#The fucked up thing is that it really truly is the humidity that gets you

[fantasy-costco]

Growing up in Texas gave me a very skewed idea of my own heat tolerance. Because the thing is that if you move somewhere cooler you lose heat tolerance. But I still think of 80 degrees with high humidity as relatively cool for July. But I forget that I lived in Illinois for seven years before moving back to the coastal south and also I don't go outside unless I'm being paid to. So I put on jeans. Maybe even a short sleeved over shirt. Because I think I can handle it. I can't. It's too fucking hot. It's too God damn hot.

[princesssmars]

desert eagle

another rodeo!abby x reader | p.i

seeing the star of the rodeo secretly in the night has been fun, but things start to get tense from miscommunication. but it’s amateur bull night down at the cow belle, and you’ve still got a few tricks up your sleeve.

wc : 2.619

contains : fluff. reader is hard headed. jealousy? fxf smut. strap on sorry to the people sick of it </3

a/n : you thought it was over ahaaaaa. wdym part one was in APRIL i suck at this. why are all of the desert eagle position pictures slightly different its pissing me off.

truly, everything currently going wrong was all abby anderson's fault.

it's a humid saturday night at the cow belle, and you're pouting while nursing a beer as your friends chatter around you. they'd taken you out to your favorite spot to try to brighten your spirits after noticing your sour mood, hoping some alcohol, dancing, and flirting would fix you right up.

but it was hopeless, for a dark cloud seemed to be hanging over your head the whole night. an annoying, sweet-talking, six-foot, blonde braided cloud.

it was established after your first extremely hot and extremely long night together with abby a few weeks ago that you both had an understanding. no strings, no attachments, no labels. you weren't gonna let a big beautiful woman butter you up only to leave you in a ditch, not after the last time. you'd go to the other's house, have rough messy sex, and maybe have some nice conversation, before heading your own way and repeating it the next week. no more and no less.

but god, you should've known it wouldn't last. ever since that first night when her silky smooth drawl convinced you to stay just a bit longer, to sleep in her bed with her shirt on! you might as well have woken up and cooked her breakfast in bed with a 'good morning, honey.'

who could blame you really? ever since you'd set eyes on abby anderson you knew she was something else, a beautiful force of nature that wouldn't budge until she wrecked you so thoroughly. at the time you were as horny as a coyote in may and saw that as just what you needed, a prized golden notch on your belt. a completely different way from what you do now.

right now you were trying to telepathically burn holes into the back of her beautiful head as she flirted with that hussy donna mayfair, an admittedly gorgeous girl with a big personality, big hair, and big...well, y'know. you look down at your chest and slightly straighten your back before roughly shaking your head after realizing this damn woman has you comparing yourself to a mayfair! of all people! the thought only upsets you more and you down the nearest drink to you, ignoring your friend's whine at the loss of her whiskey.

the small and reasonable part of your brain knows you have no right to be upset. after all, it was you who just a week ago insisted to a blushing abby that you truly did want to just keep things casual. you felt bad a little bit, she'd shown up to your hookup flushed and high off of another rodeo win with a tiny bouquet of your favorite flowers, explaining when you asked how she knew that she noticed them on the motif of your favorite pair of figure-hugging jeans. the bastard.

the relaxed but downcast look she wore after your rejection is a stark contrast to how she looks now, pearly whites showing when she throws her head back at some joke donna told, a large hand coming to rest on the redhead's waist. you can see her preening, foot nearly popping up as she swoons over the female goliath giving her all of her attention. it's enough to make you throw up. or maybe it was drinking all that busch light. whatever.

you must not have been very discreet with your glances because suddenly blue eyes are lifting up and focusing on yours, the shock of being caught forcing you still as your finger circles the rim of your next glass. you try to keep normal 'we're two normal people and definitely not recently gone sour fuck buddies' eye contact, but your body betrays you when your eyes flick down to her hand still on donna's waist. when you look at her again the corner of her lip is quirked up, never looking away as she pulls the redhead in closer and whispers something in her ear, the girl visibly going weak in the knees while abby licks her lips-

"well slap my ass and call me sally, come over here hon!" your darling charlize breaks you out of your..whatever that was and picks you up from your stool to drag you over to the event area, a few people drinking while gathered around the brand new bucking machine as one of the bar hands tinkers with the controls.

"what about it char, 'm really not in the mood..."

"oh don't be such a sourpuss, jus look at this!" she gently grips your chin and tilts your head to a nearby wall, a small white poster detailing a month-long mechanical bull contest as soon as the thing was completed, and each winner would get free drinks and $500 cash prize.

"jeez, since when did the belle bring in bucks like that?"

"doesn't matter. in one weeks time you're gonna put on a hot little outfit and win us those free drinks. and hopefully the cash takes your mind off of your situationship."

"oh yeah? and what makes you think I'm gonna be the one to win?"

"honey, ive seen the most hardass women look at you like well-trained pups. you've gotta be the best ride i know.”

so a week later you’re back in the same spot, hair pulled up and donned in your cropped and tied plaid shirt and your cutest pair of daisy dukes as you wrote your name down on the sheet of others trying to win the prize.

your friends are gathered around you, ever the voices of support as they fuss over you and give you words of encouragement. and while you do smile and laugh with them you can’t help from occasionally looking at abby, back with donna as her group hangs around the edge of the bull area.

“y’know i’ve never heard of someone bagging a hot ass woman, rejecting a relationship with said woman, and then pining over and trying to make that same woman jealous.” savannah fixes your hair while judging you, making sure it won’t get in your face so you can see what you’re doing while up there.

“stop questioning me, i’ve already been doing that myself.” your mumble makes the girls laugh before one of the workers comes to tell you that you’re up after the next person. you give them a nod before walking over to the small gate that leads to the bill, right next to-

“hey, looks like our little buckle bunny is gonna ride an actual bull! make sure to give us a nice show, huh bonita?”

you can’t help but smile when manny comes up beside you to throw an arm over your shoulder, nudging your body with his. the rest of his friends are here of course, including she who shall not be named with her new beau at her side.

“you’re gonna ride the new bull? well i hope you know what you’re doing, don’t want you to end up getting hurt now.” donna asks, grasping your hand in hers with a genuinely worried look on her face. damn it, now you were starting to feel bad.

“now don’t you worry, hon. i’ve got quite a bit of experience in riding.” you throw a wink her way before looking at abby next to her, not noticing the flustered look on donna when all you can do is revel in how you caught abby staring at your exposed stomach. before you can try to tease her about it your name is being called up and you're heading into the pit.

you graciously accept one of the workers' help to get you up on the bull, ignoring some of the catcalls that ring out when your shorts ride up an inch or two. you make sure to do everything you've seen others do (and maybe you watched a certain someone's videos to prepare yourself), steadying your dominant hand on the saddle while your free hand is raised above your head.

the experience is fast and hard just like you like it, the bull spinning and bucking so fast its almost enough to make you dizzy. as much as the cheers of fellow patrons make you want to look up and revel in it, you know you need to watch the bulls head to prepare for each time it turns, thighs tightly squeezing its sides. it's only when you hear the timer start to count down from ten that you look at everyone again, blowing a quick kiss to the blonde that's staring you down.

once the machine stops moving you are helped off and guided back to your incredibly loud friends, all happy to hype you up and start planning how much of the expensive high shelf drinks they wanna get. when you're announced as the winner only a few minutes later the night quickly becomes one filled with dancing and laughter.

you wave goodbye to your friends as their truck speeds away from your street, blowing you kisses as they yell for you to have a good night's sleep. you can't help but smile as you place your bag down in your kitchen, ready to wash the sweat from dancing off your body before sleeping through the night. unfortunately, some absolute boar decided now would be a good time to come knocking at your door."

"alright alright, im comin'!" your shouts do nothing to dissuade the steady banging against your door, nearly slipping on your hardwood floors as you rush to undo the locks and see who it is. "i really hope i owe you some money or else i'll"

"or else you'll what?" the sound of abbys voice makes you freeze, the woman resting against the doorway with one hand in her pocket and the other above your head. you need to blink away your surprise at not only her being here but the fact she is now only a few inches from you, close enough that you can smell her signature scent of pine-

"can i come in? or are you gonna keep teasing me like you did at the bar?"

"i did no such thing, you must have me confused with one of your many other flings." you flippantly address her as you turn around back into your home, hearing her quickly trail behind you and lock your door.

"ohh you'd like that, wouldn't you? gives you a reason to be so difficult for no damn reason."

you ignore her words as you head into your kitchen and retrieve yourself a glass from the cabinet, pouring yourself some water and downing it in a few gulps. jesus it's hot, is she hot? she doesn't seem so, minus the fact the sleeves of her shirt are rolled up and straining against her arms.

"no, i was in fact celebrating my win if you didn't notice. although I'm pretty sure you did, it'd be hard to miss my brilliant technique. maybe i can give you a few tips, i watched some of your shows and honestly hon, you're a bit sloppy."

you try to keep your tone cool while she moves closer and closer to you, eventually taking your empty glass and setting it down before placing both of her arms on either side of you, caging you into the counter, and blue eyes darting between yours and your lips while you speak.

"so you've been watchin my videos, huh? i'd invite you to actually come watch me, like I've already done before, but that would require you to stop ignoring me."

"you had donna mayfair to keep you company, i really doubt you noticed i was gone-"

she kisses you to shut you up, and you really wish you could've said you resisted her for long, that you didn't throw your arms around her neck and wrapped your legs around her waist as soon as she set her palms on your ass. you don't have the time to be embarrassed when shes carries you to your bedroom, removes your clothes before she does the same to her own, and reveals the strap she'd been wearing for who knows how long.

"yeah, not so mouthy now, are you?" abby smiles from above you, admiring how fast she's got you fucked out beneath her while you erratically lift your hips up to meet her short and shallow thrusts. the crooks of her elbows are helping to hold your legs in the air, your hands gripping your thighs to help give her easier access as she pounds into you.

"ab's, fuck, please."

"please what? use your words, beautiful."

"please, 'm sorry i won't ignore you again just- just do something, anything."

she puts on a sickly sweet lovestruck smile, and whispers a small 'god, you're lucky you're cute," before starting to fuck you exactly how she knows you like it. it's fast and hard, yes, but there's a hint of something more in the way she stares at you, how you lift your head for a kiss and she gives it to you without a second thought.

your hands start to claw at her waist, gripping the muscle to try to bring her impossibly closer every time her hips meet yours and her strap presses into that spot that makes your eyes damn near cross.

before you know it your orgasm is creeping up fast, unable to say it but of course, abby can tell regardless, how the resistance between your legs steadily increases and how your moans turn into desperate little whimpers.

"c'mon, you can do it. cum for me sweet girl."

all you can do is shake in her arms like a petal on a leaf, moaning and mewling up to the high heavens as abby pushes you through your orgasm, not stopping her thrusts until you weakly push at her arms to signal her to stop.

you fade in and out of consciousness while she takes care of you, the feeling of a rag cleaning your skin and more water being guided to your mouth all seeming to happen in a few seconds. when she finishes you blink your eyes open at her, admiring just how pretty she always seems to look after taking away your ability to walk.

you stare at each other for a moment, her palm coming to fix a few stray hairs on your face before you reach up to grab it and pull her into bed beside you. you pull the covers above the both of you, ignoring her raised eyebrows and know it all smirk.

"well, im not rude enough to send you home after all of that. might as well make yourself comfortable."

she chuckles, reaching over to turn off your bedside lamp before cuddling you from behind, her soft skin like its own blanket against yours.

"whatever you say, bunny."

when you wake up in the morning it's from the gentle rays of the sun peeking through your curtain and into your eyes, the smell of coffee and bacon quickly filling your nostrils when you notice your...partner, isn't in bed with you.

quickly throwing on a robe and padding your way into the kitchen, you can't help the warm feeling that grows inside of you at a shirtless abby pouring two cups of coffee while two plates of a small breakfast are already plated on your table.

you come up behind her and wrap your arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her shoulder when she slightly jumps at the surprise.

"mmm let me guess, you remember how i like my coffee too?"

"i'll remember whatever you want me to, sweet thing."

and right about now that didnt sound too bad.

[covenha]

Synopsis: perv!roommate!yeosang can't stop thinking ungodly things about his best friend. Pairings: Perv!bff!yeosang x fem reader Genre: smut, mdni Warnings: smut (duh), yeosang in grey sweatpants bc that should be a warning WC: 746 a/n: this is filth that has been backlogged into my brain the minute that yeosang posted *that* black and white photo on ig so you know what's up. this is purely fiction so the this does not portray his character irl in any way shape or form. this is my first time writing smut so if it's poorly written or sounds like it came from those weird alpha tiktok shorts i am so sorry. its yet another self-indulgent fic so lmk how it is. as always, feedback and reblogs are always appreciated and my inbox is open for any requests!

just imagine pervy bff!Yeosang, you guys have been roommates for a few months now as the both of you just started college together and thought that living in an apartment together was better than living in some dingy university dorm room with strangers. he thought the idea was fine then, but he didn’t realize just how hard it was living with someone he had a massive crush on. 

you guys have always been comfortable with each other. you guys wore your more… questionable loungewear around each other. but you not wearing bras around him was a new thing. when you asked if it was cool to not wear bras around the apartment since they were uncomfortable to wear all day, yeosang agreed immediately stating that he didn’t want you to be uncomfortable in your living space. but he couldn’t help but get turned on. 

the bustling city’s humid weather was a hellscape compared to the cooler temperatures you both were accustomed to back in your seaside town. this meant that when the sun was at its highest, the apartment you guys shared was like a microwave. and this also meant that you would wear lighter clothing. those thinner tank tops that showcased your chest so well, those crop tops that showed off your midriff, and those fucking pajama shorts that did nothing to cover your legs. sometimes he manages to get a glimpse of your cotton panties peeking through. All of these things adding up would damn near drive yeosang to insanity. 

the sight of you wearing clothes that left nearly nothing to the imagination sent blood rushing straight to his dick. he’s lost count of how many times he’s had to rub one out quickly in his room to the thought of you. it was starting to get out of hand if he was being honest, he might start shooting blanks and get an electrolyte imbalance.

and the dreams were the worst part. he really thought that phase was over. the awkward wet dreams he’d have at night with some unknown female living out his sexual fantasies. but he was wrong. and they’ve come back stronger and more vivid than ever. and what’s worse is, you are always the star of these dreams. 

on some nights he’d have you face down, ass up, your hands held behind your back as he fucked you to oblivion on your bed with your plushies facing the wall. on other nights you’re riding his dick whining about how deep he is inside you that you can feel him in your stomach. and other times he has you splayed on the kitchen counter as he eats you out for so long you start shaking violently and squirting on his pretty face. 

on this particular night he has you on his bed, your neck marred with red splotches of his love bites. you whine about it being too much, and i mean who could blame you? he had been going at it for 3 rounds already and he didn’t show any signs of stopping. with your thighs on his shoulders, he was practically folding you in half and the aches of his passionate love making were starting to seep into your poor body. but yeosang persisted, mumbling something about how he was almost there. and it truly felt like he was. 

your spongy spot had been abused beyond belief and your whines of his name were the only things coming out of your mouth at this point.

“Sangi….”

“Sangi….”

“Yeosang!” 

and he comes so hard in one of the most intense orgasms he’s ever had in his life. 

“Dude, get up!” 

he’s groggy as he hears your voice. he’s laying on his front, face plopped down on his pillow. he groans as he wakes up from your shaking. 

“We’re gonna be late for the bus, Sang. You have like 20 minutes to get ready.” you shake him some more to snap him out of his sleepy state. 

he just hums in a sound of agreement before he breathes a sigh of relief as you walk out of his room and close the door. he can feel the spurts of come in his sweatpants sticking uncomfortably around his now soft dick. his grey sweatpants were stained a dark grey in the groin area. he came so much that he felt it dripping down his leg when he stood up. man, how was he supposed to survive 4 more years of this torture? 

[princessbrunette]

being sarah’s bff equals lots n lots of girlie nights !! so, of course, you’re comfortable enough to prance around tannyhill in short shorts n lil lacy camis after years of spending days n nights there !!

you’ve always thought of rafe as sarah’s mean big brother, nothing more n nothing less, so you tend to avoid him. he’s intimidating, yk !! besides, sarah’s warned you about staying away - “he ruins everything” she claims.

but rafe? rafe swears you know exactly what you’re doing when you’re roaming the halls in your shorts and cami that don’t leave a whole lot to his imagination, but then he gets you alone & realizes you really don’t have the slightest idea about what you’re doing :( so, he’s gotta teach you a lesson about wearing that shit around his house, right?

(also, please may i be 🐋 or 🍇 anon? pls n thank uu <3)

ᡣ𐭩 ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

sarah’s fast asleep in her humid bedroom, and you were too — before the loud credit music to the 2000s girly rom com you were watching woke you up. you were disorientated, warm, sitting up and squinting in the dark with a dry throat. you figured everyone would be in bed right now, it would be fine if you snuck down the stairs in your little pink lace cami and shorts to fetch yourself a drink.

he must’ve heard you go down, because there’s no way it was a coincidence that rafe appeared in the doorway, watching you down a glass of water, elbows leaning casually against the counter as you chug it down, practically bent over. he eyed you unabashedly, strolling over to the fridge beside you checking out your ass before turning to pull out a beer, cracking it open.

“you should be asleep.” he drawls, deadpan. he was never the conversationalist.

you pull your lips away from the glass, panting a little — mouth wet and breathless, making his dick twitch. “i was asleep. just got thirsty.” you turn to him politely, clearly having no idea how slutty you looked when you reach your fingers up to wipe the water droplets off your bottom lip and chin. you miss a drip, and it trails down your neck and chest. his eyes follow it.

“hm.”

“why can’t i be awake? does the kitchen close at midnight?” you smile, and it’s friendly, lighthearted even but his jaw ticks none the less, turning his attention to you as he takes a sip of beer, afterwards setting it down on the counter.

“no, just not used to having people roam around my house so late. ‘specially uh, especially not dressed like that.” he nods down at your get up in disapproval and you frown, looking down at yourself.

“these are my pyjamas?”

“those are two scraps of fabric.” he retorts, turning back to the fridge to close it after having left it open.

“whats wrong with them?” you tilt your head, all innocent like a kicked puppy and he actually has no idea if it was all an act or if you were truly this naive. he was looking forward to finding out.

“whats wrong with— okay, first of all— i shouldn’t have to come into my kitchen and see my little sisters best friends ass cheeks fallin’ out of her shorts.”

“s’not just your kitchen.” you interject sulkily, looking down at your feet. he steps closer with an impatient squint, gesturing around.

“you see anyone else around? my dad? no. i’m the man of the house now, alright? you’re a guest here, so you should really be listening to me.”

you look up at him, eyes glassy and doe like. it pauses him in his tracks, giving you the chance to speak.

“why’re you so mean to me, rafe? i actually don’t mind you that much, even despite the things sarah says.” you pout. he licks his lips, looking away with a sigh as he composes himself.

“well you’re smart not to listen to that girl. she’s fucking… she’s sarah.” he rolls his eyes, bringing a hand to his forehead to rub at it like he did when he was frustrated. “and i dont dislike you, okay?” he enunciates each consonant. “if i didn’t like you i would let you do whatever the hell you want ‘cos i wouldn’t give a shit. alright? i want you to be better. do well. s’why i gotta…” he gently places hands on your hips, waiting for any objections or resistance before turning you around to face the counter after being met with none. “i gotta guide you, yeah? teach you a lesson.” with that, he presses a hand on your back, gently easing you down to bend over the counter.

“what are you doin’, rafe? sarah’s upstairs.”

“i really… really don’t care.”

ᡣ𐭩 ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

[warnersister]

I Remember Everything

bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x mitchell!reader

Inspired by the song ‘I Remember Everything’ by Zach Bryan -> you and Bradley were only together back then to piss off your dad.. right?

Flashbacks & song lyrics in italics

top gun masterlist

“What can I get ya?” You ask, back turned to the patron but you could feel their expectant presence behind you. “Rotgut whiskey's gonna ease my mind” your breath hitched in your throat as you recognised the voice, pivoting to the voice you used to yearn for just to comfort your own sanity. “Bradley.”

Yourself and Bradley went way back. Back further than you wanted to admit. You started fraternising with him when you were freshly eighteen, pissed off at your father, Pete Mitchell. And as president of the ‘Pete-Mitchell-Hatred Club’, Bradley was more than happy to oblige. He himself was 25, finally managing to begin his naval training without any support of his surrogate uncle, and he’d just dumped you in California and fucked off to the dessert for annoying some admiral, leaving you with Penny despite your argument that you were old enough now to make your own decisions.

Bradley was at a two month station at top gun, not to train; no he wasn’t at that stage in his naval aviation training yet, but to boost morale and promote dog-fighting initiative amongst the new recruits. To throw them in at the deep end and put them up against the best.

You knew the two of them didn’t get along and you knew how your father yearned for a relationship with Bradley, so it was the perfect was to get under his skin in a way that would truly aggravate him. Being with Bradley.

At first, the reason Bradley even entertained your behaviour because he knew how it would get to maverick and how, realistically, Maverick had absolutely no say in what you did anymore. Because you were an adult making your own choices, and he surrendered any parental ties on Bradley when he withdrew his papers. It was a win-win situation as far as he was concerned, that was until he really started to fall for you.

It was a hot day in mid-July and Bradley had a day off so he opted to spend it with you, honking his horn twice in his Bronco, right outside Maverick’s house as you came running out and your dad shouted after you - regardless of the fact you were always in the passenger seat. You made it to the beach but ended up in Bradley’s military accommodation, as per usual. He watched the way your hair whipped as you observed passers-by, in nothing but a bikini as your beach towel rests on the dryin’ line.

He approached you and rested his head on your shoulder, hands on your hips as he followed your eye-line to where you were watching a couple of golden-coast born boys playing volleyball on the beach.

“Do I remind you of your daddy in his ‘88 Ford?” He asked as you handed him his whiskey from across the bar. You scoffed. “You were like a Labrador hanging out the passenger door” he continued, reminiscing on the way you used to hang your body half out of the window to feel the humid breeze against your skin, a panicked Bradley with his knuckles going white as his fingers grasped at the loop holes of your worn denim shorts to keep you in the vehicle.

The sand from your hair was blowing in his eyes. He’d blame it on the beach, grown men don’t cry. He knew what you wanted out of this: a bit of fun, a dig at your father. And he knew that he shouldn’t be feeling the way he did, a sense of growing adoration for you and your company. Your constant sleep overs and loving attention.

“Do you remember that beat down basement couch?” He asked after the silence and for the first time since you looked at him, you smiled. “God I loved that thing, of course I do Brad” you say in an almost accidentally small voice. “I'd sing you my love songs and you'd tell me about how your mama ran off and pawned her ring” you nodded “I remember,” you began with a steady inhale “I remember everything.”

You worked at the hard deck over the summer while you waited on news from the colleges you’d applied to, Bradley always overstaying his welcome despite you giving a cold shoulder at closing time, before he’d approach you and manage to coax you away from the bar for the evening.

“You were begging me to stay 'til the sun rose” you remembered with a grin, thinking back on all the times you’d given into him. Bradley could hardly muster any sort of words, unable to string a sentence together as he realised you really did appreciate his first summer in North Island; strained words come on out of a grown man's mouth when his mind's broke. Thinking of the pictures and passing time, all these years apart. He wondered if you were married now, if the hard deck was what you actually did for work, if you had a man, a child, a life without him, before you broke the silence with your realisation. “You only smile like that when you're drinking” you tell his dopey grin. “I wish I didn't, but I do… remember every moment on the nights with you” he tells you.

You begin to wipe down the counter, questioning his reiterative choice of beverage. “You're drinkin' everything to ease your mind?” You asked, rhetorically. “But when the hell are you gonna ease mine?” He retorted in question and you creased your brows. He peered around the bar, it still technically closed, being only 4pm, but you couldn’t deny Bradley entrance. Not after your history together. Acknowledging that there was nobody else, he took it in his stride to zip around the bar to you, trapping you against the bar and leaning closer, you could smell the Rotgun whiskey on his mouth. “You're like concrete feet in the summer heat” he tells you with a shake of his head, laughing sarcastically as he throws his head back “It burns like hell when two souls meet”.

You look up at him and trace his moustache with your thumbs, hands cupping his chiselled jaw. “No, you'll never be the man that you always swore” you tell him, reminding him that he was nothing like your father, but you nod to the familiar Bronco in the parking lot “but I'll remember you singin' in that '88 Ford”, you smile.

“Are you gonna give me a cold shoulder at closing time?” He asked “are you gonna be begging me to stay ‘til the sun rose?” You ask in response. “You of all people know that strained words come on out of a grown man's mouth when his mind's broke” he whispers, moving to bury his head between your collar and jaw. “I still think about the pictures and passing time” you tell him, threading your hands into his hair.

You feel his brows raising “what? So I wasn’t just a way to get back at your daddy?” He asked and you shook your head. “What? I thought I was a way for you to get back at him. No, you were everything to me Bradley. Everything. You just happened to be there when I wasn’t getting along with Mav” you tell him and he takes his head from the crevice of your neck to give you a boyish smile as he realises after all this time, his feelings were always requited. “You only smile like that when you're drinking” you tell him. “I wish I didn't, but I do remember every moment on the nights with you” you tell him and he creases his brows.

“Now why’re you tryna forget me, honey?” He asked, nose almost pressed against your own. Almost. “Well you’re probably married now, kids, job, everything.” You say meekly. “And I never moved on.” His breath caught in his throat. “Darlin, I ain’t married. Ain’t got no kids or anything, no girl, no nothing. I never got over you” he tells you. “No one was ever as good as you Brad, no one made me feel the way you made me feel” you tell him as he inches dangerously close.

“Well can I give you something to take the edge off, princess?” He asks, eyes meeting yours after fleeting between them to your lips for the past few moments. “Rotgut whiskey's gonna ease my mind” you tell him as he finally leans into close the gap between the both of you, tasting the bitter sweetness on his tongue and the smell of the liquor on his moustache.

You pull away and become acutely aware of how he’s only in his swim shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, as his beach towel rests on the drying line. “Do I remind you of your daddy in my '88 Ford?” He asks as he leans his forehead against yours and you nod, with a jokingly “Labrador hangin' out the passenger door.”

“Why’re you still in North Island, sugar? Still working the Hard Deck?” He questions as he nips your neck with his teeth. You stop him and pull his head from where it was taunting against your sight. You hold his head in your hands as you shake your head with a serious look crossing your face. “Bradley I’m only helping Penny clean up. I’m stationed here for the foreseeable.” You say, as the obvious dawned on him. He hadn’t seen you since that summer before you started college “you’re in the navy?” He asked “aviator.” You replied and he grinned to pick you up and sling you over his shoulder as you yelp with surprise.

“Bradley! What are you doing?” You ask with a breathless laugh. “Got a lot to catch up on, sugar.” He tells you as you approach his Bronco. “How about an all night revival?”

[bellysoupset]

Well since Wendy needs some love and I'm on a FaceTime roll (and I may have already asked for this once before, lol), how about a mini-fic where she and Vince are facetiming and he's all burpy and she's getting really flustered, so he embellishes? You can decide whether it turns into actual emeto and/or phone sex or just stays cute and fluffy. (Or if he has to get off the call for some reason suddenly, and she's all grumpy cause now she's got to take care of herself, lol).

😳😳😳😳

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

"Hey gorgeous," Vince's voice was smooth, if a little tired, and Wendy opened a blinding smile. It was an average Wednesday night and she had just gotten home from her interior design classes and was dead on her feet, but most importantly, missing him, "how was your day?"

"Exhaustive," Wendy answered him truthfully, propping her phone against her vanity and sitting before it to start removing her make up. She stole a glance and melted, Vince had put his phone on top of his bedside table and was sitting in the middle of his bed, legs crisscrossed, wearing just his boxers. His curly hair was humid, fresh out of shower and he had a pile of papers near his knee.

"What happened?" he looked up from the papers, picking up a red pen and Wendy cleared her throat, blushing as she was caught gawking on him.

"Nothing," her face was on fire, "nothing, uhm- It was just a long day. My shift started at-" Wendy yawned, squinting her eyes as she did and when she opened them Vince was smiling fondly at her, "started at 6 AM, so I was up before that and just got home now."

"It's a wonder you're even coherent," Vince frowned, "don't you think you're biting off a bit much, Wen? Work every day, plus classes?"

Wendy pouted, this wasn't a new discussion they had. Vince understood she didn't want to just sit at home after work, or at least he said he did, but he couldn't wrap his mind around the sheer amount of stuff she did, "Vin..."

"I'm just saying gi-" he grimaced suddenly and ducked his head, pressing a fist to his lips as a small burp rushed up. Vin wrinkled his nose in distaste, but kept talking as if nothing had happened, "give your body a break, honey."

She cursed herself silently, that such a mundane thing like a little burp was enough to have her cheeks burning. Wendy shook her head, forcing her eyes away from the phone screen and concentrating in removing her mascara, "I don't need a break, I like keeping busy."

"There's busy and there's overworking," Vince pointed out gently and Wendy let out a huff.

"Says the man with a pile of work on the bed," she said sharply and heard a little startled chuckle.

"Okay, I'm nothing if not a hypocrite," he admitted lightly, "but that doesn't change that we're both in the wro-ugh," Wendy's eyes darted to the screen and sure enough Vince was rubbing his chest with an uneasy expression on. She dropped her cotton ball, staring as he patted between his pecs until a small burp came up, "ugh, excuse me. Sorry," Vince looked at the screen and then raised his eyebrows, "damn, honey, that's an intense glare."

Wendy scrambled back slightly, hiding her face with her hands, "sorry! Sorry, I didn't mean to be such a perv! I'm-"

"Relax," Vince sounded amused, "relax, Wen, it's okay..."

She lowered her hands, knuckles still pressed to her mouth, and looked at him. Vince raised his eyebrows in a smug way, "I love knowing you still find me hot in every circumstance. Truly, how will I ever be loved like this?"

"Oh shut up," Wendy groaned, but before she could say anything else, Vince planted a hand to his stomach and made a small wince.

"My belly's a little upset."

"Fuck you," Wendy glared at the phone, feeling her face tingle and ears burn, "fuck you so much."

"Bet you wanna," Vince grinned at her, rubbing lazily at his stomach, "it's feeling all... Queasy."

"Shut uuup," Wendy whined, lowering her head in shame and heard her boyfriend let out a chuckle.

"You're adorable," his voice was brimming with glee, "really, though, dinner isn't sitting well. I went over to my parent's today and Soph pushed half her plate in mine, it's feeling heavy as hell."

Wendy bit at her lip, raising her head to look at him, "you're faking it."

"I'm not," Vince shook his head, "it's just some indigestion, I'm sure, but I'm not faking."

"Uhmm...," She breathed in deeply, trying collect herself, "well, get some tums, they'll help. What are you working on?"

"Essays about ancient Rome," Vince patted the pile of paper, successfully distracted from his mission at giving her a stroke, "I asked the kids to pick their favorite roman figure we learned about and write a small essay."

"The kids or the teens?"

"The kids," Vince rolled his eyes, moving on the bed so he was propped against the pillows and grabbing the papers. Wendy returned to the task at hand, taking the phone and getting up, bringing him to the bathroom with her. She heard Vince start to babble about the figures picked and smiled, heart fluttering at the clear excitement in his voice.

She grabbed a cleansing foam to get rid of all the vestiges and her electric facial brush, leaning against the sink as she watched Vince flip through the pages, "Ellie picked Nero," he said with a huge smile that almost showed his molars, "she's eleven."

"How many picked the wrong Mark Anthony?" Wendy joked and Vince let out a chuckle, fiddling through the papers.

"At least one-" halfway through his sentence Vince's mouth snapped shut and he gulped down, paling considerably since Wendy was able to notice even though his room wasn't brightly lit. She felt her mouth dry up.

"Vin?"

Instead of answering her, he held up a finger and turned his head, eyes squeezed shut.

Wendy squirmed, turning off the electrical brush and planting it on the sink, staring at her phone intently.

Vince gulped down once more, before letting up a thick, wet belch, his face turned away from the phone. There was no way he was faking that, Wendy thought, as she heard the noise of liquid splashing in his throat, but him forcing it down.

"Honey?"

"Oof," Vince had a displeased grimace on, "ew. Dinner's definitely messing with me."

"Maybe-" she couldn't string up a thought together, "maybe your- your mom used milk?"

Vince winced at the thought, looking more queasy than before, "I hope not," he said bitterly, lowering the papers away and planting a hand on the swell of his stomach. He pressed his fingers in gently and Wendy sucked in a breath as she heard his belly gurgle even through the phone.

"Fuck," she whispered, turning to wash the cleaning foam off her cheeks, while in the phone Vince laughed.

"I swear I'm not trying to mess with you," he said and Wendy splashed some of the cold water on her nape, feeling like her whole body was overheated.

"Trying or not, it's working," she admitted, past feeling embarrassed, squeezing her legs together, "aren't you gonna take something to settle it?"

He shrugged, "and miss out you looking at me as if I'm blasting porn in your screen?"

Wendy glared at him, "you're gonna keep feeling sick just to embarrass me?"

"Embarrass you?" Vince frowned now, "honey, I'm not trying to embarrass you, I'm just enjoying seeing you this turned on. If you want I can hang up..."

"NO!" She said too quickly, scrambling and causing her phone to fall down against her soap dispenser. Wendy retrieved it quickly, "no, no, don't hang up."

"Yeah?" Vince smiled, although he still looked a little unsure and Wendy shook her head vehemently, walking back to her bed and falling into it, her skincare routine be damned.

"Don't hang up," she shuffled on the bed, changing her phone to her left hand and sliding her right one under the hem of her pants, "talk to me? How are you feeling?" her voice dropped a whole note and Vince's hesitance vanished in a split second, his dark eyes getting a hungry look, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Really, really bad..."

[anthonys237thfreckle]

I've been NEEDING some Javi & Scott angst, like the first night when Javi and Kate didn't set up the panel? (feel free to do romantic or platonic 🙏🙏)

I WROTE THIS BUT I DIDNT SAVE THE DRAFT

anyways here it is! i dont really write for scott but after a lot of research, i finally did! i rly hope this is okay lmao. Not the best at character x character, but theres a first time for everything!

i’m pretty inspired so i’ll write some javi x reader angst after this lol (i have sm free time until august 12th guys KEEP EM COMING)

please read the plot modification below, enjoy!

I love you, it’s ruining my life - Javier ‘Javi’ Rivera x Scott

prompt: Javi and Scott get into a heated argument

plot modification: Javi and Scott are still dating here!

TW: argument, mention of PTSD, getting shamed for PSTD, an explicit hand gesture, swearing

On the way to meeting Marshall Riggs, Javi and Scott’s investor, the tension in the car was thicker than the humid air in Oklahoma this summer. Neither said a word, Javi had his jaw clenched as he gripped the steering wheel, tight as a vice, his veins on his forearms showing. Scott looked out the window, chewing on his bottom lip, fiddling with the sunglasses in his hand, trying not to snap them out of pure impulse.

Scott’s mood was as sour as the unripe blueberries he’d grow to resent at the supermarket, chiding Javi for not being able to pick out produce; it was these little things that made him toxic - Javi was growing irritated.

Though, he was no saint either. Often biting back in arguments on how Scott grew to despise homosexual couples who lived perfect, happy lives with accepting parents in an accepting environment, how he can ‘never truly be happy for people who deserve it’.

Their relationship was hanging by a thread, and it was being teased by a razor.

Kate Carter.

“I still think we should head to El Reno” Javi said, shattering the silence “You know, Kate and I were talking-”

“Oh my god, do you ever shut up about her?” Scott snapped, turning his head sharply to meet his even sharper gaze. Javi looked at him with bewilderment, and Scott rolled his eyes

“You really trust her word after she lost that picture perfect storm, Javi?” Scott said bitterly

“It wasn’t her fault” Javi said firmly, turning to meet Scotts gaze with his own equally sharp one.

“She got super overwhelmed, that storm brought out some bad memories for her” Javi explained for what felt like the hundredth time for him. He was tired of having to defend his best friend from his boyfriend, and Scott had been getting on his nerves more than he cared to admit. Just as he thought Scott was done being a prick, he only proved he wasn’t.

“Well, someone should keep their emotions in check” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. Javi looked at him, a storm in his eyes.

“Okay, Scott, what the fuck.” Javi said, having enough of him. The anger and hurt was coursing through his veins, slipping into his tone.

“She has no goddamn ‘instincts’” Scott said with air quotes “She used a god damned dandelion to track our first storm.” He said, Kate’s more traditional ways clearly being judged by his more scientific ones.

“She grew up here, she knows what she’s doing” Javi defended “You know, Scott, you’re being a dick to her” Javi said, unimpressed. he turned his attention back to the road.

“We were real close in college. I know Kate, she has a god awful lot of potential” Javi said in a low tone, his message almost a threat.

“You should just date her at this point” Scott replied coldly. Javi was hot with rage. “Why is it whenever some straight, pretty girl comes along in my life you get so goddamn jealous?!” Javi snapped “She’s my best friend for god’s sake. We’ve been through some serious shit together” “So you think she’s pretty?!” Scott said, equally mad now.

“You know what?” Javi yelled, in a dangerous fury “Fuck you, Scott. I’m done. With you, with Storm Par, with exploiting innocent lives and being unethical.” He slammed on the breaks, unbuckled his seatbelt and left the car, not sparing a glance at Scott, who was surprised, but didn’t fight it. The relationship wasn’t worth fighting anymore.

It was ruining their lives

“Yeah, go run off to your girlfriend!” Scott yelled back at Javi, who winced. He wanted to say that his relationship with Kate was purely platonic, but he didn’t want to give Scott the satisfaction of pissing him off with his remark. But then again, by yelling back, he’d get the satisfaction of making Javi defensive.

So without looking back, Javi raised his fist, lifted his middle finger, and held it out for Scott, walking away on the dirt road in the opposite direction. He didn’t know where, he didn’t know for how long, he just knew he needed the air.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Something Full-Bodied and Red

Did a thing. Here's period smut!

It hits you right as he says, “No need to bleed by yourself, my love.” Your jaw drops. You stare at him, in his words, all agog. “You… are you saying…?” “Offering my companionship during your trying times? Yes, I believe I am. You smell delicious, Eleanor. I’ve been thinking about devouring you all day.” No mistake as his gaze slides down to the extra padding beneath your trousers. Or the way his pupils eclipse the red irises.

Or: Aunt Flo comes to visit. Astarion is delighted to make her acquaintance.

You really should a known when Gale made an—objectively-speaking and you even knew it at the time—simple statement about the best path to take. The day is hotter than Satan’s ass crack, y’all are sweating and miserable, and the rage surges up in you like goddamn Plinian eruption.

You say something along the line of, “No one asked your opinion, and yet here we are, listening to you talk anyway.”

It’s too far. You know it. Knew it before you even opened your mouth in that split second judgment call.

Gale’s face falls before he picks it back up and resettles his blasé mask.

Shit goddamn fuck.

Everyone hears it, too. Even Astarion gives you a Look.

“I’m sorry, Gale,” you say. “I really am. I’m…that was an asshole thing to say.”

His smile is still a couple shades cooler than usual. “It’s alright. The heat is getting to us all, I believe.”

An olive branch, when you’re the one who snapped.

“I mean it. Heat or not, that was rude of me. ‘Specially since you’re right.”

Cause he is. Heat melts your brains to pudding, and you were about to stomp y’all past the correct intersection to take y’all back to the inn.

His smile thaws a touch. He inclines his head.

“Now you’ve done it,” Astarion says. “He’s going to be insufferable all day.”

“Being correct is not being insufferable,” Gale says, one finger held up, the spitting image of some college professor. “Especially when it saves all of us time and effort in this truly insufferable mugginess.”

Poor man don’t know muggy. That’s when the backs of your hands sweat. Muggy is when the air’s so wet it’s almost hard to breathe. It’s one-hundred-and-thirteen goddamn degrees Fahrenheit with ninety-five percent goddamn humidity.

But you keep that shit to yourself because you fucked up and he’s owed a dunk on you.

As y’all turn up the (correct, this time) road, Astarion sidles in. Gives you a glance and the smallest line creases his brow.

“’M okay,” you say.

He nods. Bumps his hand against yours in his totally-not-a-stray-cat way of asking for attention. You thread your fingers through his gloved ones, and the both of you pretend that don’t soften his entire posture.

The inn is only half full. They got alcove beds along the walls, so you and Astarion decide to share. The two of you set up the privacy screen, and he changes into sleep pants while your back is turned.

Cazador McFuckface is dead. Astarion is a free man, and y’all have been intimate. But you still give him his modesty, always; it seems to please him beyond words. You can tell in the soft sigh as you turn away and leave him to it. In the languid movements of his limbs as he finishes and slides onto the mattress (only grumbling a little at the poor quality of the linens). In the roundness of his eyes as he stretches out and waits for you to join him.

He's still a murder hobo and a thieving, snarking, asshole gremlin. But there’s more to him, now.

You fiddle with your trousers. It really is too hot to sleep in clothes; back home, you always slept bare. It’s how you landed on an alien ship buck-ass naked.

He seems to sense this dilemma. Murmurs, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

And then gives you a saucy little wink, the dork.

So you shuck off all but your smallclothes (that he sewed for you; nothing says “You’re fine I guess” like a man sewing you some drawers) and scooch in after him. He shuffles closer to the wall while you reach up to untie the cord holding the bed curtain open.

It’s only the illusion of privacy—Lae’zel murmurs to Shadowheart across the room and Karlach’s familiar snores already fill the air. But it’s a mental thing, and you turn and Astarion snuggles into you.

“God that’s nice,” you say.

One benefit of him being undead is the man don’t produce body heat. Which means he’s nice and cool against you. Which was real weird at first (something air temperature shouldn’t move or speak), but it’s him and he’s safe, so this feels like him, like safety.

He groans in response—the downside of undead is the man don’t produce his own body heat. Which means his joints get achy unless he’s fed within the last day, or he’s got a nice, large lover blasting him with her own furnace heat.

You’re tired and vaguely hurting. Astarion likes to be the little spoon, and when he’s facing you, he koala’s onto your front. Face tucked in against your neck (or your cleavage; “you make a fantastic pillow, darling”), arms wrapped around your middle, legs all tangled with yours.

But it’s so damn hot, and the walking was too damn long. Your body thrums. Bastard won’t settle. You become too aware of his habitual breath fanning your skin. Of his coolness against you. The arm slung over your ribs.

It’s easy to imagine that mouth of his opening. Tongue snaking out to lap at you, blunt front teeth nipping up and up. Until he finds your lips and—

You shift.

His crotch is right there. Ain’t nothing going on, but you know now what he feels like when he presses against you. When he ruts against you, eyes closed to slits, forgetting to breathe. His hand around yours on his cock as he shows you how to pleasure him. The salty, bitter tang as he comes in your mouth—

“Shit,” you say and shift your legs. Astarion nuzzles against your neck but otherwise says nothing.

Y’all’ve had sex in public. Had sex in an alley. In an inn. But none of those was this close to y’all’s friends. Curtains muffle sound about as well as tent fabric, but they been pitching their tents away from your shared one for some time and for a damn reason. You always thought you were quiet. Turns out, with a partner, not so much (it’s the shit he says; his pick-up lines were so over-the-top they was kinda funny, but when he means it? Who-wee).

You sigh. It’s been a long day. Y’all need to sleep.

You try to shift your hips without dislodging him, hoping to find the right angle to ease the general achiness—

“That’s going to make it more difficult for me to trance, darling,” Astarion says against your skin.

(You don’t shiver. That would be too desperate. And even if you did, he don’t mention it.)

“Sorry,” you say. “Kinda restless. You wanna sleep in separate beds?” Then he looks up and even in the curtained gloom, his eyes pick up that red shine like a monster in the woods come to lurk.

Okay, so you absolutely shiver. You feel his smile, slow and syrupy, against your collarbone.

“Who said anything about leaving?” he says.

This man. What he does to you. You try to run your fingers through your hair, but it’s dark, you’re human, and you catch his ear instead.

Now he shudders. Presses a kiss to where your neck and shoulder meet.

“Are you…?” you say, because you ain’t always good at reading people and this man in particular is real good at getting himself misread on purpose.

His cool fingers slip down your belly to tease along your smallclothes as his mouth opens to suck on your neck (it’ll bruise). His fingers trace lower, lower…

You clasp a hand over your mouth.

“Offering to help you work through whatever has you so bothered?” he says.

Heat rushes between your legs. You are so horny for him it’s ridiculous. His hand lifts so he can trace along your outer thigh. Then his knee slots between your legs.

“Be a dear and bring this up over my hip, hmm?” he says, tapping a pattern on your thigh. “Open your legs for me, my love.”

“But everybody’s so close.”

He sucks at the damn love bite. He loves leaving marks on you. You think you like him leaving marks on you.

“So long as you stay quiet,” he says, voice gone soft and lilting as his fingers tease under your smallclothes to stroke lower.

The rest on AO3.

[juneknight]

In the spirit of missing dorm room Marc: maybe something fun like them going to a costume party, maybe matching, maybe in a couples costume, with colossal tension because of the implications of going matching? Anything that’s fun for you and is written by you is fun to read tbh

The exact moment you realize you’ve fucked up is this one: the bathroom door opens (a rush of steam and humidity flooding out, scented softly of Marc’s shower gel the one you use every now and then just to have his scent on you) and Marc comes out dressed nearly in the full costume that you had thrust into his arms a half-hour ago. The look in his eyes lets you know right away; you’ve overplayed your hand. 

Now he knows that you’re in love with him. 

“We don’t have to do this,” you backpedal. “Actually, this was a bad idea—” 

You bite off your own words, aware of how offensive they might seem, but Marc doesn’t look offended. He has paused to lean against the bathroom doorway—god he looks good, the holster sitting so low on his cocked hips, it’s enough to make you drool—and watch your frantic pacing, the white robe you’ve donned swishing around your ankles. You immediately sense that he’s doing That Thing, the one where he doesn’t speak and lets you dig yourself into a deeper hole. 

Well two can play at that game. You flop down on your bed and bury your face in your hands. How’s that for silence. You can barely hear his slow, careful footsteps over the ruckus in your brain, all your internal voice telling you that you had dug your own grave, you had fucking coordinated these costumes and now your feelings for him—for your best, closest friend—were plainer than day. 

The bed depresses as he sits down next to you. 

“You okay?” 

You shake your head. 

“You ever coming out of there?” 

You press your hands against your face tighter. 

His breath brushes your fingertips, his forehead resting against your temple as he whispers: “Is there room for me in there too?” 

“I didn’t even think when I bought the costumes, Marc, I swear.” 

“You didn’t?” 

“No!” 

He hums. 

“The couple’s costumes were buy-one-get-one-half-off, and so I spent most of time in that part of the shop anyway.” He hums again. “I saw mine first and I thought—wow, I’d look really good in that! Not that you don’t look really good in yours too—” He hums. Goddamnit, he’s doing The Thing again! “Marc, say something, you know I’m prone to nervous rambling, this isn’t fair—” 

“I think…we’re going to be late for the party if we sit around much longer.” 

You peek from your hands. “You still want to go? With me dressed like this? And you dressed like that? But people will think things. Most people who show up together and are dressed in couple’s costumes are…together.” 

“We should get together soon, then,” he says mildly. “Like now. Or on the walk to the party. We could get together outside Harrow’s apartment while we wait for him to open the door, but that’d really be pushing it. I’m more of a safe-than-sorry kind of guy.” 

You blink. “You. Say that again.” 

“You say it, actually. I want to hear you say it.” 

Your hands fall to your lap, tugging at the ends of your sleeves. You’ve always heard that the eyes are the windows to the soul, but you hadn’t really believed that until you met Marc. Sure his eyebrows are expressive, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes let you know that he is happy, but there’s something about his eyes themselves—warm and dark and so fucking safe—that can look at you and see inside you and somehow love what they see. 

“Marc, I really like you,” you murmur hesitantly. 

He has the perfect opportunity to say it, to say the most notable Han Solo line in all of cinema. I know.

“I really like you too,” he says softly. “Let me get the vest on. Gotta complete the look.” 

And when he does complete the look, it is a sinful one. Yes as a little girl you had had a huge crush on Han Solo (and Luke, Leia’s plight truly resonated with you). Seeing his image come to life over the blueprint of the man you are (swiftly) falling in love with is a recipe for a cocktail of feelings in your belly. Arousal. Fondness. Adoration. Desire. 

“Ready, Leia?” he asks, holding out a hand to you. 

You let out a breath you’d been holding since he opened the bathroom door. You take his hand. “Ready.” 

[firetrucks-fastcars]

Your Home's Really Only a Town You're Just a Guest In

2.5k words | Logan Sargeant/Oscar Piastri | The Miami GP is over in a matter of seconds for Logan. Losing it all at his home race makes him realize a few things about what home and family truly mean

He was spinning before he’d even registered the impact. He barely had the brain capacity to cross his arms over his chest as his car went careening off the track. The gravel trap rattled his teeth and he tasted blood as he bit down on his tongue. He braced himself for impact just before his car hit the barrier, sending a shockwave down his spine, making his toes tingle and his head snap forward, despite the brace holding him in. God, that fucking hurt.

He’d never get used to this feeling. One might think he had, considering the amount of times he’d been in this position over the last year. He pushed down the self-deprecating thoughts for now, only focusing on moving his hands enough to press the radio button and answer his engineer’s desperate pleas to know if he was alright. 

“Oh mate,” he groaned, unable to think of a more intelligent response.

“Not your fault. Not your fault.”

“Ugh. I bit my fucking tongue.”

He knew SkySports would be angry at him for having to spend money on the bleep effect but he didn’t have it in him to care at the moment.

“You okay? Are you okay?”

He huffed into his helmet, trying to catch his breath, “I- yes. I think so. Did I do something wrong?”

He couldn’t think of anything he could have done, he couldn’t even see Kevin in his mirrors. The first look he’d gotten at the car had been blurry at best as he spun his way off the track and the Haas kept on racing. 

“No I don’t think you did. I’ll look at the review. Can you get out of the car on your own?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it.”

He began undoing his seat belts as the marshals moved toward his car. One gave him a helping hand and he stepped over the halo, hopping from the cockpit, the crunch of gravel under his boots. This was it. His home race was completely undone in less than 30 seconds. And he’d been doing alright too. He’d been on pace with Alex, he’d placed higher in the sprint. For the first time since Australia he’d felt a little glimmer of confidence. However, this sport and everyone around him seemed determined to put out any fire he had as quickly and as harshly as possible. 

The marshal led him to the evacuation car and he slid into the backseat, placing his helmet next to him. He wished the ride to the Williams garage was longer than a few minutes. He wished he had more time to come up with something better to say to his team other than a weak apology for fucking up another car. His only saving grace was that his parents weren’t in the paddock. Instead they were probably shaking their heads from their couch, turning off the tv and moving on to do something else since their son had failed so spectacularly, yet again. 

As he stepped out of the car into the oppressive Miami heat, he found himself wishing for England. So rarely did he miss the gray skies, but today they would match his mood much better than the inescapable Florida sunshine. He wished for the milder temperatures of Monaco, where the sun didn’t feel like quite as much of a mockery. Where he could hide in Alex and Lily’s apartment and neither of them would push him to speak until he was ready. Where he could escape to Lando’s and play games with him and Oscar and Max Fewtrell until his throat was sore from yelling and he felt slightly human again. Where Max would grow tired of Lando complaining about him moping and invite him over for dinner. Where he could sit in his designated seat on the balcony (declared as such by a drawing featuring entirely too much glitter, made of course by Penelope) and drown his sorrows in cheap European beer. Where people actually cared about him, or at least pretended to. 

But no. He was trapped here, as if held down by the humidity that blanketed the entire state he had once called home. Now, he felt more like a guest. He knew that after this race was all said and done, he’d crawl back home to his parents’ house that bore no signs of their second son, save for a few pictures on the walls, relics of his karting and junior formula days. He was a guest in the place where he was raised.

A firm hand gripped his bicep as he was led into the garage, “Are you alright?”

Elias had practically materialized next to him and was leading him past all of the engineers and mechanics, their well wishes and promises of “There was nothing you could have done” nothing more than tv static as they made their way hastily toward his driver’s room. Elias unlocked the door and pushed Logan inside but didn’t follow.

“Take your time. Get cleaned up and settle down. Don’t come back out until you feel human again.”

“What if I never feel human again?” The vulnerability spilled from his lips in the worst case of word vomit he’d ever experienced. He didn’t have a chance in hell of stopping the words once they started flowing. 

“You will. I know it doesn’t feel like it and you don’t want to listen to my pep talk right now, so I’ll save that for Alex later. But you will feel human again Logan. You will come out on the other side, stronger and better because of everything you’ve been through.”

“Can you ask James if there’s still room on the flight back for me tomorrow?” he asked instead of acknowledging what his trainer had just said.

“I thought you were staying for a few days. You had plans to fish with Kyle and go to the hockey game.”

“I know. And I’m sorry, I do really want to take you out on the boat. I just don’t know how much longer I can be here before I suffocate.”

“I understand. Don’t worry about me, I’ll get everything sorted with James. Just promise me that you’ll talk to your brother before we go. He’s worried about you.”

“Dalton is always worried about me.”

“He loves you. Don’t take it for granted.”

With that Elias slipped back out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Logan sighed and laid back on the massage table, staring at the ceiling. He could hear the faint roar of engines in the distance. He wondered if Lando was still leading? Maybe one of them would finally have some good luck. He forced himself into a sitting position and leaned over to retrieve his phone from the front pocket of his backpack. He pulled up his brother’s contact and sent a message.

To Dalton: with mom and dad?

From Dalton: Yeah but I can leave. Need me?

To Dalton: yeah

From Dalton: Okay. Give me five

Logan counted in intervals of sixty until his phone began to buzz in his palm. Dalton always kept his promises.

“Hey little bro.”

“Are Mom and Dad around?”

“Nope. I went down to the dock. I figured you wanted this to be a private conversation.”

“Are they still watching the race?”

“Yeah. We’re all rooting for Lando’s first win. They aren’t mad at you Loges, there was nothing you could have done.”

“Yeah that time. What about all the others? They’re disappointed and you know it.”

“I know what they can be like Loges. Trust me, I know better than anyone. They want you to succeed but they don’t understand what the pressure does to you.”

“‘Pressure makes diamonds son’.”

Logan’s poor imitation of their father’s deep southern accent made Dalton chuckle. 

“Pressure makes dust. You can’t let them get to you bud. This is how they are about everything, it's how they always will be. You just have to prove them wrong.”

“They won’t give me a chance.”

“Mom and Dad? Or the team?”

“Both. Every time something starts to go well for me, Williams tears the rug out from under my feet. Mom and Dad will always side with them, especially Dad. Nothing is ever good enough, I don’t even know why I bother anymore. I love a sport that hates me and I’m a guest in my own fucking family. I don’t belong anywhere Dalton. I don’t belong in Europe, I don’t belong here, I should just fucking disappear and then everyone would be happier.”

“I wouldn’t. Kyle wouldn’t. Neither would Alex or Oscar or even fucking Lando. Loges, you’re so focused on everything that’s working against you, that you can’t acknowledge that there are people in your corner. Williams fans fucking love you, but all you care about is the keyboard warriors who think you should make your car levitate to avoid being hit. Fuck them. And fuck anyone who ever says you can’t do something. Fuck Mom and Dad. But don’t toss aside the people that want to help you. When was the last time you talked to Oscar about how you feel? Or are you just telling him that you’re fine and that none of this shit affects you? Because I know the truth, Loges. When are you gonna stop lying to yourself and playing tough guy and accept some help? Because until you start leaning on the people around you, you’re gonna keep crumbling. And I won’t be the one that’s left to pick up the pieces. Not again. I love you way too much to watch you destroy yourself because you’re stubborn.”

“I love you too.”

“Now what are you going to do?”

“Stop feeling sorry for myself.”

“And?”

“Go out tonight to celebrate Lando’s win. Then I’m gonna go back to England tomorrow with the team and work over data with Alex so we can find a way to fix this tractor of a fucking car.”

“Good. I’m proud of you little brother. Call me anytime, day or night. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you soon. But not until you’re ready.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

As he cleaned himself up and changed from his sweaty race suit to his usual team kit, he turned on the monitors to watch Lando win the race. He left the team (with permission from Gaetan) to run down to the pit lane and congratulate his friend. He found Oscar and Alex, leaning against the wall together, waiting for their turn in the media pen and joined them so he could fulfill his own duties to the press.

“Hey Osc,” he linked their pinkies together briefly in greeting, before pulling away. “Shame about your race.”

“Yeah, some people were just itching for penalties today,” Oscar rolled his eyes. “How are you doing? You seem surprisingly carefree.”

Alex regarded him with a raised brow, “You are suspiciously calm.”

“I talked to Dalton. I’m still annoyed about the crash but Kevin got what he deserved and there’s nothing else I can do. Other than comb through the data and try to figure out a way to make this God forsaken tractor go any faster.”

“I’m with you,” Alex agreed. “I already told Gaetan and James to book a conference room and stock the fridge with Monster because we’re gonna be there a while.”

Logan chuckled and bumped their shoulders together, “I’ll be there Monday.”

Alex raised his brow again, “I thought you were staying for a few more days?”

“I was going to. But, I need a change of scenery. And living in London has ruined me. I can’t handle the heat.”

Oscar gave him a look that said they’d talk about it later, but was called away by his press officer, “You’re coming out with us tonight. We’re celebrating Lando’s win!”

“I expected nothing less.”

*****

It was way too late (or early, depending on how you looked at it) when they finally made it back to the hotel Mclaren was staying in. He and Oscar had left the party a few minutes early, leaving Lando in Max’s capable hands. Elias had already retrieved his luggage from his parent’s place and had it brought to Oscar’s room. Once they were both showered and half asleep, Oscar finally asked what he’d been dying to all night.

“So what made you decide you want to leave early?”

“I talked to Dalton. And he made me realize that how I’ve been acting lately isn’t healthy. I’m tearing myself down to meet these unrealistic expectations my parents have set for me and I’m killing myself to try and prove myself to people who don’t actually care. I’ve been realizing lately that I feel like a guest here. Florida isn’t really home. I don’t really feel at home anywhere to be honest. Only with you, or Alex. Sometimes Lando and Max.”

“You know what my mom told me once? It was right after I left Australia for good and I was so homesick it hurt. And boarding school sucked and I was just about ready to give it all up and come home. But my mom told me that home isn’t really a place, it’s people. And family isn’t just the people who raised you. So I’d always be welcome at home with them, but I was also responsible for making my own home and my own family and that once I did that, I wouldn’t be so lonely. A few months after that, we became teammates. And I figured out pretty quickly what my mom meant. I know you’re proud of being from America, to be the first American in F1 in a long time. But that isn’t your whole identity, Loges. And Florida doesn’t have to be your home because you were born here. Your home can be in England with me, or Monaco with Max, Lando and Alex. You can consider both places home if you want because all of us are your family. We care about you so much baby, especially me. It has hurt so bad to see you struggle for so long. I just want you to realize you’re with so much outside of racing and outside of your hometown. You will never be a guest with me Logan, I hope you know that.”

“I do. And I’m starting to figure out this family thing. I just think it’s going to take some time. I have to really figure out where I belong in the world.”

“I know. And I’ll always be with you, there is nowhere you can go that I won’t follow.”

“I’m stuck with you forever huh?”

“You bet your ass you are. You’re stuck with Lando too because he’ll tag along just to be annoying. And Max because he has to supervise when I’m not around. And Alex, because he’s just along for the ride.”

Logan laughed and hugged Oscar close, “I think I’m okay with that.”

He stared at the ceiling as Oscar snored lightly next to him, waiting for sleep to come. So what if he felt like a guest in his home? He’d just make another.

[anavatazes]

Learn to be a Texas Southern, From Austin.

Ok. First of all, I love you all. I truly do. I adore my fan fic writers, especially if you write my Joel crack... um, stories. *cough* The man keeps me in a bear hug and refuses to let go. Not that I am complaining ;).

BUT, for the LOVE of all that is holy and good and Joel, STOP using any American TV show or movie for reference to how things are in Texas as far as the food, the way they talk, the way the weather is, how and what a BBQ is, and I swear if I see another one with snow...

Like I said, I love you all. Yes, fan fiction is fantasy. You can write what you want. How you want. That's what is so great and wonderful about it. Get creative, get wild. Go crazy! But don't sit there and act like you do your research and are an accurate little miss that can do no wrong. Nuh-uh. I will find a slew of little old ladies that will Bless Your Hearts from here to Oblivion if you call Ribs with BBQ sauce proper BBQ in Texas. Believe you me. Every State in the Union has their own form of BBQ, and in the Southern States, it's a fucking religion akin to College Football and Jesus.

American TV and movies are pretty generic when it comes to the accuracy of our own culture and will take great liberties when trying to pass off one area for another. This includes accents, ways people speak, and how the areas they are in truly are. I touched on this briefly when I went over the whole Bless Your Heart phrase and how it does not mean what you think it means and it can get pretty offensive quick. American TV likes to go for the shock value, and the drama more than it likes to go for the accuracy and really doesn't care who it offends in the process. And older shows, like Dallas, Southerners don't talk like that anymore. Except maybe a few left in Kentucky... Maybe. Watch play-throughs of the games if you want a feel for how Joel speaks. Especially the first one. Stay away from the second one if you are trying to avoid season 2 spoilers for the show.

No Outbreak!/Pre-Outbreak!Joel will spend Saturday mornings with Sarah hiking. And there are next to no hills (unless man-made) in Austin. It's all flatland. No mountains. A few rivers, and Lake Travis isn't far away. A lot of trails all around Austin from 1999 to 2013, depending on when you wanted to have Outbreak Day if you wanted it at all. They'd probably go to one of a trillion restaurants in Austin for lunch, depending on their taste. It is canon that Joel can't cook. Tommy, Ellie, AND Sarah all bring it up in Pt. 1 and Pt. 2, if you know where to look. I would say one of their favorite places would be Home Slice for some great pizza. Or maybe even Torchies for a wide variety of tasty Tex-Mex food. Maybe even pick up some Brisket (Texas BBQ) to take home to get ready for an afternoon spent watching the University of Texas football game on the TV, if we're in August to January. Honestly, May through the beginning of October, they probably aren't doing too much hiking. The temperature of 100° plus (in Fahrenheit) is all the rage at this time. And you might have high humidity one day, with non-stop thunderstorms that might seem like a hurricane, and can spawn a tornado, but really isn't a hurricane. Then the next day, be the dryest heat that you've ever experienced in your life. Though, from what I've heard, the latter rarely happens now. More humid days are common now.

Texas BBQ.

If you are ever in the Southern United States, do yourself a favor, and just do not call anything related to the grill BBQ, ok. You will be better off and have a nicer visit, and life overall. If you like to live dangerously, go ahead and call the grill a BBQ. Call a cookout a BBQ. Go ahead. I'll wait. I'll have the tissues ready and waiting for the passive-aggressive politeness from the ladies and the open hostility from the not-so-gentlemen. You have a Cookout, or you Grill out. A BBQ is a way of life and means something different in each state (and will start a war in North Carolina because they are so special, they have two kinds of BBQ). Most everyone in (at least the South) can agree that BBQ food is some sort of slow cooked meat. In Texas, almost 99% of the population agrees it's Brisket, and the rest are wrong. (That's another Southern thing, they are right, and everyone else is just wrong. Drives me nuts when they use it in an argument). Now, they will have different ways of preparing it, and they will have fights over it (have witnessed several), but they all agree on Brisket.

Being close to the Mexican border and Texas' history as a part of Mexico once upon a time means that there is a heavy Mexican influence in Austin. As much as Texas likes to claim to be white bread, it really isn't. From the food to the people to the names of streets, cities, etc, there is a heavy Mexican influence. The idea that, somewhere, that Joel and Tommy have Latino blood is not far-fetched. Especially on the show. At the very least they would have a basic understanding of Spanish. That is being from Austin, regardless if they share any Mexican heritage or not.

Politeness and the True Southern Gentlemen.

I hate to break it to you, but there is no such thing as the great Southern Politeness and Hospitality. In fact, if a guy comes up to me and says he's a True Southern Gentleman, I'm running the other way. That "Gentleman" is 9/10 times a walking sexual assault case. This is not to say there are no nic+e and polite people in the South, but it is no different from any other place in the US. But, I will tell you, from the upper middle class on up, they can be some of the most passive-aggressive mother fuckers you will ever meet. From the Mid-Middle Class on down, the more hospitable they will be, and they fit the stereotype the upper class has somehow gotten. It's a mess.

Religion

Not everyone in the South is Christian, or devout, but will say a phrase that will make you think they are. I touched on this in my Bless Your Heart post. As God as my Witness, Good Lord Willin', Christ Almighty, and others are common phrases you will hear in the South. It DOES NOT mean the speaker is religious by any means. Trust me.

That's all I have for now. I could go on, as there is more. And please remember, fan fiction is fantasy, it's creative. Write what you want. This is just to help out those who are looking for more accuracy. And as it has been a while since Austin for me, and you are from Texas, and more specifically Austin, and you wish to add more info, and/or correct anything, feel free, please. There are a lot of differences among the Southern States, and it can be a pain to keep it all straight. So I have no problem in receiving help to keep in all in line :).

[ohanny]

pitbabetober whump edition

day 2

TRUST ISSUES

AMUSEMENT PARK I ROLE REVERSAL

“YOU GOT AWAY WITH THE CRIME WHILE.

THE KNIFE’S IN MY BACK”

charlie / babe. pg. 518 words.

after the dust has settled and all the bodies have been buried, charlie takes babe out on a date to an amusement park.

it should be the perfect date. the weather is great – low humidity, sunny with a breeze that stops it from getting unbearably hot – and the location is as far from the horrors they’ve been forced to endure. in the middle of the afternoon, the crowd is mostly families, young children running around, their laughter and joyful screams almost drowning out the generic pop music blasting from the speakers. the cacophony of sounds and smells would probably start getting overwhelming in a couple of hours but for now it's almost pleasant. the air smells of spun sugar and popcorn from all the concession stands but there's an underlying scent of oil from the rides that babe finds… comforting.

charlie’s clearly feeling it. he looks like cotton candy himself in an oversized pink cardigan, hair fluffed up and glasses slipping down his nose. he’s hanging onto babe’s arm, bouncing on his toes as they pause by the info stand to read the map and pouts when babe shoots down the idea of visiting the petting zoo, not wanting to bring the stink of baby goats home. he’s fucking adorable.

so yes, it should be the perfect date.

except no matter how hard he tries, babe just can't let go. his shoulders remain tense as they stroll by the various booths. when charlie insists on winning him a teddy bear from one of those games that are totally rigged, he flinches every time the ball hits a can. he can't even stomach the idea of bumper cars and firmly re-directs his boyfriend towards the ferris wheel instead.

but the absolute worst thing is when charlie excuses himself to the bathroom and returns fifteen minutes later with a small bag of popcorn and banana roti.

“surprise!” charlie beams. “i would've also gotten us some drinks but my hands were full. but i saw this –“

charlie happily prattles on about a stall selling fresh fruit juices and milkshakes but the words barely register. he's hiding stuff, babe thinks. he told me where he was going and then did something else. it doesn’t matter that something else was being thoughtful and buying snacks, the instinctive gut reaction babe gets is the same – anger and disappointment. charlie lied. again. sure, this time it was harmless but it hasn’t always been that way.

charlie’s proven himself to be quite capable of twisting the truth one way or another. babe’s chest constricts, remembering those agonizing days he spent crying on the floor. he believed he'd lost charlie forever and there had been a couple of really dark moments where he thought about just giving up. sounds really stupid now, in hindsight. guess he really isn’t as over it as he thought. and so, in the middle of an amusement park on a date straight out of a romantic movie, babe comes to a heartbreaking realization.

he loves charlie, he truly does, more than anything. he just doesn’t trust him at all anymore.

[ankhisms]

To quote my coworker: "today is probably going to be the worst day of work we will have in this entire season of work" and boy howdy. Today sucked ass

As a warning ill be mentioning throwing up in this so just skip to the end if u dont want to hear me even mention that 👍

Anyway. Started out the day having to drive THEE WORST truck in the entire park district where i truly think that truck is not safe for anyone to drive and i had a panic attack because of how bad trying to drive it was- not one of the worst panic attacks ive had in my life but it still sucked and set the mood for the day

The thing about today is that okay. Genuinely this was not a case of workers being exploited. Our boss was working right alongside us and working just as hard if not harder than all of us. And he kept asking if we were okay or if we wanted to take a break, kept reminding us to stop to drink water every 5-10 minutes. But we basically worked 6-7 hours non stop today in the 90 degree F heat plus humidity without any shade. And the reason why we had to do this was we planted over a thousand very rare important native prairie plants in our prairie restoration and we have been preparing to plant these for WEEKS and if we did not get all of these plants into the ground and watered properly today they wouldve died and we wouldve wasted thousands of dollars (buying the plants) as well as all of the weeks of hard work we did to prepare for planting. We NEEDED to get it all in or else it wouldve all died.

We were short handed because one of my coworkers unfortunately had a really serious family emergency and so she wasnt able to be in at work today so it was really all hands on deck. However i ended up pushing myself way too hard and because of the medicine i take i overheat easier and am prone to heat exhaustion/heat sickness and so i got overheated and threw up twice- which i almost NEVER throw up and you know something is really wrong with me if i throw up. But my coworkers and boss are all so very kind and worried about me and as soon as i threw up they were like ok rey youre done working for now we will take over you need to go lay down in the truck with the ac blasting and drink water you NEED to rest. And because of that i was able to recover and i mean im still fucking whiped out but i dont have to pass out right now yknow. They were very attentive to me and did not at all make me feel bad they were asking how i was and then when we were done we finally were able to get lunch around 2 and our boss bought us all a shit ton of really good ice cream.

So yeah tldr insane day at work i worked for 6-7 hours straight no break in the 90 degree heat but i did it TO RESTORE OUR BELOVED PRAIRIE. And tomorrow i will be back out there. Planting again but this time in the shade and MUCH less plants

[dottie-writes-tmnt]

I Love you Like an Alcoholic

I wrote a thing! This is Rasey, although it’s a bit…questionable (toxic) and kinda a more angsty thing than a lovey dovey thing. Based off of the song I Love you Like an Alcoholic by The Taxpayers!

It was a heavy, humid night, Raphael Hamato dropping down from his traverse across rooftops to land on the corner of Park and Main Street. He pulled out his phone, sighing; his brother wanted him home as good as an hour ago.

He glanced up at the gravel crunching and caught the eye of a caramel-skinned boy with freckles and messy black hair and a bandanna, who gave him a crooked, embarrassed smile at having being caught staring.

Just that smile sent blood and endorphins running through his veins at maximum capacity— if it went any faster, he could truly testify from his hospital bed that looks gave heart attacks. Leonardo could wait, he decided, crossing the street to talk to the stranger. He was invited over and they listened to the boy’s records while talking about nothing and everything at the same time.

It was so amazing to have someone like Casey in your life; the duo met at that place every night, and soon even dangerous men in the shadows played audience to their nighttime adventures of vandalism, kicking ass, and just being stupid teenagers who probably wouldn’t ever make it to college, and even the meanest among them had a little shine in their eyes when the duo walked by.

This particular night, they just walked, holding hands and talking about good tattoo places and cities better than the one they were in— maybe if they were alive long enough they’d move in together in one of those cities —and Casey stopped walking, cupping Raph’s face and staring down at him. And of course, with his Hamato luck, the rain opened up the sky as their lips collided to get

One last kiss…

***

Raphael never should have let Casey meet his family. Raph knew he loved Casey so much it felt like it made his heart bleed. He felt addicted, especially now, like a fucking alcoholic, the way this shit was hurting him but he couldn’t stop it.

He knew Casey liked April and it made him sick to think about, made him sick when Casey would come into Raph’s room with her lipstick on his neck, but that feeling always disappeared when the ravenette kissed him or held his hand.

He needed Casey. He needed him like he needed a broken leg. It hurt and they argued often, Casey swearing he still loved Raph— which he knew, but April was still a problem —and after any argument, they fucked and never talked about it until they fought again. It didn’t do jack shit.

Raph stared at his ceiling, thinking of the last time he’d seen Casey. They’d finally ended things on

One last kiss…

——

Casey had been getting off a late shift at his part time job and attempting to recover from how it’d drained him. As he got off the bus, he crumpled up the bus pass and tossed it into the gutter before looking around.

His gaze caught on a handsome dark skinned stranger that was standing on the corner. Those green eyes were compelling; magnetized. Looking back, Casey wonders if he’d lost them when he got older. The two walked together and seven blocks in, the ravenette’s fingers brushed the other’s hand. Casey blushed while Raphael laughed, but he seemed a little sad.

Casey Jones was never one to jump a ship, but to this day, he can still say that he absolutely knew he was six steps in when he fell into him.

One last kiss…

***

Casey did like April, yes, but he loved Raph too. He’d never want to hurt him. Casey’s heart hurt and he knew he should do something, but he was addicted, his love akin to an alcoholic’s.

After every single fight they had, the two fucked, Casey listening to the other’s breaths and running fingers through that hair. It made him feel worse and worse every time. He really needed to end things, and they both knew it, which was why Raph would cry during fights and Casey would go quiet then. But he needed Raph like he needed a gaping head wound.

Now the ravenette stared out of the window of his apartment in a city the duo had considered moving to, staring out at that dark street and wished they’d kept in contact as he thought of how when they’d ended things, in the same place as their first, it rained yet again as they had just

One last kiss…

(I love you like an alcoholic)

[kayhi808]

Perfect Match - Part 5

Bill and I just got seated at a table in the back of Lil' Frankie's. It was a couple blocks away from my building in the East Village, so we decided to walk there. It was a nice evening, not too humid. We definitely worked up an appetite, because everything on the menu sounded delicious. We got a couple of pizza's and a bottle of wine. I can't remember the last time I chose to go out on a date. I've met up with men my father or grandfather wanted me to meet. Potential husbands. Bill is different.

"Where'd you go after you left with your family?" The place is pretty busy & it's noisey enough that our conversation can't be overheard.

I confide in him, "We went back to my grandfather's place. He was not happy."

"Were you ok??" Billy finger tilt my head up to meet his gaze & I see his concern.

"I wasn't the one he was mad at. He was upset with my father. That he hit me. The situation with you. I told you he doesn't think I can run New York. That no one will listen to me because I'm a woman."

"That's short-sightedness on their part if they believe, truly believe that. Being narrow minded won't grow a business. It'll turn stagnant."

Nodding my head, "I learned everything from my Nonno. The Syndicate is so…archaic. The head of family needs to be a man. My father will marry me to someone he can control & manipulate. So he can control New York as well as business my grandfather still maintains in Italy.

"You're ok with an arranged marriage?"

"I was brought up knowing this. This is how it's done in this life. It's business."

Billy laughs, "You are a different type of woman," drinking his wine.

"I made it clear to grandfather that I want New York for myself. I'm not marrying anyone my dad's picking out. He'd stick me with some asshole & I'll be trapped at home popping out babies. Then I'll be under my father & husband's thumb. Fuck that."

"What'd your grandfather say to that?"

Frowning, "I won't marry without his approval." Sigh. "I don't really want to talk about this anymore."

"I'm sorry, Angel."

*****

The months pass and Billy & I have been able to spend more time together. It's been really nice getting to know him. Some evenings he'll drop by the club or restaurant that I'm working at, have a meal or drink and wait for me to get off work. Billy is currently waiting for me at the bar so I gather my things to leave when I hear my name being called. Shit. It's one of the guys my father tried to pawn me off on. "Paulo. How have you been?"

"Good! Just returned from Italy. I saw your father while up there."

"How nice." I try to sidestep him but he cuts me off. "Paulo?"

"I was thinking you and I should get together..."

"No, thank you. Excuse me, please." I go to step around him and he stops me by grabbing my arm.

"Don't be rude," he spits out, squeezing my arm harder.

"Take your hands off me." Out of the corner of my eye I see Billy walking over. I easily break Paulo's hold and step away. This pisses him off so he tries to grab me again. I pull him, following through with his own momentum and he ends up on the floor. Bill's there & steps on the side of his knee. With pressure Bill can crush his knee. Knees aren't made to bend that way.

"Uh uh uh. Stay down."

"Are you fucking dumb, freak? You got a death wish? Do you know who I am?"

I lean over him and hiss, "You forget who I am!? Don't you ever lay hands on me again. You're no longer welcomed here. Get out before I have security throw you out." Bill releases him & steps back, pulling me behind him.

"Stupid bitch! It's no wonder Tony is trying to get rid of you. Manhattan isn't even enough to buy you a husband. Fucking whore!" You dickhead! I don't even have a chance to respond. One second Paulo was spouting his bullshit, the next he's gasping and gagging because Billy punched him in his throat.

We leave him on the floor. Security will deal with him. Billy steers me out of the lounge, with his hand on the small of my back. We get into the elevator, that will take us to the garage. "You good?"

"Fine." The rest of the way home is in silence. My mind is going over what kind of revenge I can take on Paulo. This is the type of meatheads my father thinks he can marry me off to. Never. Ever. I'm shaken out of my thoughts by Billy's cough. I turn to him & his posture is relaxed but his expression is hard. "Thank you...for back there."

He turns to me & gives me his cocky smirk. "Of course." I can't help but smile back & he grabs my hand & kisses my knuckles.

*****

Billy has been out of town on business. It's been a little over 2 weeks and I'm surprised at how much I miss him. I don't expect him to check-in or anything. He's working.

Which makes it an even better surprise to find him at my front door. "You're back!" Grabbing him by his shirt and drag him inside the apartment, I'm lifted into a kiss, his mouth devouring.

"Hey, Angel." He whispers against my lips. I give him a quick kiss and bury my face in the crook of his neck. He smells so good. He hasn't put me down, my feet dangling. He puts me down when we reach the couch.

"When did you get back? I pull him to sit next to me.

He picks up my braid & starts wrapping it around his fist drawing me closer, "A few hours ago." He pulls my braid until i'm leaning up against him & I drop my cheek against his chest. I feel him kiss the top of my head. "I fucking missed you."

I look up at him, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, "Did you?"

He frowns, "Yea...what's wrong?"

I squeeze my eyes shut, but keep talking. "I'm just going to tell you. I've been thinking a lot on how to bring this up...but...

"You're pregnant."

"What?! NO!" You laugh. "No. I'm not pregnant." I sit up and move away from him & he frowns, but keeps his hand on my leg.

"What's going on?"

Just say it.

Spit it out.

I feel like I'm going to throw up.

"Will you marry me?"

I see the shock on his face & he may even look a little nauseous. "I think I'd rather have you pregnant."

@idaofinfinity @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @e-dubbc11

[mangodestroyer]

I know I've only been in one relationship, and I've been single for a while now, but I just can't stop thinking about how my ex kept telling me that I deserve to be beaten up. Like, it's actually seriously disturbing me lately.

Ig I didn't think much of it at the time. I thought that maybe she was right and that I was saying stupid and unintentionally offensive things to deserve it (I'm neurodivergent). One time in particular stands out as strange to me, though, because all I'd said was that French and Italian are romance languages, and therefore have similarities. I only pointed it out because I did learn a little bit of French long ago, and we were discussing at least visiting Europe, so learning some of the languages there probably wouldn't be a bad idea. I said that I thought French would at least make me more familiar with how romance languages work.

She then went on a rant, "Italian and French aren't the same! I dare you to say that us Italians! You're going to get beaten up!" (She's American, just with lots of Italian ancestry). I stressed that I said they shared SIMILARITIES. They both evolved from Latin. Both countries are near one another. That they definitely aren't the SAME, but that, naturally, the languages and the countries themselves would have more in common with each other than they would with Japan. It... was just something I was taught in school. Even recently, while taking a course in German, the instructor constantly compared it to English and talked about cultural similarities/how German culture is present in certain parts of the U.S. She just kept accusing me of saying both countries were the same and that I would get beaten up over it. I just dropped it by that point. Decided I was wrong and that maybe this really was a horrible and sensitive thing to talk about.

It wasn't even the only thing that happened that day. I just remember the discussion being exhausting and wanting to be done with it. We were also, yet again, talking about where we should move. Discussions where all my input would be seriously debated, rejected, or forgotten about. At one point, she suggested we move to Italy. I was just like, "Sure." Not really caring or taking it seriously because I knew we'd just be discussing some other place next week because everything was always over-discussed and forgotten about. All I got in response was, "Really? I thought you hated hot places." Which I do. I genuinely don't handle heat well. There was no compromising and meeting in the middle though. I tried recommending places with milder weather where we'd both be happy and didn't want to live in a red state because we're both queer and liberal. She'd ALWAYS suggest stupid hot and humid states that were super conservative.

And that was that. It just felt like we were somehow always getting into arguments. If I wanted anything, I was being horrible and selfish. And she was now telling me, pretty regularly, that I deserve to be beat up. Thankfully, I woke up at some point and left very soon when the last one started happening.

But what the fuck? Why would you even want to continue dating someone you think deserves to be beaten up? Why would you even want to associate with them? Like, say I truly am this horrible, thoughtless individual. And I truly do inspire justified rage in others. Why would you even be attracted to me at that point? Why would you pressure me to move in with you if I'm such a problem? If someone has pissed me off that badly, I would do everything to just avoid them!

And what would have happened if I moved in with them? They were already so critical of me when we weren't living together, and suggesting that I deserve physical harm for speaking. In fact, she was starting to get annoyed with me doing just that. At all. Even if it was innocent. She'd also started telling me that certain hobbies would just not be acceptable. Got mad at me for not liking everything she liked. We were already watching everything she wanted to watch (if I had suggestions, they were shot down, and I just shrugged and said, "Okay.") I pretty much had to beg her to take me to this place she'd promised to take me to for MONTHS. So many excuses for why we couldn't, and why we should have or do something else that I really wasn't that interested in (a typical spaghetti dinner at home, with her dad who was also super critical of me, instead of the assume Chinese restaurant she kept going on about)... until she begrudgingly just did it finally.

Look, I guess I just didn't think it could ever be me. I thought I would have known better than to pick such a partner since I had a bad childhood. I thought I was better at sniffing out toxic individuals and knew what to look out for. After doing loads of research after the fact, I now realize how wrong I was. Now, I really DO know better, but I also now know I'm not immune. There is no foolproof way of completely avoiding an abusive partner. Most of them hide it in the beginning. Some can hide it for YEARS. My ex didn't even have a single pink flag until about two months after talking to her. I never thought I'd have a partner who could possibly be capable of physically abusing me (it could have easily gotten to that point). I didn't realize how common it truly is. And I never imagined in a thousand years that I could so easily become battered and scared because of a relationship. And also, I'm very free-spirited and liberal. How did I forget who I was as a person and start accepting a more traditional and submissive role?

Meanwhile, I am now living on my own. Sharing a suite with some roommates. No one threatens to hurt me or tells me I deserve to be hurt. In fact, no one seems to mind that I exist near them. I can read or watch what I want and it isn't an issue. Same with life plans. I can do what I want with those too.

I still can't imagine getting into another relationship. I was likely threatened with physical harm while in one, and that is now enough to turn me off from the idea. I'll admit, I did sometimes crave one after breaking up. I've since seen some people who seem happy with partners they've known for so long. But I've also known of so many horribly abusive relationships.

Now all I imagine in a relationship is sacrificing my own happiness for someone else. Being pushed to do things I don't want to do. Letting go of my goals and ambitions because they're "getting in the way." Having a partner who doesn't actually love me, just settled for me. Being financially abused. BEING HIT! No fuck that. Fuck all of that!

I'd much rather be alone. Even if being on my own can sometimes be scary. Even if it means I have to take risks to make it all work out (because let's face it, having a partner would make things easier financially, if they're reasonable). Sure, I'll likely take on more debt living on my own and have to work harder. I could also easily take on debt with a financially abusive partner. But at least now I'd be taking on debt for things I see value in. Such as undergraduate and/or graduate degree, which will increase the odds of a good-paying job. And who's going to tell me I can't have at least a Master's? Tell me I'm taking too long with my Bachelor's?

I'll take it over the supposedly superior path of having a partner.