I Know Places (Taylor Swift Imagines) (GxG)

Pull Over Right Fucking Now

PWEDE BA YUNG MGA PUTANGINANG MAGJOWA DIYAN UMALIS NA SA PUTANGINANG FEED KO

"Baby?" you ask Taylor gently, your hand tracing gentle circles on the small of her back.

She's been leant against the backrest with her eyes closed and her hand on her stomach nearly the whole ride. She's three months into her pregnancy, and you're both over the moon, but she's been struggling a lot with nausea. You can't even call it morning sickness anymore, because it comes at every time of the day.

You two are supposed to be at some event in about two hours, but with how Taylor's been feeling, it's obvious you both might not make it.

"Can you please pull over?" you ask the driver while you tenderly rub your wife's back.

"I'm sorry, but your flight is in ten minutes, if we pull over now, you'll both be late," he says, his eyes on the rearview mirror as he scans you two in the backseat.

"I can't . . ." Taylor whines uncomfortably, shifting as her face pales.

"Shh, baby, focus on breathing," you tell her softly.

Taylor's breathing grows ragged, and her grip on her stomach tightens. You continue to rub her back soothingly.

The driver glances back, his expression conflicted but resolute. "If you don’t make your flight, there won’t be another one for hours."

The tension in the car is palpable, and you feel a wave of frustration rise up. "We're not making the flight if she’s this unwell," you counter. "I know it’s important, but her health comes first."

Taylor groans, and you can see her trying to focus on her breathing, each breath looking like a struggle. Her face flushes, and you can tell she’s on the verge of being sick.

"Can you pull over just for a few minutes?" you plead with the driver, desperation edging your voice. "We’ll make alternate arrangements. Just please —"

You're cut off by the sound of your wife retching. The smell hits your nose immediately, but you turn to your wufe and see that she's throwing up on the floor of the car, your heart sinking at the sight. The driver's face twists in sympathy as he reluctantly pulls over to the side of the road.

As soon as the car stops, you scramble out of the vehicle and open Taylor's door, carefully helping her out. She clutches her stomach, leaning against you as you guide her to the grass beside the road.

"Let it out, baby," you murmur, holding her close and rubbing her back gently. You can see the strain in her face as she continues to heave, and you feel a pang of helplessness.

After a few moments, her breathing begins to steady, and she slumps against you, a sickly pallor to her skin. You reach into your bag, pulling out a water bottle and offering it to her. She sips slowly, and you can see a bit of colour return to her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, her voice hoarse. "I didn’t mean to ruin everything."

"You didn’t ruin anything," you reassure her softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Your health is the most important thing right now. We’ll figure out the rest."

The driver has emerged from the car and is standing a few feet away, looking apologetic. "I’ll call for a different car and rebook your flight," he offers. "I’m really sorry for not pulling over sooner."

You nod gratefully, turning your attention back to Taylor. "We’ll be okay," you say, helping her to her feet. "Just take it easy for a moment."

"I don't think I can go to the event," she says, her face suddenly turning a pale shade of green as she bends over and clutches her stomach.

You sigh and rub her back as she throws up a second time.

When she finishes, she leans against you heavily, looking exhausted.

The driver has since returned to the car, and he's opened all the windows.

You fish out your phone while soothing your wife, call Tree telling her you won't be able to make it and asking her to come up with something to tell the event's host because you and Taylor were supposed to perform.

When you two finally get into an Uber about a half hour later, Taylor lies down on your lap, her head resting gently as she closes her eyes. You continue to stroke her hair, your heart heavy with concern but also with love.

"Try to rest, sweetheart," you whisper. "We'll be home soon."

Taylor murmurs something you can't quite make out, and you can see her body relax a bit more.