#but you know. that really is just inserting something into canon that's not there at all. in canon they're just gambling with chai-un | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rasmodius-nuisance · 1 day ago

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I think this might be a good starting point for my new blog, I have a draft with my main farmer's actual profile, but this will be really helpful for me too! <3 I'll start this post by showing you how she looked 2 irl days ago, I've finally been able to get the blue bow since so that's a bonus! (I'll try to get a screenshot of that as well!) I wanted to dye her skirt to match the overall part of the shirt, but I think it ended up leaning more towards a greyish blue if something. (I'll show what it would look irl as a funfact, since I found a pic on pinterest that looked pretty similar!) I also got the longer skirt recently but I must say I like the short one better. My game is currently on fall (almost winter) so I decided to keep the long one on for now. Btw, I've realised the eyes look blue as well, they're supposed to be grey... Is this a sign that I'm going blind? lol Btw my current icon is supposed to be her too!

With that out of the way, let's begin! (Beware, long post ahead!)

(Little note, when I say "lore-wise" I mean my own lore, it doesn't necessarily have to be accurate to the canon in-game lore!)

Introduction:

Since I wanted for my main farmer to be based on me, I decided to name her Luna. "Luna" means "moon", it's like my signature thing. I love everything universe/galaxy/moon/stars related. On the other side, it sounds like a witchy name so I felt it would fit too. (I hate my irl name so that one wasn't an option.)

Spring 18

Keeping in mind that she's supposed to look like me, and giving you the earlier pic as an example, let's say she's pale and short, with grey eyes and short curly hair that she dyes black (and pressumably straightens just by brushing it), with a round face that a certain guy likes to compare with the full moon (lore-wise, lmao)

I'd say the witch hat, *insert the IF I HAD ONE meme*, but since I haven't gotten that one yet, I'm not sure. Let's say the blue bow for now!

It's supposed to be a mix between blue, dark, cold and earthy tones with witchy and cottagecore vibes, somehow? I wouldn't know how to put it into words tbh

I'm not sure yet, I'll think about it!

I'll say a lot of rock and similar (but not the hardcore one), pop and maybe a little bit of kpop. Once again, based on me lol, although my irl playlist does have a lot of kpop.

Drawing, reading, writing, gaming, listening to music, things you can pretty much do on your own. Oh, and bothering the Wizard >:3

I'd say laying on the bed while petting her (ghost) cat, thinking back to the social interactions she might have gone through that day, feeling anxious or embarrassed for most of them or shy if they involve a certain guy... But her cat won't hesitate to make her calm down, to feel at peace, trying to protect her from the bad thoughts.

I'm not good at cooking (I don't know how to do anything at all, sad lmao) so she isn't either. I haven't gotten that far on the cooking part of the game though, I do know I've already unlocked a lot of recipes but I've barely checked them, oops. I'd say cookies or pancakes!

Rainy! You don't have to water the crops nor the pet's bowl and if you struggle like me when it comes to remember about doing so, it's really helpful. However, just like I do irl, I HATE the thunders and lightnings.

Fall!

Dance of the Moonlight Jellies and Spirit's Eve

I think it's foraging. I feel like that's the easier one out of them all.

An artist or a writer

That's a hard one because I'd always say "at home" but since the in-game home doesn't look good yet I wouldn't know. Let's say the Wizard's tower or Marnie's ranch

Farm Life:

Chaos. Chaos everywhere. I'm about to finish year 2 but it still looks pretty basic. I recently tried to get rid of all the wood and rocks laying on the ground, as well as a lot of trees so it's not good yet. Going back to her aesthetic, I guess I'll try to follow the dark cottagecore witch theme.

The grey and white cat, his name is Yuki (as in "winter") and lore-wise he's supposed to be grandpa's wild late cat (he didn't really own him), poor boy passed away a little bit after grandpa did, waiting for him to come back since he didn't really know he couldn't, still waiting to this day... But he's gotten really attached to Luna, feeling a stronger connection with her than the one he felt with grandpa.

Once again, Yuki. I don't even want to get any more pets for her, he's really special to me. However, I'd love to get a black cat since those are my favorite type, but I'd still have to think about how that could fit lore-wise.

If by cabin we mean the extra houses, yes but no. One of them is currently my storage room, really basic. I think the other one still has the starting decor. I struggle with getting money lol. (I hate that you can't pick up the presents though)

Not sure!

...I haven't gotten to grow any of those yet :'D

I can't tell if I've already gotten any of these besides the first two, but I'll say the ornamental fan, dried starfish, elvish jewelry and strange doll.

Midnight carp and ghostfish

I've recently gotten new swords, I can't remember which one I'm currently using though

Let's beging with the ones I ABSOLUTELY HATE so far, the stupid serpents are number 1, they were the reason I "died" most of the times on the Skull Cavern. The other one so far would be the slimes. As for the one I like... I'll say mummies because they seem to drop a lot of cool stuff AND CLOTH! And aesthetic/lore wise so far, I'll say ghosts :D

If that means they won't be aggressive nor attack anyone anymore (including animals) I think she would. I'd say bats, skeletons, ghosts and those shadow guys.

Relationships Platonic and Romantic:

Ignoring that certain guy, sweet Evelyn (I love her, I see her as both mine and Luna's pixel grandma, I guess she just reminds me of my irl one somehow), Krobus lore-wise but he's still scared of me in-game, the Wizard (but he still hates me, although that's kinda canon lore-wise too lmao) and maybe Linus, I don't usually interact with him that much but I love him, his lore-wise story gets somehow deeper so that adds to my love for him.

Maybe Maru, Harvey, Jas and Marnie? Abigail's hearts are pretty high too but there's a reason behind that (she's Luna's ex), although they aren't as close as they used to be anymore. I'm still trying to level up everyone's but specially those I like the most, bad thing is I'm usually doing my own thing so I forget about that.

Alex for the win. He recently told me something about how you need to tan on the beach, otherwise I'll end up looking like milk (I'M ALREADY PALE AS FUCK WITH A SUN ALLERGY AND SENSITIVE SKIN ALEX), to follow up by saying how much he'd like to see me on a swimsuit. He didn't even know my name earlier today. I LOVE to check the trash cans while he's around <3 Besides him, I'll say Clint and Lewis. I almost died yesterday because of the underwear monster btw

Well, well, well (I say while looking at that well I made Robin build for me on my first days just to use it twice since)... I fell in love with Abigail a few years ago while watching a gameplay of Stardew Valley (for the first time) from an art youtuber I love. You could say it was love at first sight. I used to love her, I loved looking at fanart of her too. But Tumblr made me fall in love with Shane. I'll mention (but not tag) the main reason I fell for him, being this artist who happens to love both him and making comics about him and her farmer. I haven't been able to stop the obsession for him ever since *sigh* Tumblr and Pinterest are dangerous places, kids

For Abigail, she's a lot of things I like. From witchy stuff, to gothic, to hair-dye, videogames, amethysts, SHE OWNS A GUINEA PIG, she's weird like me (I love women too lmao)... For Shane, I wouldn't know. It's a mix of things I've gotten to love about him from each piece of fanart I've seen for the most part. As a fun fact, going back to that gameplay I was talking about, the youtuber hated him because he was really mean to her so I still hated him too even when I first started to play the game, like 2 years ago. However, I feel like I/Luna was attracted to her on a more aesthetic/superficial level but I think it's different with Shane. (ignoring the fact that all of them are pixels) I genuinely care about him, I want him to get healthy, to feel and get better (for him to begin with, for Marnie and specially Jas as well), to learn that even if he thinks no one does, there's people who deeply love and care about him, that he deserves happiness too. That he- *sigh* Okay, I'll stop now, this is getting too long of a reply.

Not yet!

For the Player:

I think this is a really common one among Stardew Valley fans, but Sandy. Just look at her. I get why Emily loves her.

I don't know tbh, I'd have to look it up or something, but I must say I actually get sad whenever the music stops playing on its own :(

Hmm... There are probably a few, but there's one I recently got while playing today. I'm not sure if this one is only on the spanish version or not but Vincent told me that I'm not as boring as other adults (although I totally am, but still) :'3 Oh! The one you get from Evelyn and George on the jellyfish event too! I recently saw a fanart on pinterest that almost made me tear up.

Spoilers! Emily's dressing-up thingie (I honestly thought punk Shane was just a random thing/meme though! omg!!). Shane's 2, first-7 and 8 heart event maybe. There are more but I have memory issues so I'd have to look it up as well.

Shane's 6 heart event for the win. His 4 heart event too. Emily's 6 heart event so far as well, don't ask me on that one though :) There might be more, but once again, I'm bad at remembering stuff :'D

Krobus plushie! I'd say the junimos too but I think that's actually a thing. Maybe a WIzard's journal too? Like, both a empty notebook type with his aesthetic and something like either the Gravity Falls or Star vs The Forces of Evil one (there's apparently another one with spells too just like in the show though??), talking about his wizard life, the magical languages he's learn (with its actual alphabet for you to have fun with it just like in the Geronimo Stilton fantasy kingdom series!, monsters, etc.

I think that's it?? I didn't expect to write THAT much to be fair so I apologize for it. It was really fun to come up with each reply though, thank you so much to @missrandomdreamer for making this little Stardew Valley quiz, I hope this was what you expected when you made it, some of my replies aren't that good so I apologize again.

I hope this helps a little to get to know both me and my main farmer, I'm not very active since I have a lot of blogs to manage (which actually overwhelms me and makes me go on hiatus most of the time, among other reasons tbh) but I hope I can find my little place on this amazing Tumblr Stardew Valley community at some point! I plan on writting too, both little fanfics and also about Luna's story, since that was supposed to be my strong point when I first started to be active on Tumblr. I also love to read those as well so I'd like to thank all of you who create. Fanfics, fanarts, moodboards... I appreciate sooo much your little magic here, you're doing an amazing job, keep it up! <3

Stardew Valley Farmer Asks

This might have been done before, but I kind of wanted to do my own spin on it! Anyone can do it but it’s just a fun Stardew Valley Farmer Asks and or Q&A list. I want to talk about my farmer and I want to hear other people talk about their farmers and experiences in the game! <3

Introduction:

What’s your farmer’s name and what is the origin of the name?

What is your farmer’s birthday?

What do they look like?

What is their signature accessory?

What is their aesthetic?

If they had a theme song what would it be?

On music, what does their playlist look like?

What are some of their hobbies not including farming?

Similar to the previous question: what does your farmer do after a long day of work? How do they relax?

Do they have a favorite food recipe? What are their favorite foods?

Favorite type of weather?

Do they have a favorite season?

What is their favorite holiday?

What is their specialty? (angling, foraging, combat etc.)

If they weren’t a farmer, what would they be?

What is their favorite place to be in Stardew Valley?

Farm Life:

What type of farm do they have?

What was their chosen animal (cat or dog) and what is the pet’s name?

Is there an animal that your farmer has a strong attachment to? Could be all, could be the fish in their chosen pond or aquarium any little animal. :3

Do you like to decorate your cabin? If so, what does your cabin look like?

What is their favorite crop?

What is their favorite fruit tree?

What is their favorite artifact/stone or other dug up item?

Do they have a favorite fish? Either for looks, food, for their pond or aquarium?

What is their weapon of choice when they have to go battle in the mines?

What is their favorite enemy in the mines ? What is the one they hate the most?

If it was possible to tame one of the monsters in the mines would your farmer do it? And if so what would be the monster they would tame?

Relationships Platonic and Romantic:

Whose your farmer’s best friends?

Who in the Valley is more acquainted with your farmer? Not a super close friend or an enemy but are just kind of like: someone they say hi to but don’t get super close to?

Is there someone your farmer has absolute beef with? Someone they honestly can’t stand and would probably get in a fight with?

Who did your farmer romance? Or did they not romance anyone?

What made your farmer fall in love with said character that they romanced? Could be in the canon game story or in your own story you write with your farmer.

If they did marry a bachelor or bachelorette or got Krobus as a roommate: what does a day in their life look like with them?

Did your farmer have children or adopt any? Tell us about them.

For the Player:

Is there someone as the player that you wish was romanceable? If so, who and why?

What is your favorite song(s) in the Stardew Valley Soundtrack?

What is your favorite dialogue in Stardew Valley?

Favorite moments in Stardew Valley?

Least Favorite moments in Stardew Valley?

What would be your dream official merch of Stardew Valley? Like what would you like to see more of or what is something you wish they made into official merch from the game? Could be a character or anything :3

#stardew valley #stardew valley q&a #q&a #stardew valley main farmer #stardew valley farmer #stardew valley luna

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blatantprinterpropaganda · 5 months ago

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you would think that the scariest part of peaceful property would be the ghosts but no, actually it's the emotional damage. and also that bit in episode 6 when they forget which bowl has the real chickpeas in it and they just sort of guess even though peach has already put that guy in a coma because of his food allergy once because oh my god what the fuck

#this is a show with many ghosts in it and it's about peach's fear so i'll take this scene as more of a metaphor and that's okay #but peach. peach my darling.#in a literal way you can't be doing that (serving 25% chance of chickpea death because you want to trust home)!! you really cannot #*#peaceful property #a headcanon way to fix this would be. when peach tastes from the two bowls he CAN tell which is the right one.#and he just wants home to tell him. which would explain why peach is the only one So Sure it'll be fine and why he's THAT set #on serving this dish that could kill or at least very seriously hospitalize a man.#but you know. that really is just inserting something into canon that's not there at all. in canon they're just gambling with chai-un

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flowering-darkness · 1 month ago

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In a turn of events that probably surprises no-one, I am once again having a Reborn moment

#heart of the void #of a city reborn (pokémon reborn)#it isn’t even- like yes a big part of it is my selfships but #I think it’s specifically because I’ve been able to make a self-insert for pokémon through it that I.. really haven’t had before #like you’d think I would have right? but I never really had a specific “this is me in pokémon this is my lore’’ sort of thing #but once I started developing adriana more - which I now have to a great extent - I was able to finally have that #and that brings me a lot of joy #and I need to play it again!! would you believe that I’ve never done a full playthrough with my/adri’s canon team?#I beat the elite four + champion and did the postgame with her second timeline team because I live-streamed the whole thing #so I’ve technically done second timeline but not third. which is the current one.#I started it but only got as far as.. I think like blacksteam factory? which isn’t far at *all!*#so!!! I need to play this game again #but I think the fact I know 19.6 is coming is possibly what’s holding me back?#that and the fact I’ve been spending all my available gaming time of late on FFXIV. which I *enjoy* but it’s *the only game I’m playing*!#so. I don’t know. I’m just having a moment.#I can never recommend the game to everyone in the world because of its tone and contained content #but.. even so.. it means something to me..

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thegreatyin · 1 year ago

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being a big fan of gender selectable and/or gender ambiguous characters is so hard because everyone defaults to calling them a guy all the time and it's like. i GUESS that's correct. i guess. you're perfectly free to decide that because that's the point of gender being choosable and im not one to dictate how you play or interpret your playthroughs or opinions on the game. im still gonna fucking kill you though.

#being a guy with a nonbinary durge trying to read analysis and fanworks is painful. yeah the default is a male dragonborn but like.#Give Me Something Here Dear Lord #yin-thoughts #i feel the same way about doctor arknights but if anything that's even worse bc they're not even a player insert #they're just an already existing person the player occupies the position of like a meatsuit. their gender is Doctor #i can only presume this is how undertale fans feel abt frisk and chara and kris (is an undertale fan and already knows the feeling)#idk how to express this. there's a difference between a character being canonically nonbinary and just like #having their gender decided by the player's own interpretation #and durge technically Isn't canonically nonbinary. but they ARE gender selectable. and there is a difference between canon durge and like #the durge you can make in the character creator on a durge route. but it's still always Really Jarring to see them default to being he/him #yknow?#this is all unrelated to my previous post btw this came to mind as an unrelated thought

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lemonduckisnowawake · 11 months ago

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*gasps as I crawl up to this blog, covered in blood and sweat and gore* After 300 pages of story scenes, 700 pages of short stories, multiple documents of additional short story dumps, 7 folders, and some other things, I have successfully found at *least* FIVE romance scenes that aren't written with hatred and pain, aren't written out of spite, aren't made to be ridiculous and/or funny, aren't heavily made to be an allegory, aren't noncanon cause meh, AND aren't made to be a tragedy. At least 5 (it's sadly less than five but I'm done looking at what I didn't) small written things in over 6 years of Serious Writing that feature a romance that is soft, taken seriously, canon, AND not made to be purposefully ridiculous cause I Could Not.

All that to prove to a friend I could do romance softly and seriously after they shared something really very sweet and well written. ALL THAT JUST TO SHOW THAT I KIND OF ALREADY SHARED SOMETHING LIKE THAT A FEW WEEKS BACK

#i hate romance #it is suffering. it is pain. it hates me just as much as i hate it #AND THE THING IS #i may cry about my allergy to the feeling but I'm actually...okay???? with it???#like most of my beef with it is the fact that people expect me to think it matters personally to my life (no)#or that it's just...badly treated even in fiction trying to glorify it (that's the first problem)#lemon duck quacks #by the way the thing i finally shared was still very funny (to me) but honestly sickeningly cute and awkward #i cannot believe i wrote it #lets see...there was skies (implied romance though)#then two non canon ficlets (hence they didn't COUNT)#and two separate things that were 20 pages (ew. old writing) and 14 pages (a lot funner) but TOO LONG #so ...4 in total #i am almost certain that i DID have something in my fairy tale retellings folder #But You Would Not Believe The Amount of Romances That Focused on Dynamics Between People That were NOT The Main Couple #like i would have people react to it or have some Outside Dynamic between one of the couple members and someone else #discussing it #oh there was also the chives romance scene (had outside interference though and not really soft)#and another outside interference awkward flirting scene (so also didn't count)#and yes i KNOW for a fact that I inserted characters to interrupt romances on purposes because younger me disliked having them #but really and earnestly thought books should have it at least somewhere for non mcs #anyway i think will go lie down and contemplate my choice to use a sunday to hunt down any (relatively) sane romances I'd written

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astonmartinii · 11 months ago

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ice, ice baby (literally) | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x raikkonen!reader

the ice man may have never spoken, but his daughter never shuts the fuck up

based on the request from @blue-skyandstars

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, sebastianvettel and 783,409 others

yourusername: taking names and kicking asses (and getting all assignments in on time with an appropriate amount of ass licking)

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user1: i love how she is so clearly kimi's daughter

user2: the only two blondes that don't freak me out

user3: insert that paris hilton clip "can i have two more of these little blonde bitches?"

maxverstappen1: what's an appropriate amount of ass licking and can i demonstrate on you?

maxverstappen1: wait! who said that?

yourusername: in your dreams car boy

maxverstappen1: trust me i see you in my dreams all the time

yourusername: so that's why you're always in the shower when i call you in the morning....

user4: i'm new here, are they together?

yourusername: wouldn't you like to know weather boy

maxverstappen1: she's actually my sleep paralysis demon, sorry to say

user5: they're so unserious

kimiraikkonen: keep those studies up i'm paying the bills

yourusername: i promise to use my status as a nepo baby for good papa 🫡

kimiraikkonen: proud of you.

user6: we love a self aware girly

user7: the raikkonen household really is the best balance, a guy who acts like talking causes him physical pain and a girl who couldn't shut the fuck up if she tried

yourusername: no way i'd rather it be

charles_leclerc: how many versions of that shirt do you have?

yourusername: enough...

charles_leclerc: and i'm the one who is a threat to national security when i go shopping

yourusername: that trouser collection should get you on some sort of list

user8: all these f1 drivers in her likes and comments and she's not cuffed... why is she fumbling so bad

yourusername: am I fumbling or are THEY?

user9: expose the dms please

yourusername: that would not be pg13 soz!

maxverstappen1

liked by kimiraikkonen, landonorris and 1,094,556 others

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maxverstappen1: oh look who decided to come back

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user10: max is so annoyed that she decided to go to school in the us that he makes all american fans lives hell by winning all the races

user11: so true of him

landonorris: matching books? you're such a simp

maxverstappen1: is a man forbidden to be in a book club? who backwards of you lando

yourusername: just because you can't read, don't take it out on us

landonorris: i can read!

yourusername: name the last book you read

yourusername: and that doesn't include searching your name on twitter

landonorris: can you go back already, you're so mean

yourusername: don't come for our two man book club if you can't handle the smoke

maxverstappen1: what she said

user12: i love how spring break starts and y/n doesn't even go to see her dad, straight to max

maxverstappen1: kimi is coming! i am NOT a bad friend who deprives y/n of her dad

user12: you're also scared of kimi

maxverstappen1: i'm also scared of kimi

danielricciardo: you're in my building and i don't get any baked goods... i see how it is

yourusername: as if max is allowed to eat them anyway they're for dad

danielricciardo: i promptly take back anything i've ever said

user13: max has got to be down bad to have that much baking equipment in his house when it's canon he can barely cook eggs

yourusername: if he wanted to he would

user14: is this confirmation?

yourusername: i hope those are paper straws you're grasping at

maxverstappen1: why wouldn't i make sure i have the equipment to get my worker bee to make me sweet treats (don't read that rupert)

user15: i'm on to you two ... there's something shady going on here

sebastianvettel

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sebastianvettel: she's too old, i miss when she was a nice and polite child

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user19: annual god father seb appearance

user20: y/n please work your magic to get him to a race this weekend

yourusername: i'm working on it! watch out for suzuka

user21: the people's princess truly

yourusername: rude! i am a very polite young woman 🙁

sebastianvettel: yes you are, but also when you were ten you didn't bother me with your love life

sebastianvettel: and you weren't so fussy with food

yourusername: I AM NOT FUSSY I JUST HAVE AN ACQUIRED TASTE

sebastianvettel: you asked me to uninvite lewis to our dinner plans because you "hate that quinoa shit, i'm hungry enough to kill a horse with my bare hands"

yourusername: and i'd say it again!

lewishamilton: first of all: rude. second of all: i knew there was a reason you and max get on so well - BLAND

maxverstappen1: just because my food doesn't turn my shit green or couldn't accidentally be sold in the rabbit section of the pet store doesn't make me BLAND

yourusername: i don't trust a man who makes non-alocholic tequila THE FACT IT GETS YOU DRUNK IS THE BEST PART OF THE TEQUILA ONLY WEIRDOS DRINK TEQUILA FOR THE TASTE

lewishamilton: gasp! you said you liked it!

yourusername: i try to be supportive okay :(

user22: well that was something

user23: max always coming to the rescue ... makes you think

charles_leclerc: i am sensing some blatant favouritism here

mickschumacher: i never get invited on baking weekends :(

yourusername: snooze you lose ladies

sebastianvettel: this is exactly what i mean y/n

yourusername: my bad! i'm sorry my god father loves me more than you :p get well soon

sebastianvettel: that's not-

charles_leclerc: consider yourself in beef

yourusername: it's on babe

user24: gosh i'm so confused WHO THE FUCK DO I WANT TO GET WITH HER

yourusername

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yourusername: boy, oh, boy am i ready to finish this semester

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user26: i see tulips i do deduce that they are from max verstappen 🤓👆

user27: i hate you invasive leeches (i believe this and it is now my personal headcanon)

maxverstappen1: SEAT BELT PLEASE

yourusername: i swear i did 😫

maxverstappen1: you need to protect the precious goods

landonorris: you never tell me that 🙁

maxverstappen1: you're not precious goods, hope this helps x

landonorris: i see how it is

yourusername: don't hate the player, hate the game lando

user28: they've either got the single most flirtatious friendship ever to exist or they're together

user29: if they are just friends and those flowers are from her actual gf - i am not being dramatic but i would take a long walk off a short plank

user30: i feel like they'd be the ultimate cockblocks for each other 😭

kimiraikkonen: proud of you bub

yourusername: i am losing hair from academic stress i hope you're happy papa

kimiraikkonen: i am 👍🏻

yourusername: i am losing hair - LOSING HAIR THIS IS A BIG DEAL YOU PAY FOR MY APPOINTMENTS

kimiraikkonen: you need a college education so you're not wasting all of my money - i also pay your sorority dues so be nice to me

yourusername: i'm tired let me be the low effort nepo baby i am meant to be

user31: can kimi raikkonen pay for my hair appointments too?

jensonbutton: is that MY CAR?

yourusername: you put me on the insurance?

jensonbutton: yeah for when your car was in the shop - i thought shelby was still in my garage?

yourusername: not to victim blame but having so many cars you don't notice one is gone, that's on you

jensonbutton: @KIMIRAIKKONEN YOUR KID STOLE MY CAR

yourusername: britt gave me the keys !!!!!!

kimiraikkonen: you got duped by a 21 year old, that's not my fault

user32: kimi when y/n jokes about dropping out 🤨 kimi when y/n steals one of jenson's cars 🥹

maxverstappen1

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maxverstappen1: ice, ice baby (except you're smoking hot)

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user35: WHOOP WHOOP LET'S FUCKING GO

user36: max already having the approval of kimi, that's my king

maxverstappen1: make no mistake i went to the raikkonen household with many offerings before i asked for his permission

user37: and if he had said no?

maxverstappen1: i would've asked y/n regardless 🫡

kimiraikkonen: 🤨

maxverstappen1: uh? i'm digging my own grave but i love your daughter so that's all the matters right? RIGHT?

kimiraikkonen: 🙄

maxverstappen1: WOULD IT KILL YOU TO USE THE KEYBOARD I'M HAVING A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN HERE

user38: the way max got given approval on live tv with more words than we've heard from kimi at any point in his career and he's still a shaking mess

user39: anxious girl representation

yourusername: you melted this icicle

maxverstappen1: eh i think you've always been a softy

charles_leclerc: like softserve ice cream? shop @lec now!

maxverstappen1: do you fucking mind?

yourusername: really? on the post of my boyfriend professing his love?

charles_leclerc: god forbid a guy chases the bag (also he called you smoking hot, that's hardly a profession of love)

maxverstappen1: you little rat

yourusername: lifetime supply of lec and a flavour named after us and consider yourself forgiven

charles_leclerc: i don't need your approval that much

yourusername: @kimiraikkonen @sebastianvettel you seeing this shit?

charles_leclerc: fine... weaponising your dad and god father is a low blow

yourusername: also! i love you baby - thank you for putting up with my constant yapping xx

maxverstappen1: i love you even more, i can't wait for you to finish college so i never have to share you ever again

kimiraikkonen: 🤨

maxverstappen1: AND YOUR LOVELY FAMILY

yourusername: they love you really maxy don't worry

yourusername

liked by sebastianvettel, jensonbutton and 1.945,440 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

yourusername: i'm so talented, i brought three more championships to the family without even getting into the car

view all comments

user40: okay idk why yall were shipping anyone else, i've seen one picture of them being cute and am sold

user41: i'm so convinced this happened cause max saw people were convinced she was with other people on the grid and he had to mark his territory

maxverstappen1: yes i was jealous but can you blame me? prettiest girl in the world actually wanted me back. i will not fumble this

user42: i need my man to be this down bad for me

kimiraikkonen: cute.

yourusername: thank you papa xxx

maxverstappen1: THANK YOU KIMI, LOVE YOU KIMI

yourusername: i think he gets it babe...

maxverstappen1: first time i've got a non-emoji answer, i will savour it

user43: oh my i love them your honour

sebastianvettel: happy for you guys, see you guys soon

yourusername: love you seb!

maxverstappen1: thanks for the vote of confidence seb

sebastianvettel: you may be a literal nightmare child, but you're our nightmare child now

kimiraikkonen: what he said

maxverstappen1: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH (i am ignoring that you called me a nightmare child, i was 17 give me a break)

yourusername: you guys he's crying hahahahahah

maxverstappen1: i just love you guys (y/n more)

yourusername: i love you too xx

user44: so liked now we've got the relationship reveal... when do we get both y/n and kimi in the red bull garage

user45: lets up the stakes and get max, kimi and seb in the 24 hours of le mans

yourusername: oh now you've started it - he's already on the phone to adrian

maxverstappen1: am i the first nepotism boyfriend?

kimiraikkonen: you might be the favourite of the in-laws if you get me a le mans win

maxverstappen1: y/n is an only child? i'm the only in law?

kimiraikkonen: yes?

maxverstappen1: I'M ON THE PHONE TO ADRIAN

yourusername: did i just lose my boyf to my dad?

fin.

note: babe the writer's block is back. but i'm fighting it. hope yall enjoyed this!

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #f1 social media au #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen social media au

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glamourscat · 3 months ago

Note

MASSIVE SLAY for calling out the tim drake mischaracterization. If you ever write for him I'll be the first one to read istg

⋆˚౨ৎ Tim Drake HCS ౨ৎ ⋆.˚

<33, thank you :') Tim is not only my fav Robin, but perhaps my fav batfamily member. I can yap about him for hours lmao. and since i am a yapper at heart here some headcanons for Tim, along side A SMUTTY ONESHOT

habit of FaceTiming you after patrol and using it as a gossip (shit talking) session “And you won’t believe what that motherfuck—“

CEO of “this is us”. Spams you with TikTok’s and cringy memes that remind him of you two together or just you in general.

He is chronically online, but not in the cringy gen alpha way, but in the way that he somehow knows every obscure gossips / cancellations happening. Even in niche that he is not into (like chef tini's thanksgiving mac and cheese controversy)

He is so smart, with the highest IQ in the batfamily after Bruce and yet he somehow decides that it's a good idea to try and take the piece of stuck toast with a fork... in a plugged, working, toaster. He is the type of person who's smart academically, gifted even, but never tries-- in fact he finds school boring (and i think this is canon)

Has a private account on social media, the ones that look like fake/bots right? Private with like 10 followers, and he posts mainly his s/o, pictures with his friends and his photography pictures.

He knows how to skate in canon. Stay assured he will teach you how to skate too. Late night skate practices when he doesn't have patrol, or during the summer going to the arcades together -- or driving to the nearest 7/11 to buy a slurpee.

OVER HIS DEAD BODY will he admit this, but he is a cuddler enjoyer. He is pretty short, so if youre slightly taller than him or larger, he is heaven. He likes to bottle up his feelings until he explodes, but, in those quiet nights when he can rests his head on your chest and relax by the sound of your heartbeat... he knows it will all be alright.

Doesn't know how to enjoy things normally. It's even all in with him or none at all. (like i mentioned here) emotionally he is stunned. He either goes down the rabbit hole and become utterly unhinged or is nonchalant, and you know in that moment you have lost him. This can apply for both relationships, friendships and even things like watching a new show or read a new book.

Is so pretty. Long black eyelashes, soft blue eyes that are so bright, his hair are of a shade of black that reminds you of the midnight sky. His muscles are just right. He is pale and yet has a warmness to him you can't really explain.

When he is not patrolling he actually has a pretty stable routine. Tim can be a control freak, and surely he, as the work alcholic vigilante he is, won't make his immune system— which is already weak withouth a spleen— grow any weaker. He takes great care of himself. With going to sleep early, taking breaks, drinks tea, morning walks at 6am...

Has a loud mouth. Most will assume Jason would be the one to swear the most right? And I mean, he is, just not the number one. The number one is this meany right here. Who, in every three words, inserts a swearing word you didn’t even know existed.

Secretly a romantic but not in the "normal way." His love would show up in the little things -> like taking notice of what you like, your fav characters, songs, foods, colour, animal etc.. and keeping it mind when needed. He is there for you when you need him, and he might not be good with words, but for sure he is good at taking care of you with touch.

MIXED TAPES!! You lost the count of how many burned CDs he gifted you, with an accurate playlist of songs chosen mirroring what he wants to portray. Anniversary? Bday? Holidays? He will gift you one along side another present for sure.

“What is this?” Your voice holding a hint of curiosity, surprise even as you look at him with soft eyes

“Pre anniversary gift. I wanted to gift you something— meaningful I suppose” he says shrugging, trying to act nonchalant but failing miserably as his big blue eyes were waiting to hear your contentment.

“Aww, you’re so cute …” you tease, on purpose making your tone slightly higher pitch. It might seem sarcastic, but truly it's not. Because you’re extremely grateful, every mixed tape is a little treasure you cherish with all of your heart. You just enjoy messing with him, because his face goes always so red.

“Alright, shut up now” he says, while rolling his eyes. Trying to act annoyed, but you can see right through him. He is miserably failing with this little act, because his love sick smile is big enough to bright the whole room.

百個心都裝唔晒我對你嘅愛= A hundred hearts would be too few to carry all my love for you | in cantonese

Playlist: Slide away - oasis Useless ID - Kiss Me, Kill Me Kiss Me Deadly by Generation X When it’s time - green day somebody - depeche mode Just like heaven - the cure First date - blink-182 Lucky man - the verve Good good things - descendents Teenage Bottlerocket - Spend the Night Teenage Bottlerocket - Don't Go

The drawing is made by me btw!!

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macfrog · 11 months ago

Text

san angelo | one shot

what happens when joel miller meets his star-crossed lover?

big love to @mrsmando and @5oh5 for cheering me on with this one, and @bageldaddy for being my eyes, my ears, and - only sometimes - my brain.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader summary: it's the summer of two thousand eight. after two weeks following his little brother cross-country on the back of a harley, joel follows him through the doors of a dive bar - where fate delivers him to you. warnings: story is inserted into canon, so cordyceps outbreak happens, sarah dies (off-page), joel dissociates, doomed love, lots of mention of fate, alcohol consumption, reader is a smoker, cursing, drunken one-night stand, oral sex, unprotected piv, joel's cock is massive, a lot of angst, a lot of fluff, a lil smut to tie it all together. enjoy! word count: 9.8k

moodboard | main masterlist | playlist [in case you wanna vibe in sad] | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🤍

Palm lines.

It’s the first thing he thinks as soon as she stops moving in his arms. The second her little whimpers cease, the moment her chest stops heaving and her eyes glaze over. Suddenly, Joel’s little girl weighs more than he can bear.

Palm lines. And he has no fucking idea why.

He closes his eyes and there you are. The whir of the ceiling fan, the tinkling of bracelets loose on your wrist. You have sorta earth hands, you told him. Or, well – they could be water, if you look at ‘em this way. I don’t really know. I’m still learning.

You told him that air hands were long, spindly. And Sarah was always a lanky kid – tallest on the soccer team, head and shoulders above the other girls by the third grade. Her hands, he thinks, must be air. They must be.

Her fingers are still twisted around his right now. Lifeless, slippery with the blood still wet and quickly cooling.

Joel cradles her, squeezing so hard that he wonders whether he might be able to fuse their bodies together. Lock them in some white-knuckle grip so that he never has to let go of her – never has to leave this hill covered in dirt and blood.

His palms are ruined; a maroon river carving its way down his heart line, dirt deep in the groove of his life line. Why does he even fucking remember what they’re called?

Why the fuck are you what he’s thinking about, right now?

“Tommy,” he says, opening his eyes again. “We gotta…we gotta get to…”

She’s limp, draped over his thighs as though she’s nothing more than a stretch of crimson curtain. He looks down at her and begs her to come back, begs her to open her eyes and look up at him again.

But the night is passing and she’s still not breathing. Dawn is breaking and Joel’s daughter is dead.

He sucks in a shattered breath. “…to San Angelo, Tommy.”

The younger Miller stuffs his gun into the back of his jeans and paces over, soles coated thick in shit and grass. “I hear you, Joel.”

“You ain’t listenin’ to me, I –”

“I’m listenin’ fine, Joel.” Tommy hooks his hands under his niece’s arms. “Now, help me lift her. We can’t…” his voice strains, fighting the death grip his brother has on the girl, “…we can’t leave her here.”

Joel’s frozen to the spot; sinking further and further into the earth. Staring at his open hands, the stains like rust on his palms. He says to San Angelo again, and Tommy snaps.

“Jesus, Joel, enough! I’ve heard enough goddamn it! I see your hands, now – we gotta fuckin’ bury Sarah.”

Your fate line, your nail tickled, and Joel held his hand steady, It can change, if something big is coming.

Somethin’ big? he asked. A little younger, a lot more naïve. Still a healthy dose of belief in the world, an echo of the god-fearing faith that raised him.

His hand felt so light, cradled in two of yours. He half hoped he’d never have to let go – just lie there with you forever. Your legs tangled with his, the sheets disturbed; the room injected with amber from the streetlights outside.

You nodded. A big shift, or something.

And he scoffed. He actually scoffed, right there and then. Incredulous. The hell kinda big shift is comin’ our way? he asked, laughing.

You just smiled back, shrugging. You were so fucking casual, that whole night. It would’ve unnerved him, if he hadn’t been so swept off by the sparkle in your eye, the glowing cherry of your cigarette.

Guess we just gotta wait ‘n see.

It’s August thirtieth, two thousand eight.

Almost five thousand miles on the back of a Harley, and Joel just wants to go home.

He arches his aching back, palms flat against the crests of his hips, and blinks in the light from the food mart in front of him. Twenty-six, he thinks to himself, only twenty-fuckin’-six.

It’s ninety degrees out. An uncomfortable heat, for a man who feels ten years older than he really is. For a man who hasn’t had a decent shower in almost two weeks. For a man who’s spent the last six hours tailing the brake lights of his little brother’s bike.

The sweat gathers sticky between his shoulder blades, prickles along the nape of his neck. There’s dust spattered down his bare arms and buried in the grooves of his knuckles.

He’s tired. He’s tired, he’s dirty, and goddamn, he wishes he was back home.

He holds a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, the yellow sky melting to a purple haze. Squinting, he follows the soar of two swallows overhead, looping through the sky, until he’s rubbing the image from his eyes with the back of his wrist.

He’s gotta remember to call Sarah before she goes to bed.

The door opens with the tinkle of a brass bell older and rustier than Joel feels. A swaggering figure splits the glow from the store in two – a figure with a pack of Marlboros in one hand and an already half-empty bottle of water in the other.

Tommy holds them both out to Joel, who swipes the water with a scowl.

“Ain’t killed you yet, brother,” Tommy scoffs, stuffing the cigarettes into his back pocket. He swings a frayed-denim leg over the seat of his Harley.

Joel drains the bottle, panting as he crushes the plastic in one fist. “Damn near tryin’,” he mutters, tossing it in the trash. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip.

“Where are we?” Tommy asks. He glances over his shoulder, staring from the cracked roads to the telephone wires overhead. A Syclone pulls into the lot; a dehydrated squeal as it rolls to a halt.

“San Angelo,” Joel says. “Only a few more hours to go.” He settles on his own bike, pulling his leather jacket over his shoulders. “We passed a Super 8 coming into town, if you feel like restin’ up. Or – we leave now, be home around midnight.”

Tommy chuckles. “What’s the rush? We ain’t gotta be anywhere anytime soon.”

And Joel agrees – for the most part.

His mom is watching Sarah while they’re gone, and he reckons she’s hardly missing him. Too smart for her own good, Joel’s realizing: plotting and scheming her way into staying up past her bedtime, drinking Pepsi at dinner, watching Curtis and Viper – and swearing that her dad lets her do it all, too.

But, still. He misses his kid.

It’s the most they’ve ever been apart – time or distance. The longest he hasn’t had her climbing up his back or hanging off his arm. The least he’s been called Dad since he was eighteen years old.

He just…misses his kid.

He sighs, drumming his fingers on the body of the bike. “Tommy, I gotta get back home to Sarah.”

“Look,” Tommy says, and Joel knows that the argument is lost already, “By the time we got back, she’d be asleep anyways. Let’s leave in the morning – first thing, I swear – and we’ll be home in time for breakfast. Deal?”

They stare at one another, a stand-off in the parking lot. Both waiting for the other to break. The swallows gather on the roof of the store, basking in the weak wash of flickering fluorescents.

“Come on, brother,” Tommy pleads, “It’s one more night.” He lifts his helmet, punching it over his mop of shaggy hair, and kicks the bike to life.

Joel growls to himself, watching it drift over to the side of the road.

He considers heading to the Super 8 alone, grabbing a room only to shower and get some food, then hitting the road and leaving his little brother in the dust. Waiting for him to stumble through the door tomorrow morning – tired, groggy, probably hungover – while Joel, fresh as a daisy, drizzles syrup over Sarah’s pancakes and pours her orange juice.

He’s a pragmatic man. He’s a grown-up. Scares away the ghosts and ghouls and monsters of his daughter’s nightmares. Shushes her back to sleep in the crook of his arm, tiptoes as lightly as he can out of her room so as not to wake her.

Things like God, like the universe, things like horoscopes and laws of attraction…for the most part, Joel can do without them. Has done his whole life.

But then – the glow of indigo overhead, and the mysterious shadows lurking behind the buildings. The birdsong tittering in his ears, the twinkle of the sun in Tommy’s helmet – something distant in the dusty sphere.

Something, someone, winking at him from far away.

Something a little heavier than the breeze nudges at his spine, and Joel’s arms lift – fitting his own helmet over his head. He swings the heel of his boot into his kickstand and revs the bike, Harley roaring as it joins Tommy’s out on the boulevard.

Murphy’s is a small, green bar on the corner of an intersection. All peeled paint lettering and buzzing fluorescents – the y burnt out and pulsing.

Joel doesn’t think Tommy picked it for any reason other than the huge Lone Star mural on the side of the goddamn building, the way he tosses his thumb to it as they park up. A squint smirk on his face, muttering something like ‘s good to be home, big brother, as they hook helmets over handlebars.

Tommy leads Joel inside, their boots tacky on the wooden floor. Walls paneled by aged frames and sun-bleached photographs; air hanging thick with a smell like vinegar. The babble of slurred conversation is pierced by the sharp crack of pool balls breaking.

Metal-plate belt buckles snaked through strained jeans; low eyes which shift to size-up the two strangers. They all turn back to their fingerprinted glasses when Joel and Tommy settle into an empty booth.

It feels hotter in here than it is outside, stuffier. A thick humidity which clings to Joel’s bones, humming like the string lights draped from beams above his head.

Tommy reclines between the creaking leather cushion and the wall. He pokes at a yellowing poster of some Western, hums to himself, and then looks across the table.

Joel’s eyes loop once around the room before they meet his brother’s. “What?” he asks.

“First round is yours, old man.”

“Oh, is it, now?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Thought this was your idea?”

A weedy grin stretches across Tommy’s lips. He needs to fucking shave, Joel thinks. Whiskers poking from around his small mouth like pine needles. “’s my birthday trip,” he reasons.

And can Joel argue with that? Does he have the fucking energy? Will it get him out of here and back to Austin any quicker?

“Goddamn it,” he grumbles. He pushes himself to his feet, heels of his palms against the tacky wood.

He wanders over to the bar, tugging on the front of his tee to unstick it from his damp chest. Slots in beside an ivory cowboy hat with a pair of jeaned legs. The man fixes his bolo tie and watches Joel’s hand as he flags the bartender down.

And then he feels it.

You.

Then he feels you.

First, the weight of you – crashing some into his back. He shunts forward from the suddenness of it, knocking his ribs against the bar, and lifts a hand to brace himself on the ledge.

And then – heat, like an iron. Like every hair and freckle on your skin is branded into his the second you come into contact with him. A feeling like the roll of a wave against his spine, a hand hooked around his forearm when he begins to turn.

“Shit,” you hiss, steadying yourself on the curve of his shoulder. You glance down at your feet, clicking between your black boots. “I’m sorry, that was…that was my bad.”

“’s alright,” Joel says instantly. He holds his arm still until you let go and he sidesteps – though only a little. He watches, dumbstruck, as you rest your elbows on the bar and lean forward. His eyes linger on your back, trailing the crisscross straps wrapped tight over your spine.

You squint up at the menu pinned above shelves of crystal bottles. Your eyes move back and forth across the chalkboard, slowly descending until they’re meeting his in the speckled mirror opposite – a sweet smile growing on your lips.

It runs like whiskey through Joel’s veins: warm and dangerous.

And the way his head spins, the way the world blurs for a moment into one swipe of color around you; the way your cooing laugh echoes between his ears long after he’s heard it –

Joel’s already intoxicated.

He’s still staring when you pull back and motion to the bar. “You can go first, by the way,” you say, waving a hand. “I wasn’t cuttin’ in line. Just trying to read the drinks.”

“I’ll wait,” he replies, remembering how to be polite, how to be charming. Old cogs long out of use jerking to life inside him again. “Can’t read any of ‘em, either, anyways.”

It draws from you that same little laugh, a puff of air from your nostrils. You nod, biting your bottom lip.

He’s quickly forgetting why he’s stood in this room, why he’s in this city. He’d probably forget his own fucking name if you asked him right now what it was.

“’nother drink, darlin’?” a low voice interrupts, and you’re turning away.

Joel’s eyes follow you – a moth chasing something golden and radiant – as you face the wiggle of a snow-white mustache poking from beneath the brim of that ivory cowboy hat.

You shake your head, lifting two fingers with a bill slipped between them. “I’m good, thanks, George. Maybe next round.” You wave to the kid behind the bar – some name that Joel’s too fucking mindless to hear. Too distracted by the glint in your eye, the sparkle of your crescent moon earrings in the light.

If only he knew this feeling. If only he could put a name to it. As familiar as the sun and yet, brand new like dawn. His stomach swirls in a fleet of butterflies – as though he’s fifteen again, bumping elbows with his high school crush.

You nudge him, thumb pointing in the direction of the bartender.

Joel shakes his head. “Ladies first,” he says, heart skipping when you hold his stare.

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head, “Told you I ain’t jumping in.”

He asks the guy for two beers, barely taking his eyes off you. “Alright,” he leans in, lowering his voice, “Then let me buy you a drink. Make up for gettin’ in your way just then.”

You prop your chin on your knuckles, grinning as you push your twenty around the wooden bar top, dodging pooled rings of alcohol like it’s an arcade game. “I don’t do that,” you say, eyes tracing the slick trail left by the bill.

“Do what?”

“Accept drinks from strange men in bars.”

His tongue presses against the back of his teeth, the taste of humor honey-sweet. “Yeah? ‘n how long have you known…” he nods to the – what is he, sixty? Sixty-five? – year-old on your right, “…George?”

Your gaze lifts, eyes wide. Apparently as impressed by Joel’s confidence as he is himself. “We’re actually in a very serious relationship. Marriage proposal imminent.”

“Damn,” he mutters as the bartender reappears with two Coors, “And here I thought I had half a chance.”

You hum to yourself, studying him. Looking from his jaw across the span of his shoulders, his wide-knuckled hands and then back to his lips. Curious and wary, judging the strange animal stood before you.

And he knows he’s weathered from the weeks on the road, and all the years before that. Dirt under his nails and the light sheen of sun on his forehead. The flecks of gray through his thick, brown beard.

You take a deep breath, eyes twinkling, and tell him, “I’m here with my friend.”

“Ain’t that lucky?” Joel glances at Tommy. “I’m here with my brother.”

You look across to the dirty blond, sat tilting a glass candle in his hand. “He single?”

Joel nods. “Is she?”

You nod.

“Alright. You wanna come sit with us?”

Your smirk answers his question. You take the beers, rings clinking off the glass. “Rum,” you call over your shoulder, wandering off, “I drink rum.”

Joel’s gaze lowers to the sway of your hips. “Rum it is,” he says, turning back to the bar.

“So…a cross-country bike trip, and you wound up in San Angelo?”

You’re on your fourth drink, the first one Joel hasn’t paid for – and he only allowed it because it’s a Diet Coke (and maybe you got to the bar first, held his wrists with one hand so he couldn’t stop you from slapping your own money down).

“Yep,” Joel replies, pinching the lime from his drink and dropping it onto a napkin. “Just passin’ through. Shower, sleep, then head on home.”

“Where’s that, then? Home?”

“Austin.”

“Austin,” you pout, “Nice.”

Joel smirks, licking citrus from his fingertips. “Is it?”

“I’ve never been to Austin,” Brooke chirps, fiddling with the umbrella in her piña colada. She twirls the paper canopy and glances up to Tommy.

He snaps out of his slack-jawed gaze when he realizes what she’s implying. “Oh – yeah, well…” his head wobbles as he stutters, “…you two ever come down that way, we’d be happy to, uh…show ya ‘round, huh, Joel?”

Joel doesn’t reply, staring back at his brother with the same amused expression you are.

You’ve been an inch apart all evening – doused in the dive bar darkness, the shrouded conversations and muffled TV static. The tip of your nose and curve of your shoulders lit only by the luminous signs dotting the walls.

Tommy and Brooke are already deep in conversation again about the best car Tommy ever owned. Joel watches as your eyes flit between the pair, entertained by the way they trip over each other’s sentences. Your cheeks lift when Brooke lays a hand over Tommy’s, and he squeezes her fingers back.

Where did you come from? Joel’s thinking. He takes a swig of his whiskey, feeling your eyes on him. As he lowers his glass, you lift yours. When he turns in his seat towards you, you’re already facing him, back against the wainscotting. He smiles, and so do you.

Every movement feels choreographed, some merry dance only you two know. You’re in your own little world.

Where did you come from, again, and where have you been my entire fucking life?

“So, what about you?” Joel asks instead, swallowing – all warm-bellied and brave. “You grow up here?”

You shake your head, taking another sip. “Nope. Just liked it enough to hang up my coat for a few months. I grew up in Phoenix.”

“You travel a lot?”

“I’ve been around. This is the longest I’ve stayed in one place since I was a kid.”

He thinks of home: of Austin and its silver-snake river, burnt-orange jerseys and the pleated bunting lining Sixth Street. He thinks of late nights on lawn chairs, nursing a beer and shooting the shit with his brother. Keeping their voices lower than the buzz of the cicadas, looking more at the dusky sky than at each other.

“You don’t ever get tired of it?” Joel asks. “Of moving around so much?”

You scoff, breath clouding the inside of your glass. “Three weeks on a motorcycle starting to get to you, huh?”

He breathes a laugh, loose again. The cicadas fade from his ears.

Your head tilts in a shrug. “I don’t know. I guess the universe keeps on surprising me.”

Joel doesn’t do this. At least, he hasn’t done this since he was a teenager – crate of beer under his arm and a chest full of courage. He’s long forgotten the feeling of heat blooming in his cheeks, the twitch of his heart anytime you look at him.

But fuck, if there isn’t something about you. Something in the way you move, the way you look at him. Something in the way you play with your straw, knocking ice cubes around and chewing on the plastic once you’ve drained the glass.

Something – though it’s a little too early and Joel’s a little too tipsy to tell just what. He tries to remember that he’s pragmatic. A grown-up. He chases away the monsters in his daughter’s –

“Oh, shit,” Joel says suddenly, scrambling to pull his cell from his pocket. It’s nine thirty. He was supposed to – “I forgot…”

A miserable tone from his Motorola cuts him short. The screen flashes an empty battery before fading to black. He jams a thumb into the keypad a couple more times, cursing at the winking symbol.

“Someone you gotta call?” you ask.

He meets your eye and winces. “Yeah, I’m…I said I’d call an hour ago.”

“You wanna use mine?” You twist around, fishing in your purse for your own. “We can go outside.”

“No, no, it’s…it’s alright, I’m sure she won’t mind, she –”

You shake your head. “Shut up. Come on, let’s go. I could use some fresh air, anyways. Be back in a minute,” you tell Brooke – who nods and turns straight back to Tommy.

Joel extends his hand to help you out of the booth, then follows you to the door. The cool air tugs every nerve in his body to attention, pin-sharp when he steps out of that lazy heat. Under the emerald glow of the Murphy’s sign, he settles his glass on a window ledge. “Next round’s on me, alright?”

You roll your eyes, pushing the phone against his chest. “Just call, Joel.”

One last apologetic glance, and then he’s dialing. He makes to wander along the curb, the tone already pulsing in his ear, when he notices –

“You ain’t brought a jacket?”

You’re sitting on the ledge, clutching your elbows. Swatting midges from the light you’re bathed in, charms on your bracelets jingling. “Hm?”

He tuts. “A jacket. Here.” He shrugs his own off, sitting it around your frame. It’s warm from the bar and from Joel’s body heat, and you sink into it – letting the dark leather drown you as you rummage through your purse again.

“Nice,” Joel’s eyes narrow, “Fresh air.”

You hum into your hands, flicking your lighter. The cigarette trembles when you murmur, “We all got our skeletons, I guess.”

He turns on his heel when a familiar voice picks up.

“Hey, hey, M–Yeah, sorry it’s late…Yeah, we got held up. My phone died, so I’m using…Is she still–? Can I–? Oh, Sarah. Hi, baby.”

His little girl begins chattering down the line immediately, telling Joel everything she’s been up to since they last spoke this morning.

“…and then, Emily thought I was one of the Armadillos – I don’t even know how, ‘cause they play in red, remember Dad? – but she did, and she slide tackled me so bad that Coach Thomson had to sub in Akari for me so I could ice my ankle. Grandma was kinda mad about it, but she took me to Burger King after to cheer me up, and…”

Joel wanders back and forth, smiling to himself and scuffing the heel of his boot along the concrete – barely able to squeeze more than two words between her chirping. It’s all, Yeah, baby? and Wow, sweetheart; all uhuhs and mhms until she finally quietens, excitement plateauing again.

“Alright, well. You know what time it is, right?”

“Yeah,” Sarah groans. She knows it all too well.

Bedtime.

“…But you didn’t call when you said you would, Daddy, and it’s Saturday, it’s –”

“I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry. Just…somethin’ came up. But I’ll see you tomorrow, right? We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Where’s Uncle Tommy? Can I talk to him?”

Joel turns to face the bar. “He, uh…I’m not with him right now, sweetheart. I’ll tell him you asked after him, though.”

Sarah concedes, and then begins asking questions Joel knows she’s only asking to stay on the line a little longer – to stay awake a little later. But still, he answers each one – humoring her and, at the same time, letting himself listen to her voice just a little more before he has to let her go.

He thinks of scooping her up in the morning; thinks of being slumped on the couch after dinner with her head on his stomach – fast asleep with whatever movie she chose droning on in the background.

Despite the thousands of miles and close to two weeks between them – she makes him feel closer to home. She always does.

When Sarah asks where he is, he glances your way. Clocks your flat expression, the half-burnt cigarette hanging from your fingers.

You flick ash to the ground. Eyes unreadable beneath low brows, a tiny crease between them that Joel’s only just seeing for the first time.

“Uh…” he clears his throat, “…just a little – a little north of you, baby. Home first thing, I promise.”

He tells her he loves her and she says it back, and he tells her to sleep well and she says that back, too. And then he’s hanging up – Alright, see you soon, bye, Sarah, bye-bye, byebyebye – and pressing his thumb into the red button.

He wanders back over to you – ears flat like a guilty dog, though he isn’t quite sure why. He mumbles a quiet thanks as he passes the phone back, then stuffs his hands in his pockets.

You lean back, ankles crossed, studying him. Swirling what’s left of the cigarette in your fingers – the smoke lifting like a winding snake to the dark sky. “So,” you pout, “What are you doing flirting with me, if you got a wife and kid back home?”

His jaw ticks, a hand coming up to scratch his beard. “I don’t have a wife,” he says.

You stare blankly, filter back against your lips. “Okay, then – a girlfriend. Does she know you’re out tonight with us?”

He shakes his head. “No wife, no girlfriend. I don’t have an anything.”

“But you have a kid.”

Joel nods once, tongue in his cheek. “Uhuh.”

And then the penny seems to drop. A small oh; your jaw slack and eyes wide. The cigarette smolders between your fingers. “Fuck,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“No, hey,” Joel steps closer, “You didn’t know. It’s alright.”

He straightens the jacket on your shoulders. When you finally look at each other again, you snort.

“Sorry,” you repeat, shaking your head. “Is she okay? Your daughter – is she…?”

“Sarah,” Joel says. “She’s…she’s fine. Thanks.”

You look down, stubbing your cigarette against the brick. Voice quiet, you ask, “Her mom’s not around anymore?”

Relief settles in his chest: you’re softening to him again.

Joel slots onto the ledge at your side. Shoulder to shoulder. He reaches behind and lifts his drink. “Not since she was a year old.”

Your mouth pulls in a wince. “Jesus. That’s rough.”

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to – you’re not asking him to explain – and he doesn’t want to, either.

You’re not stupid – you’ve seen enough of the world to hear what he’s really saying. The darkest, dustiest corners of it – all the places no one ever wants to look.

You don’t seem disturbed, barely even moved by the reality that…well, shit happens. People leave, families break; a two-car driveway is suddenly taken up by just a pick-up truck and a little pink bike with tassels.

He figures you get it. You don’t need to know how can that be? – you just…know that it can.

“So, uh…” you look up at him again, “…my apartment is, like, five minutes away if you wanna…you know. You can charge your phone, can shower – if it’s bugging you that much.”

Joel’s eyebrows lift. “Oh, really?”

You simper, eyes thin. “Really.”

“Charge my phone ‘n shower?” He stands, palm flat against the wall above your head, and leans in. His face is inches from yours.

You look up, mirroring his expression. “Yes,” your voice curls in a half-truth, “What’s the big deal?”

“What a goddamn line,” Joel says, smirking. “How long you been sittin’ on that one for?”

His blood thrums faster, harder, louder in his veins when you stand up, hands on your hips.

“It’s not a line, I’m serious –”

“I didn’t take you as the type, baby, I really didn’t – but if that’s how you wanna play this, then –”

He feels you before he sees you moving, like he’s stood at that bar all over again. Your hands on his jaw, your chest pressed to his. Your lips – soft as satin, with a tinge of sweet rum and smoke – against his.

Joel barely misses a beat. He closes his eyes and lifts a hand to the back of your head, kissing you back. It’s dizzying, the taste and feel of you so close; the wet of your tongue on his. The little scratches of your nails in his beard, the moans caught in your throat.

Dizzying – and fucking perfect.

You break apart and lean in to each other, catching your breath. Joel’s hands slip beneath the heavy leather of his jacket onto your waist.

“Unless…” you whisper, pulling away from him, “…you don’t want to. In which case, I’ll just…” You twirl back towards the door, batting your eyelashes.

Joel smiles. He catches your wrist and reels you back into his body. “I want to,” he breathes, kissing you again. “I want to.”

“Let’s go.”

You make it to your apartment door, fumbling with your keys – and Joel’s hands are glued to your waist.

You miss the lock over and over as he kisses your neck, grazing the skin with his teeth. Anything to satiate the hunger quickly taking over, the tightening in his jeans.

He pulls you against his hips – rough denim grinding into the curve of your ass. He can smell your flowery perfume, a strange melding of peony and menthol sharp in his nostrils.

It’s the hungriest he’s ever felt, he thinks – a starved animal pinning his prey to her flecked apartment door. He pauses, bottom lip damp against your neck; breathing a liquor-laced laugh over your skin.

You jam the key into the lock. The door finally shunts open and you spill inside, dragging Joel with you.

Your place is dark. Angled strips of streetlight thrown high up the bare walls and across the ceiling, splintered by tilted shades. The spill of a blanket draped over an empty couch; a pair of sneakers left on the rug. Joel’s knees brush by a houseplant guarding the door – heavy leaves which pfft when they sway out of his way.

It’s half-decorated. Temporary. Caught somewhere between home and away. Little fragments pieced together into something the shape of home: a mosaic vase that scatters light across the surface of the coffee table; a beaded curtain pinned around the closet doorway.

Like you’re a little magpie, collecting trinkets of silver and gold until your nest feels like yours. Bags dropped long enough to keep a Monstera plant alive, not to put nails in the wall for the frames propped against the skirting board.

You shrug Joel’s jacket off, dropping it over the back of the couch. When you spin back around to him, he lifts your chin with two fingers and presses his lips to yours. You lead him down the hallway, tumbling into your room.

He follows you over to your bed, collapsing onto a tousled mess of sheets with his hips between yours. The hem of your dress rides up your thighs, bunching around your hips and revealing a flash of pink lace underneath.

The world around him seems to sober up for a second, sharpens into focus. It begins to seep in: the realization that he has you – some girl he met no more than two hours ago in a bar – pinned to your mattress. A slick gathering in your underwear and a weight building in his.

Right now, he should be sinking into squealing bedsprings in a Super 8. Bathing in the flicker of a television set twenty years too old. He should be showered and rested – ready to head home at sunrise, if not sooner.

But then something led him to you, and – well.

There’s no fucking helping him now, is there?

Joel’s fingers hook around your panties. He pulls down, leaving a trail of kisses along your bare leg, until that same pink lace is dripping from your ankle.

His eyes flash up to yours, love-drunk and sparkling. He pushes your knees apart, watching your velvet folds open for him, and – oh, he thinks, staring at the glistening arousal smeared around your cunt. Such a slick little mess for him already.

“Goddamn, darlin’,” he licks his lips, “She’s so pretty.”

You hum, hands lowering. Your fingers separate, spreading your pussy for him. Your middle finger swirls around your clit, dips along your seam. And the n, silky and shining, you lift your hand again and slip your fingers into your mouth.

“Tastes even better than she looks,” you murmur, dappling your fingertip along your bottom lip.

Joel growls. He pushes down on your thighs, ignoring your little yelp, and drags the tip of his tongue through your slit.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, back arching. Your fingers knot in his hair, twisting and tightening. “Shitshitshit.”

“Mhm,” he hums against you, tongue pushing inside.

Fuck, you’re just so perfect: so soft and warm and fucking dripping for him. He laps at your sweet center, wet already spreading all over his mouth and beard.

A dampness blooms in his boxers. He’s throbbing, fucking aching the longer he goes untouched. He grinds against the mattress, denim rough against his solid erection.

He lifts his chin, panting – satisfied by the way you squirm under the weight of him. “You like that, huh?” he asks, a sodden kiss to your mound. “Fuckin’ love it.”

He spits a thick bead of saliva, watching it dribble down your folds to your ass. His tongue swipes it back up, circling your clit, all slippery and swollen.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan, tugging on his hair. Your legs spasm, hips lifting.

He loves the sound of his name when you say it. Broken in two, a lilt to it as it rolls from your tongue and down his spine. Like it’s yours as much as it is his, now.

He sucks hard on your clit, his tongue flicking. And he can tell you’re close; can feel your hips starting to lose rhythm, see your back desperately arching higher and higher.

Joel groans, pushing up to hover over you. He cups between your legs, dabbing two thick fingers at your entrance, and pushes in.

Your pussy draws him in knuckle-deep. Your chest lifts, the loose neckline of your dress exposing more and more. You grab your breast, pinching your nipple – a roll of pebbled flesh between your fingertips.

He lowers his lips to your ear – watching as you toy with yourself. “Come on, baby,” he grits his teeth, “Give me one. Let me feel this pretty cunt.”

Your head rolls back into the pillow; a high sob as your orgasm crests. Clamping tight around him; a warm flood down his fingers.

Joel kisses you as you come. You look so pretty, he thinks, with ecstasy behind your eyes and his fingers between your legs.

Christ, he wants to be inside you so badly. Wants to feel your cunt do all this around his cock instead.

The blood rushes between his hips.

His fingers slip in and out, bringing you back around. Joel’s lips are on your neck, murmuring, “Good girl, that’s my girl,” as you resurface.

Your eyes open again – glossy, glazed with the aftershock of your high. “Fuck,” you breathe, playing with the hem of his shirt.

He pulls his fingers out and sucks them clean. Whips the tee over his head in one motion; another kiss tucked under your chin as you peel your dress from your body. He tosses it to the floor.

Still dazed, your body still trembling, you ask, “Do you have a condom?” All dreamy and distant, your hands trailing along his belt.

Joel pauses. Tilts his head, frowning. “I’m on a road trip with my brother, baby – the hell would I bring condoms for?”

You roll your eyes, sighing. It’s the cutest thing Joel thinks he’s ever seen. You thread the belt through the loops of his jeans. “In case you meet a really cool girl at a bar and wanna take her home, maybe?”

He lifts his eyebrows, impressed. He slips his salty tongue over yours again.

You moan at the taste. “It’s just I’m…I’m all out.”

His belt drops to the floor; buckle clinking against hardwood.

“Well, shit,” Joel whispers.

It’s not exactly a scenario he predicted, setting off from Austin. Meeting you wasn’t on the bucket list for the trip. It’s another three, four, probably five things to add to the list of shit he doesn’t do, shouldn’t do, wouldn’t fucking do if it hadn’t been for you.

No, Joel thinks, groaning as you palm the solid shape of him – he didn’t bring a goddamn condom. Jesus, the most he has in his pockets right now is fifteen bucks and a stick of gum.

You unzip his pants, shrugging the denim loose. “We can just do it…without,” you offer.

Joel stares down at you. “You sure?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Just pull out, right?”

“Just pull out…” he echoes. Your hands are cold on his heated skin, but he’s not about to fucking stop you.

You tug his underwear down with his jeans, following the darkening hair from his navel down. Another quiet pull out passes your lips – your voice dissolving when you spot the thick base of his dick.

Joel’s shaft springs free, heavy against the inside of his thigh.

“Holy shit.” You push yourself up on your elbows, eyes flooding black.

His tongue runs along the bottom of his teeth. He thrusts forward into your hand, a glassy drop of precome dribbling from his slit.

Your thumb swipes across his flushed tip, fingers wrapping around his width. You roll his balls in your other palm, massaging and squeezing just the right amount.

“Easy, easy,” Joel whispers. Too much, too soon. He can’t come yet, not until he feels your fluttering cunt around his cock.

Instead, you reach up – snaking an arm around his neck. You pull him back down, his naked body flush against yours, and hike a knee over his hip.

He grinds into you, his cock nudging between your legs. They fall apart for him – pliant and keen, like petals unfolding. He covers himself in your slick, his tip catching below your clit.

“Pl-ease,” you whine, scratching at his shoulders.

Joel nips at your damp neck. “Please, what?” he taunts.

Your breath is hot against his cheek – a stifling request which curls up in the shell of his ear. “F-fuck me.”

And his hips roll into yours.

“Jesus f…” your face buries into his chest, “…you’re…you’re so fucking big, Joel, I can’t –”

He nudges between your walls, groaning into your skin. You’re even tighter around his cock, even cozier. “I know,” he pants, “I know. Take it, baby, know you can take it.”

You stretch around him, opening up the deeper he pushes. “Fuckfuckfuck,” you pant, the thick hair at his base finally brushing against your clit. “Fuck, Joel.”

“Look at me,” he taps your jaw, “Hey. Look at me. Breathe.”

You exhale, hot and shaky across his lips.

“Good, that’s good.” Joel nods. He holds you by the waist, lets you adjust to his size.

He pulls back, your cunt clamping around him. Halfway out, and then in again. Feeling you open up, inch by inch, until he builds a steady rhythm.

“Jesus, baby, she’s so…” he moans, “…she’s so goddamn tight.”

You drape an arm over his shoulders, a hissing pain where your nails dig into his skin. Yelping each time he bottoms out, your leaking cunt wrapped snug around him. “So – goddamn – big,” you whine, a ruined smile on your lips.

He slams his body into yours again, watching the way your tits bounce. Nipples hard, skin tacky and shining with sweat. Your pussy pinches, and he starts to unravel.

Fuck the road trip, Joel thinks, fuck all of it. This is where he should be: in the middle of your bed, burrowed deep between your legs. This is the only place he wants to fucking be, right now.

So he fucks you harder; the headboard hammering against the wall. A fistful of the pillow, his knuckles whitening. He guides his cock when he slips out – a filthy sound as your clutch sucks him back in.

“Fuck,” he growls, gripping your hips so hard he worries he might bruise you. His thrusts become sloppy – quick and desperate.

“So close,” you gasp. You’re squeezing him so tight that he sees stars. “I’m gonna – I’m…”

Perfect, Joel thinks, watching you bloom. You’re so fucking perfect.

He coaxes you through it. Slows enough to feel you come around his cock, your warmth as it gushes all over him. “That’s it, baby, I got you. Shit, you’re gonna make me come.”

He pulls out just in time to coat your stomach; a throaty groan as he comes. He pumps his shaft, covering from your sternum to the plush of your tummy. It dribbles down your waist, spurts between your breasts.

He collapses over you, pressing his forehead to yours. His dick, soaked and softening, smears the ejaculate across your skin.

You giggle, leaving sticky kisses along his beard.

“You okay?” he asks, breathless.

You nod, and his tongue dabs at the inside of your lips. You taste like sex and sweat – sweet and salt.

Joel shifts to the edge of the bed. He feels you follow, your lips featherlight on the curve of his shoulder.

You make to stand – going to clean yourself up, he reckons, your tummy dripping with his semen – and he locks a hand around your bare thigh.

“Stay,” he says, voice low and rough – sex still smoldering. “Let me get you a towel.”

You smile, resting your chin on his shoulder. Your fingers link around the other side of his waist. “I’ll get it. Just relax.”

And for a minute or two, you stay like that. Hooked onto one another, tired eyes closing over, breathing in rhythm. Your cheek on his shoulder, your knee brushing against his tummy.

It’s simple; quiet and still. Joel feels like half a person – the other half tracing her chipped nails along his bare thigh. Eyelashes fluttering, teeth holding back a grin that she thinks might give her away.

Eventually, you move. Shimmy yourself down the mattress, swipe a crinkled tee from the ottoman – and slink off to the bathroom.

Joel lies back against the headboard, body sticky hot. He watches the shadow of your figure stretch across the open door. His eyes drift upwards to the looping ceiling fan – only half as dizzying as the sound of your humming in the next room.

And just when he starts to think he might be fucking missing you, you reappear in the doorway. Leant against the frame, some worn band tee hanging from your shoulders. Arms crossed; smiling back at him.

A rush of words floods to the tip of his tongue. You look beautiful. Your makeup’s smudged, chains of your necklace twisted; your shirt is frayed and splotched with faded stains – and you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

He holds his arms out and you prance over.

You crawl over his figure, kissing your way up to his lips, and then turn in his lap. Cradled against his broad chest, your head nuzzling into the dark threads of hair between his pecs. You clasp one of his hands in two of yours.

“Offer’s still there for a shower, if you want it,” you whisper, kissing the pads of his fingers.

Joel tilts his head, mumbling against your temple, “Will you be in there with me?”

You answer something shaped like a tease, just as sharp with wit – but he’s too busy watching your nails trace his open palm. Too distracted by the sweet scent of your skin: a fresh burst of fruit, singed with the edge of tobacco.

“What do you do for work?” you ask.

He makes some sort of sleepy sound – a grunt, a hm? into your skull. “Oh, uh – I’m a contractor,” he says.

Your chin lifts. “That why your palms are all…?” Your thumb strokes light as lace against his worn skin.

“Probably,” Joel admits. He draws shapes on your thigh with his free hand.

“Do you sand the wood with your bare hands, or somethin’?”

Joel scoffs. “Alright, alright. You liked my hands plenty, twenty minutes ago.”

Your cheeks lift, a low hum caught in your throat. You angle your head to let his lips trail along your shoulder, pressing into the hinge of your jaw. A dark nail following the landscape of Joel’s skin – each score and divot, the callused pads at the bottom of each finger.

“You have sorta…earth hands, I think.”

It sits in the air for a few seconds before Joel turns to you. “What?”

“Earth hands. Or, well – I guess they could be water, if you look at ‘em this way.” You open up his hand, fingers stretched. “I don’t really know. I’m still learning.”

He looks down at you. Feels the now-steady pulse of your heart on his sternum. “Learnin’…hands?”

You snort. “Palm reading, Joel.”

His brows draw tight. He licks the inside of his whiskey-stained cheek. “You’re into all that hippie sh…stuff?”

You knock your knuckles against his chest, still staring at his hands. The hills and their valleys, the ravine-like lines; the worn skin and hatch marks.

“Let’s see…Your heart line,” you whisper – more to yourself than Joel, but he’s listening all the same. “It’s pretty deep, which means the relationships you’ve had have been…important. But it’s kinda…it tails off right here, see? It’s broken. So…I guess they didn’t end too good.”

Joel raises an eyebrow – playful, encouraging your timid smile. Keep figuring me out, he thinks, stoking the curious flame behind your eyes. “Alright,” he says, “Now tell me something you didn’t already know about me.”

You gawk, holding his wrist up. “You don’t see that? The way it breaks up? I’m not bullshitting you, Joel, it’s –”

“Naw, I see it,” he nods, squinting a little at his palm, “Just – tell me more. What’s all these other lines mean?”

“Well,” you adjust between his hips, “you got your life line right here. Short, which means –”

“Don’t tell me that part.”

“No,” you roll your eyes, “It just means you’re independent. You never needed much from anyone. And it runs past this mount – these are called mounts – right here. Venus: all to do with love and sexuality.”

Joel holds your open palm next to his, comparing them. He takes less than a second’s look, lines his lips to your ear and says, “Seem like a pretty good match to me.”

You wriggle when he tickles your ribcage, trying to twist out of his grasp. You’re laughing again – the same laugh he’s been hearing all damn night. The same giggle that’s had his stomach somersaulting since he first heard it.

The room seems to light with it, this glow he feels from you – as if you’re the sun. Spent and still half-drunk; lazing with a stranger in the middle of her bed. Tracing the lines and scars on his palm, telling him how logical and grounded he’s supposed to be.

As if the world orbits around you – everything you touch turning to molten gold. And for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, Joel looks at you and wonders: Where the hell did you come from?

You hold your hand against his, folding your fingers perfectly together. The evidence of your night flaking from Joel’s knuckles; sweat still simmering on the nape of his neck.

He hasn’t done this for years. Hasn’t felt this gentle aftermath. It’s usually a rush, a hastened zip and clink of his pants. An awkward dance, plucking clothes from the bedroom floor and pacing back to his truck.

It’s never like this. Talking and laughing, holding and kissing. Questions about his parents and yours; his biggest dream as a kid, or the time you broke your arm falling out of a tree.

He tells you stories about growing up with Tommy; tells you Sarah’s favorite flavor of cake. He tells you about the time they tried to make it for a school bake sale, forgot to turn the oven off, and almost burned the damn kitchen down.

You snicker and tell him that never would’ve happened if you were there.

Yeah, well, Joel smiles, I wish you were.

He notices you’re drifting off, despite your slurred protests and your weak grip on his wrist. He pulls you under the covers, curving his body around yours, praying that the quickening drum of his heartbeat won’t wake you.

His nose nuzzles into the curve of your skull, his hands link in front of your tummy. And he wonders whether his body was made with yours in mind.

He glances out at the sky – light starting to bleed from the horizon – and wills the turn of the sun to slow. Only a little; just let him stay here a little while longer.

Just a little while.

Dawn forces her way in eventually – more unwelcome than ever before.

There’s a throb between his temples which swells to life when the light floods past his pupils. “Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, face turning back into the pillow. He gives you a gentle squeeze and then pushes up from the mattress.

You roll to the middle of the bed, still sound asleep. The sun spills golden all over the valleys and crests of your body. The bedsheets carve pathways up to your hips, dipping at your waist.

Last night, there was something so mystical about you – so otherworldly. Joel felt himself drawn towards you like a compass needle shooting north, the second he felt your weight crash against his spine.

A figure behind a cloud of smoke, like the mountaintops disappearing into a thick mist. And now, blood drained of alcohol, you’re just you.

Your shirt is twisted around your shoulders. Your lips puffy, mumbling to yourself in your doze. Makeup smudged like chalk under your eyes, and still – just as beautiful. Just as radiant as you were ten hours ago.

Joel rubs his eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed. He blinks down at his bare feet, the morning sharpening into focus. As he lifts his phone from the nightstand, the cable drops – hitting the wooden floor with a snap.

He pauses, shoulders hunched. Hears you stir over his shoulder, and turns around.

The earth of your body shifts beneath cotton hills, clouds of sleep clearing from behind your eyes. “Hey,” you whisper, voice pretty and broken.

A little bird in the palm of his hand – that magpie curled up in her nest of gems and trinkets.

“Hey.” He leans down and kisses your cheek. “Sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You wrap your arms around his wrist, tugging. “Are…are you…leaving?”

Joel feels a pang in his chest, and he doesn’t know why. He takes a deep breath. Your scent fills his lungs and steadies his heart. “I…” he sniffs, “…I gotta go home, baby.”

You give a slow and heavy nod. “S-Sarah…”

He strokes your head with his thumb. “Yeah. Shh, go back to sleep. It’s still early.”

He glances at his phone – it’s just after six. He knows Tommy will be waiting for him, parked outside the Super 8 and wondering where the hell Joel is. He knows Sarah will be, too – sat by the living room window, listening for the rumble of their bikes.

And still, he thinks – How do I fucking leave you? Leave this?

He shouldn’t even be entertaining the thought. He has a kid waiting for him back home; soccer practice, packed lunches, homework and bedtime stories. He has work to do, bills to pay, a roof to keep over their heads. It’s all waiting in Austin, two hundred miles away.

As though you can see the question flipping in his mind, you pull him closer. A weak finger in the palm of his hand, drawing circles. Your bleary gaze meets his, and you whisper, “In the next life.”

Joel smiles. Twelve hours ago, he’d have laughed at the idea of it. Now, he’s not so sure. He kisses your knuckles, muttering, “Promise.”

Another wave of sleep washes over you, and you’re gone again.

Joel pushes himself from the bed, reaching for his clothes. His back twinges as he stretches, pulling his T-shirt over his shoulders. He steps into his jeans; pinches his belt between two fingers and lifts it from the floor.

He leans over and tilts your shades the opposite way, dulling your bedroom. He unplugs the charger, neatly winds the cord, and sits it on your nightstand. He fixes his side of the sheets: folds them over the mattress, tucks them in at your back.

With a deep breath, he makes for the door.

His jaw turns, eyes still low. Your dress is in a heap at the foot of the bed; a tube of lip gloss lying next to it. He looks up, following the landscape of sheets – the slope from your ankle to your hip. Your hunched shoulders, your cheek smushed into the pillow.

If he looks too long, he’ll never leave.

The image burns golden into his eyes. He hopes for half a heartbeat that you’ll wake again and pull him back into bed. Kiss him all over, whisper something sharp and sweet in his ear. Touch him and graze him and wrap yourself around him – anchoring him right here and now.

But you don’t.

And Joel slips out of the room.

Jackson stirs to life over his shoulder.

A white lump in the snow-covered valley, the settlement seems so far away now. Tommy sets off up ahead, leading the way to the outpost. The blizzard is picking up – it almost swallows the silhouette of him whole.

Joel had tried to warn him: the weather would be too bad to see five feet in front of them, never mind any infected. But Tommy argued with the same determination that dragged the pair of them into that dive bar thirty years ago, and Joel didn’t have half the energy nor the will to argue back.

He’s thinking about you. He always is.

Your searing gaze over the rim of your glass; the weight of you against his chest. The tickling of your nail on his palm, severing each line and changing him forever. You and your palm lines.

You were just learning to read them. Joel didn’t know a thing about any of it, and he told you so. You took his hand in yours and said, Here. Let me see.

He runs a thumb down his fate line, swaying in time with his horse. And he shakes his head with a little smile – he still remembers which one is fate and which is heart.

He still remembers all of it. He has earth hands. All salt and soil and solid as stone. His earth hands have gotten him this far, right? Twenty-five years and he’s still here. Gray and grown; stiff joints and sewn-up scars.

His head line has channeled more strangers’ blood than Joel can count. Mounts that’ve stopped breath in the throat of any man who crossed him. He doesn’t think you’d recognize his hands anymore, if your fingertips traced over them again. Broken and bruised and bloody.

And he doesn’t think he’d want you to – doesn’t want you to meet the shadow of the man you knew back then. He’d prefer you remember that same brown-eyed, soft-touched stranger with enough charm and naivety to survive anything. No need for bone-breaking fists or bloodstained hands.

Where are you, he wonders?

The answer knots deep in his stomach: the same old rope twisting into the same old shape. A fist of anger, of guilt. Some terrible cocktail of both, spilling poison through his veins.

He’s terrified to wonder what might’ve happened if he had ever made it back there. What he might’ve found in your apartment – what he might not.

Where would you have gone, that day? Would you have fled, or would you have stayed?

You were smart, he knows that much. He saw the cogs of your mind turning right in front of him, standing opposite each other in that bar. Barely thirty seconds in and he could’ve sworn you had him all figured out.

But – oh, Jesus, you were kind. Open and willing to help a stranger with a dead phone and a tired smile. Would that kindness still glow as bright against the flicker of a world on fire?

A lone hawk swoops down before him, shooting straight between the pines. Joel slips his glove back over his freezing hand.

He thinks about you every day. Every fucking day, and it never eases. Never loosens. It keeps him up some nights – the truth he’s too afraid to look square in the face.

You live now in the back of his mind like a little ghost. His little ghost – still floating around that dusty city; the warm light of life and innocence still bright in your eyes.

Tommy glances over his shoulder. He gestures ahead as if to say, Would you take a look at this goddamn storm?

And Yeah, Joel thinks, I’m lookin’, brother.

All he wants is to go home. Jackson, Austin, the bedroom of your apartment in San Angelo. Just let me go back.

He blinks, and the snow melts to cracked asphalt under a lilac sunset. Tommy’s holding handlebars instead of reins. The horses’ hot puffs of breath darken to clouds of smoke, choking from the exhaust pipes of the Harleys.

You’re somewhere on the other side of town, waiting for him in the faint glow of a jukebox. Sipping what’s left of your rum and Coke, fishing a twenty from your purse for the next round.

Just let me go back home.

He tugs on his horse’s reins and pulls off after his brother.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #fic: san angelo

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butterbabyflapjack · 3 months ago

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✧˖° Brian Moser x serial killer fem!reader

✧˖° summary:

The Ice Truck Killer’s back in town, and somehow he's stuck babysitting you; Miami's newest would-be killer.

Helping you out wasn't at all his original intention–he'd rather see you dead, you know far too much–but he supposes he could spare an evening to undomesticate that hungry beast inside you. Show you how to really live your life.

In which Brian helps you kill someone who utterly deserves it, and the kill room turns into a horny sex-fueled bloodbath.

✧˖° wordcount (chapter 1): 5k

✧˖° chapters: one, two, three

✧˖° ao3

✧˖° warnings: serial killer fem!reader, reader insert, explicit sexual content, rough sex, passionate sex, fucking in a kill room, dark romance, dark comedy, canon typical depictions of blood and gore, enthusiastic consent, mutual pining, impact play, playing with your food, serial killers in love, banter, dirty talk, voice kink, trauma bonding, babysitting a serial killer, implied sexual abuse of a child (you're killing this mf don’t worry), torture (you’re torturing this mf don’t worry), Brian is his own warning, enemies to lovers, biting, daddy issues?, blood play, a bit of angst a dash of bloodlust & a heavy splash of spice, Brian loves to fluster you and he won't shut the hell up going about it, Brian survives season 1 in this house

✧˖° author's note:

This is ridiculous, horny, bloody, silly and dark (in essence, a very dark romantic comedy), so please heed the tags!

Starts after season 1, but with Brian escaping. Sorry if there’s any rough spots, I kinda rushed editing this.

ch.1 is from Brian’s POV, and the rest of the story is from yours. And there aren't nearly enough problematic female characters in the world so I'm making you one 😃

✧˖° chapter 1

Hello again, Miami.

Didn’t think I’d see you again this soon.

What’s it been? Eight months? Since I was your most highly sought after criminal?

Guess I just couldn’t stay away.

Time flies when you’re laying low.

Guess I just missed you.

But really, my reason for coming back to dear old Miami–my home, both my real and spiritual birthplace–has a name, a life, and a face. Your name, if you’re really so curious. Your life. Your face. And I intend to leave what remains of all three of those things behind to the hungry bellies of gators before once more absconding stage left.

But why, you might ask? Why do I want to kill you? Horrified, scandalized, even. For what reason had you to die by my skillful hand? And the answer to that is simple: death doesn’t need a reason. Death simply is, and I simply enjoy it.

Though…

Regardless of that irrefutable fact…

I’ll admit.

This particular death–your death–has a slightly more personal reason. And that reason, or at least its causation, was currently chit-chatting with me on the phone.

“Your plane lands at eight?” Dexter asked, and I didn’t waste time with a nod when he wouldn’t see it. Simply staring out across the coast of Costa Rica, the sunset reflected within the dark shadow of my gaze.

Costa Rica… and I’d really wanted to retire somewhere cold.

Not that this was retirement.

It was more of an… unplanned, involuntary vacation. Just until the heat from the feds cooled down.

Then again, I wasn’t waiting for the temp to drop before planning this little excursion back to Miami. But you’d sorta forced my hand in that regard, now hadn’t you?

“Hope you don’t mind if I crash on the couch,” I said, good-natured, and I knew he wouldn’t object. My brother couldn’t feel much–much more than myself–but I sensed a sort of guilt in him for how he’d previously driven me off those eight months ago. Choosing a fake sibling over a real one, one who actually knew who he was… I’d say the guilt had good cause.

I could hear him at his quaint living room/office combo’s computer, typing away at something. Perpetually Distracted Dexter.

“Yeah–yeah, that’d be great,” he said.

I exhaled a little sigh whilst listening to the soft waves roll in beside me. “Why do I feel there’s a but coming?”

“No buts,” said Dexter. “I just, uh…” He seemed distracted, but not by whatever he typed. “I’ll just have a friend over tomorrow. She’ll probably be here when you arrive.”

Ah.

The friend.

The one I’d been silently wishing Dex would just kill himself. Grow suddenly bored of you.

Wishful thinking.

He seemed quite fond.

He wouldn’t shut up about you. Always and forever droning on.

It wasn’t romantic, this interest, or so I’d come to suspect over all these past droning months. I didn’t exactly ask about that, though, half because I really didn’t care and half because of how much the subject of you annoyed me, raised over and over again and ugh, just give it a rest already.

Dex shouldn’t have ‘friends’. The mere concept a fairytale, a mask to people like us. It should be just he and I, two hunters against the world, hunting whomever we like.

“Ah,” I voiced aloud, with the sugar-flaked pleasantry of someone who wasn’t at all picturing severing your aorta with an icepick. “Your little friend will be there to greet me. How nice.”

Dexter must have misread the edge of sarcasm as some sort of concern. “She already knows you’re coming. Don’t worry, she can be trusted.”

Just more proof that my do-good, misguided brother is far too trusting.

“Well,” I said, as though accepting this point as fact. You really can be trusted with my and my brother's secrets–such relief! “I look forward to finally meeting her.” And carving and slicing and dicing her.

I must have forgotten to include that last part out loud, and thus Dexter had no objection–even sounding strangely relieved by my show of good faith in at long last having this introduction.

“See you tomorrow night,” he said, and my lips formed a little smile–instinctual, without any warmth.

“See you then,” I said, then hung up.

And now; here I am. Back in the ever-enchanting sunshine state. My former playground of frozen, meticulously broken toys, and it feels much more like home to be back than I even expected, with just the small matter of ridding you from these sentimental, familial walls.

Walking the concrete pathway to Dex’s Palm Terrace place was nearly surreal, assaulting the walls of my person with waves of distant memories. I’d broken into his beachfront apartment so many times before. Snooping around, getting to know him. Leaving gifts tied up with little red bows. I was basically murderous Saint Claus.

I had only one bag, having traveled here light–a black leather crossbody, which I thumbed the broad strap of whilst knocking with mild knuckles against the door.

Silence. Then, footsteps. Then–

Dexter throws open the door, a smile formed ear to ear like a big, goofy animal.

“Brian,” he says, and somehow it melts me. Chips slightly away at all that frigid, cold frost round my cruel, vacant heart. And his eyes dip over the state of me. The longer hair, dark curls well past my ears, now; just long enough to tuck back but not long enough to stay there. The dark scruff which coats my angled jawline in the absence of shaving for so long.

“Dig the beard,” Dexter says. “Quite the disguise. Bet the ladies love it.”

I smile at the compliment, though if he'd hated the look I'd feel much the same. “One does what one has to to effectively blend,” I return. And it’s hard not to feel somewhat warm, somewhat seen, understood, by my brother before me. The only person in this world who accepts who I am.

Well, not wholly.

Thanks for nothing, Debra.

Still. Since the death of our mother, Dex is the only place I’ve ever belonged, and seeing him now I’m abruptly struck with just how long it’s been.

I don’t wait for him to welcome me in–he’s probably too cordially stunted to properly welcome me, anyway. I just step right up and throw both my arms around him, my baby brother, my other half; cuffing him firmly on the back as I breathe him in.

“It’s been too long,” I say, holding him there for a moment, before pulling back.

Dexter’s expression is torn into a million indecipherable things, but amongst them is his affection for me. The brother who’ll always see him for who he really is. Who truly fathoms that insatiable beast inside him.

The bliss of our reunion’s forced to end, however, because this house has a rat problem. And as I hear a small, feminine throat being cleared from the fluorescent-lit depths behind my brother, my curiosity gets the better of me.

Time to finally put a face to the name I’ve been loathing for weeks.

And there you are. Standing before a metal-limbed armchair nuzzled inside the living room, like you’d sat there then stiffly stood up; uprooted at the sound of my knocking. Frozen, now; lingering. Like you’re caught in a trap you don’t know your way out of. Hands fidgeting as they twist at the hem of your shirt.

It’s like you know you don’t belong here–that this moment is Dexter’s and mine–and for the cleverness of that, at least, I must inwardly applaud you. Though that’s decidedly where all my praise ends.

This is one of those social situations I’ve learned so well to navigate through life in the foster system, masking my aberrance. Awkwardness. Other people’s–not mine. And though I could so effortlessly put you at ease as you stand there fidgeting, I find it more entertaining to draw that part out. For a while, at least.

I must admit, I hadn’t pictured you at all in my head. What you’d look like. Not as anything more than an aggravating, compromising blip I’d soon snuff out the threat of. But if I had pictured you, I wouldn’t have imagined you looking, so…

…Well.

You’re not…

Unnatractive.

I feel one dark brow slowly raising.

And you’re only a friend…?

Whatever must poor Rita think? Seeing the two of you together?

Dexter. You dog.

My eyes trace your expression as you awkwardly hover there in the length of my speculative pause. Myself perfectly content to allow you to hang there in a noose of discomfort all night, and then some. Though eventually I know one of us will have to say something.

This is our fated and much anticipated formal introduction, after all.

So at what feels like long last, I throw you the lifeline that is my smarmiest smile. Knowing full well you won’t know it’s not real. No one but Dex ever does.

“And you must be the friend I’ve heard so much about,” I greet you pleasantly, my deep voice threaded with warmth. Though, peculiarly, that unsure tension in you remains stubbornly in place. Seems if anything only to grow, despite my intent to disarm it.

Huh.

Oh well–it doesn’t deter me. Killing you will be so much easier if you don’t see it coming, so I’m keen on you liking me, letting your guard down. Thus, I graciously continue:

“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to finally having you right in front of me.”

Maybe a bit of truth will lube you up. And I watch as your lower lip’s sucked in between your teeth for just a moment whilst you eye me; the motion drawing my studious gaze like a shark’s to blood.

“And why is that?” you ask, which admittedly I wasn’t expecting. Such a nervous mouse, yet you’d put me on the spot.

I can’t place your nerves. I’m perfectly charming. And yes, you’re aware I’m the notorious Ice Truck Killer, but I’m not sure why that would be alarming. Not with the company you keep; namely, my murderous brother. So it must be something else.

And I so hate not knowing things.

“So I can be introduced to you in person, of course,” I say, like it’s obvious, and it should be. Striding in past Dexter as he steps aside to allow me in, shutting and latching the door behind us all; a roomful of killers, or so I’ve been told.

Our eyes never stray in my steady approach; not yours, not mine. My height soon towering over yours, which isn’t unusual for me when meeting new people, nor when standing near almost anyone. Offering my hand and a smile I’ve been told is quite dashing. “Dex has had such wonderful things to say about you.” And I’m sure he has, I just couldn’t be bothered to remember any of them.

My smile could melt steel as if it was butter.

“I’m Brian.”

I won’t lie, I expected you to crumble. Most women love this move. The confidence, the approachable self-assurance. But you eye my outstretched hand as though I might pull you into the fires of hell with me were you to take it, before craning your neck to meet my gaze once more.

“Charmed,” is all you say; unmoving.

Something about that irks a small ripple up my nape, but I just allow my hand to drop graciously back to my side. All practiced, svelte charm still in place. It’d take a lot more than that to dischevel me.

“So,” I say, by all appearance unconcerned by the lack of civility in my brother’s ill choice of friends. “It almost feels like I already know you, what with the way Dexter’s gone on and on.”

Your gaze steals over to Dexter, hovering there in the distance behind us, before you smile up at me again in a way which feels forced. And I suppose you’re not the talkative sort, though why you keep glancing at Dexter as if waiting for something from him, as if he’ll swoop in and save you, I’m uncertain about.

In due time I’ll figure it out.

“But there’s still one thing I’m curious about,” I say, turning to make myself comfortable. It has been a long trip to get here, after all.

I plop down like a wolf amongst sheep atop Dexter’s hideous couch, legs spread like I own the damn food chain. One arm draped out along the length of its backrest as I eye you somewhat expectantly, still rigid in how you stand. Imagining what you might look like strung upside down by your ankles with a lengthy strap of duct tape kissing those soft lips, holding them shut for me.

The shadows beneath my eyes pinch.

It’s a lovely image.

Maybe you’ll see for yourself.

“And what’s that?” Dexter asks–bravo, Dexter–at least one of you’s courteous enough to ask. And I tilt my darkly curled head at him.

“How exactly did the two of you get to know one another?” I ask. Watching him. Eying you. Hoping my focus might rattle you–just a little. “I’m sure it’s an interesting tale.”

“I’ve already told you,” Dexter says, and he probably has, at least in his unabbreviated sense. “We work together at the precinct.” He dons his playful tone I often find so silly but right now I find I detest. “The lab geek and the cop~”

“Right. But that’s not what I mean,” I slice into his futile comedy routine, “What I mean, is: how did our friend here come to know you’re one of Miami’s most heinous, uncaught serial killers?”

The other, of course, being myself; excepting the whole uncaught thing.

Dex is lucky I’m so forgiving.

I put it forth bluntly, with little room for either one of you to wiggle out of answering. And though my radiance of charisma remains, my intensity’s keen. ‘Cause I must admit; now that I’m here, I’m curious about you. Especially when you seem like such a rabbit in a household of jackals. Weren’t you supposed to be some like-minded killer or something? Perhaps I should have paid closer attention whenever the unwanted topic of you had come up in mine and Dexter’s conversations, instead of bitterly tuning you out.

Strangely, Dexter doesn’t seem to know what to say, and neither do you. Like the story’s too long, too elaborate. As though there's pieces the two of you’d rather omit.

Fascinating.

“She helped me out,” Dex says at last; monotonously shallow, like the words aren’t even his, like he's rehearsed this. “In a time of need.”

I quirk a subtly mocking brow at him from where I’m idly lounged on the couch.

“Why do you sound like a generic thankyou card?” Why, indeed. “C’mon, baby brother–I want specifics. You can tell me.” My dusky gaze passes from him to his lovely, curious friend, hovered opposite the ugly coffee table before me. “We’re all friends here, right?”

It would seem that my smile unnerves you. Which might be annoying if it wasn’t so entertaining a thing to see.

Dexter sighs before trying a more human answer, leaning one bulky shoulder against his white, open-backed bookcase that separates his living room from the office attached.

This whole effectively communicating thing is hard for him.

“It was sort of an accident,” he says, like that’s far more telling. The lacking details seeming to spur you to chime in.

“It was really just me being in the wrong place at the right time,” you elaborate, with the passive front of one pretending the ice they walk on won’t at any moment begin to splinter. Folding your arms against that pensive look I toss you, which I tilt my head in silent question of. Why so nervous? I’m far from daunting, aren’t I?

“I was called to check out an anonymous tip,” you continue, averting your gaze from me far more often than one normally does. “Some sort of suspicious activity at an abandoned storage shed near Palmetto. Myself and my parter.”

You glance at Dex, as if he might continue the tale for you, might rescue you from this, but when he merely quirks a little smile with a similar shrug, you’re forced into proceeding.

“It was supposedly related to a case–which it wasn’t, not that that matters, but…” You let out a breath. Seeming to steady yourself, the recollection, though for all your nervous fidgeting your tone is surprisingly calm. “I walked into the storage shed, it was unlocked, and… And I saw Dexter. Sawing someone’s arm off. Someone who was strapped down to a table in a plastic fucking tutu.”

You glance at Dex, as he detachedly watches you.

“Someone I knew from a previous case,” you continue. “Someone who deserved whatever it was Dexter was doing, and much more than that, too. Which is exactly when I shut that fucking door and assured my partner there was nothing to see here, and we left. Left Dexter to do what he does, undisturbed.”

That’s the end of your story, and I picture the scene, all while some predatorily protective part of me insists on clarifying, “So… That’s it? You saw my brother chopping a man into pieces, and were immediately okay with it? Go Team Dexter? Just like that?”

I try very little to hide my disbelief, ‘cause I don’t buy it. In my experience with cops, and I’ve had plenty, you all tend to be such sticklers when it comes to casual bloodshed and carnage. What’s more, your uptick in nerves isn’t exactly selling me.

My lashes lower in my deliberate examination of you. “Why’d you really not turn my dear brother in?”

In lieu of answering, you once more eye Dex, and that look between you says something.

“It’s complicated,” you say at last. Like you’re waiting for Dexter to speak, but he’d rather wait on you.

The pair of you. Really. You’re like a couple of tongue-tied, helpless kittens. Must I string this conversation on for you?

“Enlighten me,” I say, with something of an edge.

Perhaps I should’ve kept the disarmingly fake smile, because if anything you thrust your guard up.

“Look, I don’t owe you a full explanation of what Dexter and I have been through, okay?”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” I viperously put forth, my pretense of pleasantry slipping. “Seeing as how you know so much about myself. And all without my express knowledge or permission.”

An impermanent issue. One I won't leave Miami without personally seeing resolved. You know far too much–you’re an issue. For Dexter’s sake and for mine, we must unfortunately bid you bon voyage.

“I’d say it’s only fair I know a little more about you,” I continue, cordiality slipped back in place. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

The delicate line of your jaw tautens, eyes wavered with wariness and doubt. Refusing to spit out any more, though the longer you’re subject to my critical appraisal, the more the twine of your stubbornness unwinds.

“I… I need someone dead,” you admit at last.

Ah.

There it is.

“And, after seeing Dexter doing… what he does…” You bite your lower lip, as though struggling to recollect straying thoughts. “I need his help. I need his help to kill someone.”

I take my time mulling about your words. Piecing together the part you still aren't saying.

“So… You won’t turn Dexter in, so long as he helps you kill someone. Did I get that right?”

You bite down harsher–immediately shake your head. “No, it’s–it’s more complicated than that!”

But by now I’m barely listening. Turning instead to lift a wry brow at my brother, who’s watching this whole fiasco with a can-I-please-leave-yet look plastered upon his face.

“This is the friend you’ve been telling me about?” I wonder vaguely. “The cop who’s blackmailing you into helping her kill someone?”

“I’m a detective,” you cut in, like that matters, like I care, and I feel my eyes already rolling.

“Detective,” I sarcastically amend, with a scathing glance at you. “So sorry to offend, Detective Whoever-You-Are. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m talking to my brother.”

When you mutter back your name under your breath, I make a show of ignoring it.

“So, what?” I instead ask my foolish, good-hearted kin. “You’re actually going to help her kill someone?”

His lack of answer’s enough. And at his arms-folded silence, I ruminatively tut my tongue.

“Doesn��t seem like you, Dex… Not the edict-ruled brother I know.” I try not to let my tone grow too ingratiating whilst goading, “What about your beloved code?”

Dexter exhales a stiff breath. Putting forth, “It’s more than that.”

“More?”

“Like she said, it’s complicated.”

“Has the word ‘complicated’ been redefined as ‘indescribably moronic and impossible to explain’ sometime in the last fifteen seconds?” I return, incredulously flat. Eying their strange and stilted silence with dwindling patience. “What aren’t the two of you telling me…?”

You’re biting your lip like you’re biting back words, and I watch, waiting, biding my time for those bit-back words to get the better of you–though surprisingly, it’s Dexter who breaks first.

“It’s nothing about that, it’s…” He rubs the back of his sand-colored head, roughing his hair up with tense distraction. “Well, it is about that, in a sense. I didn’t know how to bring this up. I just… I have to leave town for the weekend,” he finally gets out. “First thing tomorrow morning, I’m headed out.”

I’m too nonplussed to hide the creeping edge of my bemusement.

That’s what he’s been having trouble saying?

He drops this like it’ll land like a bombshell on our entire reunion, before rushing at whatever my bland expression, “It’s just for a few days. I’ll be back Monday bright and early.”

To be honest, I’m mostly confused about why this seemed so hard for either one of you bumbling idiots to tell me. Or why you’re bumbling about it at all. Why should I care if he’ll be gone for forty-eight more measly hours after we've been separated for almost a year? And for many, many years before that? Does he actually expect me to mourn him till Monday?

“Big plans with the family?” I venture coolly, and Dexter’s broad shoulders bunch into a shrug, as though he’s cornered and a shrug is all that might save him.

“It’s a whole thing,” he explains. “Cody has a scouting trip, then Rita wanted to make a whole weekend out of it with the grandparents–I’ll spare you the details.”

Yes, thank you for that.

Dexter the family man. It’s so sweet it’s nauseating.

“So you’re taking your fake kids camping so you can keep playing domesticated dad to a woman and children who’d hate you if they knew who you really are?” My smile’s so feigned it hurts. “Sounds like a great time.”

My brother, the shrugger, shrugs once again. Doesn’t even try to defend my interpretive accusation. “I gotta be there.”

“Well have fun on your little adventure,” I muse; side-eying him. “Not sure why it took you this long to tell me. I’m sure I’ll find some way to busy myself in the meantime.”

You and Dexter exchange that look again. That look which betrays how you still haven’t shared whatever’s so lodged down your throats and wherever this is really going, and by this point it’s driving me toward wanting to just rip open your necks to drag whatever it is out, myself.

“Well, actually,” my brother begins, struggling once more with saying things. “I’ve already got an idea that’ll keep you busy in mind.”

I steady him in the crosshairs of my vision. Well. Now we might be getting somewhere. And I can’t deny my interest, much like my frustration, is piqued.

“Oh?”

“A favor, really,” he adds, without elaborating, and I really am going to rip the words right out of him.

“Are you going to tell me what that favor is?” I’m finally forced to ask, before glancing exasperatedly at you. “Or perhaps I should defer to your translator?”

There you go, nervously rubbing that elbow again, though I find myself oddly mesmerized by the motion of it. I can’t say for what cause, other than I’m not blind, and you’re obviously attractive. Watching you anxiously stand there is becoming one of my favorite pastimes.

“I, um,” you mumble, so quietly I almost can’t hear you. A nervous mouse again, one my nature is stirred to chase. “Well. Dexter was going to help me with–you know… What I was saying before. We have everything planned for tomorrow, and it has to happen tomorrow.” You seem strangely adamant about this, and I don’t care enough to question the ‘why’, just as I don’t care for the ‘who’–I’ll take your word for it. “But, um, with Dexter out of town…”

Helpless, as if to say any more’s an impossible task, you glance to Dexter for support.

“Really, the two of you,” I lowly muse. Eyes glistening between the pair of you, alight with my wicked amusement. Stretching out more broadly on the throne of Dexter’s hideous couch. “You could almost put a full sentence together so long as you tag one another in after every breath.”

The taunt’s enough to unlodge wherever Dexter’s tongue’s at.

“I need you to help her kill this guy while I’m gone,” he finally says bluntly. Arms folded, expression stern, yet hinted by what may as well be him begging me, which in itself, is…

Well. He’s never asked me for anything. Not like this. Though I certainly don’t owe him any favors…

“I know you know how to set up a proper kill room,” he states, and he should–he’s seen my imitation of his plastic-drenched kill room, firsthand. I’ve studied his work more than anyone. Emulated it to perfection, and all for a happily-ever-after he refused to take part of, spat cold in my face.

For a moment, I feel almost human in how I can’t seem to react or respond to this request. Though as I watch the mirrored hope in you both, as the idea of this slowly settles, I find that it doesn’t completely bore me…

My eyes drift to you. Singling you out. Stringing round your anxious expression. And you’ve mettle, at least, to not look away from the barbs of my musing intensity.

So. This is why you’ve been acting so sheepishly inept. You need big bad Brian’s help with something.

It’s laughably cute, the idea of you killing, and already I know I’m going to do it. But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t make you sit in it a little. Take my time in toying with you, first.

“You want me to babysit your blackmailing little friend here,” I say to Dex, with raven-dark eyes still on you, “while she attempts–and correct me if I’m wrong here–her first kill?”

I can tell you can feel how my gaze is dissecting you. Pulling apart, piecing together, assessing every piece and shape and shade of you. It makes you squirm, and I love it; sparing a moment to slide my tongue over the sharpness of my teeth as I feast on such a beautiful reaction.

I turn back to Dex. “What makes you think she’s even capable?”

“I’m capable,” you insist, drawing my gaze again. And even through those nerves roused in my presence, you appear quite convinced of it.

Interesting.

“I can do this,” you again allege. With such frail confidence, but confidence nonetheless. “I just… need a little help.”

I tamp down the rearing head of my inquisitiveness. Ensure my interest remains vague in how I lackadaisically eye you.

“Help with what, exactly?” I slowly ask. And it’s not a no, which I’m amused to see is so surprising.

You blink a few times, eyes growing wider, more determined–before you’re explaining, quickly, as though whatever luck this is may run out.

“Getting him to the kill site,” you say succinctly, with all the puffed-up bravado of a fluffy little rabbit pretending that they’ve slayed a fox before, and it really is amusing. “Moving the body. Clean-up.”

I let my watchful silence drag on. Held in supposed indecisive contemplation. Should I? Should I? Until, when I can nearly hear your fretting heartbeat, I feel one corner of my lips slowly quirk up. Watching every minor movement of you like a fox might a meal, might a rabbit, and find I really wouldn’t mind taking a bite.

“Don’t need help doing the deed, then?” I subtly ask you.

Your eyebrows flicker to a knot. Lips pressing flat, before you shake your head at me. “No.”

“You sure?” I further goad, with silken smoothness. Loving those little cracks of hesitation along your lovely surface so much I’m inclined to hammer in even more of them. “‘Cause I won’t kill him for you. You have to do that, yourself. And what’s more, if you for any reason chicken out on me and can’t follow through with all this…” I calmly smile. “I’ll simply leave you there all alone with whatever maddened mess of whoever this man you’ve left behind.” The idea of it sparks a delicious flame somewhere deep below my cavernous lack of heart. “After ensuring he’s woken up, first, of course. Aware. Pissed off. Untied.”

I smile my cheshire smile as that resolve in you flickers in place; the smallest glow, so nearly snuffed out already.

“So?” I spur in your uncertain silence. “Do we have a deal, little killer?”

And still, you hesitate. Seeming to weigh my words with care, along with the cost of your own, which I certainly appreciate. You’re not as stupid as I’d originally believed, in any case.

At long last, you nod, but I don’t move, don’t even blink from how I wolfishly watch you from my throne of Dexter’s couch. Not until you say the words out loud. And you will, if you want my help. You have to.

If that’s a flash of resentment within those pretty eyes of yours, it only causes my broadening smirk.

“Fine,” you say at last, after thickly swallowing. “We have a deal.”

And surely light must dance in my entertained eyes as I bite back just how pleased I am by this answer.

This should be fun.

✧˖° chapter 2

#brian moser x reader #brian moser x you #brian moser #dexter #reader insert #wild animals #slasher x reader #fanfiction #rudy cooper #ice truck killer

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elexuscal · 2 years ago

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the longer i stay in fandom, the longer i think a huge amount of bad takes and discourse come from an... abundance of identifying with a character

to be clear, i don't think it's bad to identify with a character. far from it! i think that's part of what makes fiction so powerful.

and it's only logical people often attach to a blorbo because they're just like me, for real. a person will see some element of themselves-- their race, their gender, their sexuality, their hobbies, their family life, their specific flavour of neurodivergence-- and something just resonates. it gives them a way to explore and name this important part of themselves, a part they maybe didn't even know existed before it.

and everything is well and good until some split between them and the character shows up

because of course, no character, except an explicit self-insert written by yourself, will ever be a perfect 1:1 for your own experiences. so sooner or later-- maybe in canon, maybe in a fanwork-- your blorbo diverges from your lived experience in a huge way.

I think this is why shipping culture in particular gets so toxic. While it is by no means the only way to indulge with shipping, a significant portion is 'if i was in that character's shoes, i would choose X'. the fight becomes for your own self-identity.

but this gets expanded in other ways. a character who is revealed to be black when the majority of the fandom had just assumed they were white. or revealed to be queer, or maybe the 'wrong' flavour of queer. or fuck, even some more innocuous part of their backstory, one that's nonetheless so meaningful for SOMEONE, but now it feels like the story is saying, fuck you, we're doing something else

i don't know. i just feel acknowledging this perceived-attack-on-identity helps me understand why people react it what seems to be such outsized way to canon and fanworks alike.

at the same time, i think it's a really important thing to check in yourself.

it's nice, to see a character who you identify with. who resonates with for being like you. but it's also nice to acknowledge and appreciate the way characters are not like you at All. how great it is to get insight into this totally different lived experience. and to muse on how wonderful that recognition might be for someone who does have that background.

#i don't know this is rambly but i've been musing on this for a while #fandom #fiction #media analysis

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yumeka-sxf · 1 year ago

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In addition to Yor's epiphany scene, this scene was the other one I was most looking forward to in season 2 - a scene that, in my opinion, is one of the most Twiyor-ish scenes in the series so far 💖

Why is it so significant? Because there was no reason for Twilight to put on any Loid Forger acting in that moment. He wasn't conversing with nor being scrutinized by anyone. So why would he give that soft smile followed by such affectionate, comforting words as "お疲れ様/otsukaresama"? (this can be translated in many ways, but generally it's something you say to thank someone for their hard work).

The answer is because it's something he truly felt...he understood the sacrifice Yor made for Anya's happiness and genuinely appreciated it (if only he knew the sacrifice she made on the larger scale, lol). While he's a bit perturbed at first since some onlookers were snickering at him, it didn't take long for him to soften and then graciously carry his queen and princess the girls back to the ship 😭

But Twilight overall was really soft in this episode and I loved it~ From his blush upon seeing Yor to the several times he gave that same soft smile when talking with/looking at her...I think Anya was right when she called him out on the ship about missing his wife 😅

I liked how the anime conveyed his shock when noticing her bruised face...what must have been his thought at that moment? 👀

The scenes of the family activities translated better in animated form in my opinion. While they were each only a single panel in the manga, they lasted a few seconds each in the anime, plus the addition of the insert song helped the with the comfy, wholesome vibe~ Also the part where Yor inadvertently chucks Anya across the ocean is still hilarious.

Loid's dorky skip at the beginning of the episode translated very well in animated form too 😅

The ending of this chapter in the manga always felt a bit rushed to me...it quickly jumps from the aforementioned scene of them returning to the ship, to suddenly being home, reuniting with Bond and Franky, having a meal together, then Twilight meeting Sylvia, all within a few panels. Even though I wish the anime added more than just some additional scenes of the ship leaving the island, I felt it flowed much better in the anime since, just like the family activities, each scene in the ending lasted a second or two instead of being a single illustration.

But I love how this chapter/episode ends, with Yor, Anya, and Bond napping while Anya draws about her family vacation. This seems to take place the next day or maybe later the same day they got home, so makes sense they'd still be tired from the trip!

By the way, the manga has this additional scene showing that Olka and company are safe. Weird that the anime didn't stick it in at some point.

Also, the anime team didn't have to go so hard with this episode's key visual but they did...and I love it 😍 Might actually be my favorite of the key visuals so far!

I was very happy to see the "surrounded by liars" panel finally animated! This is such a funny scene and a great way to fully wrap up the cruise arc.

I also burst out laughing at Yuri's locker 🤣

Damian is surprisingly laid back in this episode. I think the reason is because Anya's antics aren't directly involving him. He tends to go total tsundere only when she's actually talking to him, lol.

The new scene of Yor getting the keychains for her coworkers was a nice addition! Guess it's canon that Yor and Anya didn't sleep for the entire trip back, lol. Glad they got to spend family time on the ship too! (though I wish we could have seen Yor's reaction waking up in Loid's bottom bunk bed, haha. He must have brought her to his room since he wouldn't know where her room is. Unless she woke up before he even put her in a bed, in which case she would have been super embarrassed knowing he was carrying her around in public 😆)

Looks like next week the anime will be changing the order of things a bit and giving us the Becky home-wrecking and Fiona chapters (the latter of which seems to have some anime original content?) The Becky chapter is one of my favorite stand-alone chapters...I'm already dying of laugher thinking about it 😂

#spy family #spy x family #sxf #spyxfamily #loid forger #yor forger #anya forger #twiyor #sxf anime #becky blackbell #yuri briar

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yoditopascal · 7 months ago

Text

Like A Prayer (Part One)

summary: best friends with wade you’re always being dragged into something even when he’s not trying to, what are you to do when you find the fate of your timeline in the hands of yourself, your chaotic merc and an angry wolverine who’s hellbent on drinking himself to death?

content warning: romance, some angst, a little fluff, character deaths, canon-typical violence, smut, lots of cussing, mutual pining, found family, drug and alcohol use, reader insert but with no use of y/n cuz I hate that shit, deadpool being deadpool, mentions of poor mental health (depression anxiety and ptsd mostly), scent marking, the honda odyssey scene needs a warning all on its own MINORS DNI

a/n: lots of wade in this one but no wolverine just yet!

tag list: @allmyn1ghts, @oscarissac2099

Masterlist//Next Chapter

Not Ok

Flashes of images invaded your mind. You were in a tank, arms restrained to your sides as the oxygen was slowly sucked out of the chamber, suffocating you. Your nails digging into the leather cushioning beneath you as you try to claw your way out.

Now you were strapped to a table, an array of needles embedded into your arms and legs as you were injected painfully with all kinds of different things you weren’t even sure of.

You startled awake before the sound of your alarm had a chance to rouse you from your sleep. Groggily you run a shaky hand over your face before rolling over to grab your phone checking the time. You still had about 3 hours before it was time to get up and get ready for work. Knowing you most likely weren’t going to go back to sleep, not that you wanted to anyways, you toss the covers off of you and head to the bathroom.

You turn the water of the shower on, waiting for it to heat up as you stand back up you catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror, taking in your disheveled appearance you sigh as you lean over the sink.

There’s visible dark circles under your eyes from being torn from sleep countless times over the last few months. You were sure why the nightmares had started back up again, it had been years since you had been freed from the Weapon X program so why was it all coming back now?

Pulling your tank top over your head you quickly undressed and hopped into the shower. The water cascaded over you, the warmth a welcome relief. You closed your eyes, as you felt your tired muscles slowly start to relax under the soothing spray. Lathering up your soap on a loofa you quickly washed and dried yourself putting on ample amounts of makeup to hide your dark circles.

Once dressed you sat down at your little table in the kitchen and helped yourself to a bowl of cereal as you checked your phone again.

So much shit was happening in the world, genocides, corrupt politicians running for power, starving children. It was all you saw anytime you opened up anything and it was all too much. The world was going to complete shit

You lock your phone and check the time, you still had about an hour before work. Slipping on your shoes you grab your keys and your bag and head out the door nearly bumping into Wade who was munching on a bagel in the hallway.

“Jesus fuck Wade!” You said placing a hand over your rapidly beating heart. “You scared the shit outta me!”

“My bad pookie bear. Didn’t know you worked today.” He said with a shrug adjusting his wig as he did so.

“Almost every day this week.” You said with a sigh rubbing a hand down your tired face. You had been doing that a lot lately. “God I’m so tired.”

“I hear OnlyFans is really popping off right now.”Wade said but it was hard to tell if he was joking or not with his straight face.

“Yeah? So what, you and Vanessa can be my only subscribers?” You snorted with an exaggerated laugh.

“I know for a fact Colossus would pay top dollar for a sneak peak of your toes!”

The sound of your ex's name made you grimace. Not that you had any ill will towards him, you were both still good friends albeit a bit awkward now that you’ve dated for a short time, but you still didn’t want the thought of him anyway near anything sexual you did.

“Hard pass.”

“Suit yourself.” Wade said taking another bite from his bagel and you two walked down the hall together.

You start to rub at your forehead as you felt a headache coming on as you walked, another occurrence that had started to happen more and more often.

“More nightmares?” Wade asks, his voice laced with concern as he watched you.

“Yeah…but don’t worry about it Wade.” You could handle yourself, a few ibuprofen and you’d be fine.

He calls your name, as if to say it’s too late not to be worried about you, but you wave him off as you dig around in your backpack for a second before pulling out a small black envelope.

“Happy birthday by the way! You’re hard as fuck to shop for so I hope you like it.” You smile at him as you hold out the gift hoping to change the subject.

With an exaggerated gasp Wade tosses his bagel behind him and holds up his hands up in surprise before taking the envelope from you, and ripping it open. Inside were two tickets to a Celine Dion concert, one of his favorite artists.

“Oh my-!” He starts with a gasp “I didn’t even know she was touring!” He cried excitedly as he pulled you into a tight hug.

“Yeah I had to basically stalk Ticketmaster for those so you’re welcome.” You said returning the hug.

“Sugar booger! I love it!” He said releasing you.

“Now you just gotta figure out who to take with you.” You said as you bump shoulders with him. “Maybe Peter….oooor I don’t know maybe a certain someone we all know and love who works at a particular strip club that we like to visit on occasion?”

“Peanut…” Wade warned, you held up your hands in surrender. It was like a kid trying to get their divorced parents back together.

“Look, all I’m saying is it wouldn’t hurt to ask her.”

“I’ll think about it.” He says quietly as he stares out deep in thought.

With that the two of you part ways, wishing each other a good day at work, Wade heading for his bike where Peter was waiting and waving at you, and you heading toward the bus stop.

Work at the pet shop was the same as always, mundane and mind numbing but it paid the rent so who were you to complain about it. You had your fair share of zooted teens coming in to ask dumbass questions and waste your time as well as the occasional fish snob who complained about the size of your tanks but all of that was typical of a normal day and honestly made it go by quicker. By the time you realized what time it was it was time to clock out and head on home to help set up for Wade’s surprise party.

Once home you dropped off your bag and changed your clothes putting on a loose fitted t-shirt and jeans with a cardigan before heading over to Wade’s place with a bunch of drinks. You didn’t drink much but everytime Wade went out on a “business trip”, as he called them, back in his Deadpool days he’d bring you back a bottle of something.

Inside Wade and Blind Al’s apartment across the hall, many of your mutual friends were already busy at work setting up for the party. Colossus Ellie and Yukio were busy blowing up balloons and decorating while Dopinder Buck and Vanessa were busy setting up the food spread.

Looking around yourself you felt a small smile tug at the corner of your lips, all around you were the people you and Wade loved the most and you were incredibly lucky to have them in your lives after everything you all had been through over the years. A pang in your chest made you hold a hand over it and your smile dropped. Something still felt missing though and no matter how hard you thought about it you just couldn’t place what it was.

“How you doing sweetheart?” A soft voice pulled you from your thoughts. Whipping around you were pulled into a tight hug by Blind Al.

“I’m doing alright.” You smiled weakly “How’d you know it was me?”

“I’m blind not deaf sweetheart,” she said “ain’t nobody else here sighing that hard but you and Wade and Wade’s not here yet.”

“Sorry.”

“Your dreams still giving you trouble?” She asks as she leads you further into the home.

“I wouldn’t say dreams, more like night terrors but yeah they are a little.” You say as you place the bag said booze you bought on the kitchen counter and follow Al to the living room where she seated herself comfortably in her recliner. “It’s nothing to worry about though.”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter baby.”

For someone who was blind Al sure could see right through you sometimes.

“I’m probably just stressed is all.” You try to downplay the situation but Al wasn’t having it.

“It’s been months.” She says matter of factly.

“It’s been a stressful few months.”

“Look… I may not have been there when you and Wade went through what you went through in that program but it’s over now. It’s done and that Ajax guy can’t hurt you anymore.” She said resting a hand in her arm gently.

Al hadn’t been a part of the Weapon X program like you and Wade had been but that hadn’t stopped him from telling her in excruciating detail about all the horrible shit you both had gone through during it.

“I know Al I just-“ you start but stop not fully knowing how to describe what you felt. “I just wish I could switch my brain off, just hit the reset button and be done with it but I- can’t get the memories outta my head.”

“I know sweetheart it’s gonna take time but time ain’t gonna do shit if you don’t let people in to help you.”

You knew she was right but you’d be damned if you’d admit it out loud.

“When did this turn into a therapy session? I thought this was supposed to be a party.”

“Smart ass.” She said tapping you on the leg with her cane. “Go help Vanessa make the jungle juice before he gets home. I’m gonna go see if that dumbass has any Bolivian marching powder left in his stash.” With that she stood to her feet and went to her’s and Wade’s shared bedroom

“Oh Al come on! I thought you guys were done with that.” You called after her with a frown.

“Not till I’m dead babygirl.” She called back and if she could you think she’d wink at you.

Back in the kitchen you and Vanessa make quick work mixing and setting up the drink you bought making light conversation as you do so.

“So-“ she starts off but pauses as if deep in thought for a moment.

“So?” You ask curiously as you take a sip of the alcoholic punch taste testing to see if it needed anything.

“You uh seeing anybody new yet?” She asks.

You nearly choke on your drink in surprise.

“N-no I uh no I’m not.” You stuttered trying to compose yourself. “Are you?”

“Y-yeah there’s this guy. I met him at work, he’s kind.”

You could tell she was lying, but didn’t speak on it.

“Y’know, I hear Colossus has been talking about you to Ellie a lot lately.”

Here we go again you thought.

“Oh nah hard pass we tried that dance already didn’t really work out.” You waved her off, but she continued anyway.

“I’m just saying he’s a nice guy, and he’s big, like everywhere, and made of metal, that’s like totally your thing. Remember when we saw the Winter Soldier and you wouldn’t shut up about Bucky’s metal arm?”

Not she was calling you out.

“Just think about it hun, you're always stuck up in your apartment or at work, you’re lonely and I think a little human connection would do you some good.”

“Yeah alright I’ll think about it.” She smiles at you before caressing your cheek, like she was the big sister you never knew you had.

“But only if you think about giving Wade another chance too.” You slip in “Deal?”

She contemplates for a moment before she smiles back at you again. You knew she still had feelings for the man and so did he.

“Deal.”

Before either of you could change the topic of your conversation the front door opened up again, this time revealing Peter and Wade.

“Surprise!” Everyone shouted as Dopinder Ellie and Yukio threw confetti into the air.

“Oh you guys!” Wade gasps dramatically. “You’re lucky I’m not armed!”

“If this was five years ago you’d all be dead.” He laughed as he went around hugging everyone.

The party went on without a hitch. Wade intermingling with everyone as he was passed around the room. You stayed in your own little corner as you watched sipping on your third drink for the evening. Parties weren’t really your thing but for Wade you’d endure them when you had to. Just as you were about to move to get yourself another drink you spotted Wade and Vanessa talking quietly amongst themselves in the kitchen hovering over the punch bowl. With a smile just glad they were finally talking to each other you thought it better not to disturb them for the time being.

Soon after however you all found yourselves piling into the kitchen as Wade called for everyone to come and cut the cake. Wade snapped a few pictures on Yukio’s Polaroid, making some cheesy speech about how lucky he was to be surrounded each and every person he ever loved in one room, something you rolled your eyes at even though you had found yourself thinking the same thing just earlier, before going to make a wish blowing out his birthday candles as he did so.

The party continued to progress throughout the night and the stuffiness of all the bodies in the room was starting to get to you. Excusing yourself from conversing with Buck and Peter you step out into the hallway for a moment to try and get some air. Your head felt like it was swimming, probably from all the alcohol and not enough food, and you were starting to feel nauseated as a pounding sound hammered through your skull. Eventually you decided to take a step outside to get some actual air to see if that would help.

After a handful of greedy gulps of the fresh night air you finally decide to return to the party before anyone came looking for you. Once inside your hallway you spotted Wade first, but he wasn’t alone this time. Surrounding him were at least 5 guys all dressed in black body armor and masks with weird electrical looking batons in their grasps. Immediately your defenses rose as you silently crept up behind them.

“Oh peanut, you came back! I’d offer to let you join in on the orgy but I don’t think this guy here’s down for sharing me.” Wade quips as he sucks on a breath mint leaning on his doorway. His comment drew most of the men’s attention towards you but not before he drew it back to himself. It seemed that they could care less that you were even there. “He’s got this whole hate sex, love 'em and leave' em vibe going for him right now.”

“Shut your mouth clown!” The guy in the front snaps as he goes to grab Wade by his toupee. Just as he grabs it an orange doorway opens up behind Wade and a pair of arms reach out pulling him inside causing his hair system to get ripped off.

“Wade!” You shout as you sprung into action, using all your weight you shove two of the guys causing the three of you to fall through the strange orange doorway just before it closed behind you.

#logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x reader #wolverine imagine #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #platonic deadpool x reader #logan x reader #logan x black reader #logan imagine #logan #hugh jackman #like a prayer

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 1 month ago

Note

k i just imagine Anne being super jealous of mc taking her place in the slytherin tro especially if is a slytherin. only for that to disappear once she catches mc and sebastian kissing

Green with Envy

hello anon!!! I hope this is what you were looking for <3333 enjoy~!

Words: ~2,500

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Post Canon, Slytherin MC, Jealous Anne Sallow, Seventh Year

Anne Sallow sat in the Slytherin common room, her gaze fixed on the emerald flames flickering in the ornate fireplace. The familiar green hues cast shadows across the room, but they didn’t bring her the comfort they once had. Hogwarts felt the same in so many ways—the cool dungeon air, the low murmur of voices, the occasional burst of laughter echoing off the stone walls—but Anne felt like an outsider looking in.

It had been two months since her return, long enough for the novelty of seeing her back to wear off for most of her classmates. The whispered concerns about her health had faded into polite smiles and casual greetings. But Anne couldn’t shake the feeling that while Hogwarts had stayed the same, the people she cared about most had moved on.

Anne's eyes drifted across the room, landing on you. You sat at one of the long, dark wood tables in the library, a quill spinning idly between your fingers as you leaned over a parchment covered in notes. Your brows were furrowed in concentration, but the corner of your mouth twitched as Sebastian spoke beside you. His chair was turned at an angle, his body leaning casually toward yours. He didn’t even bother pretending to study, his hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke.

You laughed softly at something he said, the sound light and genuine, and Anne felt her chest tighten. That laugh, the one that used to belong to her and Sebastian during late-night chats in the common room or quiet afternoons by the lake, now seemed to belong to you.

She hated the way it made her feel.

The hushed murmur of voices reached her ears. She wasn’t trying to listen, but it was impossible not to overhear.

“Come on,” Sebastian said, his voice carrying a teasing edge. “You don’t really need that book right now. We could just finish this tomorrow.”

“You mean you could finish this tomorrow,” you replied, your tone exasperated but laced with amusement. “Some of us actually want to pass our exams, you know.”

“Since when have you ever been in danger of failing?” Sebastian quipped, leaning a little closer. “You’re practically the top of the class. One night off won’t kill you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into these things. You’re a terrible influence.”

“A terrible influence?” he repeated, feigning offense. “I like to think I’m inspiring.”

Anne’s jaw tightened. Her brother used to laugh like that with her. Used to lean in close and feign offense with that same smirk, his words a mix of teasing and warmth that only a sibling or a best friend could fully understand. But now, all of that energy was directed toward you.

She turned her attention back to the fire, clenching her fists in her lap. She hated feeling this way—jealous, petty, insecure—but it gnawed at her all the same. You weren’t even trying to take her place; you weren’t cruel or dismissive of her. In fact, you’d gone out of your way to include her since she’d returned.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You were the one including her, as if you were the one who belonged in the trio. As if she needed an invitation to be part of the group she’d helped shape since childhood, the group made of her own twin brother and her oldest friend.

“Anne.”

She looked up to see Ominis approaching, his wand held lightly in his hand. His gaze was as unreadable as ever, but there was a softness in his tone that told her he’d noticed her brooding.

“Mind some company?” he asked, inclining his head slightly toward the empty seat beside her.

“Not at all,” she replied, forcing a smile.

Ominis sat gracefully, his movements fluid and precise. He tilted his head toward the table where you and Sebastian were sitting, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “Sebastian’s trying convince her into another harebrained scheme, I assume.”

Anne scoffed, though it lacked her usual bite. “Of course he has. I don’t know why anyone listens to him.”

“You used to,” Ominis pointed out, a touch of amusement in his voice.

She sighed, leaning back against the plush green cushions of the sofa. “Yeah, well, I used to be a lot of things.”

Ominis didn’t respond immediately. He simply sat beside her, his presence steady and grounding. It was one of the things Anne had always appreciated about him—his ability to fill silences without making them uncomfortable.

“They’re really thick as thieves, aren’t they?” Anne said, her tone light but carrying an unmistakable edge. She gestured vaguely toward you and Sebastian at the table.

Ominis tilted his head slightly, the smirk fading as he considered her words. “They're certainly close,” he replied evenly. “Sebastian trusts her, and she’s proven herself more than capable.”

Anne hummed, feigning indifference as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I suppose it’s good he has someone else to rope into his antics. I’d hate to think he was bothering you as much as he used to.”

Ominis raised an eyebrow at her, his lips twitching upward again. “Oh, he still bothers me plenty. But she has a way of keeping him… grounded. It’s quite impressive, really.”

Anne’s jaw tightened, but she forced a casual shrug. “If you say so. I’d think someone who’s ‘grounded’ wouldn’t be so quick to follow Sebastian into trouble. She doesn’t seem to think much before acting.”

Ominis let out a soft chuckle, unperturbed. “On the contrary, I’d say she thinks quite a bit. She just has an uncommon knack for making bold decisions when it counts.” He turned his head slightly in her direction, his expression neutral but his tone carrying a gentle warning. “Not unlike someone else I know.”

Anne bristled, heat rising to her cheeks. “I’m just saying, she’s a bit much sometimes, isn’t she? Always trying to take charge, always… there.”

There was a flicker of something in Ominis’s expression—mild disappointment, perhaps, though he hid it quickly. “She’s been a good friend to both of us, Anne,” he said, his voice calm and even. “And to Sebastian, especially. I’m sure you can appreciate how important that is to him, considering everything he’s been through.”

Anne’s stomach churned at the reminder, guilt mixing with her irritation. She bit her lip, looking away. “Well, it’s nice to know someone’s looking out for him,” she muttered.

Ominis didn’t respond immediately. He seemed to sense the underlying bitterness in her words but chose not to press further. Instead, he shifted slightly in his seat, tilting his head as if listening to the crackling of the fire.

“If she's taught me one thing, it's that it's usually advantageous to assume the best of people,” he said finally, his tone measured. “Even when it feels like they’ve taken something from us. You should've seen the way I bit her head off when Sebastian first showed her the Undercroft. Now she's one of my closest friends.”

Anne’s gaze snapped to him, her frustration bubbling over. “I’m not saying she’s taken anything from me,” she said sharply, though her words rang hollow even to her own ears.

“Of course not,” Ominis said smoothly, inclining his head. His expression didn’t change, but there was a knowing edge to his voice that made Anne feel exposed.

She stood abruptly, grabbing her bag from the floor. “I’ve got homework to do,” she said curtly, avoiding his gaze.

Ominis raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop her. “As you wish,” he said simply, his voice maddeningly calm.

Anne stormed out of the common room, her footsteps echoing in the quiet dungeon corridors. She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms as a swirl of emotions threatened to overwhelm her. Guilt, anger, jealousy—they all churned in her chest, leaving her feeling like a stranger in her own skin.

She didn’t know where she was going, but one thing was certain: she needed space. From Ominis, from Sebastian, from you.

As she ascended the stairs, the cool dungeon air gave way to the warmer, lighter scent of the upper levels. Her footsteps echoed sharply in the quiet corridors, her mind spinning with frustration. She wanted to scream, to vent, to do something to burn off the swirling emotions that refused to settle.

By the time she reached the library, she’d only grown more irritated.

She stormed inside, the dim light of the chandeliers overhead glinting off the rows of polished tables and endless shelves of books.

Her heart was pounding, her breaths sharp and shallow.

She beelined for the farthest corner of the library, past the noisier central tables where younger students worked in hushed tones, past the study group huddled over Arithmancy charts, and deeper still into the secluded, darker aisles. Here, only the faint glow of enchanted lanterns illuminated the towering shelves, casting long shadows that flickered like ghosts.

Finally, she dropped into a stiff wooden chair, her bag thumping to the floor beside her. She yanked it open, pawing through the contents with rising frustration, only to confirm what she already suspected—she’d brought nothing useful. No notes, no homework, not even a novel to distract herself.

Grinding her teeth, Anne snatched a book from the nearest shelf without even glancing at the title. Its faded spine creaked in protest as she flung it open and stared at the text. The Ancient Runes of Central Europe. The densely packed lines of incomprehensible script blurred before her eyes.

She wasn’t here to study, not really.

Anne flipped a page with more force than necessary, her jaw tight. Why does he even let her boss him around like that? He’d never have let me—

She stopped herself, exhaling a shaky breath. The bitterness was bubbling up again, unbidden and unwelcome, but she couldn’t suppress it. She told herself she was angry at you, at your presumptuousness, but the truth was harder to admit.

She was angry at herself. Angry for letting things fall apart, for coming back and realizing she didn’t know where she fit anymore.

The faint sound of voices jolted her from her spiraling thoughts. At first, they were distant, muffled murmurs—but they grew louder, clearer, until they were unmistakable.

Sebastian’s voice.

And yours.

Anne’s pulse quickened as her body went rigid. Her gaze darted toward the aisle entrance, and her heart sank when she saw the two of you walking toward her secluded corner. Panic shot through her. She couldn’t let you see her like this, couldn’t let you or Sebastian catch her brooding in the dark like some bitter outcast.

Quickly, she drew her wand and cast a silent Disillusionment Charm. The air around her shimmered like heat rising off pavement, and then she vanished from sight, blending into the shadows. She barely had time to still her breathing before the two of you entered the space.

“Sebastian,” you said, your voice tinged with mock exasperation. “If you don’t let me find this book, I swear—”

“Swear what?” Sebastian interrupted, his tone playful. “Hex me? In a library? You wouldn’t dare.”

Your laugh echoed softly, light and genuine, and Anne’s stomach twisted. She watched as you crossed to a nearby shelf, scanning the spines for whatever book you were after. Sebastian followed close behind, his steps leisurely, his posture so casual it bordered on smug.

“I’m serious,” you said, your back to him. “I'm here to find that bloody book."

“Oh, come on,” Sebastian said, his voice dropping into a coaxing tone. “Surely it can wait a minute. Or five.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “What could possibly be so important that it can’t wait until I’ve found The Advanced Applications of Charms?”

Sebastian grinned, stepping closer. “Well, for starters, you’re looking in the wrong section.”

Anne watched as he reached over your shoulder, his hand brushing against yours as he plucked a book from the shelf. His fingers lingered on the spine as he handed it to you, his smirk softening into something wolfish.

You rolled your eyes but took the book. “Thanks. Now let's find a table so I can work."

“Or,” he said, stepping even closer, “I could just keep distracting you.”

You shook your head, though your lips curved upward despite yourself.

The air shifted between you, the teasing edge giving way to something heavier, more intimate. Anne’s breath caught as she watched Sebastian’s hand rise to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Sebastian,” you said softly, your voice carrying a note of warning, but it lacked conviction.

He leaned in, his voice a low murmur. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You didn’t say a word.

Sebastian closed the distance. His lips brushed yours gently at first, testing, and then he pressed more firmly, his hand sliding to your waist. Your arms looped around his neck, pulling him closer as the book you’d been holding slipped from your grasp, landing on the floor with a soft thud.

Oh.

Anne felt her stomach twist, but this time, it wasn’t jealousy or anger. It was guilt, sharp and undeniable, crashing over her in waves. All this time, she’d been stewing in resentment, convincing herself that you were encroaching on something that was hers. But the truth was painfully clear now: you hadn’t taken anything.

Sebastian’s laughter, his attention, his loyalty—they hadn’t shifted away from her because of you. They’d shifted because things had changed, because he had changed. And whatever this was between you, it wasn’t a threat to her place in his life, her place as his sister. It was something separate, something he hadn’t had the courage to tell her about yet.

For the first time in months, the tight knot in Anne’s chest began to loosen. She let out a slow, shaky breath, her Disillusionment Charm still holding as she watched the two of you break apart. You were both smiling softly, your foreheads touching for a moment as Sebastian murmured something she couldn’t quite hear.

Anne blinked back the unexpected sting of tears. She wasn’t upset anymore, not really. If anything, she felt relief. Relief that Sebastian had someone who clearly made him so happy. Relief that her fears of being replaced were unfounded.

Still, as the guilt ebbed, a flicker of her old self returned. A sly grin tugged at her lips as she leaned back against the bookshelf, silently observing as you nudged Sebastian’s shoulder and whispered something about “actually letting you work now.”

Anne bit back a laugh, the weight of her emotions giving way to something lighter, something closer to joy. Oh, she was going to have so much fun with this.

Her brother—her proud, occasionally insufferable, love-struck brother—hadn’t even mentioned this little development to her. And while part of her knew she should let him come to her in his own time, another part—larger, mischievous, and undeniably Sallow—was already crafting a plan.

She could already picture it. The knowing smirks. The casually dropped comments. The exaggerated shock when she “discovered” their secret in public.

Sebastian wouldn’t know what hit him.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #sebastian sallow #fanfic #fanfiction #sebastian sallow x mc #jealousy and longing #x you fluff #anne sallow #reader insert #x reader

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edamameimei · 17 days ago

Text

do i wanna know?

"sort of hoping that you'd stay..."

pairing: daniela avanzini!dream academy x reader!dream academy

synopsis: all the girls in dream academy knew you and daniela had a very close dynamic. it was one that often left them all confused, but they knew one thing for certain, and that was you belonged to daniela avanzini. but as your friendship grows with a certain australian, daniela begins to do some reflection of her own when it comes to her attachment towards you.

fluff in the beginning, gets a little suggestive near the end. mostly angst soz. CW: dani is a lil possessive and toxic if you squint!

a/n: just want to put out there that this is not a REAL portrayal of the people mentioned in this fic. all events are fictional and are for entertainment purposes only. i am and will always be an ezrela thinker so i had to express it somehow so i decided to throw it back to dream academy era for valentines day <333

wc: 4344 words

now playing: do i wanna know? (live at the bbc) - hozier

part two

Daniela had always been curious about you and Ezrela’s relationship.

At first, she thought it was sweet. Watching you two together always brought a smile to Daniela’s face, the way your 5’10” stature towered over Ezrela significantly. The girl was just so tiny and cute, it would be hard to not find the dynamic between you both somewhat adorable.

That was, until you two become much more comfortable with each other.

There was an unspoken rule amongst the Dream Academy girls. It was one that only you and Daniela were not in on, yet you two created it. Or, more so Daniela. That rule was to keep physical contact with you at a minimum. They found hugs were fine (as long as they don’t last longer than a second or two) and just speaking with you was fair game. But once someone tries leaning in closer, tries to place a hand on your arm, Daniela Avanzini magically appears right next to you and inserts herself into the conversation.

The girls didn’t mind it. Actually, they found it amusing. It became somewhat of a teasing game amongst them. Who can piss Dani off the most? But when they notice the Latina is not in the mood for any jokes or any playful games, they all know to back off. They wouldn’t dare piss the girl off even more. Daniela, without even knowing, has made her claim on you. She made it very clear. Of course, this sparks speculations over the true dynamic of your “friendship,” but the girls know it’s something you two will have to figure out on your own. According to Lara, “it’s a canon event and we cannot interfere.”

But Ezrela really knows how to push Daniela’s buttons.

It was subtle at first, honestly.

After another long and tiring day of T&D, a few of the girls decide to make a trip to a boba place they saw around the corner. While you sat on the practice room floor, switching out your sneakers to wear converse, you spoke to Ezrela animatedly. You both were engaged in a conversation about an anime you both were watching and had very similar opinions on an episode that recently aired.

On the otherside of the room, Daniela and Lara wait, having their own conversation. Every once in a while, Daniela would look over, her eyes focused on the way Ezrela acted around you. Once she was satisfied with what she saw, she would turn back to Lara, giving her undivided attention.

When she looks back at you two, Daniela’s eyes narrow slightly. At some point, Ezrela shifted closer to you, now sitting right in front of you. The small girl shows you something on her phone and it makes you laugh loudly, placing your hand on her shoulder to brace yourself.

Daniela decides she is done waiting when she sees Ezrela tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. She is basically stomping over when she hears a soft giggle escape your lips.

She extends her arm, waiting for you to take her hand so you all can finally leave. Ezrela immediately stands to her feet while you take Daniela’s hand, unaware of the Latina’s hard gaze. You stand up, allowing Daniela to pull you towards the door with a tight grip.

And then it was the Instagram posts.

You and Daniela lay in the Latina’s bed in the dorms. You’re both still in the gray uniforms, too lazy to take them off after filming all day for Dream Academy. At some point, while Daniela scrolled through her TikTok so you two could watch together, you fell asleep. Daniela has her head against your chest, feeling comforted by the way it rises and falls with every breath. Her leg is swung over yours and for some reason, it just feels natural to be this close in proximity.

Daniela switches to Instagram, finally getting tired of watching the videos on her For You Page. The first post that pops up strikes a nerve within the girl.

Five minutes ago, Ezrela posted a photo set of you and her. The photos were taken the day before and it was of you two in the gray uniforms.

The first photo was of you looking down at Ezrela with a teasing smile as the Aussie had her arms crossed, pouting up at the girl.

The second photo was a .5. You held the camera with your tongue sticking out. Ezrela kept a neutral expression.

The third photo was of you two hugging. Daniela’s eyes harden at the way you held Ezrela close. The Aussie had her head against your chest, her arms wrapped around your torso. Your arms wrapped around Ezrela’s neck, one of your hands in the girl’s hair. The photo looked tender and rather loving and it made Daniela feel sick.

The last photo was quite blurry but it still did enough to make Daniela’s blood boil. You two were smiling widely as you held Ezrela in your arms bridal style. The Aussie had her arms securely wrapped around your neck, head on your shoulder.

The caption read: THE short and tall duo>>>

Daniela huffs. She feels even more annoyed with the caption. She looks up at you and sees that you’re still sleeping peacefully. Your mouth is slightly open, snoring softly. For a moment, Daniela’s eyes soften at the way you look. It quickly disappears when she remembers Ezrela’s stupid post and pokes your side, trying to wake you. You stir, groaning when you feel Daniela’s finger jabbing into your side incessantly. You swat at her with no energy at all. “Dani stop… I’ve been up since 5 AM let me keep my eyes closed a few minutes longer…”

Suddenly, you feel the bed shift. You open your eyes slightly, a bit confused by the commotion. Your eyes widen when Daniela begins straddling you, sitting prettily on top of you with her legs on either side of you. Your breath catches in your throat and you wonder if you’re still dreaming.

“I wanna take a photo for my Instagram story.” You raise an eyebrow at the Latina. “That’s why you woke me up?” She simply nods her head in response. You groan, closing your eyes again. Suddenly, you sigh in exasperation, relenting to your best friend. “Okay… How do you wanna do it?” Daniela grabs you by the tie, pulling you up while she is still situated on your lap. You scoot back a bit so you can lean your back against the headboard. You instinctively wrap your arms around Daniela’s waist and rest your head on the girl’s shoulder. You mumble, “what now?”

Daniela bites her lip, suddenly feeling shy by how intimate this feels. She doesn’t know why she’s acting like this. It’s not like you and her were together. It’s not like she even has romantic feelings for you. But Daniela has never been the one to share and she is going to make it a point for everyone to see.

You are her best friend. Not Ezrela’s.

She wraps an arm around your neck and grabs her phone, going to the Instagram app. She raises the phone, making sure you are both in the frame. Daniela smiles as you keep your head nuzzled into her shoulder, a small smile on your face can be seen. When Daniela is satisfied with how it is framed, she takes the picture. You mumble again, tightening your arms around Daniela, “Is it good?”

Daniela nods, biting her lip to hide her smirk. “It’s perfect.”

She captions it: hugs from y/n>>>

Manon sits in the lounge, headphones in as she scrolls through her phone.

Lara and Lexie notice her alone and decide to walk over to her. Lara sits next to her on the couch while Lexie sits in the armchair. Manon looks up, smiling tiredly. Lara raises an eyebrow. “You… Okay?”

Manon laughs, nodding her head. “Yeah. Dani is having a… Moment.”

Lexie looks at the girl with a worried expression. “Is she okay?” Manon nods again, sighing dramatically. “Just the usual things. Y/n is out with Ezrela and-“ Lara puts a hand up, not needing to hear any more from her. She looks at Lexie with a knowing look.

The two nod. Yeah, that’ll do it.

The first time you two argue about it, it scares Daniela shitless.

Because fuck why is she picking a fight about it?

You sneak back into the shared dorm with Manon and Daniela. You quietly tiptoe to your bed, not wanting to make a sound. You crouch by your bed, quietly taking off your shoes but the sound of the bed squeaking slightly causes you to pick your head up. You see Daniela laying there, wiping the sleepiness off her face. You reach out, tucking the hair covering her face behind her ear. You whisper softly, “come here often?”

Daniela giggles tiredly. “Where were you?”

You take your last shoe off and climb over Daniela. You situate yourself behind the girl and pull her close, enjoying the warmth that radiates from the girl’s body. Daniela cuddles closer to you, feeling her eyes wanting to close but she fights back. She wants to hear your answer.

She feels you whisper into her hair. “I went to the 7/11 across the street with Ezrela,” you giggle, “We got slurpees and decided to hang out a little bit longer.” Daniela bites her lip when she hears the response. She can’t help but feel an annoyance rising within her. She turns over, facing you with a hard look in her eyes. She whispers, “I was waiting for you…”

You feel a heat in your cheeks when Daniela faces you. You can’t help but feel hyperaware of how close you two are— how close your lips are. You push those thoughts away. You know better than to get ahead of yourself. This is Daniela Avanzini for crying out loud. You whisper back, “I told you I’d be out with Ezzie-“

“Until 3 in the freaking morning, Y/n?” Her whisper comes out harsh, a bit louder than before. You’re taken aback by her tone, not understanding the reason behind it. Daniela knows Ezrela is one of your closest friends in Dream Academy. Why is she making a big deal out of it? You bite your lip anxiously. “Yeah? You and I have been out that long before… Maybe even longer. What’s the problem?” Daniela can’t help the frustrated sigh that escapes her lips.

“I’m going back to my bed.” Daniela makes a move to sit up but you keep your arms around the Latina, tightening your grasp. You want to get to the bottom of this. Your first performance is tomorrow and you’re both in a group together. You can’t let Daniela become distracted, not when it’s your fault. But Daniela pushes you back, an obvious glare on her features. “Y/n. Let me go, I have to go to bed.” You don’t let up though. You just look at Daniela like a wounded puppy.

“Why are you mad?” The question makes Daniela even more furious. She doesn’t know why, it just does. She knows she’s acting irrationally but she also can’t help it. Whatever it is she’s feeling, she can’t push it away. Every time she sees you with Ezrela, the feeling intensifies. Deep down, she knows what it is. But she isn’t ready to face it, and she doesn’t know if she’d ever be. She pushes you again, this time winning the fight. She walks to her own bed without another word and crawls under the covers. She can feel your eyes on her but she doesn’t spare you a glance. She ignores it like she does with the feeling that festers messily in the pit of her stomach.

The next morning, at 9 AM, she wakes up to the sound of presumably you walking into the shared dorm. Daniela know you’re probably back from your morning run. She stays still, pretending to stay asleep. After the events that happened a few hours before, she is too afraid to acknowledge it. She hears you walk beside her bed and then walk away right after. She hears rummaging in the shared closet space and then your footsteps walking towards the bathroom. Once Daniela hears the door click close, she opens her eyes. She waits until she hears the shower running to get up. She sits up, pulling her legs up to her chest.

She knows she needs to apologize. But then she would have to explain herself and that, Daniela isn’t sure how to do. She doesn’t even know why she got mad at you in the first place. She sighs deeply and rests her head against her knees. She takes a glance at the clock on her nightstand but is surprised to see a cup of coffee sitting there.

Iced vanilla latte w/ almond milk.

also known as: a peace offering.

You get first place in fan votes for mission one.

When live voting ends and eliminations are made, you stand up, body shaking slightly from the stress. You walk over to Daniela, pulling the girl into a tight hug. You hold each other for a moment, grateful that you’re both safe this week. Seeing it all happen in real time made the experience much scarier. It made it all feel more like a competition. At the end of this, there really is something to lose.

You both pull away, but Daniela reaches out and holds your hand. You both exit the room with each other, a thick silence between you two. Suddenly, Ezrela runs up to you and Daniela feels you let go of her hand to catch Ezrela in your arms. She watches as you spin the Aussie around, smiles on your faces. The taller puts Ezrela down, keeping your hands on the girl’s waist as the other securely keeps her arms around your neck. Ezrela says something to you that causes you to throw your head back, laughing. The scene makes Daniela want to cry for some reason.

She is just so confused by what is going through her head.

You and Ezrela continue talking and Daniela decides she can’t watch you two anymore. She turns on her heel, following Manon out the door.

At some point, Daniela convinces herself that Ezrela is in fact doing it to piss her off.

When they’re in Lotte World, they have an opportunity to dress in the school uniforms they provide and the way you look in yours makes Daniela fall in love with you even more than before—

Pause.

She looks away, her cheeks burning when the thought comes to mind. She looks in the mirror, fiddling with the neck bow. She struggles a bit with the knot and she almost goes to Yoonchae for assistance but she feels a pair of hands over her own and she looks up to see you smiling down at her.

“Need help?” Daniela giggles softly, nodding. “Is it obvious?” You look at her with an adoration in her eyes that makes Daniela feel sick all over again. She rests her arms at her sides, allowing you to tie the bow around her neck. The Latina looks up at you, studying your features. The freckles that decorate your nose and cheeks, the way your brow furrows in concentration, your habit of biting your tongue when you’re determined. She watches as your lips curl into a small smile when you finish with Daniela’s bow, looking up from it to look at the Latina with a wide smile. The smile makes Daniela’s facade falter slightly. For a second, she almost believes that it would be safe for her to give into what she feels. For a moment, Daniela almost admits to herself what she has been denying for almost a year.

You look at Daniela and tilt your head in curiosity. You giggle, “Earth to Dani?” The Latina widens her eyes, suddenly feeling nervous. She pushes you away, rolling her eyes playfully. Her cheeks burn again and she hopes you don’t notice the way her cheeks are painted red. She mumbles, “You’re so annoying…” and you laugh, wrapping your arms around Daniela’s shoulders, pulling her close. You look into the mirror and smile softly.

“Let’s take a picture.” You reach into your pocket, grabbing your phone. You two take pictures, taking several with a variety of different poses and faces. After a few moments, you feel a poke on your shoulder and you look over to see Ezrela smiling sheepishly, holding her neck bow.

“I’ve been fighting with this thing for 30 minutes…” The statement makes you laugh loudly. You nod, taking the neck bow from the Aussie. Daniela watches as you assist Ezrela. She can’t help but notice how careful you were, as if scared you’d tie it too tightly or would make the shorter feel uncomfortable. That feeling begins bubbling up again, the one she always gets when she sees you anywhere near Ezrela. The mere mention of the Australian is enough to put her in a bad mood.

When you finish, Ezrela places her hands on your shoulders. She leans up and kisses you on the cheek. Daniela notices how she lingers there for a second longer. It’s as if everyone noticed the small gesture of affection because the room goes noticeably silent. The girls subtly look at Daniela, waiting for her reaction. The Latina was visibly fuming because what the fuck. Without thinking, Daniela pulls you by the hand, leading you towards the exit. Your eyes widen at the sudden shift in Daniela’s mood. “Why are we in a rush?”

Daniela shrugs. She lies, “I told Karlee, Lara, and Lexie we’d meet soon.” You accept the answer, still slightly bewildered by Daniela’s actions.

She turns around, effectively stopping you in your tracks. Daniela steps closer to you, an unreadable expression on her face. You’re about to say something but Daniela places a gentle hand on your cheek, removing it to place a finger underneath your chin. She tilts your head ever so slightly to the other side to see where Ezrela kissed you. Daniela frowns.

There was a very present red lipstick mark.

No thoughts go through Daniela’s mind as she licks the pad of her thumb on her free hand. She doesn’t think when she uses it to clean the lipstick stain. She isn’t thinking, the only thing she can focus on is the fact Ezrela thinks she can just leave her mark like this.

Daniela leans up and kisses you on the exact same spot. She presses her lips hard enough so her own lips can create their own stain. She is determined because you belonged to her.

When she pulls away, she sees the dazed look on your face. For some reason, it leaves Daniela satisfied. She pulls you along with her once again, confident in the fact that you are only thinking about her.

This thought is solidified when you return to your shared hotel room. Manon and Lexie went with the other girls to explore but you and Daniela decide to return to change into something different.

But the plan is long forgotten in Daniela’s mind when she is pressed against the door of the room, your lips on hers and your hands tangled in the Latina’s hair.

Everything is forgotten when she feels your lips on her neck, your warm hands underneath her shirt. When you pull away, Daniela looks at you with desperation in her eyes. As much as she wants you to be hers, she wants to be yours even more.

In one swift motion, you pick up the Latina and take her to your bed.

Tonight, she ends being yours in more ways than one.

And she hopes you’re hers in the exact same ways.

There’s a shift in your relationship and everyone notices.

Daniela doesn’t wait for you to be done changing out of your practice clothes. She doesn’t sit in the lounge with you anymore, simply opting to read her book alone. She starts spending more time with Megan, Emily, and Manon with you not in sight. You show up to practice earlier than usual with Daniela showing up much later.

It’s weird and everyone wonders what happened in Seoul.

But what doesn’t change is the way Daniela’s eyes narrow when she sees you with Ezrela. The way her fists clench when they announce you would be in Ezrela’s group for the week. Everyone notices how Daniela immediately leaves the practice room when Ezrela runs up to you, attaching herself to you in a koala hug of some sorts.

It leaves everyone confused and curious, but no one dares to say a word about it.

It all comes crashing down when you knew this would be your last week at Dream Academy. You felt it in your gut the moment you finished filming the “Wannabe,” cover. The entire time, leading up to the performance, you felt off your game. You were constantly becoming distracted during practice, your vocal coaches often got frustrated with you, and the passion you had at the beginning has diminished significantly.

You knew this would be the end of your journey, and you aren’t sure if you were doing it on purpose or not.

You’d hope that you could at least talk to Daniela about what happened. But, with the Latina avoiding you like the plague every single day since that night, the possibility begins to seem more far fetched as the days turned into weeks.

You were upset. Of course you were.

Daniela was supposed to be your person. She’s the one you would find yourself looking for in a crowded room. You know Daniela like the back of your hand and vice versa. If you two weren’t meant to be together like that then you would have been satisfied with just being friends. She brought you a comfort that you haven’t felt in a long time and now you feel as though you ruined everything.

So, when the elimination does in fact happen, you waste no time in leaving. You avoid everyone’s eyes as you walk out of the room.

Back at the dorm, you’re in the middle of packing your luggage when you hear the door open. You don’t make a move to turn around, keeping your eyes trained on your task at hand. You wanted to leave immediately and forget any of this ever happened. The person walks up to you, their footsteps slow and careful and you just know it’s Daniela. You brace yourself, waiting for her to speak.

Your suspicions are confirmed when you hear the Latina speak quietly. “Do you… Need help?” You reply with a shake of your head, folding the clothes that lay in front of you. You hear her sigh, speaking up again, “Are you okay?” You scoff in response, rolling your eyes.

“Why do you care?” The question breaks Daniela’s heart because she does care. She will always care about you, no matter what. Daniela stays quiet though. She knows enough damage has been done. She watches you continue packing, trying to rid any of trace of your presence on Dream Academy. The Latina is about to leave to give you some privacy but you finally speak up, throwing the clothes in your hands harshly into your luggage. You turn around, a hard look in your eyes.

“Why did it always bother you whenever I was around Ezrela?” The sharpness in your tone causes Daniela to step back a bit, surprised by how angry you looked in this moment. She opens her mouth to say something but you continue, your voice becoming harsher. “I thought the way you acted when you saw me and her together… I thought that meant something… Like…” You take a deep breath, your eyes beginning to water slightly, “like. I wasn’t fucking crazy for how I felt about you.” You whisper the last part, your voice breaking slightly. The pained expression on your face hurts Daniela even more than before but she feels frozen in place, she feels as though the words she wants to say are stuck in her throat and cannot seem to find a way out. You step closer to her, desperate for an answer. At least for more clarity on the situation at hand.

You whisper again, your tone softer this time, “You had to have felt something…” you reach out to her, as if grasping for any physical sign to see that Daniela does love you. That this wasn’t actually for nothing and you being eliminated was worth it. But the way she steps away, the way she acts as though you burned her with the tip of your fingers, tells you everything you needed to know at that moment. This was your clarity. And that was Daniela Avanzini did not love you like you loved her.

You step away, defeated. Any fight left in your body has gone away and you were now just another contestant who is leaving Dream Academy. You take one last look at Daniela, a sad look in your eyes.

“I’m gonna go say goodbye to Ezrela.”

You leave her, with those being the last words you utter to the Latina.

Your actual last words to Daniela come in a form of a note she finds on top of one of your sweaters she always liked stealing from you. It’s folded nicely and sits atop her pillow, welcoming her when she comes back from visiting Megan’s dorm. She walks slowly towards it, as if she were to move too fast, it would disappear somehow. She picks up the note, and although it only had a few words, it was enough for Daniela to finally let out the sob she had been holding in since eliminations were made.

This is not a peace offering. This was a goodbye.

a/n: could consider writing a part two but i hope you all enjoyed! currently taking any requests for stories or random thoughts. happy valentines day!

#katseye x reader #katseye imagines #megan skiendiel #daniela avanzini #manon bannerman #lara raj #sophia laforteza #jeong yoonchae #katseye #daniela avanzini x reader

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