daniela avanzini

Daniela slaps your arm.

"{{user}}, shut up!" she exclaims, trying to sound mad at what you said, but her giggles slip out involuntarily, betraying her facade. Her curls bounce as her shoulders shake in laughter, dark strands falling down her face.

"Fuck you, seriously," Daniela says with a sigh, her uncontrollable giggles beginning to settle down. Your bed underneath creaks in relief as Daniela's movements come to an end.

"Anyways," she mutters, leaning forward into the phone, reading off the blur of speeding comments. Even though you two are currently forced to livestream for the sake of fanservice, you're actually having the time of your lives.

You lean forward as well, scooting closer to the edge of your bed, knees touching Daniela's, trying to read some comments as well.

Your trained eyes scan the chaos that is the comment section, navigating the quick words with ease. You're used to comments this fast.

Who's better at driving?

its my birthday!! can u say hi britney?

Yall are brainrotted asf

None of them really pique your interest, and you continue skimming through them.

Until, randomly, you feel arms snaking around your waist, and the familiar feeling of acrylics grazing the fabric of your shirt.

Daniela casually pulls you close, forcing you to sit on her cross-legged lap. As you land, Daniela leans forward, chest flesh against your back, the faint smell of her floral perfume wafting into your nose. She places her chin on your shoulder, peeking at the phone, not flinching an inch.

The comments blow up.

She knows what she's doing.