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scuderiasundays · 11 months

Text

you and me together

summary: a growing rift between you and carlos mixed with late night celebrations for an old friend + a little insta au at the end!

words: 1,345

a/n: this is the first time i've gotten a request for a fic so a big thank you to anon for sending this in! i've been fixated on who will win wimbledon 2023 so i had to incorporate a few tennis players 🎾

Carlos had managed to score some much-needed time off to make it to Wimbledon. The two of you had always dreamed of witnessing the pinnacle of tennis, booking the trip ages ago when the two of you were on steadier ground. Carlos was going to join you after his stint at Silverstone, while you had landed in London a day earlier to reconnect with college friends.

"Looks like Taylor's the hot favorite this year," you grinned. You and Taylor had a loose connection through Alexa, his cousin, who happened to be your college roommate. Whenever Taylor felt overwhelmed by the pressure of ATP rankings, he would swing by their apartment unannounced. The easygoing Californian would tag along to frat parties, going in as a stranger and emerging with a whole crew of newfound friends. You had played the role of Taylor's personal chauffeur, escorting him home in his intoxicated state, all the while indulging in his drunken rants about seeds, tournaments, and prize money. You always had a hunch that he had a thing for you, but your busy schedules kept the two of you delicately tiptoeing around the topic, never quite addressing it head-on.

You couldn't help but wonder how different things would be if you had taken a chance on Taylor. Stuck in a relationship that felt stagnant, you walked through the familiar streets of a city where you and Carlos had once roamed during his McLaren days. London summers seemed to stretch on forever, with the sun setting late around 9:30 PM. You and Carlos had once strolled through the city hand in hand, lost in aimless conversation. Now, the demands of your job kept you from accompanying Carlos to race weekends, while he rarely made it home, going straight from races to the simulator in Maranello.

When Carlos strolled into the hotel lobby with Charles by his side, you couldn't help but let out a faint sigh. It wasn't exactly a huge surprise since you knew Charles was a tennis fanatic, and you actually liked hanging out with him. On the other hand, you had secretly hoped this trip would be your shot at reconnecting with Carlos and maybe reviving the dwindling spark. Well, there goes that idea, you thought, feeling a twinge of disappointment set in.

As you entered the hotel room, Carlos asked, "You don't mind that I brought him, do you?" You replied, "No, not at all." Carlos proceeded to mention that he had to hit the gym since the Hungarian Grand Prix was coming up, emphasizing his "no days off" mentality. He affectionately kissed your forehead before shutting the door behind him.

Just as you were about to head out, a text notification popped up. It was from Carlos, apologizing that he couldn't make it to the Gentlemen’s Singles Final. Ferrari had sprung a last-minute PR commitment on him and Charles, but he promised to make it up to you. You were gutted, quickly dialing Alexa's number. You didn’t even feel like watching the match anymore, but she was adamant that you join her in Taylor's box. It had been years since you had last seen Taylor, and you were dazed by just how much he’d changed—a newfound aura of confidence that screamed "America’s No. 1."

"Y/N, it's been too long!" Taylor exclaimed as he pulled you into a warm hug. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation as you wished him luck and turned your attention to Centre Court, where Taylor was about to embark on an epic showdown against Carlos Alcaraz, the newly crowned world No. 1.

As the final point was won, the stadium erupted into an explosion of applause and admiration. Taylor stood tall, basking in the well-deserved glory of his hard-fought win. Emotions ran high as he shook his opponent’s hand in a display of sportsmanship and mutual respect.

Taylor's victory had set the stage for a night out on the town, and drinks were on him as the entourage made their way into the vibrant Sexy Fish in Mayfair. Congratulations poured in from all directions, amplifying the elation in the air. However, amidst the festive ambience, a pang of longing tugged at your heart, reminding you of the nights you’d spent by Carlos' side, reveling in his victories and beaming with pride.

As the evening progressed and the champagne flowed, you playfully grabbed an imaginary microphone, assuming the role of a reporter. With a mischievous glint in your eye, you turned to Taylor, who stood at the bar, soaking it all in. "You just won Wimbledon! How does it feel to be on top of the world, Mr. Fritz?" you mockingly asked him.

Taylor, caught off guard but never without his notorious charm, grinned and replied, "I don't even have words, Y/N. I wasn't in the best headspace going into the match, but you showed up, and something just clicked. Maybe I'd be World No.1 if you were in my box at every tournament." His playful words made you blush, fully aware of the harmless flirtation at play. You knew you weren't doing anything wrong, yet the room seemed to spin, overwhelming you with a sudden rush of emotions. Excusing yourself, you swiftly made your way towards the ladies' room, seeking a moment alone to gather your thoughts in the midst of the whirlwind celebration.

As Carlos and Charles walked into the restaurant, accompanied by a group of older executives, they immediately spotted you amidst the crowd. Charles couldn't help but make a lighthearted remark, "Funny seeing you here, Y/N! Any chance you can introduce us to the Wimbledon champion?" Relief washed over you, knowing they hadn't overheard your conversation with Taylor. Taylor was stunned to say the least as you walked back to the bar with two rather muscular men by your side.

“Taylor, meet the Scuderia Ferrari boys. Boys, meet Taylor.” The handshake exchanged between the three men was cordial, but Carlos, always quick-witted and ever possessive, raised one of his infamous eyebrows and chimed in, "Thanks for the introduction but I’m your boyfriend more importantly, no?" The playful remark had a tinge of jealousy in it, causing a momentary pause in the conversation.

Just then, Alexa, your ever-supportive confidante, happened to pass by. In her extremely inebriated state, she voiced what had been gnawing at her mind, "Not for long if you don't treat her right. You barely show up for her." Alexa had been there through the ups and downs of your rollercoaster of a relationship, aware of the challenges posed by long-distance and the strain it had placed on the both of you.

Overwhelmed by the weight of it all, you felt the need to escape for a moment. Without a word, you made your way outside, craving the coolness of the night air. Carlos, sensing your distress, followed closely behind. Observing your shivering, he swiftly handed you his navy blazer, offering you comfort in the only way he knew how.

"I'm sorry I haven’t been putting us first lately. I can tell I'm losing you," Carlos admitted with a hint of vulnerability in his eyes, his hands fidgeting nervously—a telltale sign of his unease. You could tell he was hurting as he struggled to find the right words. He had been grappling with the reality of your relationship slipping away, yet hesitant to poke the bear.

“It’s not just you, Carlos. It’s me too. Neither of us has been putting in the work and it shows.” Carlos nodded as his gaze softened.

“Where do we go from here?” Carlos muttered.

"Where do we go from here?" you repeated, mulling over the open-ended question. It held infinite possibilities, a multitude of paths stretching out before the two of you. And in that moment, you knew what you wanted more than anything.

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you looked up at Carlos, a spark dancing in your eyes. "Let's just walk around the city like we used to. Take me anywhere, as long as the night ends with you and me together."

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

liked by carlossainz55, taylorfritz, and 57,575 others

yourusername: what a weekend! catching up with forever friends, getting my steps in, and watching the sunrise with my person 💚

alexafritz: you’re stuck with me for life

yourusername: i love this photo of you, lex! i’d be lost in a world without you 🫶🏼

carlossainz55: solamente mía

pierregasly: how dare you even think of going to wimbledon without me, @charles_leclerc 😤

charles_leclerc: calme-toi, mate! i didn’t even get to go but i did meet @taylorfritz 😏

yourusername: get a room

fan1: i went on a run in primrose hill this morning but i didn't want to bother carlos and @yourusername because they looked so blissfully in love

taylorfritz: you and lex are the best (loudest) cheerleaders 📢

yourusername: rooting for you always!

update: part two here ➡️

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fauustic · 1 year

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aa hello!! could I request a miguel x enby reader in any way??

the genre really doesn't matter but maybe a little fluff?

for an idea i was thinking the reader works as a florist and miguel knows them meeting them as spiderman. he begins taking a liking to them so he comes to the shop often getting flowers or small bouquets, but each flower means love or care, or notice me? (I'm thinking it would be really adorable if he just, late night studied floriagraphy for them) in the flower language, and they start taking notice to it, and eventually ask him?? idk this is silly but if you wanna write it!!

I hope you have a lovely day!!

(( stares at the miguel gifs i've used so far with a longing gaze... i only have so many left ..

i really hope you enjoy this, thank you so much for your request! it was super sweet. ))

nonbinary reader x miguel “spider-man 2099″ o’hara

fluff. like pure fluff. its literally just miguel pining after a little silly florist.

warnings: literally none except the use of some language. possible use of incorrect spanish because i'm learning so i have help of a translator in some parts :) let me know if i can fix anything!

word count: 3742

The smell of all kinds of flowers flooded your senses as the floral shop's door opened with a little chime, a beautiful melody that brightens every beginning of your shift. The shop that has become the core of your life was nothing too fancy, hidden away in a cozy little alleyway accompanied by a coffee shop and another restaurant– a safe space along the bustling city.

Your identity wasn’t something that you mentioned often, but with the support of your coworkers you couldn’t help but express yourself easier. Being able to incorporate outfits of all kinds in your daily life without much more than a stare, some days you’d adorn a long skirt and a tank top, finished off with a floral-patterned apron to keep yourself tidy. Other days, you didn’t exactly confine yourself with a particular style because you were just you. As free and as happy as ever.

That was one of the many things you loved about the city you found yourself in. The growth and ability to thrive in Nueva York was a symbol of diversity, no matter who you were or where you had come from. It was different back home, so the newfound independence pushed you to be more talkative and approachable because you didn’t need to worry about others' thoughts. Labels and identities were celebrated in the cultures you intertwined with.

So when you found out you aligned with the embodiment of being nonbinary, you snatched it up like a piece of treasure and hadn’t looked back at who you were once before.

The love you had for flowers was immeasurable, somehow finding ways to include floral in your outfits no matter what you were wearing. A lovely white magnolia, fresh and healthy, found shelter in the secure pocket of your apron. Another flower was tucked upon the sunhat you adorned, a light pink peony settled right within the ribbon.

The alley your store took home in held a usual quiet atmosphere soothed by the comforting ambience of bird chirping due to housing a small little section for trees scattered about the alleyway. It reminded you of where your love for nature first began. Yet as you misted a bundle of Irises blooming upon a full window-sill, doused in a beautiful sunny haze, the tranquillity washing over you was unfortunately interrupted when a cat bumped against the shop’s window closest to you. It was loud, shaking the Irisies you just tended to.

Jumping from the sudden chaos happening outside your floristry, you couldn’t help but rush out the door with the watering pot still in hand. Did you need to get involved? You couldn't help but wonder to yourself when you noticed the little feline looked as if it was running away from something, but before you could intervene the answer dived past you on all fours, claw marks left in its wake. The figure, you have recognized from the news, was the talk of the city– broadcasts nicknaming the hero “Spiderman.” But what was he doing trying to grab one little kitty with the intensity of a predator? Surely Nueva York had more crime than that.

Entertaining the idea of watching such a well-respected hero having difficulty catching a feline, you played it off as if you were watering the flowers that decorate your shop– but in reality you just wanted to have a good laugh at seeing the man who has made criminals beg on their knees for forgiveness speak to the cat in desperation.

Funnily enough, the cat did climb one of the many large trees planted around your shop, and even if it was a bit hard to hear from the distance, this Spiderman guy wouldn’t stop trying to call for it to come down.

“Come ‘ere, gatito.” He shouted towards the cat at the tree’s base, his claws digging into the bark as if he was contemplating scaling the tree himself. “If I don’t bring you back with me, you will have to give up treats for the rest of your life. You don’t want that, do you?” His next step was to “psspspssp,” which just came out as a weird hiss. The cat only hissed back, which only fueled his discontentment even more. Without another moment to spare, Spiderman scaled the tree in two leaps, plucking the cat from the branches with a cautious hold. When he landed on the ground, he caught you staring a little too hard.

But the scene was just too hilarious, having to stifle a hearty giggle with the back of your hand as you noticed he was walking straight towards your shop. But luck wasn’t on your side today, as he stood right behind you. The window mirrored how he was holding the cat the same way as before, held like a little baby with its arms reaching out to you. You only laughed harder, crumbling to your knees as water splashed at your boots from the watering can. He didn’t dare to utter another word, obviously finding amusement in your little laughing fit over something so stupid.

“Did you get it out of your system, jardinero?” It was no doubt he was smirking under his mouth as he loomed over your laughing form. A ruffled meow followed his question, which only made you double down on your giggles. “Oh my god– I can’t breathe. Holy shit–” You cried out, rolling on the side to only have a flurry of Wisterias cloud your vision.

“Who knew the biggest baddest hero that Nueva has, could barely even catch a little animal?” You cackled into the air, which instantly made him defensive.

“I did not have a difficult time with this little pest, he’s as agile as a Roomba.” His tone was flat, if not a bit irritated. If you didn’t notice the soft chuckles escaping him softly, you would have thought he was genuinely bothered. Spiderman scooped up the cat in a more comfortable position, belly facing the both of you as the cat’s back lied against his arms. “Lo que sea–” He muttered through his mask, shaking his head in disbelief. After a short pause, it's clear he had nothing else left to say. “That’s enough entertainment for you today.” It was clear he was done once he spun on his heel, cat in arms and not even sparing a wave.

Something overcame you, as you called out to him. Maybe you were just as stricken as all his other fans, but as he paused with an awaited glance– you rushed through the waves of color in your floral shop before stopping to a bundle of crimson petals. Plucking a single bloom, you rushed out your store in a flustered mess so he wouldn’t have to wait long.

There wasn’t much to his suit, so there was no way you could easily position it in a way the flower couldn’t fall. So you just settled with putting it against the cat’s ear, the feline wearing it without a care.

You sighed, smoothing out your apron in nervous relief. This was an eventful start to your day, to say the very least. But Spiderman didn’t move from where he moved despite being eager to leave just a moment ago. Instead, his attention was fixated at the bloom in his grasp.

“It’s an Amaryllis. Truly a beautiful one, right?” Your tone shifted, excitement lacing your voice at the opportunity to explain a flower to a stranger– let alone someone that is apparently a huge deal.

“... What does it mean?” When your attention snapped to his masked face, you weren’t able to distinguish his wonderstruck expression. You gladly took the chance to ramble about what you knew about the flower, and explain the exact reason why you chose it.

“Amaryllis have multiple kinds of meanings you see– every flower does– but they’ve always been a symbol of hard-earned success due to its representation of determination and pride. I thought it was fitting because I was able to watch you in action, and you deserve a reward for your civic duties.” You couldn’t help but include some form of humor in your sprinkles of a compliment, but the truth was there. No matter what he had to do under the mask, he deserved to be reminded that his successful missions help so many people. It may have not been your cat, but you were happy that someone will now return back home to their fluffy companion. “And the scarlet coloring of its petals kinda matches your suit, so in a way it kind of reminds me of you.” The masked man in front of you was completely silent, until the gloved hand meeting his shoulder shook him from his daze. “Good work, Spiderman. Can’t wait what next animal you’re going to save,” The spell you unknowingly put him under was slapped away in an instant at the little jab.

He couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips before he could turn away, which only encouraged your teasing more. He waved behind his back, keeping his focus on what’s in front of him. “What will it be, a giraffe? Maybe a walrus–” Spiderman was gone by the time you sputtered the second animal, leaping away with an iron grip on the feline to a nearby building rooftop.

“What about something cool like a whale shark? Now that’d be something to read online..” You mumbled to yourself, brushing off your apron one last time before clutching your trusty watering pail and beginning your duties for the day.

Which is how Miguel O’Hara found himself hunched over his computer, staring at a gallery full of vibrant botany with a sigh. He couldn’t express it under the mask– he had a purpose to not allow any sign of weakness when the suit is on, but he was absolutely smitten by you over some stupid mishap on his end and a nervous, endearing ramble about your knowledge of flowers. The nightlife seeped into the windows of his home, neon lights reflecting off the walls. It was late, but Miguel was determined to shove some kind of information down his brain to make him not look like a complete fool when he arrived at the floral shop again. He was a chemist, for god’s sake– botany wasn’t too far off, was it?

He was just so enthralled with you, the way your eyes lit up ever so slightly at the opportunity of ranting about your favorite thing. The scent of fresh flowers entering his senses through the slightly cracked door of the floristry– it was a place he wanted to spend all his freetime in. Having been surrounded by the burning smell of chemicals and the pollution of such a technologically advanced city, Miguel craved to surround himself with so much nature. Or maybe, secretly, he just yearned to have a space of his own that was hidden away from the evils of Nueva York.

It took him a little while to finally work up the courage to stroll in, not having the mask around his head while he met someone as Spiderman always gave him a weird feeling. But he pushed that aside, chanting the knowledge that he crammed in his memory so he wouldn’t stupidly ask for a bundle of flowers that probably didn’t even exist.

Stepping foot in the floral shop for the first time was like a big breath of fresh air, his muscles relaxing ever so slightly at the influx of sweet scents. It reminded him of you, the same smell of blossoms clinging onto you even after you walked through the alleyway to give him that Amaryllis. He still kept onto it, dried against the confinement of his wallet.

Miguel was going to start browsing even though he already knew what he wanted simply because he wanted to know this place inside and out– it was a part of you after all. But he didn’t go very long unnoticed, your voice making him well-aware of that.

“Hey, welcome to Nueva’s most diverse little flower nursery! Happy to see a new face, if there’s anything I can do for you just let me know!” Your voice came from the back of the store, yet you peeked out and was able to study him from afar. He tried his best to be stoic, nodding in understanding before quickly averting his gaze to the waves of flowers you clearly took very good care of.

Miguel, when faced with attraction to another, struggled deeply with bringing it into words. It didn’t exactly help his case when you haven’t met him outside of being Spiderman, so he devised a subtle plan to get closer to you. He wasn’t religious, but he still prayed that you would pay attention to his little requests and specific choosing of flowers.

And you did, of course you did. Your attentiveness squeezed his heart with a grasp he’s never felt before. After transforming into the Spiderman 2099 he’s come to accept, Miguel just couldn’t bring himself to fall for another. But when it came to you, and your silly little knowledge about flowers and the way he watched you tend to each and every one of them with the same amount of tenderness, the sweetness in your touch made him fall even harder. He imagined your hands grasping his own, as if he was as fragile as a flower. The idea made him flustered.

“A bouquet of red tulips and camellia, please.” He found himself asking you, his index, middle, and ring finger drumming along your counter in a soft rhythm. You were caught by his words almost instantaneously, a certain look in your eyes that even he couldn’t decipher. A knowing smirk erupted on your features, not being able to help yourself at teasing this new customer. “That’s so cute, you found yourself a soulmate?” Miguel choked at the proposal, the question rolling off your tongue in a singsong as you began skipping along the shop you owned.

The gracefulness you had in every step distracted him, plucking every sense of dignity he had as if he was a flower getting its own petals plucked by your graze. “Only a flower connoisseur would know the meanings behind such simple flowers. It’s what makes them interesting, but I suppose the mix of bright crimson intermingled with a calming purple brings a sort of intensity most people don’t get.” You unknowingly held the bouquet to your heart, a smile blessing your lips. “Camellias are standard flowers that convey longing, mostly a yearning for one out of reach. While a red tulip is a promise, the subtle intention of trying to tell another that you want to spend the rest of your life with the recipient. It’s a big commitment to use such flowers for a bouquet, hopefully you know what you’re getting into.” You wrapped it without a second thought, framed with a sweet soft yellow.

The cashier popped open as he paid.

“I do,” Miguel peered into your gaze, “I know exactly what I’m gettin’ into, mi sol.” He couldn’t help but utter, scooping the bouquet from your stunned response with a cheeky smile.

“W-What’s your name..?” Your composure lost, you demanded an answer as your finger twirled around an Amaryllis. You had kept one close by since your run-in with Spiderman, your thoughts never swaying from the masked hero until now. The stranger now seemed so familiar, but you couldn’t bring yourself to blurt out anything stupid.

Breathing in the bouquet he picked out, his shoulders sagged just a bit in relief. “Miguel,” He picked up a red tulip, the darkest hue in the bunch, and gently placed it right beyond your ear. “Miguel O’Hara.” His gaze flickered from your name tag and the flower he placed upon your curls, a satisfied quirk of his lips dashing his features. He sounded your name out like a blessing, and the two of you shared a stare that almost knocked you down.

As he left the floral shop, with the little chime of the door signalling his exit, Miguel had waved behind his back with his other hand keeping the bouquet close to his chest. It reminded you how the masked man occupying your thoughts gave you the same gesture in goodbye, and you couldn’t help but pry the red tulip he placed upon you with delicate hands.

Bringing it to your nose, suddenly red tulips smelled a lot more honey-like.

The two of you found each other in this routine for weeks now. Neither of you could break, he’d walk into the floral shop and continuously order different kinds of bouquets– sets of flowers that practically screamed, “love me back, you’re all I think about, notice me my dear.” Pink roses hugged by Peruvian and Stargazer lilies, the next week would be more simple– a pair of red roses intertwined with fresh caspia.

His voice was distinct, over the many years you’ve operated this little floral shop hidden away, the only two times you’ve heard the little rambles of his and the light accent within his tone was of course from him, but you kept help but think you’ve heard him somewhere else too. It made you nervous thinking about it, was it truly stupid to think he may be Spiderman? Over just one simple interaction with the masked hero and all of a sudden a person with a similar voice and mannerisms begins parading around your store and buying the most mushy, cliche bundles of floral you’ve ever seen? At this point, Miguel has helped generate an amount of revenue you haven’t seen in months.

By the time his next visit came into fruition, you couldn’t help the question that has loomed over your consciousness for the last week.

“Do.. do you-” You stumbled over your words clumsily, picking at the new floral he’s offered this time. Red roses surrounded by pink, finished off with a row of calla lilies. A beautiful balance of red, pink, and white. “Miguel, what are you trying to say with these bouquets?” You breathed out heavily, the nervousness of speaking about something weighing on you to someone you’ve found yourself attached to crashed against your usual calm and teasing attitude. You were out of your element.

Miguel’s eyes widened at the sudden question, which he averted from your gaze almost immediately.

Your mind was working a million miles a minute, and as you were trying to get the questions out as fast as possible you stumbled over your words like how you usually do, which in any other situation Miguel would cackle as you burn into the ground in a flustered mess.

“Are you into Spiderman?” You yelled into the empty floral shop, placing your hands down upon the counter in accusation with a thud. A moment of silence hung over the two, bouquet still in your grasp like it's glued to you.

“Am I- what-” Miguel’s jaw practically fell open, in which his fangs were finally on clear display to you. You only could point, stuttering in an embarrassed flurry of limbs as you tried your best to explain yourself.

“That’s not–” You mumbled as his gaze only widened more, not believing the question he just heard. “I meant are you like–” The silence on Miguel’s end wasn’t making this situation any better. “Are you into me?” You blurted out again, hiding your face in embarrassment. “Like– are you sure you’re into me? Like I didn’t know you would like me like that because I know I express myself a bit differently but–”

Miguel cut yourself off with his hands grasping yours, the bouquet now shared between the two of you. “I-” He sighed, casting his gaze downwards before facing you with a look of determination. As you spent time with Miguel, you came to understand that he never was good at talking about himself. Everything clicked into place as he nodded slowly, not a hint of doubt in his silent confession.

“I thought you’d notice sooner or later,” He huffed, dragging his thumbs against the skin of both of your hands. “Since the moment I saw you with an ungrateful gatito crowding my arms, I can’t lie that you piqued an interest I didn’t know I could feel.” Miguel sighed, leaning forward to lean against the counter opposite of you. “Who you are, how you express yourself– that's why I became so drawn to you, cariño.”

Now your jaw was the one to drop, before dropping your head to the counter the two of you shared in exasperation. “Oh my god! I knew it, I literally knew it. But I didn’t want to seem like some crazy person, you know? But I was right, what the fuck.” He couldn’t but laugh, which earned a warmth spread throughout your chest. Miguel only let out a chuckle and it had your insides twisting as if you were on a rollercoaster.

“You are too much, mi sol.”

“I wasn’t the one buying flowers to subtly tell someone I have a massive crush on them!”

Miguel frowned for only a moment, before leaning in just a bit closer. “Since I put in so much work to flaunt my love for you, do I earn a kiss?”

You rolled your eyes, before practically melting into his touch upon your jaw. Miguel met your lips and it almost felt like rain after a long drought. You didn’t know you wanted to kiss him so badly until his mouth was already on yours, his other hand trailing up the sleeves of your shirt and pulling your floral apron closer to him.

When the two of you separated after becoming putty in one another’s grasp, Miguel mumbled right upon your lips, breath fanning the blush you felt;

“May I please visit you still, mi corazón? I wouldn’t know what to do without coming here, swallowed by your scent and surrounded by what you love the most.”

You only laughed, nodding against his hand upon your cheek. It soon became a nuzzle, relaxing against his touch like the cat he saved when you first met him.

“Don’t start asking stupid questions, you know you’re more than welcome to come find me wherever I may end up at.” Miguel smiled, full of teeth and unapologetically showing his fangs.

The two of you intertwined like bonded stems, peppering kisses on one another until the door chimed once again.

#miguel o'hara #into the spider verse #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara fluff #x fluff #fluff #x reader #x nonbinary reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x nonbinary reader #nonbinary reader

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bones4thecats · 6 months

Note

But if it's okay could I please ask for more Twisted Wonderland characters with kianna

It's really up to you and what you wanted to be about

A/N: This was so much fun to write! I wanted to incorporate Kianna’s past, but have it make sense, so this is featuring the Past! Sakamaki brothers and Yui, also this is mainly focused around Malleus x Reader, just so you know! I hope you enjoy this piece, @nunezs-stuff!!

What If The Past! Sakamaki Brothers and Yui Wound Up In TWST?

PURELY Malleus x Kianna! Reader, all other characters are platonic

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

🐉 Malleus was not pleased in the slightest with what he was seeing.

🐉 You were standing beneath six men. Two had matching purple hair, two had red hair, one with blonde, and one with white and hints of pink.

🐉 He stood there and glared for a while, he knew who these men were, and what they had wanted.

🐉 Behind you was a female, maybe around late teens like you guys, but, unlike you with your stone-cold facial expression, her eyes shone with fear.

🐉 Malleus walked up and blasted the six men away from the two of you with his magic.

🐉 He heard as they stood up and groaned, one yelling at him something along the lines of, “How dare you mess with Your’s Truly?! I’ll have your head for this!”

🐉 Malleus just turned around after securing you and Yui with his tail, glaring at the men with the smallest pupils and brightest green glowing eyes.

🐉 His magic was testing the limit at the moment, anyone in a mere 5 mile radius must be feeling an earthquake.

“ Who are you exactly? And- ”

🐉 “And what are you doing with them?! They’re ours, you slimy lizard-man!” One red-haired male interrupted the fancier purple one.

“ Malleus, stand down. ”

🐉 He flinched at your touch and looked down at you from ahead. He kept his stern look, eyebrows furrowed as the finer-appearing purple-haired one walked up to them, his brothers following suit.

🐉 “My apologies on behalf of my astoundingly dumb brothers, I am Reiji Sakamaki, and those,” he pointed towards you and Yui, “are our human brides. I apologize, but you must be mistaking them with other people.”

🐉 Your boyfriend stood there and just growled under his breath, “I did not mistake them for other people, this,” he patted your head, “Is my S/O.”

🐉 “And this,” his tail wrapped tighter, more protectively around your sister, “Is my S/O’s sister. Now, I recommend you leave this vicinity, else I get mad.”

🐉 The other purple haired boy laughed wickedly, “And if you do get mad? What are you going to do? Stab us? Burn us at the streak? Pour ‘holy’ water down our bodies? How sad, that doesn’t work~”

🐉 Malleus’s stance grew very stiff, his magic growing in his hands, fire teasing the fingertips you loved to grab and kiss before resting after a midnight walk around Ramshackle while Yuu and Grim laid asleep.

“ Mr. Draconia! What is the meaning of this?! ”

🐉 “Waka-sama! Who are these men? Did they dare try harming you?! How dare you try harming Waka-sama?!” Sebek’s familiar tone rings through Crewel’s stern one.

🐉 “Backup? How sad, I guess we’ll just have to go through them all, huh, Ayato?” Laito teased. Ayato turned to his brother and smirked, “It seems so, Laito.”

🐉 “Enough!” Trein’s voice screamed, his wand out, wrapping the six brothers up in tight magic-made bubbles.

🐉 “Y/N, who are these men?” Silver asked you. You just glared at them, causing them to tense up, you had never glared at them with such fierceness before, it kinda made them a mixture of intimidated and turned on.

🐉 “They are the people who ridded my sister of her life, the one person, the only one, who I held in my heart.” You answered, making your fellow Night Raven College students shiver with your dark tone.

🐉 Malleus sighed deeply, causing slight amounts of smoke to exit his nose and mouth. He was getting angrier by the second they floated there in their separate bubbles.

🐉 “What do we do with them?” Ace asked.

“ Punish them. Get rid of them. Whatever causes the most pain. ”

🐉 Yui spoke up and grabbed your hand, reaching over Malleus’ tail.

“ Did you say I died? ”

🐉 The brothers began to scream, but not before a male’s cheery-sounding voice echoed over Yui’s soft one.

🐉 “Well, well, well. What have we here? My dearest Y/N, aren’t these the men who harmed you back in your world?” Crowley asked.

🐉 You sighed and nodded as his smile grew more and more forced-appearing.

🐉 “Well, thankfully, we have a spare room in the basement where each of these unfortunate boys can stay.” He answered.

🐉 “Crowley, are you sure that’s the smartest idea?” Crewel asked, assisting Trein in holding the boy’s bubbles intact and keeping their voices muted.

“ Certainly. ”

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 month

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What in the world is happening here? Beautiful, historic 1800 farmhouse in Perkiomenville, PA was restored by the current owner. Some interesting design choices were incorporated into this wonderful piece of history. It has 4bds, 2ba, 9.33 acres of land, and they're asking $795K. Take a look at what they've done.

Now, as anyone familiar with American History knows, the slide was an efficient replacement for stairs in early 1800 farmhouses. It was higher at the bottom so a stool could be placed underneath, next to a cow ready to be milked.

I appreciate that they left the floors and this wonderful fireplace. Why, though, do clean, straight walls look so out of place? What would look better? Maybe some texture?

Lovely. The big old pot over the fire.

They stood a vintage statue of St. Francis, the patron saint of animals, in the fireplace. Not exactly the place of honor one would expect.

The living room is very large and has a new fireplace. Lovely original stone peeks out of the drywall like wainscoting.

They put in a modern kitchen, although it looks like an island is missing. The pots are just dangling in the middle of the ceiling.

Family room. In order to sell any home, you must include at least one stylish griege room.

Plus a vintage/modern bath combo. Don't forget the gray walls.

I have no idea what's going on in here. It's a large bedroom with Buzz Lightyear running on air near the ceiling and some weird wiring for the chandelier.

In 1889, after the Eiffel Tower was built, it was every farm girl's dream to visit Paris. So prevalent was this, that the late actress/singer Judy Garland released the song "How You Gonna Keep 'Em Down on the Farm, After They've Seen Paree?" in 1919. Hence, this symbolic shower curtain.

The primary bedroom has fabric draped over the beams to create a romantic retreat, clearly inspired by the new dating show sensation, "The Farmer Wants a Wife" featuring hunky young farmers.

Some work was begun in this area.

Lots of wires, here.

The property is beautiful. Is that a little smokehouse?

Look at this wonderful barn that needs to be saved.

I don't know what's going on, but this property is a living museum and it looks like there's been some demo. Wait a minute, is that the top of a tower in the right corner?

Woah, talking about demo, everything here has been wiped out. The devastation.

It's a beautiful piece of property- the Perkiomen Creek runs alongside the 9.33 acre farm.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/10-Walnut-Ln-Perkiomenville-PA-18074/9946795_zpid/?

youtube

#historic farmhouse #historic farm #old house dreams #houses #house tours #restored homes #Youtube

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cucumberteapot · 10 months

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Ugh! I love how so unapologetically punk this film. Obviously, there's Hobie with his battle jacket and electric guitar, and his whole Vibe™ immediately comes to mind, but the subgroups of punk are so deeply entrenched throughout the entire movie.

Like Hobie's style, in particular, reminds me so much of how British punk fashion is accumulating old, worn, even ugly pieces of clothing and turning it into something cool. It's thrift stores. It's hand-me-downs. It's customisations. It's momentos from friends. Maybe even piercings done by friends. It's about taking things from different places and making them your own - which is exactly how Hobie ends up making the dimension travel watch. Another thing is Hobie's blue laces, which I've been told is punk-code for having killed a police officer. We as audience members can go back and forth on whether ATSV is a copaganda film or has its themes, but I believe that tiny detail about Hobie is huge for a film distributed from a country that often values authoritative institutions more than it citizens.

Gwen is implicitly trans and shaves half her head, which is, from my understanding, HUGE for trans women who experience gender dysphoria. A lot of Gwen's fashion and prom dress especially reminds me of Hayley Williams in the late 2000s-early 2010s. It's very experimental, which I feel matches her age and uncertainty about being Spiderwoman, her dad, and Peter's death.

There's also a lot of concept art for Gwen's hair where her side-cut becomes an undercut and she wears it in a pony tail or bun and I just think they're so cool - D especially.

Miles G Morales' design is so heavily inspired by alternative goth fashion and techwear - a mix of combat attire and hip-hop streetwear. It's loose yet slick with it's own customisations in the crown-cut collar and the spray-paint insignia, and incorporates high-advanced technology in the mask.

It's futuristic. A what-could-be. And specifically what Miles could've been if he wasn't bit by the spider. Another cool thing, I don't know if this is related but worth pointing out, is that Prowler wears a modified (leather, bomber, varsity??) jacket. That's kinda crazy for an superhero/anti-hero suit if you think about it. Most of the time you'll see Marvel or DC characters running around in a spandex suit or (for women) almost nothing at all. But like Hobie we see how Miles G styles himself even when he's disguised. Like I wouldn't be surprised if his outfit change was just turning the jacket inside out like a sukajan jacket.

ATSV has so many characters with the own specific styles and it's really nice to see where most franchises are all or nothing when it comes to character design aesthetics.

#man there's so many ways to be punk in this film whether it's alt or anarcho or garage etc #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #miles morales #spiderman #atsv #satsv #hobie brown #gwen stacy #miles g morales #spiderman across the spiderverse #prowler #spiderman: across the spiderverse #spider punk #spiderwoman #spider man #ghost spider

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 1 year

Note

So very simple request i guess how will MC take care of the M6 in day to day activities like by doing very random things say helping Nadia to dress up to picking flowers up for Muriel. Just random romantic tidbits that happen through out the day. Vice versa will be appreciated as well.

And this one is a separate but cuddles how do M6 and mc cuddle thank you for listening

The Arcana HCs: M6 and cuddles

~ this is exactly the comfort I need right now, I hope it gives all you lovely readers the same warm fuzzies it's giving me - brainrot ~

Julian

The developers once described his hugs as "all-encompassing" so you can bet his cuddles are too

Cuddles are a late night thing for him, his days are marked by feverish activity and the nights are when he's worn out enough to just. Breathe

He knows exactly how to use his long limbs. You're completely wrapped up in them

The type to sit in front of a fire with you on an old leather sofa with a wool blanket and hot drink

Maybe he talks, maybe you talk, maybe it's just quiet while he hums softly

He might doze off or start rambling poetically about all the things he loves about you

But mostly it's about taking the quiet time of the night to feel the rise and fall of his chest, his sharp chin resting on your head, legs twined with yours, perpetually cold long fingers wrapped around your hands while his breath ruffles your hair

Cuddles for him are full of hope, holding you close and looking forward to all the moments he has yet to share with you

Asra

They love cuddles. Cuddles happen whenever they are welcome and possible

Lunch break? Cuddles. No shop customers? Cuddles. Doing any mundane task in the same room? Cuddles

He generally runs warmer than you do, nothing makes him pout more than when it's too hot for prolonged physical contact

They may have learned several cooling spells to help with that

Cuddles with him feel like coming home, like slotting the last puzzle piece into place. As soon as you relax next to him it's like everything falls naturally where it should be

They are also the master of pillow piles

His favorite thing is lying half on top of you, where he can rest his head on your chest and hear your heartbeat. He can also put his arms around you this way so he stays between you and whatever shows up to disturb you

There's no better feeling than every muscle in your body slowly relaxing under their gentle weight, chaste kisses randomly pressed to your collarbones as they twine their fingers with yours and drink you in

Nadia

As much as she initiates intimacy, cuddles are quite foreign to her. Sitting quietly for long periods of time doing nothing but hold each other? Why?

Ohhhhh, emotional safety, that's why

This is new and uncomfortable, it's too vulnerable and it makes her eyes water

But now she feels safe for the first time in a long time, like there is nothing she needs to prove to be loved and accepted, and she's so close to you right now and it's so calm

Perhaps she can get accustomed to cuddles

Watch out once she does, because she's going to incorporate cuddling sessions with you into her self care routines

If you're busy she'll be understanding, but since cuddling is so good for both of you she won't let you go too long without it

She'll whisk you away to her tower, wrap you in the finest silk and lay you down on cushions stuffed with dried lavender

For her, cuddling is about trust. She'll recline facing you, noses touching, ankles locked, gently tracing the details of your face with a perfectly manicured finger so she can memorize it perfectly

Muriel

He likes cuddles. He does. But it's going to be months before he initiates them

He's unlearning his self-esteem issues, but he struggles to see how the physical presence he hates about himself could bring somebody else comfort

Which is why slowly watching you take comfort from him like that is so healing

Cuddles for him are about reclaiming his body. It's tentative, and a little scary, but the more he relaxes the more empowered he feels

And the more he can delight in seeing you content next to him

They normally happen early in the morning or as the sun is setting, when the world is peaceful

He'll lean back against the wall or a tree trunk and you'll clamber into his lap, positioning his arms around you and tucking your head against his chest while he slowly, carefully, cradles your head in his palm

These are the moments when his silence only communicates love, and he can let himself be seen and known by you without fear of judgement or harsh words

Portia

There are two types of cuddles with her: attacks and traps

Attack cuddles are loud and ticklish, and can happen at any time and in any place

You could be walking from one part of the palace to another, and she'll pop out of one of the many secret passages with just enough time to squeeze you and get her hair in your mouth before she disappears in a trail of giggles

Trap cuddles are saved for the evenings, when dinner is simmering on the stove and the day's business has been finished

You can see Pepi's habits in her mannerisms, the way she'll wait on the corner of the couch until you pass by so she can tackle you into the cushions

At first it's more like a wrestling match than anything else, she's busy pinning you so you can't escape

But once the struggle ends she'll be lying on top of you, heels kicking slowly in the air, eyes shining with triumph as she props her chin up on one hand and idly plays with your hair with the other

You'd better be ready to listen because this is when she unloads *all* the palace gossip

Lucio

He adores cuddles but he struggles to admit it at first

Him? Wanting simple cuddles? Without anything fancy or exciting or no wait come back cuddles sound wonderful right now don't leave you love him remember look his arms are open now -

You do remember, he's just really fun to tease

Cuddles happen post lunch, before the second wave of energy hits in the afternoon, when the sunlight is golden and your bellies are full and the shade is soft and welcoming

He likes it when the two of you curl up together in some moss, your packs under your heads and the dogs keeping watch

It's weird but in his goofier moods he'll put his head on your stomach and listen to your food digesting and try to mimick the funny noises it makes

He has to be extra careful of his gauntlet, but once he's as snuggled up to you as he can get it's worth it

Cuddles with him are about acceptance, learning to lie in silence without feeling guilty because he finally has someone to be a better man for

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana fluff #the arcana game #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #portia devorak #lucio morgasson #muriel of the kokhuri

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accio-victuuri · 4 months

Text

i’m a bit late for this and honestly thought about skipping this cpn cause i’m not that 👀 to it. but i understand why cpfs made the connection & i’m not exactly the judge of what cpns will be important later on. that’s why i try to document as much as i can. so what we’re talking about is the connection between the tod’s strap given by xz to media friends this year and the (alleged) gucci strap worn by wyb during SDC 5.

at the time, we were more focused on the use of hibiscus flower and this strap that looked like gucci was only mentioned. it’s like him wearing the lion head gucci necklace from a brand that he has no official ties with, especially for that year and even before that. then you have zz who is gucci’s golden boy. another question was why would he give a strap like that, is that even something that zz does? and now we have the answer, yes he does.

during SDC5, no wardrobe account identified what this strap is too. which when it happens could either be 1: they can’t identify it and for this instance i understand cause it’s not that unique and no logos to identify it as you would expect from an accessory. 2: they don’t wanna address it cause it will cause some fandom drama. in this case, i have a strong feeling that it’s the latter. 🙃

the particular gucci item people are pointing at is this drawstring bag from their 2017 collection. we know that zz have always been a gucci boy so it’s possible he had this or got it from somewhere that sells old styles more recently. i can’t seem to find a confirmation if this drawstring can be removed.

this other style is removable but i don’t think xz gravitates towards this kind of bag. the eccentric look of the ones above is more in line with him.

we are now interpreting this as, xz already had this from years back and decided to remove the drawstring and give it to wyb to incorporate in his SDC look. the use of hibiscus in this fit is definitely not a coincidence and the addition of the rope was another symbol. if like me, you think that SDC is a show that gave us much loved cpns & that xz is fond of the show, this makes more sense.

the significance of zz choosing to give out these tod’s straps confirms that:

1. He like this kind of design, the intertwined rope effect which we see in both tod’s and gucci.

2. He likes this “strap” accessories. Usually, when you think about luxury items, the focus is bags/clothes/shoes. Smaller accessories is all about the jewelry or even card holders. So it’s not really a common preference.

3. It is something that he will gift. Tho with Bobo, it’s really more personal. Maybe that bag had some history with him that we will never know about that’s why gave it to WYB. 🤷🏻‍♀️

bonus interpretation 😂😂😂😂 ⬇️⬇️

source.

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do

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yuugen-benni · 9 months

Text

''Between bows and lace''

Summary: Your doll shop opens in front the library, Ayatsuji's secret office; His interest is piqued…but not only in the store Type: fluff!!!, drabble, requested, a bit ooc ?, may contain spelling mistakes

Collecting, the act of selecting, gathering and organizing certain things, often based on an emotional attachment or not. There are people who collect coins, books, instruments, cars or even dolls, your passion…or should I say obsession? It really doesn't matter.

With your doll shop you shared your passion with children and adults; Collectors came and went to buy, barter, or offer some kind of partnership. But what you didn't expect was that when the door bell rang, telling you that a customer had entered the store, you would come across… a detective? His expression was serious, almost expressionless.

'Would he be a customer himself?…' You ask yourself mentally, although you know your small shop wasn't a front place for crimes that constantly happened in Yokohama, but did that information matter now? No, because panic swallowed you more and-!

''Do you make these dolls?'' Ayatsuji asks, not taking his eyes off the little ones, and that was enough to bring you back to reality.

''Oh…excuse me, welcome to the Dollhouse. Yes, we manufacture and exchange dolls with collectors…'' You answer, leaving behind the counter and heading towards him, revealing your 'uniform', a dress full of ruffles, ribbons and lace with delicate colors; long sleeves and white thigh-high stockings.

your unique outfit catches Ayatsuji's eye, causing him to momentarily divert his attention from the dolls. He seems intrigued but unimpressed by the way you've incorporated the shop's theme into your attire, perhaps he's already noticed you, at the behest of Special Division? I doubt.

''An interesting fit between the store and your own style,'' Ayatsuji comments, as he turns to the shop windows

''Oh, uh…This is how I connect with customers…especially with children'' You say a little embarrassed, while fidgeting nervously with the hem of your dress ''But then, what exactly would you like? We have a variety of dolls, from all eras and styles-''

''Actually, I'd like to make a doll''

''Wait, do? So you also produce them…But-''

''With your appearance''

You swallowed hard, surprised by the unexpected request. Making a doll of your own appearance wasn't something you would normally hear of, but the idea was intriguing. However, you still had some questions.

"A doll that looks like me?" you repeated, trying to better understand what he had in mind.

Ayatsuji nodded, his eyes still scanning the various dolls on the shelves. "Yes, exactly. With the details of your dress and your unique appearance. It would be… something unique''

''Then-''

''Then I'd like to see it more often…so I'll make a perfect replica''

As you processed his words, a range of emotions mingled within you - surprise, honor and, oddly enough, a certain warmth…? Maybe it's because of how your cheeks suddenly turned red……You were momentarily speechless, taken aback by the sincerity in the detective's words and your only reaction was nod.

And before you knew it, he was out the front door, ready to light his pipe again, ''Hey! By the way, call me [name]!'' You introduce yourself, a little too late, but in a louder tone. You didn't know if he heard you, but then he murmurs

''[name], a good name for a dainty doll''

A/N: Requested by @dearestsugar - (I preferred to write a drabble instead of a hc, I hope you like it!)

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millerscoffee · 10 months

Text

dancing is a dangerous game | part two

i've got a few years on you, baby, that's all.

5.6k | joel miller x f!reader

this is part 2 of the "dancing is a dangerous game" series | other parts below:

part one | part two | masterlist

rating: 18+ MDNI

warnings (for this chapter): post-outbreak au. no ellie. no clickers. character development and plot!, age gap (joel is 56, reader is late 20s or early 30s), soft!dom joel, masturbation (f), eye contact, trauma recall (reader and joel), grief, mentions of sarah, pining, kissing, angst, fluff. no use of y/n.

summary: joel is a survivalist who (after putting you in your place™️) has invited you to stay at his homestead for one (1) month, so that's cute

A/N: ok hi, bee here! reminder that this fic is inspired by "cowboy like me" by taylor swift. i couldn't stay away from these two! this is... a loose adaptation of post-outbreak world in all honesty. i enjoy writing fluff and angst a little too much to always incorporate the heavier topics such as clickers or things of that nature. maybe it'll come to me! i hope you enjoy this chapter, it's been a fun adventure so far. thank you so much for all of your kind comments!!! ♡

Still, you wake to the smell of Joel making coffee. It’s years old, but it’s coffee. You sit up from the couch, hair in different directions. "Hey, I'll have some of that." "Where’re your manners?" "Hey, I'll have some of that… now?" Your eyes are sheened from sleep, but you're almost certain that pulls a grin from him. You hear an exhale through his nose that translates something along the lines of fine. The sound of pouring fills another cup.

Dreams like these come to you more as flashbacks. The ones of your father, of his death – most of the time in different places than where it actually happened.

At the shoreline of a beach, on top of a mountain, in the bottom of a cave. This time your night terror happens exactly where it took place.

It wasn't nearly as poetic as you would've wanted it to be for him.

An abandoned town with old buildings and a valley just outside of it.

You can feel the heat of fire even in your slumber.

Your legs twitch in your sleep. Tears crawling out the sides of your eyes as they spill and expand into kaleidoscopic shapes on Joel's couch.

Even in your dreams, your hands shake. You can make out his face tonight. The sorrow painted on his features. The end he knew he had to face. You raise your loaded pistol.

You wake up and you don't remember it.

---

The first day you wake up in Joel's cabin, it takes you a minute to know where you are.

A gasp of air brings your awareness to the surface, a sudden need to fight as your hypervigilance snaps your eyes open.

"Oh...," you mutter, subconsciously, too groggy to make connections but you ease rather quickly. A chill comes over your sweat-covered body.

From your perspective, your eyes fix on the ceiling. The pattern of wood, the feeling of your teeth against the inside of your lips. Your body unconsciously doing everything it can to regulate itself.

You didn't expect to fall asleep the night before, much less so easily, considering you were under a stranger's roof. So it caught you off guard to be so... warm under the blanket Joel gave you that smelled like him. Despite the slight stickiness of sweat. From a dream you now aren't aware you even had.

Then again, it helped the said stranger wasted no time in getting to know you. The insides of your thighs ache, a clear marker for that moment in time.

Your stomach felt like things were working in reverse. The situation so complex you don't know how to approach it.

Still, you wake to the smell of Joel making coffee. It’s years old, but it’s coffee.

You sit up from the couch, hair in different directions.

"Hey, I'll have some of that."

"Where’re your manners?"

"Hey, I'll have some of that… now?" Your eyes are sheened from sleep, but you're almost certain that pulls a grin from him. You hear an exhale through his nose that translates something along the lines of fine.

The sound of pouring fills another cup.

When you begin to move up to get the cup from him, Joel makes a grunt signaling you to stop and you sit back on the cushions. Your hands reach up to grab the hot liquid, ignoring the rush of blood pool towards your middle when you brush your fingers against his.

Too early for this shit.

You grumble a satisfied sound when the hot, bitter, old liquid reaches your tongue and your shoulders soften. You take a contemplative gaze into the cup. At the black. You wonder if the indulgence of milk ever graces Joel's mouth in a place like this.

Strange thought, but it passes.

In reality, you're doing anything, thinking of anything to distract yourself from looking up. It's inevitable, and when you do, Joel seems to be using the same tactic you are.

Very interested in a cup of coffee rather than initiating conversation.

Both of you finding easier to go with physical gestures than unraveling or understanding the other's personality. Much less small talk.

You clear your throat to break the silence.

"Thanks." You chew at your cheek. Joel's orbs pour into yours and it's more fervent than you'd like it to be.

Like you were just coming to your senses from the nights sleep you had, and he was fogging it all over again.

You look past his temple at the wall instead and he mumbles something resembling you're welcome.

It's quiet for five more minutes.

There's something about it, though, that is easy fall into.

It's not intolerable the longer you sit with it. Feels like there's no pressure to do or be anything, and that sends an unfamiliar sensation through your nervous system.

You decide to lean into it than see it as a threat. Somehow, it works. Between the rare sniffs into the air and slurps, it doesn't feel necessary to speak and you find yourself sinking into the armrest of the lumpy, yet comfortable enough, couch.

"You need help today?" You finally ask. You're here for a reason, after all. Joel needed help with... well, something. You're weren't quite sure as he was vague about it in his proposition to you, but you weren't one to take handouts.

You didn't take handouts, but you did steal them.

No need to owe anyone that way.

"Uh," Joel clears his throat, a bit jarred at the break of silence as he precedes his words with a nod, "Yeah. Stables need cleanin'. That could be a good start."

"Alright then."

Joel looks over at you with a raised brow, wondering if you had fewer words than he did. The thought washes away, and soon you're both on your separate duties.

---

Joel walks out with you to the stable where a lone, but sweet looking black horse greets you. She looks fed. Actually, she looks rather taken care of and you can tell Joel has spent a lot of his time in making sure she lives a comfortable life.

You become aware the stall could use some work – there’s some wood missing, hay is scarce, but the horse seems happy enough.

"Does she have a name?" You ask, hand tempting out for the animal to engage with. Your mind quiets at the touch of her nose brushing against your skin and your eyes gaze over the large ones she has.

Her personality is a lot like Joel's in the quiet moments you spent with him this morning: calm, kind, but generally disinterested. That tugs a grin to your cheek.

"She don't have one," Joel says behind you, his voice laced with a backstory and soaked with a mysterious pain. "Don't wanna get attached."

You don't think you've heard something so relatable.

You leave it alone.

Most of your morning is spent hammering planks of wood into the gaps of her majesty's stable while Joel takes her for a joyride. Ensuring she has plenty of exercise for the day.

She's a fairly young horse, but Joel has to makes sure her joints are warm in case he needs to go somewhere. You come to learn he does this every day. Early in the morning, he makes sure she's fed and brushed. Groomed at her feet when it's needed and exercised.

When he comes back, he hums appreciatively at the work you've done. "Looks good." You deny the way his shoulders broaden in this taut position before he climbs out of the stirrups. The way his thighs tighten in their straddle.

And you barely acknowledge his civil words, much less the tightening at your jaw from them.

"Seem pretty attached to me."

"Shut up."

A sound so unusual hits your ears and vibrates your chest. You laugh. Genuinely, not the awkward one you let out when you were undressing in front of him. Not when his eyes were fucking you. A genuine, hearty laugh.

---

You promise yourself: one month and that's it. You're out of here.

It's not that Joel has made it unbearable. In fact, it's the opposite.

There's this sense of calm at Joel's. Like even though something bad could happen at any moment, it's tucked away from the pain. Like Joel made a determination in keeping one solid buoy amidst the world of chaos. Joel made that his home.

Part of you gathers you interrupted his peace by being there. Maybe the violence you brought? Nah, couldn't be.

Yet there's another part of you that can see glimpses of his gratitude in your presence. How he cooks for the both of you, not just himself. How he's taken the time to learn your name.

Lets you use his hot water for you to take a shower. Pawning it off under some snide comment on how you needed one. You see the playfulness caper around the age in his eyes.

He shares with you what he saved all those years ago and things he's acquired now.

It's in the small nods of acknowledgement when you go out of your way to make sure he has the supplies he needs, or when you both sit on the porch only to not say a word.

Then within that there's a third, silent part of you that selfishly doesn't care whether or not he cares because he invited you, and you want to soak up every moment of these simple comforts while you can.

You dance the scales of balance. Nothing and everything at once.

---

In your time at Joel's, you learn the layout of his cabin. It's a simple thing, open layout. The living room and kitchen are side by side, bathroom around the corner.

Upstairs, 'well more like a ladder' you'd hear Joel say, that leads up to his loft bedroom. The sheets are dark, the bed is humble. But it's safe up there and he has a good lookout for any danger.

There's a second door downstairs to a make-do basement that is mostly dirt and smells of sawdust. It has supplies he's collected over the years. Things he's picked up, tools, equipment, non-perishables.

This is guarded by endless locks, and hidden by a bookcase. You find it on accident somewhere in the middle of your first week staying with him. The bookcase was off to the side, the door was open. You were already looking for him, so when you walk downstairs to find him working on something it causes you both to jump.

"Sorry! I'm sorry... I just, I was looking for you. Did you need me to till the garden?" Your question is asked quickly in a heated rush, too many words flowing from your mouth to make up for how undeniably in trouble you were.

You see Joel's eyebrows drop like you weren't supposed to see this. Not supposed to know all of his secrets. But he keeps the door cracked for ventilation when he's down there and you were supposed to be busy doing something else.

"Yeah, go ahead." His voice booms. You turn around and make a beeline back up.

He doesn't like that you know, but now you do. And it's either shrug it off, or kill you. The apathy grates at your nerves considering these are things he'd probably fought over at one point.

You take it personally that he doesn't punish you in some way for finding it out, forcing you to reflect on how fucked up that is.

You go for a walk instead.

---

You sleep on the couch the first week you're there.

The two of you haven't touched each other and it’s such a stark difference from Joel having his hands in your hair, his cock buried in your cunt the very moment you two are confronted with each other.

Confronted. That's the appropriate word. Unsure if the interaction were predator versus prey, predator versus predator. Prey versus prey.

It was animalistic and visceral when the memories flood you after the two of you say goodnight. In the dark you feel comfortable enough to explore your body, even if it’s only to touch.

It feels like a luxury to let your body be soft.

You try to not think about it too much. It happens slow.

Joel's snoring just adjacently above and it gives you incentive to traverse into your pleasures.

Your hand pushes past your shorts, languidly prying your folds apart just to find release. A soft sigh from your mouth when at touch your fingertips brushing against your clit.

You think of Joel. It's hard not to. His stupid frown, the way he takes things seriously, but holds space for you. It's easy for you to get aroused by the things he does, but more difficult to think of how undeniably attractive he is.

How everything he does sends your blood racing straight to your core. His staggering breath when he works during the day, the sweat at his brow.

You want desperately to see the sweat at his brow from between your thighs. Want his mouth to work your cunt, tongue flick and swirl at your nub of thousands of nerves that you're rolling quicker and deeper in circles.

In your wandering mind you recall seeing Joel shirtless one morning. The event caused your breath to snag while you were making breakfast. It was so out of the blue considering when the one time the two of you did have sex, he was clothed. It felt intimate. That you got to see his scars, the hairs that adorned his chest.

Like he was letting you know not only did he want you, but he was waiting for you. That it was your turn to make a move. You really wanted to, but you weren't sure you could.

Your fingers run over your slick folds, over your clit harder at the thought of how the next move would go. If you were brave enough.

Maybe you'd ride his cock, your back to him. Let him get a good view of his cock buried inside of you. If you close your eyes, you could almost feel the stretch you felt a week ago. His warmth, the scent of sawdust and musk. The skill he had in making your toes curl.

Just like they were in this moment. Biting your free fist, the rush of heat greets your climax. You try to cut the whimper from the air, but it's a struggle.

"Joel," your whisper of a moan cuts the air and you hold your breath when you feel rustling from the loft. Which really sounds like a whine, and it doesn't help much at all.

You hold your breath at the peak of your orgasm, shuddering and rolling out of it when Joel's thick voice with sleep fills the space.

"Y'call me?" There's a yawn in there, too.

Your body is spasming, coming down, and the urge to exhale is so strong it stings your lungs. Your breath hitches on the way out.

It takes you precisely 45 seconds to respond.

"No, I'm fine."

Your voice sounds broken. Fucked.

"Alright." Joel doesn't seem to phased by it. Sounds annoyed he got woken up more than anything. "Hope it was good."

That leaves your cheeks redder than they could have by touching yourself.

You roll onto your side, sleeping off the wave of embarrassment.

---

"Up. Gotta go fishin'."

You groan, stretching on the couch and he tosses your pack in your direction.

"Quit whinin', y'did that enough last night."

You groan a whine more in humiliation. "Shut up," you yawn, not quite at the point of clarity where you can fight back.

"Whatever you say. Need food. So if you wanna eat, gotta work."

You've walked pretty far out from Joel's place. You know of the river he's referring to when he says he wants to go fishing, but the two of you hadn't been there together and you certain hadn't seen the collection of fishing gear the way Joel had.

Though he only brought enough for the two of you in case of raiders. In case of someone akin to yourself, your guilt reminds you.

It's not long before you're at the riverbank. Your eyes mesmerize over the water, the presence of Joel warm at your side.

He's physically closer to you today, and you know why. Your core flutters at the thought and frustration is its close friend of your nerves. Because why would it take him so long to be this close, and why did it take something slightly humiliating happen to you for him to want the proximity.

Joel tugs at your pack that's on your shoulders and you make a slight noise of surprise. The way he thinks he can have easy access to you like that, even for something simple like putting things in your backpack, sends your mind in a yo-yo.

Going back and forth between he likes me, he likes me not. You aren't used to this, and it makes you feel weak. Like you are under his whim. You grow increasingly vexed at the thought.

When you turn around you see him holding a can of corn, and it makes sense. Cordyceps and insects don't really mix with the need to eat. Opening a can of corn, Joel baits his hook with it then yours and you scoff.

"I can do that, you know." You roll your eyes, sending your line out into the water.

"Oh, you can? Thought your wrist might be out of commission. Was doin' you a favor, really."

"Month can't go by fast enough."

"No one's makin' you stay."

That's when you're quiet, your frame facing his as you hold out your rod with one hand. You look at him like he said something he shouldn't have. Like he knows you couldn't just leave now.

"I still have my gun, you know."

You threaten. It's all you've ever known how to do.

"Jesus Christ." Joel shakes his head, averting his gaze from yours.

You don't speak much after that, deep in thought of why the idea of him running you off evoked such strong emotions within you.

Neither of you have much luck which makes you both irritated that so much effort has been put into something that is clearly proving not to work today.

Worse yet, you're proving to be distracting to Joel. Especially with events from the night before burning in his mind.

He could be stoic all he wanted to, but he's not immune to the way you fill out your jeans. The curves that accentuate your frame as you send lines out. It causes his cock to stir, come to life at the thought of him pinning you against some tree. Of slipping those jeans down just enough to slide himself inside you. To stretch you.

To get you to shut the hell up.

He shifts to conceal himself.

Yet he remembers, still, of wet you were the moment you met. How eager you were to submit to him.

Joel could feel himself being called to you, and that made things... complicated. Made it harder to just fuck you. This challenged a certain lifestyle he spent years cultivating. He couldn't touch you. Not yet.

When you get back to Joel's cabin, you're both quiet. More annoyed with each other than anything. You're sweaty and your arms are sore and come back with one trout that you have to share.

Joel cleans it, you cook it, and you barely make acknowledge each other during dinner.

---

At night, you hear Joel moan something in his sleep. His body shuffles from the loft above you while you're tucked in and he sounds scared. Heartbroken. Like his world collapsed on itself. "Sarah, baby." Even in his sleep, you can hear the pain his voice.

You don't know who that is, but she must have been important. Must have been hard to see her go, if that was the case.

For yet another reason, you find resonance with Joel and it erases your tough day with him. Somehow.

The bed rattles as he flips from what you assume is his front to his back. The sounds of his night terrors pervade the night until slowly they resolve to silence. That almost seems more unnerving, but sleep takes you with him anyway.

You don't mention it in the morning.

---

In the evening, it's the last day of your first week. Somehow you made it through, you sarcastically think to yourself. Joel, despite his rough night, seems downright chipper. Like he wants to hang out with you outside of the routine you both have inadvertently created for yourself.

So you break open a bottle of whiskey and stack wood for the fire.

Although there's a generator that allows power, most of the time Joel uses candles and fire to save up on the supplies he has. The generator takes work and requires things that quite honestly are beyond your comprehension. He's obviously smart (annoying), and it shows in the things he tries to teach you – as if you'll be here longer than your verbal agreement.

It would feel like a dream if not for the constant worry someone or something could attack you at any moment. Especially when more times than not that person is yourself.

The location is pretty remote, but that doesn't mean much for the world you live in. Everything abandoned, including most people's empathy. Maybe even your own. Shame creeps up your spine to remind you just how you got here in the first place.

Taking the stout glasses from the cabinet, you take note of how soft your hair feels for the first time in a long time when you tuck it behind your ear. Focusing on not pouring the liquid anywhere but the glasses. Bringing the amber liquid over to Joel, your make it a point to brush your fingertips over the warm but solid hand that takes from you.

"Thank you, honey." You make it seem casual as you hold onto the edge of the couch to keep your knees from buckling at the term of endearment. Fuck him, he's not playing fair.

Like cat and mouse, when you think you have him, he buckles you under. Make you understand that he has more control over you than you care to realise.

A tangle that begs to be undone.

By the fire, you curl your legs when you sit on the couch and though at first it is quiet, by some weird miracle the two of you get to talking. The whiskey doing its job, you write off.

Joel keeps his cards close. That's plain to see.

So when he brings up the past, it blindsides you. He brings up his past. On his terms.

When he mentions life before all this, it's brief. No mentions of the people that would fill out spaces in your mind. No Sarah. It was more of what he did. Construction company. Football on Sundays. You see a genuine smile fall over his face, and he almost looks peaceful.

As the fire turns to embers, his gaze stays focused on the dull-orange glow and he looks tranquil.

"Enough about me, tell me 'bout you," Joel's eyes twinkle against the flame, and you'd give up the rest of your time here just to see that for a little while longer.

His voice sounds thicker like this. When he drinks. Like honey stuck inside his throat, the southern words are easy to string sentences together fluidly. You don't hide how it causes your heat to tilt to the side before realising just how hard-hitting that curiosity is.

A puff of breath exhales from your puckered lips when you lift both eyebrows. "Loaded request," you swallow the rest of the liquid courage and don't react when it stings your throat.

You tell him where you're from, parts of where you've been.

"Well. 'Was born a few years before... everything. Don't know much outside this type of life. This is probably one of the nicest places or... experiences I've ever had. You really know how to treat your bandits."

Even more indistinct than he was. Doesn't seem to bother him much.

Joel's toothy laugh startles you initially, but you soon register it's safe to do the same and your eyes gleam in response to each other. He keeps that contact with you as he finishes off his own drink to match you.

"Guess I got a soft spot for ones like you."

"Like me? What type of one might that be?"

"Nosy. Tender. Too mouthy."

You brush at your cheeks, exhaling a laugh and quiet slips again between the two of you. You're unsure of what to say, of how to keep the conversation going.

Your lips press together while you scan the room.

"You know, I've been here a week and I ain't seen you use that thing...," you wander off, changing the subject as you point at the record player collecting dust.

"That's 'cause it's for special occasions."

"Sounds to me like the 1988 Texas Longhorns NCAA National Championship should be a special occasion enough."

"Nosy. Mouthy."

"Inquisitive. Communicative. Tipsy, maybe."

"Definitely the latter."

You get your way.

Both of you stand from the couch to walk over to the record collection, and you see him pull out a record like it was made of glass.

"Texas's very own," Joel says with pride while gazing over the worn vinyl sheet of some Waylon Jennings record. The singer has a cigarette hanging from his lips in the picture and you stifle a giggle.

"What?" He asks, instantly defensive.

"Nothing! Just not used to seein' this type of stuff."

"You're in for a treat, babygirl." Shit. Your cheeks grows hotter if the whiskey didn't do it already.

Crackling starts off as the record adjust, and there's a part of you that feels sadness over the fact that you don't remember the last time you really heard music. Produced music before the outbreak.

You both sink into the couch again. The start of the record is upbeat, and equally your taste but not your taste at all.

You see the satisfaction slip over Joel's face though, and that makes it easier to get into as you pour you both another round.

"Neil Young wrote this song," you hear Joel drawl, unusually giddy and if you weren't at the edge of your seat hanging onto every word before, you are now.

Because you're getting a lesson and you're seeing him come alive. There's a part of you coming alive too, and you don't even get weirded out by the fact that this type of enthusiasm reminds you of your dad. It feels safe, familiar, and enjoyable to be around.

And so uniquely Joel, you don't get lost.

A completely different individual that somehow has entered your life and flipped it upside down.

If you weren't caught up being wrapped up around his finger, you could see yourself getting emotional over the ease of this interaction.

"Yeah?" you press, fist curling in your chin as you take a swig of your drink.

"Part of Harvest right after 'Heart of Gold'. Waylon changed the lyrics a little bit. He was known to do that."

You don't realise it, but you are grinning from ear to ear.

Like you detonated something you can't undo. Like you're watching the man's mind work in real time.

"That's pretty cool. Sounds like he did what he wanted to. Texan trait?"

"Somethin' like that." Joel grins, going back to his stillness and while you respect it, a part of you wants to say something to get him back on that train. You don't.

Joel turns the record and it's not long before you approach the end of it, a song that seems to resonate to him on an instant note causes him to close his eyes. Causes him to take in the music.

You begin to wonder what it's like when his fingers strum over a melody. If it's anything like what you just witnessed.

Whether it was the whiskey or attraction, Joel stands up. His hand reaches out for yours, and it looks so small in his hand when accept.

Joel doesn't give you much say in if you want to dance or not because he's pulling you to him, overwhelming your senses as your lips brush against the fabric of his shirt. You tiptoe to just graze his shoulder. "Ooph," you flush at the feeling of his head heavy against your own shoulder.

His arms wrap around you and you both sway. Your hands finding his hair, arms snaking around his neck. You don't move your feet very much. Instead, it's more you're holding each other. Like the drinks are kicking in and you're able to feel without the looming presence of consequence at your door.

The lyrics feel pointed, like they're saying everything he can't.

- I've got a couple more years on you, baby, that's all. -

Joel's chest vibrates at the response of his humming when his nose brushes against your hairline. Your skin heats, palm soft against the flesh of his neck and you know, unmistakably, that causes him to shiver.

Neither one of you able to look at each other yet. Despite it all.

Despite the obvious sign rearing its head.

- That's not that I'm wiser it's just that I've spent more time with my back to the wall. -

You tempt your cheek to brush against his. His stubble tickling and poking your skin at once while your thumb preoccupies the other side of his face. Against his temple, the shell of his ear.

Your eyes close because you feel so overwhelmed, all you want to do is memorise the way his body feels against you.

The solidity of his chest. The way his exhales filter through the hairs of his mustache. It causes your fingers to move from the side of his face to twist in his hair, pulling it gently if only to hold on tighter to him.

This stirs something within Joel. Makes him turn to face your neck.

There's a sort of dichotomy in the pound of your heart and how delicate it feels against the very ends of his lips. It takes you back to when you met. How he wouldn't touch his lips to the structure holding your head, and now he's brushing against it. Like he's wanting to be let in.

Even though it's feather light, it causes you gasp quietly. Your face goes crimson, moving your chin to face him.

Your lips now a sliver between each other.

You could run. You could scream. You could kiss him and let the throes of this take you under.

Definitely the latter, you decide. Pushing your mouth experimentally against the plush set, your ears ring in a way you weren't sure how they ever could.

- Saying goodbye girl don't ever come easy at all, but you've got to fly 'cause you're hearin' them young eagles call. -

Joel's lips chase yours, one hand cupping the side of your face and you feel the heat from it along your chin all the way up to the side of your head and behind your neck. It's inviting and feels discernibly uncomplicated for something the two of you resigned would be very complicated.

When the song ends, you pull away from him. You don't notice it straight away, but his arms have wrapped around you so tightly you can't get out of his grasp. And it doesn't feel overpowering, it feels tender. Joel's eyes soft like a doe's. Like the song absorbed into his blood. Like he feels that way about you.

You don't want him to let go, but there's an understanding when you pull back so does he and his grip is fleeting. Even if you objected, he still would back off. Leaving you warmed by the ghost of where his heat was.

The touch of him stays through your clothes.

There's two songs left on the record, but you aren't sure either of you are really listening to it. Joel turns around in the direction of the record player and is even more cautious than he was before in putting back the album, enveloping it in its label. Label in the sheet.

His hands careful, delicate amongst the thickness and roughness of them. You shudder, knowing he was this way with you. Protective.

When Joel back turns around, his eyes are dark. Like he's thirsty, but would only drink if you let him. He's deliberate in brushing past you on his way up to the loft, his presence lingering just at the end of the stairs.

"Come to bed."

It's simple, and what you come to learn, is Joel's way of asking. He don't. But he gives you room to make the choice.

You don't recall your eyes even scanning the living room. They only land on the broad frame in front of you, and you follow it like a beacon of light.

Beginning your second week, you don't sleep on the couch anymore.

---

It's in what you don't know. How Joel wakes up the night you hear his dream – covered in a cold sweat from a loop he has continuously gone through for years. What he could have done differently, how he could have positioned his body. Flashbacks.

His hands bracket over his eyes as he rubs them. Silently begging for peace. An end. Something.

You don't realise it, but the sight of you makes him calm. Even in your stubbornness and unwillingness to let him in. Even within his own set of inabilities to trust.

A true stillness invades his mind that hadn't experienced since the very subject of his nightmares.

He doesn't quite believe in fate, but if he did, Joel would be willing to bet she sent you.

Even more, he'd be willing to bet she would have liked you.

A/N (con't):

"a couple more years" by waylon jennings is the song they dance to. the lyrics the lyrics – cries in joel coded

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #tlou #joel miller x reader #by bee #soft!dom joel #softdom!joel #joel miller fic #tlou fic #joel x you #joel x reader #dancing is a dangerous game #joel miller fluff

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kit-walk3r · 11 months

Note

Maybe a fic with James being with a modern human girl? Maybe she’s super into technology and has a Wednesday Addams style and sense of humor!!

Thank you for the request, sorry it’s a little late! Confession: I haven’t seen Wednesday or the Addams family so don’t know much about her personality/sense of humour. What I’ve gathered from the internet is that she’s sarcastic and has a dark sense of humour. I’ve tried to incorporate that into this as best as I can but I apologise if it’s not Wednesday accurate. I hope you enjoy it either way 💓

Photograph (James Patrick March x fem!reader)

James becomes fascinated with your phone.

Warnings: slight mention of blood

You were lounging about in the hotel room you often shared with James, mindlessly messing about on your phone when James appeared. He wasn’t in his usual three piece suit attire, but just an undershirt, trousers and a bloody apron. From his get-up you knew that he had just been butchering up some poor stranger. You were used to that by now, so you were barely phased by his bloody appearance. On the off occasion you actually found yourself weirdly liking it.

“What is that device?” James asked, pointing at your mobile in your hand. He’d often seen you playing around on it but didn’t actually know what it was, or what it did.

“It’s my phone,” you said, voice dry in a ‘duh’ tone as if it were obvious. It would be obvious to anyone if they weren’t from the 1920s.

James scoffed. “That’s not a telephone,” he denied.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, it is,” you said. “Things are different now, you’re just old.”

“Let me see it,” James extended his hand, expecting you to hand your phone over to him. You did as he said, realising how funny it was going to be to watch James try and use your phone.

James examined the phone, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he tried to work out what it was and how it worked. “What on Earth is this?” He muttered to himself. He pressed the power button in his examination and the screen suddenly lit up, startling him slightly at the unexpected light. “Oh my…”

The screen turned black again and you watched James as he just stared at the blank screen, unsure of what he did to turn it on. It was getting painful watching him try to understand your phone, so you decided that it was time to offer him some help.

“I’ll show you,” you got up so that you were standing next to James and pressed the same power button James had used just moments ago, lighting the screen up again. James’ eyes widened with fascination as he watched you type in your passcode and another screen popped up, this one filled with lots of little tiny square images.

“To use it you just touch the screen like this,” you swiped your finger across the screen so it switched to a new page, demonstrating how to use it to James. You pointed at the app icons. “These are called apps. You can use them for a bunch of different things. You can play games, call people, take photos,” you clicked on a random app. “And to open one you just click it like that.”

“Google,” James’ eyes squinted as he read something off your screen. “That two tone haired buffoon said he ‘googled’ me. What exactly is Google? It sounds obscene.”

“You look things up,” you explained simply. You snatched your phone back off James and typed ‘James Patrick March’ into Google. You handed it back to him. “See? That’s all information on you.”

James began to run his finger over the screen, looking at all the different results that had come up. “‘Ten things you probably didn’t know about infamous serial killer James Patrick March’,” He read aloud before scoffing.

However, he clicked on the page and, after a moment of amazement at watching the screen change yet again, started reading what it said. There was an intense look of concentration as he read the entire thing. “That was ridiculous,” he claimed once he had finished. “Did this ‘Google’ honestly think I would not know my own birthday?” He shook his head. “What utter nonsense.”

You snorted at James’ anger at the article, finding humour in how worked up he was getting over one webpage.

You showed James how to exit the app and let him play around with your phone for a bit longer, exploring the different applications and settings on your phone. He ended up in your gallery, and was flicking through your photos with a growing grin. “Darling,” he held up your phone, showing a photo you had taken of yourself earlier. “You’re breathtaking.”

There was a slight hint of a blush in your cheeks at his words, but you played it off as if you were unaffected by his words, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. You liked playing him that way, not letting him see the real effect he had on you. You could tell when he would slowly get frustrated when he couldn’t get a reaction out of you.

James continued flicking through different photos on your face, eyes wide with fascination at photographs of yourself he found. He looked up at you. “I want to take one,” he announced.

You looked at him oddly. “Uh, okay,” you shrugged. You opened the camera app and switched the camera round so that it was front facing. “Just press this button when you’re ready.”

James nodded and looked down at the phone. After staring at the screen intensely for a moment he finally pressed the button and took a picture. You noticed how his facial expression did not change.

Once he was done, James handed you the phone back with a satisfied look on his face, clearly happy with the photo he took.

One glance at it and you couldn’t help but snicker. James looked confused.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, voice laced with confusion yet also slightly defensive.

You showed James the photo, trying to hold back more laughs. “It’s just not the most flattering angle of you,” you explained. It was taken from a very low angle and didn’t exactly capture James’ handsome features.

James looked offended at your words, like he was seriously insulted by your critique of his first attempt at taking a photo of himself on your phone. It was understandable, he was quite the perfectionist and not being able to do something as simple as taking a nice photo of himself must have been hurtful to his ego.

“Here, let me take one,” You offered. It would be nice to have a good (and attractive) photo of him on your phone. James thought for a moment, not necessarily wanting to admit defeat over not being able to take a nice photograph of himself, but remembered that you were more affiliated with the modern world and clearly knew how to take a better picture, so he finally agreed.

“Great,” you opened the camera on your phone and raised it to take the photo, before thinking of something and pausing. “Maybe you should get changed?” You suggested. “You’re still covered in someone’s blood and even though it’s a look I think one of your suits would look much better. More hot.”

James looked down at his bloody attire before nodding in agreement and disappearing. He reappeared a few minutes later, finely dressed in one of his pinstripe suits and hair neatly combed over. He looked good. He looked great. Wow.

“I’m ready for my photograph,” James announced.

You nodded and raised your camera to take the photo. James actually posed, not looking directly at the camera but slightly off into the distance, and you rolled your eyes at his dramatics. James was always one to be more theatrical than needed, of course he wouldn’t pose with a simple smile. Anyway, you took a couple of photos before handing your phone to James to check.

He looked down at the screen and grinned with the same satisfaction he had when he took the photo himself. “I do look rather dashing, even if I do say so myself,” James said smugly.

“That you do, James,” you agreed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “That you do.”

•———•

I hope this was okay! I’m still a little nervous about how I write James since he’s such a distinct character but I hope I did an okay job. Thank you for the request!

My requests are still open 💓

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Want to join my taglist? Just reply here!

#american horror story #ahs #james patrick march #evan peters #James Patrick March x you #James Patrick March x reader #James Patrick March x y/n #ahs hotel #American horror story hotel #James March #tate langdon #kit walker #kyle spencer #jimmy darling #kai anderson

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