Pet peeve of mine that’s probably gonna enrage the Cars fandom
I don’t think human McQueen being a Car racer makes sense, because than the ENTIRE CARS 3 movie wouldn’t make sense
Because while in the movie Car McQueen being well, a car, would start struggling because he’s not fast anymore, the Human McQueen being a Car racer could idk BUY A NEW CAR???
I think it’ll make more sense if in the Human Au McQueen is a Runner instead, sure the accident scenes in the movies won’t be as dramatic anymore but that cactus scene will be as painful.
You're right, I am a bit annoyed by this take, because OP clearly doesn't understand the amount of athleticism that racing takes. A new car happens every week for racers (so they don't get old enough to be affected like OP says), but when you get old, your body weakens, and can't handle the amount of physical exertion anymore. That's why racers retire at like 50 at the latest but usually more like 45. Their bodies just can't do it anymore, or at least can't do it well, and that makes them unable to be fast, therefore the storyline makes perfect sense with him being a racecar driver.
No hate to OP, but the rhetoric that racers aren't athletes is so damn tiring and such a tone deaf take. Not saying that's what OP was saying, but it's kind of implied. Anyways.
Sincerely, someone who is too obsessed with NASCAR
Every time OP dances, her parrot flies along with her. OP says she never trained it on purpose and her parrot just loves doing this naturally. Sometimes it’ll just hop right onto her face. (cr 月下郭城)
this is probably my favorite tiktok of all time and I finally got around to showing it to my dad the other day and now he comes home every day and tells me about all the places he saw crumbling concrete and says "guess they didn't add enough chinchilla flakes"
happy 20 year anniversary of Neil banging out the tunes!
though every rat is special, it's a wonderful and unusual thing for their accomplishments to be remembered and cherished by so many people so many years later. we're all so fortunate to know about the rat who banged out the tunes!
thank you to all the people who sent me reference photos of their beloved rats for this piece!!! credits under the cut!
@joe-spookyy Ben and Socrates
@gooseontheinternet Chamomile and Beefy
@runawayy-rat Bartholomäus and Emo
@theunholystromboli Macrogryphosaurus, Xenoceratops, and Graciliraptor
@techlecticwtch Solas and Dorian
@merlyn-bane Roslyn and Rizzoli
@logictoinsanity Luna and Buttercup
@hagsthehag Orphie, Psyche, Calypso, Ariadne, and Eury
an/warnings: arranged marriage, violence, mentions of abusive parents, angst, panic attacks, fluff, hea, no use of y/n
(originally posted under my old/deleted account iimplictt)
wc: 5.2k
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He bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the sleek back car roll up in the long drive way from his office. Windows tinted but he could make out the faint outline of a person as they moved around before Oscar got out of the car to open the door for its passenger.
His new wife.
The words tasted sour on his tongue as he drank some of his whiskey, not caring that it was nine in the morning. He needed a pick-me-up for the day that was ahead.
Gleaming hair caught in the sunlight, a delicate hand with a blinding diamond hesitantly taking Oscar’s as red bottom Louis’ met the pavement.
His eyes narrowed a bit as he watched you, mere curiosity to see how you acted when he wasn’t around. When the wedding happened it was short and extravagant. All the glitz and glamour expected of such a pair. A politician's daughter and a booming business man whose money usually came tinted red. A shame that most of the world didn’t know your fathers money was just as dirty as his.
It was an alliance in London’s eyes. A step towards peace.
He hadn’t even seen you until the white lace veil was lifted.
You were pretty but that wasn’t enough to suddenly way his mind into liking the whole arrangement. He didn’t have much choice. Having coppers on a payroll was a deal too good to pass up, so he agreed. Shook hands. It hadn’t mattered much, not in the long run. Lando was always busy. Always working. If a marriage hadn’t been forced upon him, he didn’t think he would’ve ever had a ring on his finger.
He watched silently as you waited for Oscar to grab your bags. Your eyes flickering around the property, taking in the well kept gardens and security cameras mounted every few yards. A fortress.
His eyes took in the dress you wore, expensive silk draped over skin. Flowing like liquid in the subtle summer breeze. He took note of how your hand kept flexing, the one with a ring. His ring.
The one he had slid on your finger a week ago as he whispered, “I do.” Your own voice low as you muttered the vow, eyes not meeting his.
He could barely remember what the kiss had been like. It was quick, soft. Obligatory. Both of you seemed relieved it was over with, arms linked with one another as you left the cathedral. White flower petals falling into hair as they were tossed into the sky.
Lando set his tumbler down and backed away from the window, trying to take a calming breath before walking downstairs. He needed to make this livable. An ecosystem. Staying out of each other's way, respecting boundaries. Telling where and what was off bounds. If you needed help, ask Oscar. If you wanted someone to talk to, also ask Oscar. Leave him be, because he was busy.
You seemed reasonable enough in the few minutes of shared company. You knew this was a business transaction. It wasn’t something to get hopes up on. Lando knew you were smart enough not to be a burden so hopefully it would feel like nothing had changed. Just an extra person in the household. Another echoing voice.
He could hear the sharp click of your heels as you entered the front foyer, the soft sound of your voice as you spoke in hushed tones. Your whole presence seemed cautious. Like you were treading in a minefield.
As he stepped down the stairs and into the light, your eyes met. The air shifting. Tense. Dangerous. Your painted lips pressed into a line as you waited for instruction. Ever obedient. Compliance being woven into you as a child.
He had met your father on more than one occasion and he knew he wasn’t a kind man.
But the problems of your past were yours.
Lando sighed lightly through his nose, head tilting and hands in pockets as he let himself look at you for another moment before dismissing Oscar.
The foyer was still. The only thing he could hear was the faint hum of electricity and birds outside. Watching you as you watched him.
“Nice drive?” He asked, not quite sure on the formalities of the situation.
You laughed slightly, the sound coming out in a short exhale as you looked away from him. “It was fine.”
He hummed, not seeing a point in furthering the conversation and he gestured for you to follow him.
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The summer had gone by in a repetition of droning days and lonely dinners. The only thing keeping you company were the few books you packed, although you had already read through them all. An endless cycle of talking to the walls and sitting near your window, feeling like a modern day Rapunzel.
It’s not necessarily like you weren’t allowed to go anywhere, but it still felt off limits. Frowned upon. A burden if you were seen walking the halls.
His family didn’t like you very much. Which you understood yet couldn’t come to terms with. They had to have known this wasn’t any more of your choice than it was his. And why shovel the blame onto someone’s child? It wasn’t your fault your father was corrupted and played a better hand.
Pressing your forehead against the cool glass, you watched as the world went by. The silent hum of air conditioning was the only thing to droll out your thoughts and lately it hadn’t been working. The room felt suffocating but there was no one to turn to. Even voicing your thoughts out loud to yourself seemed like some boundary was being crossed. Maybe even to yourself. That you were starting to get too comfortable.
Oscar seemed nice enough. Timid. Not sure how to approach you or if he even should. He brought your meals to your door like clock work. Part of you felt bad but the thought of eating in the dining room seemed like suicide. You had tried the first night, assuming that was just part of the routine. To have dinner with your…husband.
But Lando was nowhere to be found, leaving you at a large oak table alone and shoveling food around. Appetite non-existent. Oscar had told you he usually took dinner in his office. That most of the other members of the household ate out.
His words hit you dully as you stared at the polished wood, not quite believing this was going to be the rest of your life. Then again, you weren’t sure what you wanted. Did you want Lando to make an effort? Did you even want to be around him? You didn’t know much, just that he was a bad man. But aren’t they all? Apparently that’s all the world thought you were fit for. Violent men with money in their eyes.
No, you didn’t want to know him.
But god, loneliness caught up to everyone.
The hours ticked by and you sat there, tracing lines into the skin of your thighs with your nail. Over and over again till skin prickled and red lines appeared. The itch and sting foreign, numb. As if you’d shot your heart with novacaine. Your eyes unblinking as you did the action, pure muscle memory. You didn’t have to think. You didn’t want to.
At least you never wanted to think about yourself. Your situation. The listless marriage you now found yourself trapped in.
But your mind would wander. What did he get up to? What did he even do? Was it really any different from the current political affairs the nation got up to? Would he one day change his mind and want more?
The thought made you shiver, eyes trailing to your locked door. He’d never tried to come in. Hell, he’d never even been to your room. In the weeks you’d been there you had probably only seen him a handful of times. Walking down the hall and his eyes would catch yours for a moment but nothing else. Looking through you like a ghost. Cold. Indifferent. Sometimes you’d hear him in the house. Talking to Oscar or on the phone. Always business. Always something you didn’t understand.
He couldn’t seem bothered at the thought of you being around. Didn’t seem interested. And that weird, fucked up little voice in the back of your mind whispered that Lando was keeping himself entertained just fine. That he found comfort in other women. Having affairs. You barely felt married. There weren't technically any commitments beyond regurgitated vows. So why did the thought still make your stomach churn?
Perhaps it was the feeling of being unwanted. A constant companion of doubt. Your family didn’t want you, pawned you off. Your husband didn’t want you. You would never get to experience love. You’d go through life longing for creature comforts—
You pressed your forehead harder into the glass. Wanting the thoughts to stop. You pushed so hard you hoped it’d break and you’d go hurtling towards the ground.
There was a knock on the door. Six o’clock sharp.
Dinner.
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You felt like you were going insane. The walls bending inward. The wallpaper swirling. The ceiling breathing.
Crazy.
Wandering the halls was reckless but you started to care less and less if Lando saw you. For the first time in months you wanted him to see you. Be reminded that you were there. Proof you were alive. You were here. Even when it never felt like it. You felt like a phantom who haunted the house, mostly only coming out at night when the rest of the world slept. Chasing the creaks of wood and following the patterns in the rug. Chasing something. Feeling wild. Deranged like a white rabbit who was late for tea.
His mother yelled at you. For something, you weren’t sure what. It seemed like no matter what you did you were wrong. Skin not fitting right over bones. Disassociating and staring at her. That only made her more mad and she slapped you. Not for the first time. Hard across the face. You hadn’t noticed till you heard the echo of it around the kitchen. Didn’t realise till some of the staff gasped, hands flying over mouths. Glowing wide eyes staring at you in shock.
You blinked again, subtle warmth creeping into your cheek. Hand slowly going up to hold your face. What had you done wrong? Why were you always wrong?
His mother scoffed. “You’re no good. You’re not even all the way there are you?” With a look of disgust she turned away, disappearing down the hall.
One of the cooks slowly approached you, as if you were some wounded animal. Holding out a pack of ice. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
“For what?” Your voice sounded distant. Distorted. Like it was coming from somewhere else. Taking the ice, you left. Letting it sit in your hand instead, the bitter coldness of it sending a dull shock up your arm.
You felt like crying. At least you thought about it. But nothing would fall out. Your eyes felt dry and heavy. Staring at nothingness as you walked with your heartbeat thudding in your ears.
This was your life. This was going to be your forever. Sucked into yet another man's orbit who didn’t give a shit about you. Because fuck what you want, right?
You turned into what you thought was your bedroom. You weren’t quite sure how you got there. It had been odd lately. Like moments of time blacked out. Arriving one place and not knowing how you got there. Tuning out to your depressing reality.
You were going to die alone. It wasn’t even your fault. Or maybe it was. Maybe you should’ve tried harder. Fought your father and left as soon as you had turned of age. Why didn’t you try harder to fight back? Did some twisted part of you want this? The lack of effort. Things being handed to you. Maybe you thought you deserved it. After all, you'd been living off your fathers dirty money guilt free. Perhaps this was just your karma.
Longing for a life you’d never have.
You sucked in a sharp breath, tears finally beginning to prick at your eyes. The droplets stung so bad your vision went blurry.
You barely felt it as your knees hit the hard wood floors. Didn’t register the scratching sound of your nails dragging against the planks, blindly trying to crawl your way out of the hell you were living. Feeling pathetic and ungrateful because you knew it could be worse. It could always be worse.
A sob left your throat, bubbling up and out like acid.
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The door flew open to his office and he was about to yell at whoever had the audacity when he turned, paused. The look on Oscar’s face wasn’t one commonly worn.
“What?”
“There’s a problem.”
Lando sighed, tapping his pen on his desk. “Care to elaborate?”
“It’s your mother and your wife.”
Lando reared back slightly at the last word. It wasn’t thrown around often. Hell, he hardly saw you. And when he did, when he’d catch you wandering around well past three in the morning something was just…off. He didn't know how to approach you. Or if he even should. You’d seemed equally disinterested by his company. Staring at him sometimes like he was an apparition that wasn’t meant to be there.
He wouldn’t blame you if you hated his guts. Lando knew most women would prefer a love filled marriage compared to whatever the hell you two had.
“What about them?” He asked, eyes flicking down to his papers again. Not seeing why—
“The staff said there was an altercation in the kitchen.”
Pausing, his eyes flicked up. Brow raising.
Oscar sighed, “your wife is in your room.”
That got him up. What the hell were you doing in there? And why? It wasn’t like he kept important documents in there, he knew better than that but he still didn’t trust you much. You were your fathers daughter. Maybe this was all some ploy to get into his personal things, find weaknesses, cracks.
His feet moved briskly down the hall, his polished shoes clicking dully on the ornate rugs and painted eyes followed him as he went. Lando didn’t pause as he saw his door, didn’t pause as he turned the handle.
“What do—“
Lando halted to a stop as his eyes found you. Feeling as if the earth had been yanked out from beneath him when he heard you try to smother the sound of your crying with a hand. Curled up in the space between his bed and the nightstand. Looking so small as you trembled.
Your eyes didn’t meet his. He wasn’t even sure if you heard him come in. Your breathing was too fast, too ragged. Short bursts of oxygen, your lungs not being able to keep up.
He shut the door softly behind him and quietly made his way over to you, lowering himself to his knees. Debating if he should touch you or not. You hadn’t touched in months. Not since the wedding.
“Hey,” his voice was soft and you flinched. Head shooting up and staring at him. He’d never seen you look so frightened and you tried to push yourself back harder into the wall. Shaking your head as if he’d caught you doing something wrong.
He immediately caught the red outline of a hand on your cheek. His jaw clenched. An odd, unbearably awful sensation churned in his stomach at the thought of someone hurting you. Knowing it was his mother only made the fire burn hotter. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like you were close. But the rage was itching up his spine like a spider.
“You’re okay,” His voice was rough, but a whisper. He reached out to you, slowly. Hands gently taking hold of you as he pulled your shaking frame into his, feeling the way your lungs struggled to catch up. Your muscles coiled in tension as he touched you. He hated it.
“You’re alright, darling.” He smoothed your hair back, feeling your nails bite into his skin as you twisted the fabric of his shirt. Trying to ground yourself. Trying to make sense of it all. Of why he was here.
He knew it had to be confusing. That his sudden reassurance was off putting and regret was starting to inch its way up his throat. The spindly legs tickling and desperate. He should’ve handled this whole thing better. It was selfish. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. Holding your head beneath his chin as you tried to calm down. “I’m here, if you need me to be.”
You didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what to do. Where to go from there. This was new territory for him. Second guessing wasn’t usually in Lando’s playbook.
He began to lean away but your grip tightened on his shirt, your head pressing further into the crook of his neck.
Sighing, he maneuvered himself into a sitting position, holding you in his lap as he leaned against his bed. Giving you time. Gently running circles into the nape of your neck. His grandmother always did that for him, it always seemed to help calm him down. Lando waited patiently, taking in the faint scent of your shampoo. Smiling to himself a bit despite everything because it was the same one he used.
Slowly your harsh breathing began to subside but your body still trembled from the aftershocks.
His fingers still ran lightly over your skin, his voice a low hum and he could feel the vibration of his own rib cage with your weight against him. “I’ve had panic attacks too, you know?”
You didn’t do anything for a moment, and then, like the first break of daylight, you slightly shifted your head and your voice was a whisper. “Really?”
“Mhm.”
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Something had shifted. Maybe others wouldn’t have noticed, but you did. That next morning there was a knock on your bedroom door. Eight o’clock sharp. You hadn’t slept much, your eyes still raw and body restless from the previous evening. The feeling of his light, delicate touch on you was on replay in the back of your mind. You hadn’t been held in what felt like years.
You hadn’t expected such kindness from him.
Padding over to the door, you rubbed at your eyes, trying to look alive before opening it. “Morning, Oscar–” you blinked at the form of Lando standing in the hall. Wearing a casual linen shirt and dress pants, jacket draped over one arm and he looked at you expectantly.
“Ready?” He asked.
You felt dumb as you continued to stare at him. Not expecting to see him so soon. Not thinking he’d even want to see you after yesterday’s mess. “What?”
He sighed lightly through his nose. “We’re going out for breakfast.”
“Why?”
There was a slight crease forming between his brows. “Do you not want to?”
You blinked again before reality finally caught up to you. “No, no. That’s fine. Just… let me get dressed.” You eyed him as you shut the door. He was acting weird.
It was nice.
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“What on earth are you doing?” His mother shouted over the sound of a power drill. Standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.
Lando looked at her for only a moment. Still cross with her after the kitchen incident a couple of weeks ago. He had yelled at her after he managed to get you into bed. Yelled at his whole family. The staff, for not doing anything.
“She is the lady of the household and my wife. You do not touch her, you do not say a fucking word to her unless it’s praise.” He looked directly at his mother. “Understood?”
“I’m building a reading nook.” He finally said, standing back to look at his progress so far. He took you to the fabric store yesterday but you were beyond indecisive and he wasn’t sure the new couch went with the interior of his office.
He had been trying to go out more, just small places. When he found out you hadn’t left the house since you arrived he was confused and furious with Oscar. His friend and right hand had merely raised his hands in surrender, muttering how you had never wanted to go anywhere.
“Whatever for? Since when do you read for pleasure?” His mother asked, mostly teasing. Trying to weave her way back into his good graces. He doubted that would ever happen. He was on the verge of throwing her out but you managed to talk him out of it.
“It’s not for me.” Lando left it at that. Watching how his mother’s shoulders fell at the realisation and she turned away.
He smiled slightly to himself as he set up the couch, pushing it under the window so you could get good light and a nice view of the gardens. Plus, he could watch you more easily from his desk when he worked.
You looked pretty when you were reading.
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For the first time in months you were bored, and not in a bad way. Lando made sure there was always something for you to do when he wasn’t around. Part of you felt bad, following him around like a kicked puppy. But any time you’d start to back off, give him some space, it was like his hand blindly found yours, not even looking up from his work, tugging you back.
Muttering a quiet, “stay.”
You tried to ignore the butterflies that began fluttering in your stomach, chasing after whatever this was. You didn’t know why you felt stubborn over it. He was your husband after all, butterflies are supposed to be a good thing.
You took up cooking as a hobby, mostly different kinds of fresh pasta. Trying to keep your hands steady as Lando would walk behind you, fingers lightly dragging along your lower back. Leaning over your shoulder, lips nearly brushing your neck as he quietly spoke, “that looks lovely.”
He always spoke so softly to you. His touch always delicate.
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Lando fixed his cuff links as he stood in the foyer, making sure his suit was wrinkle free in the large mirror. There was a big Christmas gala that night in London. A whole cluster of politicians, businessmen, philanthropists, etc. He didn’t have much of a role to play besides being seen, given his bookies did most of the under the table work.
When he’d asked you to go with him, you hesitated. He knew seeing your father was something you’d like to avoid. Over time you slowly opened up to him about how strained the relationship was.
He had lifted a hand to your cheek, gently brushing his knuckles along your cheekbones, watching in satisfaction as your pupils expanded at his touch. “I won't let him near you,” he whispered. Watching as you debated before eventually nodding, leaning slightly into his touch.
When he heard the sound of heels clicking sharply against marble flooring his eyes flicked up, watching you approach in the mirror. Looking like heaven in high heels. Your black dress fit you perfectly, the white fur shawl was draped lazily over your shoulders.
Lando felt his mouth go dry as he turned, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as you approached. The sweet smell of your perfume swirling around him, making him feel hazy.
God, if you knew what you did to him.
It seemed like every night now that he dreamt of kissing you, doing a whole list of unruly things. Despite the ring on his hand and yours it still felt off limits. Not feeling sure of what you actually wanted.
“Ready?” You asked, a small smile playing on your lips.
He blinked at you, still in a daze. “What?”
You bit your lip, holding back a laugh and he felt his stomach pool.
“The gala. Yes, right.” He cleared his throat, not thinking twice as he took your hand. “Let’s go.”
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You felt all the eyes on you as he took you around the ballroom. The whispers. Lando Norris’ wife who he liked to keep hidden away. Apparently most people hadn’t even known he was married. They thought you were just a new date till they saw the blinding diamond on your finger and his matching gold one.
You felt stiff. Too perceived.
But he lightly took hold of your chin between his fingers, making you look at him.
“It’s just you and me, love.”
Love. You felt equally reassured and nauseous.
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Lando was using every excuse he could to touch you. Hand splaying on the small of your back where your dress dipped low. Fingers lightly brushing the back of your neck as he talked to the other guests. Hand on your high beneath the table. When he’d first done it you jumped slightly and his heart skipped a beat when you looked at him, eyes low, before turning away again and taking a sip of your wine.
He couldn’t help it as his lips pulled back slightly when he began to rub circles with his thumb, feeling the muscles of your leg tighten. But you leaned toward him, an invitation. He felt more drunk off of you than any wine he had been drinking.
He’d only seen glimpses of your father. Lingering to the side of the ballroom walls. Whispering in corners with other greedy men. His eyes always on you, though.
Lando didn’t like it. Then again he never liked anything enough for that to be a fair test. But he knew never to ignore his intuition, so he took your hand in his and tugged you along until you were outside, the cold December air twirling around them.
You shivered as you waited for the valet to pull his McLaren around, blushing a bit when he draped his jacket over your shoulders. Or maybe it was just the wind, he wasn’t sure. But he’d liked to think he made you flustered.
The engine purred as he drove away, feeling your eyes on him as city lights flicked back.
“Why’d we leave early?” You finally asked.
His grip adjusted on the steering heel, looking in the rearview mirror, always vigilant. He hadn’t realised till now that going public made you a target. Made him vulnerable.
“Just wanted to,” is all he offered. Not wanting to scare you. He knew you already had a difficult time adjusting to his world. Then again he shouldn’t cut you any credit. Growing up with your father couldn’t have been any easier.
You hummed, not believing him. Your eyes finally pulled away to stare out the window. Letting him relax. It was strange, having somebody for the first time see him. The thought was equally relieving and terrifying.
When they pulled up to the house the car fell quiet, a heavy silence falling over like a blanket. He wanted to say more to you, but what? This was all new territory and thought of messing up this bridge he’d built—
“Lando.”
He turned, looking at you as moonlight painted your skin through the window.
You reached forward, hand taking his, “I know you’ll keep me safe.” Another pause and you played with his wedding ring. “I trust you.”
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A loud thud woke you up, your heart beating erratically as your door handle began to move. Thankful that you had locked it but fear was still crawling up your spine. You were just about to reach for your phone to call someone for help when a ragged voice poured out from the other side, weakly saying your name. The sound of a body slumping to the floor.
Lando.
You quickly tore off the sheets, stumbling a bit in the dark and you yanked your door open. A hand flying up to your mouth as you took in the state of him. Bruised and slick with blood, one arm wrapped around his rib cage, his breath rattling.
His eyes cracked open, gleaming in the low lamp light of the hall. His lips pulled back in a bloodied grin.
“Hello, darling.”
“Oh my god,” you did your best to get him up, almost falling under his weight as you maneuvered him to your bathroom. “What happened?”
Your heart lurched as Lando coughed, turning his head to spit out some blood into the bin and he sat himself up on the sink. Wincing as he did so. Not answering you.
“Lando,” you said quietly, afraid that even loud noises would hurt him and you gently took hold of his face in your hands. Not caring blood and dirt would get on them. Gently running your thumbs along his cheek bones.
He seemed to melt into you, letting his head fall forward and rest against yours as you brushed the damp curls back. Seeing him like this was a new kind of pain you never wanted to experience again.
“Who did this to you?” Although your voice was gentle, there was a layer of conviction under it that even surprised you.
He sighed, a wheeze coming up from the back of his throat and his hands came up to hold onto your wrists. You didn’t miss his cracked and bleeding knuckles.
“I have a duty of care,” he muttered.
Your father. You felt like throwing up.
Gently pulling his head forward, you held him to you. Letting his heartbeat bring some life back into you. He was okay. He was here. He came back to you. Everything would be fine.
Slowly, Lando’s arms wrapped around you, holding you as tight as he could.
“I’m going to kill him,” you mumbled into his hair and he laughed, not caring that it hurt.
He leaned his head back slightly, eyes flicking between your own and your lips. His hand that had snaked up to the back of your neck pulling you in gently. Hesitant. Then all at once.
Mouths colliding, a kiss that felt like a tuning fork struck against a star.
His fingers twined in your hair and you tried to be gentle with him. As much as you could. But the feeling of finally was making you feel weightless. Reckless. Desperate as he held you tighter.
You felt high as he whispered the words my wife between kisses.
“So much for a marriage of convenience,” you managed after you pulled away. You didn’t want to, but he needed your help.
He smiled again, those dimples you loved so much deepening in his cheeks. “Nah,” he said lightly. “I think this will be a marriage of inconvenience.”
Tw: discussion of an emotionally abusive relationship
Yeah I dated a Mormon in high school and (tho we were literally fifteen) I got treated like a little trophy wife, it was also very emotionally abusive and he wouldn't let me speak, always talking over me, and then I went over to his house and saw the way his dad treated his mom and knew where he learned it all from. He was also incredibly ableist and honestly I want to run into him one day just to tell him I'm disabled now and it turns out I was when we dated too just bc I think it would damage his ego to know he dated a disabled person.
This is not to say that I believe all Mormons are automatically like this. But that's the culture I witnessed and it was in line with all the comments I'm seeing.
