#you can say in the tags or in the comments or in the asks

[space-blue]

Not to bring everything back to that one fandom nitcpick, but incidentally this is exactly why it can be so dispiriting to have a ton of likes on a work and yet nobody speaking to you.

A fic, say, that has 20 likes and 3 comments is like WOW, 3 whole ass people are talking to me!!

Like I hung my work in a huge art gallery and there's tons more (and far better) works all around, but 3 people stopped by and asked if I was the artist and then wanted to compliment my work! Maybe share their thoughts on the topic!

Like I'm a chef in the middle of an evening shift and 3 tables asked to talk to me so they could ask questions about the ingredient and tell me their own family recipe and compliment my cooking.

100 likes and no tags and no comments is... turning people into numbers. It rapidly becomes meaningless.

It's like sending out 100 dishes and getting no calls to the room for compliments to the chef, or like seeing lots of people smile at your painting on the wall and move on without a word.

And the larger the numbers the more insecure it can make you, and the more faceless people become, drowned in numbers.

Stopping by for a single sentence, for a funny tag, for a thank you, that makes you a real person.

Especially in this day and age where so many account are bots.

Something I found on Twitter that really puts things in perspective as a creator.

[notjustjavierpena]

Parents

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Merry belated Christmas from me! I know this is my second Christmas fic this time around but I finally got the courage to write about Wife’s awful parents. 

Summary: Javier puts his foot down during Christmas with your toxic family. 

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Toxic family dynamics, psychological abuse, childhood trauma, Christmas, conflict and confrontation, sobbing, declarations of love, hurt/comfort, body/fat shaming

Word count: 5.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61942318

Parents

You get a call from your parents’ home number a few weeks before Christmas. Your mother and father haven't actually bothered seeing you since your wedding day last year but Lucas is four months old now and there’s suddenly a strange interest from them in being grandparents to your firstborn. Somehow, they talk you into spending Christmas with them and reassure you that they’ll take care of everything as long as you bring their grandson. The whole idea causes a ball of anxiety to settle in your stomach, almost imitating getting hit right in the solar plexus with how much your breath struggles to even out as you tell Javier about it. Your husband agrees reluctantly but not without raising a concerned brow, asking you several times - and with days between each time - if you are absolutely sure. 

He even asks you now as he parks the car in your parents’ driveway, looking at you with a serious expression, brows furrowed while you sit stiffly in the passenger seat. You glance towards the front door, trying to act casual as if you’re staring at a wild animal who might pounce if it notices your anxiety. It is an odd feeling you get, staring at your childhood home but feeling more as if it is the scene of a crime. This house is not a memory of warm and fuzzy feelings but rather a place of constant criticism and unjust pain. 

Javier says your name softly beside you. On the backseat, Lucas hiccups.

“Do I look okay?” You quickly ask instead of acknowledging the tone of his voice, fixing your hair without changing anything. 

“Yeah,” he answers and tries not to comment on your nerves, “You look beautiful, mi amor (my love).”

The call from two weeks ago had your shoulders tensing up before you even answered the phone but the way they had reasoned you into revisiting the place of your hardest years has made your shoulders not come down again. 

You sigh gently and unbuckle your seatbelt, “Okay. I can do this for just an afternoon. Let’s get this over with.”

You climb out of the car, Javier following you after carefully unbuckling Lucas and cradling him in one arm while balancing the diaper bag on the other shoulder. You leave his car seat, knowing how much easier it would have been to transport your son inside in it but Lucas has been fussy all night. You really wish he hadn’t because you don’t want to go inside with only half the energy that a good night’s sleep could have provided. 

As you ring the doorbell, you take a look at Javier one last time, “Please don’t interfere. I don’t want to make everyone uncomfortable.”

“Baby, are you sure that—“

“Oh, there you are!” Your mother exclaims when she opens the door with a syrupy smile, “We were starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

“Sorry. Life with a baby and all,” you shake your head with an embarrassed chuckle and try to ignore the tension in your muscles, shrugging your coat off your shoulders to reveal your wine-red button-up and dark skirt. 

“Honey, I thought you knew we always dress up a little during the Holidays,” your mother says while glancing at your outfit with veiled disdain, “Where’s that nice blue dress? With the ribbons?”

“This is all that fits me right now, that isn’t maternity clothes,” you answer apologetically at the first jab of many. Beside you, Javier takes a step closer to you without saying anything. 

“Anyway! Where’s the little man?” Your mother chirps, already having moved on and looking to Lucas who has started stirring in Javier’s arms. When she gets closer, about to reach out to run a hand over his little head, Lucas immediately starts whimpering as if he is aware of the unpleasantries that his mother has had to endure at the mercy of this woman. He knows the culprits before they’ve even revealed themselves. 

“Oh, he’s a little fussy, isn’t he?” She laughs it off and retreats much to your relief, letting Javier bounce your son to make him settle down again. When he quietens down again, you share a glance with your husband who signals that everything is okay. You take a deep breath and let him handle the situation. 

“Where’s Dad?” You ask to turn your attention away from your crying child, smoothing out a nonexistent crease in your skirt. 

“I think he’s just about to get the turkey out of the oven,” your mother says, wagging a finger in Lucas’ face with a little smile, “Why don’t you go say hi and I talk to my grandson for a moment? Oh, look at you, Lucas! You’re just perfect, aren’t you?”

You reluctantly leave the three of them to head for the kitchen. You can feel each family photograph staring back at you as you walk through the hallway to your destination; a picture of your five-year-old self on a bike but somehow no picture of your graduation ceremony as if it has been decided where things went wrong before you could acknowledge it yourself. 

“Hey Dad, smells so good in here,” the kitchen does indeed smell wonderfully as you walk through the door. Your father looks at you over his shoulder, giving you a little smile and you try not to think about how he didn’t bother to come out to greet you. 

“Mom and I were wondering if you were ever coming,” he notes while plating pieces of turkey meat. In the hallway, you can hear Javier striking up polite conversation. He’s handling your mother with his usual calmness, and you feel grateful for his presence yet embarrassed that you aren’t strong enough to handle it yourself.

You shrug a little, Javier’s presence giving you the courage to try and mirror said calmness, “Newborns, you know.”

“He’s four months,” he corrects. 

“Right, time flies,” you reply with your confidence fading fast, the words coming out in a way that doesn’t quite carry the quick wit that Javier usually loves about you. You touch your arm, standing awkwardly by the counter, “Still figuring it out as we go.”

Your father doesn’t turn around, “Parenting’s not rocket science, you know. Your mother and I managed just fine without all the made-up nonsense you young people talk about these days.”

You jump a little as your mother puts a hand on your shoulder and says your name to get your attention. You look back at her, “Can you set the table? I put the tablecloth ready on the silverware cabinet.”

“Sure, Mom,” you smile, already heading for the dining room to escape from your father’s subtle judgments. You find Javier has already gone, an irrational thought popping into your head of how he has bolted and left you to deal with your mom and dad by yourself. 

You glance into the kitchen as you start placing the plates in each of their respective places, “Where’s Javier?”

“He went to get the presents from the car,” your mother replies from the kitchen. You hear her take out a serving bowl from a cabinet. 

“Oh, I should go help him wi—“ 

“He’s your husband, sweetie. Let him handle it. There’s no need to emasculate him like that,” she is suddenly in the doorway, staring you down in a way that makes your hands shake. Her gaze drops to the table and her brows furrow, “You’re using the wrong plates!”

You look up with a racing heartbeat, “What?”

She sighs your name audibly, “These aren’t the Christmas plates. We don’t use regular plates for special occasions. Honestly, I thought you’d know better.”

The words sting and you set down the plates you have been holding in case the littlest twitch will make you drop it onto the floor, “Sorry, Mom.” 

“Ah well, now you’ll never forget it,” she jokes without humor in her voice as she opens the door to the china cabinet, pulling out the plates adorned with what you recognize to be hand-painted holly. You shamefully realize you know them from childhood Christmases and that they are exactly where they’ve always been. 

Automatically, you gather the wrong plates to make room for the right ones. It’s Christmas, you remind yourself as you do it. It is one day. You can survive one day. 

“See? Isn’t this much better?” She says cheerfully when your mistake has been corrected and while you nod, Javier reenters the house. 

He joins the two of you, carrying a large gift bag in one hand and holding Lucas on the other arm. You immediately go to take him, doing a careful transfer until you can lay his tiny body against your shoulder while supporting his bottom. 

“¿Todo bien? (Everything okay?)” Javier asks quietly when you follow him into the living room where the tree stands. He sets down the bag and tries to act casual, laying out the gifts and waiting for your honest response in the meantime. Apparently, you haven’t been as successful in hiding the distress on your face as you thought you had. 

You force a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and Lucas starts whining again. You bounce him gently, “It’s nothing. Just… Christmas stuff.”

Javier glances toward the hallway to the kitchen where your parents’ voices can be heard faintly over the sounds of cooking. His jaw tightens slightly and his mouth becomes a thin line. 

“Don’t,” you say as firmly as you can muster because you wish he would, “It’ll only make it worse.”

“Dame un beso (give me a kiss),” he says instead, and you shyly lean in to peck him on the lips. Afterward, he pulls back but only after stroking Lucas’ back, “You’re both doing great, okay? Don’t let them get in your head.”

You are interrupted by your mother’s voice ringing out from the dining room, telling you that dinner is ready. Javier kisses you one last time before reassuring you that everything will be okay and that he is in your corner. You try to smile, tense as you take a seat with Lucas still in your arms. 

The Christmas meal begins with polite conversation, your father asking Javier about work and your mother telling you about neighbors that you haven’t spoken to in years. You mostly just speak when spoken to, having decided to focus on your baby as he keeps wriggling in your arms in discomfort. You try to rub his belly, try to make him settle by giving him your attention but still, his tiny face crumbles and he lets out a string of small complaints. 

“Maybe we could open presents while he naps?” You suggest hesitantly when your mother has given you enough judgemental advice, “He’s been so fussy all night, and I don’t want him to get more overwhelmed than he—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” your mother says your name with a sigh. You hear Javier’s chair scrape against the floor, almost as if he is about to get up and get ready for a physical altercation.

“Let’s do whatever is easiest for the baby,” your father interrupts, placing a hand on your mother’s wrist. Her annoyance shines through her eyes but she nods with a smile nonetheless. 

“Of course,” you hear her grit out, “It’s just… We’d love to spend time with him. We’ve already missed so much, and Luke needs his grandparents.”

“We’ll see,” Javier answers for you. 

The dinner continues in mostly silence with turkey being substituted by pie, cutlery clinking against plates, and glasses being lifted and set down again. There’s tension so thick that it can be cut with a knife, your mother glancing at Lucas with a smile before it disappears from her face when she shifts her gaze to your direction.  

Mercilessly, she finally speaks, “So, honey, have you thought about when you’ll start losing the baby weight?”

“Mom!” You exclaim in shock, surprised that sound comes out when your throat feels like it is about to close up completely.

In the same manner as one would spit out a drink in shock, Javier’s fork scrapes unpleasantly against his plate, and suddenly, your mother’s name falls from his lips like the sound itself leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth. She looks startled by the interruption, almost like a deer in the headlights of a car, but it doesn’t faze your husband, “My wife looks beautiful and she has just given me - us - the greatest gift which is our son. Let’s not diminish that, shall we?”

You try to feel the weight of Lucas against your chest instead of how you don’t feel safe within this house, with its bruises on the walls and its ghosts of a youth spent walking on eggshells. Lucas’ body is warm, a reminder that this doesn’t matter. He matters. 

“I’m focused on taking care of my son right now, Mom,” you reply coolly with your lips resting on the soft hairs on Lucas’ head. 

“Right, of course. I didn’t mean anything by it,” your mother argues, clearly flustered, “You know how important it is to stay healthy for the baby.”

“Your mother just wants what’s best for you, honey,” your father intervenes, trying to steer the conversation onto friendlier and safer topics but she has already gotten up from her seat. 

“Why don’t I clear the table so we can move into the living room and open presents?” She mumbles, putting on a show by letting her voice waver. She has begun stacking plates before anyone can even say anything, practically fleeing the room and leaving you all looking slightly sheepish. Javier hides the roll of his eyes exceptionally well and he smiles when you catch him.

“I’ll put Lucas down for a nap,” you announce to what is left of the party.

Javier gets up alongside you to help you. He walks upstairs right behind you, a calming presence with the diaper bag in hand as you head for the guest room.

When you close the door behind the three of you, the tension seeps out of your body at having a quiet moment with your boys. The lighting in the room is soft and calming, almost making you want to lie down to nap with your son. 

“There we go,” you say as you gently place Lucas on the bed while Javier rummages through the bag for his pacifier. Lucas blinks up at you, his tiny fists balled and his chubby legs kicking excitedly. He lets out a happy gurgle.

“Oh, now you’re happy,” you tease softly and kneel by the bed to rub his tummy, “Picky with who we’re smiling at, are we?” 

Javier joins you by the bed and offers Lucas his pacifier. Your son stretches his arms and reaches for his father, letting out a high-pitched giggle around the pacifier. However, as he suckles gently, accompanied by your soft touch that has now moved to his chubby cheeks too, his eyelids start to grow heavy. 

When his breaths have slowed, you do whatever you can with the pillows to create a safe space for him to sleep. You create a barrier around him, ensuring as well as possible that he won’t roll over. 

“You know, you’d think that they would have set up a crib for him if they’re so desperate to see him,” you murmur bitterly as you adjust the last pillow.

“You sure you want to go back down there?” Javier asks carefully. 

“Can you grab the baby monitor?” You ignore his question at first but Javier is already handing you the monitor, ruining your attempt at not addressing the situation further. You sigh and get up from the floor, “I can get through it. If it’ll make them stop pestering me for a visit for a while.”

“I swear, one more word out of her mouth and I’ll open my own,” Javier says with anger simmering just beneath the surface. He drags you into his arms when you stand up again, hears your sigh of relief at being squeezed. It calms your nervous system so effectively that you slump. 

“Believe me, I feel like I am going insane,” you whisper into his neck and shoulder, grabbing aimlessly at his strong frame and inhaling his scent. He returns the desperate touch by simply rubbing your back in slow circles. 

“Yeah, I don’t know how you stay so calm,” he kisses your temple a few times. 

“Trust me, humans can endure a lot when they know there’s a time limit,” you chuckle humorlessly and pull away, “Let’s just do the gift exchange and leave.”

Downstairs, your parents are waiting for you by the tree. The collection of presents is sparse this year due to the short notice but you find it relieving to know that the gift exchange will be over quickly. 

Placing the baby monitor on the coffee table, you sit down on the sofa but don’t allow yourself to relax into it. Javier drops down beside you but leans back into his seat, his hand resting casually on your thigh to ground you. 

“Let’s get to the gifts. It’ll be nice to end this day on a happy note,” your mother says overly cheerfully, pretending to have forgiven and forgotten all about the situation earlier. She reaches for the first gift under the tree while your father stands ready with a bag for the wrapping paper. 

“That’s mine,” Javier tells her with a little smirk in your direction. He holds out his hand until she gives it to him, “To my beautiful wife. Merry Christmas, baby.”

“How thoughtful,” your mother mumbles and sits on the edge of her armchair. 

“Javi, I thought we weren’t on gifts this year,” you scold playfully but there’s no seriousness to your voice. You finally smile and this time it is genuine, feeling his gaze on you while you impatiently rip the wrapping. 

“I know what I said but I know you’ll love it. It’s more for Lucas anyway,” he informs you shyly. 

Inside, you find two pairs of identical fuzzy and comfortable socks with a dinosaur print on them. However, one pair fits Lucas’ tiny feet and the other fits yours. Your whole demeanor changes with the sight of your gift, your face lighting up with a bright smile, “These are so cute!”

“For your cold feet. Thought you could use something cozy while you take care of Luke at home,” he moves his hand to rest just above the small of your back, his palm smoothing over you on top of the fabric of your blouse. 

Your parents sit idly by. They stare at the gift with confusion and arrogance, clearly holding their tongue over how ridiculous they find it. Your mother picks at her fingers, “Interesting.”

“Interesting? Aren’t they adorable?” You hold the matching socks up happily, not sure what to expect but not even your mother’s judgmental expression can bring you down right now. To really rub it in, you kiss Javier’s mouth gently in front of them, “Gracias, esposo (Thank you, husband).”

But the happiness is short-lived as your father goes to get the next present from the small pile. He searches for a moment amongst the few there are, deliberately seeking out the present that you have brought them, most likely to be able to leave the room soon due to the obvious tension. He has never been one to intervene. 

“You shouldn’t have,” your mother tuts with a small smile as she carefully unwraps it in her lap, her fingers doing everything they can to not tear the paper so she can reuse it. 

When the framed picture of Lucas is revealed - a photo taken during an afternoon when he was particularly happy and smiling - her smile develops into a slightly wider one even if it looks against her will. She studies the picture with your father looking over her shoulder. 

“We thought you’d like something to remember him by,” you encourage her to say something. 

Your mother places the photo on the coffee table, her hands smoothing out the wrapping paper while she talks, “It’s lovely, sweetie. Though I’m sure we’d have more memories if we got to see him more often.”

You tense up beside Javier. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him do the same but he squeezes your hip to tell you that he is right there. Anxiously, you curl your fingers into your skirt but your mother isn’t finished.

“I just don’t understand why you’ve been so distant,” she continues, cold in her tone. “You hardly call, which would be fine but you visit even less than that, and now you’re letting Lucas sleep through his first Christmas. It’s not like you’ve gone back to work, so what is it?”

“Mom, please,” you say quietly but it doesn’t veil the wavering of your words, “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Are you?” She challenges, “Lucas has been fussing all night, hasn’t he? Maybe he’s picking up on your stress.”

You hear Javier say your mother’s name as he had during dinner, low and with warning. At the same moment, the baby monitor crackles with the sound of Lucas’ tiny complaints. The sound pulls you from your seat, your instincts to go to him overriding your desire to defend yourself from further abuse. However, your mother’s voice rings out behind you just as you take your first step.

She rolls her eyes, “Oh, just let him cry a little. You’ll make him clingy if you keep running to him every time he whimpers.”

You stop in your tracks, finally turning around to look her in the eye with your own eyes narrowed. You can see Javier watching you closely while you talk, “Mom, if he cries, he needs me.”

According to you, she has already gone too far but it seems that she cannot stop once she has started, “You know, you really should stop babying him so much. He needs to learn to self-soothe.”

Tears of frustration start to build in your chest and you can feel the muscles of your throat start to tighten as they rise to your eyes, “Jesus Christ, Mom, I’m not going to stop babying my baby.”

Her final blow comes out with a deliberate intention to hurt you, “There you go overthinking again and snapping at your mother. He is whimpering. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how Javier puts up with it. You can be such a bitch when you’re stressed.”

The room falls dead silent and the first tear escapes your eye at the cruel nickname… then a second and then a third until you start to cry silently and hopelessly. You suddenly feel like a teenager again, suffering from forced proximity. Your father opens his mouth but nothing comes out, seemingly not able to figure out how to defend his wife for once. It is the final straw for Javier.

“What did you just say?” He firmly cuts through the silence. He has gotten up from his seat and has stepped in front of you to shield you protectively from your mother’s line of sight. His nostrils flare with anger that might explode into rage at any moment but he keeps his voice steady, “You better not have said what I think you did or I am wondering why you haven’t apologized already.”

Your mother’s eyes widen at the idea of consequences. She splutters, caught off guard, “Apologize? Javier, don’t be ridiculous! I’m her mother—“

Javier laughs dangerously and condescendingly and looks away with a roll of his eyes. He shakes his head, not afraid to let the room know that he thinks she sounds pathetic without even calling her out on it. He crosses his arms over his chest, “You got a hell of a way of showing motherly love then; all you have done is tear her down today.”

“Javier,” your father tries to interject, “Let’s not make this into a scene.”

“No,” Javier turns to him, his jaw muscles flexing slightly underneath his skin with how much anger is flowing through him. The simple word makes your father sit up straighter than before - a testament to Javier’s days in Colombia - but Javier is not done, “You don’t get to lecture me about making a scene. Not after sitting there and letting this happen. She is your daughter.”

When your father has shut his mouth, looking uncomfortable by his defeat while he leans back into his seat with no intention to follow up on his words, Javier’s fury settles on your mother once more, “What’s your goal here, exactly?”

You’re aware that it isn’t just a simple few tears falling from your eyes anymore but rather a silent stream that has your face puffy and sensitive. It is accompanied by grief over your younger self not having had someone like Javier in her corner. You sniffle audibly, feeling as if you have been punched in the gut with how much it hurts and humiliates you to sit idly by. Your mother catches a glimpse of you behind your husband but it doesn’t seem to have any effect whatsoever. 

“There’s no secret agenda here, for God’s sake. I didn’t mean anything by it,” she sneers, trying to keep her demeanor straight despite the humiliation of getting called out being evident on her face. 

“Yes, you did,” Javier argues immediately and fiercely, pointing his index finger at her in an accusing manner, “You knew exactly what you were saying. You wanted her to hurt. Well congratulations, you’ve succeeded. Unfortunately, your daughter is a lot nicer than me and handled your words with a lot more grace than you deserve. I will not be doing the same thing.”

Your mother’s composure falters. She says your father’s name helplessly but he looks at her with tired eyes, full of quiet disappointment. Even if he is absent and passive like always, his refusal to intervene further is a sign that he would never go as far as his wife has just done. He shakes his head in disapproval, “Why’d you do it? We were having such a nice time too.”

She gapes at your father while his gaze drops to his lap, shrinking herself slightly at the realization that she is outnumbered and has to face your husband alone. Javier takes a step closer, radiating authority when she tries to avoid further confrontation, distaste so clear on his face for how he has lost her attention for a moment. When you let out a quiet sob, too paralyzed in your spot on the couch to go to your whimpering child, his face hardens further and he continues, “Listen to me.”

Your mother looks up reluctantly. She appears to be on the brink of an attempt to turn his words against him and argue right back once more, but Javier cuts her off before she can even start. 

“You don’t talk to her like that again. Ever. And you most certainly do not question her ability to be a mother. She is a perfect mother and God knows, she hasn’t gotten it from you. Lucas is a happy, healthy, and thriving baby because of her,” he takes a breath, and for a second, it seems like he might be done but then, “You hurt my girl, you understand that? And if you ever speak to her like that again - actually if you even speak about her like that again -  I will personally make sure you don’t get to have Lucas in your life.”

“Are you threatening us?” Her composure slips even more. 

“No, ma’am, I am instructing you,” he replies coldly, “If you can’t respect his mother, we’re done here.”

Javier turns to you now, his face softening immediately at the sight of you sitting teary-eyed on the couch with your hands clutching the baby monitor. He says your name so softly, a sound that has always felt like an unfamiliar and unwelcome sound within this house, and gently pulls the piece of technology out of your hands. 

“Listen to me, baby. Go wait in the car. I’ll get Lucas and his things,” he instructs you, placing the baby monitor on the coffee table behind him without looking away from you. He helps you to stand when you find yourself nodding. 

When you’re up from your seat, he puts a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the door. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let you linger in the room. 

“You don’t have to leave,” your mother protests with obvious surprise that you and Javier are carrying out the promise of consequences. She begins pushing herself to stand. 

“Sit down, I will not let you disturb any of the peace she has left,” he commands harshly when she tries to take a step toward you. 

Your mother falters, stunned by his audacity, and sinks back into her seat.

The moment you’re out of the front door, your legs start shaking so badly beneath you that you aren’t sure if you’ll even make it to the car. The walk feels endless, like climbing a mountain, the neighborhood surrounding your childhood home quiet because everyone is inside with the happy family that you never got to have growing up. 

Until now. You have it now. However, you have left them to fend for themselves on the battlefield to slide into the front seat of the car. You rub your chest as it feels tight but it soothes nothing and suddenly, the tears come harder than they had in the living room. You rest your head against the glass window, screwing your eyes shut and feeling drips of hot tears on your cheeks.

Memories come flooding and you have no power to stop them, pictures of many nights spent in solitude in your room because it was the only illusion of sanctuary in the house before you. The sound of your mother’s scoffs, her unbearable ability to make you feel small, inadequate, and unwanted. Her year-long cruelty feels like a knife in your chest but your father’s silent complicity twists its blade too, makes you think that you were never worthy of defending. 

Yet Javier had done it so effortlessly, had done what you’d wished someone would have done for you in your entire life, and he had done it without any hesitation. You are shattered by another night believing the worst about yourself, yes, but you realize that a part of your sobs comes from relief too. Suddenly, it all feels silly and you don’t know why you have always stopped Javier from speaking up for you since you met because his words - she is a perfect mother - have taken the power out of your mother’s incredibly fast. 

You hear the front door open and a shaky sob leaves you at seeing the two of your boys approach the car. Javier has the diaper bag over his shoulder whilst cradling Lucas against his chest, his face serious. He moves in long strides to get to you fast, not saying anything as he buckles Lucas’ sleeping form into his car seat before climbing into his own seat in the front. 

You sit up again, eyes still brimming with tears that streak your face. You feel overwhelmed like you have run a marathon or fought a bear or a monster. 

Javier puts on his seatbelt but doesn’t put the key in the ignition yet. He looks out of the windshield for a moment, breathes a sigh of relief. The car is quiet except for Lucas’ soft breaths as he sleeps.

Right until Javier says your name when you don’t automatically turn your head to look at him, ashamed of how the day has progressed. It is Christmas, after all, and Lucas’ first one ever too. 

“Mírame (Look at me),” he says in a gentle murmur. 

You shake your head, unable to answer with how tightly wound you are. You feel his hand under your chin, carefully pulling you by your chin until your eyes meet his. His outline is blurry from all the tears but his voice cuts through the fog in gentle firmness. 

“I love you so much, and I love our son, okay?” He says it like it is a promise, “They aren't ever gonna to talk to you like that again because I won't allow them to. Do you understand me?”

You silently look at him through your tears, nodding weakly. He reaches to brush your tears away with a knuckle. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay because you don’t have to see them if you don’t want to. You just have to let me take care of you,” he continues and cups your cheek instead, “And right now, I say you’re done with them for tonight. Actually, for as long as you fucking want.”

“I want… I don’t…” You say at first but then, “I’m sorry.”

Javier furrows his brows, “Why are you sorry?” 

“Because that’s my mom,” you try to speak around a fresh sob, “And you married me and I trapped you with my fucked up family.”

“Hey, heyheyhey,” he shakes his head, moving his other hand to cup your whole face now. He leans over the console of the car and rests his forehead against yours. When you simply cry harder, he pulls you into a hug, “You didn’t trap me, okay? You didn’t. I’m here because you make me happy. You make me so happy, baby, and Hell knows, I needed a bit of taking care of when you met me. Let me return the favor.”

His body is warm, soothing, and grounding. His embrace squeezes you hard enough to make you calm down, giving you a moment of quiet peace in your mind as you begin to take in his words. You feel the same. You want to say it but you’re afraid that you’ll never stop crying tonight, so instead you find the courage to say those words that you should have told yourself years ago, “I don’t think I want to go back.”

“What do you want to do then?” Javier pulls back to look at you. He moves back into his own seat again and starts the car to give you time to think clearly about his question. 

“Can we go to your dad’s?” You ask hesitantly. 

Javier’s brows rise slightly but he doesn’t argue, just nods as he puts the car in reverse. Before reversing out of the driveway, he pulls you in to kiss your forehead softly. 

“Claro, mi amor (Sure, my love),” he says simply, “He’d love to see us.”

.

.

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[littlcdarlin]

My Burning Sun Will Someday Rise

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | read on AO3

summary: Joel and reader finally make it back to the hotel & all that sexual tension is resolved. tags: daddy kink, big age gap (Joel is 49, reader is 23), dbf!Joel, Joel has a lovely belly, Joel is a little mean, praise kink, Joel calls reader "kid", unprotected piv (very stupid, wrap it up kids), creampie, cunnilingus, face-sitting, (resolved) sexual tension, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, forced orgasm (not really? kinda sorta?), smut with a little bit of plot, no use of Y/N, afab!reader, reader has hair

Note: finally, the last part is here! I hope you’ll enjoy it, I had a lot of fun writing this. It’s one in the morning so forgive any typos — I wanted to post today. Thank you for the consistent love on this story, I really appreciate all your messages and comments <3

Joel positively drags you back to the hotel, one arm slung across your shoulder, your hastily packed bags in the other. He’s quiet, and you’re afraid that talking will break the spell, that he will hear your voice and remember who you are, and what he’s planning on doing to you. You’re nervous. Excited, yes, but nervous – you’ve been with people before, drunken hookups with collage boys who wanted to get off as quickly as possible. None of it felt like this, you didn’t want any of them as people. With them, it was about the sex itself, with Joel it is almost entirely about him.

Your thoughts are racing in your head, insecurities bubbling up inside of you, things that didn’t matter when you slept with those other people you barely knew – will Joel mind that you aren’t clean shaven? Does he expect you to be more experienced than you are? Are you even good in bed, or will he be underwhelmed, and secretly think you are pathetic?

You want this, more than you have wanted to be with someone maybe ever. But that want makes you vulnerable, strips you of any nonchalance you might have clung to if Joel was anyone else. He isn’t some collage boy who won’t remember you in the morning, he is your father’s best friend, for whom you are a more than controversial choice. Sleeping with you is a threat to his friendship with your father, and still, he’s ready to risk it, he pretty much told you as much. That gives it a level of importance you aren’t used to when it comes to sex.

When you reach the hotel, Joel hurries past the reception before the kind lady can stop you, and despite your nervousness, it amuses you. Joel presses the button to the elevator impatiently, making your stomach flutter. He’s so shameless in his desire for you, not embarrassed by this open display of wanting to get to his room as quickly as possible. You would have worried about looking needy, but not Joel. He’s secure, and solid, and unflinching.

The doors open, and as soon as you’re inside, Joel crowds you against the wall of the elevator, catching your lips in a kiss, before moving his mouth to your neck. You exhale shakily at the feeling of him sucking on your skin, the beard burn a surprisingly welcome sensation.

"They’ve got cameras," you breathe, a weak attempt at regaining some sort of dignity, while Joel quickly unravels you under his mouth and hands.

"Fine by me," he just answers, "Should ask them for a copy to take home with me."

Your knees threaten to buckle at those words, his admission that this isn’t just a holiday hookup, that he will want you just as much when you have left this paradise and returned to the world outside of your bubble.

"Careful, baby," he says, one hand holding you steady by the waist, his lips ghosting over your jawline.

Baby.

With a sudden ding!, the doors open again, and an elderly couple steps inside. Joel stops kissing you, but doesn’t step away, his hand still on your waist, his big body still close to yours. You offer the couple an awkward smile, and barely register the judgement in their eyes as their gazes flicker over Joel’s hair specked with white, because Joel’s hand starts moving again. He slips it under your shirt, no his shirt, rough fingers drawing featherlight patterns on your sensitive waist. His touch is teasing, clearly meant to get some sort of reaction out of you in front of these strangers. Joel’s getting off on this, you realize, on being seen with you, on people knowing just what he plans on doing once you’ve reached the third floor. You bite the inside of your cheek and do your best not to let show how you ache for him, how his gentle touches are affecting you. If you look at him, you know your resolve will crumble, so you pointedly look at a point over his shoulder, and try not to shudder.

As soon as the doors open again, you and Joel get moving, and a nervous chuckle escapes you when you meet his eye. His expression is hard to read – blatant desire, but also something more gentle, something that calms your nerves. It’s Joel. He didn’t leave you hanging when you needed to borrow a bike, didn’t make you feel stupid or guilty for it being stolen, and he won’t make you feel stupid now. That’s what you like the most about him, you think, as his hand ghosts over your back and he leads you towards his room, the way he makes you feel at ease. Whatever the opposite of shame is, that’s what Joel brings out in you.

You reach the door, and want to push it open, but Joel stops you, tilting your face towards him with a gentle touch.

"You don’t have to do this," he says seriously, "we can just go back to the beach. No hard feelings."

You appreciate his consideration, the way he seems to be aware of a certain kind of pressure or expectation his age creates for you, but the idea of going back now, when you’re so close to what you want, makes you want to weep.

"Getting cold feet?", you ask lightly, and he smiles at you, a fond smile, one that seems oddly out of place given the situation.

"I’m just sayin’, I get it if you changed your mind or something. I assume this isn’t the way you…usually do things."

"No," you say, holding his eye contact. "Usually they’re twenty-five years younger."

Joel’s face is a perfect mask, not sure what to make of your remark. You reach up, your hand gently touching his beard, and your eyes glide over the wrinkles around his eyes from years of laughter, the white in his hair, his warm irises.

"God…you’re so fucking sexy," you breathe, and there it is again, that color his cheeks only turn when you compliment him.

"I haven’t changed my mind, Joel," you say honestly, looking directly into his eyes. "Have you?"

"No."

His voice is deep, and he finally, finally opens the door, eyes still on yours.

As soon as Joel pulls you into the room, his lips are on yours again, your arms wrapping around his neck, as he walks you over towards the bed. He’s bigger than you, much bigger, and it only really occurs to you when your knees give out under you, and you land on the bed, sitting in front of him and gazing up.

He looks imposing, almost threatening, if it wasn’t for that expression he has on his face – something behind the desire. You feel safe in his hands, safe to give yourself over, not just in the physical sense. He looks so capable, so easy to trust. His hand comes up to your face, tilting your head up, and you move easily for him, letting him mold you in any way he wants.

"That couple," you begin as you watch him watch you, take you in, "they knew exactly what we were doing."

His hand travels over your throat, and although he doesn’t squeeze, it’s exhilarating to think how well it fits into his palm. You shudder as he pops open the first button of your shirt – his shirt.

"You liked it," you add, voice breathy as the tips of his fingers ghost over your collarbone.

His eyes snap up to yours, and you give a small smile, almost teasing.

"Didn’t hear you complainin’," he answers, holding your eye contact. "Think I should mark you up, so that the reception lady knows, too."

It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does, but you press your thighs together to relieve that terrible ache. Joel notices, and smirks almost imperceptibly, opening another button on your shirt. He’s taking his time, building tension by making you wait. He’s good at this, you think.

"But then she would stop calling you my Daddy," you breathe, trying hard not to close your eyes under Joel’s touch. Joel cocks an eyebrow, hands lingering on your shirt.

"Don’t tell me you enjoyed that, kid," he says, voice low, eyes intense. You flush, and wonder if he’ll kick you out now, if you have finally made things too weird to continue, but Joel keeps gazing at you, ever steady.

"Cat’s got your tongue?"

You swallow, and let out a shaky exhale. Joel pops open another button.

"That why you kept repeatin’ it to me? Cause it turned you on?"

He’s teasing you, dragging it out of you despite your embarrassment. He wants you to revel in just how debauched it is what the two of you are doing, and you get closer to giving in with every second. Joel’s fingers trace over the swell of your chest, finally visible now that he’s opened most of the buttons, and a weak sound escapes you.

"’S that it, baby?"

"Yes," you breathe finally, your cheeks burning. Joel’s answering smile seems oddly satisfied, as he opens the last button, lets the shirt glide over your shoulders and slump down on the bed in a little heap of linen. You swallow.

"Yes," he repeats, eyes trailing over your body. You wish he’d hurry up and get his hands on you, but with the way slick steadily leaks into your swimsuit, you can’t really complain. He sure knows how to play you like an instrument.

"Say it, then," he says curtly, a simple order, and you briefly close your eyes. It’s almost too good. His eyes are locked onto yours when you open them, expectant and blown wide with desire. He has stopped moving, and you realize he wants to hear you say it before he’ll go any further.

"I…I want to call you Daddy."

Your stomach curls up with need when you hear Joel groan, his resolve quickly crumbling, as he crashes his lips against yours again. He licks into your mouth with urgency, and it’s possessive in a way it wasn’t before, like he wants to claim your mouth. The thought makes you whimper, and Joel trails one hand over your side and down to the waistband of your swimsuit. You didn’t bother putting on your shorts again, just walked to the hotel in your bikini and shirt. His fingers slide under the thinnest part, right on your hip, and he lets it snap against your body. It doesn’t hurt, but the sound makes you groan.

His hands roam over your body relentlessly, squeezing, and tracing, and feeling the swell of your hips, the dip of your navel, your spine, your breasts. You almost don’t notice him undoing your swimsuit, until he slides off the top part, and runs one finger over your pebbled nipples. Your back arches and your hips twitch towards him, but he doesn’t give in yet, just teases the sensitive nubs while you whimper into his mouth.

Then he unties the little bows on your hips, and just like that you’re bare before him, your swimsuit coming undone with one tug of his fingers, while he’s still fully dressed. He’s disturbingly good at undressing you, something that used to be an obstacle to sex now a sensual part of it. You want to feel embarrassed at the amount of wetness between your legs, but when Joel’s fingers slide over your stomach and down to your throbbing core, he groans into your mouth.

"Jesus, you’re drippin’," he breathes against your lips, breaking away to watch his hand press circles into your clit. You try hard not to twitch under his gaze, his blazing eyes and skilled touch. Another whimper escapes you, as he keeps rubbing and watching your reaction, like he wants to take you in before continuing.

It’s embarrassing how quickly he gets you to the brink of an orgasm, but when your hips twitch towards him with little control, he stops, his eyes meeting yours again. You watch him lift his hand up to his mouth and suck his fingers clean, eyes not leaving yours. It’s the most erotic thing you have ever seen, the way he closes his eyes at the taste, and you wonder how you haven’t come yet.

"I’m gonna eat you out," he says, and it’s not a question. Immediately, insecurity floods your veins – you haven’t had someone do that before, and the men you have heard speak about it said they didn’t enjoy it.

"You don’t…I mean, you can just…", your voice trails off. Joel stops in his tracks, watching your face and cocking a brow.

"You ever been eaten out?"

"No," you say quietly, "and you don’t have to."

"I know I don’t have to," he says, and he sounds almost affronted, like he can’t believe you would think he didn’t enjoy it. "You want me to?"

"I just…know some people don’t enjoy it much," you mumble and look down. Joel’s hand comes up to your face, tipping your chin so you have no choice but to meet his gaze.

"I want you to come on my tongue," he says, "and then again on my fingers."

You almost whine at that, embarrassment seeping out of you easily, and Joel traces his thumb over your lips. You let it slip into your mouth and suck, swirling your tongue around it.

"Alright? You let me take care of you," he mumbles, eyes trained on his finger between your lips.

"Okay," you say, when his thumb slips from your mouth, and then quietly add "Daddy."

"Good girl," he answers, and a wave of heat rushes to your loins. It’s fucked, what you’re doing, completely fucked, but so good you think you might cry. You were scared thinking about it for too long would break the spell you two seem to be under, but the more you do, the more turned on you get. You have Joel Miller in front of you, calling you a good girl and about to make you orgasm multiple times.

"Lie back, baby," Joel says, and you do, sinking into the pillow that smells like him. Joel keeps watching you, and when he kneels down on the bed and gently spreads your legs with his hands, you think you might come from just that sight. But you hold on, because something about Joel wanting to eat you out, not even having taken off his own clothes, makes you curious. 

He kisses your ankle and trails his mouth upwards, over your inner thigh and your hipbone, until you almost tremble.

"Jesus, Joel," you mutter, hips twitching on the bed, trying to get closer to him without your permission. He looks up at you, pressing his thumb to your clit again, and you curse. It’s not exactly painful, but it’s so much, almost too much.

"That what you call me?"

He doesn’t let up, his touch so insistent, you wonder how he expects you to come up with a single word.

"S-sorry," you stutter, grinding against his hand. "Daddy."

It thrills you to use that word, to know it gets Joel off, enough that he chastises you for using his real name.

"That’s right," he answers, and finally he lets up, placing his big palm on your thigh instead. Then, he leans down, and presses his mouth to your clit, flicking his tongue over it. It’s unlike anything you have felt before, and you actively have to will your hips to stop twitching, afraid to somehow hurt Joel. But he notices, ever perceptive, and breaks away, his mouth and beard already covered in your wet.

"Get up," he says, and you feel your anxiety rise again, questions of what you could have done wrong. He waits, but raises his eyebrows.

"You wanna come, or not?"

So you sit up, confused, and watch as Joel lies down on his back.

"Straddle me," he orders, and you move towards his lap, but he shakes his head. "Over my face, come on, baby."

You stare at him. His expression softens when he sees your disbelief, and he gives you a smile.

"Told you I’d make you come on my tongue, didn’t I?"

"Yeah, but Joel, that’s…"

Your voice trails off. You aren’t sure what you want to say – dangerous? Really fucking hot? You’re still sitting by his side, when he strokes one hand over your thigh, a soothing touch.

"I don’t know where you get the idea from that I don’t enjoy eatin’ you out," he says, his voice almost stern, "but you get that right outta your pretty head. Now, will you do as I say and sit on your Daddy’s face?"

Your mind goes a little blank when Joel calls himself that, and you feel helpless to do anything but nod, give him what he really seems to want.

"Words, baby."

His hand trails up your thigh and over your stomach.

"Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl," he answers, looking directly into your eyes, his strong hands grabbing your waist and helping you move, hoisting you up until you’re hovering over his face.

"If I need to breathe, I’ll tap your thigh, alright?"

"Yes," you breathe, quickly adding "Daddy".

Joel’s hands force your hips downward and although the sensation of his mouth under you is exactly what your throbbing clit was begging for, you’re tentative and unsure of what to do – you don’t want to hurt Joel. 

"Move, baby, make yourself feel good," you hear Joel say, voice muffled by your body. You rock your hips forward once, and let out a groan – your clit bumps into his nose, and you feel him lick into your folds. His hands grab your hips, and he starts rocking you against his face, setting the rhythm for you, and and you feel yourself leak onto his face and into his mouth, as you start moving along with him. His beard feels scratchy in the most delicious way, as he lets you fuck yourself on his mouth, his thick tongue darting out.

"Fuck," you moan, "Fuck J-Joel, Daddy, fuck!"

It’s a lot to take in, Joel Miller’s head between your thighs, lapping at you like he’s starving, like he can’t imagine anything better than having you sit on his face. His strong nose keeps nudging your clit, again and again, and your movements slowly becomes more confident, though also less controlled.

Joel’s hands keep encouraging you, and you’re closer than before, right at the brink of coming all over his face, when Joel groans into your dripping cunt. The vibrations send you over the edge, and you practically sit down on his face with all your weight, but he doesn’t stop you, just lets you ride out wave after wave of your orgasm and chant a mixture of his name and daddy.

You get off of him with shaky legs, afraid you suffocated him, but he smiles up at you, looking absolutely wrecked – his hair is tousled, beard and face drenched in your juices, jaw a little slack. He reaches up to cup your face, and you go with his touch easily, laying down next to him. He rolls over until he’s half on top of you, watching your red, panting face, and slants his mouth over yours. You can taste yourself on his lips, can feel his soaked beard against you, and although it should be impossible after just having come, you throb at the feeling.

"So good for me," Joel mutters against your mouth, and trails his hand downward, over your stomach and to your overstimulated clit. You twitch under his touch, your body unsure if it wants to get closer to Joel, or get away from him, and he chuckles.

"She spent?", he asks, his tone a little amused, when you squirm under him. "That’s okay, baby, I’ll give her a break."

Instead, he slides his fingers through your folds, gathering wetness, and finally pushing into you. Your body opens up for Joel more than willingly, and although the stretch is tight, it’s not nearly as painful as you’re used to, you’re too wet and relaxed for that. 

Joel watches your face, your fluttering eyelids, as he pumps two thick fingers in and out of you in shallow thrusts. You whine – you know you’re being vocal, too loud for a hotel room, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when Joel curls his fingers against that spot inside of you that makes you see stars. Your hips twitch upwards, and Joel smirks.

"There we go, baby, there we go," he mumbles, moving his fingers relentlessly, and already you can feel another orgasm building. He doesn’t let up, just lets you whine under him, thrash around, because his touch is almost too much, too good, too intense, but just right. 

"Give me another one, baby, come on," he coaxes, and you think your ears start ringing when his palm starts grinding into your clit with every movement of his hand, the tips of his fingers pressing hard against your insides. "You just let Daddy make you feel real good."

It feels like bursting apart, when you come again, some tight coil snapping and Joel practically wrenching the orgasm out of you with his relentless hand and dirty words.

"Daddy," you groan, your hand coming up to your face, as you bite down on your knuckle. Joel watches you with bright eyes, lets you tremble until he can tell it’s too much, and only then does he slip his fingers out of you. 

You’re weak, exhausted from the intensity of your pleasure, and Joel chuckles when you sigh, watching your glassy eyes.

"Okay if I fuck you now?"

You think you’d let him kill you, if he really wanted to.

"Yes," you breathe, "please."

He finally – finally – takes off his shirt, arms flexing, chest sprinkled in dark hair, his belly protruding over his trunks. You wish you had a camera, or a chisel so you could scratch his glorious body into a block of stone. He’s hard in all the right places, and soft in the rest, and with a jolt you realize you’re allowed to touch now, no longer confined to watching him swim from your deckchair.

"Jesus," you breathe, sliding one hand over his biceps, as he unties the band of his swimming trunks. You know you’re hindering him, but you can’t bring yourself to stop your hand from trailing over his chest, and down to his belly.

"Fuck, you’re so goddamn hot," you mutter when he slides the trunks over his hips. Then your mind goes a little blank, because finally his bulge isn’t confined to his trunks anymore, finally he’s naked in front of you, kicking his clothes onto the floor.

He’s big, just like the rest of him. Long, and thick, and uncut, and dripping in precum, the dark hair at the base of his cock a harsh contrast to the reddish skin. Joel closes his fist around himself, pumps twice, until you tentatively put your hand over his. His cock twitches, and you feel a little overwhelmed with power. Joel let’s go and lets you do the work, your hand much smaller than his. He looks even more imposing like this, as you move your hand up and down his length.

"Wanna suck it," you say suddenly, and you’re not entirely sure where the words come from, but you know they’re true – you want to get him into your mouth, feel him use your face the way you used his. Joel groans.

"God, you’re killin’ me," he answers, eyebrows furrowed, voice wrecked. You squeeze your hand a little tighter, just to hear him make his little sounds again.

"I’ll come if you do, baby, and I’m not sure I have two rounds in me," he says, regret lacing his voice, but his words make you clench around nothing – his age turns you on more than you thought possible.

„And I need to fuck you tonight,," he adds, and wraps his big palm around your wrist, so you stop moving it over his throbbing cock.

"So fuck me," you breathe instead, eyes wide and glued to his. You watch his expression change, something primal take over, and suddenly he’s on top of you, his hips pressing into yours.

"Again," he orders, almost growling.

"Please fuck me, Daddy," you whisper, your stomach clenching and unclenching in anticipation. Joel looks like he might come from just your words, but after a moment of collecting himself, he kisses you briefly.

"Alright, pretty girl, I’ll give it to you real good," he promises, and aligns his cock with your entrance. "You’re so goddamn fuckin’ wet, I can slide right in."

And he does, pushing his hips into yours. You feel the stretch of the thick tip, the widest point almost bordering on painful, and you bite your lip. Joel slides into you slowly, breathing into your mouth and making you feel everything. Then the tip is sheathed inside of you and Joel groans quietly.

"Grippin’ me so tight," he mutters, consistently pushing on, "halfway there, babygirl."

Your pussy flutters around him, clenches and unclenches, as he keeps going, and going. You feel full, and still Joel pushes on, until his hips are fully pressed into yours, and you feel him deeper inside of you than you have felt anything before.

"Breathe, baby," he reminds you, and you let out a shaky breath you didn’t notice you were holding. "Attagirl."

When he pulls out of you again, you make a raspy whining sound, your stomach clenching at the intense drag. Joel’s hands start trailing over your body, yours are gripping his shoulders.

"Look so pretty, all stretched out on my cock," Joel praises you, and God, the mouth on this man. If you weren’t so exhausted from the first two times he made you come, you would be trembling. You groan weakly, as he pushes back in, and starts moving at a quicker pace, setting a rhythm he likes. He punches into you with precision, angling his hips just right, and then he’s nudging against that spot inside of you.

"Ah…Daddy!"

"I’ve got you, sweet girl," he groans, moving both your wrists over your head, and pinning them down with one big hand – he easily engulfs you. You tug against him, testing his grip, and your hips twitch upward when you realize you can’t get out. He’s fully in control now, his cock nudging into you insistently, and you can only take it. You’ve never felt so cared for, as now, getting fucked raw by Joel Miller.

He doesn’t kiss you, but he keeps staring into your eyes, and it feels weirdly intimate. His movements become faster, more forceful, his belly nudging your body with every thrust. You whine, your body unable to do anything except for letting another orgasm build, one you didn’t think yourself capable of. The corners of Joel’s mouth twitch, when he feels you clench, and he fucks you harder.

"Daddy," you yelp at one particularly deep thrust, but Joel doesn’t let up – you don’t want him to. "Wanna come, p-please."

"You wait for my permission," Joel answers. Your belly feels like it’s on fire, tightly coiled with the need to just let go, but Joel wants you to wait, so you will wait. Anything, you think, anything. Joel’s jaw is slack, his brows furrowed, his free hand rough on your skin, but not unkind. You clench around him, and try your best to hold off coming, your eyes falling close.

"Eyes on me, kid," Joel orders, and despite your concentration, your eyes snap open. "Fuck, that’s it, my good girl."

My girl.

Joel fucks you like it, like you’re his. It’s possessive from beginning to end – the way he looked at you when you first wore his shirt, how he wouldn’t back away from you in the elevator. He plays your body like it’s his, dragging the pleasure out of you, and it makes your head spin. You can feel his thrusts go sloppy, can feel his restraint cracking, and your eyelids flutter a little.

"You want it inside, babygirl?"

You didn’t talk about that. You know you should say no. The head of his cock nudges your insides, and Joel’s free hand presses down on your stomach, feeling himself inside of you from the outside with every thrust.

"Yes," you breathe, "yes, please, Daddy, I w-want it."

Suddenly Joel is the one who has to close his eyes, as he keeps fucking into you.

"Fuck, you come for me first, baby," he groans, sliding his hand down to rub at your overstimulated clit. It’s too much, right on the brink of painful, and you thrash under him.

"I c-c-can’t Daddy, it’s…", your voice trails off, lost in the impact of his thrusts, but Joel keeps rubbing tight circles.

"Yeah, you can, baby, you know why?"

You don’t have it in you to answer, so you just stare into Joel’s eyes. You feel something wet on your cheek, and realize you must be crying, crying from how good you feel, how full.

"Cause I said so."

Your pussy throbs, clenches, and Joel moves his finger over your clit faster.

"Come for me, baby, I’ve got you," Joel drawls, and finally you do, your vision going white, your muscles going slack as you let Joel drag his cock in and out of you, the pleasure white-hot.

"Fuck, good girl, that’s my good girl," Joel groans, thrusting into you faster, until he presses into you harder than ever before, and you feel his thick cock twitch and throb against your cervix. Something hot bursts into you, and Joel keeps fucking into you for a couple more seconds, his eyes falling closed. Then, pulls out of you, your pussy fluttering, and he falls down next to you on the bed. You feel like jelly – you couldn’t move if you tried. Joel’s cum leaks out of you slowly, an odd, but pleasant sensation, and you sort of wish he would push it back into you.

After a couple of seconds, Joel pulls you against him, your face coming to rest against his broad chest, and he presses a kiss to your hair. You inhale his scent, and your spent muscles relax further, if possible.

"You did so good," Joel mutters, "so perfect."

His hands trail up your side and arms softly, a soothing contrast to the insistent way he fucked you. Your mind is pleasantly quiet, all caught up in his voice, his scent, his touch, his spent leaking out of you.

"Thank you," you sigh, and Joel chuckles. You smile weakly.

"Wanna get cleaned up, sweet girl?"

"No," you manage, "just wanna sleep."

Joel huffs a laugh, and tucks you more tightly against him.

"I’ll wake you before dinner."

***

When he does, the sun is already sinking. He trails kisses up and down your face – the softest way you’ve ever been dragged back to reality and out of a dream, and the first time you think reality is more fantastic than anything your sleeping brain could come up with.

"Mornin’, sleepyhead," Joel mumbles, catching your mouth in a kiss, his lips moving against yours slowly. You sigh into his mouth, when he pulls away.

"We should take a shower, baby, and you need a pill."

You open your eyes, a little confused.

"A pill?"

Joel raises an eyebrow.

"I mean, I’m not opposed to children, but I think your Dad might be," he says, and you snort weakly. Right, you think, the morning after pill.

"I’ve got an IUD, Joel, don’t worry."

He presses a kiss to your collarbone.

"Back to Joel, are we?"

You blush, and he laughs. It’s blissful, and a little unreal – Joel Miller, teasing you about the debauched, perfect sex you had not two hours ago.

"You prefer Daddy?"

"It’s…got a ring to it."

You can hear the smirk, even though your eyes are closed again, and you’re stretching your tired limbs. You yawn.

"How about room service?", you ask, Joel’s hand softly stroking the hair out of your face.

"Hmm," he mumbles, trailing one hand over your stomach, "or… we take a nice shower, you let me clean you, we have dinner with you lookin’ all fucked out, and everyone downstairs will know what we’ve been up to."

Your eyes open, and although you’re entirely, completely spent, your thighs clench together. Joel grins.

It’s quite the picture – Joel, with an arm around your shoulder ordering two cocktails, the redness on your skin from where he sucked too harshly or his beard burned you. You can see it in front of you, the same waiter as yesterday bringing your food, except this time, Joel lets you use his fork to try his meal, and instead of hurrying down to the beach afterwards, he’ll kiss you slow and long, just because he can, in front of every other guest in this hotel.

„Yeah…or that."

[yoonjae20]

Danny deeply distrusts the Justice League

Based on the wonderful @saltymarshmall0w 's prompt.

I really feel like they aren't enough fanfics or prompts where Danny dislikes the Justice League — and continues to dislike them even after everything (Anti-Ecto Acts) is revealed and taken care of. (Or maybe I'm not looking in the right places — if you guys have any recommendations put them in the Tags or Comments!)

Read on ao3. Masterpost

After many years Danny has finally retired — sure he had to leave everything he loved and that was familiar to him behind for it, but it was worth it. He had a small little house that was his own, he would water his plants every morning and make small talk with his neighbors. Everything was fine. 

Everything turns not so fine, when there’s a sudden knock on his door. Expecting it to be one of his neighbors — for example needing eggs or flour (a neighbor’s kid had needed eggs to bake one of her parents a cake and Danny had been more than willing to spare the few she needed) — he opens the door without a second thought.

Only to almost immediately want to close it again. 

Because that’s the Justice League standing in front of his door. And that can mean nothing good.

Before Danny can slam the door closed, Superman‘s shoe slides in between the door frame, blocking his escape. The smile the man shoots him is probably meant to be reassuring, but the only thing Danny feels is dread. 

To most civilians the Justice League is seen as a beacon of hope — but to Danny? He knows the bitter truth. When he needed them the most they turned his back on him before chasing him across half the globe calling him a villain without even hearing his side of the story. They handed him over the GIW for Ancient’s Sake. He would have died if it weren’t for Tucker and Sam. (He may not have scars to show for it but he can still feel his chest burn when he thinks back to it.) Not that they can remember that though. He still doesn’t trust them. 

“You are Danny Fenton, correct?” Superman asks and Danny stiffens. 

Fenton — not Nightingale like he has changed his surname into to escape his parents influence and leave everything behind. 

“Yes,” he says warily — seeing no point in lying. Considering Batman is lingering behind Superman the Detective would figure it out instantly. 

“And you used to be Amity’s Park’s vigilante Phantom?”

Danny grips the door frame, knuckles white. What’s their point? Are they trying to intimidate him?

“Yes,” he grits out. 

“We were told that you are the one we should seek out in matters involving Ghosts and the Infinite Realms,” Superman continues, but Danny doesn’t let him finish.

“I’m retired,” he interrupts. “Find someone else.”  

“There’s a world-ending event,” Superman says like that would convince Danny. Like Danny hadn’t lived though so many of them — had to prevent them from happening without anyone’s help every single time. Guilt-tripping much? “Even if you don’t want to fight — we need you as an advisor.”

Danny snorts, shaking his head. 

“Go take up the matter with the Justice League Dark then.” 

Danny moves to close the door, but still Superman’s foot doesn’t budge. He could probably brute-force his way through this — but Danny’s tired and he’s not in the mood to explain to his neighbors why his door is broken and he needs to do repairs.

He glares at them and to his surprise Superman actually takes a step back — but still not enough to be able to close the door. 

Danny hasn’t transformed into Phantom since he left Amity Park. Had kept that part of himself locked away — would have separated his Ghost Self from himself if he didn’t know he would be selfish for that. Had ignored his Obsession even if it screamed at him — had pushed it away in his Human Form even if it muted all the colors around him and it meant that every breath was a painful wheeze.

Faced with this situation he almost wants to break the promise he made to himself — but he can’t.

There is no GIW anymore —  Danny had made sure of that. He had wiped all of their files and his parents published research with the help of Technus. He had dismantled both portals to the Ghost Zone and made sure no one would be able to replicate it. But Danny also knows the Justice League — knows how much Superman’s punches hurt, how it feels to get mind controlled — they could overpower him in an instant if he twitched as much as into the wrong direction.  

He really doesn’t have a choice here, doesn’t he? If he doesn’t go out of his free will — they will force him with any means necessary, of that much he is sure. 

His gaze trails to his neighbor’s house and the swing in their backyard. And if they are right and he turns them away — is he sure he won’t feel any guilt if something happens that he could have prevented? Sometimes Danny really hates his Martyr Complex. 

Danny sighs, defeated.

“What do you need my help for?”

They had liked their new neighbor despite the fact that he barely left his house other than to water his plants. They had known that the young man was sickly. He looked like death wormed him over and was weak on his feet— his ice-blue eyes dull. His smile barely held any warmth in it.

Still they invited them over after he had given their daughter eggs to bake the cake for their birthday. They learned that he was kind and had escaped to their small village to live a quiet life. 

When the young man came to tell them that he would be out of town for a few days and to please water his plants if they could, they were worried.

“Are you sure that you are fine, son?” they asked and touched the man’s forehead — but it was icily cold like the rest of their skin had always been. “You look even paler than usual.”

The young man had only given them a half-hearted smile and affirmed them that he was fine

Their daughter's excited steps had hurried behind them and she tugged on their pants after the man had left. 

“Was that Uncle Danny?” the girl asked. “Can I play with him?”

They gave their daughter a weak smile. 

“Uncle Danny is busy for a few days,” they explained. “Later, okay? How about you draw him a picture while we wait for him to come back? So he has something to look forward to?” 

Their daughter nodded and raced back to the living room, searching for supplies, while they continued looking out of the window. They can’t help but have a bad feeling about this.  

It’s unnerving how quiet the young man is. 

There are no easy smiles, sassy quips and puns like from the few shaky phone videos they had pulled from the internet about Phantom. 

He’s meticulous. Probably even more than Batman — and that is a statement. There had been a deep mistrust in the eyes when they had located him and asked him to help them. It’s evident in every step he makes. He double-, even triple-checks every single evidence, every single sentence, every single word they say. 

Nothing is left unturned as he works the way though the situation like if he is dealing with a case. He never stops moving, always doing something — reading through heavy leather-bound books or through their reports. His heart rate is so slow that Clark sometimes wonders if the boy is still breathing at all. 

When the young man had asked them if they spoke to the leader regarding the war declaration and the reasons behind them, he had clicked his tongue when they told him no.

He hadn’t let anyone help him when he drew out the summoning cycle — it looked even more intricate and complicated than they had seen from Zatanna or Constantine. When he had spoken the words for the spell,  his words had sounded ancient and undescribable — hushed whispers following every single word. He clasped his hands and only opened his eyes when he spoke the last word, his eyes burning a deep green. 

The cycle goes up in green fire before a form appears — Clark recognizes the Ghost from the declaration. 

The man’s cold gaze sweeps over the Justice League before it stops on Phantom. He smirks, bowing his head slightly.

“I greet the Prince of the Infinite Realms.”

“Cut the crap Fright Knight,” Phantom's voice is steel-hard. “We both know I refused that position.”

The man tilts his head but nods.

“Very well,” he says. “I greet Phantom, savior of the Infinite Realms.”

Phantom grits his teeth like he wants to refuse that title too before he shakes his head. He gestures to the Justice League.

“Explain.”

“We are just paying back what has been done to us,” Fright Knight claims. “Vita brevis, ars longa, occasio praeceps, experimentum periculosum, iudicium difficile.”

“Life is short, art is long, opportunity fleeting, experiment treacherous, judgment difficult,” Diana translates for them. 

“I see the Daughter of the Queen of the Amazons knows her arts,” the man’s voice has a hint of mockery. “Humanum genus est avidum nimis auricularum. Ignorantia legis non excusat:”

Diana’s eyebrows knit together as she listens. 

“Mankind is too greedy for lies. Ignorance of the law does not excuse,” her voice is almost a whisper. 

“I would have thought you would know of this Phantom,” Fright Knight addresses the young man again. “But now seeing your state, you probably didn’t feel the call for the announcement either. Is there a reason why you are starving yourself?”

Phantom doesn’t meet any of their eyes as he answers.

“That is unimportant to this situation.”

Fright Knight’s lips twitch back into a grin. 

“If the savior of the Infinite Dreams claims so, then I have no choice but to accept it.” He turns back to the Justice League. “Si vis pacem, para bellum.”

“If you want peace, prepare for war.”

“When have we been ignorant?” Batman finally steps in. 

Fright Knight huffs out a dark laugh.

“When has mankind not been ignorant?” Fright Knight questions. “When your government captured my brethren and tortured them, where were you? When they declared us as non-sentient and staged war against us, where were you? When they threatened to destroy our home, where were you?”

The man’s eyes seem to burn as he repeats himself.

“Where were you?”

Clark and the rest of the League are shocked to silence. 

“Now that the danger has passed, why should we just forgive you? Why should we forget?” Fright Knight continues. “If we are not worthy enough to be counted towards mankind that means we just have to rewrite the rules. And since we were never given the chance to negotiate, that means by force.”

“The Meta-Protection Acts-” 

“Only count towards those that are alive.” Fright Knight interrupts Batman. “After all, how can the dead feel any emotions such as pain? I’m sure if you ask your government they will hand you a lot of pretty reports on the biased experiments that prove so.” 

“But that’s-” Clark starts but Fright Knight doesn’t let him finish.

“Despicable? When has that ever stopped mankind?” Fright Knight asks. “We can talk if there isn't a law that states that we can be eradicated without any consequences.”

Before either of them can stop him, Fright Knight swishes his cape made out of purple fire and disappears. Clark faintly asks himself if that is how other people feel when Batman does that in front of their noses. 

Seeing no other option the entire League turns back to Phantom who hasn’t said a single word since the Ghost went on his tirade.

“Phantom-” Batman tries, but the young man’s eyes burn with so much hate that the normally stoic man stocks in his words. 

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Phantom seethes. “You heard him. Now finally do your jobs right for once.”

Then he leaves the room without a single glance back.

Clark gulps as they look at each other.

“I feel like we made a mistake.”

When the news declares the Anti-Ecto Acts as abolished, Danny feels nothing but exhaustion. The Justice League barely managed to avoid a large-scale — and very justified war. 

Danny leans back tiredly on his sofa. His eyes trail to the drawing his neighbor’s daughter had given him and the first genuine smile in months graces his lips.

“What I don’t do for mankind,” he sighs before he closes his eyes. 

[housederiva]

Is it just me or is there way less fanart being made for this game than the previous ones? Kind of makes me sad, I remember with dai I could check the tags every few hours and find something new weeks after launch, now I only can get away with only looking a few times and week and miss nothing.

I don't think that's Veilguard exclusive.

Things I and my mutuals draw now are getting less notes/reblogs than they did even one year ago, regardless of the fandom. Fanfiction is getting less comments and kudos on ao3 too (not that they were getting many comments in the first place) Less gifs are being made because gif makers weren't getting reblogs. Hell, most of the post I make have a huge discrepancy between likes and reblogs and add polls into that? A thousand people voted on something and only a dozen people reblog it. It's a hollowing feeling when you realise you're calling out to an empty void, I don't blame people for creating less art because of that.

I don't see a vast majority of the people who follow me in my notes because I have likes disabled. Multiple times someone has sent me an ask apologizing for spamming me with likes and I don't understand it? That is not a bad thing And unless you reblogged anything along the way, I didn't even realise you were doing it in the first place. And the people whose notes I do see are not annoying in the slightest, I love the tags you add and I'm sure the original poster does even more so

I'm not trying to shame anyone Into interacting with the fandom spaces they're in but the whole point of Tumblr and what makes it a blogging platform and not social media is that this is a show and tell website. You're supposed to look at something you think is cool and then wave it around for your followers to see and then they pick it up and do the same regardless of how old it is

When you reblog an ask game from someone it used to be common courtesy to send that person one of the asks from it. Folks used to leave comments analysing paragraphs from stories people wrote and theorising about what would happen next on every chapter. We used to send each other asks just asking about our ocs unprompted

If there's no interaction or community when you create something, then what's the point of creating it? It sucks that fandom is morphing into something to be consumed and thrown away the second it's more than a week old unless you're one of a handful of blogs that got lucky and picked up traction at just the right moment

I'm sorry for the rant but I get emotional when I think about the decay of fandom spaces for too long. And this goes without saying, but you guys can reblog anything on my dash if the button isn't disabled on it

[princess-luvvv]

A GOLD RING AND COLD FEET

Rafe Cameron x fem!exgirlfriend!reader

A/N: (This is lowk 4.3k words I’m sorry) Hey guys lol I literally do not know what I’m doing help. I did not proofread idek how to work this app so if this sucks just don’t tell me bc this thing is the biggest pain in the ass lol. Like I am so genuinely sorry I’m such a grandma. Also this is what I listened to while writing this so feel free to listen as well :)

WARNINGS: AUTHOR CANT FIGURE THIS APP OUT, there’s no smut (not going to traumatize you guys with my brain on the first post), girl reader, marriage (basically the whole theme), cheating (sort of from reader but like it’s fine), ermmm just bad writing im sorry lol. Just a man yearning (like good). Okay Im sorry byeee.

14 DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING DAY: THE BRIDAL SHOWER

Rafe Cameron was going to be the death of me. I knew it.

We had dated for 7 years. He asked me out when we were 14 after knowing each other since we were 6. He broke up with me when we were 21. He said he “couldn’t be tied down in his 20s”.

After that I thought I was completely broken. I had never even imagined loving anyone else - having to love someone else.

But here I was. 14 days away from my wedding to a man I didn’t love. A part of me felt like such an asshole. Marrying a man who I knew I’d never love. But Jackson had his faults. He raised his voice too much. He never opened my door…not since our third date at least. He worked all the time. He regularly forgot important events like anniversaries and birthdays.

We started dating 10 months, 1 week, and 4 days after Rafe broke up with me.

Even though most people said it was time to move on it still felt too soon to me. 3 years later and it still feels too soon sometimes.

But here I am. At my bridal shower. Wearing a silver ring when I haven’t touched a piece of silver jewelry since I was 9.

I was opening gifts when only one remained. A small black box with no tag attached.

“Who is this one from?” I ask the crowd of giddy women surrounding me. They all share confused looks. Shrugging and comments like “It’s not mine” falling from their lips. This only furthered my confusion as I opened the box.

I gasped.

Inside was a beautiful - gold - ring. It was my dream ring.

“Oh my gosh it’s just beautiful!” My best friend Grace said.

“Jackson must have picked it out for you since yours is missing.” Grace says causing me to furrow my brows.

I looked down to my left hand and noticed the absence of my ring.

Since when was that gone?

“Oh yeah…I guess he did.” I smile and tuck the box away. Making a mental note to ask Jackson later. Even though I knew he didn’t get it for me, a part of me hoped.

As my friends went on and on about how beautiful this wedding would be and how happy they were…I couldn’t help but wish their joy was infectious.

At least someone is excited right?

12 DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING DAY: BACHELORETTE

I was sitting in an expensive restaurant in downtown Charleston sipping a cocktail I’m pretty sure costs more than my salad. Jackson and I had decided to have our Bachelorette/Bachelor parties in the same city in case anything happened. He was out having a guys night while I was out with my girls. I hadn’t had this much fun doing anything wedding related well ever.

“It’s not a coincidence that you think that and Jackson isn’t here” a little voice inside my brain taunts me. But I push it down. Along with the bile rising in my throat. From the alcohol or the impending commitment of forever to a person who I know I don’t love - which, I’m not sure.

“How are you babe?” My friend Ava says as she turns her entire body to face me. I was tracing shapes on the condensation on the outside of my barely touched drink while I tuned out the rest of the chatter.

“I’m wonderful how about you Ava?” I smile and meet her eye. She gives an unconvinced smile and repeats her question: “Come on. How are you really? Cold feet? We can get on the next flight out of America just say the word.” She says with a laugh. And I know she’s joking but part of me is screaming “YES!” Inside of my head.

I laugh and shake my head.

“No cold feet. Just lukewarm maybe.”

Lukewarm. It’s funny cause that’s basically a word that sums up the entirety of Jackson and I’s relationship. I hadn’t felt fire, sparks, passion…any of it. Not since-

“Lukewarm is okay. Marriage is big. But…you’ll be okay.” Ava says cutting off my thoughts. And I can see her trying to hide her real feelings. She wants me to talk to him. Not him. Him.

The him who left me in a hotel room in Key West on what was supposed to be our 8 year anniversary trip. The him who wouldn’t stop sending letters to my house. The him who sent me 127 texts and 87 voicemails since last Tuesday. Which is apparently the day the Cameron’s wedding invitation arrived. I wasn’t going to invite them but I felt I needed to. Sarah and I were still friends and I adored Wheezie. The him who took up every inch of my heart. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself he didn’t.

LATER THAT NIGHT AT THE HOTEL…

I entered my private suite in the hotel. I had gotten my drunk pack of bridesmaids back to their rooms…well the ones that were sleeping in their own rooms tonight. I had my own room this trip. My bridesmaid Lila insisted on it in case Jackson wanted to sneak over from his hotel…that’s what she said. But I knew she secretly wanted to give me my space away from the wedding buzz and events. I was grateful for that.

Until I was not.

Because the second I opened my door and ripped off my crown that said “BRIDE” I looked up and saw a man sitting on the couch in the suites living room. His elbows resting on his large thighs as he hung his head.

He looks up when I walk in.

I should’ve been scared…but I knew exactly who it was.

I flicked on the light. “Rafe what- what are you doing here?” I say in half anger half disbelief. OBX was at least 7 hours from here.

What the hell was he thinking?

“I had to see you…” I shake my head as he stands up and walks towards me. I take a step back.

“No. No. You can’t do this to me.” He walks closer. I put out my hands. Placing them on his chest to keep distance between us.

“Please just hear me out….” He gently grips my wrists that are placed on his chest. He paused for a second. Looking into my eyes to see if I would stop him again. I let him continue.

“I know…I know I have no right to be here. No right to do this. But please just listen to what I have to say…” He sighed before continuing. “You can’t marry him. Baby you can’t….I’m begging you. He doesn’t treat you right. You know that. I have so many regrets in my life…but I’d live them all over a million times if it meant I never let you go. I regret that every breath I take.”

My eyes gloss over. His touch was so gentle unlike Jackson’s. He didn’t raise his voice at me. He didn’t do anything but love me exactly the way I wanted while also being everything I needed.

He sighs seeing my eyes tear up. “Baby don’t- don’t cry….it’s just-….I can tell you’re not happy.” He says as he wipes a tear that escaped my eyes.

“I-I’m happy…” I say weakly.

But I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince. Me or him?

He sighs. Bringing a hand up to my cheek to wipe away another tear. His hand not moving. “You’re not. I can see it. I know you…I see it in your face when you look at him. Those beautiful eyes have never told me a lie.”

“You don’t know me anymore…” another lie. He knew me. He knew me. He knew my coffee order at every coffee shop on the island. He knew my favorite songs and the lyrics to all of them. He knew my favorite movie. He knew my favorite animal.

He laughs softly in disbelief.

“I don’t know you? I know you. I know your order at every Mexican restaurant on the island. I can recite your coffee orders in my sleep. I know every word to your favorite Taylor Swift songs. Your favorite movie is Beauty and the Beast and you love the soundtrack. You love penguins and you’re a dog person. I know you baby.”

I cry harder as he recites everything about me. On surface it’s not much. Small talk topics he could’ve figured out from social media. But it goes so much deeper. He knows what makes me tick. What I need when I’m sad. How to cheer me up even through tears.

If only he could do that now…

“Does that asshole even know your favorite Jane Austen book? Huh? Does he? Cause I do. And it’s Emm-“

“Stop! Just stop Rafe! Just- just go! Why-why are you doing this me? This isn’t fair.” I say wiping my tears. I was full on crying now.

“I can’t just sit back and watch you marry someone who’s not going to make you happy. You deserve so much better. You don’t deserve someone who’s never there for you, or doesn’t treat you well. You deserve someone who treats you exactly how you deserve to be treated - like the woman I love. I know I was stupid to let you go. I was young - and I thought I wanted freedom, but I was wrong. I haven’t known a minute of freedom since you left. I miss you, I miss us. And I need you more than I need air to breathe…”

“Please. Don’t marry him. Please baby…” He’s begging now. I’ve never seen Rafe Cameron beg for anything.

“Rafe I’m-I’m getting married in 12 days I can’t-“ I cut myself off with a sob.

He pulls me against his chest. I don’t protest as I cry harder. Pretty much sobbing now.

I clutch onto the end of his shirt. “I have to marry him Rafe…”

“Why? Why do you have to marry him? You know this isn’t what you want.” He says pleading with me. Running a soothing hand up and down my back. Providing me more comfort than I’ve known all of my relationship with Jackson.

“I know.” I say softly. My voice hoarse.

“Then don’t do it. Don’t marry him. I made the wrong choice a few years ago, but I’m here now. I want you not some false pretense of freedom. I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted. I can give you a ring that you actually like, and a house that we build together. I’ll give you anything you want, just don’t marry him. Be with me.” I pause when he mentions the ring. I look down to the gold ring on my left hand. Silently piecing things together.

“Did you send me a new ring?” I look back up him. Brows furrowed. My face puffy from crying. When I meet his eyes I see how utterly heartbroken he looks. It breaks me a little bit.

“I-uh…yeah I did.” He says. And as he confirms my theory I step away from him. Letting out sobs as I turn my back towards him. One hand cradling my stomach as the other covers my mouth.

“Hey - hey what’s wrong. Talk to me.” He says as he walks up behind me placing a soothing hand on my shoulder letting his hands rub me gently.

“Y-you remembered the ring.” I had shown him the type of ring I wanted back when I thought we were going to get married.

I was so stupid at 20. Or maybe I was just naive.

“Of course I remembered the ring. You showed it to me a million times. I know it was your dream ring and I couldn’t bear the idea of him giving you something you didn’t actually want…” He explains with a confused expression. Not quite sure why it was hurting me so bad.

The thought that he had gotten me a ring I wanted even though he didn’t want me marrying Jackson made me want to cry…and vomit.

“I-I can’t-“ My legs give out and I drop to my knees. Rafe immediately goes down with me. Pulling me into his chest. I was now cradled in his lap as he rocked me gently while I cried.

“Please don’t cry baby….it hurts me so bad.”

That night I fell asleep in Rafes arms.

THIRD PERSON POV:

As Rafe brought her to her hotel bed and tucked her in he couldn’t help but feel the urge to get in bed and hold her as she slept. But he knew how awful she’d feel if she woke up next to him knowing she betrayed Jackson. So he left a note next to her bedside and pressed a kiss to her forehead before leaving. The words “I love you” mumbled softly as she slept.

ELEVEN DAYS UNTIL THE WEDDING DAY: THE NEXT MORNING.

THIRD PERSON POV:

As Jackson walks into the hotel room of his future wife he can’t help the guilt eating at him. He brings in the takeout bags and starts to place it onto a tray.

He takes out the water and Advil he got from the pharmacy and brings it over to her bedside.

As he’s placing the hangover cure on her nightstand a paper written on hotel stationery catches his eye.

He reads through the paper.

“All my love, R.C.”

He folds up the note and places it back in his pocket before going back to the takeout bags. Ready to act as if nothing happened.

FIRST PERSON POV

I wake up with an empty feeling in my stomach. The same one I’ve had for 3 years, 7 months, 2 weeks, and 6 days.

I hear someone walking around the suite and as much as I know it’s probably Jackson…a part of me hopes…

Seconds later Jackson comes into my room with a smile. Holding a tray of food.

Odd. He’s never done sweet gestures for me like this.

“Good morning my love…I thought this would help cure the hangover. I ordered breakfast from that place you like downtown. You always talk about how much you wish we had one back at home so…” As he explains his reasoning for being here the sick feeling grows in my stomach. And I wish it was hangover sickness. I felt like such crap. Here he was being so sweet to me and I cried in the arms of another man last night.

I look around the room for any evidence Rafe was here. Feeling slightly disappointed but relieved that I didn’t find anything.

“Have fun last night?” Jackson says as he picks a blueberry off my plate.

“Uh yeah….it was really fun.” I smile and lie. But he can’t tell the difference so he nods his head before getting up and kissing my forehead.

“Well I have to go into work early tomorrow so the guys and I are heading back home but…I love you.” He says. He rarely says those three words. And that itself wouldn’t be weird. We’re getting married of course we tell each other we love each other. But paired with the weird domestic wake-up I had this morning it left an icky feeling in my stomach. But I smiled and nodded. Swallowing my food before replying.

“Okay…love you too.”

TWO DAYS BEFORE THE WEDDING DAY: THE REHEARSAL DINNER

“Have you seen my gold earrings?” I ask Jackson. Walking around our shared bathroom while he was shaving. We were getting ready for our rehearsal dinner before we left for the wedding venue in the morning.

“Which earrings?” He asks. Not pausing his movements of shaving his face.

“The ones I always-“ I huff in defeat knowing it’s no use. I’ve worn those earrings everyday for the past 9 years. They were Rafe’s 2 year anniversary gift to me.

I walk around the bedroom looking under a few things before my phone pings distracting me for a second. I walk over to it and turn the screen over to see an Instagram DM message request.

“Hey…I want to say I am so sorry to do this to you. I know you’re getting married in 2 days but there’s something you should know…”

THREE HOURS UNTIL WEDDING DAY: THE NIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING

I was pacing around the cabin of my private room on the property of our venue.

The venue was a family owned property on the mainland. It was gorgeous. Jackson was in the cabin across the venue in the Groom’s cabin. I was staying in the Bridal lodge.

I felt nauseous. My throat felt like it was closing and the white matching way too expensive PJ set I was gifted especially for tonight felt like it was constricting my air. The cabin suddenly felt stuffy and like the walls were about to close in at any minute. I was all alone.

I pull out my phone quickly going to the only number I had on speed dial.

He picks up on the first ring - he always does.

RAFES POV

The whole day I had been sulking at home watching football and drinking whiskey. My lab Daisy sitting by my side as she watched me drown my sorrows.

Was she really going to marry him?

I had dozed off for a few hours before a phone ringing woke me up.

I look at the screen and immediately picked up.

“I need you.” I was standing up running to my shoes before the sentence was even over.

“I’m coming baby…I’m on my way just stay put okay?” Her shaky voice was breaking my heart. I grabbed my keys and made an hour long drive less than 40 minutes.

FIRST PERSON POV

I was sitting with my knees tucked to my chest. My eyes puffy and crying, sitting at the edge of the bed when Rafe barged in. He immediately dropped to his knees next to me. Pulling me into his lap. Cradling me as he rocked me back and forth.

“I’m here baby…I’m here.” He repeats the words like a mantra to ease my mind. And it does. But it doesn’t fill the pit in my stomach that seems to have taken a permanent residence.

“Talk to me baby…please you’re scaring me…” I could hear the fear in his voice. And I felt like such a dick. I called my ex boyfriend to help me the night before my wedding to another man.

I’m the worst.

“I-I’m so sorry….I didn’t know who else to call.” I get out between sobs. He shakes his head. Grabbing my face with both of his hands.

“Shhh….I just need you to tell me what you need. I’m right here. Just tell me how to help. Okay?”

How does he always know what to say? It’s ridiculous.

“I need out of this…” And at that sentence Rafe was pretty sure he could’ve cried a happy tear. But he needed to be sure.

“Out of what baby?” He knew. But he needed to know.

“You know what.” I pause before continuing. Sniffling and wiping my tears. “Jackson cheated on me. His bachelor party…she texted me the night our rehearsal dinner. She was their bartender in Charleston. But that’s not even the worst part…” I shake my head in disbelief at myself. “The worst part is I don’t even care. My fiancée cheated on me less than two weeks before our wedding. And I can’t find it in me to care.”

I knew I never loved Jackson. And that’s part of why I was marrying him. Because I knew that if I never loved him he’d never be able to hurt me…not like Rafe did at least.

I continue:

“I’m literally incapable of loving him because every inch of my heart belongs to you. And it kills me. I should be devastated right now. But- but all I can think is that I need you. And it’s so cold and you hate driving at night but this is the second time you’ve driven over an hour for me in two weeks.”

In reality it didn’t take Rafe an hour to get here. But he let me continue anyways.

“I’m terrible-“ He cuts me off.

“No. You’re perfect. I know you think you have to settle for this but you don’t. I’m not leaving you. I’ll always be here. Whether or not you get married in 12 hours I’m always going to be there when you need me. I don’t care what it is or where you are. You call and I’m there. You need me…and I’m right here baby. I’ll always be right here. I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

I look at him as he says that. And suddenly nothing about this makes sense. Why am I getting married to Jackson?

He sucks.

I stand up. Grabbing Rafes hands pulling him up with me.

“We need to leave.” I look around the room at my things. Rafe immediately nods and starts packing my things into my suitcase with me.

“Where do you need to go? I’ll take you anywhere baby. Car? Train? Plane? Boat? Fuck I’ll swim across the Atlantic for you baby.”

I pause and glance up at him from across my suitcase that we’re both knelt over. I meet his gaze. His eyes show me nothing but seriousness. Standing 10 toes behind his words. I wrap an arm around his neck and place an arm on his shoulder to steady myself as I lean in and kiss him.

He’s so taken aback but he kisses back after realizing this isn’t another one of his dreams that have felt like nightmares these past 3 years.

I pull away and he slightly sighs at the disconnect.

“Anywhere that’s not here. Just need to be with you. Please.”

2 HOURS UNTIL THE WEDDING DAY: AN HOUR LATER ON THE WAY TO THE AIRPORT

I look around the room once more to make sure I have everything.

“You got everything you need baby?” He asks me and I nod.

“I’m gonna take this to the car.” I was carrying my pillow and blanket I had brought. Rafe insisted on carrying my bags. He nods but stays in his place before speaking up.

“Okay I’ll be there in a second I’m gonna take one last look around.” I nod before walking to his truck and getting inside.

THIRD PERSON POV:

Rafe pulls the object out of his pocket. Placing it on the dresser.

He grabs her bags taking one last look at the wedding dress hanging on the closet door before shutting the door behind him.

The silver ring shimmering in the moonlight sitting on the dresser where he left it.

FIRST PERSON POV

Rafe gets back in the car and looks over at me.

“If you change your mind I don’t mind-“ I cut him off.

“I’m not changing my mind. Now drive.” He smiles before putting the truck in reverse.

As we drive for a few minutes a question plagues my mind: Why didn’t he say anything the morning after the bachelorette party?

“Can I ask you something?” He glances over at me. He had a comforting hand on my thigh as he drove.

“Anything.” I smile at his answer while look at my lap before continuing.

“Why didn’t you say anything the morning after that night in Charleston? Not a text or a note or anything? I know you didn’t have to I just…hated waking up with no evidence that you had even been there.” Rafe’s brows furrow.

I did leave a note. He thought to himself.

“Baby I left a note on your dresser…didn’t you see it?” He says confused.

“No…the next morning I woke up and Jackson was…” I trailed off. Suddenly piecing everything together. Rafe seemed to as well. His grip on the wheel tightened and his jaw clenched.

“I left a note. I promise. But it’s not anything I won’t tell you to your face everyday for the rest of our lives. So don’t worry about it, pretty. Okay? I love you, baby.”

“I love you, Rafe.” And I truly meant it.

On the way to the airport we sang along to Taylor Swift songs we both knew. And suddenly the pit in my stomach was slowly being filled with laughter and the way he didn’t even ask me what I wanted when we stopped at McDonald’s.

To be loved it to be seen. And I had to have been invisible to Jackson.

23 MINUTES UNTIL THE WEDDING DAY: AT THE AIRPORT 11:37 PM

“Flight 237 is now boarding. This is the final call for passengers to LaGuardia Airport.”

Rafe looks at me as we get ready to board the plane.

“You ready?” He sticks out his hand. I smile at him.

“Yeah…I’m ready.” I take his hand and lean up and kiss him as we walk onto the plane.

I glance down at the gold ring on my finger. And I realize no one will ever see me as clearly and perfectly as Rafe sees me. And that’s all I could ask for.

“Hey” he looks back at me. Glancing up from his sports magazine. His brows raised waiting for me to answer.

“I love you.” I continue and smile. His gaze softens and he pulls me into another quick kiss. I hated PDA but I didn’t care. Not with him.

“I love you more than I can even describe.” He pauses before continuing. “If I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more.”

I don’t know a lot…but I know I’ve found my person. And everything’s okay. And for the first time in 3 years, 7 months, 4 weeks, and 2 days…I felt like I could breathe.

[kens-ramblings]

so i’ve gotten a couple comments and thought it’d be a bit easier to do it this way, so i figured i’d just tag those who asked instead of replying to each comment individually, if that is not okay with you jlmk and i will take you off!!

so without further ado my top 4 tim either being super skilled or crashing out or a mix of both fics!!

some kind of murder- nightskywrites

basically all the bats being flabbergasted by the amount of skill my boy has and realizing how much he’s been holding back

hell hath no fury- theydontknowme

tim crashing out and being tired of being mistreated by his both of his families and screaming and breaking things about it pretty much,, be forewarned there are mentions of underage prostitution in this one none on screen but just a warning!!

rise of cardinal- JustThatOneGirl1815

tim leaving the batfam and becoming a super bad ass anti-hero what more can i say

the best laid plans of tim drake oft’ go fucking awry- quotidian_void

i’ll be real with you i don’t remember exact details about this fic but i do remember loving it,, so now i am also off to re-read it lol

tag list:

@tinkywinkyhasrabies @satisfactionbroughtmeback @shotascat @sokorin

(like i said if you are upset that i tagged you please just let me know and i will take you off and i am so sorry if that is the case!!)

so ik it’s not cannon accurate but,,,

i need a fic of tim just crashing out.

like he gets so sick of like damian and jason talking about how weak he is and shit like that that he’s like “yall realize lady shiva was my one of my FIRST teachers, and i was the first robin she trained. i had to train under b AFTER he already lost a robin. you DONT think he was 10x harder on me than any of you guys???? there’s a reason my training videos are mainly redacted without bruce’s or my permission. i got ra’s al ghul BEGGING ME to join his league or have my children. i get gifts from him WEEKLY. do you KNOW how many of his little ninja i fight per DAY??? nahh im sick of this shit let’s take it to the mats” and just demolishing both of them at the same time.

i just think it’d be very funny. i just like fics of people who pretend to be weaker than they are(or they just never really have a reason to go full tilt so they just don’t) get sick of holding back and just losing it :D

[thebroccolination]

Hi Key, your post is the second I've seen that hinted at Joss but without further explanation. He generally has a positive public perception and I only know him from 3WBF (which I liked), so I'm curious where this shift in perception is coming from recently.

Would you mind making a post or directing me to where I can learn more about his general...situation.

I apologize if this is intrusive since I know you don't like to engage in Fandom Drama and like to keep your space positive, but I don't have XTwitter and his Tumblr tag is usually quite dead.

Thank you in advance!

Why I Don't Fuck with Joss: An Extremely Academic Essay of Words and Screenshots

Hi Anon!

I normally would have DM'd you an answer to this, but since you sent the ask anonymously and you were very kind in how you asked, I didn't want to ignore you.

However, two things:

I do generally make it a policy to keep my negative personal thoughts about certain actors to private conversations or, y'know, Discord servers, just to keep it off public platforms where toxicity is already rampant. In this case, though, I think the situation is interesting enough to comment on. (Plus, y'know, I'm amazed he was even managing a comeback when he's been known to Be Like This for years.)

I didn't get a lot of primary sources for this post because quite frankly I don't like Joss and I don't want to look at his face any more than I already have. However, friends who've been following this more closely than I have were able to verify that there are sources out there for everything I'm going to mention. Just, y'know, don't use me or this post as a source. This isn't one of my Citations Included Posts, this is just a Why I Don't Fuck with This Guy Post.

So, for context, I made this post last month, and someone made a more explicitly worded reblog here that's honestly better if you're going in without any context.

Essentially, Joss has had a dodgy reputation for years, but I think because fan turnover is high in interfandom and he's never been in a BL series before, most interfans just know Joss as A Tall Man Who Likes Sportsball.

But when I got into Thai BL back in 2020, Joss was one of the first actors I heard of as ~Problematique~ so I looked into him, and what I learned made me go, "Ew," so I just keenly ignored him from then on. (General gross stuff like the Domundi boob-grabbing prank and some assorted Dudebro comments about women. I don't remember specifics anymore because he was barely on my radar, but a friend at the time who'd been in fandom longer basically told me, "Yeah, that's Joss, lol.")

Interestingly, before JossGawin became a thing, most interfans were rooting for JossLuke, but I think given how vocally left-leaning Luke has proven to be, I wouldn't be surprised if Luke saw the prospect of tying his public reputation to Joss and went, "lol no goddamn thank you."

Gawin, on the other hand, seems to be down for whatever GMMTV wants him to do, so he probably just sees Joss as a colleague he makes out with (acting is a weird job). He went to high school in western Pennsylvania, he has white relatives on his dad's side, and he hangs out with the Gym Dudes of GMMTV, so I'm sure he's completely desensitized and is one of those guys who thinks, "Nah," but doesn't go so far as to say, "Not cool, dude." The Gawin Caskey Method seems to be: throw a basketball, make out with a dude on camera, go home and eat an edible. Dismount.

Unfortunately, even though Gawin's never really made any political statements or taken any major stand for the queer community, he's gained goodwill that some people are now calling into question because of Joss.

Anyway, apparently Joss used to follow Andrew Tate on Twitter until Tate was suspended, so it seems a lot of people assumed Joss unfollowed Tate, but yeah, between the sexist comments, Boobgate, and admiring Joe Rogan, that was enough for me to physically recoil from the screen when I saw the teaser for MGB.

Okay NOW, everything from this point onward is new stuff I've learned over the past month that made me go, "Oh. So he's worse now."

Joss has apparently had that Joe Rogan quote pinned to his Twitter account since 2020, but people just shrugged it off because they like his man stomach or something? (I don't find him attractive, but even if I did, I truly don't understand how he made it this far. It feels like he's been pretty firmly canceled every year since I got here, honestly.)

I also didn't like him weight-shaming Gawin. There's some older clip of him calling Gawin fat, and I know in Asia it's more common to comment on other people's bodies and weight, but I also recently found out that he got Gawin a meat cake for his birthday because idk actual cake is for pussies? (Sorry, Anon, I was trying to aim for an objective tone but I abandoned it because I reeeally don't like this man.) And apparently a lot of JG fanservice is just Joss and Gawin at the gym so Joss can teach Gawin self-control or something? I've had their tag blocked from the beginning, so you'll have to look into that if you're curious.

Ah, and at some point in the last few months, Joss was apparently asked what his "type" is and he said something like "white, skinny English-speaking Europeans/Americans"(?) Which apparently made Asian women go, "Hey, c'mere real quick: good. Bye."

I also thought it was a huge red flag that Joss has been in the industry for years, and his domestic fanbase is still quite small. Others have pointed out that very few fan interactions with him are in Thai, and he's clearly courting a western audience both in his individual engagement and by partnering with a mixed American actor. When he did the LGBTQ+ panel last summer, apparently the reaction from Thai commenters was, "lmao why Joss?" not, "Oh yes, of course, Joss!"

So it seems like GMMTV has been trying to do a rebrand for Joss using Gawin and interfans more generally since Joss speaks English and interfans don't generally seek out the resources to do research. Remember last year when GMMTV announced that Y-MIND script competition? It was originally domestic only, but after Thai fans overwhelmingly went, "The contract terms here are wildly exploitative, so fuck off," GMMTV rereleased the promotional material in English and went, "HEY INTERFANS WANNA SEND US STUFF :D?"

That told me they really don't think especially highly of us.

On December 15th, someone pointed out that Joss didn't just follow Trump on Twitter, he also followed a ton of extreme alt-right accounts on Instagram. Not normal political figures, either. Obscure figures like Pearl, Candace Owens, that guy who was saying Your Body My Choice, and Andrew Tate's right-hand man, and more! Some of his fans tried to point out that he follows progressive Thai politicians, but as far as the American side, he only followed alt-right conservative accounts with zero liberal accounts.

Though, in fairness, someone did point out that Joss also follows famous progressive Democratic figures [checks notes] comedian Chris Rock and basketball player Stephen Curry.

So. Whoohoo for that, amirite?

Since Joss's fans weren't having much success defending him on their own, they threw some @'s at his account to get him to make some kind of statement that would somehow explain away why he was following a deep, deep alt-right fanatic like Pearl. (Spoiler: He didn't.)

The JossGawin International fan club even released the above statement to address the issue, then received such alarmingly vitriolic backlash from the JossGawin fandom for "betraying" Joss that the fanclub decided to deactivate entirely. (I have no idea if they reactivated or not, since I stopped keeping up with this whole debacle shortly afterward.)

One Thai(?) JossGawin fan actually seems to have used ChatGPT to create an English comment to chastise the fanclub for their lack of support in Joss's dire times:

Amusingly, rather than address his fans' concerns or unfollow any of the accounts causing the chaos, Joss instead just started deleting any comment on his Instagram that called on him to comment.

Five days later, he unfollowed 137 accounts. No idea how many of those were alt-right extremists and how many were just extra padding to make it look like a general cleanse, but it was at least fifty last I heard, and the fact that 1) it took him nearly a week to do anything but delete the comments calling him out, and 2) his first tweet after this whole mess was a quote-retweet of GMMTV's message welcoming Barcode into the company saying, "lol this kid looks like if me and Gawin had a baby" just goes to show how unthreatened he feels.

After all, Joss has been this way for years, and his upcoming series with Gawin is probably going to do numbers regardless. He's successfully rebuilt his stagnant career off the support of interfans, and he knows he'll be fine.

Even Foei has a show with Tay! We're all good here. \:D/

So yeah! That's why I don't fuck with Joss. \:D/

This'll be the last I say on Joss publicly.

I just figured I'd make one all-encompassing post so I can link back to this in case anyone asks why I'm not supporting any of Gawin's projects with Joss. It's a shame because I do really like Gawin, but this isn't even a hard choice for me to make.

Oh, and while we're on the subject: the director of MGB, Ark, is also Not a Good Dude by all accounts I've heard from multiple people who've interacted with him privately. I mean, he sure is queer, but he's also said to be a misogynist with some white-people-worshipping tendencies. He doesn't have the highest opinion of BL fandom in general, either, especially when you look back on his whole direction of IT'S NOT A BL Shadow. Just, y'know, another reminder that queer people aren't Virtuous or Evil by nature. We're a big ole clusterfuck of nuance, so you don't have to support MGB for Ark just because he's a queer man. I have zero proof that I can share publicly, so you don't have to take my word for it. Just, y'know, in case you were on the fence, I've heard he's a dick.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go write absolutely filthy gay porn to purify myself from writing Joss's name so many times.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 54

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,355ish

Summary: You and Logan struggle interacting with each other.

Notes: Please share reactions! Please remember to review the timeline posted here.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

Your healing factor decided to kick into high gear while you were sleeping, which you were grateful for. Your hands were scarred now, but that didn’t matter as long as the burns were gone. Though you knew that it would probably happen again. You worked again today, but not until later, so you decided to go out and run a few errands. As you were locking up the apartment, you heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Looking over, you saw Logan with his head down and hands stuffed in his pockets. Having felt someone staring, he looked up and stopped. The two of you just stared at each other for a moment before you decided to speak up.

“Hi,” your voice was quiet, nervous. 

“Hey,” he responded, voice low. “You, uh, you heading to work?”

“Not yet,” you shook your head. “I’m off to run some errands.” Logan nodded. “Where are you coming back from?”

“A walk… needed to clear my head and smoke a cigar in peace.”

Your lips turned up at his words. “I get it.” You walked his way, stopping as you reached his side. “Well, I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah… see you.”

You continued heading down the hallway. You were almost to the stairs when you heard Logan again.

“Hey, Y/N, wait.” You turned around to see him coming towards you. He stopped a few feet away from you. “Mind if I tag along?”

His words took you by surprise and, in all honesty, a part of you wanted to say no. You didn’t know if you could handle running errands with the man who shared your husbands face. But then you looked at him. You could see the nervousness and the war behind his eyes. Logan was struggling too.

“I don’t mind,” you said quietly. “I could… use the company.”

You wanted as Logan’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. After a moment, he moved to where you were and allowed you to led him down the stairs and out to the street. The two of you walked in silence, enough space away from one another to prevent from bumping into each other. 

You headed into the first store and grabbed a cart. Logan walked off to the side, grabbing the items you asked him to. It quickly became a comfortable routine from this store to the next. Logan carried your bought items around with ease. After the two stores, you decided that you were done for now and the two of you headed back to the apartment complex. 

“You can place everything on the table,” you told Logan as you opened the door to your apartment. “I’ll put everything away.”

“I can help,” Logan said, heading to the table.

“You’ve already helped. I’m sure that you—“

“Please.”

Your head tilted in curiosity at the tone Logan used. He was practically begging for you to let him help. He turned around and looked at you, eyes shining with something you were very familiar with seeing. Guilt. Something in Logan’s mind was eating away at him and he was trying to do something to take his mind off of it.

“Okay,” you whispered.

The two of you began working together to put items away.

“Where’s Laura?” Logan wondered, having not seen her yet today.

“She’s at a high school down the street. I signed her up for summer classes so that she could finish high school.”

Logan nodded. “That will be good for her. She interested in college?”

“She was, before we were sent to The Void. It hasn’t been a conversation that we’ve had since. I won’t force her into anything. I just want her to be happy. She’ll most likely have her father’s ability to live long, so a long and happy—a fulfilled life is all I want for her. Whatever that may look like.”

“You are a good mother.”

The compliment had you lose your breath for a moment. Once you gathered yourself, you turned away from Logan and focused back on the task. The two of you put the rest of the items away in silence. When everything was put away, Logan stuffed his hands back in his pockets and you finally fully faced him.

“Thanks for all your help,” you said, your lips pulling to a small smile.

“Anytime,” he responded with a nod. He turned to leave.

“Would you… I can make lunch.”

Logan stopped and looked back. “You don’t have to.”

“I think you deserve it after I made you carry everything around for me. Come. Sit.”

He fully turned around. “I can help. Put me to work.”

You shook your head. “No. But maybe I’ll let you do dishes when we’re done.”

“Deal.”

Logan sat down at the table as you got to work in the kitchen. His eyes carefully watched your every moment, lingering on your hands ever so often to check on them and to catch the sight of the wedding ring still on your finger.

“How are your hands?” Logan eventually broke the silence.

You paused, glancing at them. “They’re fine.”

“From, uh… From what I’ve picked up, I thought that you were only in pain when you’ve used your powers. Are you still in pain from The Void? Or was it something else?”

“Something else… I… I don’t really want to talk about it.” Logan let out an understanding grunt as he nodded. “How have you been handling all this? I think that everyone knows it’s not easy for me, but… this has to be really hard for you.”

“Yeah, it’s strange… I’m trying to make the most of it. I… well, you heard, I turned my whole world on the X-Men. I… I failed my friends… my family. And I killed many people… This is a fresh start. I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Well, I think you’re off to a good start, if that means anything.”

“It does… thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” you shot him a smile. “Are you planning on getting a job?”

“I want to, just to keep my mind busy, but it’ll be hard… The Wolverine is, uh, popular.”

“I’m sure you’ll fine something… I can help if you want.”

“I’ll let you know if I need any.”

You nodded and brought two plates over to the table. “Lunch is served.”

“Looks great. Thanks, princess.”

Princess. Now that was a nickname you hadn’t heard in a lot time. It had your mind reeling. Reliving all the times your Logan had called you that. Your hands began trembling as your lungs felt tight, like you couldn’t breathe. Logan immediately noticed the sudden change in you.

“Y/N?” He called. “Are you alright?” He reached for you but you stumbled back, your breaths coming out in labored pants. 

“I— He—You—“ You couldn’t complete a thought without your breathing getting in the way.

It suddenly clicked. Your husband—Your Logan had called you that. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I overstepped. It just slipped out.” 

Logan stood up and held out his arms like he was calming a timid animal. Your hands were growing hotter, making the whole scenario worse. Logan could see small trails of smoke begin to come from your hands. 

“Y/N, tell me what I can do to help,” he pled. 

“I’m—fine,” you clearly lied.

Logan shook his head. “Tell me what you need.”

“I… Leave… Just… go…”

“Y/N, I can’t—“

“Please! Go!”

Logan stood there and watched as you used the wall to support yourself as you headed down the hall. He didn’t miss the burn marks your hands left on the walls as he watched you disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind you. Logan sighed, shoulders sagging. He couldn’t leave you like this, at least not with your kitchen like this. Logan found food storage containers and placed the lunch in them before placing the containers in the fridge and quickly cleaning up the kitchen. He headed for the door, pausing to look back at the hallway before slipping out.

~~~

You ignored the pain in your gloved hands as you worked. Even sneaking in a few drinks to try to dull the pain and the memory of what happened. You were so embarrassed that a simple nickname sent you into an anxiety attack. After all this time since your husband’s death, you thought that you were more healed than this. But these last few weeks have proven otherwise.

“Buttercup!” Wade yelled across the bar as he entered. He sauntered over to where you were, sitting on a barstool across from you.

“Wade,” you greeted, remaining neutral. “What brings you in?”

“Can’t I visit my favorite fire starter at work?”

“Ssh!! Wade. No one can know. Remember?”

He held his hands up. “Alright. Grumpy. What’s got you all wound up? It’s it the lack of a sex life? Have you not had sex since your husband? How was that by the way? Did you have to do all the work since he was so old?”

“Just shut up, Wade! I’m trying to work.”

He reached over the bar and grabbed your wrist before you could walk away. “Hey. I’m sorry. Seriously. I came to check on you. Apparently it’s something I do now, Savior Of The Universe and all.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, not really buying it. Especially when Logan came back from your place in a mood. He’s finished all the alcohol in the apartment and trust me, Blind Al had a lot of hiding spots that even I couldn’t find. And then there was the fact that Little Wolf came home and freaked when she saw the burn marks on the walls.”

You sighed. “I have a break in ten minutes. Just wait for me in the booth over there.”

~~~

You rolled the beer bottle around on the table, eyes focused on it. Wade sat across from you, watching you silently like he might be able to read your mind.

“It’s not his fault,” you whispered. “I know Logan is feeling guilty. I know it because they’re so similar… He called me a name that Logan—that my husband used to call me. It triggered me. I know he meant nothing by it, but my mind freaked… My powers…” your eyes fell to the gloves. “I’m losing control over them and the pain is getting worse… I shouldn’t have kicked him out the way I did, but I couldn’t help it.”

Wade sighed, pushing down a majority of the inappropriate comments. He could tell that a lot was weighing on you. “Honestly, I probably would have completely combusted.” You laughed, causing Wade to smile. “Logan will get over it. Peanut has his own shit that he’s dealing with while you’re dealing with yours.”

“I owe him an apology.”

Wade scoffed, waving his hand around before taking a sip of his own beer. “Trust me. I’ve read enough Emberine fanfics to know that you never need to apologize to him. No matter where your relationship is at.”

“You weren’t joking when you said you were my biggest fan.”

“I would never lie about something like that, Buttercup. Oh! Maybe when you get home, we can cuddle up and I can read the latest one I found. It’s called, Love That Burns, and a lot of it is eerily familiar to your story. Besides the ending. You died and then Logan went back in time and—“

“Maybe another time. Thanks for coming, Wade.”

“Big Brother Wade to the rescue.”

“I’m a lot older than you.”

He waved you off. “Tis just a number, Buttercup.”

~~~

You were exhausted by the time your shift was over and you got back to your apartment. When you entered, Laura was sitting on the couch working on homework. Her head immediately snapped up to look at you.

“Hey,” you greeted with a small smile, coming over to collapse beside her. “How was school?”

“Fine,” she responded with a huff. “Already have homework.”

“Need any help?”

“Do you?”

You sighed. “Laura—“

“I came home to burn marks on the wall. Do you know how scary that is? I thought… Well, I thought… the worst.”

“Oh, kiddo, I’m so sorry.” You reached over to her but she flinched away, breaking your head. “Laura—“

“I’m just going to go to my room.” She stood quickly gathering all her stuff.

“Laura, please.”

“I’ll see you in the morning. Good night, mom.”

You sighed as she disappeared into her room. You were really killing it today. Leaning forward, your head fell into your hands. You have no idea how long you were like that before there was a knock at the door. Cautious because it was so late, you peeked through the peep whole to see Logan standing there. You could tell that he was nervous and weighed down, emotionally and mentally. You opened the door, causing Logan to breathe a small sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry,” you both said at the same time. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you quickly said before Logan could speak up. 

“But I do. The nickname just slipped.”

“You couldn’t know that it would trigger me. Hell, I didn’t until it did. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have kicked you out the way I did.”

“I deserved it.”

You chuckled. “We are not going to agree on this, are we?”

“Nope… I’m sorry again. Goodnight, Y/N.” He turned away and headed towards his apartment.

“Hey, Logan,” you called. He paused, turning to face you. “Can we have a redo of lunch tomorrow? I still owe you for carrying everything today.”

He nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“Great. Goodnight, Logan. And don’t be too hard on yourself.”

You shut the door, leaving Logan in the hallway feeling exposed. Of course you knew that he was eating himself alive. You had married this universe’s version of him. You basically knew him already, yet his universe’s version of you and this version were different in so many ways that he felt you had an unfair advantage over him. But he would allow this to take its time. The strongest friendships always do.

next chapter >

[intramoon]

hi aj !! i have a question i dont want to sound rude please know im not trying to be rude. i came back to simblr after a long time and its been really hard not to get discouraged. :/ my account is really dead no one interacts with me anymore. stuff is so different. i remember you used to be kinda popular but how do you deal with people not interacting with you as much as they used to?? i dont mean that in a mean way!! i dont want to quit simblr but idk how to get back to how things were

Hi! Don't worry, I don't think you're being rude, I understand where you're coming from. ♡ My response will be long because I have a lot to say about the topic, hopefully, it will help you.

If you were mostly active when I was in my "prime" (assuming that's what you mean by "kinda popular"), like 2018-2021, things will never be how they were then. The community, trends, and how we interacted with each other was so much different, I don't think it will ever go back to how it was then. I am kind of happy about that. Although my relationship with that time on Simblr is nostalgic (despite being too young and miserable to enjoy it), I think the community is in a healthier place now (mostly). I have had to adjust to a couple of things since coming back. One is that the content looks different now.

In my "prime" people were just getting into editing (that was a time before ReShade). Heavy editing and experimental editing were really celebrated, partly because everyone was learning and learning from each other. We just wanted to see what was possible. Now, maybe partly in reaction to that trend and how demanding it was, people have found an appreciation for the base game, simple screenshots with really only ReShade/gshade, CAS screenshots, etc. Not to say the former doesn't exist anymore because it absolutely does and people have become truly incredible at it. In some regard, it is an acquired taste especially if that's all you do. I've thought to myself many times should I stop editing the way I do, does that impact the way people take in my content? Do I have editing blindness? lol I like how I edit, I enjoy the process and, even if I do have editing blindness, I like how it looks. Even being an alpha creator, they are fewer and fewer as people opt for MM and MMix. I've thought, do people really not like alpha content anymore? Even my story at times felt like it didn't fit into the current story ethos. I thought about stopping it. I bring that all up to say, when you're coming back to a very different Simblr it can feel like what you used to make doesn't "fit in". And it might not. I don't think that should be the goal. The community now is so much more diverse, content-wise, that anything you want to make is possible. If you sacrifice your artistic vision, you'll end up leaving again. You have to make what speaks to you, regardless of the other noise.

Two, you have to find your reason for making your art. For a moment, I really lost touch with what I was even doing here. I took some time to figure it out. I first started because I wanted to tell a story that talked about intimacy through the lens of a sex worker and someone who had no romantic or sexual experience. I wanted to do this without over-sexualizing my sex worker character and infantilizing my other character. I wanted to write some of the dialogue I was having internally. Way back when that was all I wanted to do, I didn't struggle with being seen as much because I was posting with a purpose. That purpose wasn't likes or reblogs, but to tell a story and have a conversation. Everything else came after. Anyone coming back (or looking for a reason to stay) has to find, within themselves, why they want to be here and what they want to get out of it. I promise you if you reconnect with that, posting will be easier regardless of the outcome.

I know I took a lot for granted way back when. Asks about me or my characters, comments, tags, and even people wanting to join me in a Discord server or stream. Sounds like we both, a one point, wish we could go back. That just means it's something to appreciate more now. You can be and make really whatever you want, which wasn't always possible. Maybe think of coming back as a small rebirth and trust that if you keep at it, you will find your people. I am still in the process of finding mine but I trust they are out there. If you're passionate people will feel it. Best of luck and I hope something in this novel helps you! ♡

[motorsportbarbie13]

Track Limits - Part One

(author's note: this is a fully original series that I wrote this summer, with fully original characters. I will be posting every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I won't be using my tag list for my F1 Fanfics, so if you want to be added to this one, please leave a comment! As always, my inbox is always open for suggestions, comments, questions, etc. I love love love hearing from you guys!!)

Warnings: brief talk about cheating boyfriend and panic attacks, but nothing serious on page Word Count: 3.1k

Intro Post Series Main Navigation Page Master List

Celine

CelineStG posted

CelineStG Siri, play 'Home' by Good Neighbors RealMollyGrace bitch, what? >>>CelineStG oops? AlexStGerard I’m sorry, since when are you home?  >>>CelineStG Hi big brother, consider this my official notification that a sister visit in imminent. Hope you’re prepared! >>>AlexStGerard When am I ever prepared for a sister visit? >>>CelineStG Never.  >>>AlexStGerard Exactly  SebSimonet STG C if I don’t see you before quali I’m running you over with my car >>>CelineStG What an awful thing to say to your bestie.   User123 Are you in town for the race?  User34 Of course she is, her family literally owns a team. Idiot. 

“Ms. Saint Gerard, what a pleasant surprise to see you today! Your father didn’t say anything about you visiting this week. Would you like me to take you to the estate then?” George Fishburn asks as he holds the car door open for me. 

“No, no.” Waving him off, I slide into the back seat of the SUV.  “I’m staying at the Hermitage this week.” I ignore the man’s raised eyebrows, choosing to pretend like he isn't giving me the opportunity to give him a little bit of gossip like I always tend to do. I’m certain he’s dying to ask why I won’t be staying with my father and on a normal day, I would have been happy to answer his questions. George has been my father’s driver and all around errand man for as long as I can remember and normally I would have gladly chatted with him about why I was suddenly home.

Today though? Today I was glad he was giving me the quiet distance that my melancholy mood craved. 

“Could you take me to Alex’s condo and then drop my bags off at the hotel though? If it’s not too much trouble.” I ask once George has loaded my bags in the trunk and settled himself in the drivers seat. 

He chuckles and rolled his eyes, “Of course it’s not too much trouble, you know that. I’ll leave you with your brother and take them up to your room myself.”

“Thank you.” I sigh as he starts the engine, sinking into the supple leather seats that are a sharp contrast to the turmoil rolling through me. 

Moments later, he’s smoothly navigating the car out of the parking lot and is making his way towards the highway that leads from Nice to Monaco. My clenched jaw softens as I watch the French country side slip by, a wash of relief unknotting the constant stomachache I’ve been living with for weeks. Kilometer by kilometer, the tension that I’ve become quite acquainted with seems to melt away. I had woken up that morning in my townhome in London but this afternoon, I found myself home again.

Technically, Monaco isn’t really home, in the strictest sense of the word. I had lived in New York City until I was 14 but the tiny principality had always felt more like home than any apartment in the city or home in the country I had ever shared with my mother. My father had always brought my brother, Alex and I here during our summer visits after my parents had divorced when I was three. Sometimes I still wake up in the middle of a London rainstorm swearing I can smell the salty air of the Mediterranean and perfume of the wealthy residents. 

So it really wasn’t quite a surprise that the only place I thought might be able to fix me after what I’d been through in the last six months was Monaco. 

Slipping my phone out of the pocked of my bag, I check the notifications on my Instagram post earlier. It had been such a last minute trip to come home this week that I hadn’t even told my best friend, which she was apparently not very pleased about. 

Moments after the I send the last text, my phone vibrates, interrupting the quiet tranquility that I had been soaking in. 

“Are you okay?” Guilt sits at the edges of Molly’s tone when the call connects. 

Glancing out the window, I tip my head back against the soft leather head rest as I ruminate over my answer. 

“I’m...alive?” A dark chuckle escapes before I can stop it while I stare out the window as we begin to pass through the outskirts of Monte Carlo. I briefly catch a glimpse of the glittering sea that sits at the edge of the city. Even just the briefest of looks at the water chases a bit more of the anxiety that sits heavy in my chest away.

 On the other end of the phone, I hear Molly shuffling about and the muffled voice of someone that sounded a lot like Bev, Molly’s PR manager. Checking my watch I suck in a breath, “Molly! You have a show in like 45 minutes, shouldn’t you be warming up?” 

While Molly might be my best friend, she is also multi-Grammy award winning singer Molly Sharpe. We met five years ago when she had nearly thrown a punch at a drunk guy that was getting a bit too handsy with me at a party during the Cannes Film Festival. We had never said a single word to each other before she came to my rescue, somehow picking up on my panic from just a glance, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. Even when we were on opposite sides of the globe, which happened more often than not now that she was on tour, we try to FaceTime at least once a day. 

“Nah, this is more important. I’m already warmed up anyway, so stop trying to deflect. What happened that made you literally flee the country?” 

I barely fight the urge to groan. “I ran into William at a coffee shop thi-.” I stop mid-thought to correct myself. “No, no! I saw my cheating ex-boyfriend at MY coffee shop this morning, Molly! In MY neighborhood. On MY side of London!” I cry, my molars grinding together. “With whatever the fuck her names is, that stupid red head that he cheated on me with.” 

Heat rises in my cheeks as I remember the scene from this morning. I had just left my pilates class and had been planning on making a quick run to the barn to exercise my horses even though that was the last place I wanted to be. But all of my plans came to a screeching halt when I saw William arm in arm with the girl he had cheated on me with walk straight into my favorite coffee shop. 

“Coming from anyone else, I’d say you claiming it was ‘your’ side of London was simple hyperbole but I genuinely don’t doubt you and your family actually own a significant portion of the city.” Molly teases. 

A smile tugs reluctantly at my lips, “Shut up.” I scoff. She was right, of course. My family had been the founding investor into the Formula One team that all these years later, still bares our last name. We had a luxury road car division that was the first bit of our business, the racing coming second after my great-grandfather fell in love with the sport. Simply put, St. Gerard was as synonymous with luxury car production as Chanel was with haute couture.

“So anyway, I saw him with her and I couldn’t breathe. I completely panicked. Between that and,” I pause, my breath catching in my lungs. “What happened last month, I just lost it. So, I did the most mature thing I could think of at the time.” 

“And what was that?” Her tone held an edge of a laugh, like she knew this was going to be ridiculous. 

“I called an Uber right there on the street corner, packed a bag, and chartered a flight home.” 

“Céline Cristelle St. Gérard! That is the most out of touch way to deal with your problems.” 

I let out a chuckle. “Thats rich coming from a girl who quite literally chartered a jet to fly her favorite chef from New Orleans to Portugal just to make her chicken noodle soup when she was sick last year.” 

“That was a medical emergency.” She pouts. 

“So you’re telling me that you wouldn’t have done the exact same thing?” 

Molly cackles and I could just imagine her throwing her head back laughing in the green room at whatever stadium she was performing in tonight, “Oh no, I would. We’re both equally insane and privileged. It’s a dangerous combination. Go on.” 

“That’s it. I flew home. I don’t even have any luggage packed. We were 20 minutes off the ground when I remembered that the race was in Monaco this weekend and panicked that I wasn’t going to be able to find a place to stay but I somehow managed to find a room at the Hermitage.”

“You’re not staying with your father?” 

“Ha! Absolutely not. He’ll be furious with me when he hears about what I did yesterday.” 

In addition to a cheating ex-boyfriend that had just broken my heart recently, I'd also decided a few days ago that I was done with show jumping for the season. There had only been a few competitions but after what had happened six weeks ago to my heart horse, I just didn't have the competitive drive in me anymore. For as long as I could remember, show jumping had been my 'thing'. Alex had racing and the team but I had always had my horses.

Until I didn't.

On the other end of the phone, my best friend gasps. “You haven’t told him yet?” She shrieks. 

“I was kind of hoping the press would do it for me, to be honest.” I wince, nibbling at a cuticle my manicurist missed at my nail appointment yesterday. 

“Céline!” Molly hisses.

Rubbing my free hand over my face, I groan into the phone. “I know! I know! I’m a coward. I’m actually on my way to see Alex to try to figure out how the hell to break it to the old man. He’s going to be so mad.” 

Molly’s tone softens at the guilt that I know fills my voice. “He won’t be if you’re honest with him.” 

I stay silent for a moment, considering Molly’s words. I know my father is going to lose his mind when he finds out that I had made this huge, life altering decision without even so much as consulting him. Not because he’d tell me that I wasn’t allowed to but because show jumping is such a big part of my life and making such a big decision like pulling out of competition for the year without even so much as consulting him was going to set him off. My father was solidly of the 'the St. Gerard family is not a family of quitters' belief and this was going to break his heart.

“Listen. We just pulled up to Alex’s place so I’m going to let you go. Say a little prayer that I survive the first firing squad?” 

“Alex will be on your side, he always is. Text me later and I’ll call you after the show if it’s not too late.” 

“Love you.” 

“Love you too Cece.”

Theo

TheoJHighgate Posted

TheoJHighgate Rolling into Monaco race week like... user918 the curls are curling evansracing so excited!! user0199 does this man know what he does to us??? >>>user029 oh 100%

The Evans Racing garage thrums with the kind of energy that only happens during race week. Mechanics scurry around my car making any last minute adjustments before the first of three rounds of practice tomorrow, the sounds their tools make a familiar grind in my ear. I lean against one of the many sleek orange and black toolboxes that line one side of the garage, taking it all in. 

Monaco is my favorite track on the entire circuit. I have so many good memories here that every time this weekend rolls around, I try to soak in as much of the energy I can. The team has been really consistent so far this season but we’re still winless and this weekend feels like the perfect time to remedy that situation. 

“Theo.” A sharp voice yanks me out of my podium day dreams. “My office. Now.” Scott Hayes, Evans Racing’s team principal stands just outside his office door, his expression all storm clouds threatening a downpour. Fuck, he does not look happy. 

I straighten, ignoring the stares from the mechanics who are trying to look busy while hoping to overhear the verbal undressing I feel like I’m about to get. I shuffle through my memory quickly as I push off the tool box. While I have somewhat (read: huge) of a reputation in the paddock of being the driver that gives the PR team the most headaches before race weekends, I don’t think I’ve done anything recently to bring the wrath of Scott Hayes down on me lately. 

“Sounds like I’m about to be on the receiving end of one of your inspiring pep talks boss.” I flash him my most disarming smile, trying to hide the pit that has suddenly formed in my stomach. 

Scott simply rolls his eyes and steps back into his office without another word, leaving me no choice but to follow. 

Fantastic. 

“Good luck in there.” My performance coach Levi McAllen claps me on the back when I walk past him. “Find me after and we’ll go through what he says, okay?” 

What he means is ‘I’ll talk you down off the ledge Scott is about to put you on’. While Scott Hayes is a legend in Formula One, he’s also one of the scariest mother fuckers I’ve ever worked for. I hate being on his bad side, which seems to happen on a regular basis more and more lately. Thankfully, my driving makes up for it. Most of the time. 

“Yeah, yeah.” I sigh dramatically, running a hand through my mess of dark brown curls that are in desperate need of a haircut. I make a mental note to get to my barber before tonight’s charity gala, knowing our PR manager Loraine will have my head if I don’t. If I can show up with a clean cut mullet, she usually doesn't give me shit. The way that woman had almost buzzed off my entire head of hair when I showed up one day a few months ago with said mullet was almost scary. There might have been tears.

Weaving my way through the labyrinth of the garage easily, I manage to pretend I'm ignoring the engineers who keep tossing what look like sympathetic glances my way. 

This is not going to be good. 

I shut the door behind me, the snick of the latch the only sound in the quiet office.  

Scott waves a hand towards one of the two white plastic chairs in front of his desk. 

“Theo.” He begins, his voice softening a fraction. “We’ve invested a lot in you. You’re our number one driver, the face of Evans Racing in F1.” 

I nod, a flicker of pride settling the anxiety still churning in my stomach a bit. Being a Formula 1 driver has been my dream since the first time my dad plopped me down behind the wheel of a go kart. It’s exactly where I want to be. Fast cars, pretty girls, the roar of the crowd dressed in your team colors - it’s a life I’ve dreamt of since I was a scrappy little kid fighting for the podium on dusty, back woods karting tracks. 

“Frankly, Theo,” Scott continues, his voice turning rough again, “The results haven’t been there. A few podiums, yeah, but no wins. We’ve poured resources into this car and it’s showing. We need you to step it up, to translate that speed into wins.” 

I lean back in my chair, shoulders dropping. He’s not wrong. We certainly had the fastest car on the grid most weekends but I hadn’t capitalized on it yet. The media was starting to chatter about how I might not have the skill or mentality to handle a fast car and championship fight. Here I was, my sixth season in F1 and only one win to my name. And that singular win had taken me four and a half seasons to get. Sure, I was consistent enough, I hold the record for the most podiums before winning a race in all of F1 history. Second and third place finishes will only get you so far in this sport though, especially when your team has made huge leaps in technology in the last half dozen years. 

The responsibility of translating that speed and those improvements into wins sat squarely on my shoulders. 

“I know, Scott.” I say. “Believe me, I want to win just as much as you guys do. Probably even more.” 

It was true. My entire career I’ve been the ‘solid, consistent, well performing driver’. Good enough to gain the attention of Evans back when I was just 16 years old driving in F3 but never quite good enough to be considered one of the greats. And the reputation of being ‘almost good enough’ starts to grate on your ego after a while. 

Scott studies me a moment, a hint of doubt lingering in his eyes. “Theo,” He says finally, “you have the talent we want here at Evans. We wouldn’t have signed you otherwise. You’re a natural behind the wheel, your race craft impeccable. But sometimes…” He trails off, the silence of his unfinished words hanging heavy in the air. 

I know exactly what he’s trying to say. The late nights, the tabloid headlines, the reputation for being a player that follows me like a shadow. It’s a tightrope I usually walk a little better than I have been lately. Balancing the bad boy image with the laser focus I need on the track was something I’m usually good at. Or at least I thought I was. 

Maybe I’m not as good at the balancing act as I thought I once was. 

“I’ll do better.” I promise, meeting his heated gaze head-on. “This race, this whole season? It’s mine. No more distractions, just wins.” 

A flicker of something that might have qualified as a smile crosses his lips. “We’ll see.” He says, a hint of steel still in his voice. “We’ll see. Your contract is coming to an end this year and we want you to be in this seat next year. You are the heart and soul of this team but we need you to start winning.” 

We both knew my word is only as good as my last race. The pressure was on. I had to get serious about my driving. I know I have it in me to be a better driver, that I haven’t hit the peak of my career yet. I was just running out of time to finally find the missing piece to the puzzle that was my career. I had to find it and I had to find it fast. 

Tag List (reminder, this is 100% different from my normal tag list!)

@ahgase99

[astracora]

Poly!LADs headcanons #2

Social Edition

Featuring main MC.

Masterlist

Social Media

Zayne uses his online profiles pretty much exclusively for work. He follows distinguished professionals, especially in cardiology to keep up with the industry and build connections. He also shares information and studies, because he's aware patients follow him or family of patients, about health and general ways to assist with recovery. Has reported a lot of articles though, for misinformation.

He only really has one personal account, which is not openly shared, he uses this one to keep up with the polycules updates (even though he finds himself tutting as Xavier posts about the 6th pot noodle he's eaten that day), and comments on as many as he can (absolutely has alerts set up for MC specifically). Has more than one caught Rafayel and Sylus (whose account is of course under Skye to alleviate stress), plotting some prank, and printed out a screenshot to question them.

It goes as well as you'd expect.

Rafayel does not separate his work from his personal. This man will post about anything and everything, you want art exhibit exclusive updates? Follow Thomas. With Raffy you'll get every little hyperfixation, all his personal updates, random things he finds pretty, the occasional fawning over his loved ones in all caps, and the occasional art related post (Thomas normally has to remind him.) He binged a 20 episode show once, and wouldn't stop talking about it for months. He also will rant about the environment and things people can do to do their part. If he loses followers he doesn't care. Once Xavier accidentally unfollowed him (because trying to type with one hand while half asleep is a disaster waiting to happen) and he sulked for a week.

Likes everything the polycule posts, except for Sylus. Sometimes he leaves his usual 'dumb crow' comment, but Sylus casually mentioned that it showed he still cared enough to read, and Raffy ignored his posts for two months after that in protest. (When it gets brought up, he still blushes.)

Xavier is only as active as he has to be. He doesn't really follow a lot of people, the polycule, Jeremiah, Nero, Tara, Simone, Andrew and Jenna. MC once asked why he didn't really follow anyone else, and he just shrugged, too much work, and went back to what he was doing. Will tag himself and the polycule in locations when they go out, he takes photos fairly often, but will normally forget to post them. Raffy made a comment about it being a good method to track the progression of time and remembering what you get up to, and he started posting more often after that. His updates are mundane things, day-to-day, nice things he's seen, and nothing too groundbreaking.

Sometimes he does go back through his account to look at stuff though, it normally reminds him he wants to print certain photos out though. Preferring to have physical copies of memories. (Nero absolutely runs a Lumiere account that Xavier does NOT follow, but Sylus and MC do because they think it's hilarious.)

Sylus' account is under Skye or whatever nickname he's been called that amuses him that week. (He once changed it to 'fish eating crow' and the argument between him and Rafayel was so loud, Zayne made a deal with Sylus to change it back.) He follows the entire polycule, as well as Tara, Luke and Kieran. He says he follows Luke and Kieran because they sometimes post what chaos they plan to get up to next, but he likes all the things they post, and occasionally comments. (Sometimes if it's particularly troublesome, he comments 'Come see me.', and they know they're in for a lecture.) His updates can be anything, they're even more eclectic than Rafayel on account of how much amuses him on a daily basis. He also posts an obscene amount of photos he's taken of the polycule.

Doesn't have a business account because he doesn't need it, his name is enough. Any information he gets about any shady n109 zone business is through other methods. He absolutely is the kind of person to save posts to show people because they made him think of them. So so many links, found when he has a particularly boring meeting. Was following Jenna, MC took his phone and made him unfollow Jenna. 

MC has one account that follows everyone they personally know, plushie release updates, anything relevant to their interests (gaming magazines/film updates), and the occasional account that just posts pictures of animals. They go through entire periods of not posting or visiting their social media at all, and then intense fixation periods where they sit for an hour or two just liking and commenting. They share a lot of things to show the polycule, can be anything from a picture of a crow with a little hat (it's you Sy!), or a really beautiful photograph (for Raffy's inspiration). Number one fan for Simone and Tara specifically. They don't have alerts set up but they'll periodically just open profiles from the polycule to browse their pages.

Their pfp changes CONSTANTLY. It's not them, Sylus keeps changing it, with any new photo he sees. Sometimes its a cat with the most ridiculous face, other times its a snapshot Xavier's taken where they've been taken by surprise. Sometimes they notice straight away, other times they don't notice at all.

Talkative levels

Rafayel > Sylus > MC > Zayne > Xavier > Rafayel (if he hates you)

Rafayel, if he likes you, will talk for England. He can talk about anything, and fill any empty space. As long as you're listening or want him to keep going, he'll do so. While he's happy to sit in silence, he enjoys conversation, about any range of topics. He's a smart, knowledgeable man with a breadth of knowledge. History, Art, Politics and Environment are some top things he'll be able to engage in. Also just likes to talk shit.

If he doesn't like you, he will barely engage, unless he feels the need to add a threat (normally only important when he's protecting the people he loves).

Sylus can talk a lot, and he enjoys being engaged with on topics. He's well read, old enough to have a lot of worldly experience (though can sometimes feel lacking on emotional topics), and is very insightful as a person. Aboveall else, however… he loves listening. Can easily sit for hours just listening to a conversation, whether he's multi-tasking, or just sat. Doesn't matter if he understands the topic, doesn't matter if he has anything to add, but he will truly listen. It makes him happy to have things shared with him.

Xavier is about half and half on his conversation, he's naturally fairly lethargic and is happy for other people to fill quiet, or just sit in silence, or he can chat. Normally only for people he is close to, however. Is a very good listener, but also prone to asking the oddest questions. Is the type of person to ask the worm question, because he likes seeing what he gets in return. Is the quietest of the polycule though, easily just letting convos pass him by, or only chipping in with the occasional comment. The more upset he gets, the quieter he gets. Is, however, capable of dropping the most baffling comments or stirring the pot with gentle prods.

Zayne is reasonably talkative, and very verbose. He's obviously a smart man, but prefers the relaxation of his personal life to have some more of a childish or calm approach to his life. So unless it's needed, he doesn't want to talk about anything too complex in his day-to-day. Very jovial, even if his expression doesn't always match, and is happy to go toe to toe with topics or personality. Mirrors to some degree. Especially with MC. Has learned over time, how to be a little less formal with others, to help them relax.

MC goes through stages, they can be incredibly quiet for long periods of time, especially if they're post a rough mission, or having a rough day and overstimulated. Normally though once they get started on a topic of interest, comfortable with someone, or in a good mood, they can talk and talk and talk. They are more talkative through texts than they are in person, but it gets easier for them if they know the person. (The polycule get the bulk of it, along with Tara and Simone.)

Arguments?

Rafayel's version of arguments, as long as he is with people he cares about, is normally a process of going through the loud, irritated, sometimes yelling, until he reaches the ice cold, will say something to hurt you, in order to lash back when he feels uncomfortable or strong emotions.

He'll need one of two things to calm down, time to think and take space, or pulling back early enough that he realises he's hurting people. (MC is most successful with this, unless they're part of the argument.)

He clashes most with Zayne and Sylus. Sylus because the two are akin to cats and dogs, their arguments are very rarely serious, but they can get carried away, especially if Rafayel feels cornered. He clashes with Zayne because he doesn't take well to being told what to do in any form, even if it only comes from a place of concern. His arguments with Zayne have lessened a lot overtime, but his arguments with Sylus are still going strong.

It's possible he just enjoys sniping with the crow though.

Xavier doesn't really care enough to get into arguments, if he's bothered by something, it's jealousy above anything else. He'll get a stormcloud above his head, and it's the polycules job to help him clear it (or give him space to process it safely). His normal feelings of irritation come in the form of a pout, or a few grumbles, but if he sleeps it off, he's fine. So he tries not to really show his upset if he can, because it never lasts that long. King of bouncing back.

That said, he argues most with Zayne and MC. The arguments are rarely serious, Zayne's are normally about his bad eating habits, and come from a place of concern, but the way he shares them can often make Xavier feel like he's being belittled. His arguments with MC are about how he hides things, secrets, and doesn't share when he goes off fighting dangerous wanderers as Lumiere (or just as Xavier). These arguments are (seemingly) calm from Xavier's side, and fierce anger from MC. This can often result in them having to bench the conversation where they're talking past each other, and someone else will have to mediate.

Zayne tries to be cool as much as he can, he doesn't like raising his voice, he would rather not show anger, and he tries to approach people with a level tone. This doesn't always work, and sometimes he feels like an icy wasteland when he talks. Chilling and sarcastic. It can feel biting, and even if he doesn't want to exacerbate an argument, it can often have the opposite impact. (He sometimes also can't resist adding a dig, when he thinks someone is being extra foolish.)

He argues a lot with Rafayel and Xavier, and his arguments with Sylus fizzle out the most, because he has no interest in being a source of amusement for the man. His arguments always come from a place of concern. He wants people to take care of themselves, he worries about them, dislikes tending to wounds that are unnecessary.

When he argues, he needs either a mediator (MC if they're not involved in the argument, Sylus if he has to), or for the person he's arguing with to extend an olive branch. Is surprisingly stubborn about it (though it could also be because Raffy and Xavi both are not prone to just backing down on something.)

Sylus' form of argument can differ. The man can be either cool, and amused, enjoying his arguing partners emotional output in the same way someone would poke a wild animal to see what happens. Or he can be cold, deadly and dangerous. The latter very rarely comes out, it is only through extreme circumstances, or something he truly would not compromise on, that it happens. These situations make him scary, and can make him cruel. It does not come out with the polycule, and it is rare for even an enemy to get such a reaction. He deals with everything very calmly. (visibly at least). He does not raise his voice, but he will match someone barb for barb.

Argues mostly with MC and Rafayel. Though the second he gets a real display of pain or shock, especially out of MC, he'll realise it's serious and back up quickly. Until then, he enjoys verbally sparring. He only outwardly argues with someone without them starting it, when he is truly bothered by recklessness. If someone jumps in front of him to get hurt, if they do not listen when he tells them something. If he's not trusted in situations where he likely either knows best, or feels he does.

Will calm down quickly because it's never that serious, or will go away for a joyride to give himself some freedom to feel better, and then return to find another way forwards.

MC is fairly conflict averse, they have enough stress in their day to day that added strain often doesn't react well with their body. (Heart condition, general hunter lifestyle.). Arguments are often far calmer than when they are actually angry. Their anger manifests as a vicious serpent, and depending on the situation, it becomes sharp like a dagger, to stick under a scale and force it off. For arguments, they match energy normally. If the person they're arguing with is cold, they're cold back, (though it might not always last, as when they feel forced into a corner, they can get emotional against their will and overstimulated.), if the person yells, they'll yell back too.

They argue most with Xavier and Sylus. It is almost always about safety, about their injuries, about recklessness. They also argue over smaller things, like money being spent unnecessarily, Mephisto following them unnecessarily, if they're standing up for someone else but get carried away. To calm down, they have to leave the situation, and come back to communicate better. They will often do this with something written down to help them stay level headed and resolve a problem. They always want and give affection after.

[planetpedri]

Florian Wirtz Boyfriend Head Canons !

‘i’ll get by with you on my mind. i’ll get by with you on my side.’

Bf!Florian who . . . is so romantic but in the most subtle ways. He only goes all put on very special occasions—such as your birthday or anniversaries. He loves the simplicity of a home cooked, candle lit dinner. He craves those intimate moments, and you love it just as much. Especially with his attention to detail, he will make every night special in new ways.

Bf!Florian who . . . loves the banter you two always seem to have. His dry sense of humor mixed with your ability to find anything and everything humorous is a perfect mixture. He often uses this as a way to get you out of a slump, purposely evoking something in you to snip back at him, though never angrily. Your lips will fight a smile and that in and of itself, makes his eyes light up with satisfaction.

Bf!Florian who . . . is most certainly protective. Not in an annoying, possessive way—just that he does not fuck around if someone disrespects you. He’s quick to be by your side, sending the meanest of glares even if it’s something as simple as someone bumping into your side without apologizing.

Bf!Florian who . . . is actually quite shy when it comes to PDA. That is not to say he doesn’t do it, he just keeps it subtle. Hand holding is fine, he prefers resting his hand on the low of your back, but he won’t deny you of affection if you want it. If you want a kiss in public—you’re getting it. Though, you know and respect his ways, so you don’t ask for them often.

Bf!Florian who. . . is the most insanely good listener. He loves hearing you talk. In fact, if he could have it his way, it would always be you talking and him listening. He loves to see your face light up talking about something you like. He also is an attentive listener when you are ranting, if you are upset he’s listening without bothering to stray his eyes or ears away. You matter to him, so therefore he will listen to everything you have to say and try to respond the best he can.

Bf!Florian who . . . tends to bottle his emotions. He hates upsetting you, and if he knows he did—he will hold in his feelings until you forgive him. This often leaves him snappy and on edge toward everyone and everything. When it’s you who hurt him, he’ll grow distant. He won’t ignore you, he’ll just pretend nothing happened in hopes it’ll go away. It doesn’t though, and you have to coax it out of him. He hates fighting with you so it takes little convincing for him to finally get out of his little spout of annoyance.

Bf!Florian who . . . gets jealous. Sorry. I don’t make the rules!! He gets jealous and not in an annoying way, in the way that has a smirk growing on your lips when his fingers dig into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer the second a man looks at you with anything but a platonic look in his eyes. Florian knows you’re beautiful, he knows guys and girls alike will look at you in ways he can’t control—that isn’t to say he has to like it though.

Sometimes, you’ll lean into his side to comfort him and other times you’ll have a smug smirk and play along. Just depends on if he annoyed you that day or not.

likes, comments, and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in any future posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @ar4ujos @lechrts @spidybaby @sakashq @be11ingham @piastri-fvx @joaoflms

[luthordamnvers]

ficwip - ‘promise’

Thanks for the tag @nostradamus0

Just as you, I have to search by file, because I've been using ellipsus for a few months now. Alongside libreoffice, so, same difference.

[link to OP]

Spoilers from my own fics, I suppose????

keep on waiting (underneath the mistletoe) Chapter 2

In all honesty, Lena might be desperate enough to find someone to take to the Christmas party she had promised her best friends. "Oh, shit." Jess said, seconds later. "What?" Lena lightly jumped in her chair. "You already have three happy cupcakes." Jess announced. "That means that there are three whole humans that want to meet you." She explained. "Imagine if it had been an actual good pic. You have to go to the next party. There's a holiday mixer this Friday at a member's house. I'll text you the address. Promise me you'll go." Lena grimaced. "Promise!" "Fine. Okay… Jesus. I'll go."

Supercorp : Can we always be this close (forever and ever)? (Don't ask me what this fic is about, I have no clue, but that's the title of the doc)

Esme was staying with her while Alex and Kelly were on their honeymoon. And while she did know English, and she was technically born on Earth, while they were around each other (and presumably they would be a lot given Kara’s relationship with Alex; the kid was her niece for Rao’s sake), Esme was as Kryptonian as Kara herself. And she needed to learn to control those powers. Kara promised herself that she would try her best to teach her niece how to handle them, while her mothers were out of town. Thankfully, she didn’t need to try alone. Eliza was also staying with them for the weekend before returning to Midvale. 

The HoTD Supercorp AU (Have I watched this show? no... And what of it?)

“We will survive, Kara.” Kal said, when they mourned her parents, and they became ashes by dragon fire. The crown sitting heavy on his head. “You and I are the future of our house. It won’t die with us, I promise.”

"It doesn't really matter if you don't need to produce an heir, we are all destined to marry after all, Kara." Lena commented, reading a book, sitting under the Weirwood tree at the palace's garden. "Unless you become a priestess…" "Or a knight…" Kara offered, frowning. Her head resting on Lena's thighs. "Kal promised." Lena sighed, like always, closing her book to look directly at Kara. "I know he promised, Kara. And he will probably be true to his word, but you know that the usual rules wouldn't apply to you." Lena said.

An even older Hallmark Christmas AU - Supercorp

“Are you ready, Aunt Kara?” Esme’s adorable voice asked. “Not quite, Esme,” Kara grimaced to her 6-years-old niece. Esme pouted, in impressively perfect Danvers form. “This is all she's been talking about all day,” Alex, her own older sister, informed her. “Wanting to get a Christmas tree with you for the bakery.” “I know, I know. I promised, it’s our tradition,” Kara apologized, looking at the post-it on her hand again. “I'm just running a little behind on my orders.”

Untitled - Rojarias (actual first fic I started of them, still sitting on 7k words)

"Last time, you drank two whiskeys and then started giving them to me, and switched to ginger ale. You are a lightweight." Andrea pokes fun at her, a smile threatening to settle on her lips at Samantha's silence. "Want me to send you some ice cream, then?" "I have ice cream…"  "I will buy you a drink tomorrow. After our big meeting, I promise." She says softly. "Hell or high water."

All three of them reconvened at Samantha's house, Andrea showed up to the suburban house with a newly-bought bottle of Macallan Sherry Oak.  Lena snickers at it as soon as she sees it. "You really need to update your moves." "It's definitely not a move," Andrea lifts a brow. "I promised Arias a drink last night. I'm just following through." 

That's all I got... I think...

No pressure tags @fazedlight @snowydragonscave @mycatismyeditor @tedgruver69 @thatonebirdwrites @fyonahmacnally

[lightdancingwords]

Second Chances - Part One of ?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N Female reader Series Summary: A chance meeting in a grocery store brings a second chance for you and for Beau. The only thing standing in your way are your respective pasts... and a tiny little roadblock.

Word Count: 2377

Tags/Warnings: None, unless toddlers/children and parenting bother you.

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! I couldn't resist--I gotta have me some Beau while writing Dean! This is a brand new story of Beau and female reader!

Divider: credit to @sweetmelodygraphics

Chapter One: Upon First Sight

All in all, it was a lousy day. Beau’s truck got a flat in the middle of nowhere and the tire proved impossible to take off. He had to pay a small fortune for a tow, additional labor for a replacement, and work was a headache and a half. He was ready for a cold beer, a nice nighttime fire, and the quiet.

But first, he had to get the beer. He’d run out the other day... which meant facing the sheer torture of the grocery store after hours. It was like all of Big Sky decided to go shopping during that time and the sheer crowd drove him insane.

Not to mention everyone and their parents suddenly had to talk to Beau, introduce him to a likely female prospect. It was as though he wore a sign over his head: ‘ATTENTION BIG SKY, SUITABLE SINGLE MALE’. Absolutely maddening. He hated it.

Ever since he and Carla split, he hadn’t been up to dating. Sure, Carla moved on, remarried—god, what a douchebag—and moved to Montana. Which meant he was coming too, because he'd be damned if he missed the last few years of Emily’s life as a teenager.

Somehow, that made him more appealing to the female population. Add to that the ‘exoticness’ of the Texan drawl, the allure of being a cop, and goddammit, he was pursued daily.

He wanted none of it.

“No, honey,” he hears some woman say, presumably to one of her offspring, judging from the harried, exhausted tones. “Now put that back.”

Yep, offspring. He heard the telltale signs of a young whine from the child and had to smile sympathetically. Then he heard something that caught his attention and raised his adrenaline: cans crashing.

He whipped around and narrowly dodged being smacked by a number of Chef Boyardee meals in a can. “Whoa!”

“Eliza!” The mother snatched up her child—maybe a little older than a year?—and popped her back into the shopping cart, buckled her up so swiftly he was impressed. “I am so sorry! You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Nope. I'm all right. The cans aren’t, though,” he said ruefully, observing the mess.

“Oh fu-fudge,” the mother said, catching herself before she could cuss in front of the kid.

“Here, I’ll help ya,” Beau offered, using his cart to detour traffic around the cans and began moving the cans away. “Wyatt,” he said, catching the eye of one of the employees. “Go get help.”

The mom raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You know everyone here?” she asked, doing her best to stack the cans against the shelf.

“Benefits of bein’ the sheriff,” he said with a smile. “Sooner or later, I meet them all.”

“You’re—“ she broke off in astonishment.

“Sheriff Beau Arlen,” he said by way of introduction. He shook her hand and was surprised by her firm grip. He hadn’t expected that from her. Maybe it was because she seemed so soft, motherly.

“I’m Y/N,” she said with a smile. It turned wry as she introduced her daughter. “That little hellion is Eliza.”

He chuckled. “Might need a little wranglin’, huh?”

“Either that or a wolf pack.”

Beau laughed. He couldn’t help it. Little Eliza actually grinned at hearing her mother say ‘or a wolf pack’, as if angling for that very purpose and existence. “You know, I know it don’t seem like that right now, but she'll get easier to manage.”

Y/N paused and lifted a brow. “You sound as if you speak from experience.”

“I guess I do,” he said, rising to his feet. He offered Y/N a hand to help her up as he said, “My Em wasn't really difficult, just stubborn. Had a mind of her own and goddamn she knew how to use it.”

He saw her eyes flicker for a moment, and wondered what it was that caused her react so. “Em--I'm guessing that's your daughter?”

He nodded with a fond smile. “She’s 18 now and in college.”

Y/N smiled, returning to her little hellion child. “Now you have new worries, whether she’s learning well, making the right friends, and handling peer pressure.”

“Well, thanks for the nightmares,” he said wryly.

Her smile turned amused, her eyes sparkling. “Just pointing out it never gets easier,” she said with a fond ruffle of her daughter’s hair. “Just changes in difficulties.”

He regarded her thoughtfully. “Ya ain’t wrong,” he said at last.

For a moment, they regarded each other in companionable silence. Beau was reluctant to let her go, enjoying this conversation. She seemed equally hesitant to let the moment end.

“I… I, um, thank you, for your help,” she said at last. “It would’ve been kinda hard to do all that while minding my little wolf-child.”

He grinned, appreciating her humor in handling an energetic toddler. “You’re welcome.”

Just as she turned to leave, Beau stepped forward, stammering. “Ah, wait. I hope this ain’t forward of me, but…” God her eyes killed him. “Ah… can I ask you out sometime?”

She looked so surprised he wondered what she was thinking. Y/N glanced at her daughter, and he got it. She wasn’t expecting anyone to want to date a single mom.

Luckily for her, Beau wasn’t just ‘anyone’.

“I’d like that,” she said with a slight smile. She took out a little memo pad—god, she was organized, he loved it—and scrawled a number on it. She handed it to Beau.

“You know, we could’ve traded cellphone numbers,” he said teasingly. “Didn’t need to kill a tree for it.”

“Are you saying you don’t think you’re worth a tree?” she retorted with a smile.

That caught him off-guard and he laughed. “Oh, you got a sense of humor there, darlin’.”

“I try. My wolf-child forces me to very creative,” she said with a trace of wry humor.

He chuckled and approached little Eliza in the shopping cart seat. “May I?”

A look of surprise followed by an expression of gratitude. How many would ask before approaching a child? “Yes,” she said simply.

“Heya darlin’,” Beau said to Eliza. He regarded her with the solemn mien he would give a senior citizen. He held out his hand to her and added, “I’m Beau Arlen. I’m a friend of your mom’s.”

Eliza stared at him with wide, wide eyes, taking him in. He had the sense she was seeing more of him than an adult would, weighing and measuring him. Damned if he didn’t feel shaken. “Bo-bo!”

Y/N let out a laugh, then clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling giggles. Beau grinned, his green eyes dancing. “As long as you ain’t adding something to that nickname, I’ll take it.”

Eliza giggled at her mother’s reaction. She peered at Beau’s hand, then wrapped her tiny fingers around his index and middle finger, her hand too small to take his whole hand. It was so damned adorable. “Bo-bo,” she said solemnly.

He cleared his throat to hold back the laugh and nodded. “That’s right, darlin’. And you’re Eliza.”

Eliza nodded, then dragged his hand over to her mother. “Mommy!”

Something shifted in Y/N’s expression, shuttered. Beau felt the warmth from her withdraw, and found himself confused. “Y/N?”

”We should go,” she said suddenly. “We’ve taken up enough of your time.”

Without giving him a chance, she gently freed her daughter’s grasp from his hand and pulled away with her shopping cart, leaving him staring after them in utter confusion.

As luck would have it, he chanced upon them in the parking lot. Little Eliza went into full-blown meltdown, wailing while her mother was desperately trying to get her to calm down enough to get buckled into the car seat.

“Eliza, please!” Yep. Sheer desperation, mother ready to hit tears.

Beau headed up to them, set his bags of groceries and pack of beer on the ground, and said, “Hey… why don’t I take her for a moment? Give you a breather?”

Y/N looked back at him, and yep, tears in her eyes, a look of overwhelming parenthood. Beau felt for her. She hesitated for a breath, then nodded, forcing herself to step back. “I just… can’t her to calm down,” she said, her voice quaking.

”Ah, it happens to the best of us,” he said gently, taking Eliza from the car seat. “First year we had Emily, I think between Carla and I we must’ve cried in the closet a dozen times.”

Y/N was startled. “The closet?”

“Yep.” He gently bounced Eliza in his arms, the little toddler still full on wailing. “We felt embarrassed, ya see. Didn’t want each other know we had no idea what the hell we were doin’. Or how hard it had been for us.”

“How did you two find out about the other?”

Eliza was beginning to sniffle and hiccup, which Beau took to mean she was starting to calm down. He kept bouncing her as he spoke to her mother. “Came upon her in the closet. Carla had been feelin’ sick, Emily was all over the place and nothin’ was workin’. I came home and found her there, tears everywhere.”

Beau shook his head. “We had a good long talk. We were lucky. We could lean on each other. Even then, it was damned hard.”

Eliza let out a big yawn and Beau smiled. He shifted her in his arms and she immediately slumped against him, evidently prepared to fall asleep then and there.

Y/N’s brows swooped up in astonishment. “I.. can’t decide if I should be offended or relieved you got her to calm down that fast.”

“Relieved, darlin’,” he said with a rumbly chuckle. “Go with relieved. Why don’t ya take her and I’ll get your groceries in the car?”

”Absolutely not. You hold her, I’ll do it. I don’t want to risk her waking up again,” she said with a chuckle. “I knew she was getting tired. I just had to finish shopping. Just my luck she got overtired and that was it, she didn’t want to cooperate anymore.”

Much to Beau’s amusement, Eliza let out a tiny snore. He patted the little toddler’s back soothingly, swayed in place. God, memories were coming back, of late nights trying to get Emily to go down so they could sleep, of trying to get her to hang on a bit longer so they could go home.

He’d do it again in a heartbeat. He loved his daughter so damned much.

”When they’re that age, all we can do is roll with it,” he said as she moved bags into her trunk. “We’re just lucky they’re cute enough to forget what it’s like as they get older.”

Y/N smiled a bit, but it faded quickly. “Beau… I owe you an apology.”

“What for?” he asked, his hand still patting Eliza’s back.

“For leaving as abruptly as I did earlier,” she said, her voice low and ashamed. “I… Eliza bringing you right over to me had me…” She hesitated, then finished with, “scared. It scared me.”

Beau paused in his swaying, caught off guard. Then he kept moving, considering that confession. “I imagine your daughter approving of a man you just met might be a bit difficult,” he said carefully. “Especially one who just asked you out.”

“Most men I meet… if they’re interested in me… tend to run when they hear ‘single mom’,” she said slowly. “No matter how well we got along.”

Ah. Beau nodded slowly. He couldn’t imagine how that felt, being constantly turned down because of certain circumstances. “Ain’t my place to judge,” he said at last. “You’re a package deal, far as I’m concerned. If I wanna see the momma, I gotta accept the kid, too.”

Y/N stared at him for a moment, astonished by his level of acceptance. “That’s… thank you.”

“No need,” he said with a smile. “It’s the way it is.” He glanced at Eliza and his smile widened, took on warmth. “‘Sides, she’s hell of a kid.”

Y/N chuckled, her expression softening. “She is. Thank you… for helping out.”

“More than happy to, darlin’,” he said, rubbing Eliza’s back. “I think she’s ready to go into the car seat though.”

“Do you mind?”

He shook his head and gently set Eliza into the car seat. He adjusted her comfortably and made sure to snap her in tightly. Then he grabbed a blanket in the backseat and tucked it around the little toddler. Damn, she’s adorable.

”There ya go,” he whispered to Eliza. “Sweet dreams, kiddo.”

He straightened and nodded to Y/N. “Precious cargo is all secured, ma’am.”

Amused, Y/N smiled. “Thank you, Beau.”

A part of him resisted the urge to kiss her, she looked so soft and warm. It was too soon, he knew. They haven’t even been on a date yet.

“You’re welcome.” He reassured himself the paper with her phone number was still in his pocket, then asked, “Would it be desperate or premature of me to ask you out now?”

Her smile widened, and she shook her head. “No. Go for it, Beauregard.”

He quirked a smile at hearing his full name. He hadn’t given it to her; she must’ve made some educated guesses. “All right then, darlin’. I’d like to take ya out to dinner tomorrow, if you’re willin’.”

“I’d love to,” she said with a smile.

“What time works for ya?”

She glanced at the little toddler in the car. “Is 6pm too early for you?”

”Not at all. I’ll reach out to you later, if that’s all right, arrange your address and all?”

She blinked, then smiled. “You’re picking me up?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a nod. “My mother would skin me alive if she knew I wasn’t being a gentleman.”

That clearly charmed Y/N. “Okay. Yes… text me later and… we’ll get that sorted.”

He tipped his head at her, scooped up his bags and beer. “Drive safe, Y/N.”

She glanced at him as she got into her car. God, he loved her smile, a touch crooked with a sweetness that was killing him.

He never imagined a trip to the grocery store would net him a date—let alone with a single mom. Yet, here he was, asking one out and utterly charmed by her kid.

What a life.

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

@foxyjwls007, @katastrophicmind, @globetrotter28, @deansimpalababy, @daisychaingirl

[fatuismooches]

In a recent ask, you put in the tags that you wanted more Pantalone crumbs. I HAVE COME TO DELIVER.

Pantalone, who whenever he comes to bed after working all day, just immediately buries his face in your chest. You hear him groan something about "all my coworkers are morons" and then he stands up straight, smiles and does his nighttime routine.

Pantalone, who is a terrible cook, but he's trying his best. Truly, he burns everything he cooks. He's really trying, but he can not cook for the life of him.

Pantalone, who, on the other hand, is very good at sewing and knitting. He grew up in poverty, he had to fix his own clothes because he couldn't buy new ones.

Pantalone, who yells at Dottore because "No, I gave you over a million mora for experiments, you can't have any more!" But the moment you say "Pantalone, look at this necklace! Oh, wow, that's a steep price..." he's dropping his wallet into your hands and telling you to get anything you want.

ANYWAY, I LOVE YOU (/platonic) SMOOCHES

You can't really blame poor Pantalone for his squeezing. Dealing with his fellow Harbingers is one of the harder aspects of his job. Unlike his usual clients, they're more likely to start a fight, whether gracefully or not, over his deals. It was a real pain, having to keep his smile up that long, which is why the first thing Pantalone does is hold you tight in his arms and nuzzle his face into your warm chest to relieve himself of his pent-up frustration. It was an effective method indeed. Of course, he doesn't want to appear too vulnerable, so he gets over it rather quickly.

Unfortunately, the Harbinger didn't grow up in an environment where he could easily cook so it was one of the skills that he wasn't able to acquire. Nor did Pantalone have easy access to enough ingredients for an actual meal. Despite having lavish dishes for meals now, he can eat nearly anything with a straight face, because he trained his body to do so. Whenever he messes up he always manages to laugh it off but in truth sometimes he feels inadequate at not being able to handle something so simple.

Pantalone rarely ever sews anymore, his employees take care of everything of course (and you have like a million outfits you'd never notice a tear in any-) but if he happens to be in the mood, he'll stitch up something of yours wordlessly. If you happen to like the hobby too, sometimes he'll just smile at you, not say anything, and then randomly give some advice if you're stuck.

Every day a new segment of the Doctor comes in to plead his case. Every day they are sent back to where they came from huffing and grumbling. Every day Pantalone tries to present you with an exquisite collection of clothing and items that would look perfect on you. Every day he is sent back pouting. Which is why if you even so give the briefest comment on something, it is already purchased and packaged for you. Use your power wisely.