Random 90s Jason newsted HCS!!!
He’s not exactly opposed to settling down,he divorced Judy not to long before you met,but when you do meet OH HE IS DOWN BADDD! He constantly flirts with you and always wants to be around you,if you are a roadie he will always “accidentally do something to his bass” so he can spend time with you,you guys end up talking for hours on end about your music influences and how the other guys kinda get on your nerves.
He won’t ask you out straight away,he will probably wait a few months to figure out the feelings he is feeling for you,weither its lust or he actually likes you,once he does figure it out though…he’s a gentleman,he will take you out to your favourite restaurant and you guys will go on a typical first date followed by either walking around the city for a bit or him taking you up to the edge of the city so you can see the sunset on the skyline,he would actually be so nervous,he’s constantly stuttering over his words and doing that shy smile which you think is adorable! By the end of the night you end up in his arms,he really wants to kiss you there and then but he waits until at least the second date,he manages to sneak in a peak on the lips when saying good night though.
He’s not to much of a big spender,more of a small thoughtful gift kinda guy,he will take mental notes of your favourite food orders and drinks even before you were together,and always brung them to you on a hard day,he also almost every week buys you flowers “because you deserve it” he will make mixtapes of the songs you listened to together,he has about 50 of them in total,all kept safe in a box.
When the time comes where you two get intimate,he can be either quite rough or very very loving and soft…it honestly depends on the situation you guys are in,if he has just come home from a long tour,with the guys constantly bullying and being mean to him,he can sometimes be a bit rough,saying stuff like “your mine,you belong to me and only me” as he sets a rough pace,or he can be the opposite and just want validation of how much you love him,and you spend the whole day under the sheets making sure he knows how much he means to you and how much you love him. On special occasions,he always pulls out the big guns,roses on the bed,candles,bubble baths,you name it he’s probably done it for you at some point.
He always will let you borrow his hoodies (even if they are too small for you) if you are insecure about the fact you are bigger than him he will always find a way to make you not feel insecure about yourself,he loves you and he will constantly tell and show you that.
He will always let you run your fingers through his hair when he had the long hair,he knows how much it grounds and calms you down after a long day
He’s always so goofy,you guys could be having a serious conversation and he will turn it into something funny,and you love that about him,he’s never failed to make you laugh after a hard day,or make you laugh until you are crying over something stupid you both somehow found funny. There has even been times where you had to stop mid sex because he was making it so hard not to laugh…
That’s all I can think of right now 😭 I love him sm
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my hand slipped and i wrote 2K of About To Be Cheating Cheaters buddie (sorry tommy!). here's one half of what i've gotten down so far.
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“That's why I'm here, hermano. To make your drunk ass drink lots of water, and to stop all that spiralling shit in its detrimental tracks. If you haven't figured it out by now, I don't much like things that hurt my family.”
Eddie's head is still spinning.
“Hermano? Really Buck? I've only ever been a brother, never had one. But I'm pretty sure any brother of mine wouldn't look a lick like you.”
Dios, Eddie is so, so drunk, and such a horrible person for being so, so glad that Buck is here, with Eddie, instead of someplace with his boyfriend that Eddie definitely does not want to be thinking about.
Eddie needs Buck like oxygen right now because Eddie is a pathetic mess. What the fuck would some perfect pilot that's built like a brick shithouse know about being a pathetic mess? Screw you, Iceman—Buck and Eddie are the Maverick and Goose of this movie, fuck you very much. Always have been. Always will be.
Buck's eyebrows are trying to migrate and join up with his hairline. “Oh, really? What, I'm not good-looking enough to be a Diaz? Is that it?”
That is very much not it.
Eddie teases, “Aw, guapo, you worried you're not pretty enough for me?” because he clearly left his last bit of sanity in the hook and ladder down on Main. He feels like he's having an out of body experience, looking down on himself from up on the ceiling and can practically see his blood fizzing beneath his skin like someone injected popping candy into his veins while he wasn't looking.
What the fuck is he doing?
Buck isn't as drunk as Eddie, but he suddenly looks stone cold sober, blinking furiously through whatever emotions are gripping him right now. Eddie can usually tell what Buck is feeling without having to so much as look at him, but there's currently so much candied rum in his system that it's numbing his higher brain function.
“Uh, that's, uh—it's—that's not exactly what I was getting at, Eddie,” Buck stumbles, trying to right himself from the suckerpunch.
“So what exactly are you getting at, Evan.”
Eddie never uses that name. Not once before telling Buck about changing his will, and never since. He'd only opted back in that hospital room to call Buck by what is printed on his birth certificate to get his full attention, so he understood that what Eddie was telling him was really fucking important. Back when Eddie had very almost told Buck how he feels about him, before bailing on the notion at the last millisecond like the chicken-shit he is and always has been.
Tommy calls Buck Evan. Only ever calls him Evan. As if he knows the first fucking thing about Eddie's best friend! Eddie thinks that at this exact moment in time, regardless of how the guy is supposed to be his shiny new pal, he might just despise Tommy Kinard with every fibre of his being. Who the hell does he think he is, flying in on his helicopter like every day is leg day, with his stupid, funny fake-mouth-static and those stupid, handsome cheekbones, pissing all over Eddie's territory with his probably Incredible Hulk sized dick and trying to take Eddie's Buck away from him?
You're mine, he thinks. Almost says it, too. And he might say it yet, if Buck keeps on squirming as beautifully as he is right now, the raging heat of his twitchy body searing into Eddie's side like a branding iron that states If Lost Return To Evan Buckley.
And I'm yours, he thinks, and knows it to be true. Knows he could make it true, that it could maybe be everything, potentially, if only Eddie stopped being such a yellow-belly.
Fuck Kinard. Fuck all of them that have come before and after Eddie. None of them have loved, or love Buck the way he does. None of them. Eddie knows this because he loves Buck so much it somehow fortifies his heart to make it able to force its way through the spaces between his cracked rib cage and break free to beat wildly in double-time, bleeding, bleeding, bleeding.
Eddie, feeling drunker by the second, hasn't looked away from Buck in a hot minute—Buck who now looks like he might be having a minor stroke. Stretching across to plop his glass clumsily onto the coffee table and missing the coaster by a Texas mile, Eddie then dries any possibility of lingering water droplets from his moustache with a clunky swipe of his thumb and forefinger, before turning to face Buck with a lot more cock-surety than sense.
Buck is Eddie's best friend. His partner. The man who loves his kid. The man who Eddie gave his kid to because they both love his kid that much. He's the lunatic who has unofficially moved in with Eddie—because Eddie has driven their kid away with his epic levels of bullshit—even though he currently has a boyfriend.
Buck, Buck, Buck, who Eddie is now positive should be his boyfriend.
Licking his lips, he feels like he's forgetting something. Like maybe all of the reasons he's steered himself clear of this iceberg for so long—only he's far too drunk, and far too selfish, to try to remember that or care.
Buck swallows, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, and Eddie wants fervently to get his teeth and tongue around it. Then he's muttering, “Eddie, I just meant—”
“Yeah?” Eddie asks, begs, demands.
His fingertips have found the soft fabric of Buck's deep blue waffle-weave shirt, where it's covering the expanse of his chest. He's trying to get to his heart, he realises, feeling blindly for any sign of double-time, wanting to taste the blood in its chambers the way Buck has tasted Eddie's.
“Yeah,” Buck breathes, mirroring Eddie which doesn't make a lick of sense apart from the fact that it makes perfect sense, to Eddie.
Eddie's cheeks are burning but he thinks fuck it, throwing the both the extinguisher and life ring overboard and going full steam ahead.
.
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Logan and Max have another talk, or 'does kissing count as free therapy?'
Part 2 of whatever this was. I couldn't fall asleep last night because of how hard I kept thinking about these two. I blame @girlsdads for giving me the brainrot in the first place.
cw: the tiniest bit of implied sexual content
It's another bad race. Fucking 16th, only ahead of the two Saubers, and of the Haas and Alpine that had crashed each other out. There was no reason why his pit stop had to be 4.3 seconds, when Alex's had been 2.7, no reason why he had been fucked over by not one but two undercuts because of shitty strategy, no reason why Alex's side of the garage had to be celebrating 8th place while his was sullen and quiet.
Logan fears he's going to throw up when he steps in and James claps him on the shoulder, saying sorry, next time, as if Logan doesn't know his contract is on the line. Fucking. Next time?!
Logan feels like he's trying to swim with his hands tied behind his back, desperately trying to make it to shore. Nobody cares he's drowning.
He can barely look up during the debrief, feels like he's choking the whole time on the words nobody is saying. As soon as he's free, he escapes, fumbling for his phone as usual. Only this time, he doesn't call his mom.
Are you free?
Max has his motorhome this weekend, and Logan doesn't wait for an answer before heading over. If he doesn't answer, he'll just take a walk.
Yes come over
He's knocking on Max's door before he can rethink it, before all these feelings catch up on him and he decides he's going to break down alone instead. When Max opens his door, Logan immediately regrets it. He's wearing a black t-shirt, hair styled, looking ready to go out. Of course he's heading out, he has a win to celebrate. Unlike Logan. Who should have just gone home.
He opens his mouth, ready to apologize and turn around, when Max's hand closes on his shoulder, his mouth downturned with what would be worry, if it wasn't absurd for Max Verstappen to be worried about him.
"Come in," Max says, doesn't leave space for arguments when he pulls Logan inside, closing the door behind him.
For a long moment they just look at each other, as Logan's waves lap at his neck. He doesn't know why he's here anymore.
"Are you okay?" Max's hand is still on his shoulder. Logan feels like he'll keel over if he takes it back.
"I might be out of a seat."
It's not an answer to Max's question, it's not even what Logan meant to say, it's not something he should be telling to the competition, but really. Logan is barely Max's competition at all, and who wouldn't know that after this season's disaster? Nobody is counting on him to race next year.
He waits for Max to say something, even if it's just empty platitudes, but the other just squeezes his shoulder and nods, and suddenly it's much harder to hold back his tears.
"I just..." he breathes in, willing his voice to not crack, "I don't know what I am doing wrong."
It comes out more desperate than he meant it to, but he's just so tired and upset, and nobody is seeing him drown. Why is nobody paying attention?
"You have a shit car, get bad strategy calls, and have a teammate with years more of experience. You are not the one doing it wrong."
Max says it so matter of fact, as if he's the one driving the shit car, the one with the better teammate, the one having to fight through the back of the field with no success, and suddenly Logan is angry. He shrugs Max's hand away, fists clenching. What does Max know about being the second driver in a bad team? How dares he say he knows Logan's hunger?
"Fuck off," he spits, wrapping his arms around himself to hide the way his hands are trembling. He shouldn't have come.
"You have potential, you are not doing it wrong," Max says again, stubborn and bull-headed as always, jaw set and eyes clear. Logan's anger spikes again. Max Verstappen, the prodigy child, talking to him about wasted potential? This must be a joke. He scoffs, ready to turn around and leave, but Max grabs him again, gets a hold on his elbow and keeps him where he is.
"Why are you angry?" he asks. And yeah, this must be a joke, for sure. Why is Logan angry? Why is he angry?!
"You don't get to..." he starts, but Max interrupts him, squeezing his elbow.
"No. Why are you angry?"
"The team..."
Max takes a step closer, narrowing his eyes.
"Not the team, I do not care about the team. Why are you angry?"
As if there was a right answer to the question that Logan isn't getting! It's his own anger! And Max doesn't care about the team? Of course he doesn't, it's not his team fucking up! Why can't Logan be angry about the team?!
"Alex gets..."
"No. Why are you angry?" Max interrupts again, steadfast in a way that grates on Logan's nerves.
They're too close now, and for a second Logan entertains the idea of punching three times world Champion Max Verstappen. Anger burns in his chest, and suddenly, without knowing who closed the gap, they're kissing. It's not a nice kiss, all teeth and spit, and it almost feels the same as the punch he hasn't thrown, until Max moves his hand from his elbow to his waist, the other one coming up to cup the back of his neck, turning his head slightly. Gentling him.
His anger is back in his lungs, but it's no longer anger, it's back to salt water, and Logan is drowning again. He breaks the kiss, gasping, but Max doesn't let him go.
Logan doesn't remember the last time someone held him like this, like being here matters.
"Why are you angry?" Max asks again, breath soft against Logan's bitten lips. He smells vaguely like minty toothpaste.
"Because..." he hesitates, but at this point he might as feel say fuck it, and give it all. All his fleshy insides in Max's hands, bleeding on the floor between them. "Because I could do better, but I can't do it like this."
This time Max nods. "You could do better."
And Logan knows his parents and friends have said it before, have kept saying it for years. Knows his time in Formula 2 speaks for itself. But it's different, to have Max say it like that, so surely. It's a different kind of validation, and a different kind of heartbreak, because they both know his time to prove it is running out. It's hard to breathe again.
"It is good to be angry. It makes you want to take it," Max says, maybe mistaking the way his breathing has gone funny. But Logan doesn't feel angry anymore. He's tired, and scared, and lonely. He drops his head on Max's shoulder, who moves to card his fingers in his hair, bearing his weight with ease. Logan wishes anything would come easy to him instead.
"I don't know how to be angry," Logan confesses. He doesn't want to say it, doesn't want to disappoint Max, but he disappoints better than he lies anyway. What's one more person.
"That is of course still okay," Max says, instead of some sort of rebuke Logan is expecting. For a second, he thinks about the stories of Max's childhood, of angry men and steel hands. Max's fingers are gentle in his hair.
"What do you want right now?"
It's too big of a question. Logan wants his seat to be safe, he wants to end in the points, he wants a good car, he wants to not feel so distant from everyone else, he wants to go home. He wants someone to tell him it will be alright and mean it.
He shakes his head, forehead dragging against Max's t-shirt. Disappointing again.
Max holds his hair a little tighter, uses the grip to pull Logan up, to make him open his eyes.
"What do you need?"
And it's the same, but it is different, and Logan needs...he needs...
"You can take it. What you need." Max sounds so sure of it, Logan can almost believe it. Maybe Logan doesn't know how to take, doesn't know how to fix it, but here, now, he at least knows what he needs.
"I need to be better," he says, words bleeding out from his split-open chest. "I need to be good."
They both know what Logan means, because the thing with Max is, that it's always about racing, even when it isn't, and it is also always both at the same time.
Max nods, letting go of his hair, and Logan pushes him around, back against the door. Gentle, because he needs to be, but firm, because he wants this.
He eases himself to his knees, and feels Max's hand cup his cheek. His raspy voice isn't disappointed, or pitying, or even sad when he speaks, only fond. A little proud.
"Good boy."
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The muses who don't think they deserve love.
@effigist asked: "I can't believe you're still sticking around." ash 4 tobias
❛ Oh? Your opinion of me was that bad? What, thought I wanted to torment you too and figured I'd eventually move on to someone else when the novelty of you wore off? ❜ Although framed as an inquiry (quite on the nose with its contents no less, but intentionally so in order to prove he understands where the gang leader is coming from), the question posed is merely rhetorical and the answer to it should be obvious to anyone with a working brain. It would have been more of a surprise had Ash, forever stuck in a violent cycle of misfortunate abuse as he's come to learn during their time together, not viewed the new mafioso's intrusion into his life as a threat, a bomb intended to blow up after its timer had ran out or tossed onto the next unfortunate victim before it could finish its countdown in Ash's life, as all the others had presumably done.
Yet they have met many a moons ago and the time since has steadily passed from one day, to one week, to one month and then to several, and still Tobias' presence in the blonde's entourage remains a constant without so much as leaving a single clue about what his so-called "real" motive for sticking around might be. It's no wonder, then, that his attempts to create and preserve a friendly relationship between them are stared at with increasing suspicion despite his existence being allowed and sometimes even sought when Tobias least expects it. Perhaps he should have been clearer about his reason from the beginning, but he frankly doesn't believe Ash would have taken a stranger's words for granted at the time, considering how as far as he can tell, the other teen is facing difficulties in taking his words as the complete truth even now. It's hard to blame him for it, though, when their interactions remind Tobias of his very own self from a few years past, from back when he'd first been thrown into a fancy cage under the guise of an orphanage with what he'd viewed as enemies, only to untimely realize they were meant to be allies.
If Ash now finds himself in a similar position in regards to him as the perceived enemy or ally, there is little the older teen can do to alleviate his worries beyond offering honesty when asked, and maintaining consistency when possible. After all, aggressively pushing the idea that he has no ulterior motive into Ash's face would only lead to more wariness, and backing away to offer him too much space would only act as evidence that, as Ash had originally guessed, he'd always intended to leave. Which, he wouldn't be entirely wrong about, but Tobias has since grown to find the rush from Ash's daily life to be invigorating rather than alienating, and his personality amusing rather than irking. If that's so, then why should he ever abandon the free entertainment he's found himself enjoying, when it's something so rare to come across in the wild? ❛ Well then, what do you make of it now, Ash? Do you want me to pack my bags and leave you alone once and for all? ❜
So instead of pursuing either of the standardized approaches, Tobias simply glances over at the blonde and grins in no different a manner than he typically does. Though he might be in a dissimilar role to that of Shorter's... that guy has managed to win Ash's trust over despite being a fellow underground leader, hasn't he? Which means a chance, however slim, exists for him to eventually receive the same trust as well. Being subjected to a chase for it is merely an added bonus, not a downside that should dissuade him from pursuing his goal (even though he can bet that's exactly what the other had intended for it to be. Sucks to be Ash, he supposes.)
Essentially, what good is there in receiving something without putting in the work for it, and experiencing a fleeting distraction which will soon fade back into the vexing boredom that's so deeply engraved into Tobias' soul? Why should he care to receive something fast, if it'll only end up diminishing its value in his eyes? The more fun alternative is the one that keeps him engaged for the longest, regardless of how dicey the road to his objective might be on it. ❛ 'Cause if so, you should probably start coming up with ideas to make that wish a reality. I don't plan on leaving your side unless you really force my hand, so you've got your work cut out for you. ❜
What has been said until now would likely only prolong the time until Ash's next internal query into his motives, and therefore what Tobias believes he should do is continue by explaining his reasoning, though not bluntly enough to make Ash overthink it and worsen the situation in another aspect, and subsequently keep steadfast to his words by shaping them into actions. Easy enough in theory, but he's certain there will be surprises along the way nonetheless. Ash has had plenty of those in store for him, and it's doubtful he's already ran out of them this early on. ❛ I quite like you, you know? I doubt you've gotten this into your thick skull yet, but you have a natural knack for making me laugh. Don't you think I'd be downright stupid to leave you to the wolves after realizing that? I might be heartless, but even I can grow fond of people who make my life less bleak. That's why you should hurry up and resign yourself to this oh so miserable fate of seeing my face every day. You'll waste your time and arrive at this same conclusion all over again if you don't, but suit yourself if you prefer making things harder on yourself. ❜
The mafioso raises a hand to obnoxiously ruffle Ash's hair as though physically helping the "news" reach the brain working underneath, and he wonders if he should say anything else or simply allow what's been said to get assimilated while taking the heat off of Ash and putting it onto a separate topic for a while. If this open discussion isn't enough... well, patience is the key to success. He's learned that lesson far more times than he can count, so what's adding it once more to his repertoire. ❛ But speaking of sticking around, I was about to go make use of that library card again and borrow a book or two to read over the weekend. Care to join me and hang out some more? Or was this the nicest way you could think of saying you've had enough of me for today? ❜
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