#every time i try to make a conversation i just get ignored

[wolvietxt]

𝓓RAWN TO 𝓨OU !

pairing : logan howlett x fem!reader  warnings : reader has a cat mutation, fluff, hurt comfort, past traumas, shy!reader wc : 1.8k

logan’s first mistake was being nice to you. 

you’d only been at the x-mansion for a couple of weeks, still getting used to the overwhelming energy of it all. after years of isolation and trauma, being thrown into a lively, bustling environment like this felt like stepping into a different world. you’d barely been able to keep up, senses overloaded with all the new faces, noises, and scents around you. everything was too much, too loud, and you felt like a stray cat caught in a storm.

it was one of those days when you were trying to find a quiet corner, somewhere to hide from the noise. the rec room was packed; laughter, conversations, the clatter of cutlery and plates filled the air, setting your nerves on edge. you sat in the corner, tail flicking anxiously, ears flattened against your head as you tried to drown out the chaos. you could feel your claws digging into your palms, a desperate attempt to ground yourself before you bolted. 

but then you caught a familiar scent - woodsy, rugged, with a hint of cigar smoke. it cut through the haze like a lifeline, something steady to latch onto. you turned your head and saw him: logan, walking through the crowd with a beer in his hand, that permanent scowl etched onto his face. 

you didn’t even think twice; you just got up and followed him. 

he didn’t notice you right away. he was too busy glaring at the world, lost in his own thoughts as he made his way through the mansion. it wasn’t until he reached the stairs that he paused, glancing over his shoulder and finding you trailing behind him like a shadow. 

“the hell’re you doin’?” he grumbled, eyes narrowing as he took in your anxious stance, the way your tail was flicking behind you, betraying your nerves. 

you froze under his scrutiny, unsure how to explain it. a soft mewl escaped you, one you hadn’t meant to make, and his scowl deepened. but he didn’t tell you to go away. instead, he just let out a resigned huff, turning back around with a muttered, “fine, just... don’t get in my damn way.”

you stuck to his side after that. 

logan found it annoying at first - he wasn’t exactly a people person, and having someone constantly following him around like a lost kitten was grating on his nerves. but no matter how many times he tried to shake you off, you’d always find your way back to him. it was like you had some kind of sixth sense for where he was in the mansion. if he was in the garage, you were there, perched on an old crate, watching him work on his bike with wide, curious eyes. if he was out back, smoking a cigar, you were sitting a few feet away, basking in the quiet comfort of his presence. 

he didn’t get it. 

“don’t you got somewhere else to be?” he’d grumble every now and then, but there was never any real heat behind it. 

you’d just shake your head, a small, shy smile on your lips. “i like being here... with you.” 

and maybe that was the turning point, the moment he stopped trying so hard to push you away. it wasn’t like you were causing trouble - you were quiet, easy to ignore when he wanted to be left alone, but always there when he needed an extra hand or just... someone to share the silence with. 

the others noticed, of course. 

“she’s like your little shadow, ain’t she?” rogue teased one day, leaning against the doorframe of the garage, her eyes twinkling with amusement. 

logan just shrugged, wiping the grease off his hands. “she’s harmless,” he muttered, like that was enough of an explanation. 

“she’s cute too.” rouge muttered under her breath, a smirk forming on her face. “hey, do you know why she’s even following you around in the first place?

“i got no fuckin’ clue. says she’s just drawn to me?”

the smile on her face grew tenfold, “oh logan...”

he shot her a confused look, her teasing eyes only twinkling more, a little snort that she seemed she couldn’t hold in forcing it’s way out.

things took a turn one night when you showed up outside his door, clutching a blanket to your chest, looking more skittish than usual. it was late, the mansion quiet except for the distant hum of the generator, and logan had been looking forward to some peace and quiet. 

but then there you were, eyes wide and pleading, ears drooping like a scolded cat. 

“what is it?” he asked, voice gruff, though there was a flicker of concern in his gaze. 

you shifted on your feet, not meeting his eyes. “can i... stay here tonight?” you whispered, so soft he almost missed it. “i... i don’t want to be alone.” 

logan stared at you for a moment, torn between his instinct to tell you to go back to your own room and the strange, unfamiliar urge to protect you. finally, he just let out a heavy sigh, stepping aside to let you in. 

“fine,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “just for tonight.” 

you nodded quickly, slipping past him and settling on the floor next to his bed, wrapping yourself in your blanket like a cocoon. he watched you for a moment, the way you curled in on yourself, small and vulnerable, before turning off the light and getting back into bed. 

but it wasn’t just for one night. 

you kept coming back, night after night, until your pillow and blanket became a permanent fixture in his room. logan didn’t say anything, just grunted in acknowledgment whenever you slipped in after dark, but he never turned you away. 

“you know you could just take the bed,” he said one night, half-asleep, his voice a low rumble in the darkness. 

you shook your head, though he could barely see it. “i’m fine here,” you whispered. “i don’t want to be a bother.” 

logan just huffed, turning over, but he didn’t press the issue. 

he didn’t realise how used to your presence he’d gotten until you weren’t there. 

you’d gone on a mission with some of the others, promising him you’d be careful, but he couldn’t shake the bad feeling gnawing at his gut. he tried to distract himself, burying himself in his usual routines, but everything felt... off without you trailing after him. 

when they brought you back, bruised and bloodied, something in him snapped. 

“what the hell happened?” he growled, stalking over to where hank was tending to your injuries, his fists clenched at his sides. 

“it was my fault, lo” you mumbled, not meeting his eyes. “i... i thought i could handle it.” 

logan just shook his head, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “you’re not fuckin’ ready for this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. 

you flinched, your ears flattening against your skull, and he immediately regretted his harsh tone. 

“dammit,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “i didn’t mean it like that. just... don’t scare me like that again, alright?” 

you looked up at him, eyes wide and vulnerable, brimming with unshed tears, and he felt something tighten in his chest. 

“i just... i feel safe with you,” you whispered through your watery expression, so soft he almost missed it. 

logan’s expression softened, the anger draining from his face. 

“yeah, well,” he muttered, looking away, “you are. safer, i mean.” 

one night, as you were curled up next to him, your tail wrapped around his leg, you murmured something that made his breath hitch.

“i’ve never felt like this before... safe, i mean,” you whispered, your voice so quiet it was almost lost in the darkness.

logan went still, his heart pounding in his chest, but he didn’t pull away.

“yeah?” he asked, his voice rough, unsure of where this was going.

you nodded against his chest, fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his skin. “with you... it’s different. i don't feel like i have to look over my shoulder all the time. i’m not scared when i’m with you.”

he was silent for a moment, trying to process the weight of your words. the confession hung between you, fragile and tentative.

“you mean that?” he finally asked, voice gruff, his hands tightening around you just a bit.

“yeah,” you breathed out, turning to look up at him, eyes wide and honest. “you... you make me feel like i’m not alone anymore.”

logan swallowed hard, the raw vulnerability in your voice cutting right through him. he wasn’t good with words, never had been, but he knew he didn’t want to mess this up.

“that’s all i need,” you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, and logan felt something warm and unbreakable settle in his chest.

logan swallowed hard, the raw vulnerability in your voice cutting right through him. he wasn’t good with words, never had been, but he knew he didn’t want to mess this up.

“i don’t know what the hell i’m doin’,” he muttered, looking down at you, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “but i’ll stick around if that’s what you want. i’ll try... for you.”

you smiled softly, leaning into his touch, your heart pounding in your chest. you could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the way he was still holding back, afraid to take the next step. so, you did it for him. with a hesitant breath, you lifted your hand to his face, gently tracing the rough line of his jaw with your fingertips.

“logan…” you whispered, your voice barely audible. his eyes softened at the sound of his name, and for a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you charged with something unspoken. 

slowly, he dipped his head, bringing his face closer to yours. you could feel the warmth of his breath, the way it hitched slightly, as if he was still unsure. but then his lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative, as if he was afraid of breaking you. 

the kiss was gentle, almost shy, a stark contrast to the rough edges that usually defined him. his hands cupped your face so carefully, as if you were something precious and fragile, something he never wanted to lose. your eyes fluttered shut, a soft sigh escaping you as you leaned into him, feeling the warmth and tenderness he rarely showed to anyone else.

logan’s thumb brushed against your cheek, a silent question, asking if this was okay, if this was what you wanted. you answered by pressing closer, your lips moving against his in a slow, careful dance that spoke of trust, of finding solace in each other. 

when he finally pulled back, it was only by a fraction, his forehead resting against yours, eyes still closed. he stayed like that for a moment, just holding you, as if he was afraid that letting go would mean losing this fragile connection.

“you’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he murmured, voice rough with emotion, his thumb still tracing gentle circles on your skin.

“maybe,” you whispered back, smiling softly, your eyes shining as you looked up at him. “but i think i found something special too.” 

logan just held you tighter, his lips ghosting over yours once more, a silent promise that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

🌀 logan howlett : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen

@lemoanaid, @correnz, @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @ohmystvrk, @y08h

@lovely-liliacs, @california-boys-and-sun, @omen-keke

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[kkayyerr]

Safe Place.

Summary: The interviewer makes reader uncomfortable and Drew Starkey is there for her when she unintentionally regress.

Warnings: Age regression, talking about sexual stuff and reader being uncomfortable with it, slight angst, fluffy end!

Author’s note: My first cg!Drew Starkey work, hope you’ll like it!🫶🏻🥹

You weren’t a big fan of interviews. Especially when there was a tone of weird and uncomfortable questions that you didn’t want to answer. Today’s interview was one of the most stressful and uncomfortable interviews that you ever had. You and your coworker Drew Starkey were both sending disgust glares to each other each time the interviewer would ask another awfully weird question, making you both want to leave immediately.

 

„I would personally like to see more of you in the revealing outfits.”

 

The interviewer said, looking straight at you, as if he were trying to provoke you. You tried to ignore that comment, even though this time you sent Drew more of a scared glare. You were very uncomfortable, and he knew that if the situation turns out to be stressful enough for you, you’re probably going to unintentionally regress, like it had happened a couple of times before on the set, when you were getting too overwhelmed. You clearly didn’t want to regress in front of the camera, so you tried to hold it in as much as you could. The interviewer didn’t seem to care about your discomfort, continuing with his game. 

 

„Your body just made for those sex scenes; you were phenomenal.”

 

Suddenly, you realized that it was too much. It was already hard enough for you to film in those scenes, and you were not sure that you could’ve done it without Drew’s support. Hearing about it again made you feel dirty and smaller, just from being talked to like that. 

Your gaze became blurry the second before Drew caught your hand, stopping you from sucking on your thumb right in front of the camera. You saw him standing up, letting the interviewer know that both of you are about to leave. He immediately understood that you had regressed, and he wasn’t blaming you for it; he knew how disgusted you might’ve felt just because of those words. You also stood up, almost immediately giving him your hand. You didn’t care about what people would think if they saw you and Drew holding hands in front of the camera; you finally chose to care about yourself too. 

 

„Where are you going? We’re not done!”

 

The man tried to argue, but Drew was just calmly heading to the doors, checking if neither of you had forgotten something in the studio. You still were staying close to him, squeezing his hand even tighter. It was a signal that you were very overwhelmed right now and won’t handle another minute here without throwing a tantrum. He turned around before leaving the room, knowing that he had to give the interviewer an explanation.

 

„We’re done. Your questions don’t sound professional to me, and you clearly make me and my college uncomfortable. We won’t be staying here and letting you talk to us that way, sorry.”

 

Just like that, both of you had left, and you almost sighed with relief when you were finally free from that asshole and his sexualizing questions. Drew stood right in front of you, giving you some time to calm down. You just cuddle up to him, immediately hiding your face in his neck like you did every time you would regress in public. 

You couldn’t let the world see you like that, but for some reasons you didn’t want to hide from Drew; instead, you would just let him hide you from everybody else who you knew wouldn’t understand and except you like that. 

He was your safe space.

 

„Dada, can we go?”

 

You asked, and his brows raised from hearing your words. You never called him that, and you never regressed that small either. It seemed like his actions today made you more comfortable with him, and maybe it meant more than that, but those were adult conversations. Right now, he was just happy to be there for you.

 

„Of course, little one.”

 

He said, carefully cupping your face in his hands. He knew that eye contact would usually calm you down, or at least that worked all the previous times. 

 

„But maybe we should get you an ice cream first?”

 

He chuckled as you aggressively nodded. Drew was ready to buy a whole fucking ice cream section for you, just to make you forget about today’s awful experience.

Taglist: @tinylilacbun @aew-regression-cove @rafecameronsloverrrrr

[goldsainz]

# HIGH INFIDELITY — CHAPTER TWO !

SERIES MASTERLIST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ rafe’s feelings are conflicting, both for him and for you.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ nothing, i think.

003. NOTE !

✯ kinda filler (but not actually) chapter

word count : 1,6k words

Rafe Cameron likes to pretend that nothing in the world can hurt him, that nothing can truly bother him. Though he does hate, and he hates a lot. He hates the shrill sound of Rose’s voice, he hates the expectations Ward places on him, but most of all, he hates not having control. And tonight, at the party at Tannyhill, it feels like control is slipping through his fingers.

The party is everything Rafe Cameron loves and hates about his life rolled into one. On the surface, it’s perfect—just the right mix of chaos and control. The music is loud enough to drown out any awkward silences, the drinks flow as freely as the insults behind polished smiles, and every person in the room knows their place, even if they won’t admit it.

Rafe thrives in this world, the effortless ruler of his gilded kingdom, but tonight something is off. His usual sense of control feels… frayed, like a taut wire on the verge of snapping. He leans casually against a wall, scanning the room, and his jaw tightens when his eyes land yet again on Joshua Diaz.

Josh has always been likable in that unassuming, easygoing way—popular without being cocky, charming without trying. It’s infuriating, really, how people just gravitate toward him, and now you have fallen for his charm too. Because of course you have.

Rafe’s eyes follow you both as you weave through the crowd, your laughter bubbling up every time Josh leans in to whisper something. It’s a sound that cuts through the haze of noise, sharp and impossible to ignore. And Rafe hates that he notices it.

He tells himself it’s not jealousy. It’s something else—something easier to swallow, like irritation. Annoyance at Josh for bringing her here, into his space, when you so clearly don't belong. You’re a Pogue, for crying out loud. What is Josh even thinking?

But deep down, Rafe knows it’s not just about you being a Pogue. It’s the way you carry yourself, like you're unaware of the lines you’ve crossed just by stepping into his house. Like you don't care. It’s the way you laugh, uninhibited and real, in a way that no one in his world ever does. It’s the way you look at Josh, eyes bright and full of warmth that Rafe hasn’t seen directed at himself in years.

It’s maddening.

He shifts his weight, arms crossed over his chest, as he watches Josh place a hand on her back, guiding her through the crowd with ease. Rafe clenches his jaw, a low simmer of frustration building in his chest.

What does he see in you?

The question gnaws at him, and he hates that he’s even asking it. Hates that he’s wasting mental energy on a girl who should be nothing more than a passing annoyance. Yet he can’t stop watching you, can’t stop the irrational churn of emotions every time you smile at Josh like he’s the only person in the room.

He convinces himself it’s not about you. It’s about Josh. It’s about protecting his friend from making a mistake, from getting too close to someone who could never understand their world.

You’re looking out for him, Rafe tells himself, though the words ring hollow.

Rafe tears his gaze away, forcing himself to look anywhere but at you. The room feels suffocating now, the press of bodies and the buzz of conversation blending into a dull roar in his ears. He grabs a drink from the table beside him, more out of habit than thirst, and downs it in one sharp gulp. The burn of alcohol barely registers; his mind is too tangled in thoughts he refuses to name.

It shouldn’t matter to him. You shouldn’t matter to him. Yet, as much as he tries to push the feelings down, they bubble up like a poison he can’t shake. Every laugh, every fleeting touch between you and Josh grates on him, a reminder of just how out of control he feels tonight.

And control is everything to Rafe Cameron.

He sets the empty glass down harder than necessary, drawing a glance from one of the partygoers nearby. He ignores it, his attention already drifting back to you despite himself. You're standing near the pool now, the soft glow of the lights casting a golden hue over your skin. Josh is still by your side, but his focus has shifted to someone else. You’re alone, if only for a moment.

The logical part of Rafe tells him to let it go, to stay where he is and let the night play out. But another part—a louder, more reckless part—urges him forward. Before he can second-guess himself, he’s moving through the crowd, weaving between groups of people with single-minded determination.

When he reaches you, you don’t notice him at first, your gaze fixed on the water as you swirl the drink in your hand. There’s a calmness about you, an ease that feels so foreign in this world of his. For a moment, Rafe hesitates, caught between wanting to ruin it and wanting to understand it.

“You look out of place,” he says finally, his voice low but cutting.

You turn, startled, and meet his eyes. There’s no fear there, no shrinking under his scrutiny. Instead, you raise an eyebrow, your lips curving into the faintest hint of a smirk.

“And yet, here I am,” you reply, seemingly unfazed.

The simplicity of your response throws him. Most people would stumble over themselves trying to appease him, but not you. You hold your ground, unbothered, and it both infuriates and intrigues him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, though the words come out weaker than he intends.

“Neither should you,” you counter, tilting your head. “You don’t even look like you’re enjoying your own party.”

Rafe opens his mouth to respond, but for once, he’s at a loss. You’re not wrong—he hasn’t enjoyed a single second of tonight. Yet, as much as he wants to push you away, he finds himself rooted in place, unwilling to leave.

“Maybe I’m just trying to figure out why Josh brought you here,” he says, falling back on the sharp edge of his words.

For a moment, he thinks he sees a flicker of amusement in your eyes. “Maybe you should ask him,” you say lightly. “Or is it easier to corner me instead?”

Rafe’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how to. For all his bravado, all his carefully crafted masks, he feels exposed under your gaze, as if you can see straight through him.

And he hates that too.

For a moment, the world around you seems to fade, the noise of the party muffled by the weight of the silence between you and Rafe. His sharp blue eyes hold yours, and though he tries to mask it, there’s something raw and unspoken lingering there—something that sets your nerves on edge and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Neither of you say a word, but the tension is palpable, stretching between you, ready to snap.

Then, like a switch being flipped, your expression changes. The barely-there softness in your gaze hardens. Without so much as a word, you turn your attention away from Rafe and lean into Josh. The move is deliberate, calculated, as if you’re making a point. You whisper something into Josh’s ear, your voice too low for Rafe to hear, but the intent behind it is clear.

Josh’s easy going demeanor shifts almost instantly. His brows furrow, and his head turns sharply in Rafe’s direction. There’s no mistaking the glint of surprise—and maybe a hint of irritation—in his eyes as they lock onto Rafe’s. Whatever you said, it’s enough to make Josh stand a little straighter, his shoulders squaring as he regards his friend with a newfound wariness.

Rafe stiffens under the weight of Josh’s gaze, his fists clenching at his sides. He feels exposed, like he’s just been caught in the act of something he can’t explain. The simmering frustration he’s been trying to suppress threatens to boil over, but he forces himself to stay composed. Barely.

Josh leans in closer to you, murmuring something he can’t quite catch, and you respond with a casual shrug, as if Rafe isn’t even worth a second thought. The sight of it—the ease with which you brush him off—grates on Rafe more than he cares to admit. It’s as if the two of you are speaking a language he doesn’t understand, leaving him on the outside looking in.

For the first time in a long time, Rafe Cameron feels like he’s lost control. And he hates it.

He hates that he can't tear his gaze away from the two of you as you weave once again through the crowd. Hates the way he barely moves from the spot he was standing, as if his feet are rooted to the floor by some invisible force, forcing him to watch you slip further away from him with each passing second. 

The longer he watches, the more he feels himself unraveling. Every smile you share with Josh, every glance exchanged between the two of you, twists something inside him, something raw and unexplainable. He’s not supposed to care. He knows that. You’re just another person in his world, another blip in the endless sea of faces he can’t be bothered to remember. But tonight, it feels different.

And he can’t stand it.

[igglemouse]

Monday feels like the perfect day to make pancakes, banana pancakes, to be more specific! Then again, isn't every day perfect for pancakes? There's something about them, maybe it's the scent of them that fills the kitchen with a warmth only associated with morning, maybe its how soft they are and how, coupled with syrup, they just melt and fit perfectly on your tongue and aaaahhh...This new house with its spacious kitchen has brought a spark back into my cooking!

As usual, Pascal makes it over to the table for breakfast, a tradition at this point, but today there is something different. It's his clothing, he's all dressed up, buttoned up, crisp pants, no sweat. Did he miss his morning workout? Is he sick? Injured? I won't press, maybe he's finally realized he pushes himself too hard, no, I have something else on my mind.

"I was thinking about our last convo," I start hesitantly, ignoring the temptation of my pancakes for a moment. "It might be a sooner rather than later kind of thing." I'm surprised to say it because the thought of having another baby feels overwhelming. I mean, my Watcher, it's a lot to go though. Does it get better the second time? Am I really ready to submit my body through that again?

"Oh, Frida," he says just before taking another bite of his pancake. "I see that look in your eyes," he teases.

"What?!"

"That look!" he teases again, a grin growing on his face. "All you have to do is ask!" Oh, that's what he means. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks already.

"Pascal, I'm serious!" I shoot back because I am! This is a serious subject! "I just mean...if Flora is to have a little brother or sister, shouldn't they be close in age?" That's better for them, right? Allows them to bond a little better, I would think but I think by now Pascal is thinking more about the practice of making babies than the end result of it.

"Mmmhmm, they should..." See?

"Look! Ugh, nevermind!" I huff, giving up and waving away the now corrupted conversation we were having. "Do you even like your pancakes? You've barely touched them," I add, trying my best to steer it away from him and his morning wood.

"Oh, yeah," ugh, that grin is back on his face, I can't help but giggle. "No condoms moving forward then, right?"

"Pascal!" I blurt out with my fork clanking against the plate.

Alright alright, I wouldn't admit it at the table but I'll admit it to you now. I'd like another. Maybe just one more! My little Flora can't be an only child, she seems to enjoy attention a little too much but isn't that just all babies? They need so much love! Still, two feels right.

But for now, the rain is going to keep me inside which gives me a perfect chance at just sitting down and working on my socials. This is what I do now. Promote my social media, push my videos, and just try to grow my audience little by little. My first video does alright, nothing amazing or viral but a solid debut. It gives me enough hope to continue and to maybe think that there might be a future here for me with this. At least I won't have to worry about some old man trying to ruin my business.

And yes, I do spend some time working out because, I can't help but worry about my weight. I know I shouldn't, it's completely normal to add weight after creating a complete human being, but the thoughts creep into my head anyway. I just worry about Pascal out there playing a road game in some faraway city and at some night club before a pair of boobs gets put into his face and...yeah, let's end that thought right there. I want to look my best, not just for him, but for me too!

But maybe I've pushed myself too hard today because now I've broken out in a rash! Red little splotches all over my arms and legs and just everywhere! Not a good look. I don't imagine this is attractive but thankfully there's medicine for it.

By the way, I called Anthony. Or at least I tried. I'm not sure why but I felt like he should at least know. He'll never meet her, that I'm sure of, but I don't know, I feel like my grandparents, my mama, you know, people I've never known, would tell me that I should. It's fair for him to know. Just to know. It feels like if I don't tell him it'll be something I'll feel slightly guilty about for the rest of my life. If what Candela said is true, he saved my life, whether he meant to or not, so he should know that I'm doing well.

But the joke was on me, he wasn't available. A guard or someone, don't know, answers instead and asked if I wanted to pass along a message and in that moment I froze. I told him never mind and he told me times in which Anthony had phone privileges if I wanted to call back. I don't think I will now. The moment has passed. Maybe its just fate that he'll know.

Back to happier things, like making dinner for my new familia or at least trying to. Pascal made it a little harder because he walks right into my kitchen in nothing but his swim trunks which is incredibly distracting. I pause mid chop just to stare, wondering what he was up to and then figuring this is probably the continuation of our conversation from this morning. He's trying to tempt me! I can't help but chuckle because its both cute and endearing.

"Mi querido, what are you wearing?" I challenge, rising an eyebrow as he turns to face me which only makes it worse because I've always been a fan of his body and suddenly I'm reminded why I did fall for him. His goofy charm and his smile!

"My swimwear!" he announces with pride. "We do have a little pool and I wanted to check it out!"

"Must you walk around in it?"

"I think you should walk around in yours a little more!" He fires back with the cheesiest wink I've ever seen in my life, it brings a reluctant smile to my own face.

"I-I don't know! I'm still a little hefty, I might not even fit my old stuff. Maybe a one piece or something like-"

"I'd love you all in one piece!"

Ah well...well, we will eat dinner first and maybe we'll see about that later.

But unfortunately, after our dinner, little Flora had her own demands which naturally comes before my own desires. So, instead of spending some intimate time with Pascal I was called to feed her and change her diaper and just play with her and let her know that she is loved! Just the things a mama must do!

But while Frida was attending to the needs of little Florencia, Pascal was attending to his. Every day his Social Bunny account would light up with interest, messages from a variety of different women, all thirsty for his attention. They knew he wasn't single and knew he was a father, but for some, that made him all the more enticing.

Usually, Pascal ignored them, thinking of them more as annoyances and distractions, but one in particular stood out to him. Sofia Prats, a model and aspiring actress located in Del Sol Valley. She was a striking beauty with dark hair that seemed to contrast perfectly with pearlescent skin and a full smile that sat perfectly before observant eyes. She carried herself with a bold kind of confidence, a woman who was used to getting her way. She had sent him a few messages, wondering if they could meet. Pascal didn't answer, not yet at least, but he did spend some time scrolling through her Simstagram feed and enjoying her pictures...

Frida Varela - Next Episode 9.3

[estellan0vella]

Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

Chapter Twenty Seven: RUE WHEN WAS THIS? SS: 14 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 2.1K (total) Content Warnings: Hayun being a bad driver, Minho having the patience of a saint, joking mention of a gun kink Previous Next Masterlist

Minho leans casually against Hayun’s doorframe, arms crossed and an unmistakable, mischievous glint in his eyes. "Princess, you’ve got a learner’s permit, right?"

Hayun, sprawled across her bed in black yoga shorts, an oversized black jumper, and Hufflepuff socks, looks up at him, eyebrows knitted in suspicion. “Uh, yeah? But I haven’t exactly used it since I failed my driving test for the fifth time.”

"Perfect." He smirks, holding up a pair of L plates. “Because today, I’m teaching you how to drive.”

Hayun’s face contorts with a mix of horror and disbelief. “Oh no. Minho, no. That’s a terrible idea. Seriously.”

Outside her room, Jeongin and Felix perk up, catching wind of the conversation. Jeongin pokes his head in, laughing already. “Are you serious? Hayun’s the worst driver I’ve ever seen. Jisung and Hayun have collectively failed their tests like… ten times. They’re practically legends.” He looks over at Hayun, snickering. “Remember the time one of your instructors quit right after your test?”

Felix bursts out laughing. "That guy handed in his license and moved to the countryside. He’s probably raising chickens now, all because of you two."

Minho grins, unfazed by their commentary. “Guess what? You’re still learning. Get up.” He tosses her a pair of Converse, the determination in his gaze making it clear she has no choice.

Hayun lets out an exaggerated groan and flops back onto her pillows, covering her face with her hands. “Nooo, you can’t make me. I’m a fucking disaster behind the wheel, Minho. A public safety hazard.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Minho strides over, bending down to her level as he begins slipping her shoes onto her feet. “Oh, we’re doing this.” He tugs the laces tight, ignoring her half-hearted attempts to scoot away. “The more you resist, the more it convinces me to make you an expert just to prove a point. Consider it a favor.”

“I don’t want your favour,” she grumbles, her last-ditch attempt at pulling away thwarted as he grabs her by the ankles and drags her right back to the edge of the bed.

“Come on, princess,” he insists, helping her to her feet. “We’re getting you behind that wheel.”

Jisung appears in the doorway, a horrified expression on his face. “What’s this? Minho’s trying to get Hayun to drive?” He dramatically clutches his chest. “Hayun and I were not put on this earth to drive. We’re here to look good in the passenger seat, people. That’s our destiny!”

“Exactly,” Hayun agrees, slapping a high-five into Jisung’s hand. “The only car I should be behind the wheel of is an Autobot. You know, like Bumblebee. Something with enough sense to drive itself so there's no chance of a crash.”

Minho rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Tell you what. If you actually make it out the door, I’ll buy you coffee. Deal?”

Hayun narrows her eyes, as if weighing the promise of caffeine against the looming threat of vehicular disaster. “Is this part of your grand romantic scheme, Minho? Because if so, there are way less dangerous date ideas. How is death by my driving appealing?”

“Think of it as a modern Romeo and Juliet,” he quips with a grin. “If you crash, we’ll die in a blaze of glory. Very poetic.”

“Not exactly the romance I had in mind, but points for creativity,” she says, shaking her head with a laugh.

He grins wider, leading her down the stairs as she drags her feet dramatically on every step. “This is cruel and unusual punishment, Minho,” she complains, clutching the railing as though it’s her last lifeline.

“Only the best for you, princess.”

When they finally make it outside with Minho dragging Hayun from the house, he guides her toward the car and gestures to the passenger side. "Get in. I’ll drive us somewhere quiet before I let you anywhere near the wheel."

Hayun mutters under her breath, but eventually plops down in the passenger seat with a heavy sigh. “Just so you know, if this ends in disaster, you’re paying for the damages.”

Minho chuckles as he slides into the driver’s seat. "Got it covered. You’re officially on my insurance as a learner," He flashes her a confident grin. “Thought of everything, see?”

“Impressive,” she mumbles, buckling herself in. “But just so we’re clear, I was born for the passenger seat life. I’m here to sip coffee, pick the music, and look cute, not steer a death machine.”

He snorts. “We’ll see. If you’re really that bad, I’ll reconsider. But let’s just test that theory.”

Hayun snorts but watches him, a sliver of nervousness in her eyes as they drive to an abandoned airstrip. When they arrive, he pulls to a stop in the middle of the wide, empty space and gives her an encouraging smile.

“Alright, Hayun,” he says, turning the car off and tossing her the keys. “Show me what you got.”

She looks down at the keys in her hand, the weight of the responsibility sinking in. "I’m telling you, this is a mistake," she mutters, but she slides over to the driver’s seat with all the reluctance of a kid being forced to eat vegetables.

Minho jogs around the car before sliding into the passenger seat. “You’ve got this,” he reassures her, his voice calm but laced with excitement.

Hayun takes a deep breath, clutching the steering wheel with a death grip. She fumbles with the keys, finally managing to start the car. She presses the gas pedal tentatively, and the car lurches forward in fits and starts as she overcorrects, her knuckles turning white against the wheel.

“Relax, just take it easy,” Minho instructs, trying to keep his tone even as the car sways left, then right, then left again as she fights to keep it steady. "Just be calm"

“I am taking it easy!” she exclaims, voice tight with anxiety. “This is me being calm!”

They jolt forward, the car skidding slightly as she speeds up, her foot pressing too hard on the pedal.

“Okay, now slow down. Slowly,” Minho says, clutching the seat as the car edges too close to the grass at the side of the strip. “Ease into it-”

“I am easing!” she yelps, her voice panicked as she jerks the wheel in the wrong direction.

“Left!” he shouts, his own voice rising as he grabs onto the door handle.

She swerves hard to the right, her confusion audible in her cry. “This is left, Minho!”

“That’s right, not left!” he yells, gripping the dashboard with one hand, barely holding his calm. “Hayun! That’s right!”

“Oh my god, I don’t know my left from my right!” she blurts out, her voice reaching a high-pitched, frantic tone. “I have to do the hand trick, Minho, the L thing with my fingers-”

“You’re nineteen years old and you don’t know your left from your right?!”

“I know, okay?” she snaps back, desperation creeping into her voice. “I just forget when I’m about to die!”

For what feels like a small eternity, the car continues its erratic, swerving journey, with Minho’s directions and Hayun’s panicked responses blurring into one chaotic mess.

Finally, with a final, screeching halt, she slams on the brakes, the car coming to an unsteady stop right in the middle of the airstrip.

Minho releases a long, shaky breath, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Alright, enough. We’re done. Forever.”

Hayun slumps over the steering wheel, a mix of laughter and nervous relief spilling from her. “I told you I’m a bad driver! I warned you!”

“I thought you were exaggerating!” Minho says, rubbing his temples. His hand moves to her thigh, his touch grounding her and surprisingly comforting in the aftermath of the chaos. “But no. You’re actually terrifying behind the wheel.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, her hands still gripping the steering wheel tightly. “So, you’re officially volunteering to be my chauffeur?”

Minho chuckles, raising an eyebrow. “After that experience? Absolutely. Consider it a key part of my romance plan. Because, Hayun, you are never getting behind the wheel again.”

Her laughter grows, full and genuine, and she finally releases the wheel, leaning back in the seat. “Deal. I officially accept the passenger seat as my destiny.”

They both get out of the car, and Minho walks around to the driver’s side as Hayun slides over the centre console with a grin, plopping herself back into the passenger seat where, she has to admit, she feels much more at home.

As he settles into the driver’s seat, he glances over at her, a fond smile lingering on his face. “Alright, princess. Let’s get you back to the life you were made for. Coffee, good music, and some much safer driving.”

As they pull into the drive-through, Minho rolls down his window, his voice steady as he orders, “One iced americano, please,” He glances at Hayun, a subtle tilt of his head signalling her turn.

She leans over, resting her chin on his shoulder as she peers up at the menu, her voice gentle and warm. “And a hazelnut honeycomb latte with an extra shot of coffee, please.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, a smirk already forming as he looks down at her. “Not going for your usual frappuccino? What’s the deal?”

Hayun sighs dramatically, sinking back into her seat as if the weight of the world is pressing down on her. “Fear has frozen my insides, Minho. It’s like rigor mortis has set in. I need warmth, not ice.”

He chuckles, inching the car forward as they wait in line. “Speaking of fear, can we just circle back to the fact that you actually had to make an ‘L’ with your hands to tell your left from your right? How exactly did you make it to nineteen without mastering that?”

Hayun groans, pressing her hands over her face. “I know my directions! Most of the time! It’s just harder for some people, okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, dragging out the word with exaggerated patience, “some people, like, I don't know, off the top of my head, children.”

“Minho!” she protests, letting out a muffled whine from behind her hands, attempting to shield herself from his teasing.

With a soft laugh, he reaches over, gently prying her hands away from her face. His fingers linger just a second longer than necessary as he holds her wrists, forcing her to meet his gaze. “C’mon, it’s not that bad. Honestly, I think it’s cute. Just adds to the charm.”

She slumps further down, sliding low in the seat, trying to hide the blush now heating her cheeks. “You’re insufferable.”

He just laughs, giving her hands a gentle squeeze before letting them go, and they move up in line, reaching the window. The barista hands over their drinks with a grin, clearly entertained by the pair’s antics. Hayun squints at her latte as if it holds some secret wisdom, letting its warmth seep into her hands.

As they pull out of the drive-through, she takes a slow, careful sip, visibly savouring the heat. “Okay,” she breathes, relaxing for what feels like the first time all day. “I needed this. I feel human again.”

Minho glances over, watching the relief spread across her face as she clutches the cup. “You were seriously that freaked out?”

She rolls her eyes, but a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Yes, actually. Minho, I’ve never felt less competent in my life.” She lets out a dramatic sigh. “I am a god-awful driver. It's my one true weakness.”

Minho chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, now that I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing it firsthand, I can confirm that, yeah, you’re officially banned from the driver’s seat. For life.”

“Fine by me,” she quips, raising her coffee like she’s making a toast. “Passenger princess forever.”

Minho drums his fingers on the steering wheel as they hit a red light, taking a sip of his americano. “Oh, and just so we’re clear, I am absolutely going to hold this over your head for the rest of your life. Every single time we’re in a car together.”

She throws him a sidelong glance, a glint of mischief lighting up her eyes as she lets her words linger in the air. “You’d better be there for that long, then.”

The words catch him off guard, and for a split second, his playful smirk fades, replaced by something softer, more sincere. He meets her gaze, his voice quieter, laced with a subtle warmth. “Yeah, I plan on it.”

She gives him a small, shy smile. The red light turns green, and Minho’s gaze flicks back to the road, but the warmth between them lingers, a soft and steady undercurrent, something unspoken settling comfortably into place.

As they drive, the silence between them feels different, heavy with a sense of possibility. She sips her latte, savouring the sweetness, and he drums his fingers on the wheel in a steady rhythm, a quiet smile still tugging at his lips.

I confess that I still do the hand thing at my big age of 20 and my partner is just like Minho in the teasing

Taglist: @hityoulikebahng @drewsandsebastianswife @fackeraccount @lily-loves-kpop @stilldontknowhoiam

@ziggy1221 @justaspoonofjam @tr-mha-fan @candycurshidkwhatthehell

@heeseungspookie @smigcrazy @skzstannie @nightmarenyxx @beaann

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Frayed Edges

Fandom: Marvel (Mob Boss AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky used to be so in love and so… ignorant of the roles you had to play, which lead to you breaking up. But that didn’t seem to keep you away from each other since you now act as Bucky’s nurse whenever he gets hurt. Based off my mini fic here.

Stitched Together | Pull the Thread | In Stitches | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

He was pissed off. His entire body hurt and he was really pissed off.

Sam dropped him off at your place. Bucky didn't want to deal with anyone else right now. He told Sam he'd call him when he'd need to get picked up.

He limps up to your door, grimacing at every move he makes. The stab wound in his stomach hurt like a bitch and he needed your help ASAP.

He knocks on your door, ringing the doorbell with urgency. The door swings open and your eyes widen, "Holy shit, Bucky!" You pull him inside and he groans in pain.

Bucky takes a quick glance at your table, seeing two sets of plates set out, "You expecting someone?"

You open your mouth to reply and there's a knock at your door, "Shit," you murmur, "Go to my room. Don't make a sound. Hurry!"

He obeys without a word. As soon as your bedroom door closes, you rush to your front door and pull it open, "Hey, dad! Sorry, was in the bathroom."

"It's alright, Bug," your dad kisses your head and enters your home, the bag of takeout in his hand. You take the bag from him and head to the dining table.

"Nice! Sushi!" you feign excitement, silently praying that, for whatever reason, your dad doesn't go to your room to find your ex boyfriend, now mob boss, bleeding on your floor.

"You still like the dragon roll, right?"

"Yup!"

"Good," your dad joins you at the table.

"Um, I have to finish some online training class really quickly and then I'll join you in a bit."

"Yeah, yeah. No problem. Go finish up. I'll be here," your dad waves you away and you rush to your bedroom, locking it behind you.

You head to the conjoining bathroom, as see Bucky cleaning his wound. “Why the fuck did you think coming here was a good idea?!” You whisper angrily at the bleeding mob boss in your home.

“I didn’t know your dad was coming over!” Bucky loudly whispers back in response.

“Exactly! You didn’t know which is why the smart thing to do would’ve been to call or text me to let me know you planned on coming!”

The mob boss scoffs, “Well sorry, I was a little too busy trying to not to die from a stab wound!” He gestures to his punctured skin.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh, “Out of nights you get hurt, it had to be the night my dad and I have dinner together.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “My bad. I’ll make sure to schedule my stabbings at a more convenient time.”

“Idiot,” you mumble as you grab your first aid kit from under the sink, and gesture for him to sit on your toilet.

You work in a quick and efficient silence. Bucky doesn’t make an effort of conversation because he knows you prefer silence when you work.

Despite your annoyance with him, you're still gentle. You apologize for the stinging of neosporin.

He watches you with an observant gaze, a softness in his eyes. A sense of longing fills him in the pit of his stomach...or maybe that's the feeling of the needle you're sewing him up with.

Bucky still can't believe this is where life has lead you both. You help save lives, he, on occasion, ends lives. You're light, while Bucky lives and works in the dark.

He knows coming back into your life was dangerous, but he couldn't help it. He just missed you so much and was desperate to have you back in any capacity. Even if he can't have you the way that he wants.

You finish up, taking off the bloody gloves you wore and throwing them into the trash, “Stay here. Take some meds. I’ll check up on you, but please be quiet. If dad finds you, he’ll kill both of us.” You state with concern and seriousness.

He nods and gives you a shy smile, “I’ll be fine, sweetheart. Go enjoy dinner with your pop.”

You stand with a sigh, “Just text me if you need anything. I’ll pretend it’s America or something.”

“Got it. Thanks,” Bucky says as he slowly stands from your toilet after you stitched him up.

He watches as you quickly clean up and exit your room. He listens to the distant sound of you and your dad talking.

Bucky’s shoulder slumps as he lets out a shaky sigh. He wishes it never came to this, sneaking around and pretending like he still didn’t love you.

Because he does. He always will, even if you two are now worlds apart from each other, on opposing sides, never meant to be.

[awriterinthenight]

"I Knew You Would Be Friends"-Anthony Lockwood

requested: anonymous

words: 1577

warnings: George and Lucy being assholes for the majority of the story, that's really it, maybe swearing

summary: Lockwood brings you to 35 Portland Row to meet George and Lucy, but it doesn't go as planned

George and Lucy were the most judgmental people in all of London most likely. George was always sceptical of everyone he met and didn't trust them. Lucy was just quite anti-social, only getting along with people after a long time, or only if they clicked right away. Sadly you weren't one of those people.

Lockwood was more than excited to introduce you to George and Lucy since they were his family, and Lockwood practically would spend every second with you from how much he was entranced by you. Lockwood had everything planned, first he would take you out for a bit, then bring you to Portland Row to meet his friends, and then hopefully you guys would get along well. Why wouldn't you? Was what he told himself every time he thought about it.

When the day finally arrived, Lockwood and you spent your time walking around London before finally heading to 35 Portland Row. You were actually quite excited to meet Lockwood's friends. From what he told you they sounded like great people.

When you entered you looked around the place admiring all the random decorations, as you put your rapier in the stand, since you were also an agent, but you freelanced. Lockwood led you around to the kitchen where, who you assumed were his friends, stood waiting for you two to return.

"Y/N this is George," he said referring to the boy with glasses," and this is Lucy," he pointed to the brunette girl, both seemed to not be the most welcoming, but sometimes agents were just like that.

You stuck out your hand for George to shake, which he did politely, but Lucy completely ignored you," I'm Y/N, I'm sure Lockwood told you about me, since he talks about you guys a lot," you said, trying to make small talk with the two.

"He actually doesn't really mention you that much," Lucy said, her tone rather bland, but the words still hurt a bit.

Lockwood seemed to start to feel a bit of tension and awkwardness between everyone, "She's being sarcastic, they're probably just annoyed by how much I've told them about you," he said, trying to diffuse the tension, "Why don't you make us some tea George."

The boy with glasses let out a sigh, "You're going to make me waste the tea bags on her, we only have so many left," he complained, making you feel a bit bad for intruding.

"I'll pick you up more tea bags when I go to the store, just pop the kettle on and maybe grab some biscuits too," he said, giving George one of his trademark smiles.

"Fine, how do you take your tea?" George asked you, grabbing the tea from the cabinet.

"A bit of honey, and a bit of sugar is fine," you told him, "I can help if you want," you offered, trying to be kind.

George was a bit caught off guard, since that was exactly how Lockwood preferred his tea, but quickly moved on, "No it's fine," he said, before mumbling just loud enough for everyone to hear, "Besides I don't need you messing up our kitchen."

You were a bit shocked by how George and Lucy were acting, since Lockwood said they were usually nice people. Even Lockwood was a bit confused, but he tried his best to keep everyone somewhat civil. He suggested they move to the library, so they did.

You quickly took to the shelves, searching for titles you recognized, and which ones sounded interesting to you, "You can borrow one sometime if you want," Lockwood offered, standing next to you as he leaned against the shelf.

"Really? I would love to borrow something sometime, maybe I could even lend you one of mine," you suggested, ecstatic at the idea.

"That sounds lovely," Lockwood said, his gaze catching onto yours. You were then interrupted by Lucy clearing her throat to remind you she was still in the room as George arrived with the tea,

You tried to make conversation with Lucy, "So Lucy, do you read much?" you asked, interested in the girl and her hobbies.

She shook her head, looking at you judgingly, "No, I'm usually too busy with jobs to have time to, plus I'm just not the biggest fan of it," she explained, seeming to act annoyed at your question.

"I'm an agent too, so I know how annoying it can be to not have much free time," you said, trying to find common ground with her.

Lucy didn't seem to be too keen on the idea though, "You're an agent?" she asked, surprised by it.

You nodded, "Yes, I freelance, it's quite enjoyable being able to work for myself."

"Working by yourself seems boring, and agencies are much nicer than freelancing," Lucy said, which was a bit weird since she usually didn't like agencies much, except Lockwood and Co., since other agencies didn't treat their agents the best,

You shrugged, Sometimes I work with other people. I actually have a scar from when I worked with another agent and the job was more complicated than we expected," you told her, trying to make conversation with her, even though she seemed unamused by you.

"So you're saying you're not good at working hard jobs," Lucy accused, taking a sip of her tea.

Lockwood was a bit too scared to intervene, afraid he'd anger the wrong person with the wrong comment. So your and Lucy's conversation continued, "I'd say I do just fine, but everything that agent heard went in one ear and out the other," you said, trying to joke with her to try and lessen the tension.

"So you don't work well with others?" she questioned. The rest of the conversation went on like this for a while. You would try to be charming, talk about a few reckless things you did during jobs, or just say something funny, and Lucy would immediately retort with something. George seemed to be bored and read his comic, only chiming in a couple of times. Lockwood only spoke up a couple times, and when he did Lucy would just say something about you again.

When it neared an hour before curfew you decided to leave, having enough of this. Lockwood offered to walk you home, but you said you were fine, he could tell you were lying, since you didn't seem fine, but he knew better than to push. When Lockwood closed the door behind him he could hear George and Lucy say how relieved they were that she was gone.

Lockwood felt bad for you, since he promised that his friends would be nice, but there was anything but that. He was also even more surprised by how they acted, since they were rarely like that with anyone. The two didn't even notice Lockwood head to bed early looking a bit sullen, but they did notice how he seemed to be less chipper.

The next morning Lucy and George were in the kitchen, Lockwood hadn't left his room yet, pondering over yesterday's events, "Do you think I was too mean?" Lucy asked, realising she might've been way more rude than she meant to be. It was just that Lockwood had lost a lot of people, so they were always sceptical when someone new entered and they had to make sure you weren't going to leave him heartbroken.

George shrugged, "I don't know, maybe. She was awfully nice and we were kind of dicks to her," he said, making a cup of coffee.

They were silent for a moment till Lucy spoke up, "You know who she reminds me of," she said, looking at George as they responded in unison, "Lockwood."

"I mean she was charming like he is, she also talked about how reckless she was on jobs, she took her tea the same way as him, and she offered to help me with the tea which is something Lockwood would do," George said, remembering everything about you.

Lucy let out a sigh, "Maybe we were too mean. We should tell Lockwood we're sorry, and tell him we want to apologise to her," Lucy admitted, and George agreed.

Lockwood was rather surprised, yet pleased his friends wanted to apologise. So after some convincing he got you to come over again to redo how yesterday was supposed to go. This time Lucy answered the door to the house.

"I'm sorry for how I was yesterday," she said letting you in, "We're just a bit defensive, and well George is just George."

You chuckled at her joke, "I'm just glad you don't seem to hate. That would've been horrible, since you'll probably be seeing me a lot more," you said, accepting her apology.

Lockwood soon came down the stairs to greet you, "Well I'm glad you two are friends, and you can work out George's situation later. Right now we have somewhere to be, so I'll see you later," he said, rushing out the door.

"Bye lovebirds," Lucy called out as the door closed behind the two of you.

Lockwood seemed to be a lot more smiley today than usual, "What's up with you?" you asked him.

He shrugged, "I knew you would be friends," he said, holding your hand in his, "That's why I'm happy love." Lockwood was more than full of joy to know the person he was desperately falling in love with was now becoming well liked by his family. 

Current Taglis (ask to be added)

@almost-gabrielle @scarlett-8 @atashiboba @that1deerpersondownstairs

[genderqueerdykes]

How the fuck does anyone argue with bigots it’s so annoying

hello there

i generally don't, personally. i have a stake in a conversation until it elevates to argument status and then in which case i just walk away or attempt to do so. if someone gets so heated that they start arguing with you, they are more than likely not listening to your stance on the matter anymore, and are just here to tell you how to think and feel

make no mistake, you don't have to fall in line with their beliefs. but sometimes you do just kinda have to ignore their weird remarks or avoid certain conversation topics. we can't change everyone's mind in every situation. some people are prone to arguments and becoming combative and if they are known for doing so, we are allowed to choose not to converse with that person about certain things

for the sake of your own mental health i recommend trying to just avoid those conversation topics with that person, or try to end them in ways that don't turn into an argument and become damaging to you. it's great to try to convince someone to be more open minded but some people enter arguments specifically to win. and if this person is prone to this, this is what they want at this stage. they want to rile you up and it's not worth giving to them

generally speaking, find a way to walk away from the conversation when and where possible. you don't have to block them, but you can. you can simply just stop responding. literally walk away. go into the bathroom. go into your room and not come on. whatever it may be. sometimes you CAN'T walk away, but much of the time, you can. and it's important to not give people our time if they're going to take everything we say in bad faith and mock us and torture us. you don't owe them any conversations, even if it's to try to convince them that they're wrong. they may never be able to accept that they're wrong and if they've proven that it's more productive to focus your efforts on making sure you aren't too affected by what this person believes and hopefully getting you into a safer situation where you don't have to get trapped in those conversations anymore

hope that helps somewhat, take care of yourself for now

[touhouweed]

idk, it feels weird to run a big group and also feel very isolated

[kkayyerr]

haiii!!! I had an idea for male!little!reader? (Or fem, I don't mind honestly I just kinda wanted to share this idea 😅)

but what about Rafe getting a giant stuffie for his little one basically saying it's so his little one can hug it whilst he's at work or overall just taking care of business (with Barry maybe?) but him getting jealous when you start getting super clingy to the stuffie-

feel free to completely ignore this!!!

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა ♡

Jealousy

Summary: Rafe getting jealous because his little boy spending too much time with his giant stuffie.

Warnings: Age regression; none.

At first, getting you a big stuffie that would help you regress when Rafe’s not around seemed like a good idea to him. Seeing your happy face and a bright smile when he had presented it to you had only proved his point; you needed something that would remind you of him when he’s not around. He even had sprayed his perfume all over that giant teddy bear, so it would help you fall asleep, cuddling with it as if it were him laying close to you.

Of course he wanted to always be there for you, especially when you would go into the little space, but sadly, his business deals with Barry had taken over his life completely for the past few weeks, leaving very little free time. Mostly he would come home late, when it’s past your bedtime, finding you asleep hugging stuffie that he had bought you, and at first he was happy that you were so calm and understanding about his business.

But then it would get too much. Whenever he saw you around the house, you were always wondering around with that toy, mostly ignoring Rafe’s presence. Of course you didn’t mean to neglect him; you just really liked that stuffie and got used to your Daddy always being busy, so you wouldn’t even bother trying to talk to him or ask him to play with you. Rafe always had been a jealous person, but never in his whole life he wanted to fight a fucking teddy bear. The one that he had bought himself, actually. Every time that he would see you with that toy, he would just clench his jaws, trying not to say anything; he didn’t want you to think that your Daddy was tweaking. 

And he tried to remain calm. 

Until the day that he had completely lost his grip. 

It was another day of your life; you were casually regressing, laying in your bed sucking on pacifier and hugging your favorite stuffie, sniffing on Rafe’s perfumes. You were almost asleep as you saw Rafe coming into the room. He had yet another conversation on the phone, so you choose to ignore that, completely losing interest.

 

„Yeah, man. I’m sorry, but tonight you’ll have to deal with that stuff yourself; I have plans."

 

Your eyes widened at his words. You didn’t hear him reject Barry before, not even once. But it seemed like tonight something had happened. Or it was about to happen. 

You were too confused with that conversation to see that Rafe was staring at you for at least a minute now, with a sly smirk on his lips. You took the pacifier out of your mouth. 

 

„Daddy, what happen’?”

 

He completely ignored your question and your confused face expression, approaching you silently as you were still hugging that goddamn toy. Rafe got on the bed beside you, quickly grabbing you tightly with both of his arms and pulling you into his embrace that in fact felt more like a death grip. 

Rafe then quickly pushed your stuffie out of the bed, kicking it with his leg with a little too much force. 

You didn’t even have a chance to protest because Rafe quickly shoved a pacifier in your mouth, making you melt in his arms almost immediately.

 

„I won’t let that naughty bear steal my little boy from me.” 

 

Rafe said, surprisingly, his tone didn’t sound like he was joking. He was actually so fed up with you cuddling up to that thing instead of him, even though he knew that there was a part of his fault also.

 

„I told Barry to keep an eye on our business while I’m away, so now I have a whole week to spend with you, baby.”

 

Your eyes widened at his words, and you clapped your hands, imagining the whole week that you would spend with your Daddy without him having to answer to those business calls every five minutes. Rafe smiled softly at you, leaning down to kiss your forehead, before his gaze turned cold once more as he turned his head to the stuffie that was laying on the floor.

 

„And that bitch is staying home, he’s grounded.“

Taglist: @marvelfanfics1 @rafecameronsloverrrrr @aew-regression-cove

[fallentheatre]

each other's world, torn apart

minecraft end poem as a conversation between two broken brothers.

(@hoverboards-and-dragons heyyyyy)

[alongtidesoflight]

why is it that when you're biracial and you talk to white westerners once the question of your heritage comes up they jump to the absolute worst interpretation of it

[thebirdandhersong]

alas babes I literally cannot defend this man's name anymore except in the name of ignorance which. you can only claim ignorance for so long

[foxgloveinspace]

I mean this in the nicest way possible: I wish I was a better friend.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...

[zickmonkey]

Oh my god hey besties guess who's having an awful time like mentally