writingfordreams

[writingfordreams]

Hi! First of all I jut want to say you're an amazing writer darling! And second, I don't know If you are familiar w Richard Madden? But If you are and feel comfortable writting It could I request a cute fluff piece of the reader flying back to Richard's christmas cottage and his family is there and make her feel welcomed and everything? Thank you love!

thank you so so so much!! you are just the sweetest. admittedly i haven’t seen any of richard’s projects besides rocketman and a few clips from game of thrones.. but i’ve seen/read a ton of his interviews and some via taron out of curiosity so i’m totally up for writing him! thanks so much for your request and i hope it’s alright! more under the cut per usual ♡

Richard is a family man. That much was obvious with how beat red and nervous he was to ask you to fly back with him for the holidays. He was doing that thing where he picks at his palm before he even mustered the courage to ask, and that’s when you knew something was up. You always find it funny how he’s often painted as this big hunk of hollywood sex appeal and manly wrath, but he’s so sweet and genuine. And once he bursts through his bubble of smiley anxiety, he’s on a roll and oh man, is he a sight and a vision. That’s when he lives up to that promise of charm, that gleaming smile. Nothing can stop him then. When he asks, you have your hands on his forearms, offering comfort and a little emphasis for your yes yes yes, a thousand times yes.

So, you and Rich pack your bags and Scotland is exactly how you pictured it based on the Madden family photos and travel commercials. It’s a bit like England, you think, lots of cobble and stone and thinly trimmed grass. Richard seems at near complete ease here, and that rubs right off on you. You watch as he flies through customs and the fixings of the airport with ease, and you two take a small cab to Elderslie, where he was born. 

“You’re alright?” He had asked, so toothy and grinning it would’ve been hard for you to say no even if that were the case. But you’re so alright, so you tell him that. You sit snug, shoulder to shoulder the whole ride there while your bags bump in the trunk. Richard had mentioned previously a cottage meant for holidays and family events, and his hype definitely did not disappoint. Two women, who you assume are his family, are at the ready when your cab rolls up near the driving way area, and immediately jump to help. You offer shy smiles as you exit the cab, offering to help but the two women, who you later find out are his sisters, treat your offering like the most ridiculous thing ever said in the history of humanity. 

The inside of the cottage is warm and beautifully decorated. Garland and twinkly lights set up the mood, and Richard makes some comment to his Mother, who was the first to give you a big, big hug, about how the whole place looks like a decoration catalog. 

“You’ve gone all out this year, Mam, aye?” said Richard, which earns him a light pat on the cheek and a lecture about the importance of festivity. The whole evening is a whirlwind of heavy accents and something that smells hot and dangerously delicious. Everyone you come in contact with in the family room seems to notice your nerves, offering compliments (Richard, she’s even more beautiful in person!) and little facts about the place. As you witness their welcoming nature, you can’t help but slowly slipping into comfort like a pair of warm gloves. Richard makes sure to cling to your side with an arm at the small of your back when he isn’t updating his family on the adventures of his career, reminiscing or laughing good and hard at something one of his sisters had said. Everyone includes you when they can, but you don’t mind watching Richard and his family go back and forth with their familiarity and love-filled bickering. There’s this sense that, even when you aren’t speaking directly, you still feel contently included somehow.

After dinner, you and Richard settle in a room at the end of the hallway (nearest the bathroom which prompts a rather uncouth joke from Richard about Sunday roast and bowel movements). You two relax, clothed, legs folded and lounging on a plaid duvet. You lay on this chest and feel the way his heart beats as you two begin to discuss the day, and how it picks up when you lean up to press a kiss to his neck. He ends up patting your cheek the same way his Mum did to him.

[writingfordreams]

hey! can i request taron with prompts #15 from the kiss prompts (kiss on the back), "so….did you miss me" from the 5 words prompt list, and 71 from the kiss prompts? just end me with fluff plsss

sure thing love!! i hope you don’t mind that i combined all of these! thank you soooo much for the request. i hope it’s alright! more under the cut as usual ♡

Taron works so hard. You think about that often, when he’s drained from a particularly focused project or couch bound from hours of physical training. He works hard and it shows, and sometimes you forget how hard you work yourself. After a longer than usual shift at work, you’re preparing yourself some quick dinner (Might’ve been eggs, might’ve been you putting nothing in a pan in a daze). 

Taron comes home from a day of errands with a song spilling from his lips casually, walking through the door. You hear keys, a few bags being set down, and finally, footsteps coming closer and closer. Before you can turn to get a look at him, he’s come up from behind. His arms wrap around your waist comfortably, you two slotting like puzzle pieces. You make a sound that wasn’t exactly meant to come out, happy and grateful, and Taron echos you in a way. He hums against the back of your neck, then he lifts a hand up to brush away some hair and pinch at it gently, massaging it. “Did y’just get back?” He asks, leaning to press a kiss to the space between your shoulders, then some place a little lower when you hum a yes. Then you’re shutting off the stove and giving into Taron’s touch rather than your nearly forgotten hunger. He makes a sound, letting you know that he heard you, and tsks. “I’ve gotta say, babe, and you’re always lovely, but you look fucking knackered.” That, you laugh at and turn to face him, your lower back flush against the cool of the stove top. Your hands find his waist easily, then tease along his torso. You look at him with pure love in your tired, tired eyes. “That tends to happen when you work half the day. You would know, Mr. Showbiz.” Taron breathes out an amused laugh, obviously endeared by the familiarity of your cheek. He’d been waiting to hear you talk all day.

He leans in to press a firm kiss to your neck, pulling you close. “No work today though,” He begins. “Y’know, for Mr. Showbiz. I got a few shirts for this weekend,” He mentions, and you nod while his hands dance along your hips. Later, you’d ask to see the shirts. Now, though, he’s too close for you to break the tension with the lovely but mundane things. There’s a little bit of silence before he speaks again. “So.. did you miss me?” You can tell it’s half comical and half sincere, much like a lot of Taron’s gimmicks. That’s part of what made him so lovable, you think, all that clever balance. “I always miss you.” You go the more serious route, even with a small smile playing at your lips. Taron is clearly pleased with this answer, because he lifts to get a look at your face. Then, not long after, he dips in for a sweet, light kiss. The press of it is lovely, and your eyes close as it goes along. Taron pulls away first and hovers over your mouth, like he’s deciding something or appreciating the closeness. Maybe both, you think. “I love you.” He says, soft as a feather. You like hearing him like that, breathy and honest. You like how unafraid he is to be so vulnerable, and often it inspires you to do the same. His words make you grin, all teeth and sheepishness. Taron smiles too, and he’s the first to chuckle. “What?” He asks, slightly hysterical. It’s all so good, and you smile into another kiss, holding his cheeks between your hands. 

When you part, “Nothing. I just-- I love you too. Obviously.“ You chuckle lightly. “If I didn’t, I’d be asleep right now and not all.. wrapped up in you.” The words take some effect on Taron, he’s got a glint in his eyes. Loving and a little bit of disbelief when he shakes his head, gently. “How’d I get so lucky, huh?” He asks, voice a bit hushed. You find it so silly when he says those things, you think the world of Taron. Still, it brings a blush to your cheeks and a kiss to his. Your arms wrap around his shoulders easily, and your head tilts a bit, admiring your lover. “You’re just as lucky as me, then.” You say, and Taron leans in for another kiss, this time with more heat, more strength.

[writingfordreams]

just a quick thank you!💕

just wanted to say a thank you to all of my lovely new followers & everyone who likes, reblogs or comments on my posts. writing has been a hobby of mine for a long time now and it really brings such joy into my life! so to see other people enjoying my writing, sending requests and such is the best feeling in the universe. i love writing for you guys! thanks again for everything :) ♡

[writingfordreams]

💕taking requests!💕

just a quick reminder that i am in fact taking requests for one shots, prompts, etc.! right now i’m really into writing taron egerton, but i’ll do just about anyone if i’m even a little familiar of them as a person! CLICK HERE TO REQUEST, and CLICK HERE FOR PROMPT LISTS.

[writingfordreams]

Hey! Lovely work you have here ❤️ I think I need a protective Taron. Something like the reader is working at a shop, and she closing really late, and a weird guy harrasing her, or just watching her for a long time and she gets bad vibes, so she calls Taron. Or maybe she walks home and she doesn't know Taron, he just walks up to her like "hi babe" beacuse someone is following her. You get me. I hope 😁 something like these, anything you would like. Thank you dear

hello! thank you so much! thank you so so much for this request. i adore the idea of protective taron!! hope this was alright ♡ more under the cut! TW // stranger danger, scary men, feeling threatened, etc. etc..

You’re not incredibly fond of the late shift. Sure, it’s nearly dead and allows more time on your phone than professionally decent, as well as humming along to the faint tunes on the overhead speaker without receiving death stares. Lock up is the worst of it, though, and makes the boredom and intimate checkouts a piece of cake. 

You’ve got your work polo on and find yourself fumbling with the set of keys given to you at the start of your shift. While you trial a few keys, using the one for the freezer by mistake, you swear you feel eyes on you from across the street, followed by a clearing of someone’s throat. Casually you glance into the darkness set alight by street lights and Sorry, we’re closed! signs, and the figure of what seems to be a man moves quickly to the crossing. Of course, you panic. Where was that fucking key? When you finally find it, it’s like a weight lifted but your fear is a lightning bolt in your body. Then, in a few swift movements, you grab your bag, clutch the key ring, and move your way down the sidewalk. At the end near the street crossing, stood the man, with his hands in his pockets. 

When he calls out to you, you squint, and your heart rate picks up. Fuck.

“Hey there.” He says, a bit far off.

“Uh,” you begin, freezing a little before shoving the keys into your bag. Being busied helps the nerves. “Hi. Have a good night,” Incomes your friendly attempt to shut off the interaction. He could’ve been a nice guy, you think, but everyone looks like a threat in low light. It could’ve been Santa and you’d flee in the opposite direction. Naughty list here you come. 

“I wasn’t finished, darling.” He says, and you hear him coming closer.

Fuck. You hear a door squeak open paired with the sound of a bell from an open store a few paces down, but you’re too afraid to look anywhere but at this man now. One move and you’re done for, you think. You recall a self defense class from childhood, fiercely try to picture it in your head. Fuck. You offer a weary chuckle and a smile that gets lost in the darkness and tension in the air. You begin to step backwards, “Hah. I’ve, um, gotta get going, actually. Closing up and stuff. So sorry,” Your attempt at nonchalance comes off jittery and rushed, and it’s no wonder. He walks faster now, hands removing from his pockets and you panic. Your body fully prepares to drop your bag and make a run for it and then –

“Heeey babe!”

An unfamiliar arm wraps carefully around your shoulders. You’re absolutely, positively startled. Your yelp sounded like a firecracker in the quaint of the darkened street. Quickly, the stranger clarifies, and gives you a look like he’s desperate for you to understand something. “Was wonderin’ when you’d be getting out. Work was alright, darling?” Oh. Now you get it. You let out another nervous laugh with an equally nervous grin, and wrap an arm around his torso to match their very sudden affection. “Yeah!” Maybe too enthusiastic. You draw it back a bit, and then find his gaze, scanning this brand new face but trying not to seem that way. “Yeah, yeah. Close up is always tough at night.” You flicker a glance to the other strange man, “Stranger danger.” 

Speaking of, your newfound babe wont stop staring at him.

“..Yeah,” He agrees slowly, eyeing the other man up and down. His tone takes a change, something more protective and vaguely threatening. Like there was a string of insults waiting around the corner if something should go very south, very quickly. You’re hoping for no such thing. “Stranger danger. You ever heard of that, mate?” The man mumbles something crude and begins to wander off, heading around the corner and seeming quickly defeated or turned off in some way. Once he’s out of view, immediately you detach yourself from the stranger, your savior, and let out a big breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in. 

“Holy shit,” You curse, “I’ve never been so scared in my life.” The stranger lets out a huff of relief and a bit of a chuckle. He offers a hand, “Taron.” He says. “A non-weirdo and a hater of strange men who lurk at night preying on shop workers.” He seemed nice enough, and by now you can trust your judgement. Hopefully. You take his hand, “Y/N. A fellow non-weirdo and.. liker of kind men who would prefer to see me not dead in an alley.” That, he fully laughs at. Another firecracker on your little street. His laugh, by the way, is entirely lovely. 

His laughter ends with a sympathetic look. “You’ve got to get yourself one of those, uh, panic buttons? My Mum’s got one and it’s louder than anything. Scares people and dogs right off if need be.” He talks a little theatrically, expression scrunching with the severity of his claims, hand waving a bit. You smile, and nod. You look down for a little, “Yeah, yeah. Should really get on that, huh?” You say, and you catch him nodding too. There’s a small bit of silence between you two, Taron rocking on his heels with one hand in the pocket of his jeans, the other holding a small bag from a clothing shop. “I used to work there, you know.” You find yourself saying, staring at the brand’s logo. Even in the dark, you can see his face light up. “Yeah?” He questions, then continues. “Well, if you ever find yourself there again, you owe me a hero’s discount.”

You nudge his arm. “Hey!” You chirp, and he laughs that wonderful laugh, patting your shoulder. “Kidding, kidding. Seriously, though, get a panic button thing. Nice people are far and few between at this hour, it seems.” 

“I might just have you bring you everywhere I go, then.” You say, a sly smile on your lips.

Taron quirks a brow. “..Cheeky.” He shuffles a little closer, shifting his footing and pulling his phone from out his pocket. “So you wouldn’t mind me asking for your number, then? Y’know, as a safety precaution.”

“Cheeky.” You retort, attempting to mimic his tone. You then pull out your phone as well. “I don’t see why not,” You say, “I mean, that seems like the only rational option here.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Numbers are exchanged as well as goodbye and goodnight smiles, and you return to the solace of your car with a pep in your step. With bad comes good, you think.

[writingfordreams]

hi could you write an imagine about how Taron and the reader enjoy the weekend at the beach and they rent a cute lil beachfront house and the beach is private so there’s not a whole lot of people and they spend their entire time swimming, resting, making love, going out to shop and eat, and cuddling on the porch at night and listening to the waves. this is super detailed but I can’t stop thinking about it :(

i love all the detail in this, and i had a lot of fun writing it! i was happy to do this for you, and i hope it’s alright! thank you so much for the request ♡ more under the cut as per usual!

It wasn’t often that you and Taron had a weekend of complete nothingness. No events, no parties, no family to see, zero obligations. When Taron perked up at the idea of a beach weekend in the middle of a comfortable silence, it might’ve been the happiest moment of your entire existence thus far. Alright, that’s dramatic, but you were so, so happy. Sometimes you forget the wealth between you and your boyfriend, because when you arrived to the little beachfront house, a means to a beautiful view of the ocean and a couple of propped up umbrellas, you’re shocked. To say the least of it, anyway. Taron’s got a bag hung over his shoulder of a few necessitates that just couldn’t sit in the suitcases as you two walk inside, meeting the newly furnished living area and kitchen, and you plop down onto a love seat that actually feels like heaven. The whole place is drowned in this dewy blue hew, brought to you by aqua curtains. There’s shells just about every place a shell could be, and you look to Taron with every small discovery. He meets you half way with just as much joy. Each time you and Taron meet eyes it’s like this electrifying excitement that never quite goes away. This thrilling realization that, yes, this whole weekend was yours.

That Friday, you spend the rest of the morning unpacking. Putting clothes into drawers, figuring out how to work a kettle that Taron is convinced belongs on a space ship rather than the humble abode of your getaway paradise, and stepping outside just to smell the ocean air. Taron throws on a pair of shorts (That you told him prior to getting there that he should’ve put on to begin with), and he puts an arm around you as the waves come crawling in, crashing back into the body of the ocean like a beautiful reunion. When you two look at each other, the smiles are toothy and sincere. After a while and a power nap or two, the evening begins to roll in like the water touching the shoreline and you and Taron take a stroll along the dimming beach. There’s a small souvenir shop by the stairs of the dock that looked promising but was most definitely closed. Taron insists it’s not based on a small light turned on and runs ridiculously up the sand, peering into dark windows just to prove you right. You laugh adoringly at his efforts, and kiss his face when he comes back to you out of breath and sheepish. When you both had your fill of the ocean night life, you return to the beach house with lazy smiles and happy bellies fully of candy floss from a vendor that you just caught before closing. You set down your phone and before you can turn to face Taron he’s got two hands at your hips, and he’s smiling at you like he did at the setting sun just minutes before. When you two kiss it’s sticky sweet and lovely, and you both take your time unraveling each other. From the couch, to the bed, to each other.

Saturday morning brought on a trip to a small grocery store on the dock, and a full English breakfast carefully assembled by you and Taron. You both definitely wont discuss how you accidentally dropped an egg on the floor and laughed over it so long that you forgot to check on the sausage. With bellies full, you both head out to the dock for a bit of shopping. Taron sings along to the music buzzing along the chipping wood and shopping folks (You’re surprised by the lack of crowds, honestly) and you record a clip of him singing This Charming Man by The Smiths in his best impression for your Instagram story (Which you happily stamped with a sticker of a fish with sunglasses on). After a vicious day of draining your every penny, you return to your temporary home with new flip flops, a hat that Taron says makes you look like, and you quote, a sexy beach scarecrow, and two matching shirts for you and your boyfriend. Taron has his on already because of course he couldn’t wait, and you throw yours on once you step foot into the door. When the afternoon lulls on, you and Taron sit intertwined on the porch couch and watch seagulls fight over a discarded churro. Eventually you shift into a position where your head’s in Taron’s lap, and he’s toying with the strands of hair on your head while he talks about anything, everything. You can’t help bringing a hand up to squeeze at his chin while he talks, and it just feels right when he dips down to take your mouth in his own in a sweet kiss every few moments. Time escaping you both, the night rolls in in the sky leaving it a dull blue, and you nearly fall asleep to the sound of the waves - and almost don’t notice Taron leaving just to come back with two glasses of wine and a plate of pre-cut and prepared crackers and cheese you two had picked up that morning. Thank god. You talk, you laugh, you eat and even manage to have a heart to heart, sat there on the contentment of the porch. 

Sunday comes with a certain lets makes the best of it attitude. You both take in your last morning of paradise, you wrapped up in Taron’s arms as he sways you both gently out of your sleepiness. First thing on the agenda was swimming, which, you’re shocked you hadn’t done any of just yet. The beach is no where near crowded, well with just a few people lingering about three miles off, and Taron’s got a hand at your back the whole walk into the water. Once you’re waist deep, shivering and chuckling, Taron goes completely under because he’s decidedly a maniac. Apparently a contagious son of a bitch too, because you take the leap and go under as well not long after his sudden bravery. You two smile so hard your cheeks hurt, splashing as the sun begins to poke from the clouds and warm up your skin which was littered with droplets of water and soon to be darker freckles and beauty moles. It feels like a film when you two kiss in the churning waves surrounding you, salty and happy. With one long, shared towel wrapped around the both of you, you walk further up the sand and decide together to lie and bathe in the sun for a while. Of course you take a few photos of Taron in his shirtless glory, and in return he shows you the photos he took of you last night, staring at the sun, then asleep on the porch. You show him that singing Instagram story, too. 

Dinner is at a dimly lit seafood place up at the end of the dock, bustling with sounds of cutlery and dull chatter among the guests. You and Taron talk over a bowl of bread sticks and yes, ask for seconds when offered them. Dinner is as good as Taron looks in the orange hue of the place, and you clap and sing along to someone elderly man’s birthday brought on by happy waiters. Dessert is a lava cake shared by the both of you, and Taron takes it upon himself to get another good selfie in with spoons in your mouths. The walk out is within Taron’s arms, with yours around his waist (Could we look anymore like a couple? you’d said.) Once you get back to the house, it’s like a dam had broken and it’s all hands and teeth and heartbeats jumping from your chests. Taron says he loves you first chance he gets, and you can hear the waves go on outside from a window you had left open and forgot to close once you left for the day. You make love right there on the couch, kissing slowly and admiring each other at every chance. You tell Taron you love him when he’s got his mouth on your neck, and the vibration of his happy groan sends chills around your body. 

The following morning is too quick for your liking. Besides the hour spend lazing on the couch you both had accidentally woken up on, smiling at each other and chatting about a dream you had which starred a man chasing you down the dock asking you if you’d like more bread sticks. Taron happily reenacts the horror of it once he stands, taking you with him and chasing you stupidly around the kitchen until you surrender, waving a napkin as a flag. Breakfast is jelly on toast because you both can’t be bothered until you head out one last time to the dock. Then it’s down to the beach, eating breakfast sandwiches and asking a nice couple to take a photo of you and Taron by the sand, holding up drinks you had picked up from a vendor bar along the shore.  Smiling and holding each other as the sun peaked out from behind you. Taron takes a phone call while you look through the photos from that morning, smiling at one of Taron holding a bitten slice of toast up to his mouth, acting as a smile. When he returns to you, there’s melancholy in the smile he gives you. As the day comes to an end, you two stop at a few more stores to pick up a few things for Taron’s sisters and his mother. You buy a few magnets to give as gifts and a beach towel with the name of the location on it in fancy fonts. You and Taron laugh at how overpriced some items were and then discuss how important it is to support smaller tourist businesses and such. You both meet half way as usual. Packing up follows, both of you running around making sure not a single phone charger or hair tie was left behind. You selfishly take in the view from the porch for a little while longer while Taron sets up things in the car, and then you say your silent goodbyes, bringing a few bags to the van. The car ride home consists of This Charming Man by The Smiths and not much else.

[writingfordreams]

[writingfordreams]

could you do a taron or richard imagine where you can’t have sex without it hurting really bad. I’m going through this thing where, I clench and can’t really put anything there without crying ( like a tampon) idk if its cause of my ptsd but it would mean the world to me if you wrote something that represents an issue I deal with

i feel really honored to do this for you!! i hope it’s okay, and thank you so much for being so honest and vulnerable with your request. this sort of hit home for me, so it was strangely therapeutic to write. if you ever wanna talk, my messages are open to you! more under the cut, as usual.♡ TW // mentions/descriptions of ptsd, nsfw, sexual intercourse/situations with some negative outcomes, bleeding, etc. read with caution!

You wanted to do it for him. You know that’s sort of ridiculous, Taron never expected it from you and you know better yourself. Never do that sort of thing until you’re ready - don’t even try if you don’t feel completely up to it. But here you are, giving Taron your best yes, I want to and yes, I’m sure, because you love him and you think that’s what he wants. Despite his kindness and his genuine understanding. Then there’s that little inkling of hope that it might be different this time.

Kissing him feels good and normal. Taron is a thoughtful but hungry kisser, and he always likes to have his hands roam wherever they’re allowed. He’s comforting, when he touches you. It has so much passion but it’s careful in a way only Taron has ever touched you. When you two move to the bed, your heart rate picks up. Alright, so this was really happening. You could be different now, you think. This time was going to be different. You can see, when Taron lifts, kiss-swollen and a little dazed, that he’s concerned. He’s asking you, silently, if he can continue. You nod, gently, and Taron works on the fly of your pants. Once your pants are shucked off and tossed aside with a quiet plop, you look up at your boyfriend with wide eyes. He smiles at you, and for a moment that felt like enough. He dips down to kiss you again and again, both of you opening up for each other, all breaths and teeth and lust. Taron’s got a hand on the sensitive spot of your crotch, not moving, but your hips flinch. He pulls his hand off, and looks at you with an alarmed expression. 

“I’m good, I’m good,” You reassure breathlessly. “S’just cold.” Then you shoot him a weary smile, which he returns, and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Slowly, and with your okay, he continues what he was doing prior to your scare. You let out relief in the form of a soft breath, letting your eyes shut at the sensation. This wasn’t so bad, you think, maybe this could actually happen. Taron’s hand pushes past the restraint of the waistband belonging to your underwear, and you inhale sharply. Both of your hands find the muscles of his back, gripping him like your rock through a sudden wave of pleasure. 

All the while you hear Taron release himself from his boxers, and you try so, so hard not to panic. You think Taron notices your inability to look at him anywhere past his chest, and he offers you a sympathetic look. Maybe even guilty. You grin easily and shake your head, then nod, a hand squeezing his bicep. Taron’s lips press together, and he lines his length up with your heat. Your head falls against the pillows, and you look to the ceiling when you’re not screwing your eyes shut, waiting. You listen to Taron’s labored breathing, you flicker down to his concentrated stare dimmed my the low lighting of your bedroom, and you try to concentrate on relaxing. You heard that helped, relaxing. But your body feels like it’s on fire, unlike the pleasant way it was when kissing was the top priority. The ceiling seems to move in multicolored shapes, and that’s when you know you’ve been staring for too long. You think about a couple hours earlier, when you assured Taron you had opened yourself up already, trying to arouse him. That you had thought of him, and that you could do it. It’s a lie, you think, you had sat on the floor of the bathtub for half an hour trying to quiet your crying. You had blood on your fingers after trying to penetrate yourself with the first clean, blunt thing you saw. This was supposed to feel good, you remember thinking. Why can’t I do this yet? 

Taron teases you with the head of his length. You gasp, already feeling yourself clenching desperately. You’re afraid, your body so unwilling. You grip him so hard you can see the white indents in his skin, even in the dark, slowly fading to red finger marks. He pushes in just a little bit further and he groans softly, and that’s when you panic. You yelp in a way that scared Taron and scared yourself, and he pulls out as fast as your hands scramble to cover your face. You hear Taron concealing himself through your hands as you sob quietly, and then his hands are on you. “Y/N,” You hear him say, softly. Then he begins rubbing your forearm, and when you look at him, his face reads a little bit like he saw this coming, but that he’s not upset. Not even a little bit. His kindness makes you cry harder, and then his arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you up to hold you close, the two of you sitting on the bed. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” You hiccup into his neck, and before your words can even settle Taron’s giving you sets of no no no’s, telling you that it’s okay, more than okay, and that you could always try again. But there’s no pressure. Not from Taron, never from Taron. You could tell all of this was on your terms, but you just can’t stop crying. “I’m – I thought it’d be different,” Taron brings up a blanket to cover your legs as you push through your sobs, which you take gratefully. He’s still got a hand at your back, giving you understanding nods that you can feel when his chin nudges your ducked head, and rubbing softly. You lift to watch Taron lean over to click on the lamp on your bedside table, and when he sits back down, he smiles at you. It’s warm and empathetic. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, my darling.” He says, “Don’t – I mean, try not to.. put so much pressure on yourself. I’m not just in this to get my rocks off. I care about you, more than any of that.” He tries to be as no-shit about it as possible. Those efforts strike you in the heart, in a good way.

Then his lip quirks up in a grin, “..And that’s saying something, ‘cos I was a fucking horn-dog in my heyday.” And you laugh for the first time all night.

[writingfordreams]

taron smut!!

hahaha, sure!! anything specific that you wanted?

[writingfordreams]

taron x reader? the reader confesses her love for taron when she’s drunk

you got it! hope this is alright!! thanks for the request :) more under the cut! ♡

You try to recall how you ended up on Taron’s porch, wine drunk and giddy. You think it was after you mentioned taking a cab home from an after party, and Taron absolutely refused to let you do anything of the sort. I could give you a lift, he had said, all casual like it was nothing. Your head spun, and you said sure. You’re not positive of when you both decided that lift’s destination would be his place. Either way, Taron’s home is cozy and very much him, down to the stacks of board games and quirky decor (Oh, and of course that Troubadour sign glowing above in his kitchen, impossible to miss). The whole place stunk of him, and you bask in it a little more than you probably should.

Taron had popped a bottle in the kitchen and brought it out for you both to share, and you guess the party from prior was just a pregame to this. The stars begin to twinkle in the sky, decorating the depth of blackness and you don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there, feeling the cool wind on your legs which were comfortably propped up on the railing separating you and Taron from a long, long drop. Just sipping and staring. Taron’s presence is like a warm blanket, and he’s good at keeping up conversation; knows exactly when to intervene the silence. He’s good like that, you think, you’ve always envied him for his people skills. He always worked a room like a pro, fun and addicting.

“So you had a good night, then?” He asks, and you offer Taron a slow nod. “Mhm,” you hum, adjusting yourself a bit in the chair you sat in. “..Really good. Haven’t had that much fun in a while, I think.” 

“You seemed to really be yourself.” He says, then is quick to follow up. “I mean, y’always are, obviously, but. I dunno. You really seem to flourish when you’re more.. comfortable.”

Weirdly, his words nearly have tears sitting at the rims of your eyes. Isn’t everyone? you think, but you don’t have the heart to question the kindness of his words. “That’s..” You pause, take a sip of your wine and sigh, setting it down so that you can fold your hands over your stomach. “Really kind.” And  finally, you turn to look at him. Taron was lounging in a similar way to you, feet propped up, comfortable. “Thanks for that, T.”

“S’nothing. I mean it.” You’re both at that point of tipsy where it’s juuuust teetering on drunk. Everything’s a little dull, easy to sink into. Just that little bit giddy. You’re both exhausted from the night, too. So that might have something to do with the sluggish but good energy. After a bit of silence you sigh, and turn to Taron again. He meets your gaze easily, and you both just take each other in for a while. Taron shows a hint of a smile, and you do too. 

“I think I was comfortable because you were there.” You say, finally. It feels like a weight lifted from you. Taron huffs out a breath from his nose and sits up a bit, a little happy disbelief on his face. “Yeah?” He asks, and you’re glad he took it as the compliment that it was meant to be.

“Yeah.” You say, and the moonlight washes the left side of his face a bit, casting him in a milky light. He really does look like an angel.

“An angel, huh?” Only then do you realize you had said it out loud.

“Fuck,” You say, a little bit of a chuckle with it. If it weren’t so dark, Taron might’ve seen you blush. “I’m an idiot.”

“So you’re an idiot,” Taron begins, teasing you with his observation and looking back to the sky. “..and I’m an angel. Quite the pair, quite the pair.” You should really throw your wine at his stupid, lovely head.

“I’m gonna throw you off this porch, Egerton.” To which Taron lets out a hearty cackle and says, “Don’t angels have wings? I’m set. Not sure about you, though.” 

“Kay.” You decide, “We’re both idiots.” Then there’s a moment of laughter between the two of you, sweet and simple like the red in your glasses. You had always preferred white, but you’re in no place to complain. Everything was just good as it was. Eventually Taron sets down his glass as well, on the pavement of the porch, and clears his throat. Naturally, you look to him again and stare with not much shame. Watching his throat bobble with a gulp, his blinking, his breathing. Wine did that sort of thing to you, you think. 

Taron catches your eye, and smiles. “..You’re a bit of a starer, love.” Bless him for being so nice.

“Yeah,” You breathe, lazily and happily. Not very concerned, honestly. Taron just blinks down at you, smile growing warmer somehow. His tone takes a turn for something a little more serious, “I love that about you.”

And without thinking, “I love you.” Fuck. That, you definitely said out loud. You sit up and you can’t help the flash of panic that strikes your wine flushed face. Taron takes notice, and reaches out for your wrist. “Hey,” He breathed, maybe trying to calm you. You relax a little into his grip. “I love you too.” He says, and you must really be plastered because it seemed like the stars twinkled a little bit brighter. 

[writingfordreams]

💕taking requests!💕

just a quick reminder that i am in fact taking requests for one shots, prompts, etc.! right now i’m really into writing taron egerton, but i’ll do just about anyone if i’m even a little familiar of them as a person! CLICK HERE TO REQUEST, and CLICK HERE FOR PROMPT LISTS.

[writingfordreams]

hey guys, would you prefer for me to put a little picture/gif on top of my writing? i know some people like a tiny visual before diving in. let me know in the comments here or in my asks/messages!

[writingfordreams]

Prompt List

I compiled some prompt lists I found to form a list of 76 kiss prompts. Send in a number and a character and one of us shall write a one shot based on it. 

“Good morning” kiss

Kiss on the forehead 

Drunk/sloppy kiss

Awkward kiss 

Angry kiss 

“I’m sorry” kiss 

“I’ve missed you” kiss 

Seductive kiss

“War’s End” kiss 

“Goodbye” kiss

“I almost lost you” kiss

Kiss on the nose 

Kiss on the ear

Kiss on the neck

Kiss on the back 

New Year’s kiss

Needing to kiss to hide from bad guys

“I do” kiss 

Shy kiss 

Surprised kiss 

Kiss on a dare 

Sad kiss 

Exhausted parents kiss 

Kiss of life 

Kiss inspired by a song

Jealous kiss

Giggly kiss

First kiss 

Last kiss 

Kiss under a full moon

Kiss at dusk 

Kiss at dawn

Kiss in a dream 

Returned from the dead kiss 

Themed kisses

“We can never be together” kiss 

It’s-the-end-of-the-world kiss

Awkward teenage crush kiss

Spin the bottle kiss

Hiding/hoping not to be caught kiss

Forbidden kiss

Sated kiss

Soft kiss

Tender kiss

Passionate kiss

Long kiss

Quick kiss

Morning kiss

Before Bed kiss

In Secret kiss

Public kiss

Accidentally Witnessed kiss

Against a wall kiss

Against a Locker kiss

True Love kiss

Caught off-guard kiss

Breaking The Kiss To Say Something, Staying So Close That You’re Murmuring Into Each Other’s Mouths

Moving Around While Kissing, Stumbling Over Things, Pushing Each Other Back Against The Wall/Onto The Bed

Kissing So Desperately That Their Whole Body Curves Into The Other Person’s 

Throwing Their Arms Around The Other Person, Holding Them Close While They Kiss

Hands On The Other Person’s Back, Fingertips Pressing Under Their Top, Drawing Gentle Circles Against That Small Strip Of Bare Skin That Make Them Break The Kiss With A Gasp

Lazy Morning Kisses Before They’ve Even Opened Their Eyes, Still Mumbling Half-Incoherently, Not Wanting To Wake Up

Routine Kisses Where The Other Person Presents Their Cheek/Forehead For The Hello/Goodbye Kiss Without Even Looking Up From What They’re Doing

Being Unable To Open Their Eyes For A Few Moments Afterward 

One Small Kiss, Pulling Away For An Instant, Then Devouring Each Other 

Staring At The Other’s Lips, Trying Not To Kiss Them, Before Giving In

When One Stops The Kiss To Whisper “I’m Sorry, Are You Sure You-” And They Answer By Kissing Them More

A Hoarse Whisper “Kiss Me”

Following The Kiss With A Series Of Kisses Down The Neck

Starting With A Kiss Meant To Be Gentle, Ending Up In Passion

A Gentle “I Love You” Whispered After A Soft Kiss, Followed Immediately By A Stronger Kiss

When One Person’s Face Is Scrunched Up, And The Other One Kisses Their Lips/Nose/Forehead 

Height Difference Kisses Where One Person Has To Bend Do Wn And The Other Is On Their Tippy Toes 

Kisses Where One Person Is Sitting In The Other’s Lap 

Kisses Meant To Distract The Other Person From Whatever They Were Intently Doing 

Top Of Head Kisses

[writingfordreams]

five word prompts

[inspired by this]

“actually… i just miss you.”

“alright, i’ll leave you alone.”

“and slowly… i was forgotten.”

“and then everything just disappears.”

“and where do i go?”

“anyone could tell from here.”

“are you finishing that or…?”

“are you stupid or stupid?”

“anything, just call me, okay?”

“bitch better have my money.”

“bro… that’s so… not cool…”

“but did you do it?”

“call me now. it’s urgent.”

"can’t you listen to me?”

“cross that. don’t answer that.”

“don’t even think about it.”

“don’t you dare walk away.”

“do it. i dare you.”

“did you think i forgot?”

“eventually… you just move on.”

“even if you still do.”

“everything will fall into place.”

“fight me, you attractive stranger.”

“for once, i need you.”

“for once… i was right.”

“for once… i was wrong.”

“forget i even asked you.”

“forget it. you fucking suck.”

“fuck’s sake, what’s your problem?”

“fuck off. i mean it.”

“give and take. that’s life.”

“great. perfect. nice. fuck this.”

“have you lost your mind?”

“hello? it’s me. i was-”

“hey… that wasn’t so nice.”

“here’s a glass of whatever.”

“how about a hug, hm?”

“how about you make me?”

“i haven’t forgot you yet.”

“i can’t be around you.”

“i don’t need you, really.”

“i don’t need this now.”

“is this your first time?”

“it’s just a cut, really.”

“it wasn’t me, i swear!”

“i said i love you.”

“just don’t fuck it up.”

"just… come back alive, okay?”

“just make sure you’ve eaten.”

“kick his ass for me.”

“killed him? wait, what, literally?”

“life really sucks. feel better.”

“letting go hurts… a lot.”

“let me live, will you?”

“no, i don’t need you.”

“nothing can hurt me now.”

“nothing matters anymore to me.”

“okay it was me… so?”

“people lie all the time.”

“pipe the fuck down, asshole.”

“please, you can’t die now.”

“please don’t leave me alone.”

“quiet. they can hear us.”

“quick! give me your phone!”

“quicker, you freaking piece of-”

“quit it or i’ll bite.”

“quit staring! they’ll notice us!”

"really? do i look stupid?”

“real smooth, tripping over air.”

“rise and shine, sweet thing.”

“rise and fucking shine, motherfucker.”

“seriously? give me a break.”

“so… what are we now?”

“so… did you miss me?”

“so… can we go eat?”

“so… when’s the next flight?”

“so… how did everything go?”

“sometimes, i wish you died.”

“so what? you did it.”

“time passes slower without you.”

“then what do you suggest?”

“the fuck? who are you?”

“then you tell me why.”

“this is not working out.”

“this isn’t what i wanted.”

“this is all a fucking disaster.”

“when did it all happen?”

“who knew you’d be here?”

“why do i even bother?”

“why do i love you?”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“you’re just… so, so stupid.”

“you can’t be here now.”

“you look like an accident.”

“you really need to go.”

“you know who to call.”

"zero fucks given. next please.”

[writingfordreams]

prompts list :)

fluff/general

“how much did you drink?”

“aw, you’re so cute.”

“what did you do?”

“i asked if you were having a party. i didn’t tell you to have a party.”

“this is the opposite of what i told you to do.”

“well, it’s the thought that counts.”

“wait, no, don’t take kissing away from me.”

“okay, where are all my jumpers?”

“oh, you’ve started stealing my socks now?”

“yeah, okay, but i’m cooler.”

“you owe me a kiss.”

“how did you get in here?”

“for starters, that’s impossible.”

“how did you fail a survey?”

“yeah, well, if you weren’t so drunk maybe i would.”

“that’s not even fair.”

“you promised me a cookie!”

“did i ever tell you how beautiful your eyes are?”

“ew, that is so sappy, i might vomit.”

“i’m not playing truth or dare.”

“you’re not very intimidating.”

“i love you.”

“well the probability of that is 0, but you go ahead.”

“that was, by far, the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

“why don’t you take a picture? it’ll last longer.”

“maybe not.”

“why the hell is there glitter everywhere?”

“well, i’m pretty irresistible.”

“how much money would you give me to flip this table, right here, right now, in the middle of class?”

“detention? again?”

angst

“why don’t you just go?”

“no, it’s not like that.”

“if you cared about me, you wouldn’t do this.”

“it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“what’s the point?”

“fuck you.”

“you should’ve said that yesterday.”

“don’t lie to me.”

“i swear, if you say another word, i’ll leave.”

“change in mind or change in heart?”

“it’s over, it’s done, just leave it be.”

“why do you keep bringing it up?”

“we can’t go back in time, so stop trying to reverse what you said.”

“you say you’ll stop, but then you keep doing it!”

“maybe in another world.”

“why are you like this?”

“stop making empty promises!”

“what about us?”

“don’t say that.”

“i’m done. we’re done.”’

feel free to reblog :)

[writingfordreams]

can you do a doctor!taron au? Maybe The ER after the reader gets sick somehow?? Thank you!

of course, wonderful anon! i hope this was alright! more under the cut.. this one got kinda long! TW // shot wound mention, sickness, clinical talk. ♡ click here to request!♡

It started out as a cold. Sure, alright, you’ve had colds before. You take the usual precautions, i.e. cold medicine that had been in your cabinet for who knows how long, a quick stop to the store for the good, strong liquid stuff and hey, chicken noodle soup is buy one get one. Why the heck not? It’s a slow derail into suspicious territory when five days pass and you’re still just as sick as you started, if not worse. A friend from work even stopped by to see if you were alright, how odd is that? Seemed really theatrical, if someone had asked you.

So you take a cab to the ER (After being weirdly scared of passing out at the wheel). You had always been turned off by the idea of a hospital, but the wait for a doctor’s appointment was nonsense at this point, and you need to be checked out now. You’ve got the shakes the same way you did when the AC’s on too low on a winter morning, and is that sweat or tears? The place is clinical, and surprisingly calm. Lots of clean lines and soft, professional murmurs. You had always imagined ER’s as they were in the movies.. fast moving like a highway. Someone with a shot wound screaming bloody murder, and doctors who were just a little bit too good looking to be believable. Instead, a lovely woman gives you a plastic bracelet and asks you to take a seat. 

Twenty one minutes (And one half of a podcast) later, you’re being called in. After giving some additional information, you’re asked to wait in a small room with all the usual stuff; scales, blood pressure machines, the things they stick in your ears. You sit up in your spot on the twin sized bed, clicking off your phone and averting your attention once a male doctor walks in. He’s got his back turned for a moment, writing something swiftly on a clipboard before letting out a friendly “Alllllright.” to start things off. When he turns, you gulp audibly. He shoots you a smile, then frowns. “My word. You’re shinier than my trainers.” Naturally, he lifts his foot and points with the same hand holding his pen. “Got ‘em last weekend. Gotta love a pay raise.” He works his way around the room comfortably, discarding old gloves and replacing them with new ones, wiping down the counter of something you don’t wanna know the specifics of, and finally he clears his throat, walking closer. Only then do you realize you hadn’t said a word yet. “Uh,” You begin, then it’s your turn to clear your throat. Except, you wince at the pain. Doctor no-name takes notice. “Sore throat, I presume?” He says pointedly, and you nod. “It’s been like this since earlier this week. Four or so days, I believe.” You say, then the doctor tuts to himself with a saddened yet thoughtful look. He offers a hand, expression unchanging. “Doctor Egerton. Have you been to this location before, my darling?” To which you shake your head, and adjust your posture a bit after noticing your familiar, gradual slump. Dr. Egerton opens his mouth as a signal for you to open yours and sticks a thermometer under your tongue. 

Once it beeps, he gives off a pained look after looking at the results. “One-hundred and one. My god, did you drive here?”

“Cab.” You say.

“Right. Okay,” He sighs through the word, and opts to walk to a counter beside the bed, leaning his lower back against it as his arms crossed. He’s looking to you expectantly, “So. Four or so days,” He then picks up that clipboard and scribbles something rather quickly. You wonder if he has that terribly hard to read doctor handwriting. You really shouldn’t find that concept so cute. “Sore throat. Sweats, I’m assuming.” He lists, and you shift uncomfortably at that, a hand coming up to cup your opposite bicep. He looks back down at his clipboard and tuts some more, seemingly in thought. “Says here your insurance covers the cost of the visit,” He smiles at you tightly but warmly, “So.. one less worry, Miss [Y/L/N].” Setting down his clipboard, his arms cross once more. His arms. “I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and say it’s the flu. You’re a shoo-in, unfortunately.” His head tilts with an empathetic look. You can hear the pitter-patter of rain outside the building. They should really put a bigger window in this room, you think. Dr. Egerton turns, writing something on a small piece of paper and adding it to his clipboard as you watch him. His back looks toned under that top, and you find that thought ridiculous. Doctor. Flu. Right. Back on track, for goodness sake. 

He turns with another smile, and you could really, seriously die. Half from the flu, and half from him. “I’m gonna put you on some antibiotics. Sound good? Oh – and I’ll get in touch with your primary doctor and all that business.” He gives you that small piece of paper, and your fingers brush like some teen movie. You try not to blush, dammit. “Looks like you got here just in time, aye?” You shoot him an awkward, lopsided smile and let out a genuine chuckle. “I guess.” You say, “So.. that’s it? I’m all cleared?” There’s a pang of disappointment in your gut. You hope it doesn’t show on your face. Or maybe you hope it does, who even knows anymore. You’re a little delirious off this newfound flu and Doctor Handsome keeps shooting you those smiles that would make your knees give in if you could bother to stand. He leans back again, arms crossed like routine. “Yep. What, did you expect the full ER movie experience?” His face is animated endearingly as he speaks, shifts a little where he leaned. “Y’know, the stretcher, the screaming, multiple professionals crowding you. Maybe Mum or the lover is called and comes with a big teddy bear.” 

You laugh a little. “God. Just a parent for me, then.” and it’s back to cradling your bicep.

“Oh, sorry about that.” Dr. Egerton offers sheepishly. “You know, it’d be the same for me.” You can’t tell if he says it as an offer of comfort or if it’s the truth. Either way, you’re taking it. 

“Teddy bears are better, anyway.” But teddy bears don’t smile at you like that.

He speaks with a certain dreamy agreement. “Of course. Better to have a cuddle with at night, right?” 

You scoff, all friendly like you had known him for way longer than you had. “Don’t tell me Dr. Egerton sleeps with a teddy bear.” The face he makes to counter is ridiculously mock offended and lovely. “The lip! And to the man helping aid you. Blimey.” There’s a little fizzle of laughter between you two before a small bit of silence. It’s filled by a small sigh on your part, and a light cough from a busied Dr. Egerton. “Ooookay.” He begins, sing-songy before looking up at you. God, you bet he can sing. “You should be all good to go, Miss Y/L/N.” He hands you one more full sized paper as you stand and offers you a glove covered hand. “I would say I hope we meet again but, if it’s in the context of this room, I sincerely hope not.” He says.

“You should really see me when I’m not.. gross. I might’ve asked you out or something.” Holy shit. Where did that come from? You must really be delirious. Then you see the face he pulls and, yeah. No regrets. Gone with the rain which seemed to have stopped at some point during your visit. He pauses as if to think to himself, then a slow smile comes to light. He takes back that little paper swiftly before turning to lean it on the counter, jotting something down and handing it to you. You don’t think anything of it.

“Get plenty of rest, alright? Drink liquids, no dairy products, have a fruit or two when you’re feeling up to it.” He twists the door knob, “Have a good one, Miss Y/L/N!”

You offer a smile in passing as he leaves the room. It only grows once you notice it was his personal number on the back of that paper. 

[writingfordreams]

Can I request once for Taron about maybe the reader (female) being a big football fan and despite the fact he isn’t a big fan, he loves going because of their relationship and how much she loves it. She even got them matching jerseys or something? Thanks. Hope you’re having an amazing day x

sure thing! thank you for the request, lovely anon, and i hope your day is fantastic ♡ i wasn’t sure if you meant american football or british football, so i tried to keep it vague so you could imagine it as either! ♡

There were small, harmless sacrifices, you found, in your relationship with Taron. There were the super small things, like succumbing to a pub or two that didn’t suit your usual night life tastes, or the way Taron listens intently to you blabbering on about some obscurity in culture he’s never heard of. They were tiny, telling things. One prominent one, though, was your consistent love for football. At first you were shocked that Taron didn’t have much of a mind for the sport, said it wasn’t his thing. For a while you were determined to make it his thing, passionately gushing about the sport, hoping to convince though it never really stuck. Rules, colors, teams. Taron listens with the particular fond awe he seems to have reserved for you, but still – not his thing.

Yet there you two sat a couple days a year, hip to hip and forearm to forearm, at a football game. Life was funny that way, you think, when you’re in love. Taron rises when you do, cheers when the score changes in your collective favor and even makes a comment or two about the players, off the back of your initial critique. He was good at indulging in the communal uproar, and loved to watch a smile spread from cheek to cheek on your face, and proceeded to watch you like you hung the sun. In return, you gush at the way Taron gives his all in a burst of collective rage, booing or hollering gleefully when the time was right. You two hug and take photos and wear the proper attire, Taron orders hot dogs and you chat about the weather and occasionally, do the wave. It’s all so very good.

[ ♡ before a game ♡  ]

You walk into your shared flat with two jerseys in hand, stuck with tags, brand new. “T, get this. On sale! Buy one get one or whatever. Can you believe that?” You gush, all smiles. “I mean, if that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is. I have a damn good feeling about this game.” Taron makes his rounds from the bedroom, pulling down the edge of his shirt which means he either just changed or woke up from a nap. The lack of bed hair points you away from the latter (unless he’s getting better at pretending he wasn’t just drooling). “Oh, sick.” He comes over easily, rubbing aimlessly at his eye before his gaze was falling to the two jerseys you had picked out, just your sizes. You had hoped, anyway. Taron embodies the kind of excitement that was watered down but genuine, and you could tell he just liked seeing you so happy over something. You feel a pang of guilt regardless, setting the jerseys down on the arm of the couch with a little sigh. “Hey,” You begin, “You all good?” Taron gives you a warm smile that makes it hard to imagine he’s anything but good. He was always good at that. “Yeah,” He breathes, squinting through a smile and hushed with reassurance like it should be a no-brainer. You’re not quite convinced just yet. 

“Taron. I’m not gonna like, freak out on you if you don’t wanna go.” You say, ”Just the fact that you let me go on about this stuff means the absolute world to me.”

Taron gives you a look of absolute disbelief, placing his hands on your forearms, getting a gentle hold of you before he speaks pointedly. “Y/N, if you say something of that sort one more time, I’m getting in the car and I’m going without you.”

“Ouch.” You laugh, “Point taken.”