#This reminds me of the time when I was younger | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itsnesss · 2 days ago

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𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧 | max verstappen × fem!reader

summary | you return to the f1 paddock with a promise to stay away from the drama surrounding red bull—especially max, your father’s biggest rival. hut things don’t go as planned

warnings | wolff!reader, tension, rivalries, romantic, emotional conflict, complex family dynamics, drama, betrayal

word count | 2.7 k

🖇 more mv1 🖇 f1 masterlist

Your last name weighs more than any Formula 1 trophy.

Wolff.

Five letters that open some doors and lock others shut. You weren’t a driver, not officially, though you’d spent more hours in a simulator than most rookies on the grid. But you were the daughter of Toto Wolff—the man who built the Mercedes empire with Austrian discipline, sharp vision… and a rivalry that became legend: Max Verstappen.

You grew up knowing who he was. Red Bull’s wonder boy, chaos in overalls, the guy who had been your father's nemesis since 2021, when the world split between silver and blue.

There were pictures of you as a kid in the paddock, hidden behind a tablet while your father argued loudly with Christian Horner. Max was in the background, younger, with that cocky smile that never seemed to take anything seriously. But you saw him. You always saw him.

And now… you had to see him again.

“You promised to stay out of it,” your father reminded you on the private jet to Silverstone. “I don’t want the media dragging you into any drama with Red Bull. You represent something bigger.”

“I’m just me, Dad. They don’t have to look at me,” you replied, eyes locked on the window—though you knew it was a sweet little lie.

Because everyone looked at you. Especially him.

The paddock was a jungle dressed in carbon fiber and marketing. You walked through it with your pass around your neck, mechanically greeting engineers, Lewis, George. You didn’t want to stop. You didn’t want to be tempted.

But fate doesn’t play fair. And neither does Max Verstappen.

You saw him outside the Red Bull hospitality, laughing with Checo. He was leaning against a tall table, water bottle in hand, cap backwards. And he looked at you.

No fear. No filter.

“Well, look who’s back,” he said, like you’d given him the right to speak to you.

You stopped. Stupid. You knew you shouldn’t have.

“Lost your compass, or just got bored hiding in Mercedes' garage?”

“I was just looking for a place without overinflated egos,” you replied, coldly.

Max smirked, sly. He studied you from head to toe like you were a complex equation. There was arrogance in his stance, but also genuine curiosity. As if you were the one variable he hadn’t been able to predict in his perfectly calculated life.

“And did you find that place?” he asked.

“Not with you around.”

You were proud your voice didn’t shake. But your heart… your heart was another story.

“Your father hates me,” he said, lowering his voice, leaning in slightly. Too close. You could smell his cologne—that damn scent of adrenaline and rebellion.

“And for good reason,” you replied, though your tone lacked the firmness it needed.

“And you?”

The question hit like a corner without brakes. You didn’t expect him to be that direct. You didn’t expect him to look at you like that—as if you were more than just the enemy’s daughter. As if you were you.

“I... don’t have time to hate you. I’m busy ignoring you,” you said, turning away before it was too late.

But Max didn’t follow. He didn’t need to.

He’d planted a seed. And you, no matter how much you swore otherwise, had watered it with every accelerated heartbeat.

(Silverstone, Free Practice Friday)

You had promised not to look at him again.

But there he was. Again. Just a few meters away. On the edge of the pit lane.

Max Verstappen didn’t have to try to get attention. Everything about him screamed rebellion. His movements were measured, almost feline, as if the world revolved around him… and maybe it did. But what disturbed you the most wasn’t his confidence, or his fame, or even the fact that he was the damn number 1. It was the electric jolt you felt every time your eyes met his.

"Don’t give him the satisfaction," George whispered beside you, following you with a bottle of water. "That guy feeds off drama. Give him attention and he already feels invincible."

"Do you think I care what Max thinks?" you shot back—too quickly.

George just raised an eyebrow.

You knew he was reading you. Too well.

You spent the day locked in the Mercedes hospitality, reviewing telemetry data as an excuse. In theory, you were there to offer technical support—something informal, symbolic. In reality, you were a satellite under surveillance, a watched daughter. And you knew it.

But what nobody knew… was that there was a private party that night at Lando Norris’s house. And you were going.

Not because of him, you told yourself. For me. Because I deserve it.

Sure, right.

(10:41 PM. At the party.)

Lando’s house was a neon-lit paradise, filled with badly mixed reggaeton and drivers without their fireproof suits. It felt like a refuge where all the paddock egos could breathe without press releases or cameras. Oscar, Charles, Alex were there—even some team members from Ferrari and McLaren.

And, of course, him.

Max.

You saw him the moment you walked in, though you pretended not to. He had a cup in hand, talking to someone you didn’t recognize, but his eyes… his eyes weren’t on them. They were looking for you. And they found you.

He moved first.

"You? Here? I thought you were more of the 'data analysis and early bedtime' type," he said as he approached, beer in hand and that damn accent that turned ordinary phrases into provocations.

"I thought you only smiled when you won. Must be something new," you replied, not looking at him directly.

"Always this sharp? Or just with me?"

"Only with idiots."

He let out a soft laugh. Almost amused. He stepped closer, just enough for his words to be meant only for you.

"You know what’s curious about you?"

"Enlighten me, Verstappen."

"You want to hate me. You really do. But you can’t. And it’s killing you inside."

Your reaction was to turn, intending to walk away. But his hand—warm, firm—brushed against your wrist.

Not to hold you back. Just to say: I’m here.

And that was enough to bring down the wall you had built.

"You’re wrong," you whispered, without moving.

"Yeah?"

"You’re not killing me inside."

"Then why are you trembling?"

You weren’t. At least not consciously. But his closeness was a real threat to everything you’d stood for. Everything you believed in.

"Nothing’s going to happen between us," you finally said, with more desire than conviction.

"Of course not," he replied, with a crooked smile. "Because that would be crazy, right?"

"A complete madness."

But neither of you moved.

And in that silence, in that exact moment where the music became background noise and time slowed down, you realized something you didn’t want to admit:

You were already lost.

(Lando Norris’ party, an endless night)

The conversation with Max didn’t last long. After your firm (though hesitant) rejection, he walked away, but his eyes never left you. Every time you felt those blue eyes on you, a shiver ran down your spine, though you tried to keep a facade of indifference.

You wandered through the party, looking for a breath of air, but each step felt like it pulled you closer to disaster. The drivers laughed, some let go under the influence of alcohol, and the music kept pulsing against the house walls. Still, your mind couldn't focus on anything but Max. His words kept echoing in your head like an unstoppable loop.

"You’re dying inside."

"Because it would be madness, right?"

Suddenly, you felt watched, as if someone—or something—was lurking inside your darkest thoughts. You turned, and saw him again. Closer this time, talking to Lando and Carlos, but his gaze was fixed on you. A couple of seconds passed, and Max didn’t look away.

It wasn’t a coincidence.

You took a sip from the glass in your hand, but it felt like you were drinking poison. He was tearing you apart slowly, without even touching you. He didn’t even need to speak to throw you off balance.

Finally, Lando approached, interrupting your spiral.

"Hey, everything okay?" he asked, with a slightly concerned smile.

Lando had always been kind to you, like he had a soft spot for people who could hold a conversation without making things awkward.

"No, just…" you replied, but your answer didn’t convince anyone. At that moment, Max came closer too, wearing a smile that froze you inside.

"Everything good?" Max asked, as if your well-being was his top priority. That thought alone irritated you.

"Yeah, of course," you answered, forcing a smile. But before you could say more, Lando stepped in, sensing the tension.

"I get the feeling someone’s trying to be more of a gentleman than he actually is," Lando joked, though his words only deepened the silence between all of you.

You and Max locked eyes for a moment. There was something in that look that went beyond what you could explain. It was a challenge, it was fire. It was a silent war neither of you dared to admit.

"It’s not that I like to complicate my life but…" Max began, glancing at Lando before turning to you again, "I don’t like complicated things. Or complicated people."

Those words… That wordplay.

You stared back at him, feeling a strange mix of anger and attraction. A feeling as intoxicating as the speed of the cars on track.

"Better keep your distance," you replied, louder than expected.

But in that moment, Lando noticed something neither of you wanted to expose: the tension that had grown between you two. Something had shifted in the air. Something beyond words.

Lando made a move to break the tension, but Max didn’t let him. He stepped closer to you, this time directly, almost dangerously. He was challenging you, without saying another word.

"Do you really want me to?" he asked, and this time it wasn’t a game. His tone was low, controlled, like every word was a threat disguised as interest.

An unexpected heat rushed through your veins, and your breath quickened. He was overwhelming you, and you didn’t know how to react.

"You have no idea what you’re saying," you said, trying to keep your composure. But when you looked at him, something inside shifted. The burn of his eyes against yours scorched more than any word. Max Verstappen had done something you never imagined: he had disarmed you.

(The following week)

The return to normal in the paddock was a tense relief. You knew the eyes of the world were on you, especially with cameras rolling every second. Max and you inevitably crossed paths many times. In each of those encounters, the air thickened, heavier, like walking a tightrope.

The Belgian Grand Prix was just around the corner, and once again, you found yourself under the paddock lights, with Max only a few meters away. He stood in his usual pose, leaning against his car, while his team of engineers worked on some final tweaks to the engine.

But this time, you didn’t look at him. This time, you forced yourself to look the other way, focused on your own thoughts. Still, you knew he had noticed.

"Running from me?" Max asked, his voice low but full of that arrogance you despised.

"Just ignoring you," you replied without looking at him.

"That never works."

And there it was again, that uncomfortable feeling that had started to consume you. How could you ignore him, when every time you looked at him, you knew it wasn’t just a battle on the track that tied you two? There was something deeper, darker… more dangerous.

But you couldn’t.

You mustn’t.

You never should.

(Spa-Francorchamps Circuit, Qualifying Saturday)

The rain fell intermittently, a light drizzle that made the asphalt slick beneath the cars' tires. The sound of engines echoed through the air, mingling with the bustle of the Mercedes team preparing for qualifying.

But you couldn't focus. Once again, something in the atmosphere distracted you. Something that, despite your efforts to ignore, kept lingering. Max. And his attitude.

It was impossible not to notice. Every time your eyes met his, there was something else there. It wasn’t just the typical challenge of the track, it wasn’t just competition. There was a grudge in his gaze you couldn’t understand, and that made you uncomfortable. But what bothered you most was that, somehow, you couldn’t avoid it.

You were with a few Mercedes engineers, going over the final adjustments to the car, when you felt a presence behind you. You knew who it was before you even turned around. That smell of fuel, hot engine, that defiant aura. Max.

"Ready for another loss?" he asked, his usual tone slightly mocking.

You looked at him, frowning. You didn’t feel like arguing, not with him, not with anyone.

"Still playing the same game?" you replied, trying to stay calm.

Max smirked, that arrogant smile that always brought out the worst in you.

"You know what bothers me the most?" he continued, stepping closer to you. "That you still think this is just a speed contest."

Before you could respond, a familiar voice interrupted.

"Hey! Can we let them do their job?" It was Lando, approaching with a playful smile, probably more aware of the tension between you and Max than he realized.

"I was just talking to—" Max began, but Lando didn’t let him finish.

"What I mean is, we’re probably all trying to focus on qualifying. So, why not save the disputes for later?" he cut in, ironically, looking at Max with amusement.

Max didn’t say another word, but something in his demeanor shifted. There was something in his gaze that now wasn’t clear—was it jealousy or just pure anger? Still, what surprised you most was that Max walked away, not before throwing one last look at Lando. It was brief, but you caught it. Something wasn’t right.

Qualifying went by like just another routine, but your mind kept spinning. All afternoon, every time you crossed paths with Max, the tension was palpable. Sometimes, the glances. Other times, his subtle movements. It was clear something had changed—but you didn’t understand what.

(Sunday, Race Day)

The race began under a cloudy sky, the track slick from the rain. Cars roared past at full speed, the engines drowning out any other sound around you. But as you focused on the monitors, you couldn’t help but notice that Max seemed... different. More focused on what you were doing. More attentive to your position. Every time he passed by, it was intentionally close, like he was trying to prove something.

Mid-race, when everything seemed calm, it happened. During a pit stop, Max exited first, followed by your teammate. But before the pit crew could react, Max suddenly sped up, dangerously. You knew this wasn’t just a miscalculation.

The Mercedes radio exploded with your engineer’s angry voice:

"Watch out! Watch Verstappen!"

You looked over, but didn’t catch it clearly. Still, the feeling in your chest was undeniable: Max had done it on purpose.

The rest of the race played out under higher tensions, with increasingly loaded glances between you and Max. But what really got under your skin was his behavior off the track. After the race, when the drivers gathered for the press conference, Max was more distant than ever—but his eyes never stopped searching for you. And when the questions finally ended and you stood to leave, he approached.

"You think I’m an idiot?" he asked, voice low, controlled, but with a hint of something... jealousy?

You had no idea what he meant.

"What?" you replied, confused.

"Lando," he said, almost through clenched teeth. The word hung in the air like an accusation.

"What about Lando?" you asked, genuinely not understanding.

Max took a step closer, closer than he should have. He looked you straight in the eye.

"Don’t look at me like that. Don’t pretend you don’t know. Lando isn’t your friend. He’s not just one of your ‘colleagues’. So what are you playing at, huh?"

You were speechless. The anger that had consumed you on the track now turned into pure fury. What did he think he was doing? Why had he decided to get involved in something that didn’t even exist?

"I don’t know what you’re talking about, Max," you finally said, barely holding yourself together, your stomach in knots. "Lando is just a co-worker. I’ve got nothing to hide."

Max frowned, but something in his expression changed. The fury gave way to a much more dangerous look.

"Don’t make me continue this conversation," he said before stepping back and turning away.

Your breathing was still ragged. Why did he care so much?

#🖇️ max verstappen #max vertsappen fic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 x reader

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hearts4mica · 1 day ago

Note

Jason/Arkham Knight x Batsis who was his best friend before everything got wrong. Batsis never forget Bruce and even tried to go search for Jason but she never got time/was responsible for baby Damian.

She's considering joining Jason's side after finding out about him, but Tim and Dick stops her. (Jason is a Yandere, Batfam is Yandere, Batsis is a tsundere)

Someone i used to know

Yan Jason x Batsis Reader! (Batfam included) masterlist

_________________________________________________

Your best friend in the whole world was Jason. You never went anywhere without him.

And being the only kids in the manor (dick was a teen so he didn’t to you) you two bonded easily.

Well one day he never came home you hoped he was still there somewhere alive- that was until Bruce brought back his body.

A few years later after visiting his grave something felt off to you. Later that day the cameras showed someone stealing his coffin?! Who would do that!

Now you didn’t even have a place to visit your brother.

Later on Damian was introduced to the family, he somehow reminded you of Jason a misunderstood child that just needed guidance. And as the only girl that was 100% of the time at the Manor (except for school) you decided to be the one who would care for him.

Taking care of a baby was too much work but you wanted Damian to have a not so rough childhood unlike you so now in your free time you could only study or take care of Damian which made your grades go lower and lower and lower. Then you began to fail your classes.

And as stresful as that was people started to say another vigilante began to act up through the city of Gotham so everything at that time was awful.

But then

“Jason?”

Jason came back? How?

Your bestfriend alive once again and he was mad.

Mad at Bruce, at the joker, at you for not searching for him.

To try and fix things with him you decided to leave with him. The two of you again just like when you were younger. Jason agreed his eyes were different, he acted different but you knew deep down he was still Jason.

As your packing your stuff Tim stops you trying to reason with you.

“You can’t leave us! You can’t! Why? We need you.”

Dick tried to reason with you too

“Baby bird don’t be unreasonable who will take care of Damian? You are the closest person to him. Would you abandon him really? He’s only 6!”

And Jason didn’t help at all.

“Why didn’t you look for me in all of this years? You just moved on! Are you seriously leaving me again? You have to choose. Me or them? You’ll pick me right? Right?! I’m your bestfriend afterall!”

_________________________________________________

I’m really sorry if this is not good enough! My writers block is really bad rn and i don’t have inspo to write anything but i didn’t wanna leave the requests unanswered :(

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forever-rogue · 1 day ago

Note

I don't know if this is a silly idea so if it is I apologize!

But could you write something where Tommy and the reader were seeing each other in Austin but with all the commotion they didn't have time to look for each other when they were fleeing so they both moved on thinking the other one was killed, but the reader suddenly ends up in Jackson and they get to reunite

AN | Ahh, this has been in my drafts for so long! Reminder that I am also a Tommy Miller enthusiast. I love this concept and I hope you do too 🥰

Pairing | Tommy Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 2.1k

Masterlist | Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“How much longer is it until we’re there?” you were whining, and you knew it. But quite honestly, you didn’t care. You were cold, tired, and hungry, and your feet were killing you. Ellie looked at you and snickered softly; she was young and spritely, everything seemed easy for her.

“Not much longer if you’d stop your whining,” Joel turned back to you as you gave him an indignant little huff. You knew he was teasing; the two of you butted heads a lot but there was nothing but affection behind it all, “think you can manage?”

“I guess,” you waved him off and fell into step with Ellie, “you know, this place better be worth it.”

“It will be,” he promised and you wanted to believe him. You hoped he was right…things had been hard the last few months and honestly, you really just wanted a nice long break, “trust me.”

“The last time I trusted you, Joel, I ended up on this crazy journey with you and the kid,” you snorted in amusement as the two of them stared at you in surprise, “and - and - I wouldn’t change it for the world. So calm down and stop glaring daggers at me.”

“You know-” but Joel was quickly cut off by the sound of hooves, shouts, and barks. This definitely wasn’t good.

You exchanged a look with Joel and the two of you surrounded Ellie to make sure she was as hidden as possible. It really was no use because the three of you were as exposed as could be.

Fuck.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

So…many things didn’t turn out as badly as they could have. In fact, it seemed like it really just turned into…the best possible situation.

You’d not only found your way to Jackson, which already just from the outside was a lot to take in, but Joel had managed to find his brother. It was a shock on both ends but, you realized, life had been a lot like that lately.

For the first time in a long time, you even allowed yourself to believe that things might actually work out. Hope. It was an odd thing really.

But it was Joel’s shout that started you out of your little daydream fantasy. You almost slipped off the horse at the sudden shift of him yelling, "Tommy!"

You exchanged a look with Ellie before turning to look in the direction that Joel was currently running to. He'd almost jumped off his horse and was taking off in the direction of another dark haired man. How very curious.

The party came to a stop and the two of you got off your own horses before hesitantly walking over. It appeared that the two brothers had really missed each other.

Joel let go of the younger man and turned to the two of you with a beaming smile, "this is my younger brother, Tommy."

You turned to the raven-haired man, ready to introduce yourself to him when everything seemed to come to a screeching halt. Time stood still as you realized that you too knew Tommy - at least once upon a lifetime ago you had.

He must have realized at the same time as you had because all he could do was silently look at you in awe. You weren't even sure how to really respond - you hadn't seen him in twenty years. Yet here he was, right as rain and the same as ever.

"Tommy?" You asked softly as he nodded, repeating your name just as quietly. Confusion marred Ellie and Joel's faces, unsure of what was going on, "oh my god."

He hesitated for a moment before holding his arms out and pulling into a hug. A sound somewhere between a sob and laugh escaped your lips as you hugged him back with just as excitement.

You had been sure you'd never see him again. You'd made peace with the fact that the love of your life was dead.

And yet…there he was. Alive and well. Your Tommy.

When you reluctantly pulled apart, he cradled your face in his hands, tenderly brushing away the tears that rolled down your cheeks. It still felt so unreal, like a wild day dream.

"Does anyone want to explain what's going on here?" Ellie decided to cut through the tender moment and Joel groaned slightly. He was such a dad sometimes, despite what he insisted.

"Ellie."

"It's okay," you promised, "Tommy and I…we used to…we were dating. Back…you know."

"Before," he finished for you, catching your eye and offering a shy smile, "before everything fell apart."

"Wait…" Joel looked between the two of you, pointing at each of you in turn. He repeated your name and realization dawned on him, "its you? All this time…shit-"

"Language!"

"You've been Tommy's girl?" He was more incredulous than either of you, "how did I never…realize?"

"To be fair, I haven't been anyone's girl in a long time," you stared at your feet, trying not to focus too much on the fact that everyone was staring at you, "and I didn't put two and two together to realize you were his brother. So."

"So," Tommy echoed, rocking back and forth on his heels. Neither of you were quite sure what to say; you never thought you'd been in this position again, "why, ugh, why don't we get you guys settled in? Seems like you might be staying a while."

"Great!" Ellie was able to cut through any of the tension as she stepped between you and Tommy, grabbing hold of his arm. You breathed a small sigh of relief; things had quickly gotten to a point where you didn't know what to even think.

Joel quirked an eyebrow at you but remained silent otherwise. The look was never enough to kill you; damn these Miller brothers. You huffed, "don't say a word, Joel."

He held up his hands in mock surrender as you huffed and followed after Ellie and Tommy.

Well. This day had definitely not gone according to plan.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

After that initial afternoon of introductions and reunions, you managed to avoid Tommy for a few days. It wasn't too hard in Jackson; there were way more people than you had initially imagined. It felt so strange, but wonderful, to be somewhere that felt…normal again. Between that and Tommy, it almost seemed like things really were almost like they had been all those years ago.

"Hey there," his soft voice cut through your thoughts as you turned your gaze away from the softly falling snow and onto him. You stiffened for a moment before smiling at him.

"Hey Tommy," you moved over on the bench and brushed off the powdery fluff. He beamed at the silent invitation and sat down next to you, leaving just enough of a gap between your bodies.

"I was wondering if I'd ever see you again," you could hear the teasing lilt in his voice, "I was almost sure you'd been avoiding me."

"I-I wasn't…avoiding you," it was a lie and you both knew it. Tommy laughed, and you realized just how much you loved his laugh. It had always been one of your favorite things.

"You've always been a horrible liar," he gently nudged your knee with his and you couldn't help the shy smile that bubbled up, "I guess time doesn't change everything."

"I guess not," your stomach churned with a plethora of emotions. Everything all at once.

"How'd you end up with my brother?" his cheeks flushed and not just from the cold. It took a moment till you caught on and you almost laughed.

"I'm, ugh, I'm not with Joel," you promised and his shoulders visibly relaxed, "we're just friends. Trust me, I'm not - I'm definitely not - interested in him."

"Oh," you peeked over to see the smile on his face grow, "okay, that's umm, yeah. Good. And you've, ugh, never-"

"No," a shiver ran down your spine as you cut him off. Sure, Joel was handsome but you were definitely not into him, "and no thank you."

"Cool," a silence fell over the two of you, neither awkward or completely still.

"What about you and Maria?" Yeah. You were curious too.

"We…we were together for a while," he confessed and you hated how it made your stomach twist and turn. It wasn't your place to be jealous but…you were feeling particularly green, "but it didn't work out. So we're just friends."

"Well, that's good that you're still friends," and your insides were jumping around happily.

"Mhmm," he hummed in agreement before it grew quiet again. You could practically hear Ellie screaming in your ear to make a move. Lord knows that she was absolutely wanting to see the two of you get tougher again. It would be just like a movie she'd sighed dreamily.

You shifted and angled your body so you were facing him and found that he was watching you intently. You opened and closed your mouth a few times and yet somehow he knew exactly what you were thinking. Tommy leaned in and put his hand on your cheek, hesitating for just a moment to search your eyes for permission before kissing you.

And suddenly it felt like you'd never stopped kissing him. It all felt so familiar and so…right that you thought you'd never want to forget this again. Tommy Miller always kissed you like his life depended on it.

When he pulled away, and for all you knew he could have been kissing for seconds or hours or minutes, you made a small sound of disappointment.

"I know," there was nothing but affectionate teasing behind his voice, "but if I keep kissing you, I might sink and drown, and die. Give a man a second."

"Was it that bad?" Your eyes widened with worry but the man shook his head.

"The opposite," he grinned, "I just needed a moment so I don't get too crazy for you. It's always been hard."

"Oh," alright, that was a way better answer than you'd hoped for, "I've missed that too. Honestly, I've missed you. A lot…but I feel like that's really obvious to say."

"Not a day passed when I didn't think of you," he admitted shyly, "even if it was just for a moment, but you were still there in my mind. Like it was yesterday."

"Well, I'm sure the reality," you pointed at yourself, "is disappointing compared to the memory."

"That's where you're wrong," he scoffed as though you must have been blind, "you're just as beautiful now as the day I met you."

"Tommy-"

"I mean it," he put his hand on top of yours and gave it a gentle squeeze, "I've dreamed about this day so many times. I never thought…that I would actually get the chance to see you again."

"Me neither," you really wanted to wrap yourself up in him, "I'm just afraid you're not going to like this version of me. What if I'm not like you remember?"

"None of us are the same, sweetheart," he insisted softly, "we've all been through so much shit. But deep down we're all the people we once were."

"You think so?" You could feel the tears welling up already, "I mean, I'm just assuming you'd want to even…try again. You know what, forget I said anything - you don't want-"

"I do," he quickly cut off any of your negative thoughts, "I really do. You think I'd give up this second chance with my dream girl?"

"Dream girl?" and oh. The way you were looking at him made him want to melt, "I'm your dream girl?"

"You always have been and always will be," he grew bashful as you looked at him in awe, "and I think we were given this opportunity for a reason. And I know it's scary, but if you're in, I kind of want to try again. Us."

"Are you sure?"

"I've been thinking about it since the moment I saw you," he leaned in and you were so close you could kiss him - and you definitely intended on doing that again, "so I guess it's up to you, sweetheart."

"I'm in," you promised without hesitation, "all in."

"Me too," and then he kissed you again, softly but with so much love, "all in."

#tommy miller #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x fem!reader #tommy miller x you #tommy miller imagine #tommy miller one shot #gabriel luna #tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us #x reader

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andy-15-07 · 3 days ago

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Hi, may I send you a little request? (A little personal experience happened at Walt Disney World for us. Something similar happened with my niece. She wanted to bring back home some characters from Walt Disney World 😂)

Could you please write the reader is traveling with Pedro to Japan for Star Wars Celebration. She brings her kids with them and the younger one throws a little tantrum because he/she (you pick) wants to bring home Grogu. Older kids try to explain why they can't and Pedro decides to step up and surprise both of them with some Grogu & Mando dolls.

Bringing Grogu Home

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT:1788 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You step off the plane into the warm buzz of Narita Airport, hand in hand with Pedro. The bustle of travelers around you feels electric,families reuniting, friends greeting one another, and costumed fans clutching lightsabers and themed suitcases. You glance down at your two little ones, their faces pressed against the glass barrier separating you from arriving passengers. Your eldest, eight-year-old Mateo, bounces on the balls of his feet, eyes bright behind thick glasses. Your youngest, four-year-old Luna, clutches a pink backpack embroidered with baby Yoda’s big, soulful eyes.

“Are you excited, Luna?” you ask, smoothing back her loose curls.

She nods vigorously. “I want to see Grogu! I want to hug him and take him home!”

Mateo nudges her gently. “Luna, you can’t take him home. He’s not a toy. He belongs to the show.”

“But he’s so cute!” she protests, pouting.

You sigh, exchanging a knowing look with Pedro. He flashes you that charming, warm smile that always makes your heart flutter,yes, you’re still married to Pedro Pascal, and yes, you are still in awe of how effortlessly charismatic he is both on-screen and off. He reaches out to ruffle Mateo’s hair. “Hey, bud, you’ll get to see me on stage, and maybe Grogu will make an appearance. But you can’t just pack him in your bag. He’s not a packable toy.”

Luna’s lower lip quivers. “But I really, really want him.”

You crouch down, opening your arms. “Come here, sweetheart.” She runs into your embrace, and you stroke her hair. “How about we get a photograph with Grogu, and then you can pick out one,just one,tiny souvenir to bring home?”

Her tears sparkle in the overhead lights. “But I don’t want just any toy. I want Grogu.”

Mateo steps forward, trying to sound grown-up. “Luna, Luna, listen. Toys have to fit in your carry-on. And we have other stuff,clothes, snacks,”

She cuts him off with a wail. “I don’t care! I want Grogu!”

Pedro steps in warmly. “Okay, how about this: when we get to the Celebration, I’ll see what they have in the official shop. If they have a Grogu plush that fits in your backpack, you can choose it. And if they don’t, I’ll see if I can surprise you with something special.”

Luna’s tears subside into sniffles. “Really?”

“Really,” he says, taking her hand and giving you a conspiratorial wink. You suppress a giggle.

–––

The shuttle ride from the airport to your hotel is a symphony of chatter. Mateo informs you at length about the latest Mandalorian theories, while Luna babbles about baby Yoda’s favorite snack (berries, in case you were wondering). Pedro listens with amused attention, occasionally interjecting a factoid or two: “Actually, the berries are called 'frogeater berries',from Sorgan.” The children lean in, as if they’ve just uncovered the galaxy’s greatest secret.

You glance at Pedro, heart full. You two have been together for seven years, married for four, and traveling as a family never fails to remind you both of how much you’ve grown. It’s the first time the kids are old enough to really appreciate the fandom, and Pedro is determined to give them an experience they’ll never forget.

At the hotel, you settle into a sleek lobby decorated with pop-culture memorabilia,life-sized starfighter models, framed concept art, and even a small tribute to Shuriken. Your room on the 15th floor overlooks a sea of neon signs in downtown Tokyo. Mateo presses his nose to the glass. “Wow, it’s like Coruscant!”

Luna jumps on the bed, giggling. “Look, Daddy! The lights shine like stars!”

Pedro sets down the luggage and opens his arms. “Who wants to explore the city? I heard there’s a Mandalorian-themed café a few blocks from here.”

Mateo’s eyes light up. “Can we go now? Please?”

You exchange a look. It’s only midday, you’d been planning to rest. But seeing your kids so excited, you can’t refuse. “Alright, team Mando, let’s go,after we freshen up!”

Room doors close, and soon you’re winding through Tokyo’s crowded streets: the smells of ramen and takoyaki filling the air, the chatter of locals, vendors calling out, bright buildings tower overhead. You spot the café’s sign, a stylized helmet of a beskar-clad warrior. Inside, animatronic Grogu replicas peer down from shelves, and Mando’s theme hums softly.

Luna tugs at Pedro’s sleeve. “Daddy, over here!” She points to a towering statue of Grogu reaching toward a floating silver orb. Pedro lifts her up. “Want to say hi?”

She strokes the tiny replica’s fuzzy ears. “Hi, Grogu!” she whispers.

Mateo orders kid-friendly ramen (with green pesto swirls to represent a frog’s legs) and you and Pedro sip lattes topped with edible silver glitter. Conversation drifts between mundane,what to pack, tomorrow’s schedule,and sentimental. Pedro reaches across the table, squeezing your hand. “I’m really glad you’re here with us.”

You smile, heart warm. “Me too.”

–––

The next morning dawns bright and clear. You and the kids line up outside the convention center before the doors open, the line snaking around the block. Pedro’s VIP passes let you cut through, so you bypass the masses and head inside. The cavernous hall is a fan’s paradise: massive screens loop scenes from the new show, merch booths overflow with T-shirts, caps, action figures, and collectibles.

Luna’s grip tightens on your hand as you pass the booths. “Where’s the baby Yoda?”

Pedro scouts ahead. “They said a special pop-up shop is here. Let’s find it.”

In the corner, you discover a small, curated area: limited-edition Grogu statues, replica helmets, and plush toys. Luna’s eyes grow wide. “There he is!”

She stares at a plush, about the size of her arm,perfect for fitting in her backpack. But bright orange price tag attached: $75 USD. You look at Pedro. Their allowance of souvenirs might not stretch that far if you splash out here.

She points. “Mummy, Daddy, look!”

Mateo steps forward. “It’s cool, Luna, but maybe it’s too big. They have smaller ones over there.” He gestures to a nearby shelf. On it, a baby Yoda keychain, barely two inches tall, with a tiny cord. Price: $15 USD.

Luna’s lip quivers. “But I want the big one.”

A small crowd gathers behind you, and Pedro motions for privacy. “Hey, champion,” he crouches beside her. “I know you want that big Grogu. How about this: you choose what fits your backpack and what you think you really want most.”

She considers the keychain for a moment. “But he’s so tiny.”

He smiles. “Tiny Grogu can still be mighty.”

She laughs. “Okay. But only if he’s the keychain size you can clip to my bag.”

You hand her the dollars she’s scooped from your wallet. She carefully picks the keychain, her small fingers turning it this way and that. Satisfied, she stashes it in her bag.

Mateo chooses a Mando helmet sticker set for himself. Pedro buys a matching one for himself. You grab a couple of postcards to mail to family back home.

As you head toward the stage area, Luna clutches her keychain. “I love him so much.”

Pedro nudges you. “Mission accomplished, right?”

You smile. “Mission temporary,unless he surprises us again.”

–––

The panel begins. Pedro strides onto the stage to thunderous applause, the lights on him soft and golden. You settle in the front row, Mateo on one side, Luna on the other, clutching her Grogu keychain. Pedro answers questions about the latest episodes, teases future storylines, and as the Q&A winds down, he turns to you and the kids.

He taps the microphone: “Hey, everyone,this is my family. These are my little Jedis.” The audience coos. Mateo and Luna wave shyly; Luna holds Grogu aloft. Pedro continues, “I wanted to do something special for them while we’re here, so I asked the merch team to send something…”

He gestures off-stage. Two staff members wheel out a cart covered by a black cloth. Pedro looks down at Luna. “Ready?”

She nods, confusion furrowing her brow.

He yanks off the cloth: a small display of three large plush dolls,two Grogu’s and one Din Djarin, life-size, each nearly two feet tall. The crowd gasps and cheers. Your heart squeezes.

Luna’s mouth drops open. “Daddy!”

Mateo’s jaw drops. “Oh my gosh!”

Pedro lifts down one Grogu plush and holds it out to Luna. “Here, sweetheart.”

Her eyes fill with tears as she takes it. “Thank you,thank you, Daddy!” She flings her arms around the plush, burying her face in the soft, green head.

Pedro turns to Mateo. “And for our big guy?” He hands Mateo the Din Djarin doll. “To guard the galaxy.”

Mateo almost cries. “This is the best surprise ever.”

Pedro tousles Mateo’s hair and then you. “And I saved one more for… us.” He reveals the second Grogu plush. “For you and me to cuddle on our hotel couch.”

You lean in, kissing him softly. “You are the sweetest.”

–––

Later, back in your room, the kids bounce on the carpeted floor, each hugging their new toys. Luna holds hers close as if it’s alive. Mateo practices mandalorian accents, shaking his helmet. You and Pedro curl up on the couch, the new plush nestled between you.

Pedro rests his head against yours. “I’m glad they’re happy.”

You smile, tracing patterns on his arm. “You’re amazing with them.”

He nudges you playfully. “Are you jealous?”

You feign shock. “Me? Jealous of Grogu?” You tap the plush between you. “He’s kind of stealing your attention.”

He pretends to pout. “I think Grogu deserves it,look at him.”

You laugh and pull him closer. The kids’ laughter echoes from the other room, lights from the Tokyo skyline flickering through the window. You close your eyes, heart full of love for this perfect, chaotic, wonderful family moment.

Pedro kisses the top of your head. “I love you.”

You press your lips against his. “I love you more.”

He smirks. “No, I do.”

Conversation drifts as you both relax,talking about dinner plans, tomorrow’s cosplay contest, and maybe a day trip out to the countryside. When Luna tucks herself into bed clutching her big Grogu, you catch her softly whispering, “Goodnight, Grogu.” Mateo follows, kissing his doll’s helmet.

Once the children are asleep, you linger in the hallway, peeking at their peaceful faces. Pedro slips his arm around you. “We did good,” he whispers.

You lean into him. “We did.”

Together, you step back into the suite’s living area. The city lights of Tokyo stretch in an endless twinkle before you,so many promises and adventures still ahead, both in this Celebration and beyond. But for tonight, you’re exactly where you belong: wrapped in each other’s arms, surrounded by laughter, love, and two baby Yodas who will forever remind you of this magical family journey.

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pineconepie · 2 days ago

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cullen and august with a traumatized reader who refuses to eat maybe?

CHARACTERS: Cullen, August, Reader

WARNINGS/TAGS: Eating disorder/reader refusing to eat, parental yanderes, implied PTSD, yelling, arguing, hurt/comfort, light angst, light forced infantilization, terms of endearment, cursing, threats of force-feeding, Cullen not following his own advice lol

WORD COUNT: 2.1K

"Hon, what's wrong?" Cullen had expected to see his husband eager to greet him after arriving home from such a long day at work.

Yet only a fool would assume everything is okay by how August is pacing back and forth in the living room with furrowed eyebrows, a grim frown, and his arms crossed tightly over his chest. It's clear something has greatly upset him.

"(Y/n) has been in their room all day," August replies gravely, "I left breakfast and lunch on their nightstand but they didn't eat any of it." He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. "I'm so worried."

Cullen sets down his suitcase and loosens the red tie around his neck. "Well, they can't skip dinner if they haven't eaten anything all day, that's for sure. But remember what the doc said. This is gonna take time, and it's not like this came out of left-field."

His husband folds his arms over his chest. "I know, but some foolish part of me was hoping they'd just... be eager to be in our arms all the time now. Like when they were younger." Cullen opens his mouth, to which August cuts him off. "Don't tell me it was unrealistic to think that, I know it is. But I'm still... so scared and worried."

"It's okay, Auggie," he assures with a warm smile. He steps forward to pull the taller man into his arms. Cullen rubs his back and hugs him tightly. "You want to get dinner ready while I try to talk to them?"

August nods slowly and pulls away, taking a shaky breath before heading down the hall to the kitchen.

Cullen turns to his left where a small flight of stairs leads to your room. After walking up the five or so steps, he approaches your closed door. The first knock he taps lightly against the wood, figuring you're not likely to answer. "(Y/n)?" he calls through the door. "It's Dad. You doing okay? Do you mind if I come in?"

No response, but it isn't like he really expected one.

He steps inside your bedroom to see you curled up under the blankets with the lights off. He takes a seat on your bed, making sure to keep as much distance from you as possible so you feel safe.

"(Y/n)," he murmurs softly, "you haven't eaten yet today. Let's try to get at least half of our dinner down, huh?" You shake your head side to side under the covers. He frowns. "Sweetheart, please. Not eating isn't good. We don't want you getting sick." Another head shake. He sighs, eyebrows furrowed as he rests a hand over where your shoulder might be. "Can you at least come downstairs to show your Papa that you're alive?"

You let out a long huff. The silence hangs over the room, and finally, you roll over and sit up. Your face is blotchy and covered in tear tracks.

He smiles sadly. "Hey there, sweet pea." He moves forward to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, then stands up, reaching a hand out towards you. "Why don't we get some food in your belly?"

It's better to just not argue, so you take his hand and allow him to lead you downstairs and into the dining room. You take a seat while he enters the kitchen.

Soon after, August walks back in with a bowl of your favorite soup and favorite meal.

His expression changes from relief to concern again, once he sees your tear-stained face. Cullen, who was pouring lemonade into three glasses, shoots a pointed look at August, silently telling him 'not now'. August forces a smile, and sets the bowl of chicken noodle soup and a spoon down in front of you.

They take their seats across from you.

"Eat as much as you can," Cullen reminds, grabbing one of the saltine crackers for his own stew.

You stare at it, sometimes bringing your gaze up to their happy, domestic faces as they enjoy their dinner.

They both notice you don't eat your food, but don't bring it up in hopes that you'll maybe be more willing if they ignore it. So Cullen rambles about his day and how annoying it was that the vending machine was broken, while August listens and nods, but is much less subtle in his worry for you, glancing at you and your untouched food every minute.

Once their bowls are empty, they both look at you expectantly.

"You gotta eat," Cullen says first. His voice is gentle, but there's no doubt a certain firmness to it.

August tries next when you stay silent. "Do you need Dad or I to feed you? We wouldn't mind at all."

"No," you curtly reply. It's the first word you've spoken aloud all day. They're a little startled by it, yet neither one comments. "I'm not hungry."

"But (Y/n)," August insists, "you have to be hungry. You skipped breakfast and lunch." He reaches forward to brush your hair out of your face, only for you to jerk away. You shoot him an icy glare. He lets out a slow, even breath. "Please."

You narrow your eyes.

"C'mon," Cullen says. "Eat some of it. If you can finish at least half, then you can go straight back upstairs and we won't bug you." You remain silent. Cullen's voice raises slightly. "You better take this offer, because if you don't, then you aren't leaving until every last bit is gone."

"I said," you grit out, "I'm not hungry." The stern glare remains frozen on your face as your hands curl into fists under the table.

"Do you want to be back in the hospital with a fucking feeding tube again?" he snaps. "Because that's what's going to happen if you don't stop with this!"

"Honey..." August cautions in a low voice.

"If you want to act like a baby, you can get treated like one!" Cullen practically shouts, ignoring his husband. You shrink back, avoiding his eyes. "I will literally spoon feed you myself if I have to! Then you'll be grounded for a whole month! Is that what you want?!"

"No!" you shout back. "Why are you doing this?!"

In disbelief, Cullen gasps, clearly offended. "Why the hell do you think we're doing this!?"

He stands up abruptly, chair falling behind him, and you fall out of your own one, raising your hands in front of your face defensively. That shuts him up right away, and he almost looks like he might cry when he realizes the situation he created.

It makes him sick that you'd ever feel scared of him. He's never felt this awful before.

"Oh my God." Cullen steps closer, arms outreached. "(Y/n)..."

August approaches like you're an injured animal. "Sweetie—" He stops as soon as you scramble backwards, trying to put more space between them and yourself. He swallows hard and holds his arms open towards you, invitingly, making sure to keep several feet between you. You stare at him with wide eyes, still breathing rapidly. "No one's mad at you, darling. Everything's okay." His voice breaks, despite how hard he tries to not let it.

Your response is to scramble away from the dining room and up to your bedroom, where you lock yourself inside.

"I'm so sorry," Cullen breathes.

"Don't blame yourself too much," he murmurs tiredly.

He scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. "Don't blame myself? They thought I was gonna fucking hit them, August! They thought I was gonna—" he chokes on his words as a sob threatens to tear through him. "Now they'll never eat."

August shakily sighs. He wants to comfort his husband, but it's hard to when he can hear your cries from your room. He rubs a hand over his face.

"I'm always the calm one," Cullen mutters. "I can't believe I did that... it's been such a long day and I just—I just needed them to eat something—"

"I know." August puts a hand on his arm. "I'm going to check on them, alright? If they're calmer, I'll bring them down so you can talk."

Cullen sniffles and nods in approval. August goes back upstairs. After taking a deep breath, he knocks softly against your door.

"(Y/n)," he quietly calls, "can I come in?" Silence greets him once again. He rests his head on the wooden surface of your door and sighs. "Sweetheart, no one is upset with you. Neither of us are. Right now, it's just me. Papa. Okay?"

"...okay," you weakly respond.

The corners of his lips quirk into a bittersweet smile. "I'm going to come in now." The door creaks open and August quickly shuts it behind himself, stepping further into your room to see you curled up underneath blankets. He carefully plops himself beside you. He feels tears prickling in his eyes when you curl away. "Could you look at me?"

You reluctantly peek your head out from underneath the covers and raise your watery eyes to his.

He gives you a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "There's those beautiful eyes." August opens his arms towards you. "Hug?" You shyly crawl towards him, settling onto his lap and letting him wrap his arms around you. He rocks back and forth, cradling your head to his chest.

"I love you," he murmurs. "I love you more than anything. Both of us love you." He places a gentle kiss atop your head. "I wish there were a way you could fully understand how much you mean to us."

"Then why did Dad get angry?" you rasp.

August purses his lips. "He knows he shouldn't have done that, but he isn't mad at you, sweetheart. Not one bit. He just wants you to be okay. And so do I. And we're worried, because if you don't eat, you'll hurt yourself. We lost you once, we can't lose you again." His voice seeps with something darker at that last statement. "But no matter what, we'd never lay a hand on you in anger. Never ever."

You exhale through your nose. "I don't do it to hurt you or Dad."

He shakes his head. "Oh, we know you don't. You wouldn't try to hurt us intentionally. But the issue is that you're hurting yourself, and that hurts us just as much."

Your stomach growls, to which you grimace.

August smiles a little at that. "How about this?" he suggests. "Come downstairs and finish half your bowl, then you can go back upstairs and have some alone time. No interruptions, unless you want them. How does that sound? And while I heat up your food again, you can talk to your dad. He wants to apologize. Would that be alright?"

A slow nod follows, and August helps you stand up before rising to his feet. Hand in hand, you both return downstairs.

There, you find Cullen pacing in the living room. He sighs in relief upon seeing you.

August turns to you. "I'm going to put your dinner back in the microwave real fast while you two chat." He leaves after kissing your forehead.

You feel Cullen place a hand on your shoulder. "Hey, buddy," he murmurs. "I am so, so sorry for yelling. You didn't deserve that, especially after all you've been through. That was wrong of me to scare you like that." He hugs you tight, and you let him. It surprises him. "But you need to eat. Even if it's small. Please. Your old man can't take worrying anymore."

"It's not your fault I can't eat," you mumble.

Cullen buries his face in your hair for a moment, then asks, "Why can't you, (Y/n)?"

"Because I don't deserve it."

When he pulls away, you're shocked to see his eyebrows furrowed in anguish, tears glistening in his eyes. You didn't expect such a strong reaction. His mouth moves without saying anything at first. "That's not—that's not true. That couldn't be any less true." You're startled when he hugs you tight to his chest. "Don't ever say that again. Don't even think it. Of course you deserve good things."

He places two fingers under your chin to tilt your head up, smiling with pure adoration, yet it's tinged with melancholy.

"The fact that someone made you feel otherwise absolutely kills me. You deserve everything good in life, (Y/n). Absolutely everything. All of our love, homemade dinners, hugs, kisses, presents, cuddles, warmth. All of it."

August reappears holding the warm bowl of soup. "All done now," he announces.

As you follow Cullen towards the table, you find it a little easier to breathe somehow.

#answered ask #parental yandere #platonic yandere #familial yandere #cullen oc #august oc #soft yandere #gn reader #tw eating issues #tw ed implied

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rosy-hollow · 2 days ago

Text

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱɪx: The Feast

ᴀ/ɴ: so like - i forgot to kiss the brick before i bashed it into my own head... i was physically crying while writing this, ask @unch4rtedwxters they have picture proof- full series masterlist here!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: cursing, DEATH, BLOOD, A N G S T, I REPEAT, A N G S T (this is me kissing the brick), the hunger games, major character death, murder, anxiety attacks, overall just bad bad bad

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader

Both of you are awoken by a loud, blaring fanfare and the booming voice of Oboro Shirakumo, the head Gamemaker of the Hunger Games, echoing throughout the arena for all to hear.

“Attention remaining tributes - the Feast will begin tonight at nightfall. All of you are in critical need of certain resources. Each of you will find what you require in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia. May the odds be ever in your favor.”

The silence that ensues the announcement is deafening. You try to remember who’s left.

13 died in the bloodbath, and you and Bakugou killed the boy from District four. Micah pitches in, telling you that he remembered five other canons throughout the five days you’d been in the arena.

You blink at the reminder, the sound of a cannon booming to mark the death of each tribute. You hadn’t registered the one that sounded when you killed the boy from 4, though you credit that to your crazed and panicked state.

The others… if you’d been subconsciously tuning them out, you seriously needed to step up your game.

The smallest mistake meant death in this arena.

18 dead... that meant there were six left in the arena.

You, Micah, the boy from District 1, the girl from District 2, Toga, and…

Bakugou.

You shake the thought of him from your head, focusing on your younger ally instead.

You open your mouth to speak.

“It’s not worth going.”

“I think we should go.”

You blink in confusion.

“You- what? No way, Micah, it’s too risky.” you frown and the boy matches your expression.

“So? You heard him, whatever is in those packs, we need! We could get you medical supplies!”

You shake your head. “No. No way. I probably couldn’t get out of this tree without bleeding out again, and I’m not risking you like that.” you nudge him gently. “I just got a new brother, I can’t lose him yet.”

Micah’s eyes widen as you quote him from before, and he grumbles under his breath.

“You’re not allowed to use my lines.”

You chuckle, mussing up his mousy brown hair. “You win some, you lose some.”

You shift yourself more comfortably on the branch. “Hey - where did you fill up your water from? You didn’t just survive five days on just your waterskin.”

Micah shakes his head, eyes lighting up. “There’s a contraption I got in my backpack.” he says, pulling out a small mechanical lump of…something? “It might look like nothing, but it’s similar to the ones we use in 9. It extracts the water from inside leaves.”

He plucks a handful of them from a branch in arm’s reach, opening up a latch in the machine to press them into. He positions it over the mouth of his waterskin, and you watch in awe as a small stream of water is squeezed out.

“Holy…cow” you breathe out - catching yourself from cussing. Maybe the blond has rubbed off on you.

Micah raises an eyebrow, teasingly but knowing.

“Cow?”

“It’s a thing we say. …In 11.”

“Mhm, sure…”

“Y-You’re a cow..!”

“What does that even mean?”

“...Good question.”

The day goes by like that, playful banter as you use Micah’s water contraption to fill up his waterskin as well as the empty canteen you had in your pack, while the boy went around picking berries and scavenging for food.

When night falls, you settle down for a hearty meal, finally falling asleep feeling hydrated and full for the first time since you’d entered these cursed games.

It almost made you forget about the Feast tonight.

Almost.

You knew he’d never do it, but what if Bakugou was going to the Feast right now, lurking in the darkness, grabbing the large pack with ‘2’ emblazoned on the front.

You think about his injuries, his injured arm - what if someone attacked him? The Careers coming back from revenge?

The thought plagues your mind - and as much as you try to tell yourself that you don’t care, some stupid, irrational part of your heart does.

Whether you liked it or not - he saved your life. Multiple times.

You didn’t like being in debt.

Back in 11, being in debt meant that other people could use whatever favor you owed against you. It was dangerous.

Which is why the whole ordeal made you so restless.

That’s what you told yourself at least, and you tossed and turned, but the thoughts kept you so paranoid that eventually, you just sit up, sleepy eyes looking for Micah’s sleeping form.

Only for a chill to settle deep into your bones.

He wasn’t there.

Your eyes dart around frantically, your leg screaming in protest and you can’t bring yourself to care.

Panic seizes you by the throat, choking you with such overwhelming fear that you feel like your suffocated, drowning in internal hysteria until one little detail washes over you like someone dunked you in the ice cold ocean.

“I think we should go.”

Oh no.

No no no no no no.

Shit, this can’t be happening! Micah you idiot!

Your aching limbs protest as you clamber down the tree, grabbing your dagger as you grit your teeth, your wounds searing in pain like white hot fire.

Black spots dance across your vision when your boots touch the grass, feeling dizzy from the agony but instead, you let your feet guide you, through the trees, through the bushes.

Thump.

Your heart pounds in sync with your footfalls, both deafening against the blood roaring in your eyes.

Fuck, you promised you’d protect him.

You promised.

Tears of desperation prick at the corners of your eyes, slipping down your cheeks as you run, ignoring your wounds, ignoring the danger of other Careers that may be lurking.

You had to endure.

Like always.

Your heart stops when you finally reach the clearing, the Cornucopia in the center.

But that’s not what you’re focused on.

Micah.

The girl from District 4.

His small body thrashes wildly in fear as her fingers clamp around his neck to hold him still.

No.

No no no no no.

“MICAH NO-!”

You can only watch as his eyes lock with yours, widening for a fraction before he body stills, trident piercing straight through his heart.

You feel like the breath’s been taken from your lungs.

God, there’s so much blood.

And Micah…he’s just lying there.

Sleeping.

Except he’s not.

Your feet are moving, though you’re not the one controlling them.

A scream rips from your throat, but it’s not your voice.

Your hand pulls your dagger from your pocket, except it’s not yours.

You watch as your body sinks the blade of your dagger into the girl’s neck, her screams ripping through the arena as you yank it out, before stabbing it into her flesh once more.

Again.

And again.

The monster of rage fills every corner of your mind, chest heaving and heart pumping with adrenaline until all you can see

Is red.

You keep going, stab after stab, even when you hear the cannon go off, you don’t stop; almost like you don’t know how.

A small cry is what snaps you out of your trance, reality slapping you in the face.

Micah.

Oh God.

Micah.

You collapse onto your knees, not caring about the pain that flares up his leg as you cradle him in your arms.

He’s coughing up blood, and you have to force yourself to not to look at the gaping holes in his body.

You feel sick to your stomach.

This isn’t fair.

Micah doesn’t deserve this - no one deserves this.

“Shit - Micah…hold on kid, you’re s-safe I promise…” you choke out, near sobbing, so distraught that you don't even care about your language now.

You’d apologize later.

If- when - you and Micah go back to the tree. Together.

Micah smiles weakly, his lips stained in crimson. Streams of blood leak from his nose, as tears slip from his eyes as you brush them away with your sleeve.

“...Cow.”

“I- w-what?”

“You meant cow, r-right?” he says, and your heart snaps in two.

Here he was, dying because of you- and yet he still tried to make you smile.

“M-Micah… p-please just stop talking, I’ll patch you up and we’ll be okay-”

He lets you continue your frenzied ramble as you try to staunch the wounds with your sleeves in a poor attempt to stop the bleeding.

A weak mumble of your name is what quiets you, the boy staring up into your wide, terrified and tear filled eyes.

After all, you were just kids.

Kids who the odds weren’t in favor of, kids with bad luck.

Just…two unlucky kids.

Brought here by the Capitol to send a message.

You had no power in the arena.

Even if you won - you were still losing.

You always would be.

“W-Win for m-me…okay?” he says, his voice cracking as you stroke his cheek, blood smearing against his skin.

You shake your head stiffly, more tears falling from your face. “No, no, no, no, no, don’t talk like that. Don’t talk like you’re going to-”

“W-when you do… tell the Capitol t-to get better bread… the kind from 9 with the golden wheat…s’good..” he mumbles his voice starting to slur.

Panic grips your heart so tightly you can’t breathe, suffocated by anything and everything, with no choice but to sit there and take it.

“T-Tell my f-family I l-love them… o-okay? A-And tell my brothers that they can’t use m-my room when I-I’m g-gone.”

His words don’t make his face, salty tears running over dried blood that rolls down his neck, and you choke on your own tears, holding him close. His pale is ghostly pale, too pale.

“Micah p-please-”

“I love y-you… y-you were a good big s-sister. B-Best I ever had.” he says, smiling despite the tears in his eyes.

The cannon finally sounds as his eyelids flutter shut - the first one you finally register.

But the sound of the helicarrier coming to take him away is drowned out by the sound of your agonized cries.

You don’t move, even after you watch them - the Capitol - take him away from you.

You’re too lost in your sorrows to notice the pair of red eyes staring at you from the trees.

taglist: @attackonnat @ldk3347 @onlyisaa @luciapiacat @wonubby @snoopyluvrpao @kiromiix @delshmel@nijoll @babypeapoddd@mirajanestrauss1999 @kianatrg @blankk3 @witch-craft-works@midnight-drives-with-sunarin @samxbaker@xanneeeyyyy@tom-hollands-blog @jazoewazoe @sixxe@poot2234@beabamboo@yiz5uo @ilikeyyouverymuch @hauntedodette@xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx@rosekeu@grimm3r @m4y4wasnthere@eyes4bkg @ghostsoapwhore @sunootzrose @ilovemushroomss @risu-li @kawliflo @jealousmartini

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mothandpidgeon · 3 days ago

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Well Worn (Joel Miller x gn!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

Rating: M

Summary: You grapple with Joel’s death amongst his things.

wc: 1k

Contents: grief, loss, Joel is dead, reader is (was) in an established relationship with Joel, Joel is sir not appearing in this film, sad Ellie, reader is not described but fits in Joel’s clothes

notes: How are we all doing, folks? Bad? Me too. I used this tiny fic to just be as melodramatic as I needed because I’ve spent the past 24 hours totally wrecked. I began writing this before episode 2 but I saw in the teaser for episode 3 we’re getting Ellie in Joel’s closet so I guess I’m just working with cliches here.

Joel screenshot in the moodboard by @iamasaddie Thanks @moonlitbirdie for reading this before I yeeted it out sorry I made you cry.

The clock in tbe hall ticks so loudly, you can feel it echo off the inside of your skull. If it weren’t for the fact that Joel restored the little wooden figurines around its face, you’d rip it down right now and smash the dianty birds and berries to smithereens. Each movement of the second hand is another reminder, another moment gone by without him.

You sit on the floor of the bedroom the two of you shared. The dresser drawers hang open like empty gaping mouths, their contents strewn about over the quilt. All clothes waiting to be sorted. His clothes.

You make two piles. One for things that need mending— shirts missing buttons, jeans with worn knees. The other for things that are ready to wear. It’s all done with as much detachment as you can muster, fighting the memories that bubble up as you fold each piece.

You’re not sure what inspired you to tackle this project today, still so deep in your grief. It’s something to do that isn’t just listening to the minutes move by. Maria would tell you to take as long as you need but everyone in Jackson’s grieving now and they’re busy mending the gate and replacing windows. Soon there will be newcomers with only the shirts on their backs and they’ll need something to wear.

You used to tell Joel that very thing.

“If you’re not going to wear a hat then give it to somebody else,” you’d say.

“Fine. Get rid of it,” he told you, calling your bluff.

“Just wear the damn thing!”

You empty pockets of all the things Joel left forgotten. Mostly screws and stubby pencils ground down almost to the eraser. A folded up scrap of paper with some diagram from one of the building projects, dimensions scribbled in his messy hand. It’s all rather ordinary and somehow that makes it worse.

Tears come as the piles grow but you push on. You’re used to that by now. For the past few days you’ve done all sorts of things with hot, wet cheeks, it’s not even worth wiping them away.

You remind yourself for the thousandth time that you ought to be grateful. The few years you’ve had with Joel were a miracle after all. What were the chances you’d both survive? Both find Jackson, find each other? You had something most people never get. And Joel wasn’t the only one that died that day. There are fresh graves for men much younger than him. Still, it doesn’t feel fair to lump your loss in with the rest. They died fighting. Joel was murdered.

You throw shirts down onto the rug, the sleeves of Joel’s chambray button down fluttering into the heap as your vision blurs with yet another wave of anguish. Dutifully you strip each hanger and stack them away, working snaps and buttons open and then closed again.

It’s not long before you find it– his favorite flannel shirt– and the ache in your chest ebbs again, heart straining against your ribs. The sensation is so familiar now, sometimes catching you unexpectedly, but always at a moment when you miss him most.

You slide your arms carefully into one sleeve then the other. It hangs loose on your frame, warm as if it had just come off of his shoulders. The fabric is soft, a reminder of what life felt like— pressing your face against his broad back as you wrapped your arms around his middle. You try it now, lifting its front to your wet face one last time.

It smells like him. Musk and wood shavings, and something distinctly Joel that you can’t put your finger on. Behind your eyelids, you do your best to picture Joel as you breathe him in. The way he was, not wrapped up in a snow-soaked sheet.

There are footsteps on the stairs and you recognize their rhythm immediately as Ellie’s. You wipe the snot from your nose on the shirt before she appears in the doorway. She takes in the scene around you but her eyes land on her shoes, red rimmed but refusing to well up again.

“What’re you doing?” she asks. Her voice has been much lower, not quite a whisper more a growl.

You want to scream at her, throw one of Joel’s work boots in her direction and shriek. Blame her, punish her for taking him away from you. Maybe not in the end but for all of those moments when his gaze clouded over as he quietly frowned out the back window towards the garage.

But there’s another part of you that wants to hold her, to cradle Ellie in your arms and tell her that none of this is her fault, that you know your pain is nothing compared to hers.

You’re too exhausted for either so you just sit there and stare up at her.

“I don’t know,” you say.

It’s as honest an answer as any. You don’t have the heart to tell her that one day soon, someone else in the dining hall will be wearing Joel’s navy sweater with the patch on the elbow. You’re not even sure you have it in you to part with any of this. Not when you can still remember the way his body felt through all of this fabric.

“I came to tell you I’m leaving,” Ellie says after a beat. “I’m going after them.”

You sigh. Tired, defeated. Oddly proud.

There’s no talking her out of it. It’s not like she’s ever been persuaded of anything in her life. But there’s a dull voice somewhere deep in the back of your brain that demands you say all of those grown up, level headed things. All those words Joel would want you to say. That it’s dangerous. That it won’t bring him back. That you don’t want to lose her too.

You look down at the pile of clothes Joel used to fill. Socks you picked up off the floor with a sigh, t-shirts once damp with his sweat, pants you’d guide down his hips to the floor. All limp as his dead body.

You scoop up one of Joel’s bulky sweaters and toss it to Ellie. She’s going to need it where she’s going.

“Bundle up.”

Thanks for reading and sorry.

Reblogs, comments, dms, and asks always welcome.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x gn!reader #pedro pascal #tlou #tlou season 2 #joel miller fic

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asaedw · 15 hours ago

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PINKLOCK Chapter 00/Prologue: You Belong Amongst The Best

Please read the author’s note and the characters' information at the end. (wc: 3153)

2025.

It was never a matter of fate. The position of this ball now, where it will land in the next second, and who will be the first to capture it. All of this must be a random selection of the universe. Or so I would have thought before PINKLOCK. Luck is one of the trillion factors that decide who gets to sit atop our corpses. Who gets to hold the treasure.

The ball flies across the field. I position myself, ready to be Queen. Maybe in one of the infinite universes that I exist in, there is a place where I can be chosen.

To the very right of my foot is a familiar warmth. I don’t get to process it or adjust to the nostalgic scent. The ball obeys her every command and falls to her foot like it's submitting. She read all of it. Every little trajectory, every twirl of the ball, and position of the players that I managed to analyze in these ninety minutes, she knew all of it before me. Her eyes darken as we meet once more, years later.

“Didn’t I tell you? You’re worth nothing here.” I want to deny, to reject like I've always done. Now she runs toward the goal after stealing my crown for the hundredth time while I'm frozen in shock. I became too arrogant. I thought I had evolved. Grown. But she always manages to prove me wrong.

And now, it’s my turn to do that.

November 18, 2018.

I wanted to go home while I was already in it. I reminisced about the times when I had a companion. My other half, who one day changed. It was an exhausting day for me. Waking up early to practice because I didn’t want my parents to know. It’s not like they didn’t know that I was playing soccer. They simply didn’t like it when I did. I hadn’t realized this when I was still younger, but now I do. I was meant to be a vessel for their dreams. So I left for the nearby field in the town.

They’re validation was my first reason to play, but soon, it was gone. The spark of excitement I used to feel when I’d score a goal. It had vanished. As soon as my brother was born.

“We have hope.” They’d cry out in bliss at the sight of him. I was eleven, and I was abandoned. I felt worthless.

I continued to play, however. It felt like the only reason I wasn’t a nobody yet was because I had some skill in the game. I would avoid letting them know, still. They didn’t like it when I had even a glimmer of faith in myself.

“You should focus on studying, he’ll be our champion.”

I had to prove myself to them.

The big game was the next day. Since we had moved to Japan when I was ten, I’d been playing here alone ever since. I had Kieymi at one point. She would reassure me, support me. I got too attached, perhaps. One random day, she changed. She grew hateful and even vengeful of me. I never shed a tear at the people who’d bully me. Not even many for the harsh words I’d hear at home. But a part of me died the day she became his way. We were soulmates. Now she’s a faint memory.

Now I stood there in the empty field from dusk till dawn, hearing an echoing cheer and wishing it were real. I would be playing against her the next day, and just the thought of it sent my heart dropping to my stomach. Kick after kick, I would score goals from different ranges and different angles. I practiced unique trajectories, imagining her begging face looking up at me from below. I wanted to crush her. Destroy her. Like she’d done to me.

Maybe that’s what got me to continue playing. The reminder that she’s better than me at something I began four years before her.

As I was panting from exhaustion and envy, I noticed a dark figure somewhere in the corner of the field. It was a woman’s body. She observed me closely. It wasn’t light enough to read her expression. But she looked almost malicious. I approached, and now I realize it could have been stupid of me to do so. She was harmless, however. She handed me a letter quietly and watched me take it. The now rising sun shed light on her glistening eyes.

“My name is Teieri Anri. My dream is to—“I wasn’t willing to hear a speech, so I turned around and hurried home to open the letter. I had a feeling I should keep it a secret, whatever it was. I felt that this ‘Anri Teieri’ was a genuine person, and she radiated the trust and faith I sometimes wished my parents did in me.

Things didn’t go as planned. They never do. My brother was four years old. He didn’t know any better, but I still almost resent him for that day. I was busy helping my mother with chores. Aman could walk at the time, like many four-year-olds. He saw the letter I had foolishly placed in his reach, which he brought out of my room, my comfort, and into what almost always feels like a battlefield.

“Asa, do you want to explain yourself?” My father stood, his arms to his side. He questioned why I had accepted such a letter. They never forced me to stop, but they disliked the idea of me playing professionally. Accepting a letter that was inviting me to play with real players was a sin in their eyes. My mother soon joined and began her rant. Both of their shouts were in a duet as they spat mild threats at me. My ears rang from the noise.

“Shut up!” I yelled, and then I regretted it. Silence filled the room for a brief moment. Each second felt like an escalation towards an impending doom. I trembled, wondering about the consequences of my outburst. Then, with a sharp pull, the letter ripped apart in my father's hand. I swore I felt my heart rip in sync. The two pieces fell onto the floor.

“You will never play Soccer again. It was never for you.” With that, he turned to leave, my mother clicked her tongue. I remember falling to my knees, picking the two pieces up with trembling hands. She left the dining room, where the scene took place. I wondered why the neighbors weren’t outside our house after the noise and looked at the large window. Kieymi stood there, watching closely. I couldn't read her expression. The vulnerability lay in me because I was naked. She saw through me. She fled soon after a brief eye contact.

In that moment, I knew she’d gotten the letter too.

I clenched my fists, gagging at the thought. She left an imprint of her gorgeous fucking almonds for eyes, her expression so stoic it angered me to my core. I locked myself in my room. Planning to isolate myself permanently. This big stage was for Kieymi. Not a loser like me, I thought. I fell to the floor, my head bent like I was praying to some God for the same blessings he’d showered on her. After a good thirty seconds of choking myself till my face went blue, I ran around my room searching for tape. The letter looked fucked taped together. But I’d made up my mind. Obsession always beats talent.

I was going to go to this ‘Pinklock’ and nobody was going to stop me.

Was it an escape? Was it a dream? I don’t know. When I get there, I want to see her again. And I want to shatter every piece of hope or desire that she’s ever had in the palm of my hand. Maybe… it was revenge.

The next morning came quickly. I didn’t get much sleep, like usual. I had packed all of my essentials, including the now pathetic but signed letter the night before. The night that changed everything. I carried my stuffed schoolbag to the window, from where I climbed out. It wasn’t too high to jump, but my legs still needed a little work. My father probably thought it was another day of school. But little did they know, I was gone for good. I did steal a little cash and some food from the fridge.

I ditched the ‘big game’. My priority was now elsewhere. And I knew that Kiyemi was also not about to appear in today’s match either. There was a given time on the letter, which said that if you failed to show up within, you wouldn’t be accepted. Something about ‘lock off.’ It piqued my interest, and I knew I had to explore it. Today, I feel it was the best decision I could have made at the time. It was a catalyst for my career.

My heart raced as I got into the taxi. I felt that I was doing something so wrong. So shameful. But I hushed the angry voices with music. Soon, I was outside a tall building. It was closed, as expected. The time on the letter says 1:00 p.m., and I was there at three in the morning. I waited outside, trying to get some rest on the bench. I fell asleep soon, in fear that I’d wake up dead. There was no turning back now.

“Asa! Asa-chan!” An annoying voice woke me up. The blinding sun was needles in my eyes despite the clouds following up behind. I rubbed my eyes. A light brown-haired girl stood before me, holding my belongings.

“Who the hell are you?” I rose from the hard bench.

“I watched you play in the sports day this year. Also, be a little more polite, would ya’?” Her voice was bratty yet sweet, matching the honey of her hair.

I finally grabbed the bag from her hand.

“It’s about to close, let's hurry.” She dragged me into the building with an arm. “I knew you wouldn’t show up to today's game.”

“I doubt we know each other.” My response was bland. I wasn’t aiming to make new friends.

“Yonago Kita High, right?” I wondered why this person was so excited to see me. “Ah- my name is Hoshino Tori.”

The gigantic doors behind us shut automatically, and I noticed many of us flinch. I looked around. It was an auditorium full of female players. I noticed a brown girl dressed in forest hues, and a young idol with cotton candy for hair. Then I even noticed two dark skinned women standing side by side. Some stares were intense, some were playful. I was dizzy from the earlier sun and now, the mixture of a hundred fragrances in the room.

Then… I saw Kiyemi. I wanted to hide. After what she’d seen last night, I can only expect that she’ll have a lot to tease me for. Her pin-straight, ash-brown hime cut gracefully blew by her sides as she approached me.

“What do you want?” I began. She ran a finger through my bangs, correcting my messy hair. My eye twitched. How could you be so composed? So… okay with yourself and so confident before me despite all you’ve done to me?

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her eyes skimming my features. Her voice was bland, like her expression. She looked as if trying to decode what had changed in me.

“I’m a fucking soccer player, what do you think I’m doing here?”

“Is that so?” Her voice was cold. Nothing like the warmth that once uplifted me. I didn’t grace her with a response.

Tori watched the scene unfold, stepping in. She was blissfully unaware of our past connections. “You wanna be an asshole? Go do it somewhere else, bitch.” She spat out at Kiyemi. She chuckled in response and fled, leaving a pat on my shoulder. I was a bit shocked at the pretty lady spitting such venomous words. But I was okay with it. I traced the place on my shoulder where Kiyemi had just done a moment ago, but then quickly stopped myself.

Then, the lights went out. A lanky man with a jet black bowl cut became prominent on the stage, the blinding spotlight fixated on him. We looked at him curiously. A bunch of gossips were heard before he began to speak.

“And test, test, test. Congratulations and welcome, diamonds in the rough. You are the 300 18 and under strikers who have been chosen due to my arbitrary and biased decision making. And I am Jinpachi Ego, the man who was hired to ensure Japan’s future victory at the World Cup.”

We looked at him like he was insane... Which was our first impression of him, anyway. Hired? By whom and where did the World Cup come from? He continued to speak.

“It’s simple, really. In order to outstrip the rest of the world, Japanese soccer requires just one thing. And that is the birth of a revolutionary striker. I’ll be performing an experiment to turn one of you 300 into the single best striker in the world.” The girls looked around, as if the man on the stage had just grown another head. Did he just say… experiment? We were all equally confused and even a little unsettled by the psychopathic man in front of us.

“Um… sir?” the brown girl in the crowd raised a shy hand, “By ‘experiment’, you mean real training, right? How is your training better than other training camps and team practices? And… who’s paying you?” Good questions, I thought. The man before us now was a freak, after all.

He scratched his bowl cut, “Paying me? Is that all you heard? The JFU will be paying me once a Japanese team wins the World Cup.” He shakes a hand, that money didn’t matter to him, “, and as for what makes my training more reliable than the coaches you’ve been playing with for so long... Let's just say, uh, everything. You will all play a survival style of soccer. Here, it's not just some game, but a battlefield. Your coaches focus only on the physical aspects of the game, whereas your psychology and play style are what truly create your games. I will put you through psychological warfare and break you down mentally. This will restructure you for better playing. Here at Pinklock, you will train in a hyper-modern facility with high-tech and robotic analysis, which you can find nowhere else in this country. Lastly and most importantly, your next games will not depend on your teammates or the power of friendship. But on your EGO. “

We were all suspicious of the man. And yet, we were all intrigued. He continued to speak for three to four minutes about some ‘EGO’ that we lacked. I remember him expressing some pity for the country with statements like, “Is the future of Japan really in your hands?” he looked down at us like we were trash.

“What exactly do you mean by EGO?” a girl with striped hair, who was twirling it around her finger, raised a question, “and how is it a reliable method of securing the World Cup?”

“Hm?” the man was puzzled, he scratched his bowl cut for the hundredth time. “Tell me, why is Japanese soccer still not worthy of a win? No, let me ask you this: What is soccer? Is it about the eleven players working together? The bonds you form? Self-sacrifice? Fighting for your teammates? That kind of thinking is why this country's game has remained weak. I’ll tell you the right answer: soccer is about one thing.” He paused for a brief second, which left us all anticipating his next words: “Scoring more goals than your opponent does.” He shouts out in a frantic scream, which causes us to flinch, his body bending in all sorts of weird ways. We all gasped at the sight of the freak show he was putting on.

I couldn’t help but wonder where this man picked up his ideologies from. And just why did they make so much sense? If all teammates are trying to better each other instead of focusing on creating their own goals, they’ll have minimal and luck-based goals depending on the positioning of players. But if all eleven were self-absorbed ‘egoists’ like this guy wants us to be, we’d create many and potentially legendary goals.

The man then quoted Cristiano Ronaldo, Eric Cantona, and Pele. About their selfishness. I didn’t want to believe him. He was right, but I didn’t want to. It was the opposite of everything I’d ever been taught. It was undeniable. Soccer, at its very core, was about being the one who scores the most goals. Even your teammates are competition.

“You can’t possibly become the best striker unless you’re the biggest egoist. Which is why you’re all here. So I can create a player who has what it takes. Someone to climb on top of 299 corpses. A solitary hero...” he continued. Everyone looked at each other. Some were left with their mouth agape, some frowning.

I felt a sense of disturbing belonging.

Maybe that one thing that put Kiyemi in front of me was this ‘ego’, I thought. Even if she didn’t know or put a label on it yet. Just maybe, if I could achieve something supernatural like she did on that day, I’d be able to demolish her. Surpass her. And that’s why—my foot, without my permission, stepped closer to the stage. The curtains behind him now were raised, and beyond a blinding white, I could not see. It was an unspoken invitation by the madman before us, asking to join him in his fantasies. he smiled like a maniac while he spurted what sounded like idiocy continuously. No one dared to step forward. Yet, I gravitated toward him.

“So what you're saying is...” A familiar voice claws at my nerves. “…Is that only one of us survives at the end?”

I turned to face her once more. Her almonds were now full of anticipation and the same anxiety that was coursing through my veins. I wanted to say nothing and everything to her at the same time. But I only said one, plain warning. I spoke, one last time, yet I knew a hundred more conversations were to come. I ran toward the man, like he was a savior. He did notice me, closest to the gates of what looked like heaven. What could be hell. His eyes widened as he watched me pace towards him, and all I hoped was that what she heard me say last was enough. Enough for her.

“There can't be two bests now, can there... Kiyemi?”

Authors note and characters:-

Pinklock is situated in Japan hence, all characters speak in Japanese but writen in English unless stated otherwise. The first selection will be written in past tense as it falls all the way back to November 18, 2018. It is intended that Bluelock and Pinklock occur in the same universe because after the third selection, Pinklock characters will play against the boys team. The winning team will then play against Japan’s U20. Some characters will be eliminated and some will appear later. You must trust the process. One chapter will be written per month because I am also undergoing finals as I write this. All writing done here is solely by me alone. OCs and their backstory is written by tagged people mostly. Please do not translate, plagiarize or share my work without my permission. All chapters are more that 2k and less that 5k words. You may draw a scene or character but only after permission js granted which you may do in message or ask. Background characters are untagged as they will not have much of a role. I request that all people’s who sent a character tagged below send me their discord username (preferrably in tthe cmnts) so that we may have an open discussion for suggestions and feedback. If you want to add Characters submitted by readers so forth are tagged at the end. I would greatly appreciate if the OCs tagged in this series could reblog my post because that support would motivate me to write further!

🚬 I'm sorry it took a minute, girls, and also I couldn't fit all characters into chapter zero, but don't you guys worry because they will be mentioned when it is your characters' team's turn to play against Asa's. I will try my best to write them all justly and let all of them shine. Also, someone also asked about elimination. if I plan to eliminate a character, I will discuss it with you and justify. I won't do it out of the blue, I love your ocs lol. please enjoy my babes and tell me who's your fav so far.

Find the characters and their rightful owners in my PINKLOCK CHARACTERS post.

@kiyy0mei , @innvmorati , @minlahzz , @feliwnni , @alexiaray , @kacchans-waifu , @jwmiooa , @pinkymangacaps , @cafem3wcuryy , @prettyluvvs-ichi , @plutoplue , @serial-gooner-lainl , @hygienic-law , @dollyrins , @onlykaiiisagiz , @t3chn0chan ,

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lvmimis · 1 day ago

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cw: vergil x lady in red!reader. mature but no explicit smut.

Your steps are quicker than usual, far too eager for a lady of the night, but you’ve been beckoned, yet again, by your gentleman caller for what is not the first time and hopefully not the last time.

The other women for sale find you a curiosity - those that are thought of as nothing more than property and pleasure have learned to smile but it has never truly reached their eyes, not the way yours does… There’s a sort of envy you can feel accenting the rouge of their cheeks as they watch you glide down the halls.

You were called. You were summoned.

Perhaps you are living a fantasy in your head, one where you are something more than just a warm body to lay on top of for much less than a pretty penny.

But you were called.

You want to see him. You want him to see you.

—

Vergil doesn’t know why he keeps coming back. His coat pocket weighs heavy with coins - your price isn’t high, but there is some extra money he plans to leave with you, something the brothel will not be able to get his hands on, and he has no idea why.

There is one sole thing that brought him here the first time. Not love - no, love is not found in a place like this that deals in depravity and possessiveness and commodification of a human body - but a desire to experience human warmth, something that he has been missing for many, many years, ever since that night.

It is far too easy to shirk off your humanity when you are barely that to begin with, but this one desire, the need to feel warm skin against skin, the beat of someone else's heart through one’s fingertips, is far too stubborn to leave him.

The urge does not leave, and thus he pays for sex.

Although, he only pays for it with you. Just you.

—

You still don’t know his name, but you’d recognize the icy blue eyed-stare, the stern glacial brows, and the ethereally white hair anywhere.

And as such, you’d never forget the gentle way he touches you. Not speaking with his lips, but terribly communicative with the way his tongue laves over your body and through the tenderness and desire in the varied pressure of his palms and fingers. You suspect his disposition is less sweet than serious, but you can hear something in his sighs that is too heavy for one person to bear, something that is only burdensome to a naturally sensitive soul. You’d like to carry some of that weight with him, for him even, but you suspect you may never understand.

He’s younger than he looks despite his pale features but when he’s no longer looking at you, taking you in, you sense the faraway stare of a man that has contemplated too much and found it tiresome. Still, he appears resolute always when he’s done feeling you. He never leaves immediately, but when he rises to his feet it’s with the weary sigh of an old lover who is forced to part.

“Will you tell me your name?” you ask finally, the marks of particularly zealous kisses starting to bloom on your neck, your shoulders, your upper arms, your breasts.

He doesn’t answer, and his back turns.

You should be hurt, but you can tell if he could he would. Instead you smile to yourself.

“I’ll wait for you again tonight. I like you more than my other customers,” you remind him.

He tenses but he says nothing as he slips his pants back on in the dead of night. He glances at you, his lips parting but with nothing coming out to comfort you, to confirm what you feel he holds deep in his chest.

Perhaps you’re only imagining that he’s different from your other johns, but you cannot be that far off, can you?

“Be well.”

A sack of coins is set on the countertop, far more than he’s ever offered you before, and you know automatically to keep it from the madame, to share it amongst the other playthings of the lodge.

He moves to leave, and you can feel something tugging at your chest.

This might be the last time, a sort of parting gift.

“Where are you going?” you ask, tentatively. You don’t expect an answer from him despite the fact that you ask - you are demanding too much and his thoughts are held close to his chest, but god almighty, if only he would tell you.

He smiles for the first time, and it’s a painful, beautiful thing.

And then he is gone.

You will never see him again.

—

Your son is a few days old. A shock of white hair adorns his soft, round features, and his eyes are the same blue, unburdened and clear like sky rather than hard like ice. You caress his face once before you set him at the foot of the church, the sack of gold at his side.

You expect that he’ll have a better fate than you, filled with love and light. You retreat to the dark alleys, a tainted woman of the night.

#vergil x reader #vergil x lady in red!reader #daydreams: dmc #mimi's notes #devil may cry x reader

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jinjooha69 · 2 days ago

Text

STEPDAD TOJI X READER !

Pairing - Toji fushiguro x reader (stepdad!AU)

A Man in My House

---------------------------------------------------------

content warning : Age gap, Stepdad!AU ,Power imbalance, Sexual tension and manipulation, Explicit NSFW content - Dry humping, Oral (f receiving & m receiving), Overstimulation, Teasing and edging, Semi-public scenes, Virgin!reader, Possessive and dominant behavior, Emotional distress / angst, Toxic relationship dynamics, Infidelity, Dubious morality, Family drama

prev chapter | next chapter --------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 10

The glow from your bedside lamp cast warm light across the sheets. You were lying beside Toji, both of you dressed, legs tangled like you couldn’t bear even an inch of space between you. It wasn’t even about touching. You just needed him close.

He was staring at the ceiling, arm behind his head. You rested your cheek on his chest, listening to his heartbeat like it was music.

“You ever think about how wrong this is?” you asked, voice quiet.

His chest rose and fell. “Every damn day.”

You didn’t move. “You’re too damn old.”

“You don’t have to remind me.” he said flatly.

“But it’s not just about the number,” you said. “It’s the life difference. You’ve lived through whole chapters I haven’t even started.”

He let out a short breath. “You think I don’t know that?”

You sat up, wrapping your arms around your knees. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m just something temporary. Like... maybe you’ll get tired of me once the thrill’s gone.”

His eyes didn’t leave you. “Do I look like I’m here for a thrill?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Maybe you’re just good at making people feel special.”

He sat up too, moving beside you so your shoulders touched.

“I don’t do special for just anyone,” he said, voice lower.

“You think I’ve ever snuck around and risked everything like this for someone else?”

You glanced at him. “No.”

“Because I haven’t,” he said. “You’re not a placeholder. You’re a damn earthquake.”

You looked down, fingers fidgeting. “But I still feel like... I’m just a kid sometimes. I mean, you’ve fought, lived alone, raised Megumi. I’m still in school. I still mess up. Cry over dumb things. I’ve never even done anything like this before you.”

Toji’s hand came to rest on your knee.

“Yeah, you’re younger,” he said softly. “But you’re not naïve. You’re smart. Strong. And stubborn as hell.”

You snorted. “You sound proud of that.”

“I am proud of that,” he said. “You’re brave enough to call me out. Even when I’m being an ass. That’s not easy. Most people just stay quiet and scared around me.”

You gave a small smile.

“I guess part of me just worries you’ll get tired of sneaking around,” you said. "And become normal".

Toji turned to you fully. “You want normal?”

“No.”

“Good,” he said, smirking slightly. “Because you’re not getting it with me.”

You rolled your eyes, but leaned into him again. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in closer.

“But I do think about it,” he added after a beat. “How this ends. If it ends.”

“Yeah?”

“Sometimes I think… maybe I ruin your life. You wake up one day and realize you wasted your best years on some older guy with too much baggage.”

Your chest ached at that.

“Or,” he said, a little softer, “maybe we figure it out."

You turned to look at him.

“That’s a big maybe.”

He nodded. “Yeah. But I’d take a thousand maybes if it means I get to keep you a little longer.”

Silence fell again. This time, comfortable.

You reached for his hand and laced your fingers through his.

“I don’t care about the gap. I care about you.”

Toji looked at you like you were the first thing in years that made him believe in something. He kissed your forehead—soft, steady, no heat, just warmth.

And maybe, for now, that was enough.

----

The smell of coffee filled the air before you even opened your eyes. Sunlight slipped through the cracks in your curtains, casting golden stripes across your bed. You stretched under the sheets, still hazy with warmth from the night before.

Then you heard it—a cupboard opening, something clinking on the stove.

You sat up, blinking slowly.

Toji. In the kitchen. Making breakfast.

That alone was enough to make you smile.

You padded out barefoot, wearing one of his oversized shirts and a pair of shorts. He stood at the counter, shirtless, hair still messy, cooking eggs with surprising focus. A mug of coffee waited for you on the table—black, just the way you liked it.

“Good morning, housewife,” you teased, leaning against the doorway.

He glanced over his shoulder with a crooked smirk. “Took you long enough. Thought I’d have to come carry you out of bed.”

You rolled your eyes but walked over anyway, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind.

“Mmm, you're warm,” you murmured into his back.

“And you’re clingy,” he said, though his hand reached down and squeezed your fingers gently.

“I like this,” you admitted after a beat.

“Cooking?”

“No. Us. This. Waking up with you. Coffee already made. It feels like... I don’t know. Something real.”

Toji turned around, still holding the spatula in one hand. “You mean something boring.”

“I mean something peaceful,” you said, poking his chest.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then finally your lips. It was slow and lazy—like he had all the time in the world.

“Sit down,” he murmured. “Food’s almost ready.”

You sat at the table while he plated breakfast like it was something he did every day. Two eggs. Toast. Sliced apples.

“Okay, I’m a little impressed,” you said.

“I can be domestic,” he said, setting the plate in front of you. “I just need the right motivation.”

You looked up at him, chin in your palm, grinning. “And that’s me?”

“You’re trouble,” he said, crouching down beside your chair. “But yeah… you’re the motivation.”

Your fingers brushed through his messy hair, and for a second, the world outside didn’t exist.

next chapter

taglist - @crybabysiri

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chaos--s · 2 days ago

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platonic yandere! bird hybrid family x reader

A small chick. Chirping worriedly to themself, his wings ruffled as he leaned closer trying to get a closer look. No wings, he quirked his head to the side.

A birth defect? Is that why your flock has abandoned you? You're all alone in the wrong part of the forest, the sun was setting and the night was just around the corner. He's perched up high, just out of sight deciding if he should bring back a frail chick back to his nest.

He watches as you make another sound of distress, louder this time, as you shot your hands up. You purse your lips trying not to cry any louder as you paced around worriedly. It would be against his morals to abandon such a small thing to fight alone.

He jumps down, his wings flapping slightly to soften his landing. The noise is loud and it immediately alerts you, a strangled noise of shock coming out of you. "It's alright, what are you doing out here all alone?" He croons in a soothing tone, hoping it would calm you down.

It doesn't. You seem more scared, backing away from him even more. It's okay, you're probably not used to being cared for seeing as you're roaming around the forest with no one to take care of you.

"No need to be afraid," He's coming closer to you now, ignoring the increasingly panicked chirps. "I'm gonna bring you back to my nest, it's nice and warm and you'll be all comfy and safe with me."

Poor thing, he shushes your panicked cries and scoops you into his arms, crooning softly to calm you down. "You're fine, see? I'm not hurting you little one."

You're too small to understand, you don't quieten for a moment when he speaks to you. It's okay though, he doesn't mind being patient. Taking a nap with him in the nest calms any distressed chicks, it helped his children in his flock the first time he took them home with him.

–

"Dad? What's that?"

His father walks in with a small bundle of...something in his arms. Whatever it was was covered by his wings, not allowing any of them to see anything. Kyren, the oldest of the two walks up to him to find out.

"It's a little surprise, sit back down." He has a grin on his face. Kyren looks at him suspiciously but doesn't say anything and sits down near his two younger brothers.

Finally, his wings open up and reveals a small human sniffling in his arms.

"Dad what-" Kyren is interrupted by his brother.

"Why do you have a human?" Way to ask, he shoots a glare at his brother. Eiden just rolls his eyes and looks back at his father who was still cooing at the terrified human.

"Well, this chick was just wandering around the forest all alone. I couldn't just leave them there." He sits in the nest, allowing the rest of his family to crowd around him.

"It's a human." Eiden states again. "I dunno if you can tell by the lack of wings and all."

"Don't be mean, chick." He chides again.

Huh, they both think. So he's gone off the deep end, bringing in a human this time. He croons softly when the human flinches a little, they look back down at the two boys staring at them with wide eyes filled with fear.

"Be nice, alright? I have to get some food for us tonight, they're small so don't be too rough." Their father reminds them as he lets you down, Kyren half expects you to bolt out of the nest but you stay there frozen.

Their father finally leaves after ruffling their hair affectionately. It's only them and you now. Now you start to ramble in a panicked tone, scrambling to get out.

Kyren quickly acts, grabbing you and shushing to try and get you to calm down. "It's alright- uhm, human, dad will be back soon."

"I don't think they want him to be back." Eiden remarks, snickering at his older brother's attempts at comforting the your distressed self.

"You're not being helpful Eiden- shh, shh it's okay. You're fine." He tries to be soothing but it doesn't do anything, the human just seems even more eager to leave the nest. He feels empathetic to their stress but he can't let them go.

He's been with his father long enough to know that escaping never ends well, it never works either. Kyren and Eiden have both tried and failed various times. Each time they keep getting dragged back, he would try and explain it to you but, you don't understand them.

"Please don't cry, oh no." Fat tears roll down your face. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"They literally don't understand you," His younger brother groans, moving closer to you. He stares at you for a second, his expression unreadable as he wipes away your tears. "Calm, alright?" He gestures for you to breathe.

Eiden still is wary of you but, he watches you follow his movements and take in deep breaths and finally calming down, he can't deny the fact that you are cute.

"Wow, they like you." Kyren comments, earning a nudge from his unaffectionate brother. "Just saying."

"I'm just better with human children than you, clearly." He's smug now, Kyren rolls his eyes in response. You did finally calm down, but you weren't calm. Far from it, you just stopped crying hysterically.

You were so not calm. This is fucked up. Three bird...people were crowding you. All trying to comfort you in their own way, the only reason why you even calmed down eventually was because you finally got some space.

You flinched back when the older one pulls a blanket from somewhere and drapes it over you. He pats you softly, as he says what you assume to be comforting words, at least that's what you can tell from his tone.

You didn't know. You didn't care, what you did care about was to get the fuck out of the nest.

#platonic yandere #yandere platonic #tw yandere #parental yandere #familial yandere

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pesky--dust · 2 days ago

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I don't know how many people are aware of this, but Bedelia Du Maurier was named after the writer Daphne Du Maurier.

Her most iconic story is The Birds — on which Hitchcock based his famous movie — but my favorite work of hers is The Old Man.

And if you didn't read it, I truly recommend it!! If you don't want to or you already know this story, let me tell — or remind — you about that briefly:

The titular Old Man lives in a house on the shore of a lake and fishes. He doesn't seek contact with others, he is hostile; the narrator has been warned about him. Despite his personality, he has a family — a wife and four children: a son and three daughters. One day, the couple goes somewhere with their children, and comes back alone, from now on that's just the two of them. After a few weeks, their firstborn returns home. A tragedy occurs; although the narrator wasn't an eyewitness to it, he guessed what happened — the Old Man couldn't stand this situation and killed his son. Despite his aversion to the Boy, the narrator cries when he finds his abandoned body covered with blood. At the same time, he sees how tender the Old Man is towards his wife and how much she has to love him. Shortly after this event and with the narrator accusing the Old Man of killing his son, the couple leaves their place of residence.

Bitter-sweet. Quite sad but also beautiful story about the strange, distant and cold man killing his child, isn't it? Well... not really. Actually it all was about the family of swans, which was revealed only at the very end of the story.

This raises questions about instincts and emotions, both in humans and in other species, isn't it? Sounds familiar? I guess so. Let's expand on that.

The way of narration indicates that the fate of the swan family is similar to that of a human one. The relationship between the father and the son illustrates primarily conflict of power. The Old Man kills his own child, thereby maintaining control and proving his superiority over the younger male. This also coincides with Darwin's theory about the survival of the stronger individuals.

The independence of the son who returned to the family home and who — according to the narrator — was stupid and hindered rather than helped, indicated that after the death of his parents he would not be able to survive on his own and would constitute a burden for other individuals. The father's actions can be considered brutal, but at the same time I cannot help but wonder whether the Boy's behavior and his return to the lake do not indicate some kind of defect, disability?

So yeah... I kinda feel like this story shaped the character of Bedelia to some extent — what to do with a wounded bird and all of that.

#hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannibal nbc #bedelia du maurier #daphne du maurier #hannibal shitpost #hannibal thoughts #pesky--dust thoughts #hannibal script #the old man

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fall0utmind · 14 hours ago

Note

9 rosquez 👀

As always, let me know what you think - it would be soooo appreciated xx

Things you said when I was crying + rosquez

There was a weird sound coming from around the corner, just behind the parked motorhomes. It sounded like weird snuffling, as if someone had a hand over their mouth whilst they were laughing, or crying. The gasping breaths in between made it seem more likely to be tears. Valentino inched towards the noise, holding his breath as a figure came into view. The person was dressed in red, team kit by the looks of things, curled into a small ball, head against their knees.

Valentino frowned, wondering what someone was doing here on the last race of the season. It was an odd place to be anyway, tucked off the beaten track and tucked in the narrow spaces between hospitality and motorhome. This was someone familiar with the track and the hiding spaces.

“Hello. Are you okay?” called Valentino.

The person stiffened, the sniffling immediately stopping as they held their breath. Valentino vaguely wondered whether they thought that if they didn’t move or breathe, he wouldn’t see them and would leave. He frowned.

The red looked strikingly like Ducati’s kit, the same team who had just won first and third in the riders’ championship, as well as the constructors by a country mile. The last time he had looked, their garage was in full-on party mode.

Vale groaned quietly; he couldn’t very well leave this person alone in this state. He moved close, before sinking to the ground across from the other figure. From what Valentino could see, they had chestnut brown hair and a compact body, which was all strength and muscles. A guy, if Valentino had to guess. They seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place why.

“You’re with Ducati, right?” he asked.

The figure remained silent, curling in on himself. The tears had started up again – quieter now but still the same choking sobs.

“Allora, come on”, Valentino shushed. “Look at me”

There was a broken laugh, almost mocking. Not for the first time, Valentino wondered what he was doing here, especially after his own team’s success this year. He guesses they are both just guys avoiding their team celebrations today.

There was movement in front of him, rustling, a quiet sniff. Valentino looked up as the face of the other man lifted from where he was tucked up.

Strong brows, big brown eyes, high cheekbones.

Marc.

Valentino sneered automatically, his lip curling in distaste, even though he barely felt anything about Marc apart from the inkling of regret these days.

The younger man flinched, his shoulders hitting the metal of the motorhome with a thump.

“Go on then, make fun of me”, Marc gritted out between his teeth.

Valentino’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Why would he make fun of him? Did Marc really think so lowly of him?

Well then, he thought. Might as well do the more shocking thing.

“Why are you sitting here crying after winning your ninth? I certainly remember it being more fun.” Valentino pondered.

Marc chuckled, it wasn’t a happy sound and yet-

“Why should I talk to you?”

Valentino just shrugged – he didn’t even know why he was still here, let alone why Marc would tell him his worries. If you had told him this would happen a few years ago, he would have laughed until he cried.

“You shouldn’t be crying. It is not – ah” he waved a hand through the air, trying to find the words. “It is not nice to see, you are usually smiling, no?” he finished, going for a smile himself, although only managing more of a grimace.

Marc frowned at him, confusion creasing his brows. He exhaled one long, drawn-out breath, seeming to deflate. His eyes darted around the small space, landing on where Valentino had his long legs tucked up to his chest, cramped into the small space.

Marc didn’t make eye contact as he began to talk, “I-I don’t know- it’s just a lot, isn’t it. Nine championships. The oldest ever to do it.”

Valentino couldn’t help the small flinch at the reminder, but Marc ploughed on.

“After everything that’s happened, everything I have sacrificed – the arm, Honda… you. Nine championships, it feels monumental, like I have achieved the impossible and yet there are still so many people who don’t think I deserve it.” He thought aloud.

Valentino knew what some people were saying. He also knew why they were saying it. His hands weren’t exactly wiped clean.

He cleared his throat,

“You shouldn’t worry about what they say, what do they know? They aren’t worth your tears. You’re worth those nine championships.”

“I guess, I mean- the comments, I heard someone in the pitlane. It was, um, unpleasant. But it just got to me today. It has been long and emotional.” Marc laughed self-deprecatingly.

Vale winced; he knew how bad it could get, the things that people say. He coughed, every cell in his body rebelling against what he was going to say next.

“You’re my equal now, yes? Ah, there is- I think that- there aren’t many people out there who it would be a pleasure to be equals with. You are one of them. You have certainly proved yourself. Now, if you ask me, I think you should dry your tears and go party. It will sink in soon, I know it will.”

Marc huffed, but Valentino noticed that his tears stopped and his eyes looked brighter. Pride burst into his chest, he vehemently pushed it away. He was getting soft in old age.

“I always have been a crier”, Marc admitted, looking slightly embarrassed. “I just wasn’t sure I would get here.”

Valentino smiled; he knew a thing or two about that. He reached out, for the first time in years, and laid a hand on Marc’s knee. The younger man startled, almost displacing Valentino’s hand and making them both chuckle.

They stared at each other for a beat, then two.

“Come on then”, Valentino whispered, breaking the moment.

He dragged himself to his feet, groaning as his knees clicked ominously.

“Don’t get old, Marc, it's not worth it”, he sighed as he reached forward, offering Marc a hand up, a truce maybe.

When Marc took his hand, sparks flew up his arm like an electric shock, his hair standing on end. He pulled the smaller man up until they were almost chest to chest, the moment dragging out. Valentino stared into Marc’s stupidly big eyes, slightly stunned by the sparkle he saw there.

His heart stuttered in his chest.

Valentino ripped his hand away and took a step back, he scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Well- allora, how do I say? I guess this is a truce now, yes? We are equals. Let’s go on that way.” Valentino expressed, watching the contours of Marc’s face as it shifted in surprise, and a grin broke out. He watched as it happened and wondered how he had gone so long with Marc smiling at him like that.

Valentino raised his hand, offering it to Marc, who shook it once, twice. His hand tingled when they let go.

Marc looked happier, only the red rims around his eyes suggesting that he had been crying minutes earlier.

Valentino watched as Marc turned and walked away, back towards the Ducati garages where the celebrations were in full swing, where the music was loud, and they were probably missing Marc. Even Pecco had become weirdly fond of the other man in the past year.

Valentino looked away, didn’t let himself linger on Marc’s form.

The beginning of a new era indeed.

#motogp #marc marquez #motogp rpf #rosquez #my fics #valentino rossi #asks #ask game

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444sweetmourninglamb · 8 hours ago

Text

is it wrong?

˚𝜗𝜚˚notes ➵joel miller x reader, dbf!joel, f!reader, mutual pining, age gap, no outbreak au, slowburn

Texan Junes were always sweltering—not as bad as August, but bad. Your dad was hosting a barbecue to celebrate your graduation and arrival home. You were thankful for the gesture, appreciative that he thought of you. You knew he must’ve been lonely without you in the house, but at least he had Joel, whom you haven’t thought about for a while. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him; granted, you’ve only been home for two days.

Joel had always been a part of your life. Ever since you moved to Austin, he and your dad have become good friends. It helped that he also had a daughter, who, although being a couple of years younger than you, still got along with you.

Returning home for the summer was bittersweet. All your friends– except Sam– left the state for college, and their parents moved, leaving no reason for them to return to Texas. Sarah still lives across the street, so hopefully you could hang out with her this summer.

You finished getting ready, adding finishing touches to your makeup and making sure your outfit was appropriate for both the weather and the event. Your denim shorts were a bit revealing, but it was like 100° outside, so did it really matter?

You finally decide to leave your room, making your way down the stairs and out to the backyard. A smoky scent hit your nostrils, one that you always loved. The scent never failed to remind you of a particular night you spent over at the Millers, one where Joel barbequed for you and Sarah after you spent the entire day in their pool. Your heart ached at the memory, thinking back to when you were innocent and didn’t have the stress of adulthood looming over you.

You scan the backyard, noticing how everyone was over 40 with beer bellies and button-down t-shirts, suddenly feeling out of place in your tube top and denim shorts. The grad party thrown for you started to look a lot more like a get-together for your dad and his friends. It’s not like any of your friends could’ve gone anyway, but you highly doubt any of these people even cared that you graduated–only Diane.

Diane was Sam's mother. You like her more than Sam, she was warmer, kinder, and just had a way of making everybody feel good. It didn’t take long for her to find you and begin talking.

“Hey, honey! Oh, look how beautiful…” She faux-pouted before pulling you in for a hug, your nostrils immediately filling with the scent of cheap perfume and cigarettes. “I swear you just get more beautiful every time I see you!” She coos, pulling back to cup your face with her slender hands, the rim of the beer she was holding feeling cool against your skin in contrast to the outdoor heat. Her hands lingered there for a bit before reluctantly removing them.

You awkwardly chuckle, not used to being fussed over anymore, “Aw, thank you, Diane.” You give her a sweet smile.

“Sam was just here, swear to God– he probably snuck off for a smoke or somethin’, you know how he is.” She brushed it off with a laugh. “Oh well, ‘m sure he's fine, you know how he is.” Her smile faltered slightly. “He doesn’t talk to me much lately.” She took a sip of her beer before speaking again.

“Oh! Is Joel comin’?” She asked, raising her eyebrows and attempting a flirty look, a faux-sultry smirk plastered onto her frosty pink lips. It’s a joke, maybe. But when she checks her reflection through the beer can and adjusts her bleached-blonde hair, it doesn’t feel like one.

“Um, yeah…I’m sure he's coming. Why, you got your eyes on him?” You reply with a teasing smile, eyeing the smudged eyeliner along her eyes, as if she tried to reapply it in the heat. Diane’s makeup was always smudged or unblended or something, but before you get the chance to tell her, your eyes are drawn elsewhere. Diane starts talking, but her voice is drowned out by the sound of your heart racing.

Joel Miller was standing by the gate, looking much sexier than you remember. His muscular arms straining the fabric of his denim button-up, the sun hitting his tanned face perfectly, enhancing his ruggedly handsome features.

This was so wrong…he's your dad’s best friend. You had seen him numerous times before, so why was it different now? Your pulse quickened and your breath hitched at the sight, and if possible, you began to feel even hotter. Everything seemed to slow as he began approaching you.

“Joel!” Diane looked at him with a smile, her pale pink lipstick on her teeth. You hope he doesn’t notice, for her sake. He gave her a tight-lipped smile in return before turning his attention to you.

“Hey, kid.” Kid. You hate that he called you that. 22 isn’t a kid. You were old enough to drink, old enough to do pretty much anything. But he called you kid. You just had an inner crisis about how sexy he is, and he makes his thoughts about you clear with one simple word. Kid.

“Hey.” You hated the way his smoky voice caused your stomach to flutter. You hope he can’t read the look on your face. The ‘I’m totally fucked’ face. The way the sun was hitting his face only made your heart beat faster. How could you just now realize how good-looking he is? All those times you’d hung out with his daughter, the times he's been over for dinner, driven you to practices, taught you how to fucking drive, and you just now notice how insanely handsome he is? How?

Diane placed a slender hand on your arm, her long acrylics gently poking your skin. “I’ll be right back, puddin’, I’m gonna go find my boy.” She shifted on her heels, as if waiting to be asked to stay. When no one said anything, she turned and walked off, leaving you and Joel alone. You shifted your gaze back to Joel, sucking in a shaky breath at the proximity. Never did you think you’d feel so…nervous…around him.

“Got any beer? Or’d she bring her own?” Joel asked with his sultry southern drawl that began messing with your head.

“Oh, yeah.” You turned and walked towards the cooler, taking a steady deep breath to calm yourself.

“So…done with school, huh?” He asked, trailing behind you.

“Yep. Finally…” He gave a small smile to your response.

“Don’t like school? Thought you were a good girl.” He grumbled with that velvety southern drawl. You felt a warm flush creep up your neck and settle on your cheeks, your lower abdomen tightening with arousal at his words. Fuck– no. This is wrong. This is Joel.

“T’s just stressful, s’all.” You murmur back, bending down to get two beers, hoping he chalks the flush on your face up to being summer heat. You hand him a beer, his intense, dark eyes staring at your face before dropping down to your lips, then finally, the beer you got for yourself. His eyes remained there for a moment.

“What?” You ask quietly, a confused look plastered onto your face. You felt your mouth start to dry up due to the intensity of his gaze.

“Nothin’...Just weird seein’ you drink.” He grumbles, untwisting the cap of his beer.

“Well, I’m 22, sooo…” You reply, almost like you’re trying to remind him you're an adult. You mirror his action, untwisting the cap of your own beer.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Y’r a big girl, can drink n whatnot.” He took a sip of his beer. “Where’s your dad? Haven’t seen’m yet.” You felt relieved as he changed the subject to something other than your age.

“Uh, maybe the kitchen? I’ll go check.” You hand him your beer before going in to find your dad.

“Dad, Joel's looking for you.” You say, leaning against the kitchen doorframe. You were finally able to catch your breath with the added space between you and Joel.

“Oh, he’s here? Tell him I’ll be right out. Just gotta finish seasoning these burgers…” His voice trailed off as he continued sprinkling seasoning onto the patties.

“Alright.” You say, turning back outside to find Joel. You see him with Diane, she’s playing with her bleached hair that desperately needs a tone, and batting her fake lashes at him. You love Diane, so why does your stomach churn with uneasiness at the sight of her with Joel?

While you’re walking over to him, you’re stopped by Sam. “Hey, wait.” You turn to meet his gaze, a tinge of disappointment striking your chest.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you yet.” You wrap your arms around him, he stiffens before reluctantly hugging you back.

“Missed you..” He said quietly, making your heart warm. Sam wasn’t one for affection or feelings. He and Diane were so different, you wondered how they were even related.

“Aw, I missed you.” You reply with a smile before pulling back, feeling eyes burning into you. You look around briefly before you see Joel staring right at the two of you. “Uh…how have you been?” You ask, trying to shake the feeling of Joel’s eyes.

“Good, good…I mean…Yeah, good.” He started fidgeting with his lip piercing. He was almost always fidgeting with one of his piercings.

“What about your mom? How’s she?” You ask, genuinely concerned about her well-being. You knew that if you were to ask her directly, she’d mask it with her usual cheery smile.

“Eh, same as always.” He mutters, pausing before speaking again. “I’m gonna get another beer, you want one?”

“Oh, no thanks, uh…Joel actually has mine.” You say quietly, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Oh. Well, okay…” He replied quietly before stealing a glance at Joel. The silence stretched for a moment before Sam headed over to the cooler. You began walking towards Joel, who was still watching you.

“My dad said he’ll be right out.” You said, grabbing your beer back. “Ya know, we could go in n see him.” You added, definitely not because you wanted him away from Diane and alone with you.

“Yeah, that’d be great.” He walked with you towards the house, your shoulder accidentally bumping into his arm as you walked side-by-side.

“So…Diane…” You said, looking up at him with a smug look, secretly hoping she didn’t mean anything to him.

“What’re you implyin’?” He replied lowly, his eyebrows knitting.

“Oh, nothing…” You hoped it was nothing. But why? Sarah told you she worries about how lonely he is. Diane would be good for him, right? But you could be good for him too…What? What's wrong with you? This is your dad’s best friend. Your dad’s best friend, who also happens to be over 30 years older than you.

He’s silent for a beat. “So…Sam…” He said gruffly.

“Sam?” You look up at him, eyebrows knitting.

“Yeah. He your boyfriend? Didn’t think you’d be into that whole...Goth thing.”

“It’s punk, not goth. And he definitely is not my boyfriend. We’re just friends. He’s got this Sid Vicious thing going on, and I really don’t wanna be his Nancy.” You grimaced, thinking about how toxic their relationship was.

When you two entered the kitchen, your dad was nowhere to be found. “I swear, he was in here before.” You murmur, your pulse quickening at the sudden realization that you and Joel were alone together.

“‘S fine, wanted t’get away from’er anyway.” He grumbled.

“What? Diane is awesome.” You suddenly felt guilty for stealing Joel away from her, and even more guilty as he revealed his true feelings about her.

“Not when she's ramblin bout you marryin’er son.” He took a long sip of his beer. “You got a boyfriend at school?” He asked.

Your breath hitched “No-What-Why do you care?” You ask, taking a sip of your own beer to mask the way his question heightened your nerves.

“Don’t. Just…makin'’ conversation, I guess.” He replied, leaning back against the kitchen counter. Your dad came into the room from the bathroom.

“Oh. Hey, you two.” He said, placing his hands on his hips. Joel’s eyes quickly shifted off of you and onto your dad.

“Hope you washed your hands b’fore you start touching our food…” You tease, earning a slight huff of laughter from Joel. You felt a sense of pride wash over you, It’s rare for Joel to laugh.

“Oh- be quiet. Of course I did.” He quipped back, wiping his hands on his pants.

“I’ll leave you two alone.” You turn to head back outside before realizing you hadn’t seen Sarah yet. You turn back towards Joel and decide to ask him. “Wait- Where’s Sarah?” Your stomach fluttered when you met his gaze.

“She’s away for all of June. She’ll be back in a week’r so.” He took a final sip of his beer, his dark chocolate eyes piercing into you.

“Oh…Alright.” Now you leave, hoping your dad didn’t clock the way your face heated under Joel’s gaze. Hoping Joel himself didn’t notice.

Sarah being gone means you’ll likely be seeing much more of Joel. He’ll have more free time, which will lead to him hanging out with your dad more. Your stomach fluttered at the thought, whether it was with arousal or anxiousness was beyond you.

this is also on ao3 here !!

this will be a series, i hope to upload chapter 2 very soon <3

#the last of us #dbf joel miller #joel miller #sarah miller #joel tlou #tlou hbo #no outbreak!joel miller #no outbreak au #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #dbf!joel #slowburn romance

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