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lookingformoondrop · 6 months

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NAJDNWKKRKW U WRITE FOR THE COFFIN OF ANDY AND LEYLEY?

You're the first person I see writing to themmm I'm so happy. Can I ask Something with leyley ? If not, No problem, I accept anything

Ashley Graves (Leyley) x Reader

TW: Everyone has a foul mouth and Ashley is a little shit (oh, really?), mentions of the devil's tango (sex, gasp!), Ashley is manipulative (remember kids, never stay with someone if they act like this during arguments, even if they're goth mommies).

♥︎ I'm not sure if the people crave X Reader or just headcannons with the Graves siblings, so if this isn't what you had in mind, you're always welcome to shoot me another ask. I'm so sorry this took so long to write ;-; Thank you for your patience!<3 ♥︎

♡1,287 WORDS♡

If you ever asked about 15-year-old Ashley Graves, you'd be told one of these three things;

"She's a little psycho. I'm pretty sure she'd choke out a teacher if they looked at her brother wrong."

"She's always the odd one out. If only she was nice like her brother, she wouldn't be such a lonely freak."

"Pretty like the devil is sly."

These comments always alluded you. Ashley was by far the prettiest girl in class, and even if she was a bit curt to the teachers, she had these blossoming eyes and rich smile whenever she walked by.

One day, after watching the girls mock Ashley for the second time that day, you decided to walk up to Ashley.

Ashley's gaze out of the window quickly turned towards you as you sat down on the other side of her desk. She slowly eyed you up and down.

"Uh, I'm Y/N," you offered weakly.

"Is this about my brother?" Ashely held her face in her hand with a bored stare. "Because if this is about my brother, know that he's already called for..."

You quickly shook your head, "Don't take any offense, but I don't really care about who your brother is...I'm more interested in you."

Ashely looked startled by this statement. A small blush dusting her cheeks. She had spent a lot of time making quitters and hussies run from her marshmallow-spine brother who didn't know any better, and if she learned anything it was that they would say and do whatever it took to get closer to him.

Ashley scoffed and looked out the window again, "Yeah, right, you're probably just saying that so that I'll let you meet him."

You sighed and laid your head in your arms,

"I want to play with you... not your dumb brother."

Ashley gave you a quick glance. She chewed her bottom lip as she thought about it.

"Fine. But if I catch you trying to hang out with my brother, I'm going to punish you!"

You shrugged off that last part and nodded passionately.

Ashley didn't know what it was about you that made her laugh easily, and force the malice out of her body, but it pissed her off.

Day after day, you'd run after her with some sort of treat, present, or a friendly smile that made her day.

One day, you had come to school with a surprise;

"Jesus christ Ashley, did you fish that out of the dumpster?" Andrew walked into the laundry room and saw Ashley standing in front of the washing machine with a very deformed and crusted teddy bear in her hands.

"Y/N gave em' to me," Ashley pulled her hand away, a sticky substance connecting her hand to the deformed bears head.

Andrew was taken aback and quickly snatched the bear from Ashley's hands with a simple (grossed out) finger.

"Fucking gross Ashely! Why the fuck would she give that to you?!" He made a move towards the trash bags in the shelve, but Ashley took back the teddy bear before he could do anything.

"Don't snatch things from other people's hands, you jackass!" She held the bear close to her chest despite shivering from the unknown wetness the bear had.

Andrew visibly cringed and searched Ashley's face for some sort of explanation.

"Y/N had won this at a carnival she went to over the weekend and thought I'd like it," Ashley dangled the bear from paw to paw.

"Well if it came from a carnival then why does it look like it was gangbanged-"

"I'm getting to it!" She sighed with annoyance.

"I had thought it was some stupid ploy to get to you, so I might have...thrown it down a sewer." She shrugged that last part like it was naturally the most obvious reaction to a gift.

"While it was down there, I think the rats decided to have a piece of Teddy's face and stuffing and well... the sewer, too." At the word 'sewer', both of them looked at the drenched teddy bear that dripped ominously with disease.

Andrew put his head in his hands and sighed into them, "Why are you like this? Y/N tried doing something nice, and you...let it be beaten to death by rats."

Ashley shrugged and observed the gross teddy bear in her hands, despite it being jizzed up it was cute with its (seemingly darker...) brown fur and button nose. On its chest was a pink stitched heart that read, "I told the stars about you ☆."

Maybe it was a little dramatic to throw it in the sewer, but she wasn't about to admit that. After all, she had to get this damn teddy bear back somehow, and that was enough to convince the next guy over she regretted it.

"Do you want me to clean it?" Andrew mumbled from his hands.

"What?" Ashley hadn't realized she was zoning out.

"I said, do you want me to clean it?" Andrew looked at her with tired eyes.

Ashley thought about it for a moment and then reluctantly handed the bear to Andrew, who pinched its ear to minimize the most physical contact with the dumpster fire.

That night, while Ashley was lying in bed, she thought about why you had decided to give her the bear. Maybe it really was a ploy to get closer to her brother... but Ashley couldn't help but have fun with you. Maybe, just maybe, she could enjoy this friendship a little longer.

For the next couple of weeks, you and Ashley would hang out in spots around the city.

You'd go to the movies, window shopping, clubs (mostly to get thrown out by the bouncer), food joints, and greasy taco trucks.

Ashley would come home with a pleasant smile on her face. Oftentimes, being teased by Andrew, who said he was "finally glad Ashley found a friend."

However, this didn't mean that you were safe from Ashley's tantrums. Whenever you talked to Andrew for too long or made plans with other friends, Ashley would start crying.

This became increasingly obvious when you started becoming more acquainted with Andrew.

"I thought you were my friend Y/N! I should've known you just want Andy all to yourself! I knew it! You don't care about me at all!"

"What!? No! I was just trying to ask the time-"

"I knew it! You're fake, fake, fake!! You're only hanging out with me because of my brother. You're so selfish! Well fine, since you like him so fucking much then leave! And while we're at it, why don't you just fuck him since that's all you're good for anyways!"

Ashley laughed as she dug her fingernails into your shoulders, "Everyone is just slutting around for my brother! Including you! I should've known! I should've known!-"

In a moment, your lips were on Ashley's, instantly shutting you up.

When you pulled away, Ashley stood there shocked. Her fingernails were no longer digging into your skin but rather grazing your shoulder blades.

"Would someone obsessed with your brother do that?"

Ashley opened her mouth to speak but closed it instead. She looked down and shook her head.

"I love you, Leyley, but has anyone told you you're exhausting to be with?"

Ashley nodded and rested her head on your shoulder, "You're the one that talked to me first, Y/N. You don't get to complain."

You sighed and wrapped your arms around her. Clicking your tongue as you took a moment to process all the foul things Ashley said in the heat of the moment.

"You know, everyone was right. You're kind of a psycho." You looked at Ashley's face.

"And?" She scoffed,

"It doesn't bother me."

Ashley smiled into your shirt, "You're stuck with me,"

"Forever~"

Thank you for the ask!<3

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acidicpenumbra · 1 year

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i hate dirkjake and also like other pairings but whatever

#im not gonna tag them directly bc obviouslt dick move but i hate dirkuu and dirkjake and vrisrezi and davekat and a lot of things #andrew hussie cannot write very good relationships and i am so tired of homestuck being like oh well vrisrezi is THE lesbian icon ship #rosemary is right there and they aren't actually terribke for each other... i cant like shit on everything bc at the end of the day #its just homestuck pairings and although theyre awful theyre not like actually harmful #i guess #i mean i kinda wish some ppl would stop seeing some pf these as healthy bc i know ppl who have seen oh yeah x pairig is healthy so my #relationship thats like this pairing is totally fine no it is not i promise #this is rambling #in tags #anyways i really hate dirkjake mostly maybe ill talk about other things but as someone with a huge interest in shipping #it sucks that almost all the major homestuck ones are garbage and like even some fandom ones #maybe these characters didnt work out for a reason bro...#‟youre taking this too seriously‟#i am a hater #i will keep being a hater #it is my favorite thing ever #anyways can we stop romanticizing vrisrezi its not like super nuanced vriska blinded twrezi and terezi fucking killed her #im jjst saying its not ideal its not healthy and its not like. idk. its something i cant care about at all

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ace-malarky · 9 months

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oop I have asks I will get to them but also I have family over and yaddayadda probably the last time we'll all be together (mortality's a bitch) so like. capitalising on that so I haven't forgotten I just. haven't been around. Who knows when I will have time!

... maybe tomorrow I don't think I have to like Be places until the afternoon but the housework is also piling up lmaoooo

#also I would like to do Nothing for a bit #it has been non-stop between socialising and work since like. a week past thursday.#love that for me. the nephew is very cute. I have entranced him with my juggling skills maybe #anyhow. just if you'd sent one after that last ask list etc and were wondering. I will get to them!!#I just. really need to pick my timings better #anyway it is gone midnight and I did not exactly sleep well last night (i was on cushions on the floor bc my dad. forgot.#that Sen was using the other futon and Andrew was also up. I should really have just stuck to the couch)#so. sleep! perhaps in the morning. before everything else.#also I maybe feel the need for a ramble but I do not know WHOMST #the twine files are also almost maybe done #just got the rest of Leritheyar's characters to port across. and then the timelines. and then maybe sort ages but that is less important #we go by vibes #god actually having ages relative to events might work better than having dates huh.#anyway. there you go. shit's happening it's wild #I also might be picking up streaming again but that's. a whole different thing. need to check w Jess if it's ok bc it's her xbox #did I just try to write exbox lmaooo god i must be tired #chrrist there is so much on the floor in here #I realise I just dumped half of it there. but. something needs Done #just. tomorrow. yeah. anyhow.#tags longer than the post; check. my job here is done

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 2 years

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MASTERMIND- J.B BARNES

Pairing: Boyfriend! Bucky x Virgin! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: you had never been interested in sex, or men for that matter- until you met bucky. now bucky and you had been going strong for months, and there's no one else you’d want to lose your virginity to. now the only challenge was making it seem like you were experienced...

Warnings: SMUT, reader losing her v card, dry humping, teasing, lots of pet names, PRAISE kink, slight playful choking, size kink, breeding kink if u squint real close, aftercare, reader has some anxiety, bucky being a really, really big sweetheart and a charming gentleman. seriously would die for this man.

“so i told you none of it was accidental, and the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me. i laid the groundwork and then saw a wide smirk on your face, you knew the entire time... you knew that i'm a mastermind and now you're mine.”- mastermind, taylor swift

Tonight was the night.

It was the night that would change your life, the night you would be thinking about each time your head hit the pillow, and when you’d wake up in the morning.

The clock continued to tick slowly, almost mockingly as you waited, fingers twisting themselves into a knot. It was life-changing for you, but the same for anyone else. Everyone else continued with their lives, all in their own little fantasy worlds, with their issues and desires.

It was confusing to think about, to wrap your head around. You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs, just for anyone to hear you, so they could offer their advice, or not care at all.

Hey world! I’m a virgin, but my boyfriend doesn't know that! How do I go all the way with him without making it awkward?

But you kept your mouth shut, as you always did about things that mattered most to you.

You sat and waited, like a patient in the waiting room, desperate to get seen. The door remained shut, the doctor refusing to come out. You knew Bucky wasn't supposed to come to your place until later, but the anticipation was killing you.

It fired a pit in your belly, causing you to feel almost lightheaded as you waited, re-churning old worries and anxieties around in your mind like butter.

You were in university, had been for some time now- but you were still a virgin. It made you feel stupid, even though you knew it didn’t matter. Virginity was a social concept.

It was stupid, and dumb, and anyone could do what they wanted with their body whenever they wanted. Despite this, you still felt bad. Memories of your high school friends giggling and rushing to tell you of their sex lives haunted you, and even though you knew it probably was shit sex, at least they were getting some.

You were surprised Bucky hadn't pushed the matter, regardless of the fact the two of you had been together for a few months now. They were the best few months of your life, and he had never made you feel so safe and comfortable in your own skin.

So why was this so nerve-racking?

He was obviously waiting for you to make the first move, to make sure you felt secure with his intentions. You hung your head low, hands coming up to rub your tired eyes as you sighed in the quiet.

This was stupid. You were being stupid.

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“This is stupid.” Bucky called from his spot on the couch, banging the remote with his hand as his head slouched back over the couch back.

The internet had gone out for the second time this week, your landlord refusing to call the company no matter how much his residents complained. You watched the Netflix Error screen pop up on the screen again, the loading screen making Bucky's eyes roll along with it.

“Trust me baby, I know.” you said, popping a blueberry in your mouth, its sweetness exploding in your mouth.

“I guess we won't get to see Andrew Garfield's beautiful biceps after all.” Bucy hummed, tossing the remote so it buried itself in the cushions, a chore the two of you would have to complete when he’d want to watch cartoons with you in the morning.

It sounded lame, but the amount of happiness you got from eating sugary cereal and watching old shows you both watched as kids was exhilarating.

Bucky reached his arms out, an indicator he wanted you to curl up in his lap, a silent order you happily obeyed. “I guess not.” you pouted, trotting over to your personal teddy bear, breathing in his calming cedarwood scent.

His skin was warm to the touch, fingers reaching to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear- lingering just a little longer than they needed to. You smiled as you looked up at him, your legs straddled across his lap, arms linked loosely around his neck.

It was a position you often sat in, his need for personal touch consuming every waking hour when the two of you were together. But this time, it felt almost different- in a way.

There was a secret message intertwined into your touches as you rested your head on his shoulder, nose nuzzling the side of his neck as you hummed softly. You breathed him in, utterly consumed by him as his hands found their place at your sides, repeating the same soothing strokes up and down your body.

It was delicate, but you were hungry.

You didn’t know how to approach this, this overwhelming urge you were feeling.

How was this supposed to start?

You didn’t want to outright tell Bucky, because that felt too weird. Too naked and vulnerable for your liking. You had to hint that you had done this, and that you wanted to do this- because you did.

But you were inexperienced. And you knew that Bucky had experience- which made you feel even more stupid if you messed up.

You were frozen, a realization hitting you all at once that you didn’t know how to even begin to approach this. The endless hours of planning this, planning exactly how and when, and who did not compare to the actual moment at hand.

Bucky sensed this, as he always did- picking up on your sudden small movements. A catch of a breath, a fidget of the hands, the continuous tapping of a foot never got past him. “Sweetheart?”

“Hmm?” you poked your head up, meeting his soft gaze as he studied you intensely. “What’s going on inside that pretty little mind of yours hm?” he asked, large hand coming up to cup your cheek as if the thoughts would trickle out into his palm.

You gnawed on your lip, teeth digging into the flesh as you debated.

Hold it off. You will sound like an idiot. Don’t even think about mentioning it.

“M’just thinking.” you smiled, yet it wavered.

“Just thinkin?”

“Just thinkin.” you replied, thankful he didn’t push you further. Instead, he just kissed you- lips soft and inviting against yours, tasting of peppermint. You moaned, body leaning closer to him on instinct, hips rolling against him.

“I’m gonna find out what's on your mind eventually.” he whispered, making you shake your head in response, a coy little smile plastered across your face like a mask.

“Maybe.” you teased, kissing him again to shut him up. It was a little game you liked to play with him- fighting for that sense of dominance, though deep down you knew he always possessed it.

Bucky’s hands roamed, making you shiver with excitement, his hips bucking up in sync with yours as the minutes dragged on. It was hot and heavy, gasping breaths and teeth and tongue.

But this, this was about as far as it had gotten with you two. This teasing, this edging and dry humping until someone spilled in their pants.

But not tonight.

You didn’t think you could leave it at this tonight.

You decided to take a risk, bringing your hand down to rub across the smooth planes of his stomach, brushing your fingers across the bulge in his pants, making him hiss.

“Doll if you keep doing that I dont think I’m gonna be able to control myself.” he growled gently, forcing your eyes to meet his own predatory gaze.

“I don’t want you to.” you breathed, a hint of a whisper that seemed to blend with the heavy pants, the rise and fall of his chest. An eyebrow was raised, hand sliding up to fit perfectly around your neck as if it were a choker.

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you pretty angel?” he asked, making you nod.

“Yes but- but I’ve never-”

He stopped. Instantly, his hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your heated cheeks with such delicately it was as if you were a petal upon a blooming flower.

“Woah, woah lets step back for a second angel. You’ve never… you’ve never been intimate with anyone before?”

You shoke your head.

This was embarrassing. Holy fuck this was embarrassing.

“No I haven't. I know it's embarrassing and totally lame, I understand if you dont want to do anything anymore.” All he could do was shake his head, shushing your words.

“It's not embarrassing at all. It's kinda hot actually, that I’m the lucky one to get you like this. But angel, are you sure you want to do this… with me? You want it to be with me?”

“Yes.”

Because truth be told, you couldn't imagine doing it with anyone else. You wanted to be Bucky, more than anyone else.

“We can stop at anytime, okay? Don’t feel like we have to do this, or it’s too late to say no. You want to stop, we stop- no questions asked. And tell me if I’m doing something you don’t like, please.” he insisted, making you giggle as he kissed your lips gently.

The breath was stolen from your lungs as you were suddenly swept upwards, definitely gravity as Bucky picked you up in his arms. You wrapped your limbs around him tightly like a koala bear, curious as to where he was taking you.

“Where are we going?” you asked expectantly, watching as he made his way to your bedroom- to the layers of blankets the two of you had tangled in so many times before.

Never like this though.

“I’m not allowing your first time to be on some silly couch angel. I’m gonna take care of my girl.” he cooed, laying down upon the sheets, standing over you with a gleam in his eye.

“So now what?” you breathed, scared on how things would play out next. You weren't quite sure what exactly you truly liked yet. You knew you liked when Bucky was gentle with you, when he would whisper sweet praises in your ears and when he would coax you to an orgasm.

But during actual sex? It was a clean, blank slate.

“Can I take these off sweetheart?” he pointed to your sleep shorts, butterflies in your chest fluttering so hard you could hear them faintly in your ears. You nodded, too scared to say anything, too scared to even breathe in case you woke up and this was all a dream.

Bucky's hands were soft as they slid up your thighs, and you lifted your hips slightly to assist him as he slowly tugged them off- savoring the moment as much as you were.

“There we go.” he smiled as he tossed the shorts to the floor, watching you eagerly slide the shirt off your head to reveal yourself to him.

All that was left was a small scrap of fabric covering you, one that was getting wetter and wetter with each passing second Bucky looked at you like that.

Like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. Like he was mesmerized, like he was hungry and only you could satisfy them. You couldn't help but laugh nervously as he took you in.

“S’beautiful. So, so so pretty, such a pretty girl.” he babbled, raising your leg to rest over his shoulder as he peppered kisses to your inner thigh all the way to your ankle. You couldn't help but let your hands slide up to cup your breasts, closing your eyes in pleasure as you toyed with your nipples.

“That's it baby. Do what makes you feel good.” he groaned, rutting himself against the bed frame as he watched you play with yourself in rhythm with his kisses and scrapes of his teeth against your skin.

“I want you Bucky. Please, want you so bad.” you begged, one hand reaching down to run your fingers through the silk strands, getting lost in the ink.

“Yea? You ready sweetheart?”

“Please.” was all you could whisper, watching with delight as he rose to his full height, towering over you as he undressed himself for you. His shirt was tossed with your shorts, lost to the memory as his belt unbuckled.

This was happening. This was really, truly happening.

So many emotions were rushing through you like a freight train, anxiety, excitement, passion. It was overwhelming, but Bucky understood this.

“We can stop at any time. We can stop right now if you want, baby. I know it can be nerve-racking.” he assured, wanting nothing more for you to be comfortable and happy. Your happiness was his. It was something he often told you, and it brought nothing but a warmth that spread through your body. It felt nice to be cared about, to be looked after and cherished.

“I want this.” you murmured, desire laced in your tone as he leaned over you.

“I want this too. I’ve wanted this since the moment I’ve laid on that gorgeous lil body of yours.”

“Pervert.” you teased, his laughter echoing throughout the room before he peppered kisses across your cheeks, causing your to squirm. “You’re such a minx.” he cooed, kissing you once more on the lips before he slid your panties down your thighs, over your thighs and toes before they were also, like everything else- forgotten.

Your breath seemed to get caught in your throat. The gentle pitter-patter of rain that slid down the windows echoed from the end of a tunnel, the candle you had lit a while back seeming to glow just a bit brighter to highlight the wanderlust in Bucky's eyes.

“Please.” was your only confirmation, your form of consent as he entered you slowly. You gasped, muscles tightening as you clawed his biceps. It was an unfamiliar feeling, intrusive as he moaned softly.

“Shh, just relax angel. Good girl.” he praised as you exhaled, wincing slightly at his size as he stretched you out.

He was big. You had known this, but it was different with him actually inside you.

“Do you wanna stop?” he asked, concerned. You shoke your head. “No, no I’m okay. Just feels weird is all.” you whispered, moaning slightly as he filled you even more, bulge appearing from your stomach.

“You're doing so well for me sweetheart, so so well. M’so proud of you darlin.” he cooed, making the fire in your belly flame that much higher.

Bucky stayed inside you, unwilling to move for a few minutes until he knew you were comfortable. Your nails began to declaw from his arm, little crescent moons doting his muscles as your breath filled your lungs easier.

“Can I move?” he hummed and you nodded, the feeling of pain morphing into some form of pleasure as he shifted.

“Oh fuck-” he moaned, his forehead brushing against yours as he rocked his hips, causing your back to arch, chest brushing his.

“Bucky oh god..” you drawled, finally understanding.

So this was what the hype was about. This is what people lived for, people died for, people killed for. This sense of connection, the closeness you reached, the feeling of bliss. The feelings that sparked inside your core that were new, something that made your head spiral. It was like Bucky had you under some spell, like this was some sort of daydream your body felt so tingly.

“You're so wet angel- n’ so tight-” he gasped as he filled you to the hilt again, finding a gentle, easy rhythm that sent you to the heavens. You were mindlessly babbling, no words coming out of your mouth coherent as your eyes rolled.

“I- love-you-mghm.” you moaned with each thrust, your body jolting as the bed rocked from Bucky's movements. His hand pinned yours above your head, a makeshift handcuff as his lips found yours again, silencing your whines.

“I love you so, so much darlin, so good to me. Just let go for me baby, let go.” he whispered, your body following his commands as you felt the coil break, release washing over you as you clamped down on his cock.

“O-Oh god-” you panted, hiccuping on your noises as you struggled to catch your breath. “Good girl. Good, good girl.” Bucky coaxed you, riding you through your orgasm.

You sensed his breath hitch, his noises getting louder with each shift of the bed frame- and you knew he was getting close. “Inside. I’m on the pill.”

“Oh god baby shit shit shit-” he panted, your words turning him on even more than he thought was possible. His grip tightened around your wrists as he came inside you with a growl of your name, possessiveness seeping out of him from the way he kissed and bit along your collarbone.

You felt full and warm, Bucky’s chant of “I love you, I love you oh god I love you” against your skin making you giggle.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” you smiled.

“Thank you for being the most wonderful, most beautiful girlfriend in the history of the universe.” he teased, freeing your hands from his grip so you could run your fingers through his hair once more, cupping the sides of his cheeks as he always did to you.

You winced slightly as he slowly eased out of you, feeling his cum slowly seep from your abused hole. “I know pup m’sorry, I promise you're okay.”

He kissed you not once, not twice but three times as you pried your squinted eyes open, your body slowly relaxing as he stood. You stared up at the ceiling, watching the blades of the fan spin as the cool air washed over your hot and sticky skin.

Going over so many things in your mind, relief spilling through each aching muscle. You had lost your virginity- and there was nothing to be scared about. It wasn't so much the actual sex you were worried about- more so the stigma you were worried you'd inflict on yourself. Scared you would do something wrong, or worried Bucky would look at you differently after hearing you had never done it with anyone else.

Of course the thought were irrational, you knew this now looking back on them but they were still valid nonetheless.

Bucky's footsteps snapped you out of your trace, and you now realized you were too deep in thought to even notice him leave the room. A smile was plastered on his face, baby blues seeming to glow brighter than they had all night- if that were even possible.

A damp facecloth was in his hand and you watched as he sat down beside you, bed dipping slightly as he brushed the warm cloth between your inner thighs. “So that happened.” you said, as if you were stating a fact at a business conference.

“So that happened. Are you happy that it happened?” he asked and you laughed, hiding your face behind your hands.

“So happy it happened. I wanted this to happen.” you confessed, snuggling into him as he lay down beside you, capturing you in a soft embrace. He kissed the top of your head, wrapping his arms around you tightly, as if he were scared you would let go.

“You’re a mastermind.” he chuckled, the happiness rushing through you so contagious you wondered if everyone else in New York could feel it.

You hoped they did.

You knew they had other plans, other dates and things to stress about, but you hoped just for one second- they could feel the whisper of your giddiness in the wind. It was the kind of giddiness a child got when they ran downstairs on Christmas, seeing Santa had left them one cookie, but enough crumbs so they’d know he was there.

It was the kind of giddiness you only got when you were with Bucky, in his arms.

“What’s on your mind?” he’d ask again, later that night when the moon was high, sleep threatening to tug you under its waves.

And you’d tell him.

You’d tell him every little thing, about how much you loved him, how much you cared for him- how the feelings you had for him were like no other. And he’d kiss you again, drunk off the taste of you, until your lips were swollen and any worry you had were left far behind.

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deadsetobsessions · 4 months

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Listen, I know it’s not my usual thing, but I just re-read Dark Matter by mysterycyclone (iconic, so good, incredible, I’ve reread this at least ten times) and this newer work, Help Me, I Don’t Feel Like Myself Anymore by Astra_Nova_Kat (it’s off to a really good and fleshed out, very long start- it’s like 20k for the first chapter omg).

I just. Love?? Them??? They’re both, urg, so good. The writing style, the way the story moves, the natural progression of plot and their usage of tropes are so well done that rarely does it feel awkward. Amazing. Anyways, they inspired me to put my two cents into the proverbial offering hat and while this might not ever be a realized fanfic, here it is? This will have multiple parts.

Uh, I’m basing Peter’s personality off of the really tired millennial energy Tobey Maguire gives, the awkward but well meaning disaster vibes of Andrew Garfield, and the sassy acrobatic chaos gremlin of Tom Holland. All kind of mushed together with the hyper competence and maturity of both the PS4 spidey and pretty much most spider people. He’s 22, or something but that doesn’t really matter?? Background doesn’t really matter because I’m basically making my own spider-verse. Spider… past? Eh. New Peter!

Spider in Gotham AU- Pt.1

[Pt.2]

——

Spider-Man swung through the skyscrapers of his city, enjoying the winds and sounds of New York as he kept a sharp eye out for crime.

He remembered doing this without any of the fancy tech his suit had now, when he was dressed in less protective clothing. God, 100% cotton while crime fighting? The spandex was better but god ugly.

His spider-sense blared. Spider-man quickly shot a web to the top of the building, going towards the danger instead of away from it.

He goes in feet first, years of knocking common thugs to legitimate gods to the ground making short work of the people on the roof top. He flips out of the way, dodging a blast of crackling green energy.

“Heyyyy, common robbers! What’s up with shiny lasers, huh? Breaking and entering not doing enough for ya?”

Spider-Man dodges a couple more shots, flipping again to knee a guy in the face, gently. The man goes down in one shot.

“Stay still, you motherfucker!”

“Does that actually work for you guys?? Like I’m down to get killed but, man, I’m not gonna stay still to get downed by some two bit thugs?” Spider-Man kept his words light and mocking, webbing up a laser gun and yanking it out of the woman’s hands. He punches her in the face and knocks her out, using the laser gun like a mildly bulky baton.

“Eat shit, Spider-bitch!”

“Ouch! Oh no, my feelings! You’ve hurt them!” Spider-Man shoots a web at the lady who’d shouted and yanked, before smacking her straight down to the concrete of the rooftop. His hearing picked up two people coming up the stairway and Spider-Man tossed two web bombs, the metal mechanism attached itself to the wall, waiting for their unknowing victims.

Spider-Man ducked and weaved, downing goons as they piled on him while shooting bullets, lasers, and just charging at him with a bat or a crowbar. After eight years of pretty much this exact thing, Spider-Man had gotten the science of breaking up goon dog piles without hurting them too much to an exact measurement. He quipped at them until they got annoyed, which made them sloppy. Spider-Man sighed as another guy came at him with a crow bar and a gun that he was pretty sure was still stuck on safety. He crouched, kicking out their legs and dodging a swipe of a bat where his ribs would have been and webbed the guy to the floor. Yeah, he’ll wrap this up and end patrol. Maybe he still had Mac n’ Cheese at home, or he could stop by Angelo’s for a sub?

Huh. His options for dinner was limited.

“Take this!”

Even without the forewarning of his spidey-sense, Spider-Man would have ducked out of the way regardless.

“Shouting your sneak attacks isn’t actually all that sneaky, you know!” Spider-Man kept his voice cheery and mocking.

“Get him!”

God, why were there so many people trying to break into an insurance company? This definitely doesn’t smell like a regular B&E. With the shit he’s seen in New York, if it smells like a plot, acts like a plot, then it’s probably a villain with a tragic backstory with big, annoying plans.

Great.

Oh, speak of the devil!

“Spider-Man.” His senses blared.

He couldn’t move out of the way fast enough, not without risking the life of the goon he was currently fighting, so Spider-Man took the blast the punched the breath out of his lungs. The wide eyes of the goon made up for some of the pain.

“Ugh!” Spider-Man slammed into an HVAC, denting the metal. His suit, made special polymer blend from Wakanda that he saved for months to get, absorbed some of the shock. Shit, he hoped it didn’t tear. It would be a bitch and a half to dip into the back up stock he had in his hammer space.

The goons left standing quickly rushed him and held him down to face the new boss.

“You’ve been getting on my nerves, Spider.”

“Yeah,” Spider-Man coughed out, letting the two goons think they could hold him down on his knees as he recovered his breath. “I have that effect on people.”

“But you could be an asset, if you’d join me?”

“Uh, I don’t join or sign things without knowing what I’m joining or signing, my guy. My lawyer said so.”

The villain paused, helmeted head cocking to the side.

“You have a lawyer?”

“Yeah. Kind of? He does pro-bono work for the helpless cases. You know, like, a well meaning, crime fighting vigilante?”

“…Does he do cases against insurance companies?”

“Oh man, you too? Dude, this place sucks,” Spider-Man sighed.

“You’ve had trouble too? Then you must see why I’m doing this!”

This was a bit weird, but if there’s anything that brings people together, it’d be corrupt insurance companies. He’s almost tempted to let them break in, just to be extra petty.

“Nah, my neighbor? Sweet old lady. They’re screwing her out of her entire place. I totally get it, man. Hey, if you need a referral, you can tell my lawyer that Spider sent you. He’s real good.”

“How good?” The goons release him and Spider-Man stood up, stretching his limbs.

“Like, Dare Devil good.”

“You know Matt Murdock??”

“Sure do.”

“He… he’ll take on our cases?”

“Dang, all of you?”

“Yes. We can pool enough money to pay him for one or two.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure he’ll take you guys on for free. But it wouldn’t hurt if you all went to meet him, just so he can decide which one of you has a higher chance to win in court?”

“We will. Uh.” The villain paused sheepishly. Well, not a villain, more like an unfortunately angry and poor decision making citizen. “Sorry about… you know, the blast.”

“It’s cool. I mean,” Spider-Man gestured to the rooftop, the bodies of unconscious people kind of laying around where he knocked them down. “You guys might wanna check on them, yeah? I’ll let you go for now, but if you commit a B&E again, I’ll leave you webbed up for GCPD to find.”

“Got it. Sorry.”

Feeling good about himself, and plotting corporate espionage, Spider-Man went to help pry some people from his webs.

And of course, because Parker Luck kicks in only when Spider-Man felt like life was looking up for himself, Spider-Man’s senses blared once more as he knelt down to pull at some webbing.

“Oh, shit!” He heard, right before a cold blast of something slammed right into his head, knocking him out.

And Spider-Man

——

Larry looked at the the empty space where Spider-Man, the guy who took a hit from his boss’ blaster so he wouldn’t get hurt, used to be.

He twisted.

“Boss, what the fuck?!”

“Shit! That was accident!” Boss pulled herself up from the concrete, where she just ate dirt.

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know, Larry! That was the experimental warped mode! Crap!” His boss scrambled with the controls, desperately trying to see if the magic gun her magician friend had handed her years ago had a reverse button. It didn’t.

“Why would you bring a test weapon into the field?!”

“I gave you all of my other ones!” She threw up her hands. “Fuck, I feel so bad.”

Larry paled. “Dude, Dare Devil’s gonna kill us.”

“He doesn’t kill!” His boss hesitated. “I think.”

Larry pointed to the empty space. “Yeah? He might start with us. Spidey was a cool guy and you just disappeared him!”

“I know!”

Larry buried his head into his hands and tried not to hate himself for the entire situation.

——

Spider-man woke up, laid flat on the grimy ground of an alleyway.

“Ugh. Just my luck.” He kept his eyes closed for just a beat longer to allow himself time before having to pull his shit together. Why was his voice high? And a bit squeaky? He pulled himself together.

“Okay.” He whispered to himself, before sitting up and taking stock of the situation.

First thing that hit him was that it stunk to high heavens. Gagging, Spider-Man looked to the right and- yeah, that’ll do it. He stood up on wobbly legs to try to move away from the overflowing dumpster.

That’s when the second, more important and decidedly more troublesome, observation hit him.

He’s short. Shorter. And his suit was hanging off of him.

He could tell he still had his normal by now physiology, with the speeding heartbeat and the feeling of super strength. But he’s shorter. With a mounting sense of equal parts dread and resignation, he pulled at the hidden seam by his nape, relying on his both his enhanced senses and spidey-sense to tell if anyone was nearby or looking at him. He pulled the Spider-Man suit off, blankly folding it neatly as he stared dumbly at his hands. They’re small too. Shit. He stumbled to a nearby mud puddle and stared down, seeing his younger face in the contaminated water. Double shit.

He’s starting to loose his composure. He’d gone through a lot of bizarre things over the last eight years. But getting accidentally Detective Conan’ed by a person he just helped was a new low.

The black under layer of his suit, a slash proof and fire resistant polymer Peter had designed himself in MIT’s lab, was in a similar state.

With one hand, Peter Parker numbly rolled up his sleeves and pant hems. Great. Okay. Now what?

Ah. Shoes. He did not want to walk around in his too-big Spider-Man boots. He looked around. Well, there’s the laces of what looked to be like a pair of dumpster shoes. “Yeah, no.”

Shit. Does he still have access to his hammer space?

Peter reached into his pocket, and tried to reach for a pair of normal sneakers. His shoulder slumped as he produced a pair. Fuck yes. He still has access! And shoes! They’re ones he took off of a power line for a well off kid who didn’t want it anymore. He was going to donate them to F. E. A. S. T. but he’s thanking the stars he procrastinated a bit on swinging by the center. He put them on. They’re a bit big, but it’s better than the giant-in-comparison ones he normally wears. You know, as an adult.

He hesitated with his mask. He should at least figure out where he is. He hoped it was still in the states. His mask blinked, the HUD in his lenses informing him that it was trying to find a connection. “That’s weird.” He paused, grimacing at the sound of his voice. But it is weird, because he had his mask automatically connected to the world wide satellites Tony Stark had sent circling the globe for citizens without internet access as a back up option. So either he was somewhere even the Stark Satellites couldn’t reach or…

Peter swallowed, his mask pinging as it found a connection to piggy back on. He clicked his tongue twice to activate the voice controls.

“Connect to the local maps. Where am I?”

His masked followed the order. [Gotham. New Jersey.]

Peter stared at the words, gut churning.

Good news, he was still in the States. Bad news? He’s shrunk, in a totally different state, and possibly in a different world because he’s not connected to the Stark Satellites he knew operated in New Jersey.

Peter Parker tilted his head back and allowed himself one verbal, panic level six and up, curse word.

“Fuck.”

He took off his mask and leaned against a slightly cleaner part of the wall before hyperventilating.

——

Half an hour later, Peter smacked himself on the cheeks and pulled himself together.

“You’re Spider-Man,” he hissed to himself. “Have a mental breakdown somewhere warm, you dumbass.”

Peter Parker was a champion, world class expert at compartmentalization.

He slipped his mask back on, and pulled up his “So You’re Stuck in an Alternate Universe” list he had made with Ned so many years ago when they were high school kids and going through comic books to make contingencies because Peter was a little idiot vigilante hero.

“I didn’t think I’d actually ever need this kind of thing.” Peter muttered. He slipped his black back up gloves on to connect to his mask’s display in order to type.

“Okay,” he glanced at the side by side screens in his lenses. “Money.”

Five things.

1) The emergency cash he’d stashed on him thankfull matched the pictures of cash he’d found on this world’s internet. Yay!

2) He had $1000 tucked away. Not yay. Not if this might be a long term stay before he got back to his own dimension. Not if he wanted a place to sleep.

3) Luckily, thanks to his earlier search of where the hell he was, Peter figured out that due to the high crime rates- “Dang, that’s worse than New York on New Year’s Eve,” he had marveled- Gotham was dirt cheap and that that meant 1k dollars could actually last him a while and he could afford a room for a month on $250. A whole ass apartment for $550. Peter seriously considered staying in this universe just for the rent prices. So what if there’s rampant crimes? He’d deal with it if the rent was that cheap.

4) Problem? He’s fucking tiny. Who would rent to a person that looked like child? Not anyone upstanding, that’s for sure. He’s more likely to get mugged. Counterpoint: he’s in a city where apparently shady people are all around. Also? He doesn’t have an identity.

5) If the fact that he couldn’t connect to the Stark Satellites didn’t convince him he was either in another universe or an alternate dimension, the visual graphics of the websites he visited would. It was like looking at Windows in the early way before Stark Co. bought them out and improved the design. Nauseating.

Okay, so, money’s not too urgent of an issue. Next on Ned’s list: Places of Interest.

Namely, libraries, homeless shelters, crime hotspots, and the like.

Peter snorted when he came across an opinions article talking about how Park Row became Crime Alley. And then he frowned, because that story was not painting this place to be even remotely nice. Then again, considering the crime rates and the various Rogues this place seemed to have in spades, that wasn’t much of a surprise. Peter marks the place in his new mental map of Gotham as a potential area he could either disappear to or get a new identity at. He then marked the libraries, Gotham City Public Library and its many branches all funded by generous donations from a Bruce Wayne, the Martha Wayne foundations’ shelters and charities, two supermarkets near the library, and a coffee shop he thought looked warm and cozy from the shitty pictures they have uploaded online. He needed coffee, dammit, and he needed it hours ago. Alas, he probably wouldn’t get to go to one until he secured his finances.

Well, it’s not like he doesn’t have practice being poor.

3) Which brings him up to Ned’s next, surprisingly reasonable for a teenager hoped up on a mountain load of sugar, point. Level of Tech.

Peter hid next to the dumpster, melding in with the shadows, as he continued his research.

Tech here was… well, he probably wouldn’t have to worry. The thought of not having a Starkphone, even his older model, was painful considering the new versions of these WaynePhones were really… behind. Peter doesn’t remember the last time he had buttons on his phone or let alone a touch screen that didn’t use facial tracking and biometrics or even have a holographic display mode.

“Ugh. Okay. Not the end of the world, Parker.” Peter muttered.

Now… People of Interest.

This was underlined three times with Ned’s red pens, with extensive subcategories.

Subcategory A? Villains, because “what if they put out a warning for a known villain and you get your butt kicked because you didn’t know about them, Peter? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?”

He had replied, half focused on the list and the other on savoring the Millennium Falcon Lego set May had saved up for months to get him for his birthday, “I feel like if I was getting my butt kicked by a villain, I’d probably have better things to worry about than my utter humiliation, Ned.”

“True that,” Ned had snicked and jotted it down anyways.

And… well, Gotham had a lot of villains. The Joker (ew, that’s a crusty man in crustier face paint. This guy could learn so much from the cool mimes busking in Central Park. Like, how to do face paint. Or how not to be a massive murderous jerk. There’s Clayface, Two-Face, a bald guy in “Metropolis” (a name Peter couldn’t help but snort at because a city named city? That’s like na’an bread being bread bread. Or chai tea being tea tea) named Lex Luthor, and Scarecrow. He tabbed all of them and marked them for further perusal at a later date. From experience, he knew villains with a prominent M.O. and themes usually did more damage. Case in point: Rhino, and the million dollars of property damage the guy did everytime he escaped the Raft. Peter was seriously considering petitioning for the Raft to be placed further out just so he could have more warning the next time some assholes decided to free the prisoners and helped them escape.

He narrowed his eyes at the screen, his mask’s lenses following the movement. He’ll have to pick up a gas mask. Apparently bio-weapons are just a regular thing here and he really didn’t want to get dosed with this “fear toxin.” It’d be dangerous for everyone involved. Maybe if he gets his hands on a sample, he could build up tolerance and see how his immune system and metabolic rates affected the normal progression of the toxin. Ah, off topic. He’s gotta focus.

Subcategory B: Local celebrities.

“Why would I need to know local celebrities?” He’d asked.

“If someone came up to you and asked “Who’s Tony Stark?”, wouldn’t you clock that as super weird? You gotta blend in, Peter. Plus, you gotta keep up with the pop culture, dude. It’s important.”

“You just want alternate universe memes,” Peter grinned.

“That too. If you ever go to an alternate universe and come back, you’d better bring me a truckload of memes or I’ll never forgive you.”

Yeah. So. Wayne? Super important. Like Tony Stark levels of important. He found threads about them and the local vigilantes and their charity works. Peter’s brain instantly catalogued the info, all but memorizing the deluge of pictures he found of Bruce Wayne and his kids. Maybe the man had an adoption problem? Conspiracy threads and memes popped up alongside his research. He tabbed one on secret societies, because as Spiderman, he had fought a disturbing amount of secret societies that, on hindsight, had been theorized about on threads he’s read on his free time. Somehow, somewhere, somewhen, a conspiracy theorist could be right. Peter’s not about to dismiss that. He also saved like thirty different memes to send to Ned when he got back. If he got back.

Peter smacked that thought away. He’ll get back to his city or die trying.

Subcategory C, underlined and starred: Other Superheroes and Vigilantes.

Yeah, Peter’s excited about this one too. After Matt stopped being Dare Devil (but did he actually ever stop?) and Wade dipping in and out of NY, Peter’s gotten lonely as Spider-Man. He missed training with them. Of course, the fantastic four were still operating, but he doesn’t actually interact with them or the Avengers at all. Miles hasn’t been cleared (by his mom) to go out as Spiderman with near as many hours as Peter cleared a night. Peter stood behind that because he remembered how horrible it was to work as Spiderman and try to balance school on top of it. Also, he was terrified of Mrs. Morales and would never endanger her son more than he already does. He did wave to Black Widow from a rooftop once, spider to spider, and that was pretty much the coolest moment of his life.

So. Uh. The amount of vigilantes and heroes in this world? Amazing. In Gotham? There’s like, a whole team of them.

Batman, Nightwing (who, Username: Draken Draken had theorized, was the first iteration of Batman’s sidekick Robin), Red Hood, Black Canary, Huntress, Red Robin, Spoiler, the “day vigilante” Signal, the current Robin, and whispers of a “Black Bat.”

And their unfortunate “No Meta” rule with the singular exception of Signal. Peter figured their term of Meta was essentially the same thing as his world’s mutants. He’s not sure which term he liked more. Eh, he’ll worry about that later.

And there’s a Justice League! Which, to Peter, is just a bigger Avengers. There’s aliens on this world too. Superman. Martian Manhunter.

Peter grinned from his place crouched next to the dumpster. Yeah, this is awesome. He quickly memorized everything he could find, cross referencing posts and picking out the nuggets of truth or at least popular truth from the posts he viewed. Like, Red Hood operated in Crime Alley and was a crime boss with morals. Cool.

He’ll go down the spiral later. He mentally thanked Ned who was the best guy in the chair a teenage vigilante could ask for. He should really text his friend when he got back.

For now, he’ll head to the library and see if he could use their computers. He might need a card though… Peter quickly pulled up the search engine and found an Internet cafe. Ah, 24 hour internet cafes, the savior of his college days. There first, and then library, Peter decided. He memorized the instructions and pulled his mask off, tucking it away in the hammer space.

He walked out the alley and turned left, only to double take at his reflection in a shop window that was partially boarded up. Holy shit, he’s a baby. He’s like. 10!

Oh my god.

Peter twitched, tearing himself away from the window before the shop owner decided he was less curious and more potential mugger before promptly remembering that he looked less of a threat than ever. Mixed feelings.

Peter hurried his way to the internet cafe, paying the guy at the front a little extra so he’d ignore the obvious minor without a guardian thing Peter hasn’t gotten used to. Ugh. That was going to be annoying. He only paid for two hours and pulled up as many listings for a room as possible. By the end of it, he came out with $1 worth of fliers printed out and having funneled some billionaire’s offshore accounts into a new bank account he’d made by hacking into the bank servers. Does he feel bad about stealing? Yeah. But Peter’s a vigilante. He’s done worse than nabbing a monthly sum of a couple of hundreds from Lex Luthor’s off shore accounts. He’s not gonna get caught, and considering the guy’s rants on meta humans, Peter’s not feeling particularly guilty about it. He’ll do something good later to make up for it. Once he gets his footholds and can prepare his way back, he’ll even return to the rest of the money. Probably.

Peter left the cafe with his sheaf of flyers, stopping by an informational stand with free tourist maps and plucked one quickly from its plastic holder. He’ll pick something up from the food vendors on his way to the apartments. Peter began walking, taking in the sights of the gargoyles and-

“Nope!” He caught the wrist of a pickpocket. It’s a kid and he immediately felt bad.

“Lemme go. I ain’t done nothing to ya, ya Yorker tourist.”

“Okay,” Peter shrugged. “Don’t get caught the next time?”

The kid gaped at him. “Shi’, you must be really good at it. I’ve never been caught before.”

Peter wisely refrained from telling the kid it was due to his spidey-sense. He let go of the kid’s wrist and let a bit more of his accent out. “Why’d you need money anyways?”

“Food, duh.”

“Dude, I’m starving. Tell you what. You show me the best sub shop nearby and I’ll pay for your food. Deal?”

The kid stared at him, wide eyed. “You’re fuckin’ nuts. Why’re you being nice?”

“I’m hungry? Do we have a deal, kid?”

“… Fuck it. Fine. And don’t call me kid, shrimp. You’re like what, eight?”

Oh. Yeah. Peter’s a kid now. He shrugged.

“I’m older than you. I’m twelve.”

Peter blinked, frowning at how thin the kid’s wrists were.

“I’m Peter!”

“… Frank.”

He let Frank lead the way. Stranger danger doesn’t apply to him, he’s a grown ass man. In the body of a ten year old him, but still. A couple of minutes, four sandwiches and a load of chips later, Frank was watching wide eyed as he demolished three four dollar subs.

“Holy shit. Where are you packing that away? You’re a stick!”

Peter took a big bite of the sandwich as an answer. Frank looked down at his meal.

“Uh. Hey.”

Peter made a muffled noise of question, mouth stuffed full of steak and cheese.

“Sorry about. Uh. Trynna nick from ya.”

Peter chewed faster.

Frank continued, looking like he hated himself. “I wouldn’t… normally steal from shrimps like you but I was desperate and… really hungry, so. My bad.”

Peter finished chewing. “All good, dude. Eat your sandwich.”

Peter had the sudden urge to adopt Frank. Unlike Wayne, he’s not a billionaire, so he smacked that urge down. He could use a friend though. Now… how to be friends with a literal child!

“If you feel that bad about it, you could… be my friend?”

Peter took in the wide eyed gaze from the twelve year old in front of him. Abort! Abort! That was too direct!

“You’re fucking weird. But… okay.”

“That was easy.”

Frank scowled, kicking Peter’s shin.

“Ow!”

“Whatever, shrimp.”

Peter scowled. On his baby face, it came out as a pout.

Do not start beef with a twelve year old, Peter. You’re a grown ass adult.

“Hey, you know I’m new here, right?”

“Duh.” Frank took a bite of his food.

“Can you tell me which one of these are legit?” Peter handed Frank the flyers. He took them, an odd look passing his face.

“You’re looking for a place?”

“Yeah? Why?”

Frank stared at him. Looked back down. He instantly got rid of four listings out of the ten. “These are too close to the Alley. They’re probably traffickers.”

Peter hummed in agreement. Frank paused.

“You’re just gonna trust me on that?”

“Yeah? I can tell when people are lying.” Well, his spidey sense could, when he cared enough about the subject.

“What the fuck.” Frank shoved the rest the papers at him and guiltily munched on his food. “Are Yorkers all just like you?”

“Dunno? Probably not.”

“… Whatever. The rest of the places should work. They probably won’t ask questions.” Frank flapped a hand at Peter’s new situation. Yeah, the shortness was getting to him too.

Peter nodded. Obviously, they were the more expensive places, but considering the new found resources he’d… acquired during his time at the cafe, it doesn’t really matter.

“Cool! Wanna go see it with me?”

Frank immediately took on a suspicious glare. “Why?”

“I dunno? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought since you know your way around…”

“Ugh. Fine. But if there’s anything shady, I’m fucking dipping out.”

“Okay!” Peter grinned for the first time the couple of hours he’d been trapped in this new world.

——

They’d found an apartment with a landlord that got a weird, sad face when she was talking to them about the apartment. After like, an hour of walking around and Peter’s spidey sense screaming at him not to even go near the places Frank had left in the pile of maybe’s.

“We walked all the way here. Ya not even gonna go in?”

“The vibes are off. It’s a no.”

And because Peter’s a genius idiot with no self preservation, he’d marked the places to investigate later.

Frank had blinked at him, mildly offended and nonplussed. After a while of spluttering, he just gave up. Eventually, they got here.

“I don’t normally rent to kids,” the landlord lady said. Peter immediately liked her. “But I’ll make an exception if you’ve got the cash.”

“I’d like to see the unit first, please” Peter said. He’s not stupid, and Gotham’s renting scene is both easier and harder than New York.

They toured it. Peter? He’d seen worse. He’d lived worse. Also, it had two bedroom and was $620. Yeah, Peter was really considering just staying here full time and commuting to his New York when he wanted to be a vigilante.

“I’ll take it, ma’am.” The landlord and Frank both snorted, sharing a Gothamite look.

“It’s Georgie, to you, brat. You just need the first month’s rent, since I’ll wave the deposit for you shrimps. Utilities included. Your friend stayin’?”

“No-” Frank had started.

“Yep!” Peter beamed, interrupting his new friend.

“What?” Frank turned, gaping again at this weird little kid who had enough money to rent a place and then invited a whole ass street kid he just met to live with him. “Are you stupid?! What if I rob you? Huh? I don’t need charity!”

Peter slowly looked around the empty unit.

“Uh.”

“No, that’s not the point!” Frank pointed a finger at Peter. “That’s how you get yourself killed!”

“But that’s why you should stay! I don’t know my way around Gotham so…”

Peter looked up at Frank, using his shortness for maximum devastation. “Please?”

Georgie leaned back on the heels of her feet, silently laughing. It’s not every day she sees a Gothamite street kid get out stubborned by an outsider, but she knows better than anyone that Gotham is weak to genuine kindness. And this Peter kid, the one that reminds her so much of her own? He’s practically filled with it.

“Yeah, kid,” she said to Frank, snickering. “Look at him. He’s gonna get mugged two steps into the Alley. Or anywhere.”

Frank flailed, but eventually, Peter handed over the money to an amused Georgie who gave them two keys in return and a move in gift of a pot pie.

“I gotta. Uh. Go get my stuff.” Frank had mumbled, dazed at whatever the hell just happened.

“Okay! I’ll see if I can go get furniture!”

“And lift them with your shrimpy arm? You wish.”

“I can use a cart.”

And really, he could, because Gotham had a lot of abandoned carts laying around. Like a concerning amount.

“Can you even reach the handle?”

“I’m not that short!”

Frank snorted, Georgie’s own chuckles following a beat after. Peter scowled at them.

“Be right back,” Frank promised, holding the key like it was treasure. He had been homeless for two and a half years now, so in his eyes, that key was as good as gold. He had somewhere warm to stay. Trying to pickpocket Peter was the best mistake he’s ever made in his short life. But he didn’t want to take advantage of that, well, no, he did want to, but he doesn’t want to take the genuine kindness for granted so he’ll see if there’s any street furniture he could haul back on his way.

“Okay!”

Georgie watched him go and turned to Peter.

“If you need stuff, there’s a thrift store and a grocery store that way.” She gave him the directions.

——

As soon as Frank and Georgie left, Peter immediately left his new place (and holy shit, he really didn’t expect things to be this easy. In New York, he had to spend at least a week checking out places because he had to figure out whether the problem that cause subtle twinges with his spider sense was worth living with. Here? It’s too obvious.) to buy supplies. He had $400. Until his new card came in, at least. He’d put his new address into that bank account addressed to a “Anthony Benjamin” before ordering a “replacement card.”

Peter ran to the thrift store, hurrying before the last traces of the sun dipped below the smog of Gotham. A frankly absurd amount of blankets, towels, pillows, clothes, packaged boxers, socks and shoes around his size went into the cart. To his chagrin, Peter couldn’t actually see much over the cart. Why the hell was he such a short ten year old? He blasted through the store, also guesstimating Frank’s sizes. He tossed in curtains, a used set of glow in the dark stars, and a lamp.

He also grabbed mismatched mugs, bowls, a bundle of cutlery, and a dented microwave he casually pretended to struggle getting onto the bottom part of the cart. It’s like lifting grapes for him, but he looks like a ten year old so…

He, guiltily, bought a mildly fancy camera in a set, with two separate lenses, even if one was cracked.

Not bad, for $150 total. Peter is going to definitely seriously consider commuting to New York. They didn’t even care when he walked out with the cart! Well, that might be because of the cashier who gave him a pitying glance.

He stopped by a general store on the way back, parking his cart in a rapidly shadowy alleyway. He swung by the new section of the store that reminded him of a Dollar Tree and got cleaning supplies, toiletries, and two pans and a pot. He grabbed some canned food and a couple of frozen meals in the back. Seasonings, ramen, general pantry staples went in. A role of paper towel. Nice. Venom would have loved this store. With half of his budget blown for essentials, Peter quickly cut his spending off and

He quickly gathered his stuff and went back to the apartment, using his strength a bit to lift the full cart up the stairs at the front doors and into the elevator. It creaked like the first time they used it to go see the apartment, but it worked. Peter set everything up in the living room, pillow and blanket wise, and put everything in its proper place. The lamp was put up, giving more light than the old bulb in the ceiling light.

All Peter wanted to do was pass out, but since his dumbass took in a child, he couldn’t sleep until this place was relatively fit for a kid to live in. He also wanted to wait for

So, that’s what he did. Taking a sponge and the cleaning supplies he’d picked up earlier, Peter tackled the living room, scrubbing away at old stains and spraying mildew. He marked trouble spots- like that splinter worthy piece of floor next to the doorway leading to the hall between the bedrooms. Then the kitchen. By the time Frank cautiously peeked his head in from the front door, Peter had already finished scrubbing the over.

“Hey.”

Peter turned, grime on his face but grinning. “Hey!” I bought some stuff!”

Frank snorted at his face before glancing around the living room, eyeing the cart parked neatly on the side.

“So you did. Didn’t get mugged, did ya?”

“Rude. No, of course not.”

Frank gave him a… frankly… unimpressed look and dumped his bag next to the pile of blankets and pillows Peter had piled onto the floor. Sue hi’, they didn’t have beds yet.

“Got somethin’ for ya,” Frank said neutrally before dragging in…

“A coffee table!” Peter bounced towards Frank, hugging him before lugging in the heavy wooden table in. “You’re the best! Where’d you find it?!”

The tension, anxiety about Peter’s reaction, in Frank’s shoulders relaxed and the kid grinned. “Alley. Some asshole just left it there for anyone to hit with their car so I took it.”

“Nice! We can eat on this!”

——

When they were getting ready for bed, Peter insisting on showers for both of them, Frank had reared up at the clothes Peter bought for him. Peter pretended like he didn’t see anything and shove a whole tube of toothpaste and a new toothbrush at him.

“Ew. Do I have to?” Frank asked, wrinkling his nose but taking the items anyways.

“Yeah.” Peter said seriously. Frank gave a moment to wonder why he was taking orders from an eight year old before shrugging. He could brush his teeth in exchange for a roof over his head, food, and clothes. It’s not even a fair trade, for Peter, anyways. Frank was enough of an alley rat to take advantage of that.

——

When Frank passed out, Peter couldn’t sleep. He’s exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep.

So he took his new camera and climbed the fire escape to the roof top.

An hour later, he met his first vigilante.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m gonna need you to back away from the edge.”

“Woah!” Peter startled, jolting slightly off of the ledge he was balanced on. He twisted around to see Red Robin, hand outstretched and panicked look in his eyes.

“Dude. Warn a guy!” Peter said, even though his spider sense warned him of an approaching person that was actively watching him.

Red Robin held his hands up. “My bad. Would you- uh, not be on that ledge?”

“Yeah, sure. My bad, bro.” Peter obligingly stood up and stepped away from the ledge. Red Robin relaxed then did a double take. Peter frowned. Is there something on his face?

“What are you doing up here, kiddo? It’s late.”

Peter decided to scope out the vigilante. “Couldn’t sleep,” he held up his camera. “I’m taking pictures.”

“Oh. That’s cool! Can I see?” Red Robin approached warily, but relaxed when Peter didn’t spook and try to take a shortcut to ground floor.

“Sure! It’s a new, well, not new but new to me, camera so I haven’t had all that time to mess with the specs but the pictures turned out pretty good-”

“Oh, woah. This one’s great. That composition? Amazing. You caught the light perfectly,” Red Robin complimented. Peter brightened, knowing a photography fan when he hears one.

“Photography buddy!” He cheered.

They talked for an hour after that, but Red Robin quickly sent him to bed once he remembered the time.

“Ah, shi- crap. It’s like 2AM. You’ve gotta go to bed.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry if I interrupted your patrol, Mr. Red Robin!”

“No problem, kid.” Peter slipped back down the fire escape, not caring if the vigilante saw where he lived.

——

Up on the rooftop, Red Robin pressed a hand to his comm.

“Red Robin to Nightwing.”

“What’s up, Red?”

“Do you have a kid you don’t know about?” Tim said, bluntly.

“… What?”

“Oracle, can you share my cowl footage?”

“Copy. Oh, that kid…”

“Looks exactly like Wing?” Tim said, peering down at the empty fire escape. “Yeah. Talked like him too.”

“Oh my god, he’s adorable.” Oracle said. Tim agreed. That curly hair? Baby face? Adorable. A bean. “Did you get DNA?”

“Ah, shit, I knew I forgot something.”

“Do not break into his place and nab a hair,” Nightwing reprimanded, but his voice sounded distracted.

“Holy shit, you guys nerded out about camera placement and lighting for an hour?” Hood piped up.

“Get some rest, Red Robin. You’ve been working too hard,” Batman grunted through the comms. Awkward… but he’s been getting better at communicating his worry for his kids.

“Sure thing, B. Heading back to the main cave. Red Robin out.

——

Peter: lay low and get home

Also Peter: talks to a vigilante

None of them think Peter’s Nightwing’s yet. Peter will know before them… eventually. Once this world’s version of him gives up his memories to be absorbed by AU Peter.

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coco-loco-nut · 15 days

Text

Book Club - Part 7

Pairing: The Grid x Reader, Lance x Reader

Summary: reader in a crash, book club dads worried af abt her

requests open masterlist

——————

You felt nervous going into Spa, a feeling that you just couldn’t shake. You had talked to Kimi about it and even crashed the Haas garage to talk to your best friends, but nothing could shake the pit as you climbed into the pit as the light rain started. Max looked at you and gave you a thumbs up before getting into his car.

You’ve never done great at Spa, the only reason you are P4 is because of the rocket ship that is you car. That was one lap, this is 44 laps. You release a shaky breath and focus on the lights above you. Not even 10 laps later the pit in your stomach increases due to the increased rainfall. You can’t get rid of the feeling despite your intense concentration on driving.

My tires aren’t going to last much longer, I’m losing grip.

Copy, Y/n, push one more lap then we will bring you in.

By the time you reported the tire conditions you were already mostly through sector three. You resteel yourself and push the car as hard as you could while managing the tires.

It’s when you enter sector two that you panic a little. You are losing grip faster than you thought and have begun fighting the steering.

GUYS SOMETHING IS HAPPENING

Y/n?

Y/n? Are you okay? Y/n!

Your wheels lose grip to the track and send you into the wall. It’s a nasty crash that immediately red flags, the debris across the track plus the rain increasing was enough for the FIA to red flag it. Your head is pounding and your vision a little blurry. Only when your ears stop ringing do you hear the radio.

Fuck, yeah I’m okay

You slur the words and pull yourself out of the car, immediately collapsing when you stand up as everything fades to black.

Lance, slow down, red flag, red flag.

Andrew? Who was that, don’t tell me it was Y/n. Fuck, is my wife ok?

It was her, no word back yet. Nothing over her radio from what we can tell.

Andrew, I need to know. Is. She. Ok.

She just said she was ok over the radio. There is debris across the track, stop the car and a marshall will get you back to the garage.

Shit, that’s bad. Andrew, what are you hiding from me?

Lance stops the car and gets out when it is safe to do so, as indicated by the marshal, but his heart drops when he sees you being put into ambulance.

“Mr Stroll, please let me at least let me get you back to the garage,” the marshal senses that he wants to fun over to the scene. Lance reluctantly goes back to the garage where he immediately pulls out of the race and goes to the hospital where they are taking his wife.

Max, Y/n crashed behind you, red flag.

Shit, is she okay?

No confirmation yet, make your way back to the pit lane.

Max feels his heart drop. He knew how uncomfortable you were going into the race and he would do anything to go back and time and tell her not to race. The red flag ended the race, and every driver had a similar reaction to Max and Lance. Max felt sick that that’s how he won, and he said as much in the post-race interviews. It was visible how much he and the paddock cared about you. Every one of your grid dads, as you affectionately called them when talking to Max, came over to him asking for updates, hoping Max would know more since he was your teammate.

“Lance, take a seat, pacing won’t help,” Kimi tells Lance, equally worried and frustrated at the lack of information as they wait in the hospital. Kimi was already on his way after the phone call this morning, this wasn’t what he expected when he touched down. Half the grid is sitting in the room, their legs bouncing or anxiously conversing.

“Mr. Stroll,” a nurse says, causing the both of them to hop up and walk to the desk.

“Who is Mr. Stroll?” she asks and Lance slightly raises his hand.

“I am, this is her father,” Lance says, the nurse motions for the two of them to follow.

“The doctor is in the private room waiting for you,” she closes the door behind Lance and Kimi.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Janssens. I have a bit of good and bad news. Good news is that Y/n only has a mild concussion, some whiplash, sprained wrist, and a small hairline fracture of the wrist. Bad news is that she’ll be out of racing for at least a month,” both Kimi and Lance cringe at the news.

“That’s all? It was a nasty crash,” Lance asks a bit skeptically, looking at your sleeping figure.

“Based on tests and scans, we have ruled out any head, neck, and back breaks. We have her pain meds, which is why she’s sleeping. She will likely be under observation for another day or two,” the doctor says, trying to relay the information in a delicate manor.

“Thank you,” Kimi dismisses the doctor, a hand resting on your shoulder. He and Lance sit in silence for a minute, gathering feelings and thoughts.

“She looks so peaceful,” Lance says softly, holding his sleeping wife’s hand.

“I’ll give you a moment while I talk to Christian and the drivers. Think about when you want to make a statement. I may hate the media, but you don’t want them to be hounding the hospital,” Kimi says before stepping out. Kimi and Christian quickly come to an agreement about the seat, the later not wanting to lose out on his second driver. The grid takes the news relatively well, but they all know how lucky they were, especially you. Pierre and Charles may have been handling it the worst.

“Kimi, will you look over this statement?” Lance asks, knowing the older man is an expert in saying things vaguely.

All-

We want to thank you for your support following Y/n’s crash. She is currently in the hospital under the care of great doctors. We are thankful that she is okay and look forward to a smooth recovery.

- The Räikkönens and Strolls

“Looks fine to me, I will take care of the outside stuff. You focus on our girl,” Kimi goes into Dad mode, sending the message to Red Bull and Lawrence. He posts the statement first on his account, Red Bull and Lawrence following shortly afterwards. Red Bull edited it slightly to reassure fans that you still had your seat waiting for you.

“Lance? You ask as you wake up, wincing from the pain. The room is dimmer, as to not strain you.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” he says softly, brushing hair from your eyes.

“Everything hurts,” you groan.

“Going into the wall will do that to you, you got lucky,” Kimi says from beside Lance.

“Dad? What did the doctor say, when can I get back into the car?” your vision slightly blurry as your eyes adjust to being awake.

“You have a concussion, whiplash, wrist sprain, and a hairline fracture. You’ll be out for about a month,” Kimi says, heart aching.

“Some of the guys are here? Want me to bring them in?” Lance asks, doing his best to distract you from the amount of time you will be out.

“Yeah,” you verbally confirm, not able to nod your head due to the neck pain. Lance leaves the room to grab the grid.

“I’m sorry, crashes like this are the worst,” Kimi tells you, clearly still affected by your crash.

“Thanks for being here, you didn’t have to leave everyone for me,” you says softly, thinking about your family back in Finland.

“They want to know that you are ok, and you are still my daughter, of course I will be here,” he replies, his softer side showing.

“I didn’t mean to scare everyone. Robin, Rianna, and Grace weren’t watching, right?” you panic a little, scared for their young minds.

“No, they know you are hurt, but they think it’s just a boo boo,” Kimi reassures you. The grid comes in and sufficiently distracts you, happy to know you’re okay.

You spend the next month in Finland with Kimi and your family, working back to 100%. Kimi takes you karting when you are almost fully recovered, getting you back to normal. Lance visits when he isn’t racing.

“Sissy, why do you have to go?” Robin asks, you tested in F1 cars again and got the green light to race again.

“I have to go drive in circles really really fast, just like Papa used to,” you crouch down to his level. Your sisters equally sad at your departure.

“What if you get a boo boo again?” Rianna asks, and you pause, thinking about how to explain it well.

“Do you stop going to the park even after your fall and get a boo boo there? Sometimes we get hurt, but that’s ok,” you don’t promise that you won’t get hurt, that’s not a promise you can keep. Rianna nods, understanding but sad you aren’t staying.

“Will Lancie come back next time?” Robin asks, not wanting to let you go.

“He will, I’ll be back in a couple weeks, it’ll fly by,” you give you siblings one last hug. Kimi hugs you goodbye as well, he spent the past week going over the track with you and talking about strategies.

When you get to the track, you are stopped by every driver, asking how you are and saying how much they missed you.

“Welcome back,” Fernando greets you when you walk into the club meeting.

“I listened to the audiobook, let’s get this party started,” you smile, happily listening to Lewis and Daniel fight about some symbolism. Your boys pampered you for your return. George brought you coffee from Mercedes, Logan brought you a pastry that he picked up from a bakery. Valtteri gave you some home remedies for your sore muscles that he swore works wonders. Kevin and Nico just hugged you but that was enough for you.

“Max was freaking out, he chewed out the Red Bull team for not pitting you earlier,” Daniel tells you, having filled in for you while you were hurt.

“That’s nice of him,” you smile to yourself. Lewis had also been vocal in interviews about how your crash could’ve been prevented if the race had ended sooner due to the rain.

“Y/n! Have a second?” a reporter asks and you nod.

“See you later, Danny,” you wave goodbye to him and approach the mic.

“Thanks for joining me, I just have a couple quick questions. First off, how are you feeling?”

“I’m really good, a little sore, but itching to get into the car again,” you reply, not giving away more than that regarding your injuries.

“You certainly seemed to scare the grid when you weren’t responding after the crash. How has your welcome back been?” the reporter pushes for more information.

“They’ve been great, they all came to the hospital to visit and have taken great care of me today. I obviously feel bad for scaring them, but they are the best competitors I could ask for,” you smile, before leaving the interview.

“Welcome back, kid,” Max hugs you when you walk into the Red Bull motorhome. You sing Super Max when you see him, having spent the last month listening to the silly songs that have been written for the drivers

“Thanks Maxie. Who is the better teammate, me or Daniel?” you grin, putting the dutchman in a tough spot.

“Daniel, for sure,” Max jokes. Your jaw drops and you turn around, leaving to go to another motorhome. You find yourself in McLaren, singing Let’s Go, Lando, with Lando himself who was happy to join in with your under-the-breath singing. Oscar wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh at or murder the two of you.

“What brings you to our home?” Oscar asks once you both stop singing.

“Max said he liked Daniel more than me as a teammate,” you pout, not revealing that you knew he was joking.

“Right, I’m texting Lance,” Oscar shakes his head with a laugh, leaving you and Lando to chat.

“Y/n, love, you just healed, let’s not get hurt by forcing McLaren security to kick you out,” Lance laughs when he sees you and Lando bonding.

“Noooo, we were just becoming friends, she never hands out with drivers that are her age,” Lando whines. You give him an ick face.

“For good reason, you are all icky,” you quickly turn to Lance, “not you, baby,” you smile and turn back to Lando, “why would I hang out with you all and party after races when I can spend time with the older drivers whose company I prefer,” your eyebrow quirks.

“Say what you want, I’ve seen you at our parties. You have more fun than Lance,” Lando grins.

“Alright Lance, let’s go,” you get up, Lance assisting you since you are still a little slow due to the aches still in your muscles. He walks with you hand in hand back to Red Bull where your trainer helps work out your neck muscles and tape your neck and wrist.

“Let us know if you are feeling pain, if you have to pull out of free practice early, pull out. There is no shame if you are hurting,” Christian tells you, before you get to your car.

“I know, I’ll let you know,” you smile, feeling good in the car. After FP1, all of your grid dads found you after weigh ins, checking you over.

“Mi hija, are you okay? Does anything hurt? How is your hand,” Fernando asks, filling his usual position as the overprotective grid dad.

“A little sore, yeah,” you groan as you roll your shoulders.

“Don’t do that, let’s get you to an ice bath, then some heat,” Kevin says. Lance and your trainer don’t bother checking in on you.

“Let’s have a, well what your would call, a girls night. Help you recover,” Lewis suggests. And that’s how you spend the next few nights, in pajamas, with fluffy blankets, alternating cold and heat on your neck, watching movies of books you had read with the club.

“Petition to make this an occurrence each race?” Valtteri proposes at one point, getting eight voices in agreement back. They did a wonderful job of helping you recover, and the encouraging phone calls to Kimi helped you feel more than ready to race when race day approaches.

“IT’S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO! GREAT START FROM RÄIKKÖNEN!” The announcer yells into the mic as you gain a few places, toe to toe with Max.

Can I race?

Permission to Race, give em hell, Y/n

You end up winning the race with a 1-2 finish, pulling a Carlos Sainz and Ferrari after his appendix removal. Your first F1 win.

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #daniel ricciardo #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid #george russell #logan sargeant #max verstappen #valtteri bottas #kimi raikkonen #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll #lewis hamilton #nico hulkenberg #kevin magnussen

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crimsonred-hi · 4 months

Text

Freckles

Pairing: Andrew Hozier-Byrne x Reader

Warnings: none

Request: yes/no

Summary: the summers in Ireland are slowly getting hotter, and that makes the garden seem more inviting.

The summers are getting warmer. Is that a good thing, who knows, but for Andrew it means he gets to see his girlfriend bask in the sun, making her skin glow.

He watches from the kitchen window, smiling dreamily at her sitting in the grass notepad and pen in hand. She glows in the light: in only some denim shorts and a sports bra, to combat the heat. He can’t stay away for long, so he doesn’t.

With in a minute he’s slotting himself behind her on the grass, draping his arms around her hips, resting his cheek on her shoulder. She smiles down at him, but doesn’t speak, just going back to her notepad. The calm of the scene makes his breathing slow and his heart race, his fingertips moving gently across her hips, her waist and her stomach, with his nose pressed into her shoulder.

Kisses, he starts to kiss her bare shoulder, taking in the smell of flowers and pollen she’s taken in from being outside so much. Lips pressed into every freckle, blemish, stretch mark he can find on her shoulders, moving her hair out of the path his lips are taking.

She leans back into him, leaning her head back against his shoulder so they can contact their eyes,

“What are you doing, Andrew…?”

He hums, not answering the question, instead moving forward to press his lips to hers. When he pulls apart he rubs his bearded cheek against her smooth cheek, making her laugh at the coarseness of his hair.

“You look lovely in the sun…”

He mumbles his words into her skin, leaving more kisses over her. Nuzzling his nose into her, making her giggle because it tickles.

“Stop, Andrew! That tickles! Stop!”

Her laughs and giggles are nothing but music to his ears, nothing but sweet music. Be he stops when she starts showing signs of her body hurting from laughing, he just holds her close, his face pressed into her shoulder as they bask in the sun together.

“Have you noticed how many more freckles you’ve got? And your hair is getting lighter, your practically a red head with how light your hairs gone.”

He’s barely listening to her as she speaks, his focus on how she’s started to scratch at his beard softly, his beard that’s go a red colour, sun bleached. She runs her fingertip along his nose, going on about how many freckles have appeared on his face with how much times he’s spending in the sun, wether he’s with his bees, sitting in the garden, or just sitting in the dining table with the rooms massive windows. He just hums along mindlessly, not really listening to her words.

“Are you listening to me?”

“… no.”

She sighs, just deciding to make herself comfortable with him holding her from behind as they sit in the grass. Watching the world go by.

He kisses her shoulder again,

“We tired the world, good God, it wasn’t for us.”

He says the lyric so softly, not melody to it, just saying it like it is a line of a poem.

“Well… the world is pretty shit, I’m rather happy to lie back watch it burn and rust with you.”

The words shot back at him, make him smile, she really knows his lyrics.

#andrew hozier byrne #hozier #hozier x reader #hozier fluff #hozier oneshot #hozier imagine #the hoziest #jackie and wilson

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dolldefiler · 3 months

Text

[I really tried with this but incels make me laugh so I struggled to make it sound serious HELP. I was so close to adding a line about joining that one Andrew Tate course. I'll come back to this when I develop my writing more (and hopefully let him fuck someone)!! Hope you enjoy it, @figmentedbitch, @rottenmami-bae]

C/W: Misogyny

Those rich fucking assholes just have to smile to get her attention. If I had that money, I’d look hot as well. If I had that money, I’d be burying my dick in pussy every night. Those stupid sluts can’t appreciate a good, kind man when they see one.

It’s not my fault I was born this height or that I smell this way. If I had money, I could change myself but I don’t so society thinks I’m a loser. If some cuntish meathead were to open the door for them, they’d be on their knees, thanking him by sucking on his micro-cock. But not me. No, they’ll look at me with disgust. Whores. Why do the hottest girls have to be so bitchy? I want someone that understands traditional values. Someone that’ll cook and clean for me. Someone that’ll serve me drinks and blow me while I play video games. I’m owed it.

Let me just have a fucking woman for once. I deserve one, don’t I? I’m a fucking man after all, aren’t I? Let me spank her fucking tits and drown my dick in her worthless fucking cunt. Just like my ancestors would have done. Just like I should be doing. Feminism’s corrupted women today. It’s a poison that makes them think they deserve freedom and independence. Women were made to be under the control of men. Real men. Men like me. Their cunts are used to give birth to my children. Their tits are used to nurse my kids. Why can’t they just accept their fucking place in the world and ACCEPT A NICE GUY?

I’m so tired of this shit. I just want someone to love. Won’t somebody just love me for once?

#misogyny kink

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jtl-fics · 11 months

Text

Fluent Freshman - Part 28

FF does not like being on pain medication.

Everything feels floaty and it is so hard to focus on anything around him.

He’s almost glad that his Gran has given him something to focus on that something being helping her sell her lie to the Foxes that she only knows Polish. Coach Wymack must know but the man is a steel trap and FF finds himself envying his Gran that HER secret keeper is Coach Wymack.

“Smithy! My sweet beautiful idiot!” Nicky cries when Gran gives Wymack the OK for them to come back in. FF finds himself on the receiving end of 2 forehead kisses and a kiss to each of his cheeks from Nicky. “Next time you see a crazy mafia hitman looking to kidnap me you just grab me and RUN.” He orders pointedly, “No more cool guy shit where you take ‘em out in the weird sex alley.” He runs his fingers through FF’s hair and…

Yeah it’s okay that Nicky is the one that knows.

Nicky is so nice.

“What about Aaron?” FF asks.

“If Romero could grab Aaron when he is in whacky inflatable tube mode then I don’t think he’d be taken out by you and Andrew.” Nicky says with a watery smile.

“Hey.” Aaron’s voice is offended.

“Learn to dance at a club already. We’ve been going for years.” Nicky shoots back but never takes his eyes off of FF’s face.

“I dance just fine. I’m better than Kevin.” Aaron argues.

��Hey.” Kevin’s voice is offended.

“You are better than Kevin, but that’s not a real standard of good.” Nicky dismisses, “Regardless, next time grab me and I’ll grab Aaron and the three of us can hide literally anywhere other than the weird sex alley. We could go to the back room with Roland or, if it means you not ending up in the hospital with a stab wound, I would even tolerate hiding down in the straight swingers club in the basement.” Nicky says.

He sees Andrew and Captain Neil tense off to the side.

Oh, that’s right.

Oh fun another lie for him to focus on instead of feeling floaty. Gran always talked about the virtue of telling the truth but the only thing set free would be Nicky in a club that he’s not supposed to know about.

“I wouldn’t ask that of you Nicky.” FF says instead.

Nicky laughs and kisses his cheek one more time. “You’re my favorite family member now. Sorry Aaron, you’ve made me endure the horrors of a heterosexual relationship for too long.” Nicky says stroking FF’s face as he looks up to where FF assumes Aaron is.

“Hey.” Aaron says in the exact same way he said earlier.

“Andrew-“ Nicky starts but is cut off.

“I don’t care.”

“That’s the spirit.” Nicky says, “Neil-“

“Nicky, I also don’t care.”

“At least you have one another to support each other.”

“Wait, what about me?” Kevin asks.

“You won’t even LEARN the family language Kevin, you were NEVER in the running for my favorite.” Nicky dismisses and doesn’t bother to turn back to the “So Smithy is my favorite family member now with Aras coming in second.”

Two things strike FF in the wake of family conversation.

First, when in the world did Kevin get here? Why is he here? Is he going to ask the doctors to run tests on FF to figure out stealth mode?

Second, Nicky just used his Gran’s nickname. The nickname that causes FF no small amount of embarrassment. It was a youthful indiscretion! He had thought he understood Lithuanian quite well! He had wanted to impress his Great Gran and his Gran with his knowledge.

“You’re looking pale Smith, do you need more pain medication?” Captain Neil asks.

“No, I’m fine.” He is pretty sure that pain meds can’t numb the psychological pain of his friends hearing about his youthful mistakes and he doesn’t care how bad his stomach is going to hurt he wants to only take the absolute minimum amount of pain meds required to get through this so he can stop floating.

Having friends nearby makes it so much easier.

Conversations go on with him and around him. He’s tired still from everything and when a nurse comes in to try and give him more pain medication he declines. All present in the room except Gran try to convince him to take it but he declines all but the most minor amount to take the edge off.

He finally realizes that Kevin had not been with them and asks why the hell he’s here. He gets an answer that makes him reconsider being on any pain medication at all because it doesn’t really make any sense. Why in the world is Kevin telling him not to trust the nutritionist?

Neil lets him know that the FBI are going to be coming around at some point to talk to him. He says that Agent Browning is a dick but generally fine and that there will be a local agent Iruma Matsumoto stopping by before him, probably today. He looks right at Andrew and says “Yeah, I’ll talk with them about how Romero stabbed me.” Andrew lets out an amused puff of laughter that makes FF feel like he might be doing alright at this friendship thing.

He apologizes to Andrew that he can’t make the pie today and gets a flick to his ear.

He finds out that he slept through all of Saturday and that it is Sunday morning. Finds out that his Gran and Wymack had stayed over at the Columbia house last night and that Wymack has him excused from his classes this week. He also finds out that Nicky has given his grandma a key to the house in Columbia so she could stay there while she’s visiting him.

He apologizes to Nicky for messing up the clothes he’d let him borrow and earns another flick to the ear from Nicky.

Wymack hands him a new phone that Nicky has apparently set up for him. His lip quirks up slightly when he sees that Nicky registered it as ’Smithy’s phone’. Neil shows him some stuff since he has the same phone model but Andrew rolls his eyes.

“You’ve barely figured out how to set anything on your phone Junkie. You still haven’t even set a screen lock.” He says as he pulls Neil back from FF’s space.

“I’ve figured out how to change the notification ping.” Neil argues but lets himself be pulled away and if Andrew keeps his arm around Neil afterwards? No one comments on that.

He translates things for his Gran when it seems important for her to be able to respond to and helps Nicky with some pronunciations.

He falls asleep a couple times and wakes up to his friends and teammates in all sorts of different configurations. Nicky gets him some good sugar-free Jell-O from the nurses while Aaron smacks Kevin upside the head when Kevin complains that it’s not good for him and not part of the diet he’s making to get FF back on the Court ASAP. “He’s gotta be on a clear liquid diet for 24 hours after his surgery.” Aaron hisses.

“Why does it have to be clear? I can put it in a blender but it won’t be clear.” Kevin grumbles.

“He’s not going to be on puree’d food for at least two weeks idiot.” Aaron smacks his head again.

“Stop that.”

He hears from Wymack the other Freshman Dealer won’t be returning and that Sheena is now their only Dealer and she does not do defense well. Kevin’s disapproval for the Jell-O cups only grows stronger in light of this news. His grumbling only stops when Gran looks at him and says “Maybe someone should help you pull that stick out of your ass young man.” In her nicest most grandmotherly voice.

When Kevin turns to FF for a translation Nicky beats him to it, “She said a handsome young man like you shouldn’t ruin your face with worries.” He says without a hint that he’s lying.

Kevin preens at the grandmotherly approval of his looks and FF gets to know that he, Nicky and his grandma all have lying in common.

Eventually it’s lunch time and the natural hunger of college athlete boys trumps anything else. Kevin won’t eat anything at the cafeteria since he doesn’t trust the nutritionist so they agree to head out of the hospital to grab food. He’s more tired than hungry so he tells his Gran to go with them. She pats his face and promises she’ll be back with some clear soup for him per the Doctor’s order and despite Kevin’s grumbling that he could make a clear protein shake.

His Gran kisses his forehead and tells him that she’ll be back soon and that he should rest as much as he can.

***

FF can’t sleep.

He tried.

He really did.

But without the noise of everyone else his mind keeps going back to the last time he was in a hospital. He closes his eyes and he can see Gran’s pale face when she tells him that his dad didn’t make it and the tears when she tells him neither-

He can’t sleep.

So he gets up against medical advice and decides to go on a walk. He’s not been connected to any of the monitoring equipment since he had first woken up, just the IV keeping him hydrated. FF decides he wants to get his dad’s leather back because it would make him feel better. The leather jacket has weight that would keep his feet strictly on the ground and it’s something his Gran had given to him when he went off to college so that he could keep his dad close. He could call a nurse but it feels like he shouldn’t distract them with something as stupid as getting him his dad’s jacket so he doesn’t have a panic attack.

So he lets himself slip into the background and heads towards the nurse station. He thinks that might be where they’re holding his belongings. It’s a good first stop if nothing else.

He can’t help but notice a strange number of men in suits but figures that maybe they’re just there to talk to people who seem to have gotten caught up in some sort of mass casualty incident.

He makes it to the nurse station and when a whole 5 minutes goes by without a single nurse clocking that he exists he considers speaking up until he sees a nurse bagging up some clothes, slapping on a label, and heading away.

It’s nice when things work out for him.

Another suit wearing man comes up and a different nurse sees him there immediately and comes up, “What can I help you with?” She asks.

“I’m looking for someone with the last name Smith, he has a stab wound?” The man asks.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.” The nurse responds with exasperation but FF is already almost out of earshot when he hears it because he’s following the nurse with the bag.

He follows her down the hallway and she thankfully takes an elevator instead of going down the stairs because FF doesn’t know how he would have gotten his IV stand down with him.

FF walks in with her and he watches her slump as the doors slide close. Relaxing like most people do when they think they’re alone. Her shoulders go straight back when the elevator opens again and he follows after her.

He follows her to a door that she unlocks and proceeds to enter and FF sees a room full of the same bags with belongs all tagged with a last name and a room number. “Christ, why are there so many fucking Smiths in here right now?” She grumbles but takes him straight to the S section and he sees his own ‘Smith’ and room number.

He grabs it and heads out the door before the nurse and heads into the elevator.

His phone pings with a text message. He opens it and sees a text from an unknown number.

“Come to the Cafeteria. - IM”

FF stares at his phone for a few minutes before the initials click.

Iruma Matsumoto, the local FBI agent who was coming to talk to him today according to Captain Neil. It’s weird to be texted like this but this is the first time he’s ever had to talk to the FBI. Maybe it’s normal? He doesn’t really want to bother Captain Neil about what getting interrogated by the FBI is like since Captain Neil is out at lunch.

He decides to go to the Cafeteria.

FF follows the directory in the elevator and then the arrows that point him towards the cafeteria. He takes a moment to pull his dad’s jacket out and it does help him feel better. He realizes the McDonald’s toy is still in his pocket and thinks that he really should probably turn that over to Agent Matsumoto.

When he gets to the cafeteria he sees even more of those guys in suits and then he sees a well dressed Japanese man sitting by himself at a table. FF has a moment where he thinks ‘Wow that FBI agent sure does look like a member of the Yakuza.’ Before he squashes it because ‘OMG that’s such a fucking racist thing to think. Thoughts from the abyss are the worst and Agent Matsumoto is probably a perfectly nice guy.’

He takes a seat in front of the man who is surrounded by two other of the men in black he’s seen. Oh that guy was probably looking for him to bring him here so they could have the talk.

None of the men seem to notice him and FF realizes that he’s still in stealth mode. He sets the bag with the rest of his clothes to the side and clears his throat.

Three sets of eyes are on him immediately and FF breathes through the anxiety as the two men at either side of Agent Matsumoto seem to reach for something at their holsters.

“Captain Neil said you wanted to talk to me.” He says.

Captain Matsumoto raises a hand and the two men on either side of him return to an at ease position.

***

Ichirou Moriyama could admit to himself that he had been startled when a young man seemingly appeared out of nowhere in front of him without any warning. He sees a bulge in the man’s pocket that says that he’s armed and he could have done anything before bringing attention to himself. He had men throughout the hospital and no one has spotted Wesninski or any of his cohorts but they had their eyes peeled for the uninvolved civilian who had taken out Jackson on his own and had assisted Wesninski’s guard dog in taking out Romero.

Interesting.

Ichirou clasps his hands together in over the cafeteria table.

“Yes, let’s talk.” He agrees.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lillyndra @themundanemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit @anxietymoss @oddgreyhound @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken @ken22789 @atiredvampire @isoldescorner @not--a--pipedream @azure-wing @bushbees @roonilwazlib-main @crumplelush @foldedaces-paperbirds @thesenseinnonsense @let-tyrants-fear @ketchupandfries @legowerewolf @deadlydodos @but-we-respect-his-craft @cariniqe @zanypersonapricotbiscuit @lesbian-blackbeard @lesbiansupernatural @silvermasquerade @thepeachfuzz @minniemariex @kazoo-the-demjin @gaypomegranate @ji-nk-ies @neilimfinejosten @omgrubelangel @itsyouitsmeorpheuseurydice @percabethotplove @cozyrosykay @foxyatlas @theoneandonlylostsock @cindersapsecrets

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

If you didn’t get notified on the last part it’s probably because I used tumblr mobile to post and our most beloved garbage fire site just didn’t like that.

#Fluent Freshman AU #Guess who accidentally took FF's phone?#It's Neil #He realizes it halfway through the grocery store run #Sorry FF your grandma is now the Monster Grandma #She's got knitting projects planned for each of them #She's already asked about allergies #She jokingly tells Nicky she'll knit Kevin a muzzle because he's commented on the amount of butter she uses four times #He always shuts up when he eats it at least #Neil is blissfully unaware that he has FF's phone and FF has his #Some poor Moriyama grunts are wandering through the hospital having to check every single Smith room for the one they're looking for #Ichirou was planning some mild intimidation shit on Neil #But was hampered because JFC why so many Smiths #Does Ichirou know Smith's first name?#Perhaps #Does he use it?#Probably not #AFTG #AFTG AU #AFTG OC #Andreil #FF - Pt. 28

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yourleftpinkytoe-blog · 1 month

Text

I really want to address some shit that’s been on my mind recently. (This could be applicable to all fandoms but I’ll be taking specifically about the aftg fandom)

I really don’t like how some of you talk to people regarding shipping. Like I get not liking a ship. I myself can’t stand Andrew and Neil being shipped with Kevin. i always pictured Neil and Kevin having like a sibling dynamic and maybe Andrew thinking Kevin’s hot but nothing ever comes from it. Now I know I don’t enjoy content that contains this ship. So what do I do, I IGNORE IT. Rather than harass people for enjoying something I’m not a fan of (like some people) I just don’t interact. It’s not hard to scroll past something if you don’t like it.

I’ve seen so much shit discrediting and shit talking people who just don’t share your opinion. Like with ReneexJean, bro from the text we have it’s basically canon. Why are some people (cough cough jerjean shippers cough cough) just dismissing it so hard. Like just say you would rather read about two male characters WHO HAVEN’T TALKED EVEN ONCE ON PAGE then the border line canon straight ship. (Ik ik but tsc hasn’t been released yet im only talking about what we currently have canon wise)

No hate to jerjean I’m just using it to make a point. But I could also bring up the stuff with Thea and Kevin. They are canonically together. If you don’t like it FUCKING IGNORE IT. You don’t have to shit talk Thea because you don’t want her with Kevin. You don’t have to harass people who ship her and kevin. You can just scroll past it.

Idk why people feel the need to make everything about them but Holly shit I’m so tired of people not understanding the concept of not being an asshole over fictional people.

Don’t even get me started on how some of yall talk about Nora. Like bitch. SHES THE GOD DAMB AUTHOR. She could write anything about her characters and it doesn’t matter how much you bitch or moan that shits canon. Ignore it if you hate it that much but don’t harass her or talk down to her for literally giving us more information about the characters we love.

Some of yall are just so entitled and it makes me want to rip my hair out.

Anyway :b here’s some silly Kevin art I did in class<3

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leeofthevoid · 2 months

Text

Not so Meet-Cute

Part Two: Did we or Did we not?

Farleigh Start x Reader

a/n: This is just a thing I had in my drafts.

Word Count: 2218

Warnings: Strong language, Explicit Content

You and Farleigh didn’t exactly have the meet cute you desired to have.

It was the most awkward meeting you had since secondary school and it sucked ass. India hyped you up so much about how great he was and how you could at least bed him for one night since he was just that good.

Yeah…No fucking way.

Everything went okay for the date but man, he didn’t even try. Flirted with all the girls and guys you walked past while having that park date his cousin and India prepared for the two of you. Apparently you two would click like puzzle pieces, but what did those two know about games that make you think hard. At the end of the ‘date’ you were left with two melting cones of ice cream while Farleigh had a different woman in his arms, flirting with her. A fucking twat.

After a year of getting over that disaster, you are so tired of university and the fact that you had no avenue to destress, or what common folk say sexual frustration. You needed sex!

“India, I don’t think putting me in a shirt that spills my boobs out will attract the attention you think it will.” You comment as she hands you this corset type black top with matching A-line red skirt. “Relax, love. It’s our first day back in university and you deserve to turn heads.” You huff out a sigh of defeat and just grabbed whatever it is she asked you to wear.

You put it on and felt like the air was squeezed out of you. “My! You look so gorgeous babes, I’d snag you up if I swung that way.” You rolled your eyes as she adjusted the clips behind your top, making it at least breathable. Guess you won’t be eating today.

India was right, you did get a decent amount of attention. Even got yourself to turn heads from multiple people. Damn that diet and exercise bit your mum asked you to do with her over the summer payed off well. People started to reserve seats for you that you had to fight to get the year before. They complimented your hair, your eyes, your body. Well at least you had free lunch.

Everything went well…Until a little disaster happened. It was your afternoon class and you might have had a little too much of Annabel’s vegetarian sandwich when you heard a small tear on you. You looked down and it was your top, not big enough to be of alarm though, maybe get it stitched after your classes.

It did not go as planned. It started to rip off half an hour into class and you had to slide out from the room to run to the nearest bathroom. You barged in and opened the only cubicle that was working when the whole corset ripped in the middle of your chest, exposing your boobs if you didn’t hold on to it tightly with your hands. Curse these fabrics. Your friends all had classes and you didn’t even bring your own sweater. In short, you are fucked.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your wails were silenced when you heard a crash and the sound of footsteps hurriedly coming in, followed by sounds of…Kissing? No, moaning! Fuck!

“You’re doing so good for me, now be a good boy and open that door.” That voice sounded familiar and you were not excited about it. The other person…Guy whines as he tries to open your cubicle. The fuck is up with these bastards.

“Shit it’s locked.”

“Then force it open!” The more annoying voice said as the one pulling your door tries harder. After a few annoying and grueling moments of their struggle, you opened the latch and scowled at them. “Do you fucking mind?” You said, clutching the cloth on your chest as the other guy’s eyes widened.

Holy fuck? Isn’t that Andrew? He was an apparent pussy-enjoyer and acted like that hetero straight guy. Guess the closet can be invisible.

“Oh fuck.” Andrew said as he ran out of the bathroom. You are now left with that annoying shit you were praying to be so wrong about.

“Hello, Farleigh.” Voice dripping with distaste, clutching on your top harder.

He chuckled as he looked at you. Up and down with a wolf-whistle. “You look scrumptious, darling. Least you can do after ruining my little afternoon fuck.” He smirked, leaning on the door of the cubicle. “This is the women’s bathroom you little shit or did all that disease you carry finally blind you?” You said with annoyance, crossing your arms over your chest securely, but your struggle didn’t go unnoticed.

“Would have been a good insult if you weren’t in a bit of a situation yourself.” The sing-song voice was just adding more insult to injury. He was having a blast.

“Well at least you get to witness what nice looking tits look like.” You proudly said while you sat on the cover of the toilet, crossing one leg over the other. “What good are those tits you flaunt if no one even sucks them.”

“It’s called class, Farleigh. Bet you don’t even know the term ‘standards’. Yeah you should try that.”

“Little Andrew too low for you?” He had an amused expression, waiting for another jab.

“I guess you just take scraps now at this point. You desperate bitch.” You smiled up at him and raised your eyebrows.

It would have been a victorious moment if your stupid corset did not eventually give out. It ripped fully and loudly like it sided with Farleigh. You clutched on it for dear life, eyes full of fear when you heard Farleigh’s guffaws.

“Fuck! You know if you-you…Pffft.” He doubled over and clutched his stomach. “Shit, okay I’ll stop now. Pfft. Yeah okay I’m done.”

“Fuck off, Start!”

He collected himself and gave you a little smirk. “But…I’m your only hope at this point.”

He was fucking right. You had no choice. That evil grin on his face was slap-worthy but you wanted to go back and change without flashing the whole campus. You sighed in defeat and rolled your eyes. “Fine. Can I borrow your sweater?”

He smiled at you and looked at the spare knitted sweater hanging around his waist. “I mean…”

“Farleigh!”

“On one condition.”

You groaned, “What!”

“Well…A favor for a favor.”

This bitch! Seriously!

“Spill the fuck up or I will fuck your face up.” He gave you a challenging look before clearing his throat.

“Go to my dorm later. I need to destress.” He winked as he threw you his sweater that you quickly wore to conceal yourself. He left before you could ask more and now you owe him a favor.

Knowing Farleigh…It was a hundred percent sexual in nature.

India heard about it, minus the Farleigh part. She just assumed a desperate boy offered you his sweater and tried to shoot his shot.

You wish it was, could have been easier. You got to change into a more reasonable shirt but still kept the skirt going when India suddenly got a text from Farleigh.

“Hey babes, remember that hot american cousin Felix has?”

“…Date cheater?”

“Yeah. Well he told me to remind you about the favor.”

You rolled your eyes and stood up. “India I have somewhere I need to be.” Your best friend was confused but simply nodded her head.

You knocked on Farleigh’s door and immediately got pulled in. “What the fuck?”

“Annotate my essay.” He pulled you to his desk and gave you a pen then jumped on his bed. That was…Unexpected. He was in thinner clothes, hands occupied with a book. Said nothing else to you and read his book.

What the fuck? Okay then.

The room eventually fell silent as you worked on his paper. Imagine being in your former shitty date’s dorm, annotating a decent essay. It was crazy.

“Are you done?” He broke the silence, sitting up on his bed with a bored expression. It’s probably been an hour and surprisingly, you were done. “Yes, actually.” He wasted no time walking and leaned on the table, looking over your shoulder, checking your work.

“Wow, tits and brains? You are the package.” You rolled your eyes while you looked up at him, eventually locking eyes. “That’s it? No weird sexual favors that usually get asked around?” Farleigh chuckled.

“Would you have given me a handjob if I asked?”

“No.”

“See?” Well. He does have a point. You weren’t very discreet about disliking him. Even Felix knew about it. He squinted his eyes and then tapped your nose.

“Actually…Wanna make-out? Just bored.”

You know, if it weren’t for the lack of sex and fun, you would have never. But the curiosity and the boredom got to you too.

“Sure.” You shrugged and broke eye contact by looking down at his desk again.

“I mean, you did ruin my make-out session a few hours ago so…” You looked back at him with a scowl, his face visibly closer to yours.

He bit his lower lip, suppressing that fucking smile of his. “You know, what never min-“

Getting cut-off mid-sentence with his lips on yours was…Annoying. It was kind of an enjoyable annoying though.

He was quick to spin the chair you sat on and held on the two armrests while slowly kissing you. Soft and tender like you imagined.

He pulled you up the chair, hands snaking on the small of your back and the back of your neck, pulling you closer. The obvious size difference was a struggle, pulling you into his bed while you both traded desperate kisses.

He sat on his bed, pulling you to straddle his lap. Man this fucker really loves dragging you around like a ragdoll, but the insults can wait. Pushing away from each other didn’t even last a few seconds until one of you pulled back in.

He was so nice. So delicate. His lips were soft and his tongue, god his tongue worked wonders. He knew where you liked it and where you’d react, sliding down your bottom lip and exploring your mouth. He chuckled lowly when he could get a moan out of you, and even more so when his hands held a more sensitive part of your body. The room got degrees hotter than how it should be.

“How far are you taking this?” You asked, out of breath.

“Anything off limits?” His ragged voice, deep and velvety worked wonders on you but you had to stay vigilant. He’s still Farleigh.

“Anything down is a no-go.”

“And tits?”

“Fuck fine! Since you were so easy to insult the-“ He cut you off again with that big hand of his , massaging on your breast. It was just the right pressure to make you gasp. “Fuck.” You whined, causing you to wrap your arms around him.

All of a sudden his door burst open. “Farleigh you won’t believe this, India said Y/N got her shirt-“ Felix looked at the two of you on Farleigh’s bed, gossip cut short.

“Damn it Felix, knock mate. This is the fifth time!” You quickly got up from his lap and fixed yourself. “Hello, Catton. What did India say?”

“T’s nothing. Carry on.” He quickly closed the door behind him and left.

“I’m going.” You said while looking for your things, Farleigh just nodded and fell back on his bed. “See you around.” He said as you closed the door.

The days after felt normal. India got the appropriate rundown of events that happened, excluding the parts that she would definitely share Felix. There were a few changes, being with Farleigh in the group. Having a bit more colorful back and forth when you are in the same space. The playful smirks and coy smile he has when his arms are wrapped around other people. Maybe let’s not forget the lingering touches he gives you when people are too occupied.

“You know, that little toy you brought is interesting.” You jolted up as Farleigh dropped on the couch, bottle of cheap wine in hand. “Don’t get too interested now, I just managed to catch that one.” The party was muffled from where you sat, only the ones that passed out or was making moves with eachother settled in the living room with the two of you. “Speaking of, where is he?”

“David?”

“Mhm?” Farleigh nodded then took a swig of his drink.

“Huh…” There was a visible look of dumbfoundedness on your face when you realized you lost your date for at least half an hour now. “Holy fuck, I just lot my ticket to shagville.”

“Oh god…Ew!” Farleigh cringed, scooting away from you. “Seriously? Shagville? The fuck are you, ninety?”

“Oh, you’d want that so bad huh?” You teased.

A comfortable silence enveloped the room. Farleigh continued to take drinks from his bottle while you lit up a joint he borrowed from you once in a while.

He blew raspberries, playing with his bottle or poking you. “So…”

“So…?”

“Wanna make-out?” He asked, voice slurring a little.

You shrugged, checked around th room for a few moments and just accepted the fact that your date is not coming back.

“Sure.” You shrugged.

He nodded and stood up pulling you with him in search of a place to fool around.

a/n: Part two?! SMUT?!

#farleigh start #farleigh x reader #farleigh x you #saltburn movie #saltburn fics #farleigh catton #I want him so bad #please give him #to me #my baby

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