#tom brady is an asshole

[nationalfuckupleague]

Troy Aikman: “Tom Brady, on behalf of all football fans, thank you”

Me and my dad in perfect synchrony: “UHHH, not ALL foot ball fans”

[kelcemenow]

Let's Stay Together.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 2112

Warnings Some strong-ish language and some angst and fluff.

This fic is a request from @fantasywritersstuff and I loved the idea but really struggled to make Travis behave like an asshole! But I think I've done alright with this one! "Hey!! So I have an idea for a request for Travis ! I say him and the reader have a really bad fight/argument and he says something really mean and instantly regrets it and tries anything to get reader to forgive him and in the end they make up !!"

Your eyes scanned over the script on the laptop screen in front of you. Your agent had sent over some scenes for a role in a new movie that the producer and director wanted to see you for and you were intrigued. You had made a name for yourself in your teenage years, starring in Disney movies, usually musical based and after a short break from acting to focus on a singing career, you were keen to delve into more mature characters.

As you read the last few lines, you heard keys jingle by the front door and when it opened, Travis walked in with his practice bag, slightly red-faced and sweaty.

"Hey baby!" He shouted through to the lounge.

You craned your neck in his direction, "Hey! I'm in here."

He made his way to you, leaning down to plant a kiss on the top of your head.

"How was practice?"

He slumped down on the sofa next to you, "Crushed it, baby. You know me, catching shit and running it to the end, man."

You smiled and rolled your eyes, returning to your laptop screen, "Same old, same old?"

"That's right." He shuffled closer, "Whatcha doing?"

"Carl sent me a movie script to look at."

He raised his eyebrows, "Oh yeah? What is it?"

You began to type a response, "It's an action, spy type thing. The role they want me for is the femme fatale sort of woman. It's pretty sexy, actually."

He rested his head on your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck, "I don't mind helping you practice for that.'

You giggled, "I'm sure you don't."

"So, you gonna do it?"

You twisted your mouth, "Maybe, I don't know. I'm asking Carl who else is involved."

"Sounds interesting, baby. You'd kill it." He rose from the sofa, "You thought about what you want for dinner?"

"No, not really."

Travis grabbed his phone from his pocket, "I can order takeout if you want?"

You smiled up at him, "Yeah, sure!"

You were just about to close your laptop when the sound of an email notification chimed. You opened your emails to see a reply from Carl.

After tapping it open, you laughed, "Oh Trav, you'll never guess who I'd be acting opposite?"

Travis stared down at his screen, "Shoot."

"Tom Brady."

There was a silent pause before Travis turned his head to you, "No way. That's crazy."

You breathed another laugh as you read from the screen, "Yeah. Apparently he's branching out into more acting and he's playing one of the male leads."

Travis furrowed his brow, "You can't be serious?"

"Yeah, that's what it says." You pointed to the screen.

"No, I mean you can't be serious about doing it?"

You jerked your head back in confusion, "Why not?"

"Because it's Brady. Babe...I can't watch you getting all freaky with some guy I used to play against. You can't do it."

"Why can't I?

You watched him as he paced the floor, "Because I don't want to see that."

"Since when do you tell me what I can and can't do?"

He stood still for a moment, holding his hands out in front of him, "I told you, I don't want to see you getting fucked by Brady."

You tilted your head to one side in defence, "There isn't even a sex scene, and even if there was, It's acting, Travis."

"It's stupid!" He raised his voice.

"Excuse me?"

"This whole, acting comeback thing that you're trying to do is so stupid. Why can't you just be happy the way things are?"

You closed your laptop quickly, "My job is stupid?"

"Yeah." He breathed as he ran his hands over his buzzed head, "No, no. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant-"

You picked up your laptop and quickly got up from the sofa, "You're an asshole, Travis."

"Baby...Y/N, I didn't mean-"

You cut him off by slamming the bedroom door shut. You could feel the anger rising in your chest and shakiness in your hands. The one person who you needed to support you was Travis. You had supported him through his years playing football but you were bored of being the trophy wife. Staying at home whilst he was away for games, cheering him on in the stands, being on his arm at events. You wanted more and your passion had always been acting.

You stepped out through the doors on onto your balcony area, holding onto the rail and breathing the fresh Missouri air deep into your lungs, desperate to calm down. You stared off into the trees, watching them move gently as you bit down on your bottom lip. You didn't turn around when you heard footsteps behind you, you weren't ready to speak to Travis yet. Instead, you continued to glare straight forward, tightening your grip on the cool metal in your hands.

Travis cleared his throat, "I ordered dinner...your favourite."

"Okay." You said plainly, with no expression in your voice.

There was a moment of silence before you felt Travis' hand on your waist. You twisted away from his touch, hearing him sigh with disappointment behind you before his footsteps signalled that he had left the balcony.

You took another deep breath, filled with hurt but also a feeling of surprise. You had been with Travis since college and married for 3 years. He knew that after a disagreement, all you needed was space. The fact that he followed you outside and attempted to touch you was confusing to you.

"He must really be sorry." You thought to yourself as you turned on your heels and walked back into the house.

As you paced towards the kitchen to make yourself a drink, you noticed that Travis was nowhere to be seen. You peered out of the window to see that his car was also gone. You shrugged your shoulder slightly and opened the fridge, reaching for some orange juice.

As you were flicking through Netflix, the front door opened and Travis walked in, holding a huge bouquet of flowers. You looked at him briefly before turning back to the TV screen. The sofa dipped as he sat down next to you, almost waiting for you for acknowledge his presence. The tension was thick and when Travis cleared his throat, you turned your head slowly towards him.

"Y/N, baby. I am so sorry." His eyes pleaded, his hands held out the flowers.

You gave him a soft smile, "Thank you for the flowers. But it doesn't fix what you said."

"What does then?"

"I don't know." You stood up, taking the flowers from him and disappearing into the kitchen.

______________________________________________________________

The rest of the evening had been exceptionally awkward. You had avoided Travis as much as possible, staying away in separate rooms of the house and when you went to bed, he didn't come with you. Instead, you noticed that he had stayed the night on the sofa. The morning sun shone on his face as he slept, a blanket pulled up to his waist and a cushion under his head.

You continued with your Sunday morning as usual, brewing a pot of coffee and making pancakes whilst singing to the radio. You were halfway through Is This Love by Bob Marley, dancing with the pan in your hand when Travis appeared in the doorway.

"Are any of those for me?"

You picked up two plates from the cupboard above your head, "Sure."

"Does that mean that you've forgiven me?"

You shot him a look.

He held his hands up in defence, "Baby, please. Listen to me?"

"Honestly, I don't know what you can say to make all of this better, so we'd both be wasting our time."

Travis took hold of your hands, pulling them away from the pancakes, "I love you so much and I am a jackass for what I said. Honestly, you are the best thing that I have in my life and I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe jealousy...I don't know. But what I do know is that I will support you in whatever you do."

"Travis, the pancakes are gonna burn."

"I don't give a shit. I will do anything for you to love me again."

You rolled your eyes, "I do love you, that won't stop. I'll always love you. But I can be pissed at you...which I am."

Travis lowered his head just as a song began playing on the radio that made him look back up at you.

"I, I'm so in love with you."

You tried to hold your face straight as he began to sway his hips as he sang.

"Whatever you want to do, is alright with me."

You could feel your lips curling upwards when he pulled you closer, "'Cause you make me feel so brand new, and I want to spend my life with you."

You hid your slight smile by looking at your feet but Travis used his finger to lift your chin, "Our wedding song. Man, what a day that was. You looked even more beautiful that I could ever imagine. I couldn't stop staring at you all day and all night. I just kept reminding myself that I am the luckiest guy in the world. And I was certainly the luckiest guy that night."

You placed your hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down so that your lips were close to his ear, "You'll have to do better than that, big guy. Enjoy your burnt pancakes."

______________________________________________________________

You smiled at Donna, as she returned to her seat next to you at Music Hall Kansas City. Travis and Jason has gotten their Mom up as a special guest for the New Heights Podcast Live Show and she grabbed at your arm.

"Did I do okay?"

"Are you kidding?" You beamed at her, "You were awesome! Did you hear them? They love you!"

The crowd were still cheering as Travis stood up, the microphone held tightly in his right hand.

"Okay, Kansas City. I need y'all to help me out with something now." His left arm was outstretched towards the audience, "You all know my smokin' hot wife is here tonight."

The crowd went wild again as you felt your cheeks burn slightly.

"And your boy Travis has been a jackass."

The noise continued as he hung his head.

"Uh oh!" Jason shouted into his microphone, glancing over to you in you seat, "What did you do, Travis?"

"I said something stupid, man!"

"Is your mouth getting you in trouble again?" Jason asked from his seat.

Travis rubbed the back of his neck, nervously, "I'm in the doghouse, man. So, KC! Can you help me to get back in the good books please?"

You turned to Donna who was grinning at you. The crowd were still cheering so loud that your ears were ringing.

"Oh baby, let's...let's stay together." Travis closed his eyes and sang into the microphone.

You giggled as he began to dance around the stage and the crowd started to join in.

"Lovin' you whether, whether, times are good or bad, happy or sad!"

Jason accompanied by clapping along and Donna placed her hand onto your back, urging you to get onto the stage. Travis held his hand out and beckoned to you. You widened your eyes as you rose to your feet, with help from Donna.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh yeah! Whether times are good or bad, happy or sad!"

You stepped onto the stage, the lights blinding your right side. You smiled at Travis and watched as he continued, urging the crowd to join in louder.

"I, I'm so in love with you. Whatever you want to do, is alright with me." He closed his eyes again and gripped the microphone with both hands as he attempted the high note.

You laughed loudly and walked towards him.

"'Cause you make me feel so brand new, and I want to spend my life with you."

Once you were face to face with him, you placed your hands on his strong jawline, singing back to him.

"Let me say that since, baby, since we've been together. Ooh, loving you forever, is what I need. Let me, be the one you come running to, I'll never be untrue."

You pressed a kiss to his lips, without tongues but still just as passionate. His arms snaked around your waist and he lifted you off the ground for a couple of seconds, the crowd reacting with loud cheers.

Once he had lowered you back down onto the stage, he lifted the microphone back to his mouth, "We did it KC!"

______________________________________________________________

I found it so hard to be mad at him...and to stay mad at him! I kept imagining his sad face and I kept melting! I hope this was what you were wanting? And keep the requests coming!!

Taglist @kkrenae

[boston-babies]

Zac followed Chris out “wait up a minute man” Chris sighed and switched Teddy to his other hip “What Zef?” “I’ll talk to Sassy okay? But dude you have got to keep your shit in check. You can’t let Tom get under your skin like this or else he’ll get exactly what he wants”

Chris shook his head “I don’t understand how she doesn’t see how he’s playing her” Zac nodded “for the same reason why she didn’t want to believe you could do what you did last year” Chris looked down “I’m her husband, it’s different” Zac shook his head “no, it’s not and you know it’s not”

Chris shook his head “why do you think she’ll listen to you about Tom?” Zac sighed “because she’s my best friend and she doesn’t have beef with me right now like she does with you” Chris shook his head and walked away “good luck man”

**********

Zac walked back in the house and went back to the kitchen to check on you. “Hey we need to talk Sassy” he looked at Tom then looked back to you “alone”. You nodded and followed Zac to the den. After a few moments, Henry walked in as well. You looked between them “what’s going on?”

Zac sighed “Sassy we love you, please always know that but you need to cut Tom off” your brow furrowed “not you too” he nodded “yes me too, he’s playing you Sassy. Henry and I watched him antagonize Chris so he would make a scene in front of you” you looked at Henry and he nodded “it’s true Sas. He said some pretty vile things to Chris”

Zac continued “he’s trying to get you to to hate Chris and he said he’s going to try to get the kids to hate him to so that he can swoop in and be your ‘knight in shining armor’” You shook your head “he was never like that when we were kids”

Henry stepped closer and put an arm around you “we just want you to be careful y/n. He’s not a good guy” Zac shook his head “why is he back around anyway?” You shrugged “he was in town and wanted to catch up. He said he was going through a divorce with his wife too..” Zac crossed his arms “be honest with me y/n, are you doing this so Chris can feel the same pain he inflicted on you?”

You looked down at your feet “I’m not proud of it but I don’t know any other way to get him to really understand”. Henry pulled you in for a hug “we’ll talk to him sassy. It’s going to be okay”

After a few moments you pulled away and you all walked back out to the kitchen.

*************

A week had passed without incident and the boys were finally back home from spending time with their dad in Maine. They walked through the front door with big smiles and ran right over to give you a hug. They hugged you at the same time and you laughed “hugging you guys like this was a lot easier when you were little” Ryan laughed “we missed you mama” you kissed each of their cheeks and they all made a face while you did “I missed you more” the boys pulled away and Ryan handed you Teddy and you gave him a big hug too “ooo especially you Teddy Bear”

Tom walked in from the kitchen “oh good, the boys are home”. Ryan’s smile dropped immediately “why are you always here?” “Ryan be nice!” You scolded. He rolled his eyes and Brayden spoke up “no but he’s right, why are you always here? It’s not like you’re mom’s boyfriend” Brandon snorted “yeah like that’ll ever happen” Brayden snickered back. You furrowed your brow “okay that’s enough, I don’t know what’s gotten into you guys”

Ryan spoke under his breath “maybe it’s an asshole trying to date our mom” You whipped your head around and looked at Ryan “I heard that Christopher”. Ryan made a face and Tom held his hands up and smiled “okay, I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot. What would you boys say to going to dinner tonight to start over and get to know each other”

Brayden looked at Tom like he had five heads “fuck no”. Ryan put his hand on Brayden’s shoulder “wait Brady..I think that’s actually a great idea”. Brayden looked at Ryan like he’d lost his mind but when Ryan looked back at him, that’s when Brayden saw the mischievous glint in his eyes. It was subtle but Brayden knew his brother was planning something “yeah okay. Sure, let’s go to dinner”

Tom nodded “that’s great, this is gonna be so fun you guys”

******************

They were all sitting at a round table in the middle of the restaurant. The waitress had just walked away after taking their food order and the table was silent. Tom cleared his throat “so, how long are you boys home for?” Ryan rolled his eyes “no I have a better question, what do you want with our mom?”

Tom nodded “I’ll be honest. I really like your mom. A lot; she and I dated for a while until she met your dad-“ Brayden cut him off “yeah you dated for a year when you were sixteen, then mom told us you cheated on her. Then she met dad.” For a flash, you could see the irritation in Tom’s eyes but as quickly as the mask fell, he put it right back up. “What I did was wrong, and I know I hurt your mom but now all I want is the opportunity to make it up to her. To have a second chance.”

Brandon glared “what about your wife and kids?” Tom sighed “my wife and I are actually in the middle of a pretty nasty divorce-look I get you guys are just protecting your mom but I promise she’s in good hands with me”.

The waitress came back with their drinks and they all went silent again. Once she was done, the boys thanked her as she walked away. Tom stood “we can continue this discussion when I get back from the restroom”. He turned and left and the boys just glared.

Brayden looked at Ryan “I don’t like this Ry, I don’t trust him”. Ryan was silent and Brayden could tell the wheels in his brothers brain were turning. Brandon watched as Ryan leaned forward and grabbed the bottle of hot sauce, opened the cap and poured a good amount in Tom’s water. Brayden took the salt shaker next and unscrewed the lid so it would dump all over Tom’s food when he used it.

Ryan noticed that Tom had left his phone on the table. He grabbed it and since there was no passcode, he was able to get in easy. Brayden leaned forward “what are you doing?” Ryan didn’t look up from the phone “shh!-“ he read through some text messages and then dialed the number

“Hi, is this Amelia? Oh no, he’s fine, Im just calling to let you know that your husband is trying to have an affair with another woman. Oh? You’re not divorcing? Well he made it sound like you were in a pretty nasty split? Oh no, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry. No I just felt like you should know what he’s up to. No it’s not a business trip he’s on. Alright well again, I’m terribly sorry. You as well. Good night.” Ryan hung up and placed the phone back right where Tom had left it.

When he looked back over at his brothers, their jaws were dropped and he shrugged.

The food arrived and was placed in front of them and Tom made his way back to the table and sat. “Now, where were we?” He grabbed his water glass and took a huge gulp. Suddenly his eyes went wide and he spit the water out across the table “what the hell?!” Ryan leaned forward “oh geeze, here let’s get you a napkin-“ Brayden leaned forward “here you can have mine-“ Brayden knocked the salt shaker all over Tom’s plate “oops, damn I’m so sorry” Ryan shook his head “honestly Brady-“ Ryan stood and “accidentally’ knocked Tom’s plate on his lap “shit man, I’m just so clumsy today”

Tom glared at the boys “I hope you three brats enjoyed this”

Ryan leaned down and put his hands on the table “you’re gonna leave our mom alone. This? This was child’s play. You haven’t seen me at my worst. So here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna get your shit, get in your car and drive your pathetic ass all the way back to New York. You’re never going to contact our mom again. You got me?”

Tom glared back “what makes you so sure your mom will believe you? You’re the bad one aren’t you? I’m sure she’s real tired of your bullshit. All I have to do is put the right act on and she’ll send you packing Ryan”

Ryan nodded “yeah, I might give her a hard time but I am her son, and she’d never ever believe you over me-“ Ryan glanced down and saw Tom’s phone ringing and looked back up at Tom with a smirk “plus I have a feeling you’re going to be busy going through an actual divorce with your wife”. Ryan stood straight “thanks for dinner. It was a real treat”.

******************

The boys got home about thirty minutes later. They hung up their coats and walked into the kitchen and saw you, Tanner, Henry, Addison and Zac sitting at the table. You looked up when you heard them walk in and rushed over to them. You pulled each of them in to a big hug “I’m so so sorry”

Brady pulled away “no mama, you have nothing to apologize for. He’s the asshole for playing you” Brandon nodded along “yeah mama. You had no idea and none of this is your fault”. Ryan hugged you again “and don’t worry about him mama. He won’t be bothering you anymore”

you pulled away and smiled at the boys “how does some ice cream sound?” They each nodded and went right for the freezer. Ryan felt his phone buzz in his pocket and stopped to pull it out to read the text he got. In the background he could hear Brayden digging through the freezer “hey where’s the chocolate strawberry twist?” He looked over and saw Zac eating the last of it “come on man!” Zac laughed “gotta be quicker kid”

Ryan focused on the text and saw it was from his dad.

“I’m so proud of you, good looking out for your mom Ry”

He looked up and nodded with a grin and put his phone back in his pocket and grabbed himself a bowl of mint chocolate and enjoyed the rest of the night with his family.

[oysters-aint-for-me]

i have face-blindness but it’s specific to tom brady. i canNOT remember what his face looks like no matter how many times i see it. i grew up in massachusetts. i still live here, an hour from boston, and yet i could not give a police sketch artist anything like a helpful description. he’s white and has a face. he’s pretty bland. he might have brown hair, but it could be blond. that’s literally all i know. if i walked right into him on the street i’d be like “dude watch it, who the fuck do you think you are” and he’d be like “tom brady” and i’d be like “oh yeah right. asshole.” and i’d stomp away and leave him to just stand there with his brown or blue or gray or green or hazel eyes filling with tears, his small or large hands clenched in fists of room-temperature rage. and i wouldn’t even remember.

[bisexual-yuri]

“Can’t you tell?”

Busdriverr gets credits for songs he ain’t on

And here’s another one 

I wanna meet LA’s native son 

Pentecost, bitches, LA bus driver’s got bitches 

Can’t Messais tell I won’t say it 

Record it, I’ll deny it 

That shit never left my mouth 

Revolve it

Solve it 

Sit the fuck down, clown 

You and me, you legit now 

Sara can’t spell

Reagan, really? 

Ali

Wants to join hell fire club, no city 

Cats fucking in the back alley 

Yowling, screaming, towely 

Ryan was his name, water polo Ricky 

Who gave Scott his hickeys?

It’s a killer deep cut from her Binghamton days

She got degrees and dogs that was strays 

Demon days, gorillaz fans fundamentally 

Logan and Elliott, exes perpetually

Remember me

Ali wants to join the hell fyre club 

White girl, did you heard? Crazy 

Show all signs of blender brain 

ECMC psych ward vet, she clinically insane 

Jacket girlie, Tom Brady, 11 + 12 

Hell Fyre, Los Angeles, homie 

Maybe finally Brooklyn was the first place she moved 

She’s the one who does what behooves her

Everyone scrambles to claim her

Nobody can tame her 

Her name is Allison dot FYRE

Buffalo Baby

Seven one sixty 

Misty 

Water Pokemon training

Lucky lucky licky

Mathy

Talented lady 

Pretty baby 

Kids, if you want to piss off your parents

Show interest in imaginary places

Invest in real estate in art time 

Tell your mother that you’re fine when you’re not

Run the snot 

Ali wants to join the hell fyre club 

White girl, did you heard? Crazy 

Show all signs of blender brain 

ECMC psych ward vet, she clinically insane 

Chris went to Auto, what does that even MEAN

She had mono once, almost ruptured her spleen

Rugby player in dresses, Chris, you’re just preening

Ali has a huge crush on you and you’re dreaming

You heard her screaming

Ran away, reported her, you’re reaming her out in the office

Snitching to Santos

Sorry Chris Chris, you’ll always be haunted by this ghost

Of what might have been

If you had trusted, showed better to love to your friend 

It’s the end of you and me and maybe your career

Sara’s headed to Seattle, it’s all your fault I fear 

She stood up for herself and you bit at her rear 

Ali wants to join the hell fyre club 

She can back that shit up 

Fundamentally 

Upstate Macy’s, rob sonic pep rally 

References sadly 

She’s in love, madly

Two, maybe three Rafaels 

It’s a malady 

R names, at least she’s over Ricardo now 

Tragedy 

He got jokes folks, some bitch named Ortiz 

BUSDRIVER be friends with Ian and Mikey 

Yikes-y! 

I gotta get my own posse 

Hell fire, Aly’s on fire wait wasn’t it Ali with i latín?

Latina, honra la familia 

Trilingual cunt

Wait, ain’t she poly? 

Glot, she gotta talented tongue 

Free for the year

Mung

Bean girl 

Hehe beans 

What does she MEAN? 

Ali wants to join the hell fyre club 

She can back that shit up 

Fundamentally 

References sadly 

She’s in love, madly

It’s a malady 

Young

Black men love her

Claim her, want to tame her 

In Delaware park, Chris and M man 

Guitar player shit, like hot damn 

Suckin’ dick and having small hands 

Rafael from Disco Elysium, Harrier 

Funny, I got that tattoo 

I’m not no fuckin Boston Terrier 

Not from New England, bitch 

I’m no Masshole 

Calling Nate Pinkham, asshole 

Carousel & Windmills, Nick Foles 

Tyler bass kicks a mean field goal 

NFL References again 

He aint even like football like that 

He? That’s Ali, she’s all that 

Ali wants to join the hell fyre club 

She can back that shit up at the drop of a hat 

What, Ali’s a massive fan! 

She’s always got ten backup plans! 

Bro, her name’s Sae Ra, she’s no man 

Not a girl bro, Ali’s just Billscord’s biggest ho 

Chris just doesn’t know when to say no 

Moderator Rizz, love her, poor pages 

She’s a magic user, really, mages 

Wedding bells, Discord van 

Cro-magnon man, don’t be a fan

She ain’t like that man, you just ain’t know her man 

Ali wants to join the hell fyre club 

She can back that shit up 

Ali’s a teacher, no preacher, ban 

Hammer swinger and detective 

She’s a momma bear, real protective 

Jonathan fucked her young, she’s reactive

You prey on her babies, she’ll cut a shiv 

Shank you in jail bitch, Ali ain’t play

You gotta watch what you say 

Ali wants to join the hell fyre club 

She can back that shit up 

Shell bottom from the power

Rachel’s guilty, she feels filthy

Jonathan turned her against me

Maybe those two will finally just fess up and get married

They picked each other over me 

Bye buddy, that ain’t family 

You just look for exquitie ways to hurt me and I’m sick of it 

I ain’t gotta take this shit 

I’m leaving you behind and I won’t look back

You sure love to talk smack for a jewish guy from Brooklyn 

You’re not Bernie bitch, listen 

You have met me, you know me 

New phase in life, most likely

Big name change, I go by Ali 

Writer flighty, not likely 

Never leaving, Troglodyte wins 

Sara’s a dolphin

She sings with no phins 

Jack’s got his tins

Used to sell knives but never atoned for his sins 

Hello Mu from the ether 

IDK how I never met you before

Sorry I got called whore 

Being a girl’s a snore 

Ian loves you man 

He a rapper and more for you man 

Camu Tao, don’t be blue

RIP Mu 

[smokeybrandreviews]

National Disgrace

The current discourse around Caitlin Clark and Angel Reese is the most overtly racist sh*t I've seen since the Magic/Bird nonsense from when i was a kid. LSU beat the sh*t out of Iowa on the way to their first title. Caitlin Clark was in foul trouble the entire time, which means she was outplayed the entire game. Some of that was probably fatigue but that just speaks to the athletic ability, conditioning savvy, and overall depth on that LSU team. No shade toward Caitlin, ma is bad as f*ck. Game recognize game, which is why she hasn't said a f*cking thing about Reese. Caitlin knows she f*cked up. Caitlin knows her team was outplayed. She knows that sh*t talking comes with the game. She knows it so well, in fact, she did the EXACT same thing not two days before, literally for the SAME goddamn reason! Iowa was thumping that Louisville ass!

It’s wild seeing all of these old white men get on television or the internet or in print, and bash a twenty year old black woman over a gesture because the second coming of Larry Bird but with a vagina, got embarrassed on the biggest stage. LSU absolutely dog-walked Iowa to the tune of a seventeen point win. If I'm not mistaken, when Iowa was up fifteen on Louisville, Caitlin told Hailey Van Lith to shut up. ESPN did a whole thing about Clark being the “Queen of Clapbacks.” And rightfully so. Caitlin Clark is a beast. Absolute unit. Ma was putting up historic stat lines all goddamn year. When you win as much as she does, when you dominate like she does, you talk all that sh*t. Why is it so egregious now that Reese has her spot at the top? I’ve heard it’s about sportsmanship, that Clark did the same gesture during a game and not after the W. Why does when the taunt happen, matter? Clark and Iowa got outplayed. LSU was the better team. Angel Reese was the better player. In that moment, for that game, Caitlin couldn’t see Angel and ma let her know about it. Fair is fair.

But this ain’t about the game, which was amazing by the way. This is about how black athletes are perceived in the media. It’s about mask off, blatant racism. Whenever a white athlete does something like this, whenever they get into their feelings and start chirping back and forth, it’s passion. It’s love for the game. Whenever a black athlete does it, it’s disrespectful. It’s thug behavior. It’s disgraceful. White athletes are praised for their leadership, maturity, and intellect. Black athletes are praised for their athletic ability. He can throw far. She can run fast. They told Lamar Jackson to switch to Receiver. The NFL didn’t believe he could lead a team. They questioned his decision making in the pocket. Why? Cats praise Tom Brady for his passion and commitment to the game. Mans yelled at teammates, opponents, and coaches alike. That’s fine. Odell Beckham does a little dance in the end zone and he’s a diva, a primadonna, a problem. Why? What’s the difference, other than the color of his skin?

It’s f*cked up I'm sitting here making this post about some noise outside of the court because, f*ck, that was a game. The narratives around this title were brilliant. The play was inspired. The competition was wonderful. History was made. But none of that matters because a bunch of assholes decided to label a black woman disgraceful for being passionate about a game she’s played her entire f*cking life. Angel Reese beat the best player in Woman’s Collegiate Basketball, to stand on top of that pile as a National Champion. For women, that’s their NBA Finals. That’s the brightest their star will shine and, right now, LSU’s is shining brilliantly. They earned that. They get to talk all the sh*t they want. They are sitting on that throne right now. Lost in all of this ridiculous white noise is the fact that, if Iowa would have won, Caitlin would very realistically be talking the most sh*t. She is the Queen of Clapbacks after all. Bet no one would have anything to say at that point, if that situation came to pass, probably because she would have won the title, Bragging rights come hand-in-hand with victory. Well, Iowa was the one who got that ass thumped by LSU and Angel Reese. Let the National Champions talk they sh*t! They literally earned it!

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

So I may or may not have thought up a whole lotta back story for Jake in that NFL au we've been talking about.

And uh, spoiler alert, I totally did! 😆

Enjoy!

(there are also fixes for the timeline issues we discovered due to the length of an NFL season so that Ronnie can actually end up going into labor at full term after they win the Super Bowl😄)

Jake went to the University of Texas on a football scholarship

Towards the end of his freshman year, he starts dating a girl he met in his Comparative Literature class (Jake is secretly a giant bookworm).

Jake’s always been a hopeless romantic, so he falls for her hard and fast. They end up dating all four years of college and by the end of their senior year Jake is sure she’s The One. Can imagine his whole future with her.

She’s the picture perfect college football girlfriend and when he tells her that he wants to put his name in for the NFL draft she is enthusiastically supportive of the idea.

Senior year rolls around and while he doesn’t win the Heisman there’s still a lot of talk in the world of college sports media and NFL media about his draft possibilities. 

The Minnesota Vikings take him at number 25 in the first round. Not as high as the analysts thought he’d go, but still pretty decent. 

While Jake wasn’t exactly excited to be moving to Minnesota, he was thrilled nonetheless that his dream of playing in the NFL was coming true. His girlfriend on the other hand, was almost embarrassingly vocal about her dislike of having to move to Minnesota. She also kept making little comments about how purple really isn’t her color and that she looks better in a light blue “like that LA Chargers blue”.

Jake’s rookie year in Minnesota is not his best year, both professionally and personally.

Jake and the other rookies quickly realize that playing in the NFL is way different than playing in college and they all struggle to adapt, with Jake taking the longest. Which frustrates him to no end.

At home, his relationship with his girlfriend is starting to crack but Jake refuses to admit it. He’s also refusing to admit the painful truth that his girlfriend wasn’t still with him because she loved it, she was still with him because she loved the idea of being the girlfriend/wife of a professional athlete. 

If he had been truthful with himself, he would have noticed his relationship was headed south based on his girlfriend’s reaction to not having unrestricted access to the account his NFL money went to.

At the end of his rookie year, Jake is traded to the Indianapolis Colts and his girlfriend breaks up with him. She admits to him that this was not the kind of life she envisioned when he said he wanted to play in the NFL. She was expecting a life like that of Tom Brady & Gisele Bundchen (before the divorce lol), hanging out and becoming friends with celebrities and living in a million dollar mansion. 

So Jake starts his second year in the NFL in Indianapolis with a broken and now jaded heart. He decides he’s not going to let anyone get close to him again. No relationships, just fun and done. 

It doesn’t take too long before he’s got a reputation as both a player and the team asshole.

Cue Ronnie showing up a little over halfway through his second year with the Colts.

Jake freely admits to himself that he finds her attractive. During practice he makes comments and remarks that definitely toe the line between appropriate and not appropriate.

But Ronnie gives as good as she gets and Jake starts to admire her for that.

Towards the end of the season, the two of them have definitely become more flirty with each other.

The Colts just miss making it to the AFC Championship that season.

One of the other guys on the team hosts a Super Bowl party for those who are still in town and both Jake (who lives in Indy year round) and Ronnie go.

A drunk kiss or three happens between the two of them.

When sober they admit to each other that they find the other one attractive. With it now the off season, they decide on a no strings attached fwb thing.

Over the next four months, Jake starts to catch feelings. Somewhere along the line, Ronnie has (unbeknownst to her) chipped away at the walls around his heart. (if he was honest with himself, she basically blew them up). 

But he doesn’t want these feelings because the last time he let a girl in, she broke his heart.

And just as Jake is finally starting to think that it might not be so bad to let Ronnie in, that’s when she tells him she’s pregnant (Ronnie taking some antibiotics for strep throat plus one night where they had a bit too much to drink to remember to use backup protection equals oops).

Jake freaks out.

He freaks out because his first thought wasn’t “shit”, his first thought was “our baby is going to be so adorable”. Quickly followed by “this baby is half Ronnie and I already love it” with images flashing in his mind of Ronnie living with him at his place, watching her glow as her bump gets bigger, Jake holding a baby that has his nose and Ronnie’s eyes, watching a toddler run down a hallway, giggling as Jake & Ronnie give chase.

Jake slams the brakes on that train of thought as fast as he can.

Instead what comes out is "Look, we had fun. It was good! But, you know...I didn't sign up for this. I'm not exactly cut out for the parenting life." despite the fact that he’s always wanted a family, always wanted to be a dad. Ignoring how much his heart is breaking again, he just looks at Ronnie and tells her to take care of it.

This happens around mid to end of June. Jake stops talking to Ronnie.

They don’t see each other again until training camp in August.

Jake asks Ronnie if she’s “solved her problem” and that’s when Ronnie tells Jake she decided to keep the baby. He’s secretly relieved and he may or may not have cried when he got home that night.

He still keeps his distance from her because he still refuses to admit to himself his feelings for her. Plus Ronnie has made it pretty clear she doesn’t want or need his help.

And then the rest of it plays out like how we talked about before with Ronnie just starting her second trimester when the season starts.

She ends up staying with Jake at his place because something happens to her apartment - like it catches on fire or mold is found? Or maybe Ronnie starts getting disturbing hate mail from people who don’t think women should be allowed to coach in the NFL or a stalker and the team is like “you need to find someplace safer to live for a while until the police catch this crazy person” and Jake just “casually” offers up one of his spare bedrooms.

Ronnie gets to his place "For someone who lives by themselves, why is your place so big?"

"I don't know. I didn't want to deal with buying a house so I told my agent to deal with it. Just said it had to have a pool, privacy, and enough room to have parties. Oh, and a nice bathroom."

INDY THIS IS MY FAVORITE THING ON THE FUCKING PLANET I AM SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP YOUR MIND I CAN'T

new and improved timeline y'all she's going on the masterlist

the broken heart?? the guardedness to protect himself?? being in the NFL not what he thought it would be?? him falling for ronnie despite every attempt not to (a running gag with this man i see)?? i am SCREAMING

[jingles-miserably]

WHO S THAT BARBER ASSHOLE WHO KILLED PEOPLE?? TOM CLANCEY?? TOM HINKY?? TOM BRADY?? IT WAS THOMAS SOMETHING I THINK

[timeisacephalopod]

It really strikes me that people treat fanfic authors as if they don't know anything about writing, which is weird because even before I wrote fic I cowrote a stage play I got an award for back in high school, poetry my teachers would frequently compliment, and my own original ideas in novel format- which structurally you learn in high school it's not some fucking Devine Knowledge no one knows about? If you didn't learn what an inciting incident is and the basic structure of a novel and tropes like The Heroes Journey by eleventh grade then fine but don't project that onto a format of writing you have some weird vendetta against. After that I went to uni and wrote dozens of academic essays for my degree, some of them quite extensive in length and obviously there's technical skill involved in that writing.

Besides that after I stopped writing fic I learned how to write screenplays and wrote like 3 episodes of TV shows in film school- which by the way used other showrunners ideas because writing an episode of an existing show is how you build a portfolio. That's right fanfic hating assholes, if you want a tv writing job pull out ur fuckin fanfic out so your ability to capture the voice of another show can be judged. I also wrote a movie script in school and I highly doubt I'm some Special Snowflake among fic authors, so where the hell does this idea that fic authors are all 13 year old yaoi obsessed morons who've never even seen a book their whole life and never learned even the most basics of writing like what an adjective is come from?

I know people who hold this idea don't seem to think they're misogynists but they treat fic identical to how people treat romance and erotica outside of Fic World and I highly doubt two areas in which women are the ones doing most of the writing would get targeted with the exact same rhetoric of "that's not real writing" for completely different reasons if the arguments against the fiction are basically the same. Because obviously Real Literature doesn't have romance, sex, or women writing it.

Regardless, it's utterly asinine to assume fic authors have no idea how to write because they're writing fic- like actually no, technically speaking I'm qualified to write all kinds of shit as far as what I know, so I don't much appreciate that my writing a single form of writing somehow means I have no skills or training just because Ive written that particular format according to some people. It's deeply insulting and I really do wonder if people think people who write as a hobby should even be allowed to have that hobby if theyre this obsessed with publish or don't ever even LOOK at a word. Like not only is it insulting to suggest that my hobby is somehow some particularly god awful drivel, but apparently those people don't know what a hobby is given that zero other hobbies get treated like this. No one walks around telling people if they aren't playing professional sports they can't play them at all- we just know that normal dudes playing football probably aren't Tom Brady and aren't looking to be either.

[keywestlou]

WHAT HAPPENS IF NATIONAL DEBT LIMIT BREACHED

WHAT HAPPENS IF NATIONAL DEBT LIMIT BREACHED - https://keywestlou.com/what-happens-if-national-debt-limit-breached/The most important issue facing the U.S. today is dealing with the national debt limit. Its ceiling is being reached. It must be paid. Failure to do so will, not may, result in economic disaster the likes of apparently not comprehended by Congressional Republicans nor the American people. Default will make 1929 pale in comparison. There have been a number of articles written this past week setting forth the consequences of a default. One of the best is that published in the New York Times 1/13 titled "The U.S. May Finally Breach The Debt Ceiling. Here's Why That Would Be Very Bad." I am analyzing the problem in a two fold fashion, as the New York Times did. Just approaching the debt limit can hurt the economy. It happened in 2011. Congressional Republicans and Obama engaged in a standoff. It was resolved just in time to actually avoid hitting the limit. The result nevertheless had dire consequences. Coming close rattled investors, consumers and business owners. Stock prices plunged. Markets became volatile. It took the economy a half year to recover. Interest rates rose. Mortgage rates jumped substantially. Home buying died. The S&P downgraded the U.S.' credit rating for the first time. Consumer confidence and small business optimism plunged. Note, all these things occurred where no default occurred. One came close, but only close. The economy will have far worse consequences if the U.S. fails to pay the debt and a breach occurs. Investors would demand higher interest rates on U.S. borrowing. Interest payments would rise dramatically. The stock market would nose dive. Employee invest plans drop dramatically. International bond markets would destabilize. U.S. Treasury bonds would no longer be seen as one of the safest investments in the world. The U.S. would not be able to pay the salaries of federal employees. Social Security checks would not go out. Ten percent of the American economy would be killed immediately. Three million jobs would be lost. A 30 year mortgage would increase by an additional $130,000. And finally, the national debt. Republicans are preaching how high it is and they intend to reduce it. Well, a default in meeting the pay the nation's one year of bills would automatically result in $850 billion being added on to the national debt. Congressional Republicans are balancing an economic nuclear bomb on their fingertips by playing the game they are. I cannot help but wonder if they actually know what they are doing. Last night not Tom Brady's time. The Cowboys beat the Bucs 31-14. Brady did not play his usual game. One of the worst playoff games in his 23 year career. Brady is 46. Time to pack it in. Retire. He will still be recognized as the greatest professional quarterback in history. Perhaps the greatest professional pro football player ever. Syracuse lost to Miami last night 82-78. Too bad. It would have been Syracuse's biggest win of the season. Miami is ranked #17. Syracuse fell short in the last minute of the game. Mintz made a "freshman mistake" and what might have been a win became a sure loss. Such is life! The South continues to fight the Civil War. Assholes one and all. Martin Luther King Jr. is a federal holiday. Mississippi and Louisiana cannot let go their Confederate spirit. They celebrate the same day honoring Robert E. Lee. Both States refer to the day as King-Lee Day. Virginia did the same till 2000. Arizona till 2018. An icon and diva of the American and Italian cinema died yesterday. Gina Lollobrigida. She was 95. On this day in 1961, President Eisenhower delivered his farewell address. In it, he warned against the "military-industrial complex." Over the years, his words have gone unheeded. Now, the complex is too big to control. We're stuck with it. Enjoy your day!      

[kindtobechurlish]

“High” people giving evil eye to their own kind, and when it is time to talk about it they are using William Goodell talking points as that negro says, “stop hate” making millions playing a sport that children play. A servant, bondservant, is worth the price of a double hired servant, who that’s why it shouldn’t be hard for a master to send out someone who put themselves in servitude. William Goodell talking points? What to do? Now people get paid to play football. “Tech.” What? Some child wants to be Tom Brady, and his wife is getting divorce because he won’t hang it up. “He still wants to play those child games”, and she wants to raise the family, as the half Brazilian babies aren’t football stars. I am not going to “the grave” just to not personify God, instead I think of Enoch and Elijah - I have to know what the immortals delight in.. and that is the law of God. Eternal life? Enoch found grace in the sight of the lord because he was not wicked in a time before rainbows, Elijah rebelled Jezebel and trusted in God.. dogs licked Ahab’s blood where his chariot was being washed where the prostitutes dwell, a bath house, and Jezebel’s body was trampled so that you could not recognize her. I can know what got others eternal life, just for me to personify the old kingdom. Only the funerary text was for pharaoh, and in the new kingdom they became for everyone. Now, I am pharaoh and there are high people who don’t want my kind to leave the house of slavery, as even God made Moses travel in circles for 40 years to kill off assholes who rebelled God by the generation! I know this, to be able to apply science, “Egypt is my people”, and in God, you see I can’t help but being humbled myself when I can’t humble. The lord said, “vengeance is mine”, so I am not vindictive. No.

[soyscary]

spot the difference! oh wait, you can't :/

[paprikamahomes]

Want Brady fan boys to foam out the mouth seeing me get thousand dollar Brady beanie baby dirty while he goes on adventures and sees the beauty of the world instead of collecting dust inside a glass case only to be trafficked once again years later for even more money 👎

[danieco]

God I have a lot of ideas for manga posts I really want to get down but I’m incredibly distracted by the fact that A) it’s my sister’s birthday (and we’re WFH today so everyone’s here) and B) the group chat is in our second week of HOTLY debating the potential political affiliation of the fictitious basketball playing Golden Retriever Airbud. We don’t need to get into it but my side is winning

[i-cordelia]

It’s Super Bowl Sunday and all I want is for MAGA moron Tom Brady to cry. I want the Patriots to lose solely because of Tom Brady and his MAGA hat. 

Do you know what it means for this New England girl to root against the Patriots? 

[its-my-little-dumpster-fire]

Let it Burn ( t w e n t y n i n e )

Billy Russo x Reader, 6.7k

A/N: I don't know what to say about this one, just that it's been a long time coming and I'm equal parts excited and terrified of being this close to the end. So if even one person asks for a nice interlude, I'll friggin do it, because there aren't many sweet moments left. Not that there are any in this chapter? idk. You decide.

Warnings: Death. Talks of death. Violence. Poorly written fight sequences (I'm sorry @the-blind-assassin-12).

Summary: Billy's past comes knocking and you're thrown head first into a future you weren't expecting.

“I’ll get the car,” Matt volunteered the second your little group exited the bar. He was quick to turn away, leaving you with Noah and Libby on the sidewalk. The air thrummed around you with bass tones from leaking out onto the street. Combined with the alcohol in your system, you felt warm despite the chill in the air. Noah had his arm looped around Libby, holding her close and holding her up as her head lulled sleepily into his shoulder. Her hand stuck out, blindly grasping at the air behind her until you caught it in yours and she turned her face to smile. It was good to be with friends. Shocking, how normal it felt to be with people who knew you in college. Libby was there in your dorm room, laughing mercilessly at the sharp tingling in your legs after sprinting through the snow in shorts. A boy at the gym tried asking you out and your eighteen year old brain only came up with the dumbest responses to his flirting, prompting you high tail it out of there before pulling your sweats back on. Matt was there the Thanksgiving after you turned 21, carrying you on his back after too many spiked ciders, when you needed a break. Noah… well thankfully you hadn’t done anything remorseful in front of him that week, a sign you were getting older, but his presence in the group was a welcome one. Even if some days you looked at him and half expected your brother to be in his seat again, rubbing the back of Libby’s neck and calling Matt an asshole for wearing a Tom Brady jersey in public. It struck you that someday soon, these friends would have to move on from you too, keeping you and your brother as memories and nothing more.

Unwilling to let another string of macabre thoughts could kill the lingering comforts of the evening, you glanced up and down the street mindlessly taking in the city you once called home. It certainly wasn’t New York, but it had its own pulse. You couldn’t help wondering if it was the last night you’d ever get there and wanted to soak up every second. In your reverie, you floated away from Noah and Libby, kicking the pavement gently, eyes closed and heart content. Dying girls are allowed to romanticize whatever they want, you reasoned without paying attention where you were standing. It was your own fault that you were nearly knocked over by the broad shoulder of a passerby.

Noah hollered out in your defense, telling the man to watch where he was going, but one look up into familiar black irises told you the “stranger” was watching his step… and yours apparently.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered, a smile growing under rounded cheeks and puckered pink lines torn by glass.

You tried and failed to school your features into something slightly less glowy, but your soulmate’s hands were on you, steadying you, just feet from your friends. If you closed your eyes again, it might feel like a normal night out. A double date. Billy propped up against the wall, his arm stretched out over the plastic seating of a diner booth. You next him, stealing french fries off his plate and apologetically kissing his cheek after he slapped your hand away. Noah and Libby would be on the other side of the table, being their own kind of adorable, sharing a milkshake or something like it was the fifties. Oh god, you shivered, imagining Billy Russo in a leather jacket, driving you home after parking over in some poorly lit part of town, where his hand felt completely at home under your sweater.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asked, squeezing your arms and angling his face away from your friends, so only you could see or hear him.

“Yeah,” you sighed, disappointed your soulmate wasn’t a greaser, but still amazed he made such a brazen attempt to see you before you went home with your friends. “I’m swell.”

Billy chuckled at that, catching the sound in his throat so all that escaped was a huff. He nodded and licked his lips, looking down at the pavement between your shoes. Your eyes were still on his face, darker under the hood he’d pulled up, but you felt the toe of his boot nudge yours affectionately. “Swell, huh.” You nodded. “Alright,” he nodded in the direction of your friends, already releasing you and pushing you back toward them. “Keep your eyes open.”

“Thanks,” you called out, backpedalling until Libby caught your arm again and Noah stared down the stranger like any tough guy should. It wasn’t his fault that he had no idea who he was glaring at. If he did, he certainly wouldn’t linger.

“Russo!” you heard someone yell and immediately your blood ran cold. Libby and Matt were still trying to herd you away from where you’d been so rudely bumped, but you were immovable.

You heard Billy’s hissed ‘shit’ as the man with the thick black beard stalked over from the bar’s entrance. Shit, you repeated in your head, had this guy seen Billy in there and followed him out?

“You got the wrong guy.”

“Nah,” this man shook his head, “I don’t.” A terrifying smile appeared on his face as he approached Billy. “I’d know that fucked up mug anywhere.” He looked your soulmate up and down, all too satisfied with what he found. “Thought I was seeing a goddamn ghost,” he announced, before lowering his voice considerably. “Last I heard, they dragged your ass out of the river…” he scoffed. “Guess not, huh?”

In the presence of a rising conflict, Noah and Libby turned away, tugging you along with them. Your body followed them toward the lit yellow circle under a streetlamp to wait for Matt and the car, but your senses belonged to Billy. Always.

You had to believe that he was armed and clearly more than able to defend himself. Even strolling along the Adriatic, where time moved slower and the locals cared more about their afternoon cappuccino than the scarred face watching the water over your head, Billy had been prepared for the worst. There wasn’t a cell in your body that feared for him in these moments, but the second his name was spoken out loud… there was a new fear. Your life over the last 6 months was not safe anymore, Billy was not safe anymore. Everything you knew up until this point relied on anonymity and that was gone. Your soulmate could survive a street fight, but could he live beyond one where his ability to remain invisible was compromised?

The argument over your shoulder escalated and when you turned back to observe them again, what you found was more startling than a simple scuffle.

Billy was evenly matched and that alone was enough to scare you. He’s Billy Russo. Any conflict that comes his way should be easily snuffed out. He’s been fighting his entire life. First with broken broom handles and the grace of a boy who hadn’t grown into his limbs, but abandonment and terror look a lot like rage against hungry cheeks. No matter how “pretty” he’d been, there was a fight in Billy begging to come out. Surely the fight enticed a young Billy into service. The power, the training, the knowledge that he’d never be a victim again once his fists knew where to strike. With a scope, he could fight without getting his hands dirty. With a Ka-bar… he didn’t seem to mind that either. And you knew first hand that the fight followed Billy home, where his enemies were chosen for him and in exchange, he maintained his power. That Billy shouldn’t have equals, but somehow on this street, an equal had found him.

“They’re all dead,” the man spit then shouted, feet shuffling as he and your soulmate circled each other. “Geno, Todd, Bobby, Moke.” He lunged forward and Billy’s hands came down on his wrist, blocking the blade out in front of him. At first, you hadn’t noticed the black carbon steel in the dark, but when Billy took hold of his wrist in one hand, it was clearly visible under streetlights and gasps skittered through the small crowd gathering outside the bar.

“That’s on them,” Billy ground out, keeping his attacker’s arm straight up over their hands as he went for the knee with his other hand. Off balance, the man was forced onto his back and Libby’s audible gasp pulled your attention at the same time her hands were pulling back on your shoulders. Completely unaware of your own posture, as you stumbled backwards a step, you realized that you’d been moving closer to the fight since it broke.

“You pissed off the Punisher, Russo.” At the mention of Frank Castle, you turned back again, watching Billy’s hand come down on the man’s neck and jaw. You cringed at the way his voice gurgled and strained, but he kept taunting. “Jake’s dead.”

“He’s a fucking tweaker who didn’t know when to quit,” Billy insisted, struggling to dodge a knee to the liver while still pinning his assailant. The knife finally fell from the man’s hand, but neither he nor your soulmate lunged for it as you expected. Two men as deadly as this needn’t concern themselves with a sharp edge when their bodies were well honed weapons. You assumed this man must have been military too, with the pace at which they were anticipating the other’s movements, blocking and striking with disturbingly natural ease. He never would, but a part of you, a very small part, wished Billy would just run.

“Castle wanted you, Billy! Wanted to crush what you started!” Another series of punches that sounded painful. Everytime Billy drew blood, you noticed more of his own, a cut over the eye, redness that would bloom into dark purple before tomorrow. “You were a coward, Russo. Leaving everything you built,” the man was winded and you hoped that meant he’d slow down, but neither of them had that kind of quit in them. Not when face to face with an enemy. “We kept going, we could have run that city! But your buddy Frank Castle wouldn’t sleep until every of the boys was dead. Spunk, Manny, Vincent.” The man spit blood from his red stained teeth as he seethed through the names of fallen comrades. “That psycho went after Jimbo, that dumb kid didn’t stand a chance. I never thought I’d get my chance with Billy Russo…” he laughed, a little manic as that confident veneer he’d worn just a minute ago was broken. “But here we are, Billy. You and me.” He was using Billy’s name frequently and loudly. His eyes were as black as Billy’s and you watched them dart around to the handful of cellphone cameras pointed directly at the scene. The smirk on his face was unsettling and suddenly you knew what was happening. This man didn’t care if he died as long as he took Billy down with him. Billy, observant, but ever the predator was more concerned with eliminating the physical threat than his name going viral. The man wasn’t down for long before sweeping Billy’s leg and rolling away. Knife forgotten and fists flying into every inch of tender flesh, just like they were trained. Behind you, Noah described the scene in alarming detail while on the phone with local dispatch, making sure an officer en route knew exactly where they were needed and everything you were certain of two minutes ago was in jeopardy.

“Borrowed time, remember?” the man seethed, hunched over a heavy breathing Billy Russo who’d just taken a shot to the ear. “It was always gonna end this way.”

Falling from the top bunk and breaking your arm. Graduation. Your parents’ funeral. Your brother and Libby’s wedding. Meeting Billy. Standing outside a building that erupted in flames from the inside. The oncologist sat before you with a sour expression. Waiting for Billy in every new country, wringing your hands as if he might not come. So many life changing moments and yet, they were all a blur. This moment, however, was painfully clear.

You felt the tension in your toes as heeled feet moved toward the fray. The burn in your legs as you squatted after a day standing to accept goodbyes followed by a night of dancing poorly. The knife’s weight in your palm as you adjusted your grip to something that felt more solid. You’d bought cans of soup that were heavier than the blade wrapped in your fingers and that surprised you. No wonder these looked like an extension of Billy’s hand when he wielded them. Despite the relative lightness, you looked awkward holding on to it. Not like Billy. Through the blood rush behind your ears, the heavy throb of your own pulse drowning everything out, Libby’s voice screamed your name. Billy looked shocked, a marvel in itself as it seemed so little could surprise him, to hear your name and his eyes landed on yours, wide, but narrowing as the blade sank into his opponent’s side.

The man wheeled back quickly, his elbow landing hard in your chest and knocking the wind from you. Someone Billy’s height would have doubled over groaning after a shot to the gut, but when you hit the ground, no sounds came out as you tried to call out to Billy. He acted without your cries and while you stared at the ground spinning between your knees, the sound of the fight grew louder, more urgent. As unseen hands guided you back to your feet, your legs shook at the sight of blood splattered on your hands and bare shins. In your struggle, the knife remained in your grasp and the sight of it, shimmering red in moon and street light, made you feel dizzy.

It was Billy to say your name next, loud and strained. When you looked back toward him, he was on his back, thumbs digging into the man’s cheekbones as his head thrashed. The scars on Billy’s face seemed to give way to the veins bulging in his forehead until they were all you could see, evidence of his struggle to take in breath with hands pressing down on his windpipe. The last time you were in this scenario, Billy hadn’t struggled at all. Your attacker was a bum compared to the marine and when your soulmate sliced his fingers clean from his hand, you didn’t even stop to wonder if you’d done the right thing assisting Billy. As if a practiced dance, you approached again with shaky steps, to drop the knife in Billy’s outstretched hand. You watched as a red faced Billy Russo lifted the knife and plunged it directly into the side of the man’s neck. Blood flowed from the artery when Billy removed the blade and struck him again and again. He shoved the man from his body and rose with a face, reddened by blood splatter instead.

The world slowed to a stop as you fell forward and Billy caught you, widening his feet to adjust your body against his so that you both stayed up right. His whispering disappeared into your hair and you heard nothing that was said, until a new voice cut through the night.

“What the hell?!” Matt called your name, wide eyed and confused by the blood covering both you and the man that held you. He’d only been gone a few minutes and everything had gone to shit in his absence. At the sound of sirens just around the block, your eyes flew from your friends back to Billy’s, dark and conspiring as the next few seconds proved most pivotal.

Clutching the front of Billy’s jacket, you jostled him until his eyes fell upon yours. “Don’t you leave me here, Russo,” your head shook desperately, as did your voice. “Don’t.”

Without saying a word, Billy’s jaw tightened and he was off, all but carrying you toward Matt and the car that couldn’t have come at a better or worse moment. Your friend, too noble for his own good, stupidly resisted the man on a mission and Libby shrieked when Billy’s fist landed against Matt’s cheek. He shoved your friend toward the sidewalk where his sister cried and got into the driver’s seat like it was his plan all along. Libby tried to pull you back with them, insisting it was self defense and you didn’t have to run, but one look and she knew.

The second your door shut behind you, Billy pulled away, blessedly unnoticed by the blue lights approaching from the opposite direction. You were shocked when your getaway driver stopped the car after only a few blocks, slipping into an open spot in front of a fire hydrant and stepping out of the car without explanation. He opened your door and pulled you out when you didn’t immediately follow, dropping Matt’s keys in your seat before slamming the door behind you. A half turn over your shoulder and the blue from the responders’ lights bathed the buildings on the corner. You were far too close to be safe, but Billy pressed on, walking so close behind you that his chest moved you forward more than his hands. Around one more corner and it all made sense. There was already a plan in place, a car stowed safely within walking distance of the bar meant to carry Billy away before he was jumped and his identity exposed.

You settled uncomfortably in the front seat of a sedan that -under any other circumstance- would make you laugh to see Billy behind the wheel of it. “We can’t travel like this,” you gestured down to your short dress and blood stained skin. The man next to you made a disgruntled noise, but flipped on the turn signal all the same when you pointed out Libby’s street upcoming.

Billy stood watch at the large front windows, peeking through the curtains suspiciously and giving you commands from the other room. There wasn’t time for you to change clothes, which you hated, but you were allowed 5 minutes to grab whatever you’d need so you shoved what belongings you didn’t have to dig for into a bag, flying from every corner of your guest room. Job’s excitement at seeing you and Billy, together and walking through the front door like you’d been invited rather than pillaging through the flower bed for a false bottomed rock, lasted only the length of the entry before even the dog decided that your frantic packing was too much for him. With your bag slung over one shoulder, you scribbled the quickest apology onto a pad of paper in Libby’s junk drawer, hoping she wouldn’t find it until you were long gone. You trusted she and Matt and Noah to do the right thing, to tell the truth about what they saw. You weren’t sure what to expect of the bachelorette party that watched like a herd of scared sheep, phone out and backs hunched as they gasped and gawked at the death befalling tiny screens. There was time to spare one final glance toward the refrigerator, normal clippings and wedding announcements and grocery lists. Your friends would slide back into their normal lives soon enough. They’d feel the need to mourn again, despite attending your funeral just hours ago, but they’d be forced back into work, obligations, other friendships.

You had no such luxury. There was no normal from here on out. Whatever you thought you’d been running from in Europe was soon to be clawing at your door. It was impossible not to recognize that your journey with Billy so far had been easy compared to what was coming next. He was going to be hunted, while your dying slowed him down, dragged more like. The humble bag of belongings over your shoulder suddenly weighed a thousand pounds and the strap dug into your skin. In your haste to be close to Billy, your desperation to stay with him, you hadn’t stopped to consider what a cruel fate you were damning him to. Libby lit the spark, a guilty smoldering in your chest, thinking about Billy losing you the way your best friend had lost your brother. She was broken and changed, but you couldn’t fathom what Billy would do once you were gone. Torn between wanting to spend every waking second with him until your last and letting him run without you there to complicate his survival, you didn’t notice him moving through the house to find you and hurry you along.

“Let’s go,” he said sharply, urging you with his eyebrows and an extended hand, but his other hand was not empty and it amused you more than it should.

“What are you doing?” you asked, seeing the answer for yourself without addressing it. Billy shook his head and furrowed his brows like he didn’t know what he meant. You nodded at his hip, but he ignored the gesture completely, passing Job’s black leather leash from his left to his right hand, and walked out.

“Time’s up,” he announced again without further explanation and the dog behind him was more than pleased to be included. Job had no idea where he was headed or the dangerous circumstances that had brought his two favorite people back to him and for a moment, you allowed yourself to be like Job. You fought back your amusement and nodded solemnly, following Billy and his beast out of your friends’ home, apology tucked into a drawer and bag drawn up over your shoulder. Just before exiting, you stopped at the front door to kick off your heels and slide your bare feet into a pair of Libby’s walking shoes. She wouldn’t miss them and you were in greater need at the moment. This way, you hoped, she’d know you were safe upon entering, even before finding the note with half assed explanations. With the door closed behind you and the hide a key back in its place, Billy loaded Job into the back seat while you settled into the front. It could have been the start of a road trip, if you let it. Man, woman, dog, all piled into a car and headed for the next adventure.

Billy leaned over and you didn’t even try to hide the tears tracking down your face, overcome by the idea that your only normal moments would have to be imagined from now on. Usually one to prefer silence in these complex situations, you were surprised when Billy started to speak. Jose was the man’s name. He’d been involved with Billy’s tiny army, plundering New York City and taking back what they felt was owed to them after sacrificing so much in service. Jose, Billy explained, was the only member of their gang that questioned his decision to leave the game when he did. He didn’t explicitly say it, but her name hung in the air anyways.

“A lot of people died because of me…” Billy continued and you turned to face him in your seat. His eyes were forward, occasionally drifting toward dark mirrors, but never toward you. “Frank… if what Jose said is true… Frankie’s on a fucking spree.”

“Is that any different than before?” you asked honestly. You didn’t know Frank that well, or at all, minus a handful of meetings that always left you feeling nauseous before, during, and after. He was the Punisher, famed for clearing the streets of those that crossed him or his moral compass. Watching the Boondock Saints with your brother was one thing, knowing someone with twice the training and fire power was loose in New York with your soulmate’s name at the top of his list was something else entirely. Billy wasn’t the good guy in this story, you loved him, but your brain hadn’t disintegrated that much yet. Given another opportunity, Frank Castle would end Billy’s life without pause. That wasn’t a fact easily forgotten, or forgotten at all, but knowing that even one person blamed Billy for Frank’s less than judicious behavior was terrifying.

The steering wheel squeaked under the tight flexing of his fingers. You knew him well enough to know that Billy didn’t feel responsible for their deaths, not really. He was smart enough to draw conclusions about how they ended up on Frank Castle’s hit list, but he wouldn’t lose any sleep over them either. The only thing that worried you was if Billy was looking for a reason to fight Frank one more time, this would be as good a reason as any. You reached over to touch his arm and as awkward as it was to hold onto his elbow when Billy made no moves to reciprocate or accept the touch, you left your hand where it was. Only when Job’s snout shot up from between your seats and bumped the back of his arm did Billy react, dropping his right arm to trap Job’s face between his arm and his ribs. He looked up then, meeting your eyes for the first time since getting into the car. His expression was unreadable in the dark, but you disregarded the voice in your head that told you not to push him. “You’re not going after him are you?”

Billy’s eyes drifted purposefully back to the road ahead and you expected your question to linger without ever being answered. An unspoken confirmation of your worst fears. “I’ve got other shit to do,” he answered suddenly, releasing Job’s head from its hold and sliding his arm through your hand until your fingers fell in the spaces between his. Billy tightened his hold, fingertips digging into the back of your hand, then let go completely, switching hands to steer with his right. His elbow rested by the window and he cupped his own chin, covering his mouth with his forefinger as if deep in thought.

You. You were the other shit to do. You had to be.

On the one hand, overlooking his choice of phrasing, you were encouraged. He’d planned to keep you around and knew he couldn’t be with you while successfully hunting Frank Castle. That was… nice. In a way. There was a time when Billy’s feud -if you could call it that- with the Punisher took precedence over you and the trust he placed in you. Somewhere over the last year, Billy learned of your importance to him. Of course he didn’t share this as he was discovering it, but the night he held you and forced you to look at the passports he’d secured for you both before blowing Anvil to the ground, he’d laid it out clearly. You meant something to him and without his memories, he had to be sure. Once he was sure, he was all in. Or so he said.

Which made everything else harder. How could Billy Russo be all in when he had no idea what was coming next? A few months in Europe away from the US government and the Punisher, your brain was changing, but that was nothing compared to what he’d have to deal with soon. You and your doctors had discussed end of life expectations, but how much was Billy ready to shoulder. Would he regret his choices when you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore? When you couldn’t get to the bathroom by yourself? When your throat rattled with every labored breath? When you weren’t sure where you were or who he was? How much of your dying could Billy stand before he took Job for a walk and never came back?

You’d meant to talk to him about it back at the bar- god, could that really have been an hour ago? Hearing Libby’s heartbreak as she talked about losing your brother was too much already. How much worse would it be when the goodbye was drawn out and by the end, he was so sick of caring for you that your departure was more of a relief than a loss?

“Billy, pull over,” you demanded suddenly.

He ignored your warning, but the churning in your stomach wasn’t waiting on your soulmate.

“Billy!”

“We gotta- SHIT!” You felt the car slide over to the shoulder when you lurched forward, hand over your mouth too late as the contents of your stomach emptied through your fingers and onto the thick rubber mat between your stolen shoes. When the car finally stopped, you were quick to exit, heaving twice more before falling backwards. Your butt hit the damp grass and your body slumped into the slope of the ditch until you were flat on your back. Slow breaths pushed whatever was left back down and when you were feeling brave enough to open your eyes again, you focused on a familiar cluster of stars to keep the rest of the galaxy from spinning away. The archer was facing back the way you’d come stumbling, taunting you, daring you to rise and face Billy Russo after throwing up in his getaway car. He could wait a few more breaths. When the sticky sweet scent of alcohol soaked soil wafted up into your nose, you frowned, wiped your wet hand in the grass, and stood, not really ready to face him, but unwilling to lie out in the cold smelling your own sick any longer.

Billy was watching you, one arm bent over the hood while he stood between the door and the driver’s seat. He didn’t strike you as the hold your hair back guy, but seeing him out of the car at all was a surprise. Your embarrassed shuffle back toward the vehicle was met with silence, only the thud of the door closing behind you and the click of your seatbelt broke it. Billy pulled himself back in once you were situated and in a matter of seconds, you were rolling again. The puddle by your feet was even worse than the wet ground you’d left in the ditch and Billy didn’t hesitate to roll every window down. The wind whipping through the front seat did little to cover his scoffing.

“Smells like death.”

“Get used to it,” you murmured back and waited for Billy to reply with something smart. The rebuttal never came, but he sat straight up after it, left fist clenched against his thigh while his right hand kept the car steady. He heard and you knew you’d need to talk to him again, seriously, but the adrenaline was well and truly worn off and the sickness wasn’t exactly invigorating. What a mess. You briefly imagined what Kathleen would say about it all before remembering that your phone was safely tucked into your purse, dropped at Libby’s feet in the middle of the night’s chaos and with it… shit.

“The address,” you said quietly. Billy’s eyes flitted up to the rearview, without responding. “The address you gave me, we can’t go there. Libby has it.”

“I put it in your bra,” Billy stated, already sounding frustrated.

“I put it in my purse so I wouldn’t lose it and…” you gestured vaguely. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you were holding it. Maybe when Billy bumped into you on the street? Once the fight broke out, your attention was not on your belongings.

Billy took a deep breath through his nose, shaking his head as he dug his own burner out of his back pocket. He nodded to the backseat, “gimme that blue pouch back there.” You turned onto your left hip and opened the duffle he always had with him. Along the front side of the bag, you felt a leathery pouch.

“With the zipper?” Billy hummed and you pulled it out for him. Job whined quietly from the backseat, clearly not pleased that you were rummaging around in his space without even petting him. While Billy had the pouch between his legs, looking for something, you stayed turned toward Job, reaching out to run one of his ears between your fingers. He relaxed again, laying across the bench seat, so you rested the side of your head against your seat to watch him sleep and within seconds, you too were out cold.

Before you knew it, your eyes were flying open at the gentle vibration of the trunk slamming shut behind you. Looking around, it was impossible to tell how long you’d been out. The sky was just as black as it was before, but nothing outside the windows looked familiar and you were definitely in the car alone.

Billy was loading his bags and yours into a gray pick up that was so comically large you weren’t sure his long legs could pull him into the cab, let alone yours. You could make out at least two more men from their silhouettes, black against the glare of the truck’s headlights, exchanging words and something else with Billy before he turned back toward you. Unsure what was happening or who the men were, you waited in your seat for Billy to retrieve you, which soon enough he did. You hadn’t even noticed his jacket draped over your front until he slid it off your chest, placing it back around your shoulders once you were out of the car and standing with him. He didn’t touch you much, didn’t even wait for you before starting his march back toward the truck. You followed awkwardly, dodging the uncomfortable stares from the men he’d just been talking to and helped yourself into the passenger seat with about as much difficulty as you were expecting, especially in a short dress that still had tiny, but pungent vomit splatters on it and needed to be burned. It was probably a faux pas to wear the dress you wore to your own funeral anywhere else and you weren’t worried about missing it. Billy spoke with the men once more, pointing to the car that had gotten you here. The men weren’t interested in the car, stealing glances through the windshield at you. One had the audacity to wink before rolling his neck to smirk at Billy. You watched your soulmate’s face lift in one of his signature snarls before taking a total 180 into a similar sadistic sort of smile. He tilted his head toward the windshield, not even really looking at you before turning back and saying something that made the men roar in laughter. Through the thick glass and over the loud engine, you could hear their response and you were thankful you couldn’t hear what he’d said to be so entertaining. Instead of watching them through the windshield, you turned a bit to look in the backseat. Job was stretched comfortably across the bench, his big block head supported by Billy’s duffel bag, which left his snout right in between your seat and the driver’s. You scratched his head, amazed that the dog seemed to be adapting to this on the run business much easier than you were. He trusted you and he trusted Billy. The details weren’t anything for Job to be concerned with, so he nodded off again without trouble. You could stand to learn a thing or two from the mutt.

By the time Billy was back in the driver’s seat next to you, you had surpassed uncomfortable and settled well into ‘about to throw up’ territory again. The way the mean leered at you was chilling, but the way Billy let them, almost encouraging them, was ultimately what made your insides crawl. His head hit the seat behind him with a thud and he waited until the men, driving the first car away, were completely out of sight, not even the faint red spot of tail lights on the black highway ahead of you.

You had questions. Loads. Who were those men? Where were they going? Whose truck were you in? Where were YOU going? What did Billy say to make them laugh? Were you in danger? Was this always the plan or was Billy really so resourceful to pull off this swap all while you slept next to him?

And yet, none of them came out.

“Billy…” his head lulled to the side, looking at you dutifully without moving any other part of his body. “We need to talk.”

Billy’s huff was clearly annoyed and he straightened immediately, reaching for the gear shift and ignoring you.

“Billy-“

“They were guys from Anvil,” okay one answer. “They’re going ahead to set up a place for us in Buffalo. It’ll take a couple of days, but they got connections to get us across the border. Anything else you need to know?” His stare was hard. Impatient.

You swallowed and nodded. His nostrils flared but he didn’t say anything, so you continued. “Can we trust them?”

Of all things. That made Billy Russo smile. He licked his lips before answering. “Not at all,” he said, finally shifting into drive. “That’s why we aren’t going to Buffalo.”

The relief you felt at his words was enough to put you right back to sleep, but suddenly you felt wide awake. You even sat up a little straighter, turning a bit in your seat to look at Billy easier. The truck was pointed West, the ugliness of the night left back in Philly. Your poor friends would be left to pick up the pieces of the evening and you suddenly remembered why you’d run off on a grand adventure in the first place. Dying just left so much trouble for the ones left… which reminded you....

“Billy, we still need to talk.”

“I didn’t tell them who you were,” he assured you, derailing your thoughts entirely.

“Who did they think I was?” You asked.

Billy shrugged. “A hooker.”

“And that was believable??” Billy’s annoying smirk said it all, but he took a moment to look you up and down, lifting his eyebrows once his eyes made it back up to yours. “Ugh,” you whined. “Don’t answer that.” You tugged the hem of your dress down over your thighs as far as it would go. You were still in his jacket, a little black dress that stunk of sweat and booze and vomit, boots that didn’t belong to you. You hadn’t had a good look at your hair or makeup since before Billy fucked you in an office and there was no way your makeup had survived an evening of drinking, dancing, Billy’s rough kisses, manslaughter, and throwing up on the side of the road. The little pull down mirror above your head wasn’t even tempting at this point and Billy’s smug chuckle next to you was bad enough. You shrunk down, wedging yourself firmly between the back of your seat and the door, and Billy glanced over barely containing his amusement.

“Aw, c’mon baby, don’t be like that,” he teased in that thick accent of his and you glared at him from your little corner, pulling his jacket tighter with your crossed arms. He reached out across the console between you and unfortunately you had nowhere to go. His fingers wrapped around your shoulder and he barely had to tug before you were shifting in your seat to lean closer to him. Billy dipped his hand into the back of his jacket, rubbing your neck as you leaned further in. At his gentle kneading and pulling, you finally relented and let your head fall into his shoulder. It was an uncomfortable angle with the wide center piece between you, but totally worth it when you felt Billy’s lips brush your forehead. “You smell like a 4, but I know you taste like a 8.”

“I’m a 10,” you argued and he laughed above you. His arm was all the way behind your neck now, holding you against him as he maneuvered the giant vehicle with his left hand.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “I dunno about that. How bout we find you a shower and some toothpaste, then I can have another taste, just to be sure.”

You shook your head in complete disbelief. How dizzyingly quick could he switch from hardened criminal on the run to this flirt. Too fast. Hard day behind you and hard conversations ahead, but both forgotten for the time being. The ride was quiet and you were bound to fall back asleep before too long, Job’s snoring behind your head as comforting as Billy’s long fingers rubbing your scalp. Just before consciousness evaded again, you felt Billy turn his face into your hair, mumbling something too low to be understood.You hummed a bit to question it, but were out before hearing him repeat it.

YEAH WE KNOW BILLY. ITS ONLY MOSTLY YOUR FAULT.

Idk how y'all still put up with me and this story. Its too long. You can say it.

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Let it Burn/Billy Russo: @elenarogersbarnes13​ @19avocado-high51 @songtoyou @disengagefrmreality @christinawxxx @stories-you-wont-hear @lexxierave @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @thesumofmychoices @ofheroesandvillains @charmed-asylum @bugboy-and-icegirl @thefinalexperiment @lysawayne @operation-spot @ilkaeliseb @littlemermaidprobz @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mathle0matle @a-dorky-book-keeper @blackbirddaredevil23 @elenarogersbarnes13 @19avocado-high51 @songtoyou @disengagefrmreality @christinawxxx @lexxierave @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @thesumofmychoices @ofheroesandvillains @charmed-asylum @bugboy-and-icegirl @thefinalexperiment @lysawayne @operation-spot @ilkaeliseb @littlemermaidprobz @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mathle0matle @blackbirddaredevil23