#but it came out cool so you have to look at it too

[fastandcarlos]

Wearing His Shirt To The Paddock » F1 Reaction

» Max Verstappen

His head would shake in disbelief as you took off your jacket to show you the shirt that you’d picked out. Straight away, Max would exclaim about how he had been trying to find that shirt for ages, but with no luck. As you gave him a twirl, he bitterly found himself having to admit that you definitely pulled it off better than he did. He’d try and pout for a moment, making you think that he was upset that you’d stolen his clothes, but the shimmer in his eyes told you that secretly he was proud to see you pulling his shirt off so beautifully.

» Lando Norris

A yell of excitement came from Lando as he noticed the papaya of your shirt. Several others around the paddock looked around to see where the yell came from, but Lando only had eyes for you. His arms wrapped around you as soon as you were close enough, swaying you from side to side. Above all else, he was proud to see you wearing his shirt with all eyes on you. Lando couldn’t wait to show you off for the rest of the day, anyone who asked he told them how you were the best girlfriend, especially because you proudly wore the team colours, just like he did.

» Carlos Sainz

He was incredibly smug when he saw you walking through the paddock with your red shirt on. His teeth bit down on his bottom lip, trying to disguise his smile, as he looked over at the balcony. His eyes didn’t leave you as he noticed some of the cameras starting to snap pictures of you, proudly watching as he knew exactly what the headlines would be tomorrow morning. When you arrived, Carlos didn’t need to say a word, you knew straight away by the look on his face that you had him exactly where you wanted him from your choice of outfit.

» George Russell

You had never seen George so shy when he noticed you walking through the paddock with a Mercedes shirt on. His hands covered his face in disbelief, unable to believe what he saw. You strode over to him and tangled your arms around his broad shoulders straight away, peppering a trail of kisses along his jaw to move his hands away. The two of you didn’t need to exchange any words, the looks in your eyes said everything that you needed to tell each other. George was weak at the knees at the sight of you in Mercedes, and you couldn’t wait to make fun of him for it later too.

» Charles LeClerc

When he suggested you wear his shirt to the paddock, Charles didn’t believe you would actually do it. So when you appeared, he was sure that his eyes deceived him. As much as he hated to admit it, you suited the Ferrari shirt that he had given you perfectly. You’d made sure to style it to capture Charles’ attention, you wanted all eyes on you to make sure that everyone in the paddock knew who you were with. If anything, the attention you got made Charles very jealous as he watched on, no one was interested in him anymore, they just wanted to photograph the lady in red.

» Pierre Gasly

Your eyes glanced down as you felt the material of your shirt raise slightly again, the cool breeze tickling gently across your bare skin. With Pierre’s arm wrapped around your frame, he couldn’t help but play with the hem of your shirt as his eyes stared down at you admiring the view beside him. It was one of his most comfortable shirts, but now he was enjoying its comfort in a different capacity, unable to let the shirt go, but most of all he was unable to let your waist go as he felt how perfectly his shirt moulded around your body.

» Lewis Hamilton

You barely had time to close the door behind you before Lewis was holding onto you, taken aback by how amazing you looked in his shirt. When you hinted at wearing it, Lewis told you how nice it would be to see, but he didn’t think it would look this nice. For once, he didn’t care about who saw the two of you in the paddock, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have someone like you, and especially someone who wore his shirt so nicely too. His eyes looked nowhere else but at your shirt, knowing he’d have to pass a few more of his shirts across to you too.

» Alex Albon

The corners of Alex’s mouth immediately turned up into a smile as you revealed your shirt of choice for qualifying. You were proud to wear his shirt, to represent his team and cheer for Alex too. As soon as he saw you he pulled out his phone and took a picture of you, desperate to capture the moment of seeing you in his shirt for the first time. Alex was so lost in the moment that he almost didn’t realise that you were finally in front of him until he felt you press a gentle kiss against his lips.

———

Hello, I’m a new writer and would love some new moots and ideas - pls send me an ask with any requests and follow if you enjoyed this little piece 🥺

#f1 #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #Lando Norris #Lando Norris imagine #Carlos sainz #Carlos sainz imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #pierre gasly #pierre gasly imagine #george russell #george russel imagine #f1 imagine #f1 reaction #alex albon #alex albon imagine #lewis hamilton #Lewis Hamilton imagine #Lando Norris x reader #Charles LeClerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #Carlos sainz x reader #Pierre gasly x reader

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

You meet Eddie Munson, the guy who your brother Dustin idolises. It does not go well...

🖤

Why did you have the insanely stupid idea to drive your brother to Hellfire Club tonight? You could have been with Tiffany and Chloe watching Breakfast Club for the millionth time or Nightmare on elm street. Gossiping about cute boys or anything else than this.

Except you had agreed to drive Dustin to his dumb club and he hadn't stopped talking your ear off about d&d and Eddie Munson and whatever else came into his head.

You adored your little brother but the two of you were so different in the things you liked and most people were stunned when they learned that the two of you were even related.

Dustin ploughed on about Eddie and you struggled to keep up. You hadn't met the guy your brother idolised, of course you had heard of him. Everyone in Hawkins had heard of Eddie 'the freak' Munson but the two of you ran in vastly different circles.

Naturally you were a little curious about him, he was the leader and dungeon master of the Hellfire member club, you vaguely knew of what the dungeon master did in d&d, Dustin had tried to teach you about the game a few times and certain things had stuck in your head.

"Please be nice to Eddie. He's so cool and I don't want you embarrassing me in front of him" Dustin begs and you're slightly offended by this, you were always polite to Dustin's friends, even when the little nerds got on your nerves.

"I'm always nice" Dustin snorts at this and you glare at him. Butthead.

"I think you'll like Eddie, the rest of his friends are cool too. Besides it will get you out of the house and stop you moping about Jacob" you wrinkle your nose at the mention of your ex.

Jacob was ancient history as far as you were concerned... He really was a self centered asshole and you're glad you didn't take months to figure that out. You were still upset that he turned out to be such a douchebag.

You pull up at Hawkins High and Dustin rushes to get to the drama club. Okay, so the two of you were a little late... Like over ten minutes because Chloe called you and was having a crisis about what to wear for her date with Taylor but that couldn't be helped?

"Eddie likes people to be on time, I can't believe you made me late" Dustin huffs and you follow him inside, trying to tune out his attitude.

"Henderson, care to explain why you're late?" A voice snaps from where the rest of the team are seated. This must be Eddie, he's on a chair that resembles a throne and is clearly the person in charge.

Your eyes flicker over his ring clad hands, the leather jacket and curly brown hair. Big brown eyes narrow at your brother who's pink cheeked and stammering.

"Uh, shit...uh sorry Eddie" Dustin throws you a contemptuous look but you're too busy looking at Eddie.

He really was very attractive. Unfortunately he opens his mouth again and that thought vanishes like a puff of smoke.

"Spit it out Dustin. We don't have all night and I'm already behind which I'm pissed about, you little butthead"

Butthead? Hey, who was he to insult your brother. Only you got that honour.

"Excuse me, exactly who do you think you're talking to?" Eddie's gaze meets yours and they widen for a second. Then he smirks. He even has dimples which makes him even hotter.

Asshole.

"This is between me and Dustin. What's it to you?". He asks and it's so cocky that you march right up to him and Dustin groans.

"I told you not to embarrass me" he whines and you ignore him and focus on Eddie who's watching you with an amused look on his face.

"That butthead is my brother and I'm the only one who can speak to him like that" you snap and Eddie's grin widens.

"I didn't realise Henderson had a sister and that still doesn't explain why he's late" you ignore the way your stomach clenches when Eddie appraises you.

"That's my fault so yell at me. My friend had a few problems" Dustin rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, like finding an outfit for her date was a crisis" you shoot him with an icy glare and he quietens. Eddie's eyes crinkle when he smiles and he puts his hand on his heart in mock horror.

"Oh no, not the dreaded date outfit conundrum" you grow a little flustered and you scowl. Seriously this was the guy that Dustin adored? Steve, now you could get why Dustin worshipped Steve but seriously, this guy?

"He's great isn't he?" Dustin grins at you and you gape, were you the only one here who thought Eddie was a cocky asshole? A very hot one but still an asshole.

"Oh he's perfect...a perfect pain in the ass" you reply sarcastically but mutter the last part under your breath. Eddie still hears it and laughs as he settles back on his throne.

"You sure she's your sister Dustin? Seems she needs to remove the stick from her..." The guys laugh hesitantly and you level one last vicious glare at Eddie before you storm out.

"I'll pick you up at nine thirty Dustin" you call back to him and Eddie's voice follows you out.

"I miss you already princess"

Ugh. Asshole.

I might make this a series, we shall see 💞

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x henderson!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson

[slayfics]

ive been thinking about a comfort story but instead of katsuki comforting the reader, she comforts him after a long day or struggling with something ❤️

You comfort Katsuki.

1k words

You prepared for an angry Katsuki to burst through the door any moment now. The new hero rankings had come out this afternoon and he had dropped rank, again.

It didn’t take much for you to imagine why. The week before the rankings Katsuki got rushed by reporters. Fresh out of a fight with a villain, adrenaline pumping, they spat out questions pushing for answers.

All the questions they knew would push The Great Lord Explosion Murder God Dynamite’s buttons.

“Dynamite, did you know it was the anniversary of the day you were attacked by the sludge villain?”

“Dynamite, how does it feel being behind Endeavor’s son in the hero charts?”

“Dynamite, can you make a statement about the damage you did to the city in your last fight?”

The list of draining questions went on, all captured on video, as Katsuki quickly lost his cool. Blurting out some colorful words for the reports to, not so politely fuck off.

You heard the keys in the latch and braced yourself for the sight of the angry blond. Yet, such a sight never came, instead, you met with a sight that was much more concerning.

Slumped shoulders, flat affect, vacant gaze. Katsuki sat on the couch silently working at taking off his boots. Not a word spoken to you. No sign of anger.

“Hey,” you greeted, testing the waters with him.

“Hey,” he mumbled without looking up as he tossed his boots aside. Head leaned back against the couch he closed his eyes.

"You want to talk about it?" you asked softly.

Katsuki inhaled sharply and shook his head no without opening his eyes. It was unusual to see him so defeated. Typical fiery ambition completely extinguished, lacking the energy to even be upset, he just sat.

You knew all too well how to extinguish the burning rage inside him, but this? This was new ground.

Your momentary paralysis gave Katsuki exactly what he needed. Space and quiet to just be. Slowly he opened up.

"You think it's because of how I responded to those damn reporters?" He asked.

"Possibly," you hummed. "You're human though Katsuki, all those pestering questions would have got under anyone's skin.

"Yeah but," he sighed before continuing. "You saw all the articles and viral edits. They didn't show the whole video, just the part of me losing my shit. A big majority of people think I blew up at some civilian reporters for no fucking reason," Katsuki huffed. "I don't give a damn about that though; people can think whatever the fuck they want... I'm I don't know," Katsuki paused and you gave him the air to finish processing his thought. "I'm fucking disappointed. All that damn therapy I went through- to still get so pissed at some dumb reporters, I should be way past that now. I'm still losing my temper like a goddamn child," he groaned, the displeasure in his voice weighing heavy.

"Katsuki," you cooed and moved closer to him bringing him into an embrace. Katsuki didn't fight you he welcomed your affection, finding solace from leaning into you. Head resting on your chest you combed your fingers through his hair. "Success isn't linear, and one mistake doesn't erase everything you've accomplished and worked for. It's a minor setback. It's tough but, it's nothing you can't come back on top of," you comforted him squeezing him with one arm and messaging his scalp with the other. Katsuki hummed into your chest taking in your words. You always knew what to say.

"I just fucking hate that I gave those reporters exactly what they wanted. They wanted me to blow up, gives them a good damn news story. Fucking vultures," he scowled.

"Mhm," you nodded. "You did, and you can't change that, but you can change how you're going to react moving forward because we know they aren't going to stop. Especially now that they've seen the effect they've had," you spoke problem-solving with him.

"Tch- yeah. I don't know what the fuck to do though. Walking away has been my go-to when I feel myself about to explode, but- in situations like that I'm rushed and cornered. Can't let out an explosion to fly away either because I'll hurt the fuckers. What's worse is I'm still workin' and trying to get back to the cops and agency to report what the fuck happened with the villain," he replied.

"Maybe you could say that... I'm working please move... or I'm working and cannot accept questions...," You suggested.

"Ha- I don't know about the please but... that's not such a bad idea... I'm goddamn working can't talk idiots," Katsuki huffed then relaxed more into your chest.

You giggled, "That does sound more authentic to Dynamite."

Katsuki nuzzled into your chest, his breaths becoming deeper, and the tension in his shoulders he had been carrying around all day finally easing up. "I shoulda called you right when I found out," he murmured.

"You know I'm always here whenever you're ready to talk... about anything," you answered. "I'm sorry I didn't call right away... sometimes I'm not sure when you need your space to process."

"You ain't got to apologize... I know my temperament isn't the easiest to read," he noted.

"I wouldn't have you any other way," you teased, pulling him up to press a kiss on his nose.

Katsuki clicked his tongue, "Cut that cheesy crap out," he complained the tips of his ears burning hot. "Besides, I still got dirt and shit all over me."

"I don't care," you remarked, giving him another kiss on his cheek.

Katsuki shifted in one swift motion pinning you down on the couch, "I said cut it out brat," he smirked, taking in the sight of you beneath him. "Why don't you come get cleaned up with me instead," he offered.

An offer you happily accepted.

sinners: @queenpiranhadon @unofficialmuilover @maddietries @fiannee @i-heart-carlisle @derangedmango @matchat3a @bakugouswaif @reneinii @zanarkandskylines @pastelbakugou @abadbitchblogs @deluluforcarlos55 @b134ch-m4h-ey3z @pinkpurpledreams @that-one-fangirl69

#</slay writes> #</bakugo> #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x you #katsuki x reader #mha bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x gender neutral reader #bakugo x self insert #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo #mha x y/n #mha x gender neutral reader #mha x you #mha x reader #bnha x self insert #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha katsuki #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #katsuki #bakugo katsuki #katsukibakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugo

[my-castles-crumbling]

"You know how to ball, I know Aristotle."

~ Taylor Swift (So High School) Pairing: Jegulus - Rating: G

James Potter playing quidditch was a sight to see. He was all energy, speeding across the pitch like he’d been shot from a cannon, a blur of red and gold, shouts of happiness and joy heard from miles off. 

Regulus liked to watch him play.

Of course, Regulus could play, too. Could play better, really, he privately thought. At least when it came to Seeking. But he didn’t possess any of the joy that James felt when flying through the skies. He played for blood. For competition. To win. No, that feeling of freedom that some often associated with flying landed solely on James’s shoulders.

So, Regulus frequently watched James’s practices, if only to look up and smile aimlessly at the way James flew. He knew James fought with his teammates to allow Regulus there, as he was technically “the enemy,” but the older boy enjoyed having Regulus watch just as much as he liked watching. His eyes sparkled every time he flew past Regulus and pointed at him, like he couldn’t go five minutes without thinking about him.

He was happy. And Regulus, above all else, loved seeing James happy. It made him feel safe. Like there was something positive in the world that he felt was spinning out of control around him.

So, he relaxed back in his seat on the bleachers, pulling out his Muggle Philosophy book and reading it in the cool breeze, the sound of James’s pleased shouts and calls of “This one’s for you, Reg!” a soothing soundtrack as he read.

#marauders #marauders era #harry potter #fanfic #marauders fandom #harry potter marauders #the marauders #the maruaders #the marauders fandom #the marauders era #james #james fleamont potter #james potter #james x regulus #james and regulus #james potter/regulus black #james potter x regulus black #regulus black #regulus arcturus black #james loves regulus #regulus deserved better #jegulus #jegulus microfic #jegulus fanfiction #starchaser #sunseeker #ttpdmicrofic

[blegh-110]

i. "we were both young when i first saw you" | Sam Monroe

Pairing: older brother's best friend!Sam x fem!reader

Summary: You never liked your older brother's friends, they were always mean to you; kicking your seat on the bus, pulling your hair, and tricking you. You made it your mission to stay away from them, expect for one who is the first to treat you nicely.

Warnings: None! Just a cute little teenage romance <3

Word count: 851

Next part

Older brother's best friend!Sam who you’ve known since you were 12 and he was 14. You remember your brother first coming home from his first day of high school talking about a really cool guy in his english and history class, someone named Sam Monroe. Of course you didn’t really care for your older brother's friends, in fact, you had a bit of a personal vendetta against all of them for the pranks and tricks they pulled on you when you were younger. Even now you try to avoid them and their attempts to give you a wet willy and a flick on the forehead. You were also at the age where boys were simply scary, especially older ones who were friends with your older brother. 

So when the time came that your brother invited Sam over to hang out after school, you hid in your room for as long as possible and tried to finish your school work. But it was difficult to focus when you could just feel the presence of another boy in your home. And it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that you couldn’t go out into the kitchen for a snack in fear that you would run into one of your brother’s friends. They were just so demeaning, they never missed out on the chance to remind you that you’re younger and dumber than them.

You checked the time, 11:37. Surely everyone in the house is asleep, you thought. Quietly, you stepped out of your room into the kitchen, wanting your trip for your sweet tart ropes and water to be fast. But frustration and anger very quickly took over when you couldn’t find the candy you bought with your own money.

“What’re you looking for?” A voice you didn’t recognize said behind you. In the short second before you turned around, you felt your blood run cold and mind go blank. And it became worse when you looked at him, he was the most beautiful boy you had ever seen. He was leaning against the doorway with an intense stare, and what caught your eye was the blue streak in his hair. He looked so cool. With all the courage you can muster up, you speak. 

“My candy, I bought sweet tart ropes earlier and can’t… find them.” Your words are quiet, you don’t want to wake anyone up but the boy in front of you is the main reason. At your reply he stands to his full height with a frown. 

“Your brother said I could have ‘em, shit, I’m sorry.” And what was strange was that he really looked like it. 

“It’s okay,” It really wasn’t, you were still mad. But you just wanted the whole interaction to be over, he was too cute in your eyes to continue any sort of conversation. You wouldn’t be able to speak properly if this went on. So you went back to your room right after, setting aside your homework for tomorrow because you couldn’t get him out of your mind. Although it was only a minute with him, he had shown more kindness than any of your brother's friends, or any boy in fact. And you held on to that very small moment.

-

You rarely saw him for your entire eighth grade school year, of course you would. He wasn’t your friend, only someone you had a little bit of a crush on. But the times you did have together, dispite it being small, were special to you. 

Like when he listened to you complain about your insufferable science teacher, “That guy’s a fucking asshole.” His vulgarity is a part of him that always makes you laugh.

“Shh, Sam!” You’re smiling as you bring your pointer finger to your lips, telling him to quiet down, “my parents are in the other room.” At that his eyes widened and head turned to where you’re pointing. 

“Okay, I’ll stop. But seriously, I was also in his class and he was the worst, he always picked on me”

As much as you cared for Sam, he was a troublemaker, and you asked if he did anything to warrant that treatment. 

“Well, yeah but what does that have anything to do with it?” And before you can answer he poked your side, making you yelp, and ran off. 

Or when you first saw him with the piercing right below his bottom lip, “you like it?” You only nodded your head before bolting to your room and shoving your face into the pillow. 

And when their freshman class was having a dance, he knocked on your door that night asking if you had any black eye shadow to put on him. The application was messy, since he decided he wanted it literally at the last minute and your brother was yelling for him from the living room to hurry. When you were done and got a good look at his face you blushed. In combination with his piercing, dyed hair, makeup, and suit, you got butterflies and wanted to be the one who he took to the dance. 

-

This one was written for my younger self who wanted an emo boyfriend. I think I might do another part simply for myself. Hopefully this reaches the hayden christensen part of tumblr. Please leave a comment, I love reading them <333 banner is by @dollywons

#hayden christensen #hayden christensen x reader #haden christensen x fem!reader #hayden christensen imagine #hayden christensen fluff #hayden christensen x you #hayden christensen fanfiction #life as a house #sam monroe #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe fluff #sam monroe x you #sam monroe imagine #sam monroe x y/n #hayden christensen x y/n

[ewingstan]

If you had a chance to recommend (real-world) superhero comics to the Undersiders, which comics would you recommend and why?

Oh, good question. Its been a minute since I was really into comics (I gotta figure out how to reactivate my Marvel Unlimited account), but I think I have enough background to come up with some good picks.

Lotta good options for Taylor. My first thought is to give her Ewing's X-Men Red (aka "the main reason I need to catch up on Marvel comics"), since a superhero story that focuses a lot on gaining and maintaining societal power and the work of governing as a leader in a super-community seems like it would appeal to the Warlord of the Boardwalk. Plus a lot of it is "kill the previous leader in a way that ensures you have a popular mandate," which I'm sure she'd be a fan of.

If we're talking Taylor at the start of the story or younger—well, I don't know if it makes sense to give her runs of the character she's most a pastiche of, but maybe something that fits the Spider-Man niche could still be appealing for a young down-on-her-luck aspiring hero? I could see her getting something out of the Simone or Ahmed Ms. Marvel runs, for instance.

(While Watchmen might seem like the natural pick, I'm pretty sure she'd lose a lot of enjoyment just from picking out all the ways Veidt's plan was obviously gonna fail for x y z reasons. Also dark deconstructions of superhero worlds would probably seem too familiar to her world for her to enjoy it.)

If Taylor would be interested in comics statecraft, Lisa would probably be more interested in comics spycraft and intrigue. Ewing's S.W.O.R.D. would probably scratch the same itch for her that X-Men Red would for Taylor (and Storm dramatically blowing off Doom would probably satisfy her after all the ulcer-inducing negotiations with Accord.) I might also give her Ewings New Avengers and USAvengers runs (look this is gonna include a lot of Al Ewing recs, get used to it early) if only because I feel like she'd enjoy how Roberto gets characterized in those comics. Magnificent bastard solidarity.

If we're giving comics to Brian, we already need to work past his defensive avoidance of anything that seems too childish, so I don't think we're getting anything pre-dark ages. That said, he famously thinks "looking mature" means "sick-ass skulls and leather jackets," so his idea of maturity might skew a bit into McFarlane territory. Ultimately though I think he'd be most comfortable with something where he could plausibly say "this isn't just a comic, it's actually a well-respected piece of literature." I'd want that to mean Moore's Saga of the Swamp Thing, but it'd probably actually mean The Dark Knight Returns.

As a dark horse pick, I'd give Brian some early New Warriors or Ewing's Contest of Champions, if only because Night Thrasher feels so close to what he wants his vibe to be (dramatic black leather ensemble with a very 90's idea of cool, unflappable expert strategist who pulls his weight despite a powerset with limited applicability, died horribly and came back much later for weirdly impersonal reasons) while also being just ridiculous enough to make me want to see his reaction.

Given Iota's commentary on Alec's pizza habits, I'd think Alec would most be a fan of something intense and bombastic and not mind if its often repetitive. I'd almost say Berserk would be a good match for him, but parts of that that might actually be triggering for him. Maybe some other ultra-violent longrunning work; I haven't read Fist of the North Star but it seems like a safe recommendation; various X-Force runs could work if we're sticking with Western comics.

Rachel really doesn't seem like someone who'd have much appreciation for any aspect of comics. The best bet would be something visually spectacular in a way that could be appreciated on its own, and a plot that's interesting taking issues on their own and not just as part of ongoing runs. I could see Ewing's Immortal Hulk as fitting those criteria; her power gives her an artist's appreciation for Bennett's horrific depictions of the Hulk's transformations (even if praising Bennett for anything feels in poor taste).

Ewing's scripts for each issue of Hulk are clever in a way that I feel Rachel could find entertaining; they don't require an attention she couldn't keep up, but also aren't simple to the point of being condescending. Plus, the thematic focus on "what can and can't be solved through unspeakable acts of destruction" would feel familiar in a way that's less frustrating than normal comic tut-tutting about how obviously we can't attack these guys (plus the greater willingness to say "oh yeah unspeakable destruction definitely is the best way forwards here" would be pretty satisfying).

I feel like Aisha would have more patience for comic tropes than a lot of the other undersiders, (I could see her enjoying the original Fantastic Four run), but at the same time she'd probably enjoy something a bit more complicated and out-there. Ewing's Rocket might be appealing as heist-focused mini, and I feel like the mix of melancholy and absurdity would appeal to her. Rosenberg's Hawkeye: Freefall would work for similar reasons, though replace "melancholy" with "simmering rage."

Morrison's Doom Patrol and The Invisibles both have characters Aisha might relate to for the whole "society largely ignoring or wanting to go away" thing. Plus they both have big weird ideas she'd appreciate, Richard Case's art works well with her aesthetics, and they're both seen as "respectable" series to the point that she might like peppering in references to them in alongside Jules Verne jokes.

Huh, I just realized that Aisha and Brian both ended up chasing an appearance of being mature and somewhat surface-level and off-putting ways. Brian "trust me I'm a normal adult man" and Aisha "I've compiled spider-man quips for every work in the Western Canon and will get frustrated when you don't get them" Laborn, the "something ain't right about that kid" siblings.

(I will say that Morrison's Doom Patrol has some weird black stereotypes so if anyone wants to pitch me on a similar work without Morrison's occasional racism I'd be curious).

I'd give Rowell's run on Runaways to Sabah, if only because "somewhat antivillanous found family group of teens that mostly don't have to worry about anything besides relationship drama" sounds like a nice escape for her. Closer to what she wants the Undersiders to be like. Also, I feel she'd enjoy Kris Anka's focus on fashion in his art.

I don't have a lot to go off for Lily. I could see some of the more recent Captain Marvel runs appealing to her sense of true-blue militant heroism. Ayala's New Mutants or Ahmed's Black Bolt might help combat her whole "villains are ontologically evil" thing, at least to a certain extent.

#apologies for all the al ewing picks but. Cmon. You all know what im about. #greatwyrmgold #wormblr #wildbow #parahumans #mals reads worm #mals says #undersiders

[oneforthemunny]

You are so good with angst!! If you feel like it: thong, but with Mafia!Eddie Oops, he forgot to mention a business associate was coming over with him

i'm guessing and went with smut as the genre like the one thong request with older!eddie haha! here's mafia!eddie <3 minors dni

You closed your eyes, the cool air from the many box fans you had piled in the room finally cooling you. The dogs laid out with their own. You knew they wanted to touch you, they always wants to be near you, but today you'd commanded them to the floor. It was too damn hot for anyone, anything to touch you.

Clothing included.

You found yourself shedding more and more clothes throughout the day until you were left in nothing but your thong. You ridded yourself of your tank top last, calling it quits for the day and retreating to Eddie's office- the coolest and sunless room in the house, dragging all the fans into there.

The air conditioning unit had stopped working yesterday evening, of course, in the middle of the heatwave that was terrorizing Hawkins right now. Eddie had told you he'd get it fixed, that someone would be there soon. That was this morning, hours ago, and they still hadn't shown up.

The front door opened, closing with a heavy thud that had the dogs up and at alert. "Baby?" Eddie's muffled voice called from downstairs.

Diablo let out a commanding bark, ears erect and pointed, nose touching the door. "In here," You groaned, too tired to move. Why would you? It was too hot to, and the fan felt so nice on your hot skin, finally comfortable for the first time all day.

"In my office?" Eddie's voice got closer. You didn't bother moving, not even opening your eyes, the cool air and hum of the fan lulling you.

The dogs barked in excitement when Eddie walked in, running around him. Eddie clicked, a demand for them to get back. "Did they not come and get it fixed?" Eddie asked.

"No," You groaned, a soft pout on your features. "It's so hot, Ed. I don't kno-"

"-Woah!"

"-Baby!" Eddie's hiss came after another voice, your eyes snapping open. Eddie's wide eyed meeting yours, a blush rising up his neck, Jeff standing behind him, back turned from you, undoubtedly with the same embarrassed expression.

"Eddie!" You squeaked, hands flying to cover your pebbled nipples. You squeezed your legs together, hoping to hide what the tiny thong didn't. "I-I didn't- You didn't tell me people were coming over!"

Eddie snatched the blanket off the arm of the couch, covering it over you. Your skin pricked with sweat at the thick cashmere laying over you, but you didn't dare move.

"Jeff, gimme a sec." Eddie nodded towards him.

Jeff muttered something, back still turned as she quickly left the room. Your body burned, both with the heat and from embarrassment.

"Why do you not have any clothes on?" Eddie lifted a brow, voice dropping lowly when Jeff shut the door.

"I was hot!" You squeaked. "I didn't know people were coming over!"

"What about the air conditioning guy?" Eddie frowned at you, a dark, possessive look clouding over him.

"You said he wouldn't come in the house, and I didn't need to answer the door!" You countered, glaring at him lightly. "That's why I came in your office with all the fans, because I knew- Well, I thought, no one would come in here."

Eddie's face softened, a small huff leaving his lips. His hair was pulled back, curls frizzy from the heat. He had opted for a short sleeve shirt today, still black, but silk, the top buttons undone.

"My clothes are over there." You nodded towards the arm chair, where you'd lazily thrown your tank top and tiny cotton shorts.

Eddie walked over, switching your clothes for the blanket. You slipped the tank top over your head, the cotton clinging to your clammy skin. Maybe you'd have a cool bath instead, soak in the cold water and finally cool down.

Eddie lazily folded the blanket back, eyes watching you through a half lidded gaze. "When'd you get those?" He hummed, eyes lingering over your tiny, lacy thong. "That's new."

Your skin pricked with heat, excited, flushed, a little embarrassed still. "Last week," You muttered, looking up at him carefully. "When Nancy and I went shopping. I saw them and thought they were cute."

Eddie hummed. "Very cute." His lips twitched in a grin. "Keep 'em on for me, ok? I'm gonna try and get rid of Jeff. Send him to go get that lazy fucking asshole to fix this air conditioning." He huffed in annoyance.

You rolled your eyes gently. "Yeah? And do what? It's way too hot to have sex right now, Eddie. I'm already boiling."

Eddie grinned wickedly, eyes darkening in a way that made you shiver, body kissed in goosebumps. "I think I can find a way for us to cool down." He hummed, gaze rolling over your frame again. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

Eddie returned with his own shirt off, a champagne bucket filled with ice in his hands. The blanket was spread on the floor this time, fans still pointed all around you, before Eddie stripped you back down to nothing but the thong, dragging the ice over your nipples, down your sternum, holding it between his teeth when he drug it up the inside of your thighs leaving you shivering in its wake.

#oneforthemunny #munnytalks #vivisblurbgame #mafia!eddie munson #eddie munson au #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson smut #eddie x fem!reader #eddie stranger things #eddie my love <3 #eddie x reader #eddie munson #mafia!eddie #mafia!au #mafia!eddie x reader #mafia!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #oneforthemunny blurbs #eddie munson blurb

[beatopia-films]

FARMERS DAUGHTER part iii !

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

warnings : strong language, mentions of vomit, tattoos and cuteness !

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the last thing y/n expected was matt sturniolo asking her to hang out. despite never hanging out with a boy alone before, she agreed but getting her dad to agree was the difficult part.

growing up in a strict household was hard. yes, y/n was close to her family but sometimes it all felt like it was too much. sure she’d had crushes before but nothing ever happened.

matt would be coming to pick her up in about 2 hours and she still hasn’t asked her dad for permission to go out with him.

“hey, dad.” she slowly walked up to him with a smile on her face.

“hey honey, everything okay?” he responded, his attention going to the tv.

y/n took a deep breath in before continuing. “can i go out tonight?” she asked.

her dad gave her a confused look, “with who?” he questioned, watching the tv again.

“well, his name is matt. he came by the other day with his brothers.” y/n blushed at the thought of that day.

“oh, i see.” he nodded in response. “the one with tattoos?” y/n’s face dropped. he was not going to let her hang out with him.

“yes but he’s really sweet!” she argued, attempting to make a valid point. “please, dad. i’m begging you! i’ve never asked for anything like this before.” she continued.

her dad let out a frustrated sigh, “you know how i feel about these things.” he told his daughter. “but…..i’ll allow it.”

“thank you so so much!” y/n smiled excitedly, giving her dad a hug before running upstairs to get changed. “i will literally clean the stables in return.” she said in a positive tone.

“i’ll keep that in mind, don’t worry.” he laughed, knowing that his daughter would definitely refuse once the time came.

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y/n looked in the mirror at her baby blue dress covered in little flowers and the brown cowboy boots she wore. she was very happy with her outfit and couldn’t wait to see matt.

a couple minutes passed and there was no sign of him. had she been stood up? her heart was racing at the anticipation, she desperately hoped he was stuck in traffic.

it was like the universe was listening to her because all of a sudden she heard the doorbell ring. she quickly dived off her bed and rushed downstairs to open the door.

“hey.” she smiled, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink as they made eye contact.

“hi.” matt replied, his mouth slightly open. she looked absolutely beautiful. “you look really pretty.” he told her honestly, trying his best to act normal.

“thanks.” y/n’s smile grew. “i really like your shirt.” she said, pointing at the band shirt he was wearing. it read “the cure.”

“oh, thanks.” he nodded at her. “you like the cure?” matt asked, attempting to keep the conversation going.

her eyes lit up, “yes! i love the cure.” she then pulled out her phone to show him her phone case which was the iconic photo of robert smith on stage with his guitar.

“holy shit, that’s so cool.” matt told her, getting a closer look at it.

y/n put her phone away before looking up at him. “so, where are we going?” she asked.

“well, i was thinking i could drive us to get something to eat and then we could do whatever.” he explained.

“okay but i get aux!” y/n called out first, already making her way to his car.

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“so, how many tattoos do you have?” y/n asked, looking over at him as he drove.

“to be completely honest. i lost count.” he let out a small laugh, keeping his eyes on the road. “what about you? any tattoos?”

“just one.” she shrugged her shoulders. his eyes widened in response. that was unexpected. “for real?” he questioned.

“yeah. it’s only little but don’t tell my dad.” she laughed, imagining her dad’s reaction.

“does he not like tattoos?” matt asked her, the car then coming to a stop at a red light.

“well, let’s just say he almost didn’t let me come out because of your tattoos.” y/n said, pointing to his sleeve of them.

“should i like…get rid of them or something?” he spoke in an unsure tone.

she laughed at his words, “no, i think they look cool.” she complimented.

matt blushed slightly, “so how’s ronald doing?” he quickly changed the subject.

“he’s literally been throwing up for weeks.” y/n shook her head humorously. “it’s so gross but he’s getting there.”

“poor little guy.” matt empathized with the goat after what his brother did. “next time we come over, i’ll make sure chris isn’t allowed to feed the animals.” he kept a note in his mind.

matt then pulled into the fast food place and found a parking spot before they went inside to get something to eat.

“is there anything specific you’d like?” he turned to face the girl.

“i’m in the mood for some pizza actually.” she told him as he nodded, ordering a margarita pizza for the two of them to share.

“i don’t mind splitting it.” y/n quickly stopped him from paying. he looked over at her as if she was crazy. “absolutely not, i’m paying.” he immediately rejected her deal.

y/n felt bad for letting matt pay for the meal so she kept a mental note to pay him back to right amount of money.

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INSTAGRAM POST !

❤️ 💬 ➤

liked by user82 and 3,927 others

sturniolo.updates matt was spotted with y/n, a farm girl who was featured in their recent video. they were seen at a fast food place smiling with each other. apparently they looked very cozy ♥️

view all comments

user19 WHAT NO

user93 absolutely not

user not the farm girl 💀💀

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TAGLIST

@jnkvivi @sturniololvrrr @iluvmattsbeard @bxtchboy69 @cheesesoda @mattyb4dominicans @hearteyesformatt @stasiesturn @nathandoesgf @franticroads @larnieboox88 @e1ias3 @sturniolosarethebest @sturnish @cdbabymp3 @sturnzsblog @unbruisable @nsjsnshey @mattybslover

#matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #fanfic #fanfiction #fem reader #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #x reader #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x reader

[toodelusionalforreality]

Rare

Azriel x Reader(N)

Summary: Azriel's reluctant night out with his family turns out to be more interesting than he expected.

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. I have newfound respect for writers who have mastered group dynamics in their writing.

Word count: ~5.6k

Warning: None [minimal editing/proofreading/formatting]

‘Two weeks,’ Mor whispered, trudging forward with her eyes set ahead in a daze. Her heels hit the cobbled path with soft clicks. ‘They’re closed for two weeks. What am I going to do?’

Feyre looped her arm through hers and guided her away from the closed doors of Rita’s. No one took the disappointment as hard as Mor did. Still, they each expressed varying degrees of frustration with their grunts and groans. Cassian cursed aloud for it was his idea to enjoy a night like good old times. And he enjoyed a night like good old times every two months. However, that night, the rest of the Inner Circle agreed to celebrate the few peaceful months they'd had in a while.

Except for one.

Azriel was grateful for his family’s reunion and their safety. Only he wanted to celebrate it in the quiet of their home. His family didn’t spare him the courtesy of protesting. Knowing him well, they sent the middle Archeron sister to plead their case. One look at her hesitant eyes and he couldn’t deny the soft-hearted woman. He had one regret for the night—to have not flown off when he sensed Elaine’s presence on the other side of his door. 

When Rita disclosed their misfortune, Nesta pinned him with an accusatory glare as if his ill will had manifested into the burning down of their beloved retreat. She would have calmed if Azriel had stood there with his usual blank stare. Instead, he lifted a brow as a smirk tugged at his lips.

Cass grumbled, ‘At least pretend not to enjoy this so much, you ass,’ without even looking at his brother. 

‘Two weeks!’ Mor shrieked, throwing her arms in the air as she reeled out of the initial shock. ‘How could she do this to me?’ Her blonde hair swayed behind her with every shake of her head.

Rhys walked on her other side. Besides Azriel, he was the only one unbothered by the ruin of their plans. ‘I’m sure the fire in her kitchen had barely anything to do with punishing you.’ His taunting tone was the only sign of his apathy for his cousin’s plight.

Elaine’s voice perked up as Mor opened her mouth. ‘We could go somewhere else,’ she inched away with each word as if she expected another outburst. ‘It’s not that late.’

And that’s how Azriel came to hate the woman for the night. 

He wasn’t cruel. He loved his family, and he agreed they deserved a break, but it wasn’t something he would sacrifice his peace for. He was ready with his own proposition—go back home, get drunk on faerie wine, and maybe some mirthroot if they resisted too much. His family would've had their merriment, and he’d have had his serenity.

As they stumbled and meandered through the streets, stopping at one place and the next, vetting out each other’s suggestions, Azriel found himself enjoying the moment—listening to his family’s usual banter, the comfort of familiarity built over centuries, and fussing over triviality instead of wars and courts. If his family chose to spend the entire night on the streets, he would gladly trade his peace for that.

Before he even finished the thought, his family arrived at their destination. The last on their list. Another bar. Or at least what it said on the polished plaque that hung above the rusty door frame.

Cass spoke first, ‘This is it?’ His words echoed the thought they all had in their minds.

Beyond the worn-out door held in place by a brick wedged between it and the doorframe was a harshly lit long room. Even the open door and cool breeze of the summer night couldn’t mask the stench of stuffiness from the dingy hole in the wall. Light flickered warning anyone dared contemplate entering the horrid place. Too narrow to hold any table or chair, there stood a single desk opposite the entrance. Two shelves nailed behind it sloped, the bottles stacked atop them slowly making their way to the edge. A place like that at the centre of Velaris was a swamp surrounded by beauty and life.

A woman rotten with age sat behind the table. Her hands jittered with each click of the needles held between her sharp, black claws. Her crooked nose curving past her thin lips and her non-existent ears were the only indications of her faerie blood other than her savage nails. Azriel couldn’t remember the last time he saw a creature that looked so old and fragile, yet with malice in her being, a kind of cruelty that lurked in her bones. 

Despite what he witnessed, none of it deterred him that night. His body shook with silent laughter. All that wasted trip, endless stops to pick at the tiniest flaws only for his family to end up there. 

Mother loved him. The complete disbelief on their faces was worth everything Azriel suffered since he opened his door to Elaine that night. Even his shadows seemed to enjoy the irony of their situation, skittering around his shoulders.

Mor turned to him sharply, her eyes alight with fire. ‘As long as there’s wine, this will do,’ she gritted her teeth. 

Pushing his friend, whose only purpose in life was proving a point, was the last thing Azriel wanted to do. Yet it was an opportunity he couldn’t pass. How far would his family go? What would it take to break them? Would they give in and chuck down whatever wretched brew the suspicious creature offered? He merely bowed his head and waved at the door.

Mor swallowed her squeak of disgust as she crossed the threshold. Her eyes ran over the assortment of bottles on the shelves—three filled to the brim with pale green liquid, two half-filled with something that looked awfully like rotten blood, of what Azriel didn’t care to find out. 

‘Do you suppose,’ she brought her eyes back to the woman, ‘you have any wine?’

The needles went silent for a beat, ‘Take your pick,’ and resumed. Not once did the creature glance at them as she jerked her chin to the shelf above her head.

With the seven of them now inside, the air turned hot and suffocating. Nesta pushed past to the front, standing next to Mor. ‘This is Pharus, isn’t it? The bar?’

Finally, the faerie looked up. Her eyes roved over their faces, their bodies, the detailing of threads on their clothes finer than the ones she held in her hands. ‘Of course,’ she snarled, ‘why else would you be here?’ Her lazy eyes rolled creepily in their sockets to stop at the door beside the shelf. ‘Over there,’ she said and went back to her hideous patchwork of browns and blues and pinks.

In the silence, a steady thrum of beats crept along the floor. A soft murmur lured them to trust the creature’s words and enter the unknown that awaited them behind the burnished wood, a portal out of the creature’s lair.

Mor stepped up to the door, her eyes on the glass doorknob—hypnotised, curious, so bright. As her fingers brushed against it, the faerie cleared her throat. ‘There’s a price for it,’ she added with a sly smile on her lips, a little thing that didn’t belong in her sagging face.

Azriel fished into his pockets while his family stared between the door and its guardian. His curiosity ebbed and grew to a point of no return. He had to find whatever called to him, whatever called to them. He dropped a gold on the table. It clattered on the wood, its ring echoing for a breath too long. 

The faerie stared at it and then at him, and then his family, studying each of their faces. Her claws left scratches on the wood as she grasped the coin in her palm. She sniffed it, her eyes widening.

The door didn’t make a sound under Mor’s hand. One by one, they entered, and Azriel let the door close behind him. Their heels clicked on the polished wooden floor.

Every plush leather chair, strategically arranged table, and carefully curated decorations contributed to the elegance of the room. Soothing warmth enveloped them even on the summer night in a comforting embrace. The fragrance of spices cut through the musk of the wooden furniture. Golden orbs hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow across the space enough to enable their fae sight, but none too harsh like Rita’s.

A band sat on a raised podium at the far end, playing music that complimented their ambience. In the middle stood the majestic bar, a stretch of counter that ran along almost the entire length of the room. Bottles filled with various shades of liquor sat on the shelves behind—each of them, artistically planned and placed. Lights reflected off decanters and glasses set on trays, adding a bit of colour to the brown and gold theme of the room.  

Faerie—high and lesser—took the seats without sparing each other a glance of discrimination. There was no stench of tension in the air, only a fragile calmness. Two servers shifted around the room speaking softly with polite smiles on their lips. A female tended to the bar, her hands worked with mesmerising precision. Despite the overflowing liquor, there wasn’t any loud cry, laughter, or chatter. 

Luxury and safety were the words that came to Azriel’s mind. His shadows shaded his shoulders, falling quiet as they studied their new territory. 

One of the servers led them to the only table large enough to fit them—close to the band, a bench along the wall on one side, and chairs on the other.

Once they settled, he spoke with a rehearsed tone, ‘I’m guessing you’re new here.’ The hitch in his breath told them he knew exactly who they were, and yet his smile remained. ‘We have two rules. One, we ensure the night’s peaceful here as much as possible. So, we don’t appreciate harassment of any kind, and I’d advise you to stay out of trouble. Two, if our barkeep cuts you off for whatever reason, you leave.’ His shoulders relaxed as if it were the most hated part of his job, and his smile turned more genuine. ‘Other than that, you do whatever you want. What would you like to drink?’

‘I’ll have faerie wine,’ Mor waited for no one, ‘Any wine. Don’t care how many.’ Her thigh pushed against Azriel’s as she shifted to a comfortable position on the bench, her warmth seeping past his leathers. A swift nod from everyone else had the server scrambling back to the bar.

Nesta inspected the surrounding faces. ‘What kind of moron expects drunks to follow rules?’

‘The one who doesn’t want to be held responsible for whatever happens when they are broken.’ Nesta’s eyes snapped to Azriel’s, and he shrugged. 

Elaine looked between their faces, expecting the inevitable. But the Inner Circle indulged in spying on their night’s getaway. ‘Are we really ignoring what we saw outside?’

‘Oh,’ the server peered down at them as he set a tray with two wine bottles and glasses with a grace unexpected of his thick, manly fingers. ‘That hag is harmless. She just wastes her day knitting. If she bothered you, it’s because you’re new. Easy prey, you know? The regulars are used to her by now.’

Feyre reached for the glass offered to her. ‘Who is she?’

The server didn’t care to meet their eyes, but his words were eager. ‘She came with the building. This used to be her home. The old owner, her son, wanted to sell this bar. He found a better place for his family. But she didn’t want to move. Night and day they fought so much that people were afraid to even walk the street. Anyway, the son couldn’t resist our offer and sold it, and she—,’ he clicked his tongue, ‘she refused to leave with him. And N didn’t want to leave her homeless.’

Azriel didn’t particularly enjoy the conversation as much as his family did. It mattered very little to the server, whose words tumbled out in a single breath. Clearly, it wasn’t the first time he was telling the story to his customers. He would make a terrible spy, Azriel thought. Maybe a decent source.

'N?’

'She owns the place now. She gave the hag that hall. That’s where she and her husband lived before her son built a bar here.’ He sighed. His eyes swept over the rest of the room once he placed a filled glass in front of each of them. ‘It’s not good for business with a front like that. She scares everyone away. But N insisted, and we renovated around it. Most customers don’t even set foot inside after the first time. Some take pity and give her a few coppers. Not that she needs them though. N takes care of all her needs.’

He turned to them with a wide smile, with a server’s politeness. ‘Anyway, enjoy!’ He turned to leave and paused. ‘You didn’t give her anything, did you?’

Every pair of eyes at the table fixated on Azriel. He blinked, ‘A gold.’

‘You better stay away from her the next time.’ The server walked away laughing.

In his long life, and also as a spy, Azriel had met enough faeries ranging from the vilest to the kindest. Nothing fazed him anymore. Though it would have made quite a story on any other day, his focus remained on his family. He would rather figure out a way to coax his friends to leave early than uncover more about a hag and her benefactor. After a long night of searching for a bar which offered wine sweeter than Rita’s, he knew it would be almost impossible.

At her sister’s request, Feyre led Elaine closer to the band, both nursing their drinks in their hands. Loose chairs littered the open space in front of the dais, where they took a seat among other patrons. The musicians nodded at them with a smile. 

Cass slammed his glass on the table. ‘I don’t like this place,’ he grumbled, looking at the well-behaved mob, ‘Where’s the fun here? This is not how a bar is supposed to be.’

‘Why? Is this place too classy for a brute like you?’ Nesta smirked, sipping her drink as she surveyed the place. She fitted right in.

Years of sneaking and spying had ingrained the instincts in Azriel’s very bones, impossible to separate who he was and what he did for his family, for his court. His hazel eyes didn’t miss a thing. His shadows stayed close and whispered in his ears. Careful, calculating. Between the bar and the band stood two doors—one the servers often drifted in and out of with trays in their hands, a kitchen; and the other too pristine to be a back door or entrance to a storage room. An office, maybe. No one entered or exited it since his family took their seats across it. 

His brother was wrong. The patrons enjoyed their time, but not the way people did in Rita’s. Like his family, they bundled together and shared a drink and a laugh with their loved ones. Their glazed eyes and flushed faces proved they indulged in the drinks as much as Cass did. A few cleared the space in front of the band, shifting the chairs around and waltzing to the music. A sense of belonging lingered in the air, unlike the mindless chaos that stained Rita’s.

As warned, the bartender declined drinks to a few. Even the ones who posed the most threat to start a fight walked away without resistance. Not one sound of protest or trouble followed.

Elaine and Feyre returned when the band paused to start their next song. As Elaine settled into the seat across from him, she gave the widest smile to Azriel. He smiled back. Rhys filled Feyre’s glass and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Cass and Mor still disagreed with Nesta on the essence of the true bar experience. Rhys took Nesta’s side only to watch his brother seethe with anger. With the remaining sisters returned to the table, it became clear Cass and Mor were losing the battle.

To add salt to their burn, Azriel trailed a finger along the rim of his glass and smirked. ‘I like this place too.’

‘You weren’t on board all night and now you have an opinion?’ Cass waved a hand of dismissal but his eyes burned with betrayal, ‘Go back to your brooding.’ Azriel grinned.

Laughing and stumbling, Mor headed to the bar. The bartender blushed so red that it wasn’t a mystery what she was up to. Minutes later, she returned with a bottle of amber liquor and a glass of a blue-green drink. Bottles were emptied, banter was shared, and laughs grew contagious. Even though it was harmless, raucous laughter, they attracted the wary eyes of the server. Azriel knew where they were headed. 

He slid Rhys’s glass of whiskey out of his grasp, who turned to him with an arched brow. He mumbled with a sigh, ‘We’d need more than one ride tonight.’ 

Rhys didn’t argue. He limited his drinks as much as Azriel that night for the sake of his mate. Ever since Feyre, his brother’s usual recklessness waned. He became more attentive and considerate in ways he had never shown before. 

Both his brothers were equally troublesome. Cass with his wildness and brutality, and Rhys with his cunning and sly. And yet, after finding their mates, they were still all that and a bit more, someone better in every sense. 

Azriel looked at Mor pressed to his side, drunk and smiling. The woman he once loved. And then, Elaine, the woman he wondered to be his mate. 

Even with the passage of time and endless disappointments, his heart refused to let go of hope—such a fickle thing for an immortal life. An everlasting pain that turned the kindest of souls into a force of cruelty—worse than love, worse than torture, worse than death.

To have heard of and believed in a spiritual bond with another was one thing, but to see it with his own eyes and not long for it was not something even a damned soul like him could resist. 

Who wouldn’t want something so precious divined by Mother herself, to be blessed by her, to be born fortunate to have a mate in their lifetime and find them? 

Azriel knew love, he’d felt it. But how was it any different from a mating bond? Would a love be enough to save his wretched heart from himself? Could a love be as profound and sacred as a mating?

He looked at the happy faces of his family. Four of the seven—mated and in love. One with her supposed mate. 

Rare of the rarest.

And there he was. An ordinary rock amongst gems. One Mother didn’t deem worthy enough. Maybe she was right. What was he, after all, but an unlucky bastard? What would it take for Azriel to be one of them? Shadowsinger. Warrior. Servant. Brother. Friend. Survivor. Tortured. Abused. Broken. What more did he need to be to appease the Mother to bless him with one miracle? 

What would make him one of the deserving?

He took the glass he snatched from his brother and downed the drink in one gulp. The liquor burned his throat, a good burn, almost as good as the one his hands endured a long, long time ago. Rhys turned to him with a blank stare. Azriel checked his mental wards and averted his eyes. It was pathetic enough to long for something that he couldn’t have. He refused to warrant pity from his brothers as well. 

His family was together and happy. He breathed in the sweet aroma of the blue-green liquor Mor swirled in her glass. 

It was a good night. 

As he drank a little more, his shadows ventured out weaving through tables and shuffling feet. Azriel allowed it for a while before he reined them back. But they never answered when they returned, only dancing around his shoulders.

Moments later, they tried again, crawling down his back. The tug and pull of control slipped out of his hands as if an invisible force stripped them off him. A gentle caress over his shoulders, coaxing him, easing him to let go. And his shadows were willing to follow this force, betraying their loyalty to him. Azriel didn’t touch his drink after that. 

As expected, the server approached their table and looked at him, the only one sober enough to be reasonable. ‘We won’t cause any trouble,’ said Azriel before he could speak.

His shadows swayed around the back of his neck and leaned to peer beyond the male in their path. They stood still, unmoving, watching, and then crashed into his shoulder, turning into a dark mist.

The server watched them wide-eyed. He shook his head and glanced behind him at the once-closed door, now open. ‘Maybe they could get something mild. Don't let N see them like this.’ With those words, he stalked back to the bar.

The room in front of him lacked the soft ambience of the bar with its golden lights and cosy furniture. A desk with a chair occupied the small space, giving a partial view of the bar outside. A woman bounded down the stairs that ran up from behind the door. She headed to the bar, exchanged a few words with the bartender, and went back inside the room. The servers paused by the door to greet her before they moved on.

N.

To own a bar for high fae and lesser faeries alike, to have her workers and customers fear her, N was laughably docile. Azriel had spent long enough around women of strength and courage to never judge one by looks, but he couldn’t help it. 

In her simple dark pants that flared at the hem and grey-white shirt, N was underdressed than her workers. She was as tall as Feyre, maybe a few inches taller. Her face held a hint of innocence, not close to Elaine’s, but something about her convinced she was harmless. Unless she had a sharp tongue like Nesta or had someone like Mor or Amren to do her bidding, it was unlikely she managed to keep her patrons in line by herself.

‘Azriel,’ called Mor from beside him. Her eyes were unexpectedly fierce after all the wine she had. ‘You’re drinking, right?’ She waved the empty glass in her hand.

He knew he should’ve said no. He glanced at the server across the room, but Nesta and Mor had already left for the bar. His attention drifted to the three drunk males who stood too close to a young fae trying to get away from them. She inched closer and closer to Mor who whispered into Nesta’s ear making her laugh. The shadows on his shoulders grew restless, creeping up and down his arms. He should have offered to get the drinks himself.

Cass was in the middle of narrating an elaborate plot of his fights in Illyrian war camps from their childhood days to Elaine as she leaned over the table with enthralled horror in her eyes. Rhys smiled smugly at his exaggerations while Feyre looked over at the bar, thinking the same as Azriel.

The crude comments of the three males circling the fae made the bartender stare between them with nervous eyes. The air silenced around them, nothing but their obnoxious laughter echoed. The smile on Nesta’s lips vanished, and Mor noticed. His friends at the table paused their conversation. 

‘Come now,’ one of the male carried on, ‘don’t be like that.’ 

N looked up from the paper in her hand. She stared ahead at the wall where the male would have stood if it hadn’t been in her way. Dropping the papers onto the table, she reached inside a drawer. She stepped out of the room, cradling a leather bracelet to her right wrist, pulling its straps taut against her skin. 

The bartender breathed in relief as N eased next to her and took a step back. N gathered her hair, securing it at the nape of her neck as the bartender whispered in her ear. Chunks of hair slipped free and framed her face. Her eyes swept across the bar, took in the faces seated before her, deliberately shifting over the three males. She stood in front of them, mixing drinks with precision and expertise on par with the bartender. She didn't lift her eyes up again.

The male moved close to the fae who immediately backed away. ‘Come on, love. It’s free drink. You should be grateful.’ He spoke into her ear but loud enough to be heard across the room.

A minute longer, and Nesta would have ripped that fool’s tongue with a shard of her broken glass. Azriel had seen enough bar fights—started a few and ended too many—to know when one loomed around the corner.

N’s eyes darted to the man’s hand reaching for the fae and then his face for a second while her body gave no sign of her attention on anything but the tumbler in her hand. A smirk tugged at Azriel's lips.

Maybe it was a bad idea to let Mor and Nesta murder a few males in a bar they had never visited before. Maybe it was a bad idea not to interfere with their authority which usually saved time with vermin like the male. Or maybe it was a bad idea to let the situation escalate, putting the fae in danger only to see N’s reaction.

But Azriel was not above making bad decisions to quell his curiosity. He leaned back and brought his glass to his lips.

‘She’s not interested,’ said N in a voice so soft and smooth. With her eyes on the pink liquor she poured into a tall glass, she added, ‘And she has a drink.’ Her eyes met the fae's, gentle yet firm. She pushed the glass with her index finger. The fae heaved a sigh of relief and reached for it.

The male turned his attention to N with a wicked smile. ‘The coins are to shut your mouth, pretty.’ He ran his vile eyes over her and winked. ‘I’ll come back for you later.’ With a bone-grating chuckle, he returned to the fae who backed towards the tables. He blocked her path with his hand, ‘So what do you say?’

Oh, how Azriel wanted to tear every tooth from his jaws. 

N finally looked at him. Her eyes were calm and intense, a reassured stillness in them. She straightened and placed her hands on the counter. And it was enough to shift the air around them. The woman who commanded respect from her patrons was in the room instead of the quiet, lingering spirit that drifted in and out moments earlier. The band slowed their music, and the ones who refused to look at the ruckus dared to glance their way.

‘I’m going to ask you to leave.’

The male let out a grunt, mean and vulgar. ‘Shut up, you bitch.’ A grimace of impatience replaced his smile. He hissed at the fae, ‘You’re starting to make me angry.’

His eyes widened as a hand grabbed the back of his hand and shoved it face-first onto the wood of the counter. His arms flailed miserably to stop the impact, only to fail. The following crunch made the fae flinch away.

N let go and walked around the bar, her steps calculated and leisured. Her dainty fingers slipped through two gold rings attached to the inside of the bracelet. ‘You okay?’ she asked the fae softly as she pulled the fingers away, two cords of metal unwinding between the rings and the leather. Once she got a frantic nod from the fae, she diverted her focus to the crying male who swiped at his face and stared at his bloodied hands.

Cass snorted. His drink sprayed through his nose, drenching himself and poor Elaine. Rhys’s eyes gleamed with amusement. Feyre looked between N, Nesta and Mor.

The male screeched to no one in particular, ‘That bitch hit me.’ His nose flared and spurts of blood leaked soaking his shirt. ‘You’ll pay for this,’ he lunged forward.

N sauntered ahead with lazy steps and swerved when his fist came close. Her left hand went around his head once. The male stumbled forward by the wasted force of his body and his neck caught in the cords.

N pulled her hands back to her sides, the cords went taut, and the male fell to his knees. His bloodied fingers pried at the noose around his neck. His breaths grew shallow and raspy. Blood sprinkled from his nose with each strain of his chest. His pained cries echoed in the quiet. Not even his friends attempted to help him.

‘Whining on the floor,’ N curved her wrist around his head again, watching his eyes grow wider, ‘Leash on your neck. You sure you aren’t the bitch?’ She looked down at him with void eyes as her fingers clawed his jaw open.

Her other hand reached for a bottle on the counter, her eyes never leaving his. She tipped the bottle close to his mouth and his breath left his chest in a painful heave. ‘It’s free drink, love.’ Her voice was a lover’s purr, low and soft. As the liquor filled his mouth and streamed down his shirt mixed with the red of his blood, she gritted her teeth, ‘Be grateful.’ The first emotion she showed.

It was inappropriate. 

Utterly inappropriate. 

A deep chuckle ripped from Azriel’s throat, loud enough to warrant the glances from his family and the ones beside their table.

When the male choked and his eyes blurred, N stopped. Her fingers released him and slipped out of the rings with a simple flick. The rings whipped spraying drops of amber-red in the air before it latched onto the bracelet again, the cords disappearing between the black of the leather. She turned to his friends, ‘Don’t come back.’

They nodded, their eyes wide, and began to back away. The cries of their friend brought them out of their stupor and they carried him out with his blood staining the once perfect floor. 

N blinked. 

Once they were out the door, she went back behind the counter, and time resumed. The band began their music again. Servers shuffled to clean the floors and check on the fae. The bartender wiped at the splotches of blood on the counter with a rag.

N cleaned her hands and continued with her other orders. As she offered drinks to the ones still waiting at the bar, she smiled. Azriel set his glass down.

When she reached Mor and Nesta, she studied their faces and uttered a few words. Mor pointed at their table with a grin, her eyes sparkling under the light swaying over her head. 

N spared each of them a glance. Her eyes paused at Cass and his wings, Azriel and his wings, and finally Rhys and behind him where his wings should have been. The shadows didn’t appreciate the scrutiny. They went erratic around his shoulders and for a moment her eyes returned to the shadowsinger again.

‘She’s judging us,’ Rhys muttered through his grin. The amusement in his eyes flickered and N held his gaze. ‘Rather harshly,’ he chuckled. 

Feyre frowned at him. ‘Stop it!’

Rhys’s smile fell from his lips. He hummed, staring at N for a beat too long before he turned to his mate. ‘It’s not my fault. Her mind called to me,’ he kissed her cheek.

Azriel wanted to ask what his brother meant, but knew better. His shadows quietened around him, still as midnight air, draping over his shoulders with their ghostly weight. They didn’t sing to him much that night.

Mor and Nesta returned with a tray of drinks. N wrapped an arm around the bartender and whispered in her ear. Her eyes were soft and her lips still held a smile. The bartender relaxed and sighed. Azriel wondered if there was more between the two. N rushed out of her room at the first sign of trouble and took charge of every responsibility while the bartender stayed safe and recovered.

‘I like this place!’ Mor exclaimed as she slumped next to him and handed him a glass after taking one for herself.

Cass only cursed under his breath. ‘Because she gave you free booze?’ He stole a drink for himself, ‘But that show was fun.’

‘So was yours,’ Nesta laughed and pointed at his soaked front.

N accepted a sealed plate from the server with a smile and headed to her office. Her fingers paused at the doorknob. She looked down at her shirt. Crimson spotted along her torso below her ribs. She ran her fingers over them once, slowly. She blinked and wiped again at the dried stain. And again. Then she closed the door.

Once the glasses were emptied, Mor hated the place again. The drinks N offered sobered them completely. Grumbling and muttering their disapproval at the trickery and betrayal, Mor and Cass walked out of the bar with the others trailing behind them. 

Azriel sneaked a glance at the locked door smiling before he joined his family. It was indeed a good night.

#azriel #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #acotar x reader

[meazalykov]

redirection IV

esmee brugts x barca!reader

last chapter: redirection III

next chapter: redirection V

"you never denied having a crush on her"

The cool hardwood flooring in my apartment sends a cool sensation in my body through my sore feet. My feet reminds me of the intensity the game I had hours before. After placing my birkenstocks by the locked apartment door, I toss my bag aside and head straight for the shower. 

Quickly taking off the blue jogger set along with my undergarments, I turn the shower knob all the way and the steam is (lightly) rising due to the warm temperature I wanted the water at.

Stepping under the warm water, I’ve the tension of the game melt away. The memory of my debut flashes in my mind, the cheers of the crowd blending with the pounding of my heart in my chest. Two goals, a brace, in my first match with Barcelona. It's a dream come true, a moment I've worked tirelessly for throughout the last few weeks, and now it's finally real.

After finishing the last step in my shower routine, I couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement bubbling up inside me. Tomorrow morning I had recovery training, which is the best kind of training since it requires just stretching and cardio, but the plans afterwards excited me. Esmee and I had planned to hang out, just the two of us. I couldn't wait.

Pulling myself into my comfortable pink covered bed, I thought about Esmee again. Throughout the last two weeks, I was able to bond with her while we were with our other teammates and friends. She was shy but funny– she was incredible on the pitch - strong, was humble, and had a smile that was pasted on my mind.

Clearly, I've been feeling something more than just admiration for her. I tried to push it away, to tell myself that it was just a friendly bond between teammates. Back in Washington, I never felt this way towards another teammate of mine. Being in a different country changed me more than I realized. 

But deep down, I knew my feelings for the Dutch were increasing, but that's something I wasn't quite ready to admit.

The next morning at training, I found myself stealing glances at Esmee as we gathered for training. She looked radiant with her braids, as always, and my heart skipped a beat as our eyes met. I quickly looked away and noticed Bruna. The second closest person to me on the team– Bruna, my ever-observant friend, nudged me with a mischievous grin.

"What's got you so distracted, Y/N?" she teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Could it be someone on the team?"

I flushed, shaking my head more than I should’ve. "No! I am not looking at anyone in particular, I'm just... focusing on the training ahead."

“Yeah right!” Jana came up and wrapped her arms around Bruna and I’s shoulders. I couldn’t help but giggle as I forced myself to not look in Esmee’s direction. I didn’t want to give the Spanish couple another opportunity to tease me. 

Jana or Bruna weren't convinced of my lie, and neither were the rest of our teammates. They exchanged knowing glances and playful nudges, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of embarrassment. Hopefully Esmee didn’t know about it. 

An hour of training passed by, and before I knew it, Esmee and I were paired together for agility ladder practice. Some of the girls (Salma and Vicky for example) giggled to themselves when they heard Jona pair Esmee and I together. 

As we worked through the drills, I realized that we are hanging out after this. I wasn’t sure where we were gonna go. 

“Hey Es, what do you want to do after this?” I asked. Esmee taps her feet through the spaces on the ladder before responding, “That's what I was trying to figure out.” she smiled at herself. 

“By the time we get out, it’ll be eleven am still. Maybe we can go over to Playa Grande tropical. It’s a beach club not too far from here.” I recommended. Esmee nodded her head as she followed me through with crossovers on the ladder. 

“That sounds fun!” Esmee says. 

“I know right! We can have lunch before going to the beach. It’ll be a good opportunity to relax after the last few days.” I commented, reminding each other about the game last night and training the day before. 

“That's good. I didn’t bring anything with me here so i’ll have to go back to my apartment before we go there.” Esmee’s face lit up, realizing that we were going to spend the day together. 

“Same, I’ll change then bring sunscreen, towels and anything else we need.” I say. 

“Do you want me to meet you at the beach club or should we go there together?” Esmee asks. My heart skips at this innocent question. I didn’t want to sound desperate so after a few seconds I responded with, 

“We can go there together! We can go to my apartment first, grab my stuff, then I can ride with you to your apartment and get yours—unless you want to take my car instead?” 

“Your plan sounds good! My trunk has a lot of space to put our stuff in.” Esmee commented. 

For a moment after our conversation, our eyes locked, and I felt a rush of warmth spread through me. The Dutch smirked as our eyes didn’t break hold from each other.

But just as quickly as it had come, I pushed the feeling aside when I heard all of our teammates gather up by one of the goal posts. Hopefully none of the girls notice my cheeky smile as I jog over to them, focusing on the task at hand.

Unfortunately, it seemed that our moment hadn't gone unnoticed by our teammates. All of the girls, besides Esmee and I, gave each other knowing looks, and I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment once again. But this time, I couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through me. Maybe, just maybe, there was something more between Esmee and me after all. I can’t confront this feeling yet though, it’s too early.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand after training concluded. The pleasant ache in my muscles from last night's game seemed to settle away after stretching. Taking a sip from my water bottle, I savored the cool liquid. The sun was still climbing in the sky as it was ten minutes until 11:00 am.

As I screwed the cap back on my water bottle, I saw Salma approaching, her familiar bright smile lighting up her face. 

"Hey, Y/N! Do you have any plans today?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. 

I hesitated, my mind racing. Salma, Vicky, and I had been trying to find a time to hang out for weeks, but our schedules never seemed to align. Today, however, I had plans with Esmee, and I knew exactly how Salma would react if I told her. Esmee was– special, and Salma never missed an opportunity to tease me about her.

"Um, yeah, actually," I replied, trying to keep my tone casual and not give too much away.

Salma raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. Did she hear Esmee and I talk earlier? 

"Oh? What are you up to?"

I took a deep breath, deciding it was best to just come out with it. "I'm about to hang out with Esmee."

As expected, Salma’s grin widened mischievously. "Esmee, huh? Are you sure it's just hanging out?" she teased, nudging me with her elbow which caused me to giggle. 

"You know, you never denied having a crush on her.” 

I felt my cheeks heat up but I stood my ground, rolling my eyes playfully. "Come on, Salma. We're just friends."

Salma laughed, not buying it for a second. "Sure, sure. “Friends”— Can’t wait for you to tell me all of the juicy details later"

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Shut up– Not the juicy details?"

Salma's teasing was relentless, but I knew it came from a good place. "Sureeee–– So, what are you two going to do? Anything exciting?" she asked, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

"We’re just going to grab lunch and head to the beach," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "It’s nothing major."

"The beach!!?? Sounds like a perfect date to me," Salma said, winking. 

“Many friends go to the beach together?” I protest. 

“Yeah–but I can’t imagine friends giving each other heart eyes at the beach. If it's anything like training, I can imagine Esmee and you staring at each other with desperation the entire time” Salma said, my jaw dropped as I tried not to hold my laugh. Salma was considered one of the funniest and boldest people (by Ona) when I joined the team two weeks ago– I can see why after being her friend. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” I smile as we both head into the dressing room. Hopefully she calms down on the teasing before we are in the room with Esmee present. 

"I’m just saying, if I were Esmee, I'd definitely be into you too. Which she is into you but-"

"Wait what?" I ask. What did she mean?

"Oh--nothing!" Salma's eyes widened before she smirked.

I couldn’t help but laugh at that, pretending as if I didn't want to know what Salma was referring to. Even though my curiosity is itching for me to find out. "Salma, you really have no chill– but thank you"

"Anytime," she replied, giving me a pat on the back. "Go have fun with your 'friend' Esmee. We’ll find time to hang out soon, I promise."

“How about Tuesday? The men’s team plays Antwerp at Montjuic!” I suggested. Salma’s brown eyes light up before she smiles, “That's a brilliant idea, I'm sure Vicky will want to go too.” 

“That's great, I'll let her know too.” I responded.

As we walked into the dressing room and Salma walked away, I couldn't help but smile. Despite the teasing, I appreciated having a friend and teammate like her who always kept things— interesting. I took another sip of water before sitting down by my spot, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. It was just lunch and chilling at the beach, but it's with Esmee.

I finished getting ready but waited for Esmee to finish grabbing her things. Maybe Salma had a point, but for now, I was just looking forward to spending time with someone who made me happy these last few weeks. 

Twenty minutes later, I gripped the steering wheel tightly, glancing nervously in my rearview mirror at the navy blue sedan following me. Esmee had insisted on following me back to my apartment so we could head to her apartment before the beach together, and though I had agreed, I found myself overthinking in the car.

"Did I clean my apartment recently?" I muttered under my breath, anxiety bubbling up inside of my stomach. I knew Esmee wasn’t judgmental, but the thought of my— friend—seeing my space made my stomach twist.

My apartment was five minutes away from the training grounds but the car ride felt as if it lasted two seconds. I parked my car outside my apartment and I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. Esmee parked beside me and flashed a warm smile that made my heart skip a beat. Leading the way through my apartment complex, I unlocked the door and gestured for her to enter first.

The moment we stepped inside, Esmee inhaled deeply which made me giggle. "Your apartment smells good. Is that vanilla?"

I blushed, "Ha yeah– I own a few vanilla candles."

Before I could say more, two small bundles of fur came trotting up to us. Last week, I got two kittens to keep me company when I am at home, and to keep each other company while I am gone. The first gray fluff ran over first as its sibling walked behind patiently, nervous about the new guest.

"Macadamia! Berry!," I cooed, scooping up the extroverted kitten, Macadamia, and handing her to Esmee a minute later.

Esmee's eyes lit up as she took the kitten in her arms. "Oh my gosh, she’s so adorable! Wait--Did you really name one of your cats Berry?” she asked with a playful grin.

“Yeah I did.” I giggled. 

I chuckled, my heart swelling at the sight of Esmee holding one of my kittens. "Maca- Macadamia–." Esmee said before laughing to herself. With her dutch accent, it still sounded great, but I think the girl doubted herself. 

Esmee tried again, stumbling over the name slightly. "Macadamia... Maca... Maca-day-mee-ah."

I laughed, feeling myself fall for h– the moment! just a little more. "That’s perfect!"

“Is Berry the shy one?” Esmee asked as she pointed at the other kitten kidding under the coffee table in my living room. 

“Yep, she is— but here!” I scooped Berry’s small body with my left hand, the kitten meowed once before Esmee held her beside her sister. 

“They’re so cute.” Esmee repeated as she admired the kittens in her arms. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I swiped over to the camera option and took multiple pictures of Esmee holding the kittens. She didn’t notice at first until she looked back up at me– “Hey!” Esmee jokingly said before we bursted out in laughter, not taking her fake offense seriously.

 

We shared a warm smile, looking into eachothers eyes, before I remembered the reason for our stop. "Wait sorry– I just remembered why we are here– I just need to grab a few things for the beach," I said, heading toward my bedroom.

As I came back from my bedroom-- changed into my beachwear-- with my tote bag, sunscreen, towels, and other necessary products needed. I placed the tote bag on my kitchen island and started organizing everything inside. Eventually, I felt Esmee’s presence close behind me. When I turned around, our faces were inches apart, and my breath caught in my throat. The world seemed to pause, the air thick with tension.

There were no distractions. For example, there are no teammates or coaches here to (jokingly) tease us. My heart nearly pumped out of my chest after realizing what was happening. 

Esmee’s eyes flickered to my lips, and my eyes flickered at her plump ones back. For a moment, I thought she might lean in. I stepped closer but my heart pounded in my chest, a mix of fear and anxiety. If I lean in first, I’m scared that I will be rejected. 

I stepped back, quickly grabbing the sunscreen and placing it into the tote bag. "There! everything is all set–" I said, my voice a bit too cheerful. Pretending like the moment seconds before didn’t occur. "We’ll definitely need this."

Esmee’s smile was soft and understanding, but nervousness settled into her eyes too. "That’s great!"

As we headed back to the door, not before saying goodbye to the kittens, I couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if I hadn’t pulled away.

My first thoughts consisted of me fighting with myself, "I am such a puss, why couldn't I just do it!?" There were no distractions or factors that could've stopped either of us from leaning in. It was a good moment.

Learning to be nice to myself, I gave myself grace. I followed behind Es in my apartment complex as we headed to her car. With the dutch girl beside me, ready for a fun day at the beach, I couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, that there will be more chances to make a move.

<3

next chapter: redirection V

#esmee brugts #fc barcelona #barcelona femeni #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #oranjeleeuwinnen #salma paralluelo #bruna vilamala

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Banana (The Surprise, Part 10)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: discussions of sex, doctors visit/exam, discussions of body parts, explicit language, literally so much fluff (let me know if I missed anything!) Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: It's time for your 20-week ultrasound–and you first glimpse of the baby! Emily is determined not to miss it.

Week 20: The Banana

You woke up to Emily’s lips on your forehead, her fingers caressing your face. It was your favorite way to wake up. You inhaled and stretched, opening your eyes to find Emily leaning over you and looking absolutely giddy.

“Good morning, my love,” she said, with way too much pep in her voice. Emily was not a morning person, especially on the weekends. Something was off.

“Why are you up?” you groaned. “It’s Saturday.” You looked at her a little closer. “And you’re dressed?! Do we have brunch plans or something?”

“You,” she said, pecking you on the lips and throwing open the curtains, “have a doctor’s appointment.”

“What?”

“Chop-chop, honey. We see Dr. Delgado at 9:30.”

You yawned and sat up. “That’s not ‘til Tuesday, Em.” You reached out your hands and beckoned to Emily. “Quit running around and snuggle with me.”

Emily threw a t-shirt and a pair of maternity sweatpants at you. “I called and changed it. We’re going out on a case on Monday.”

You pulled the shirt over your head, and Emily held your arm as you stumbled into the sweatpants. “You could have told me before now…” you grumbled. “Are they even open on Saturdays?”

Emily shrugged, looking self-satisfied. “They are for me.”

You scoffed. “What are you, the president!? They just open for you on the weekends!?”

You slid on your sandals, still yawning and sleepy, as Emily all but dragged you out the door.

“I have my ways,” Emily said.

You thought for a minute as she opened the car door for you and pressed a travel cup of coffee into your hands. Decaf, of course. Emily didn’t even keep the regular kind in the house right now.

“Emily.” You looked at her, eyes wide. “You didn’t threaten our OBGYN with your international super spy shit, did you?”

“No!” she protested. “I may have name-dropped the FBI...”

“Jesus,” you muttered, rubbing your forehead.

“Don’t worry, babe,” she reassured you, squeezing your thigh. “I’ll tip her generously for her time.”

“Do doctors take tips?” you asked, thinking aloud.

“Sweetheart,” Emily said forcefully, looking at you hard. “Stop worrying. We’re gonna see our baby today, okay? Lighten up.”

You pouted a bit. “I don’t like it when you change things and don’t tell me.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” she said, taking your hand and kissing it. “It was so last-minute, and you were already asleep when I got home last night. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“I’m kind of nervous,” you admitted.

“What? Why?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Doctors, I guess. What if they have to do another Pap smear?”

“Baby, I don’t think they will,” Emily reassured, running her thumb back and forth over your knuckles. “And, if they do, I’ll be right there with you this time, okay?” She kissed your hand a few more times. “You’re gonna be fine, honey. I won’t let anyone touch you unless it’s okay with you. I promise.”

You exhaled deeply and nodded, as a very concerned Emily watched you and pushed your hair behind your ear.

Just as Emily said, there was no Pap smear. Just a brief physical exam, and Emily held your hand the whole time. Dr. Delgado asked you what felt like a thousand questions and assured you that your answers were normal.

Finally, Dr. Delgado smiled at you and said, “Are you ready to see your baby?”

You smiled and nodded, reclining on the exam table. Emily stood next to you, holding your hand tightly between both of hers, nearly bouncing with excitement.

You took in a shaky breath as the cool gel met your skin, followed by the pressure of the wand. You and Emily watched the screen, hardly breathing as a tiny little pair of feet came into view.

You smiled wide, your breath caught in your throat, as you counted her toes. All ten of them.

Emily pressed kisses to the side of your face. “Look at his little feet, baby!” she whispered, voice high and giddy.

As the wand moved, you simply watched in wonder and silence. Dr. Delgado had explained that she’d be checking for a variety of things, and to just enjoy watching the baby.

“Would you like to know the gender?” she asked. You and Emily looked at each other for a moment then, in unison, shook your heads.

“We want it to be a surprise,” you told the doctor.

“Oh, Y/N,” Emily breathed as the baby’s profile came into view. Tiny, blurry little head and chin and nose. It felt impossible that you could love a tiny bit of static so, so much, but you could have looked at it forever. “Honey,” Emily said, her voice breaking. You looked over to see tears in her eyes, a huge smile spread across her face. She bent down to kiss you, smoothing her thumb over your eyebrow. “He’s beautiful. He’s perfect. Look at him!.”

Neither of you could tear your faces away from the monitor, just soaking in the silver-static glow.

“Well,” Dr. Delgado said, shrugging. “That’s all I need. And it is Saturday.” She winked at Emily and you flushed. “Would you like some pictures to take home?”

“Please,” Emily insisted, wiping the gel off your stomach with a paper towel.

As you walked to the parking lot, an envelope of sonogram print-outs under your arm. Emily stopped you with a hand on your arm. She placed both hands on your baby bump and just looked at you. Her eyes were full of love, so full you thought she might cry again. Instead, she kissed you, holding either side of your head. Then she kissed your cheek and wrapped your body in her arms, pressing her cheek to the top of your head.

“I love you so much, honey,” she whispered.

“I love you, too,” you said, hugging her tightly. 

When you pulled away, she had tears in her eyes, and you smiled. It was a nice change for Emily to be the one crying and not you. She sniffled and laughed as you reached up your hands to wipe her tears away.

You took her hand in yours, swinging your arms a bit as you walked to the car. “Well, since you made me get up so early,” you said, eyebrows raised. “I think it’s only fair you take me to brunch.”

“Oh, that’s what you think?” Emily replied, smirking, kissing the top of your head. “Well, it’s lucky for you that you have a wife who loves taking care of you.”

“I know,” you said, beaming at her as she opened the car door for you.

You smiled as you watched Emily take out one of the ultrasound photos and tuck it above her in the sun visor, brushing her thumb lovingly over the baby’s face.

You leaned over to kiss the corner of her mouth. “You’re cute,” you told her.

She laughed. “Alright, baby. Let’s get you some pancakes.”

 “If I remember correctly,” you added, staring pointedly at her, “you also owe me some snuggles when we get home.”

“Y/N, I will give you anything you want when we get home. You’re giving me a baby. As far as I’m concerned, you get everything. Always and forever.”

“Anything I want?” you asked suggestively.

Emily sighed and looked at you, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Anything.”

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #emily prentiss fluff

[valyrfia]

I mean this the nicest way possible but have you considered the fact that you just .. hate RPF? Wich is fine, like you said it's a gray area. It's not everyone's cup of tea, actually! It's not even mine because I actually came across those trailers you said! And I instantly went "ew wtf" and I clicked not interested, and then I another showed up, and clicked not interested, and then the algorithm went ok got it, and it's been a while thankfully, that hasn't showed up. So, what I mean is, there is content in the internet that is weird, that's for sure, but there's like... Ways to avoid it? And the way that this has been a persistent subject in your blog in such a deep way makes me think that you suffer it more than anyone, wich is fine but just, don't look at it anymore? I don't know what to say honestly because, again no to be rude but youre making the MOST out of it. And it's like you're treating fandom culture like this deep dark secret when its as public as it can be and I promise you the most a person can do is feel weirded out and mute that content, and hope it doesn't show up.! But for example, I hate povs content, and that has to be the most persistent content I've seen so far on F1, full of "you're the wife/girl/sister" blah blah and I'm a lesbian, I've clicked not interested so many times I lost count and IT KEPT showing up (until i figured muting y/n, driver x reader helps) so if it keeps you more calm there are ways to avoid content you dont like!

I get where you’re going with this but also, nah. I’ve always loved RPF and will keep consuming it whenever I can. I just make a big stink out of seeing it outside of tumblr and ao3 because of algorithms and the way I was taught to interact with RPF about fifteen years ago in which….these things have to stay within their intended circles at all costs. This is back when fandom content was not cool and mainstream and unless you kept your fandom life and your actual life very separate you get bullied to hell for it. Now, I often feel like the pendulum has swung a little too far the other way and there’s such a massive influx of new people because fandom culture is trendy that fandom etiquette is starting to collapse. The treatment of RPF being one of them.

RPF differs from POV content in two ways. The first is that POV content is a little more accepted than RPF in the general consciousness, usually because it’s het but also because it’s very obvious this is a self insert fantasy which while I imagine is awkward for drivers to see, can be easily laughed off as being so obviously just a fantasy. RPF on the other hand builds off of pre-existing relationships and lore and is usually slash, which already introduces an awkward element (and you can say the men shouldn’t have toxic masculinity all you like, it’s not just them that’s the issue it’s everyone who perceives them and the content), also it’s more difficult because people DO talk about these pairings platonically. In order to not experience Lestappen on my tiktok FYP, I can’t interact with any video that mentions those two in the same breath ever because the algorithm will eventually push me ship content even if I don’t want to see it and I click not interested. This happens over and over again.

I love RPF which am just on super high alert about RPF safe spaces being breached because I know from lived experience that it doesn’t bode well. This is also just personally not the way I was taught to interact with fandom, and again I’ve seen enough shit in my time to understand why that etiquette had to be enforced.

#anon #asks #keep RPF on tumblr discourse #there’s generally a breakdown of fandom etiquette and RPF popping up everywhere is a symptom of that I could talk for hours but

[atinylittlepain]

Chapter One

jackson!joel miller x witch!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

He thinks he might fall in love with her. She can't let him fall in love with her. Or: a reimagined take on an infamous Practical Magic au by yours truly.

wordcount | 6.1K

series content info | 18+ slowburn-ish, strangers to friends to lovers to estranged acquaintances to ???, discussions of death and grief, a little magic, just a little, jackson era joel and all that entails, eventual smut, angst obviously, and love that requires a little elbow grease.

a/n | yeeeehaw, here we go. I have to just say, it was so damn fun writing this, and while I haven't gotten started on chapter two quite yet (hello, finishing undergrad, you thankless wench) I'm real excited to get started soon. As always, I'd love to hear what you think, thank you for reading.

............................................

He doesn’t understand this world of a town. Two months, maybe three, actually, and still not used to any of it. Not used to warm water and light switches that work. Not used to three whole meals, not used to whole anything. Tomatoes and peaches, sweet snap peas, the taste of summer. Not used to people living so closely and not trying to kill each other. He feels like a livewire strung taut, waiting for the shoe to drop, for the catch of it all. He’s starting to think there is no catch. And if there is no catch, he’s worried he’ll get too comfortable, too soft.

The people of Jackson live a different life. May as well be on a different planet. And as such, they treat him and the kid with a pitiful patience and a cautious distance. Careful, feral animals, still being housebroken, still learning not to eat with their hands and swear in the dining hall. Still learning not to flinch, or do much worse, when a friendly hand is placed on their shoulders. This strange world, strange life he’s walked into, and he’s pretty sure it’s not for him. But he wants it to be for Ellie, so he tries. 

In this world, help is expected, and given freely. White-knuckling isn’t requisite, there are things that can be done for a fever besides waiting it out, ways to relieve a little suffering. Time and space, a luxury, he thinks. And so when the kid came home with a bloom of welts on her palms and up her bare shins, unaware of how easily poison ivy can spread, there was, for once, something he could actually do about it. 

Tommy was the one who clued him in. The little shop that sits a few storefronts down from the Tipsy Bison which, in all honesty, he had never paid any mind to. He doesn’t get out much to begin with though, so that says very little. Unassuming, peeling blue paint and tall windows obscured by bursts and blooms of plants. A piece of smooth wood has been turned into a sign hanging above the door, letters seared into the grain. Apothecary.

He calls out, hesitant when he steps inside, unsure now if he came at the right time. No one in sight, the shop sits perfectly quiet, still, just the hum of a fan tucked into one of the windows, sending a faint shiver through the plants around it. He’s admittedly surprised by the sight, not that he had been expecting the clinical white of a pharmacy. Still, the shock of green all around him, warm clay pots on wooden benches, vines and leaves spilling over the edges like languid limbs in repose. Lush and strange, he steps further into the shop, foliage brushing against his shoulders, the cool, damp smell of earth. He calls out again, still silence.

There’s something that looks like an old checkout counter further back, a rusted-out cash register that now has thin vines growing along and in between the keyboard. The remnant stub of a receipt sits in its mouth, he thinks he can make out 2003, ink all but faded away. But the strangest of all things, as he’s studying the slumped machine. Someone else joins him. Or something else. 

“Well, look at you.” It doesn’t exactly startle him, more like a small kick in his chest at the intrusion. Like black ink, sleek and shine and slipping up onto the counter, all ease, perched and staring at him. He thinks a bit idly to himself that he hasn’t seen too many cats in the last two decades. And this cat looks well taken care of, maybe even a little prim, if a cat can look such a way, sitting on its haunches and looking at him, unblinking, unwavering, and a little unsettling. Little impulse, before he can think too hard about it, he holds his hand out, a scratch between the ears that’s rebuffed as soon as it’s accepted, little snit and swipe, the sharp pin prick sting of blood over his knuckles. He presses his other palm over the small throb, the cat long gone by the time he has half a mind to look for it. 

“Did she get you?” Now that does get a jolt out of him. Animals are easier. But people, well. He looks to his left, then to his right, deeper into the shop. He sees her hair before he really sees her. Piles of curls, gray starting to bleed through all that darkness. She’s standing in a doorway he hadn’t seen before, the cat rubbing its cheek against her shin. Somehow, he feels like he’s been told on, thick flood of something warming up the back of his neck.

“Just a scratch, think I deserved it though.” Somewhere around his age, he thinks, maybe a little younger. Her eyes do a lift and crinkle when she smiles, stepping closer to him. He sees the same years he recognizes in his own face, though she certainly wears it better, tempered smile, glasses getting pushed up into her hair, more mane now than anything else. What was he here for again?

“You’re Joel Miller.”

“I am, how did–”

“Tommy told me he was sending you my way. I didn’t know a person could come with a warning label.” Something southern in her voice, little twang, little twinge. Her words rasp just a bit, and it sounds like kindness, like a sharpness that could turn sour, though she keeps it sweet, tilt of her head, sweet. 

“I guess my reputation precedes me then.”

“It’s a small town.”

“I’m starting to catch onto that.” The cat has taken an insistent twine between his legs, chewing at his shoelaces, until she, still nameless to him, hooks her arm around its belly, easy as anything, and Stevie’s a little curious is all, sending the creature slinking off and away from them, disappearing between all the green. 

“I’m sorry, older I get the less I remember my manners. I’m Maggie.” Palm extended, and when he takes it, it’s like that thing he and Tommy used to do as kids, bored out of their minds and making a game of shuffling in their socks, fingertip shocks to the backs of each other’s necks, just a quick gasp of static, there and gone.

“Tommy said you could help me out with something for poison ivy?” Oh, she says, mostly pantomime when she takes her hand back and wipes it on the thigh of her jeans, is it for you? He’s surprised how easily that makes him laugh.

“No, it’s, well, it’s my kid, got it pretty bad.” 

“Your daughter is in luck then. I’m almost sure every kid in Jackson under the age of sixteen gets it at least once, and I treat every single one of them.” A slip, a stutter, because did she? Did he? He must have, right? Must have used that word, daughter, for her to say it. Even though he’s pretty sure he didn’t, pretty sure of his pause, but he can’t give it any more thought because she, Maggie, has already turned heel, a cursory look over her shoulder at him that tells him, yes, he should be following her further back into the shop. 

“So, witch hazel is going to be your daughter’s new best friend. Soak a little of this into a cloth or towel and dab it onto the rash a few times a day, you really can’t overdo it though.” He’s trying to keep up, really, nodding and mmhmming as she hands him a small bottle, already onto the next thing, her glasses now sliding down to the end of her nose as she looks through drawers and cabinets, plucking out things that look like old shoe polish tins, jars covered with cloth toppers. A mix of method and madness, a grace to her movements, though something skittish is threaded through. Bird of prey, he thinks, something of fierce and feather in all that motion.

A combination of workshop and kitchen makes up what he thinks is the backroom of the shop, large butcher block taking up most of the middle of the room, back door propped open with something that, frankly, looks like an urn. An impressive-looking range spans the back wall, and he thinks that, maybe, in the before, some kind of restaurant. But now, very different means to very different ends. 

“Alright, this’ll help most with the itching. It’s a bit potent, so just tell her to take a little bit, warm it up between her palms, and rub it over the worst spots.” Ultimately, he’s left with a bottle, a small tin, and a few sachets of oatmeal bath soak, only half sure he got all her directions, trying to balance listening to her, and letting his eyes wander over all the cabinets, dried plants and variously odd containers spilling out from everywhere. Head spinning, already spun out actually, and he can’t help but wonder how he’s just now meeting this woman, a strange sense that she’s important, though why, or to whom, he isn’t sure. 

“That should have Sarah all cleared up in about a week, but if it’s still persisting–” 

“I’m sorry–” Whatever he’s sorry about, it cracks and fails in his chest. Like he’s been winded, or maybe wounded, a sort of deep suckerpunch shock hearing that name come from a stranger’s mouth. He has to clear his throat before he speaks again, posing it like a question, you said Sarah? And there’s a peculiar thing that happens in the silence, the quick pass of her eyes over his face, pull of her brow like she’s the one that’s confused. But whatever it is, it’s gone just as quick, lines smoothing, a smile so small it can only be apologetic. That queasy twist in his gut has loosened, but there’s still something unsettled, that lingering static all over his skin. 

“I thought I heard that was your kid’s name, but judging by your reaction I  must be getting people mixed up again.” She says something else, something about taking care, a lot of folks around here pass through my hands, sometimes they blur together. He believes that well enough, still uncertain about the rest, though too skittish to do anything other than drop it. That name isn’t for anyone else, not even a bird of prey, so he keeps it folded up close and tight between his ribs and lets out a sigh to blow out all of his held breath, slumping civility.

“No, it’s alright, I’m not too good with names myself.”

“Well, there hasn’t been much need for that in this world, don’t you think?” 

“I guess not, though I’m getting the sense it’s a little different around here.” It seems like a nervous thing, a pulse point reassurance in the way she brushes a hand back through her hair, lets her palm curl at the nape of her neck for a moment, then hand to wrist. Never still, she’s done it a few times now just standing here talking to him, though her words come easy, if not a little sharp, a single, high note of a laugh.

“Oh yeah, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to work on that, unless you wanna hurt some poor bird’s feelings, you know.” Wave of her hand, you know, and the thought occurs to him, errant, that this is the most normal conversation he’s had with someone since deciding not to leave. And quickly after that, the thought that he doesn’t hate it, this, doesn’t hate normal, doesn’t want normal to stop. For once, he feels like he can do normal. For once, it feels easy.

“Any advice?”

“What, on assimilating?” That word rolls languid and loose off her tongue, making a joke out of it as she pronounces each syllable, that sour twang pitching up another key. He nods, try me.

“Give it time, the names that matter will shake out eventually. In the meantime, just avoid direct eye contact and the rumor mill will leave you alone, relatively speaking.” 

“That right?” Shrug, sigh, she tilts her head to the side, smile going slanted and shoulder hiked, it’s been working for me, kinda, sorta. His eyes trail the slope of her collar bone, bare now with how the sleeve of her shirt has slid a little askew. Sunspots, a silver knick of a scar, paper thin and fine.

“Ellie, that’s, um, well, my kid’s name.”

“Got it, and you’re Joel.”

“And you’re Maggie.”

“Look at you, already getting better at it.”

“Is that short for something?” 

“Unfortunately, my mother saddled me with Magdalene.”

“Don't hear that one often.”

“Nope, she was a little, well–”

“Eccentric?”

“I was going to say righteous, but that works too.” 

“Religious then?”

“In a way, yes, you could say that. You too? Joel sounds very bible-y.” 

“My folks were, I never really acquired a taste for it though.” 

“Hmm, amen.” Easy, easy, easy, until time does that thing it always does, starts to fissure beneath that delicate freeze. She glances at her watch, a polite sigh, and he notices the thin band on her finger, a foolish drop of disappointment souring his stomach, trying, and failing, to double check if it was her left, if it was her ring finger. Not that it matters though, not that it would, or could matter. Already on the move, something about a colicky baby I have to go check in on, leading him back out to the front of the shop, and he finally remembers the bottle and tins he’s holding, what he came here for in the first place. 

“I appreciate all this, really, just name your price and–”

“Oh, no, consider it a welcome gift. I hope Ellie starts feeling a little better.” And he wants to accept that, her kindness, and how easily she offers it. But there’s no muscle left in him for that, weak and wilted and wary of shoes dropping, catches, and being caught. Whatever remains in its place, she notices it, that nervous hesitation, that one step back, that shifted glance toward the exit, softening some of her sharpness. And it’s not pity, because he knows pity, seen a lot of pity in these few months he’s been here. No, not that, something simpler and saner. Seeing and being seen, the cool slip of relief from it. 

“I might have an idea for a trade if you’re up for it.”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“Tommy said you’re handsy–” She stops herself with a gasp that sounds like a hiccup, seemingly just as stunned as he is by the word, hair falling in her face with the shake of her head, little laugh, little brightness. Handy, oh my god, I meant handy. 

“I’m sorry, clearly I don’t get out much, lord.” All hands, talking with her hands, palm to her forehead, then back through her hair, quick flickers, he tries to track that ring through its orbit, a dizzying  effort. Hummingbird hands, a woman who is all wings.

“It’s alright, reckon you’re still better at this than I am.”

“On the contrary, I think you’ve been the picture of civility.”

“Will you tell Tommy that?” 

“I’m sure I can put in a good word.”  He’s lingering, or maybe she is, or maybe they both are. Not used to this, taking time for time’s sake. 

“I am though. Handy, I mean, if you need help fixing something?” She does, she tells him, stair railing that’s come so loose she’s worried she’s going to go right through it one of these days. And it’s been twenty years since he’s been in a world in which people worry about the upkeep of their stair railing, but it’s an easy fix, he tells her, he can do that, he tells her. Sunday? Sunday works fine. They shake on it, stepping out of the shop into the mid-day glare of sun, her with a deep canvas bag hanging off her shoulder. She squints at him, it was nice meeting you, and he says the same, and finds himself actually meaning it. But there’s still something strange slicking up and down his spine, he’s reminded of it watching her walk off in the other direction, though he’s not really watching her any more, but the people she passes by.

Small town, close town, everyone knowing everyone else, names pinned down under thumbs. Ellie had let out a loud what the fuck when a stranger greeted them, by name, the first time they went to the dining hall for dinner. He’s been feeling a similar way about all the greetings, all the good neighbors doing what good neighbors do. But Maggie gets none of that walking down the block. No smiles, no tipped chins, no knowing and being known. He swears he even sees a few swept away glances, a few steps back the closer she gets. If it bothers her, she doesn’t show it, a sort of easy sway to her gait, walking hips-first, there, and there, and then gone when she turns a corner. Strange, and stranger even, when he looks down and notices that the puddle of black ink is chewing on his shoelaces again. 

Little trouble, yellow eyes that round and narrow on him, he takes one step, and little trouble follows him, close on his heels. He imagines that they’re putting on an absurd show walking down the main drag of town, him stopping every few steps to turn around and see that yes, little trouble is still following him, though at an admittedly respectable distance, settling back on its haunches and staring him down every time he glances back over his shoulder. Little trouble follows him all the way to the front steps of his house, seeming to finally lose interest in favor of a bee humming lazy around a patch of weeds. The last thing he sees of little trouble is pink-padded paws batting at dandelions, curled-lip grin and white fang chewing on stems, beheading thick yellow manes. 

… 

She lives on the other side of town. Older builds, he thinks, been here longer, windows with glass that warbles a little in its age like melted sugar, and deep-set porches washed with dark blue shadows in the early morning light. Cottonwood trees sway and dip, old limbs that arc and curl over the cracked-up sidewalk, slumbering giants making the sounds of all the small life it hosts. It’s a side of Jackson he hasn’t seen until now and it reminds him of a younger, simpler time. 

The town follows an old rhythm, late starts on Sunday. There’s even a church somewhere, though he’s not particularly concerned with finding it anytime soon. It’s still early enough, however, that he’s one of the few people already up and out. She told him to come as early as he wanted, really, I’ll be up. And he sees for himself that she was being honest, because when he walks up to the house she told him to look for, he finds her waging a zealous war with a rose bush in her front yard, and it doesn’t seem like she’s winning. 

When he told his brother he had taken his advice, he was met with a surprising amount of interest, talking quietly over a shared drink and well, what did you think?

I didn’t realize you were waiting for my report.

She’s a little different is all, does things her own way.

Well, she got the kid fixed up. 

I had no doubt she would.

I’m helping her on Sunday with something, as a trade.

Oh?

Stair railing in her house is loose. Been a long time since I thought about stair railing.

Wait, you’re going to her house?

Yes.

Into her house?

I’d presume so. Is that a problem?

No, just surprising. 

Why’s that?

She keeps to herself, not exactly one to make friends, though I don’t blame her with the way– well, people can be cruel, I guess.

What’s that supposed to mean? 

There’s talk, stupid stuff really. For what it’s worth I like her just fine.

Talk, his brother said. People spinning stories out of fear, or maybe something weaker than that. He’s been gathering up some of that talk all week, enough of it to make his head spin. The only thing he’s sure is truth, Maggie was here before Jackson was even called Jackson, just a nameless group of people that somehow managed to survive, until it became something else entirely. The rest, however, weft and warp of fact and fiction. Plenty of good words, broken bones set back in place and flu seasons weathered, babies born and grown, though the praise seems to be given with a reluctant respect, skittishly, but, well. But, well, something strange about her, isn’t there? He’s heard plenty of strange too. Strange, the way she talks to the wind, and the way it seems to listen. Strange, that cat of hers, with lingering eyes that watch and watch and watch, a shadow showing up in all the close, quiet places. Strange, whatever it is she keeps on the stove in the back of her shop. He asked Ellie if she’s heard anything, and she, pleased with herself, offered up a fantastical report of flight and dancing naked under the full moon, a perfectly tall tale he could imagine the children of Jackson passing around a classroom. 

One thing he hasn’t heard anything about, the ring and whichever finger she wears it on. His right, her left, she’s still wearing it this morning, simple silver glinting and a pair of garden shears aloft in her hand. She smiles sheepish when she sees him, like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t be. 

“Those are pretty.” She doesn’t seem to realize he’s talking about the roses, big white blooms that she absently looks at over her shoulder, scoffing, her mouth screwed to the side. 

“They’re useless is what they are, taking up too much space and overcrowding the rest of my plants.” As he gets closer, stepping beyond the gate and into the front yard, he sees the errant chaos of her work, stray petals and entire threads of flowers lopped off around her feet. She’s a little breathless as she speaks, back of her hand to her forehead to wipe stray salt, and he wonders how long she’s been out here at this.

“Not a fan of roses then?” 

“To be honest with you, I don’t know where these are coming from. It seems like I cut them back and by the next morning they’ve taken over even more.” She gives a weak stab to the flowers that remain intact, a shake of her head as she abandons her work, and he shouldn’t, just here to fix her stair railing, he shouldn’t, but he already is, already saying the words before he can think about keeping his mouth shut, you’re bleeding.

“What?” He gestures, at least having half a mind not to touch, his hand hovering somewhere in the vicinity of her forearms. Long, thin welts where he’s sure the thorns got her, and maybe he’s a little startled by her breathing out oh, those fuckers, and this again, on the move again, and expecting him to follow her up the porchsteps and in through the screen door and just let it slam or it won’t close all the way. She’s already tramped further into the house and he finds himself utterly unsure of what comes next, shuffling a little in the hallway she left him in, head tilting with the sound of a faucet turning on somewhere, pipes groaning. 

Another truth he gets to see for himself, Maggie has lived here a long time, all the acquired detritus of life that only time can allow, that leaving washes away. Paintings dripping off the walls, a craned-neck glance into the rooms around him revealing worn-looking furniture, shelves of books and little nothing things, trinkets and half-melted candles. And more plants, more plants everywhere. 

“So, the stairs.” The stairs, in question, are an easy enough fix. How nice, he thinks, to know what is needed, and to know exactly where to go to get it, a few tools and materials only a ten minute walk away. She tells him to make himself at home, let yourself in, I’ll be in the back, I’d warn you about my guard dog but she’s not very good at her job. The guard dog in question is rubbing its whiskered cheek against the leg of her jeans, thrumming a purr so loud he thinks it’s at least partial performance, yellow eyes skewing up at him every now and again. 

The work itself makes up the morning. Methodical, monotonous work that allows his mind, and his eyes, to wander. Whatever that ring on her finger means, he’s nearly certain that nobody else lives here with her, except for the cat who spends the first few hours sitting on the bottom step, watching him. As for Maggie, he catches glimpses of her, in and out all morning between what looks like a sunroom and the backyard, never still, always something in her hands, always moving like she’s got an important destination to get to. She comes back inside just as he’s finishing his work, dressed down in a tank top now, all her hair pulled into a precarious knot at the nape of her neck. His eyes linger on bare collar bone, sun high in her cheeks, even though he tries not to. 

“I completely forgot to ask if your kid is feeling better.” He tells her that she is, tries for a joke about teenagers and all their drama that just feels weird in his mouth, though she still smiles at it. And he feels it again, just the same as when he met her, that tug, that want to linger, even though the work is done, and she’s thanking him for it, and even he, and all his dormant manners, knows that’s his cue to leave. 

“I was about to make some lunch if you wanted to stick around?” He shouldn’t.

“Yeah, okay, thank you.” And so he stays for lunch, and so there’s tomato sandwiches, thick and bursting, summer sweet and savor on her back porch, wiping dripping ripeness off on the thigh of his pants, a hum in his throat to be enjoying something like this. 

“How’s another week of domesticity suiting you?” Words that crackle with a half-grin, her cheek cupped in her palm, a picture of afternoon haze, sleep and sate, and he finds himself being lulled by the sight, little slump back in his chair.

“Don’t think it’s something I’ll get used to anytime soon.”

“That’s to be expected, I don’t think anyone ever fully gets used to it though. Not unless this is all they’ve known.”

“Where were you before you came here?” It’s a question that borders on prying, he apologizes and you don't have to almost as soon as it’s out of his mouth, but she waves the apology off, it’s a little complicated. And she tells him that this is where she lived in the before, right up until the after, and that she, like so many others, got funneled into a quarantine zone in the earliest years. 

“Were you ever in one?”

“Boston, for a while.”

“Then you know how maddening those places are.” Bird of prey, trapped in a cage. Bird of prey, who flew back home. Bird of prey, who found that a few other people had the same idea.

“It wasn’t called Jackson back then, wasn’t called anything, just people, you know.” Until it became something else, something bigger, and a little more serious, and if that bothers her, she doesn’t show it. And now he really is prying, asking after her accent that surely doesn’t come from the mountains. He’s not wrong, she tells him.

“I moved here when I was, oh, maybe nine? My parents, we lived in Mississippi before they passed, and when they did I was sent up north to live with my aunt.” It’s an old wound, whatever pain that remains from it has been transfigured into a sort of tired nostalgia around her eyes, the tempering of her smile. She’s quick to brush it away, a bright laugh and a shake of her head, I think I just told you all my secrets. He knows that isn’t true, though warmth still starts to unfurl in his chest. And when she asks him the same questions, he offers the same piecemeal parts of the whole truth. Offers Texas, and his brother, and a halfway truth about Ellie. Shards and fragments passed between each other’s hands, it surprises him how easily he has given his to her. 

“I guess we’re not strangers anymore then.” 

“No, I guess not.”

“I should– I feel the need to warn you.” Like she’s not sure how to put these words together right, brow pinched low and smile slanted nervous, you might not want to spend too much time around me.

“Why’s that?”

“People around here like to talk.”

“Right.”

“And they like talking about me.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“And I don’t want– you seem like the kind of guy who just wants to keep his head down and get by.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“I’d like to be friendly, but I don’t want to take that from you.” The word friendly does something unpleasant in his chest. He does his best to ignore it.

“Why’d you invite me to stay?”

“Because I like talking to you and because I’m selfish. Because I wanted to.” And there’s something else, he thinks, something else unspoken behind her grin. Because he hasn’t made up his mind about her in the same way everyone else has, at least not yet. 

“I have heard things, about you, I mean.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“And I have questions.” She sits back in her chair, an edge of a challenge in her jutted chin, palms turned up and open, try me. But given the chance, he doesn’t know where to begin, which thread to pull first. What comes out, ultimately, isn’t even a question, but plain and blunt observation. This is a big house.

“It’s just me, and Stevie. I’ve offered up rooms to folks around here, haven’t gotten any bites so far.”

“But it wasn’t always, just you.” Absent-minded, she spins that silver band with her thumb, another wound revealed. 

“I was married until I wasn’t.”

“Before or after?” He doesn’t know where this is coming from, this plainly brash openness, though she doesn’t wince, doesn’t recoil from it, just as steady as he is.

“After, about a decade after. You think you’re in the clear and then, yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for now. Ask me something else, why don’t you? Something more interesting.” Wave of her hand and a clipped laugh that’s more like a sniff, tender, don’t touch, don’t dig into that wound any deeper. 

“People say you’re strange.”

“Strange.” Dragging out the word, letting it crackle with a grin that’s all teeth, little laugh on the end, picture perfect amusement in how she tilts her head at him.

“That you can do strange things.” 

“That’s kind of a nothing word, isn’t it? Strange?”

“I thought you were gonna answer my questions.”

“Oh, I will. You’re gonna have to be a little more precise in your language though.” Back and forth, back and forth, why does he like this so much? Dragging his palm down his jaw to stop the spread of anticipation, heat-hazy in the mid-afternoon sun.

“That cat of yours, for starters.”

“Mmhmm?” Raise of her brows, voice high in her throat, and he has to huff, do I really have to say it?

“Are you referring to the rumor that my cat spies on people and reports back to me all their wicked, little secrets?” 

“Sure, yes.”

“That cat right there?” His eyes follow her pointed finger out into the tall grass of the backyard, where the cat in question seems to have contented itself with tangling its paws in a loose length of twine, belly-up, writhing around in all that green. Maggie snorts.

“Oh yeah, she’s a real mastermind, you better watch out, she’ll be visiting your bedroom window next.” 

“Then what about the rest of it?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“I’m glad you’re finding this so amusing.”

“Mmhmm, I really am.”

“I feel foolish even saying it.”

“If there’s a word you’re skirting around, and I think there is, it’d be better if you just come out with it.”

“This really is a nothing word though.”

“Oh?”

“Made up, make-believe.”

“Are you sure about that?” 

“Frankly, I’m not sure of anything about you.” She hums, chin cupped in her hand and her elbow propped on the small table between them, her brow dipping in mock consideration of his words. He can see that she really is finding all of this entertaining, something in her eyes like a squinted challenge, ghost of a smile twitching in the corners of her mouth.

“How about I say the word I think you’re thinking of?” Spiraling words, circling each other, he nods, and she purses her lips, getting ready for some kind of lift off. 

“People have told you my cat is strange.”

“People have told you I’m strange.”

“People have told you I do strange things.” Yes, yes, yes, he nods with each statement, and her smile only seems to brighten.

“Joel, have people been telling you I’m a witch?” And that’s it, isn’t it? Foolish, and he doesn’t know why that word has seemed to stick in his mind. Maybe just because he’s heard it from enough mouths in the last few days that it almost makes it seem plausible. Maybe he’s lived in a world turned inside out on itself long enough that there is very little imagination that hasn’t been eaten away by reality. Maybe he’s just like the rest of them, looking for any way to explain someone who doesn’t do things the capital-w Way they are supposed to be done. Maybe he’s still thinking about Sarah, and where Maggie could have possibly plucked that name from. And maybe that word is just holding the place of something else, an uneasiness he feels around her, though not unpleasant, just other, and so very unlike any other. He opens his mouth to speak, but decides against it, and this seems to amuse her most of all, sharp smile now softening, no longer playing at a game because they’ve both caught each other now, haven’t they? 

“That’s what people say.” 

“And you? What do you say?” 

“Does it matter?”

“If we’re going to be friends, yes, I’d like to know what you think.” Friends, they’re going to be friends. When did that happen? He thinks that may be the strangest thing of all. 

“I think I don’t know enough yet to tell you what I think.”

“How judicious of you.”

“I think you’re different though.”

“Well, I think you’re different too.”

“Why?”

“Most people wouldn’t have gone past the front porch, and here you are staying for lunch.”

“I don’t mean to impose or–”

“That’s not what I meant.” The words are kind, but they’re also a conclusion, enough, for now, enough. He watches her get up and collect both their plates before he can think to move, and then another kindness, touch, her palm on his shoulder as she passes behind him, there and gone. He’s a stranger to touch that isn’t economical, or clinical, or plainly violent, and he finds himself unsure what to do with that, though inexplicably wanting more of it. 

She thanks him again for the fix to the railing, and he thanks her for lunch. He lingers, and she lets him, helps with the dishes, checks the railing one more time. I’ll see you, she says, walking him out onto the front porch, and she does it again, touch again, somewhere at his elbow, as simple as anything. The roses are still raging in her front yard, a whole wave of them. 

Somewhere in the middle of his walk home, he realizes the cat is following him, second shadow slinking low to the ground, dipping her head when he turns around, pretending at predator. He keeps walking, pays little attention to her pursuit. He’ll get used to it eventually. He thinks he already is.

...........................

taglist: @suzmagine @joelsgreys @vee-bees-blog @noisynightmarepoetry @kungfucapslock @iloveenya @evolnoomym @wannab-urs @survivingandenduring @thereaperisabitch @schnarfer @jessthebaker @tobethlehem

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller au #apothecary gv

[helpallthenamesaretakenblog]

hi so this is a bit of a rant because I had a lot on my mind and needed to get it out, don't mind me, I might have gone little mad in this. warning: probably an unpopular opinion

ok now that you're here.

why are the logical behind pre-tlo jealous!percy fics so despicable? like seriously. this is a sentiment ive seen from lot of percabeth fans, and I hate it so much.

so a lot of posts I've seen about this are like "why did percy have to have love interests ? annabeth needs a side man too to make it equal" ok first of all, why is there some weighing scale in all of this? it's not a court situation where we need to judge which side committed more crimes.

having a 'side man' for annabeth completely disrespects the feelings she was going through in the period of botl-tlo. I think most people forget that rachel wasn't her only problem during that time. luke, her older brother figure from 7 years old had been possessed by the soul of kronos. OF COURSE she would be emotionally unavailable due to her grief. at the end of botl, percy describes that SHE never came and talked to him either about the kiss or whatever. it was a mutual silent treatment. percy couldnt have confessed to annabeth even if he tried, because it was obviously a bad time for her duh. they rlly expect percy to be like "annabeth😍 I know you're going through major grief right now ❤️ but pls kiss me" the same way annabeth found it hard to confess to percy because of rachel and whatever.

people think it's really funny to write fics about annabeth flirting with someone like connor during times like when percy got exploded by the volcano. "percy was doing things with Calypso too--" HE WAS HEALING. He had to stay there for some time to heal after getting EXPLODED. he was also tempted with paradise. stuff like that isn't a decision to make in a second. having annabeth have fun with other boys with connor or smthn while she thinks percy is dead is such a disrespect to her love for percy, I wonder how people like that are percabeth fans at all. same goes for fics where annabeth does it ON PURPOSE to make percy mad.

problem with these type of fics is that they're so PETTY. "If i was annabeth I would have made percy beg on his knees" "if I was annabeth I would murder him--" BUT YOURE NOT ANNABETH. annabeth chase LOVED percy jackson and would never do something on purpose to hurt percy or annoy him. she's not vicious like you.

also percy wasn't falling all over rachel and calypso. he treated them as he would treat any other best friend and kept his distance romantically, even though it was clear he might have had a crush. making annabeth purposefully flirt with other guys or accept other guys advances doesn't equal the weighing scale, it makes it even more unequal.

look, I'm not saying annabeth can't have any love interest other than percy. she CAN find other men attractive. she CAN have interest in other men. you can write that all you want. I'm just saying it was never something so necessary and the logic behind it is so petty. and her weaponising it because of her jealousy towards rachel is just so not something she would ever do.

also, just a short note before this ends: i actually like some jealous!percy fics. some are good. it's just some people get really worked up about the fact that annabeth NEEDS a love interest to get back at percy. that's who I'm mad about. if you've written a jealous!percy fic, cool!

#percy jackson #percabeth #pjo #percyjackson #rick riordan #annabeth chase

[gotstabbedbyapen]

To compensate for my emotional damage from episode 3, BOZ gave me what I want (then ruin me again)

Spoiler Alert!!! (y'all should really stay away from my blog if you don't want spoilers)

First off, the show has finally given me what I want: Hyacinthus.

My BabyTM.

My flower boi.

My menace prince.

I love you for trying to race against the god of speed himself. You lost the match obviously but you still won my heart in the few seconds you appeared 💜💜💜

You're spoiling me with your pecs and gritting teeth, BUT YOUR LITTLE EARRING TOO???

I'm not unwell. I'm dead.

I hope you stayed out of the arena during the discus game because we don't want your boyfriend to have a panic attack again (AND APOLLO'S SCENE WITH THE DISC TOO, SUNNY BOI GOT TRAUMA)

Speaking of sunny boi, it's nice that BOZ has a nod to Apollo being a champion in boxing.

He beat Dionysus bloody. Look at him!

Then there's... Ares.

*sigh*

What happened to him?

The only time I like Ares is when he helps Aphrodite get off the chariot, but the moment he speaks I have to fight the urge to box him myself.

They said he's being a jerk to Heron because the lost of his parents affected him but I see NO SENSE OF MOURNING IN HIM. He's only being mean for the sake of being a mean bully.

Everyone who are mad at Ares in SS2 like me, you should read The Ungilded Version, it's a continuation fanfic of season 1 on AO3. Ares didn't get along with Heron in this fic, but how he shows his grudges is more reasonable and in-character. AND HE HAS HIS GOLDEN MOMENTS WITH HIS FAMILY AND FOLLOWERS TO BALANCE OUT HIS AGRESSIVE SIDE TOO!!!

The BOZ producer WISH they can write a complex Ares like that.

Also, don't think I forget Demeter. Her cameo may be brief but I'm still sour at what they made her into.

And Hera too, but I guess in a lesser extend because Zeus' death have really impacted her. Still miss her ruthless side tho.

Oh, and Heron is going on a suicide mission. He knows he's gonna die so he wants to die both like a dumbass and badass. But I do have critique with his fight with Ares. THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN HE CAN PUNCH ARES BLEEDING???

Diomedes managed to cut Ares and Aphrodite in the Iliad because he's a seasoned warrior with Athena on his side. Heron got powered up once and somehow he can box Ares??? A demigod against a god???

And when I thought the producer is finally realistic and didn't make him beat Ares, the Gary Stu nonsense came back with Zeus giving him the ring.

"But he saved the world he deserves the prize--" DID ZEUS' OTHER CHILDREN NOT AID THE DEFEAT OF THE GIANTS??? HERON JUMPED IN AND MAKE THE FINAL SHOW DOWN AND HE'S GOING TO DIE ANYWAYS!!!

Zeus' final speech. Finally he has some end-of-life remorse. I'll let someone else talk about it because my brain isn't programed to analyze something like that.

BUT WE WERE ROBBED OF A CHARIOT RACE!!! THERE'S A CUT DRAFT OF WHEN THE SIBLINGS WHERE RACING AGAINST EACH OTHER AND IT'S SOOO COOL??? WISH WE COULD HAVE SEEN IT BUT ALAS :((((

#blood of zeus #blood of zeus season 2 #spoiler alert #my ramblings #i'll watch the final half of the season later #when i'm done with my irl works #will return to reviewing (read: rambling) on this show

[drop-cherries]

Platonic!Daryl Dixon x Teen!Reader

[Feedback warmly welcomed]

You were running, the trees a blur as you sprinted. Branches caught on your arms and legs leaving miniscule cuts. Your lungs burned and your muscles ached but you just had to get away, finally having enough of that awful place.

One where they held you for years, you barely remembered what the outside world looked like, but by God you knew how to fight, years of fighting back taught you a thing or two.

With no time to take in the fresh air and unfamiliar surroundings you kept sprinting, eventually tripping over a branch from a tree and tumbling down a hill. As you hit the bottom everything had gone black.

As Dusk approached you blinked open your eyes, growing from the pain on your head. You hit a rock after the long fall down the hill. Putting your fingers up to your head pulling back with a hiss glimpsing blood on your fingers. But regardless of that you ignored it.

Finally looking around. It must've been spring because as the sun set the air was still warm. But that didn't help when all you were wearing was a tank top and jeans.

Standing up and looking over yourself not glimpsing anymore serious injuries you start to walk. Deciding it was smart to walk in the direction of the setting sun, to see if it would get you anywhere. From the small window on the roof of where you were held for years you knew the compound was in the direction of the sun rise.

You wrapped your arms around yourself a breeze sending chills down your body. It was getting increasingly darker so you decided to start a small camp. By that you mean a fire because that's all you knew how to do.

Regardless of how awful that compound was you had learned thing throughout the years, survival tactics they taught you in hope of you becoming a weapon, or special soldier in their eyes.

It was freezing by the time it was completely dark. The fire is doing little to help with the chill. Your stomach ached with emptiness, your food privileges had been taken in the last fight you broke out before you escaped, so you were deathly hungry. Curling up next to the fire in the fetal position trying to become as warm as possible you fall into a nightmare filled unconscious state.

You woke up suddenly as dawn approached shooting up into a seating position breathing heavily. Calming yourself you look around your makeshift camp, the ground was damp with the dew of early morning. The fire only left with red burning embers. Gathering up dirt with your hands you threw it into the little fire pit to help cool the coals faster.

You had no supplies so getting ready to leave was quite easy. To start your day you walked in the opposite direction of the rising sun, hoping to stumble on at least a house or small town to try and scrounge up a little bit of supplies.

It had started to feel like you were walking for hours, a bloody branch in your hand from running into a few walkers. The sun was nearly high in the sky so you were hoping that would give you a good reference for time it had to be at least 10 am.

You started to feel lucky, a few houses came into view. Your whole body sagged with relief, finally having a place to hole up. Hoping this place was too far away for them to search. You headed up the stairs to the first house you saw, the door was cracked so you just pushed it open the whole place smelled of mildew and mold.

The wallpaper was just scraps now after all the years of weather since the fall. Deciding to search room by room you opened the door to what looked to be the dining room, you didn't expect to find any food after all these years but you hoped to at least find a knife or backpack.

Walking into the dining room a foul odor you immediately saw the cause of the odor in question, a body nearly completely decayed. You could see the backpack and the knife strapped to their thigh.

You push past the smell and the overall disgust to reach down and take the knife and pack. You strap the knife around your thigh and rifle through the bag finding an unloaded pistol, and a map. You get up and move out of the dining room and up the stairs, your next mission is to find a better shirt and possibly a jacket. 

The first house was unsuccessful in that house and by the third house you had given up on finding any more wearable clothing. You had decided to take up shelter for the rest of the day, the sun had started to set and you didn't want to be out in the woods for another night, and the house was far better than the cell you had once called home.

You found a small quilt on the couch and decided to sit there with your knife and pray to god that no one would come through that front door. You had started to doze off. It was completely dark outside when you heard a creak of the front door open.

You tried to stay as quiet as possible. Hoping that the person or possible walker wouldn't glimpse you, if it was a person you grabbed the unloaded pistol out of your bag to hopefully scare the person.

Suddenly a flashlight shone directly onto your face and you hissed. You pointed your own flashlight and the pistol, the light illuminated what looks to be a man. One you have never seen before, so it's safe to say this person was not with the compound men.

“Who the hell are you? You're not one of his men that's for sure” You sneer the pistol pointed at the man unwavering.

“I don’ know who the hell yer talkin about, and who he is but my name is Daryl. And if you don’ hurt me, i won't hurt you.”

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#birdywrites #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon #daryl dixon hurt/comfort #daryl dixon x reader #twd daryl #daryl x reader #daryl fanfiction