce back from whatever this is, and you will. But not because of me, because that’s the kind of person you are.” 

Charles pats the spot next to him and you oblige, looping your arm through his once you’re there, leaning against his shoulder now. He lays a lingering kiss to the top of your head, a silent gesture of appreciation towards you. He appreciates you more than he can put into words sometimes, a fact that hasn’t and will never change.  

Even though he’s still frustrated and sad and upset, this silence seems considerably lighter as you sit with him. You hope for brighter days ahead, and you’ll always try your best to be his strongest support system, no matter what the future holds.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

[spideystevie]

this is so exciting ok ok may i please request #6 - chasing someone's lips after they pull away with hangman? thank u allie ily <3

my lovely kait! thank YOU for requesting!!!! ily and hope you enjoy  <3 (0.8k) 

6. chasing someone’s lips after they pull away

A jet cuts through the sky above you, fast enough to nearly break the sound barrier. It blows your hair, leaving it almost windswept when it passes. It’s a speck in the sky in mere seconds. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought it could’ve been your boyfriend.

You’d only been to base once before and you weren’t even supposed to be there then. You had to sneak in behind Jake, your hand held tightly in his as he led you around, briefly showing you the briefing room before leading you out onto the tarmac. You’d almost gotten caught, your giggles a little too loud. But despite his constant shushing, his grin had never once slipped. 

Today, you were supposed to be there. A bit of a secret, something to keep lowkey, but Mav had smuggled you in to observe today’s training. You hadn’t a clue what was going on as you sat tucked away in the corner of a room filled with other navy pilots and listened to the chatter happening in the skies over the radio. 

Now, you stood hiding to the side near a currently unused jet waiting for Jake to land. You can see him climb out of his jet, his name and callsign painted along the side, but he can’t see you. He yells something to Maverick, an obvious jest from what you can tell, as he trudges off towards a different plane. 

You’d heard them over the radio before you’d gone outside, Jake’s banter back and forth until he finally was the first one to knock Mav out of the sky. You felt a little smug, and you can tell Jake does too as he walks in the direction of your hiding spot. 

There’s a certain pep in his step, a more confident sway in his walk. When he gets close enough, nearly bypassing the jet you’re hiding by, you step into view. 

“You looked good out there, Hangman,” you call. His head whips in the direction of your voice, his face lighting up when he gets a full look at you. He hurries over, meeting you in the shadow of the plane. He squeezes you in a hug, arms tight around you as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, hands settling on your waist. You’re both beaming at each other as you shrug. You smooth a hand down the front of his flight suit.

“Mav smuggled me in,” you say all nonchalant, like this happens all the time. Jake glances over to where Maverick cranks out his pushups and then his eyes flash back to you. His fingertips sneak beneath the hem of your shirt, ghosting over the skin as he smiles at you all fond. 

There’s sure to be a burnt mark on your body from where his hands hold your waist, the touch alone sending tendrils of a fiery excitement all over your body. With the way he’s looking at you, like he’d be content to do just this for the rest of his life, you think you might burst. 

“You gonna kiss me or what, Seresin?” you joke, a smile curling around your words. A breathy laugh leaves him as he shakes his head at you. 

“You’re trouble,” he says. He gives you no time for a rebuttal, leaning his head down to kiss you. Your hands fly up to hold his face between your palms. His cheeks are soft beneath your touch and you let your thumbs stroke once, twice, against them. 

It’s something you don’t think you’ll ever tire of, kissing Jake. The feel of his lips slotted just right against yours, the way your heart seems to take flight and your head spins dizzily. A ripple of affection, smooth and sweet like honey, coursing through your veins. 

You barely have a moment to breathe when you pull away, lashes fluttering and half open, before Jake’s lips are chasing yours. He doesn’t even open his eyes, a blind chase for the feeling of your lips pressed to his. In a blink, your eyes close shut and a breathy sigh escapes from your nose. 

Your hands on his cheeks pull him down closer to you while his hands travel from the sides of your waist to the front. He hooks his fingers in your belt loops and tugs you that much closer to him until your knees bump. An almost salacious sigh gets caught in the back of his throat. 

Jake pulls away this time, leaving you perfectly breathless. Your chest slightly heaves against his, your lips a little swollen from his kiss. One of his hands leaves where it’s been hooked around your belt loop and comes up to your face. He slides his thumb across your bottom lip, one corner of his mouth curled into the smirk you’d come to love. 

“Satisfied?” he asks, all cheeky snark and you laugh. A light, melodic thing that can’t help but bubble out of you because he might be a little cocky but by god, you were in love with him. You nod once, your hands falling off his cheeks and ghosting over his neck until they rest on his broad shoulders. 

“Very.”

[sunshinesteviee]

emma i already know whatever you write for this adorable sleepover is going to be the cause of my death, but may i please request #17 - to the child: "Could you please bring this to mama/papa/parent?" *handing them a tiny love note* from list one with dad!steve? thank youu i love u hehe <3

kait!!! thank you so much omg i hope you like this; dad!steve owns my entire heart <3 mom!reader, wc: 846

—

It’s a relatively quiet evening in for the Harrington household. The soup you’re making for dinner is simmering on the stove while Steve keeps your toddler busy. You love Claire, she has you wrapped around her finger, but you’re so glad to have Steve; you’re not sure how you’d ever get anything done if it was just you. The last time you’d checked on your loves, they were both sitting at the coffee table in the living room, coloring diligently, and judging how quiet it is, you assume they’re still there.

Steve is, in fact, still sitting on the floor next to his little girl as she scribbles furiously on her paper, the entirety of her tiny hand wrapped around the purple crayon she’s using. Her eyebrows are furrowed, her nose is scrunched up, and her soft, wavy hair is falling into her face as she concentrates on getting her picture just right. Every little thing she does makes Steve’s heart burst, and this little moment is no exception. Reaching out toward her, Steve gently brushes her hair out of her face, tucking it back into the bow clip already in her hair, even though her hair will probably shake free again in a few moments. His voice is soft and filled with adoration as he asks, “What are you coloring, baby?”

It takes a moment, but Claire finally looks up with wide eyes and gives Steve a smile that is identical to yours. His heart bursts again.

Claire begins explaining her picture, pointing out each part as she does. She’s still learning how to talk, and though Steve can interpret her toddler gibberish better than anyone else, he only catches half the words. Still, he nods thoughtfully, as though he fully understands her, “Wow, lovey, you’re doing such a good job. It’s such a pretty picture.”

She beams at him again, and points at the paper on the table in front of Steve, crayon still in her hand, “Dada draw.”

“Oh, you want daddy to draw another picture?”

“Mhm,” she nods, jabbing her finger at the paper again, “Mama an’ Dada an’ Claire.”

“That’s what you want me to draw?” When she nods again, Steve can’t help but give in, even though his drawing skills aren’t great.

Once she sees that he’s drawing what she asked for, Claire turns back to her own paper with a green crayon this time, scribbling right over the purple. Steve’s a bit more careful as he draws three stick figures on the blank piece of paper, one with your hair, one with his hair and glasses, and a dress and pigtails on the smallest figure. Holding the picture up for her to see, he asks, “How’s this, lovey?”

“Good!”

“Do you think Mama will like our pictures?”

“Mhm!” she babbles on a little longer, saying something about the fridge, and Steve realizes that she wants her picture hung up on the fridge, next to the other three million pictures already there. Not that he would ever complain about her adorable drawings.

“I bet if you showed Mama your picture, she’d hang it up on the fridge, Claire bear,” Steve says, taking a different crayon to quickly write a small note on the paper he’d drawn on. Folding the paper in half, Steve hands it to his little girl and points to the kitchen, “Will you take this one to Mama, too, peanut?”

The unmistakable sound of clumsy toddler footsteps approach the kitchen and you turn away from the stove just in time to see Claire burst into the kitchen. She grins at the sight of you, throwing her arms in the air so you can pick her up, “Mama!”

“Hey, sweetheart!” you bend down to scoop her up into your arms, pulling her up to your hip, “Were you and Daddy coloring together?”

Instead of answering, she shoves her drawing into your face, eagerly awaiting your praise, which you quickly give to her after glancing at the mess of color, “Oh, it’s beautiful, baby! You’re so good at coloring.” You punctuate your sentence with a kiss to her cheek. “What’s the other paper you got there, baby?”

“Dada,” she says, holding the paper out for you to take before squirming in your arms.

You set her back on the floor before you can unfold the paper, and watch her dart back out to the living room. When she disappears from the kitchen, you hang up the drawing she’d given you, and unfold the one from your husband. Inside, next to the drawing he’d done is a small note written in crayon. Steve’s already messy handwriting is even harder to read in the thick crayon, but you manage to make out what it says.

It’s his cheesiest nickname for you, followed by an equally cheesy proclamation of love that ends with ‘I love our life together. Love you to the moon and back, honey. Steve’ He’d even drawn a messy heart next to his name.

His drawing and note goes on the fridge front and center right next to Claire’s.

[harringtonswriting]

slowly intertwining fingers while the other is driving with rooster because he is SO a holding hands while driving kinda guy i know it in my heart and soul. thank u so much my dear bree!!! <33

Kait my love!! god you are SO right and you should say it louder bc rooster is absolutely a holding hands while driving guy <3 i feel like he just loves skin to skin contact you know? always gotta be holding his love <3 i am so sorry it took so long, but i hope you like it!

...

Sometimes, on the hard days, Bradley will ask you to drive around with him in the Bronco. He never has a destination in mind, just wanting to spend some time with the windows down and the radio on as the two of you drive aimlessly around Fightertown, or along the coast, or even into the city. Wherever the wind and the roads might take him. There was one time the two of you had ended up in Long Beach because you’d accidentally fallen asleep and Bradley had decided to follow the coastline until you woke up. You’d had a good time, of course, once you’d woken up, but that was the furthest you’d ever gone when he needed to work the next morning.

Bradley never tells you what causes the hard days, at least not right away, but you know today is a particularly bad one when he’s completely silent as he comes through the front door. Normally he tries to at least make some noise, banging his boots against the front mat or dropping his bag on the floor to make sure you knew he was there. But the complete silence, even with opening and closing the door, means today is a particularly rough one.

You’re worried, of course you’re worried, but you give him some space and let him come to you. You’ve learned during the time you’ve been dating him that trying to confront him before he’s ready–even if you’re not confronting him you know Bradley will still most likely see it that way–never ends well for either of you. So you listen to him head from the front door to the kitchen, and then up the stairs, and then the sounds of doors being open and shut.

Bradley’s changed into a t-shirt and jeans as he walks into the living room where you’re lounging on the couch, ones you’d washed earlier that day and laid out on your bed for him to change into after work. His aviators are tucked against the collar of his shirt, and he’s got two sweatshirts in his hand as he comes over to press a kiss to the top of your head. It lingers longer than normal, and you reach a hand up to cup his cheek before he moves away.

“Come for a drive with me?” he asks, voice even and lacking his normal warmth. You nod, getting up off the couch and taking the sweatshirts from him as the two of you gather your things and head out the door to the Bronco. Bradley peels out of the driveway almost as soon as your seatbelt clicks into place, slipping his sunglasses on and turning the radio on with the volume down low as he starts to drive.

His right hand is resting on the gear shift, fingers tapping out a staccato rhythm against the kitschy eight ball that he’d told you Natasha had given him as a joke once upon a time. You don’t mention how twitchy his hands are or the hard set of his jaw, but you do rest your hand on top of his where it’s palming the gear shift.

Bradley’s fingers stop tapping almost immediately, the muscles relaxing under your hand.

I’m here. I love you. It’s okay.

You don’t say the words out loud, but as you swipe your thumb along the back of his hand, you let your actions speak for you. You interlock your fingers with his but leave them where they are. Feeling the warmth of his larger, calloused hand holding yours is calming for you, and you hope it is for him right now. He normally finds any excuse he can to hold your hand in his, though normally he liked when he could hold your hand and press it to your thigh–he never even tried to be subtle about it.

But tonight, it’s more for his comfort than it is his love of your body. Bradley brings your entwined hands up to his mouth, and you feel his lips press a soft kiss to the back of your hand. His mustache scratches against your skin, but the sensation is a welcome one, a familiar comfort. It’s his answer, without words, letting you know he’s grateful you’re here. He squeezes once, twice, three times in succession, lingering kisses on each knuckle as he keeps his eyes on the road.

Bradley will talk when he’s ready. Maybe that’ll be in a few hours; maybe it won’t be for a few days. But you’re glad you’re here with him, that you’re in his Bronco with the windows rolled down and the evening air blowing cool across your skin, existing with Bradley through the good and the bad. You’ll always be here for him, and by the way he’s moved your hand to cradle it to his chest as best he can, you’re sure he knows it, too.

[familyvideostevie]

🐚 SEASHELL: i feel like steve is very dial drunk by noah kahan coded so may i please request "i ain't proud of all the punches that i've thrown / in the name of someone i no longer know" with our favorite reformed mean girl! THANK U EMMA ILY <33

kait!! i took this and twisted it a little bit, hope that's okay! ily <3 here's steve helping you after you get in a fight :)

--

"Stop looking so smug," Steve grumbles. "This could have been a really shitty situation." His hands are gentle despite his grumpy tone. He feels really tall from where you sit on the closed toilet

"I'm pretty sure he accidentally punched me," you remind him. "And he looked like he was going to cry after. Especially when you showed up."

"I should have broken his nose," he mutters. "I think this is gonna be a black eye. How's it feel?"

He prods at the crest of your cheekbone and you hiss, fingers gripping the seams of his jeans. "Ow, Steve." His touch lightens but his expression doesn't.

"That'll teach you to get in fights." He rubs the bruise cream into your skin and you scoff.

"Excuse me," you say. "First of all, I didn't 'get' in the fight." You use your fingers as air quotes and his mouth twitches. "I tried to stop one, and then he punched me as a reaction so I punched him back."

"Shitty punch."

He's already bandaged your split knuckle and complained about your form. Steve gets a bit testy when he's really worried, so you're taking it in stride. After he finished bandaging you up he'll be clingy and at your beck and call.

"Second of all, I have it on very good authority that you used to get in fights all the time. And lose."

He knows you're joking. You've talked about his past a lot since you got together -- late nights with his head in your lap as he explained the shit he's caused and been on the receiving end of.

"Yeah, yeah," he sighs. "Laugh it up, slugger. At least I know how to throw a punch."

"But you don't, anymore." It's not really a question. It's more of a reminder for Steve that you know who he is.

He shakes his head, traces your bottom lip with his thumb. "Nope," he says, popping the p. "Unless someone tries to punch my girlfriend again. Then it's all fair play."

You laugh then wince when it pulls at your eye. Steve frowns and leans down to kiss your closing lid gently before doing the same to your lips. "Let's get some ice on that."

join the celebration!

[westerberg]

Tagged by @appleisms for 5 songs I’ve had on repeat thank u Kait 🙏💕💓🌸🌼🌞

Tagging @milliondollarbash @jaimeroyalrobertson @fortheturnstiles 🍻🍻

[stevebabey]

ruby it’s your birthday?!

i hope you have the happiest of birthday’s sweet girl!!! ILY🥳💗🫶🏻

kait ur KILLIN me with the sweet girl 😭 it is still my birthday where i am for like 1 more hour !! thank u so much angel i luv u too <3