Oof yeah. Heh. Iāve met Pedro twice, both very briefly (and one I wouldnāt even personally say counts but I have been yelled at that it does).
First time was when I was working at the Public Theater in NYC. Oscar Isaac did a sold-out run of Hamlet in 2017, and I worked the show so many times (39 was my final number, I believe?) that I was often called on to assist āVIPsā to their seats because I knew the layout so well. One night they called me to bring someone in via the backstage tunnel a few moments before curtain.
It was Pedro. I only just knew him (thank goodness) so I wasnāt particularly starstruck, though I do remember telling a coworker he was the handsomest guest Iād ever been tasked with, haha. Anyway, the walk through the tunnel was pretty dim, especially the floor, but I knew where I was going as I brought him to his seat.
I didnāt know there was a coil of wiring that had fallen from its prop against the wall.
I tripped and went to steady myself, but Pedro grabbed my shoulder before I could. He held me upright, and I laughed and said, āSorry about that. Didnāt see it coming.ā
He just smiled and said, āIt probably would have been me if youād managed to avoid it, so actually, thank you!ā
I got him to his seat without further incident and I donāt think I saw a single moment of the show that night.
The second time was the Friday before Saturday Night Live. I was walking over to a nearby Barnes & Noble to get out of the cold and wait for my sister so we could do the standby line. I was at the crosswalk on the corner near NBC and Pedro came jogging by, heading back towards the studio. I didnāt realize Iād said his name out loud (thanks, failed internal monologue!) but apparently I did, because he turned just enough to wave quickly and say, āHi, baby! Sorry, I canāt stop right now!ā
He ran off and I went to B&N and burst into tears. Scared the hell out of a security guard, actually. LOL. (I did finally tell him I was crying because I got good news, donāt worry.)
Those are my Pedro Pascal meet cutes! So grateful I live in New York City, hahaha.
I've been thinking a lot lately about my experiences within a specific fandom on Tumblr and, once again, the only outlet I have to express how I feel is the written wordā¦so here goes.
It's not fun to realize that stepping away from something ā restarting and trying to keep things a little more balanced when one thing gets too overwhelming ā doesn't work.
I've lost all my creativity. The joy and love I had in fanfic ā traditional or xReader ā is gone. I barely even read any anymore because it reminds me what I lost. I don't even consider giving my honest opinion on movies or television or fiction because I have this deep-seated fear that my feelings will be laughed away or insulted. (Like they have been my whole life. I really hoped online life would be an escape from that.)
I have also discovered that, even with (faulty) care and the forethought about who I follow and how I interact on my new blog, those overflowing emotions get the best of me and I lash out in ways that make me visible. That catch the eyes of people who seem to be waiting for me to slip up and say something so I can be squashed like a bug.
However. Despite the fact that I would defend them to the ends of the universe and back, I do not want my friends spoken to in any negative way based on my words.
So take this as my apology.
I'm sorry for speaking up in a way that I believed was less harmful; for "vagueposting" my hurt feelings so as not to publicly hurt others' instead of simply going to the person/people and speaking to them directly.
I'm sorry for dragging my friends into my drama; for making them a target simply for existing alongside me.
I'm sorry for being a thorn in the side of this fandom, and for causing so much drama.
I'm sorry for trying to force myself into a place where I clearly did not belong.
I'm sorry for being so goddamn much that I scared away people that mattered to me.
I'm done. This is the last personal/selfish post I plan to make, on this or any blog. I am too old and too broken to keep this up.
Actually, officially, it's the last post I plan to make on this specific blog at all. I'm more than sure that this isn't my place anymore, and I don't want to force myself on anyone who doesn't want to see me.
If you want to talk, you know where to find me. I haven't done the best job of hiding, after all.
As some of you might have noticed, I haven't been here in a long while.
And I won't be back.
The combination of hypocrisy, cruelty, unfair treatment, and ignorance (both metaphorical and literal) got to be too much.
For a fandom that likes to claim to be a ācommunityā, yāall are very, very serious about treating people like shit when they have outstayed their welcome (and by that, I mean when their opinions no longer fall within the approved topics and beliefs of The Big Fans).
You have abused, harassed, and isolated some of my closest friends here.
You have tossed myself and others out like trash despite claiming we were family.
You have silenced the voices of people I respect and admire while uplifting the ones of the meanest, fakest, most self-centered people in the group.
You have talked behind our backs and ā successfully or not ā done your damnedest to make others hate us too.
So Iām out.
If you really care to keep my voice in your life, you can find me.
If you donāt, take this as your permission to leave and forget I exist.
Most of you have already done it to myself and the people I love anyway.
Title: Panic (Frankie āCatfishā Morales x f!Reader)
Rating:Ā General
Word count:Ā 704
Warnings:Ā Panic attack (includes crying, trouble breathing, and heart palpitations). Reader is unnamed; Frankie uses pet names (āhaditaā [āfairyā in Spanish], āsweetheartā, ābabyā, āmy girlā). Reader identifies as female but is wholly undescribed and unspecific.
Notes:Ā I know I said this blog was closed, and in general, it is. But I had a panic attack this morning out of absolutely nowhere and once I came down from it, I was inspired, because I wish someone like Frankie had been there.
Youāre not sure what time it is when you wake up. The only thing you are sure of is the erratic pounding of your heart, the streaks of wetness on your face, and the tightness in your throat. You havenāt had a panic attack like this in months, let alone in your sleep.
With every last bit of energy you can muster, you slide out of bed, collapsing to the floor beside the mattress. You hope the cool wood floor will help ground you; you press your palms to it and close your eyes, still gasping, still crying.
Youāre fine.
Youāre safe.
Youāre in your home, in your bedroom.
Frankie is right there.
As if he heard your mantra, the bed creaks behind you and Frankieās voice comes through the haze, broken and quiet. āHadita, are you okay?ā
You canāt reply, and that seems to be enough to pull him from his slumber. Suddenly heās sitting in front of you, his legs spread so youāre between them, his broad palms resting heavily on your thighs, his thumbs circling the insides of your knees. āShh, sweetheart, itās alright. Iām here. Just breathe.ā
His fingers press a little harder into your skin, the warmth of him radiating out from his hands. He was so quick to learn your needs when your attacks hit ā physical touch is the main component, but his soft voice and easy instruction helps just as much.
āThatās it, hadita. Breathe in and out. Alright, baby, youāve got this. Iām here. Just keep breathing.ā He keeps up the movement at the bend of your leg, encouraging the rhythm of your breath with each circle. āAlright, okay, thatās so good, sweetheart.ā
You find the strength to slip your hands over his, your fingers curling around his wrists. It brings you down a little more, and you find yourself hiccuping through your sobs as you regulate your breathing.
āGood, good. Take it easy, baby, youāre alright.ā Frankie shifts one hand under yours and you grip him tighter. āItās alright, itās okay, Iām just grabbing your water. Iām not leaving, baby.ā
Once heās got the little bottle on the floor beside you, his palm finds your thigh again. You close your eyes tighter, willing the tears to stop, even as you feel your chest and throat begin to loosen up. Your skin tingles from the exertion and the adrenaline surging beneath it, and you tilt your head back to rest against the bed as you take deep breaths to try and stop the hiccuping.
āWhy donāt you take a little water, hadita?ā Frankie squeezes your leg, his voice still smooth and soft. āItāll help, you know that.ā
You nod, and his hand leaves you again. You wrap your fingers around his as he holds the bottle to your lips, allowing him to help you keep it steady as you swallow a few small mouthfuls.
When he sets it back down again, you finally open your eyes, still blurry and streaming despite the worst of it having passed.
āHey, thereās my girl.ā Frankieās brown eyes are sparkling, even in the near pitch of the room, and you can see heās smiling encouragingly. āDoing better?ā
You nod. āIā¦ā Itās hard to speak. āDunno what happānād.ā
Shifting carefully so heās kneeling up on his legs, he pulls you close; not too tightly so as to stifle you, but enough that you can bury your wet face in his bare shoulder and breathe him in.
That helps, too.
āItās alright, sweetheart. You never have to explain it,ā he murmurs against you, his lips tracing the cuff of your ear. āBut next time, promise me youāll wake me so I can help you?ā
You nod. āI will.ā
He pulls back, curling a finger under your chin and smiling. āCāmon. Letās get you a little snack or something to help you regulate.ā He stands, offering his hand to help you up as well. āI love you, hadita.ā
āI love you, too, Frankie.ā
Whatever caused the attack doesnāt happen again, especially not as you lie tight against Frankieās chest, his arms holding you firmly across your chest and belly, his breath tickling the back of your neck.
Title: Coffee With Sugar (Jack Daniels x fem!reader)
Rating:Ā Explicit
Summary: You and Jack have been sleeping together for a while. When you wake up in his bed one morning and he calls you to meet him in the kitchen, things get real hot real fast...and it isn't because of the coffee.
Warnings:Ā Language, oral sex (f receiving), PIV sex without condom (f is on BC), āØfeelingsāØ, dumb domestic kind of stuff. Post-The Golden Circle, non-canon compliant. No use of Y/N.
WordĀ count: ~2.1k
Notes:Ā I've never written Y/N before. I've also never written in present tense. I've also never written Jack. So this is 100% a practice run as it were. I just hope y'all enjoy it! (Also, as I wasn't sure exactly how to tag this, I borrowed the tags from @fuckyeahdindjarin and I really hope they don't mind!)
You canāt say you know exactly when it happened; when the suave, smooth-talking former spy-turned-rancher became more than just your neighbor-with-benefits, but you also arenāt really complaining. Jack had moved in on the little farm next to your house about six months ago, and youād been nothing but neighborly in offering to help him move in, get the barn cleaned up, get some chickens and horses loaded ināafter all, what else was your old truck good for? But then it turned into him offering to cook you dinner. And then to take you to dinner.
And then you ended up in his bed.
Night after night.
Half the time so well-fucked you forget your own name and just accept that heās branded you āSugarā and thatās the only thing youāll respond to forever now.
Which brings you to now, and that word echoing down the hall of his little house. āSugar, come on and get your coffee before it gets cold!ā
His voice matches his long-forgotten nickname, the one heād admitted to you one satiated, breathless night when he said he didnāt want to keep any secrets from you. Heād told you of his mental break, of the years heād spent working through it with therapists and doctors, of the job he once did (or at least as much as he was allowed to tell you). āI was Whiskey then,ā heād murmured against the hollow of your throat. āDonāt much think I should use that now, what with being sober and all.ā
You like calling him Jack. It suits him well, better than his nickname; a good, strong cowboy name, though his farm doesnāt actually have any cows. But his voiceāyou wonder if thatās where he got the mysterious nickname; especially in the throes of passion, itās dark, smooth, a little sharp. Youāve cut back a lot on your own drinking habits, for his sake, but on the rare occasion you do have a nightcap, you always think of him when it burns your throat and clears your head.
āYou cominā?ā he calls again, and you laugh to yourself as you fling the blankets off and push into a sitting position. You fight your hair into some semblance of a ponytail with the band you keep around your wrist before reaching down and grabbing his t-shirt to throw on. Heās not much taller than you, but heās broader, so the shirt covers you fair enough that youāre willing to forgo any underthings as you pad barefoot out towards the kitchen.
Jack isnāt facing you when you step over the threshold, his attention on something in the sink, so you take the moment to admire the taut, sharp muscles of his back down along his hips to where his boxers break the long line of bare skin. He has a few scars on his shoulders (āThe perils of usinā a whip,ā heād explained when your fingers found them the first time) and a smattering of freckles across his spine, and you smile. Moving closer, you press your lips to the base of his neck and slip your arms around his waist.
āGood morning,ā you murmur, your chin resting on his shoulder. āSleep well?ā
You feel his chuckle before you hear it. āAlways do with you there, Sugar.ā He turns in your arms, his deep brown eyes finding yours as a smile cracks his lips under his thick mustache. āYou?ā
āMm, yeah.ā You accept the light, chaste kiss he offers, but when his hand slips just a bit lower on your hip, his breath catches. āPlease donāt tell me you aināt wearinā anything under my shirt.ā
You quirk your lips, holding his gaze. āIs that a problem, Mr. Daniels?ā
āNow you know Mr. Daniels was my dad.ā He seems to have forgotten the coffee he invited you out for as he bends just a bit at the knees to pick you up; in turn, you wrap your legs around his waist and lock your ankles together. āAnd we do not have time to get into that right now.ā
You giggle, feeling him half-hard through his boxers and against your bare center. āWhat do we have time for, Jack?ā You put emphasis on his name as you rock against him just slightly, seeing his pupils blow out just a bit as he shakes his head in disbelief at your flirtatiousness.
āOh, Sugar, Iāve got all the time in the world for you.ā He spins you both around so youāre sitting on the edge of the sink, his body caught between your knees and his palms spread across your back, his t-shirt riding up so high youāre gonna need about a gallon of bleach to clean up the countertop when youāre both done. He raises an eyebrow as he carefully drops to one knee, his hands leaving your torso to wrap around your calves. āOpen up for me, darlinā.ā
You obey, spreading your legs as wide as you can as he looks up at you through his lashes. āHowād I get so lucky to get a girl as beautiful as you?ā he asks, and his voice is more sincere than you think youāve ever heard it.
You fake a shrug, nonchalance, but your smile is real. āRight place, right time, Jack.ā
āIād say.ā He rubs his nose over you, and you gasp, your knees trying to close. āHey, now, keep those knees apart.ā His smile is dark, taunting now, as he does his best to keep his eyes on you until he canāt anymore, his tongue dipping in between your folds. You feel your arousal begin to pool faster than you thought was possible, and he laughs a little at the same time. His voice is still muffled when he speaks again. āOh, Sugar, you taste so goddamn good.ā
Youād been hanging onto the edge of the counter for dear life, but the marble is hurting your fingers now so instead you press one hand to his shoulder and use the other to card your nails through the top of his greying-black hair. You toss your head back, your ponytail hitting the still-closed curtains of the window over the sink, and you momentarily are incredibly grateful he left them that way even though thereās no one else around for at least a half-mile in either direction (and one of those would be your currently empty house, anyway). But any kind of cohesive thought disappears from your mind when Jackās tongue finds that little bundle of nerves at the same time as two of his broad, curled fingers find their way inside you.
āFuck, Jack!ā you cry, your voice sounding like it belongs to someone else.
āThat is not ladylike language.ā The vibrations rumble against your aching skin and you tug a little harder on his hair. āBut I suppose I can let it slide,ā he says, pulling back to look up at you again as he pumps his hand in and out, a little more slowly than youād care for.
āJack, baby, please,ā you keen, trying desperately not to arch off the sink and hurt both of you in the process. āNot with your fingers.ā
He smirks, but he obeys your request, withdrawing from you and lifting his fingers to his lips. He licks them clean, and you lunge at him, trusting him to keep you both upright as your tongue chases your slick into his mouth. You kiss him hungrily, the mix of your flavors driving you wild as you cling desperately to his hair, his neck, his shouldersāwhatever will keep you close.
āJack, for the love of god, please fuck me.ā
He stops for a moment, leaning back only enough to see your eyes. āIāve gotta go get a rubber,ā he murmurs, his mouth brushing yours as he speaks.
āNo.ā
āNo?ā
āHave you been with anyone since we started sleeping together?ā
āYou really think Iām that kind of man?ā
You laugh. āI hoped not.ā You brush your nose over his, still vaguely damp from where heād loved you so well already. āBut Iām covered, and I trust you. Cāmon, Jack, I just wanna feel you.ā
āOh, Sugar.ā He kisses you again, and thereās something different about this one; his tongue still finds yours, his teeth still scrape over your lower lip, but it feelsā¦it feels. Youāve never been in love, but youāre pretty sure this is what falling in it is like. Jack pushes his boxers down, and then his hands find the dip of your waist, pressing almost hard enough to hurt but just enough to keep you in place as he positions himself between your thighs again. āYouāre absolutely sure, darlinā?ā
āYes.ā You want no more hesitation, no more doubt in his mind. āIām sure, Jack.ā You kiss him so, so softly. āIām absolutely, completely sure.ā
He holds your eyes as he pushes into you slowly, letting you adjust as you breathe out slowly, your fingers curling into the base of his hair. āHoly hell, I didnāt realize just how amazing youād feel,ā he hisses, and you feel your muscles clench around him in arousal.
āMeā¦eitherā¦ā Your voice hitches as he fills you to the hilt, his hips locked against yours as you cling to him. āGo on, Jack,ā you finally manage to say.
He takes the hint, pulling out before thrusting in again, faster this time. He finds a rhythm that has him grunting and you gasping, and you loop your ankles around the backs of his legs to keep your feet from slamming against the cabinets as he takes you harder and faster. āYou alright, Sugar?ā he huffs, never slowing but slipping one hand around under your thigh to help your legs stay steady.
āYes, fuck, yes.ā You find yourself burying your face in his shoulder, your eyes squeezed tightly shut as you feel another orgasm starting to build in your belly. āJack, please, donāt stop, keep going.ā
āI got you, Sugar, I got you.ā You feel his breathing start to shake a bit and instinctively you tighten your arms around his neck. āOh, Jesus Christ, darlinā, Iām almost there.ā
āMe too, baby, me too,ā you shudder. āGod, Jack, youāre so good at this.ā
That makes him laugh, and his rhythm stutters a bit, but it has the unintentional effect of bringing him right to an overly sensitive spot and you cry out, your head falling back again of its own free will, which Jack takes as an invitation to suck on your throat hard. You can already feel the bruise forming as you ride through your ecstasy. āOh, fuck,ā he groans against the column of your neck.
āJack.ā Your voice is barely working now, the exhaustion beginning to set in as you come down from your high. āBaby, come on. Cum for me.ā
Your words seem to be all he needs. You feel him push into you hard, too hard, and you feel as he spurts inside you, filling you for the first time without hesitancy, claiming you. You make sure to leave your mark, too, though only on the outside; you drag your nails down over his back as you sink a soft but firm bite into his shoulder. He gasps, thrusting one last time hard enough to lift you off the ledge. You both cry out some combination of each otherās names and a handful of desperate oaths.
Jack sits you back down and slips out of you, not moving from between your legs. He wraps his arms tightly around your waist as you throw yours limply over his shoulders, resting your cheek under his chin. āHey,ā you whisper when you find some kind of clarity in your post-coital haze. āJack?ā
āHm, yeah, Sugar?ā
You canāt help laughing as you force out the sentence stuck in your head. āDidnāt you say you had coffee for me?ā
He busts out laughing, the expression shaking his whole body as he holds you. āOh, mercy, darlinā, you are too much.ā He finally pulls away from you, and you brush a hand over his forehead, pushing his hair out of his face. āGo on and get cleaned up, Iāll make you a fresh cup. Aināt no way you want the cold one left over from before.ā
You smile, and it fills your whole soul when he reflects it back at you. āYouāre a good man, Jack Daniels.ā
His eyes go a little soft, and he runs his thumb over your bare knee where it still rests just against his thigh. āSee, now, when you say it, Sugar, I can almost believe it.ā
Happy one-year anniversary to my first foray into xReader fic! When I first sat down to write this, I was completely terrified. Iād never written 2POV before and definitely was worried that I would be in over my head, both with my own skill and with the amount of brilliant writers Iād come across before me.
But in the year since I wrote this, Iāve learned so much about myself as a writer. Iāve learned how to be more inclusive and respectful when writing Reader characters. Iāve learned how to lean into tropes and make them my own. Iāve even learned, through these fics, how to create original characters and stories in a more cohesive, clear way.
Since this little one-shot practice run, which so many of you have been so incredibly kind about, Iāve written almost 160k words of fanfictions of all kinds ā Reader fics like this, OCs like Andie and Feli, traditional fanfictions, drabblesā¦ Iāve even started writing my first (almost) completely original story in probably 15 years.
Iāve met so many amazing people through the rediscovery of my love of writing, but I really want to shout out Table 11 (@quarantineddreamer, @gaygingersnaps, & @frostbitepandaaaaa) for their kind words ā even when they had no clue what characters I was writing about ā and everyone at The Rogue & The Rebels for cheering me on.
And I want to especially thank @ladamedusoif. This last year or so hasā¦well, itās kind of been hell for both of us. But meeting you, fangirling with you, writing with you, living with you in my life has made things just a little easier. Thank you for keeping the Bravos going with me, for helping bring Feli to life, for PĆ”draig and Simi and for trusting me with Ben and Lydia and their whole little family. (Oh, yeah, and for los hermanos Morales, especially that big goofy one with the errant curls.)
Anyway. I got off track here. Happy anniversary, Jack and Sugar.
The simple fact that what was essentially a request for respect and reflection turned into a targeted, covert attack against my friend (and myself, because I dared agree with her) makes my choice to leave this blog behind feel very, very validated.
Every day I find out that another mutual has decided Iām not worth their time and you think by now and at my age it wouldnāt make me feel like a high schooler dumped by her friends because she isnāt cool enough.
