#me: what if I get attached and give them a story anyway

[lydiaalin]

save me horror cowboy game ocs save me

[a-so-called-person]

Jayvik is my barbenheimer

[medicinemane]

It's amazing how quickly you can make someone turn on your company by making a stupid and insulting move

Force me to go through the front door and scan my card when I have backdoor business that never needed a card before (what? ...I was going to somehow... sneak in and... purchase things with a borrowed card? ...which I totally can't do from the front door after scanning it?)

Or like... twitterify your layout right after your users give you a bunch of money just cause they like you, and then refuse to walk it back

...or all the other things companies do that just kinda piss people off and then they refuse to acknowledge maybe it sucks and is stupid cause "hey, the customers didn't leave"... yeah... yet

[vivwritesfics]

Cat Mom 🤝 Cat Dad

Max likes being anonymous on these bengal cat forums. He likes making friends and talking about his cats without his own name attached to it. The Italian princess likes the same thing (jeez I wonder what happens next)

I had to do a special one for the actual day of my birthday lol

Jim&Sass

Help! My cat got stuck in another room!

Jam&Toast

Dude get offline and go help them!

Jim&Sass

What do I do! The door is stuck!

Jam&Toast

Get a hammer!

Max did just that. He didn't knew the person giving him advice, but he knew her cats. Jam and Toast. Her post showing off her pretty cats, two bengals, were how he knew her. There was nothing else about her, just her cats.

It wasn't a lot that he knew about it, but it was enough. He didn't know that she was sitting eagerly by her laptop, waiting for his confirmation that his cat was all right.

Jimmy and Sassy's dad was an enigma. But Jimmy and Sassy looked sweet and the stories he told about them were adorable.

That was what she called him in her head, Jimmy and Sassy's dad. She was sure her name in his head was similar. Jam and Toast's mum.

Jam&Toast

Did you get them out?

There was a moment where he didn't respond, where he must have been getting the cat out of the other room. Her perfectly manicured nail was between her teeth, but she didn't bite down.

Her nail had been perfectly done for when the driver's arrived for Monza.

His icon popped up in the bottom of the screen, three little dots beside it. She leaned forward as his message appeared on her screen.

Jim&Sass

Sassy is safe

Not sure what I'm gonna do about the giant whole in my door

Jam&Toast

Oh, you've got to show me that door

A picture from him came through within seconds. There was his door, with a decent sized hole in the middle of it.

Jam&Toast

Holy shit, dude

Jim&Sass

Trust me, I know

He was easy to talk to. Grabbing her laptop, she sat herself on her bed, placed her laptop on her bed, and settled down for the night. Jam and Toast, her two Bengal cats, were curled around each other at her feet, fast asleep.

She turned her laptop around and awkwardly snapped a picture of her two sleeping cats. The picture wasn't the greatest, and it was kind of hard to see two cats laying there, but she sent it anyway.

He sent pack a picture of Sassy licking a yoghurt treat from his hand.

They could have spent the entire night talking, the conversation branching away from their cats, but Jimmy and Sassy's dad had to go. She didn't ask where he was going, wished him safe travels and shut her laptop for the night.

***

Jimmy and Sassy's dad hadn't been online since Wednesday. She hadn't expected him to message her while he was away, having fun. But she did miss him. She missed talking about Jam and Toast to somebody that wouldn't brush her off, missed hearing about his cats.

It was Sunday, and she was on the grid. It was a bit of fun, going down to the grid. Sometimes Martin Brundle attempted to speak to her on his Grid Walk.

She stood by the Ferrari, talking to her good friend, Charles Leclerc. When Martin Brundle tried to speak to her, her security guard sent him away.

"Did you hear about Max's cats?" Charles asked after she had told him all about the stuff Jam and Toast had been doing that week. At least he wasn't changing the subject completely.

She frowned at him. "Max Verstappen?" She asked and Charles nodded.

"One of his cats got stuck in a storage room, nearly broke his arm trying to get her out."

She glanced from side to side, trying to look for Max on the grid.

***

Max watched as the Italian Princess approached him with the trophy. It wasn't a win, but he was still grinning. Charles had won Monza in a Ferrari, and Max was proud.

The Princess smiled at him. Max didn't want to consider it flirty, but he didn't know how else to interpret it.

After the Italian national anthem, they left the podium. Max grinned down at his trophy before throwing his arm around Charles' shoulder.

He saw the Italian Princess striding towards them. Stepping back, Max watched as she threw her arms around Charles. They spoke in Italian as she looked at the trophy Charles held.

Max went to move around them, but the Princess fixed him with a look. "How are Jimmy and Sassy?" She asked, letting go of Charles.

His cheeks were pink as he answered her. "They're good," he answered. "With the cat sitter, probably being naughty."

It wasn't a terrible response, but he wasn't getting it. "Max," she said and took a step closer. He was trying so hard not to look weirded out, she could tell. Her hand was on her hip, head slightly tipped to the side. "When are you flying back home?"

He answered and she checked the dainty watch on their wrist. "Do you think you have time to come and meet my cats, Jam and Toast?"

The surprise on his face was evident. "No fucking way."

[loudclan-clangen]

Loudclan - Moon 29: Part 2

Back in camp, the warm weather gives the healers a chance to relax, and puts Wildfirecry in a particularly good mood, reminding him of his former home in Forestclan, far to the south.

Wildfirecry takes Songpaw out to look for Fiercestripe's patrol. Along the way they discuss what's really been on Songpaw's mind.

The scent of blood sits heavy in the still air. With Songpaw sent back to camp for help, Wildfirecry steels his nerves and rushes ahead, prepared to join the battle against whomever had made the mistake of tresspassing onto Loudclan's territory. As he neared the Loudclan border, though, it became clear that the battle was long finished.

Fiercestripe, Chumtail, Dogwoodmoth, and Dashpaw were killed in the rogue attack, taking 4 of their attackers with them. Rosehiptree managed to survive by staying hidden in the bushes, but she is by no means unscathed. Loudclan is devastated by this event, and will need time to mourn, but on the other side of the valley, three trespassers thank the stars for whatever might have delayed their pursuers.

[...so ... how are we feeling about this one, folks? bad? yeah, I feel bad. full disclosure, if Eklutna dying was the moon that I decided I wanted to keep playing Loudclan, this was the moon that almost made me quit. I was and continue to be DEVASTATED by losing these guys, Fierce, Dogwood, and Chum were some of my all time favorites as I played and I fell in love all over again writing their stories here. (Sorry Dash, you just weren't around long enough for me to get attached.) In game technically Fiercestripe died of heatstroke, but since it was the same moon as the rogue attack this felt like a much more fitting way for her to go. Anyway, I think one more part should wrap up this moon, and my deepest apologies to you all.]

First Moon

Next Moon

[lucimaaie]

we ✧.* tlou

pairings - santa barbara!ellie x reader

summary - ellie promised herself she wouldn’t get attached to anyone after santa barbara, look how that turned out.

warning - angsty, not proofread cause i wrote this pretty quick, short (as always),

After Santa Barbara, Ellie had no plan for the future. She’d left Dina and JJ and let Abby go. She knew would still have nightmares and the pain wouldn’t leave her. What else was there to do?

Maybe that was the reason she fought you as you tried to take care of her. “Leave me alone!” She said as you’d tried to help her up from the water, raising her arm around your neck. Thinking about it now, the memory of her weak attempt to tussle you made her laugh.

You fought as hard as she did despite being starved and traumatized yourself. She didn’t know your story, just that you were the only one who didn’t want to kill her as soon as you came out of that crowded cell. You knew that she was immune and that was it. Nothing else was important in the moment. Nothing she wanted to tell you anyway.

You took care of her so much she started to feel guilty for not returning the favor. Cleaning her wounds, taking first watch, giving her whatever food you two had left. Ellie questioned whether it was pity or too good to be true, that you’d try something the moment she relaxed. But as she got stronger, nothing bad happened. You cared for her all the same.

So she cared for you. She watched your back and let you sleep a bit longer since she knew her mind wouldn’t let her sleep. She held you the way you held her when she awoke screaming. Gave you light kisses everywhere to distract you (and her) from a haunting past she knew nothing of. Conversations weren’t your speciality. You didn’t know a lot about each other, but you knew each other.

Eventually, you got lucky and found an abandoned cabin far away from Santa Barbara and quickly settled in. It wasn’t big and there was one bed, but it was shelter. Ellie didn’t want to call it home just yet.

“We should move south.” Ellie blurted, shaking the snow off her boots onto the porch. She could already hear your lecture about letting the cold in, but that wasn’t her focus. Did she just say we? “I mean, nevermind. Here’s fine.” It wasn’t. It was cold as hell and she was tired of the cold she’d been in her whole life.

“No, why south?” You said as you adjusted the small sticks that provided at least a little warmth in the small space. Ellie came to sit down next to you, leaving no space between you. She looked at you, admiring how the orange light shone on your face.

“It’s hotter.” She held your gaze as you listened intently. “Probably make hunting easier.” Ellie knocked her shoulder into yours without much force.

“You ever been south?”

She shrugged before shaking her head. “Nope.” She looked at the fire. That might be a downside of south. No more needing to snuggle up to you to not freeze to death. South you probably have to give each other some space to cool off. “Was just a thought.” She scratched her ear. “What’d you do while I was out?”

“Counted our supply. put on the fire. cleaned our clothes. a bunch of nothing.”

“What about eating?”

“uh-no. forgot that part.”

“Course you did.” She sighed, rising to her feet and look around for the bag you two stuff all cans in. All your belongings in the cabin were generally pre-packed in case you had to run, but still the fact that you’d been able to accumulate these things together made her feel something she couldn’t describe. Annoyance was part of it. that she got so attached to you after she promised herself she wouldn’t. that it just complicated things. But that already happened the moment you’d kissed and let things go further.

“here.” She used her knife to open the can of beans and sat back next to you, handing them over.

“you do know we sleep in the same bed, right?” You hesitantly took the can and swished them around with the spoon.

“trust me i know, but i don’t need you losing body fat and clinging to me like a koala.”

“you’ve never even seen a koala.” You said, taking a bite of the beans. not bad but not good and most importantly not expired. You set the can down in the middle of you, signaling that you wanted to share. She shook her head and sighed as you pushed the can closer to her, your eyes saying ‘please.’ She took a small bite just to appease you and shoved it over to you. “just shut up and eat.” she swiped her thumb over the edge of your lip. “and stop eating like that. we’ll get you more food tomorrow.”

Hours later, ellie shot up in the middle of the night, her heart feeling like it would burst out of her chest at any moment. She choked on her own breaths as she buried her head into her knees. “it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real—“ She mumbled the same words you did when you saw her like this.

“ellie?” You sat up as well, watching her with concerned eyes. She started to sob as she heard your voice, whether out of fear or relief you didn’t know but you didn’t give it much thought as you ran your fingers through her hair, letting her cry in your lap.

Eventually her tears stopped, leaving her with a pounding head and the comforting silence you provided. Her head rose from your lap and she pulled you into her, not willing to let go. Her head rested on your shoulder as her hands roamed under your shirt. There were no words for a while.

When there were words, they came quietly. “el?” you whispered. She didn’t respond for a while, still stuck in her swarming thoughts. “yeah?”

“where are you from?” It felt like a random question to ask, but there was no way you were gonna ask what she dreamed about.

She blinked for a few seconds, surprised. It was a simple question, yeah, but it could lead to other questions. she was scared to answer and ask back. “boston, i guess.”

“oh.”

“why’d you ask?” She let her head fall back on the pillow and tugged on your shoulder, silently asking you to turn around. And you did, facing her.

“i guess i just realized i never knew that stuff about you.” You said, fidgeting with her hands as you awaited her response. It felt like some dangerous territory, you weren’t supposed to cross. That was weird, you already crossed other, farther lines. “should i have not asked?” You whispered, tentatively.

“no, you..” She cleared her throat. “you can ask.” She finally looked at you, eyes soft with fear, pain. “i just..i don’t wanna talk about it all.”And go back there, she wanted to say.

“you don’t have to.” You scooted closer to her, laying your head on her shoulder.

Elie wrapped her arms around your back, her legs around yours, and looked at you. She let out a deep sigh as her heart beat for a different reason this time. “we don’t have to talk about it all. not right now.” we, there was a we. she wasn’t making it up. “okay,” She kissed your forehead.

thank you for reading!

[hyunsvngs]

kinktober !

kink: breeding

pairing: lee minho x fem!reader

wc: 2k

breeding kink: the intense arousal at the thought of being impregnated or impregnating someone.

You'd always loved kissing. Sitting on someone's lap as they hold you close, your lips connected to theirs. Feeling the motions grow in intensity as you both got more and more turned on - it had always been your favourite thing to do.

But kissing Minho? It was a whole different story.

The way his scent overwhelmed you every time, the way his taste flooded your senses. He would hold you so tightly, as though he couldn't possibly get you close enough. His hands roaming your skin, traversing the planes of your back, your waist, your hips, your ass. It was everything you needed, and you could never get enough.

It was inevitable as soon as it started. Your hips started to pick up a pace against his clothed erection, a desperate, grinding movement that made Minho smile against your lips. He didn’t stop you, only aiding the movement with his hands on your ass while he dominated your mouth with his tongue.

You couldn't hold back your whimpers, and Minho's smirk only grew. He pulled away from the kiss and you didn't even give him a second. "Minho, please-" 

"We don't have any condoms, baby. We're out."

You almost felt the ground collapse beneath you. "No! Say you're joking right now!" 

He wouldn't fuck you without protection, you knew it. He was too cautious. But that didn't stop you from trying. 

"Let's fuck anyways. I need it, Minho, I need you.”

Minho mirrored your pout back to you as he stroked your cheek gently with the back of his knuckles. "But what if I fuck a baby into you?"

What happened next was completely involuntary. His filthy words, coupled with his gentle tone, and his big dark eyes looking into yours. You moaned aloud, your hips grinding down hard, rubbing your pussy across his bulge once more. 

Minho's pout gave way to a shit-eating grin. "Oh, fuck. You want me to fuck a baby into you. Don't you? You want me to breed you like a little slut?"

"You can't talk like this if you aren't gonna fuck me!" you whined. 

He raised an eyebrow at you. "Who said I'm not gonna fuck you?" 

You stared at him, mouth slightly open. "You are? Are you gonna cum in me too?"

Minho gave a half-shrug. "If you're good."

"I'll be good!" you insisted. "M-Min, I'll be so good for you."

He smiled at your desperation. "Go ahead, then. Show me what a good girl you can be."

You didn't waste a single second. You tugged his t-shirt down impatiently, revealing his collarbones to your eyes. You attached your lips to his smooth, milky skin, licking and sucking all along his collarbone, until you found that spot that always drew the most delicious breathy moans from him.

“Oh, baby.” There it was. You had him. “You want me to fuck you raw that bad?”

You felt him get harder beneath you, his hips rolling to meet your core as you ground down onto him. Whining into his skin, you drooled against him with every movement, hands moving to clutch onto his shoulders. 

“Please,” You gasped, nipping at his collarbone. Minho grunted, nodding, and then he was pushing his joggers down to let his erection spring out. It rested heavy and thick against his t-shirt, a drop of precum staining the fabric with how aroused he was. “Please, please, Minho, I can’t, it hurts, I need you so bad, it’s-”

“God, be quiet,” Minho huffed, yanking your bottoms and underwear down altogether. He threw them to the side, and you yelped when he pushed you down onto the bed, back hitting the mattress. You were so wet you could feel it, folds slick and clit swollen with need. He shifted on his knees, pushing your legs apart and settling between them. 

Minho leaned in and captured your lips in a rough kiss, his hands beginning to roam over your body. You laid there, pliant while he rucked your shirt up and cupped your tits in his hands before moving lower. His lips moved to your neck, and you could feel his hot breath on your skin. His fingers teased your entrance, and you moaned, thighs clenching at the bare minimum of a sensation. 

“Ah. I was gonna prep you, but I don’t think you need it, do you?” He smirked, leaning back on his haunches. He grabbed his cock in a tight ring around the base, running his cockhead through your folds. The movement made you keen, legs thrashing and hips bucking into the feeling. Minho’s eyes were half lidded when he felt just how wet you were, hand moving to pull his shirt up just enough to expose his tummy. You pouted.

“Off,” You pointed at his t-shirt, and he grinned, tilting his head in mock confusion. “Take it off, Minho.”

“Okay, okay. Demanding tonight, aren’t you?” He quipped, and then he was pulling the offending fabric off. His tummy was toned, broad biceps and shoulders fully revealed to you. Before you could even take the sight in and enjoy the view of your boyfriend fully naked, he was positioning himself at your core again, tip just barely breaching your hole. You were so wet he could’ve bottomed out with one, slick movement, but he kept himself at your entrance with a cocky grin. “Do you want it? Do you want it raw like this, do you want to feel every part of me? Tell me.”

“Yes, Minho,” You wailed, trying to buck your hips enough for him to slip inside. He raised an eyebrow, shaking his head, pushing your hips down with one, firm hand. You sobbed out, eyes finally tearing up at the prospect of having your boyfriend like this. Raw, unfiltered, nothing separating the pair of you. “Please, please. Please, sir. I need it, I need it, need you to fill me up and cum inside me, and breed me- oh god, sir, breed me, please, gimme your cum, please-”

Minho groaned at your words, desperate and babbling, and then he was pushing inside. His cock always stretched you out just right, thick enough for you to feel the breach and long enough that he felt like he was in your tummy. He bottomed out with one, easy thrust, his eyes dark and lips parted as he gauged your reaction. You nodded, desperate breaths tumbling out of your lips.

“Don’t need to wait, just- just gimme, please-”

“Dirty,” Minho mumbled, and then he was positioning his forearms either side of your head and thrusting into you at a blistering pace. The sudden movement made you keen, tears finally slipping out of your eyes and pussy clenching around his length. You grabbed his arms for purchase, feeling yourself moving up and down the bed with the forcefulness of his thrusts. “Fuckin’ dirty. My dirty jagi, dirty little kitty wanting me like this. You need me to fill you up, don’t you? Look at you crying. Fucking pathetic, yeah?”

“Need it,” You managed to speak, whining and whimpering with every thrust. It felt so much better like this. You felt like you could feel every ridge, every vein on his cock and the way his pubic hair was rutting into your clit. It was too much, too sensitive, too big, but you couldn’t get enough of it. 

"Please! Minho I need your cum, I need it, so bad, please!" You were delirious at this stage - his cum was all you could think of. Thick and white, flooding your insides.

"No, no, baby," he urged you gently, thrusting his dick deep inside of you once more. "Wait, okay? The longer we go, the more cum I'll have for you." 

"Want you to fill me up, though," you protested.  

"And I will. That's a promise. Be patient." 

Minho cupped your cheek with his hand, and you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking on it lightly. 

"There you go, baby, that's it," he praised you. “Just feel. Feel my cock inside you, can you feel how hard I am? Does it feel better raw?”

You whined around his thumb, nodding. Your words were slurred around the digit when you spoke. “F-feels so much better, Min.”

The muffled words you spoke made Minho groan incoherently, and then he was fucking into you like a rabbit. His hips slapped against your thighs, your pussy making wet slicking sounds that would’ve made you embarrassed - but the way Minho stared down at your hole taking his cock, raw and unfiltered, made you proud of how wet he’d made you.

“I’ll have to fuck you raw everyday then, baby,” Minho grunted, his cockhead kissing your cervix with every rough thrust. “I’ll have to do it every fucking night, make sure my - oh, baby, this pussy - I’ll have to make sure my cum takes, baby, make sure it makes you all swollen with me.”

"Breed me, Minho, that's all I'm good for," you whimpered. 

He gave you a cocky grin. "You know your place, baby, I'm so proud of you."

"Are you close?" you asked desperately. "Are you gonna give me your cum soon?"

"Oh, baby, I could cum any second. I'm just holding off cause I don't want this to end."

"No, please, Min-"

"Shh," he cut you off. "I'm enjoying my jagi’s sweet, tight pussy. Never get to feel it raw." He grunted as he delivered a particularly hard thrust. "So warm in here. So wet and tight. Mmm."

"You like my pussy raw?" you asked.

"I love it," he confirmed. "Now be a good little whore, and let me savour it."

You thought you might die if he didn't give you his cum soon. You'd always loved his cum, you'd be stupid not to. Hot, white, salty. You loved it when he came on your tongue, down your throat, on your cheeks, your tits, your ass, anywhere. But deep inside your pussy? Fuck, you needed it.

"Are you ready for it, baby?" Minho asked, his voice strained. "Are you ready for my cum? Can't hold back much longer." 

His hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat, and his eyes almost looked wild. It was animalistic - he needed to cum in you, just as badly as you needed it.

You nodded impatiently, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I'm ready - deep inside me, please."

"Of course I'll cum deep, baby. I want this to take, wanna cum right against your cervix."

"Fuck," you whined.

"Legs up," he instructed, guiding your legs onto his shoulders, as high as they could go.

You swore you'd never been fucked this deep before. His dick was filling you completely, reaching places it never had before. It hurt, when the tip of his cock prodded against the ring of your cervix, but it was a pain that you craved. 

"Oh, fuck - fuck, here it comes," Minho groaned. "Look at me, baby, look into my eyes." His voice was frantic, and you obeyed within less than a second. 

He thrusted hard, hammering into your cervix one last time. You felt the pain ripple through your abdomen, and it was the last push you needed. 

"I'm cumming!" you squealed, not breaking eye contact for even a second, not even when your eyes continued to leak tears, vision blurry. Minho's pupils were blown out, barely showing his dark brown irises.

"Take it, baby," he grunted. "Take my cum." 

"Thank you, Min, thank you for filling me up," you babbled. "Thank you so much."

He slowly pulled out, before flashing the dreamiest smile you'd ever seen. "No, thank you." He fell onto the bed beside you, before pulling you in close and wiping your tear-stained cheeks. "Was that good? It didn't hurt too much?"

You shook your head, nuzzling into him. "Hurt a little. Was good though." 

"Good," he said, kissing the top of your head.

The two of you lay in silence as you caught your breath together. All you could hear was the racing of his heartbeat. 

"Min?" you asked.

"Yeah, baby?" 

"You are gonna buy me some Plan B, right?""Obviously," he snorted. "Way to kill the mood, though. Dork."

[ossiethegreat]

hue makes an appearance again.. if any of yall know me from tiktok and saw my first post about him ily

don’t mind me @toffeebrew @howlsofbloodhounds

Yapping below \/

So initially he didn’t have much of a story because I’m not very creative and I blank out whenever I try to make something original so yeah.

basically, if Color were ever to get error-d, I think he would be on a hike, probably in some random AU that had nice scenery or something. He’s wearing a rain jacket because it was raining at the place he was, and he he just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, and Error or some other entity was destroying it or something. As for how he got into the anti void,,, yall can use ur imagination 😭

(That’s the best explanation I can give, kill me)

I was more focused on the actual character than his backstory, so I’ll just explain my ideas of how he would act and such..

I called him Static Hue, or just Hue for short. (It’s a synonym of color I’m very creative guys)

I think whatever caused the error in his code amalgamated the human souls, and kind of made them fuse together, so Hue can never understand what they are saying because they speak over each other all the time. The different traits overlap and he feels mixed emotions all the time, along with intense mood swings and anxiety attacks. His flames also change color at a much faster rate, so people with epilepsy will stay FAR away from him 😭😭😭😭

Fun fact: he’s also blind. The only thing he can actually see is the color of his flames (which change all the time), and it tends to give him headaches and nausea. His grabblings are always out and just attached to his back so he can use them to move around.

As for the strings, they are very hot to the touch and leave burn marks on however he uses them on. They burn himself as well but he doesn’t pay any attention to it.

Hue’s memory is very jumbled, he didn’t necessarily forget about everything, but he doesn’t remember why exactly he does things. He knows he needs to help killer and protect him at all costs, but he isn’t sure why. He knows he hates Nightmare and REALLY wants that guy dead, but he doesn’t know where that hatred came from. And of course he naturally feels safer near the epic trio, and nervous staying in the same places for too long.

hue’s pretty obsessive over Killer for this reason. His need to help killer was multiplied by a gazillion, and he tends to just.. kidnap Killer and take him random places to keep him close. Sometimes he accidentally hurts him, but he doesn’t realize it, the only thing he can think about is keeping him safe and close to himself. On the contrary, he gets super aggressive and defensive at the mention of Nightmare, and if he were to see him face to face he would attack without hesitation. He knows his job is to keep Killer safe and away from Nightmare, and that’s really his only motive. He just doesn’t know where it came from.

Similarly to most errors, he has trouble speaking because of stuttering and glitches. He also can’t form very clear thoughts because the souls are constantly influencing his behavior. He has trouble explaining his thoughts and feelings, he tends to speak more in actions (as in he would crush you to death in a hug to show affection.)

anyway. If anyone wants to add onto this or share thoughts I’d appreciate it..

Here’s some older drawings of him LMAO

[erwinsvow]

Heeeey, Shea. How are you?

I just wanted you to know I love your stories. Kook trio reader and shy reader are my favorite. 

I know that's not how it went, but I really think in another universe, Rafe would have trouble getting to date shy!reader because she just wouldn't realize he was flirting hard with her. Maybe a bit of self esteeming issues or because she's inexperiente. But, anyway, I see her being completely oblivious about all his efforts and being like "he's so nice, guys. No, he would never flirt with me. You guys are insane" and everyone else would be like "girl... what?".  

Thank you for your stories, they keep me smiling. <3

- T.

hi t!!! thank you so so much for your kind words, it means so much. i am so glad you love the different readers on this blog! i think your idea is so cute and funny, it suits them perfectly. here's a little bit based on what you sent and i hope you enjoy ♡

since the day you had met rafe—truly met him, not counting the multiple instances where you had passed him in tannyhill attached to sarah's hip when he hadn't even realized you'd been there—you had been a little confused about the newfound attention he was giving you.

you felt it was strange. sarah was always going on and on about how mean rafe was, how badly he treated others and how he never spared a minute to talk to anyone. but she must have been exaggerating. right?

the rafe that you were becoming more and more acquainted with was nothing of the sort. from the time he had driven you home a few weeks ago to now, he had been nothing but nice—offering you a ride everytime you were at tannyhill, asking if you wanted anything when he was on his way out. he even went out of his way to find you at the country club, stopping to say hi even if it was in the middle of one of his golf matches.

it was nice. it was really nice. everything sarah had told you about him seemed to be completely wrong, but then you realized it. rafe was probably trying to be a better brother, and starting with being nice to sarah's friends was likely a good jumping off place.

with this notion firmly stuck in your mind, you proceeded to go about your days, smiling sweetly at rafe when he was being so nice and reminding yourself to tell sarah—her brother was making a big effort, and it deserved to be recognized.

"did i see rafe walk away from the course to say hi to you?" sarah asks, and you look up at her, a little surprised. you hadn't brought it up yet, and in all honestly, didn't know when you would.

your other girl friends look a little closer at you—surprise evident on their faces too. you hate being the center of attention but somehow it feels even worse like this—they're all getting the wrong impression.

"yes.. he's being very nice. i think he's trying to make it up to you, y'know, for being mean like you say he is."

"by being nice to you?"

"by being nice to all of us," you add quickly, looking at the other girls, waiting for them to pitch in.

"he's never been nice to me."

"i don't think he's even ever said hi to me."

"so how exactly has he been nice to you?" sarah asks, and you feel your face burn. they still have the wrong impression and you have no idea how you'll correct them.

"well not much," you lie, clearing your throat. "he just gave me a ride home a few times. and he said hi a couple times here. and got me a soda from the gas station the other day."

"not much?" your friend questions.

"he never asks me what i want from the gas station-" you interrupt sarah, eager to make sure they stop speculating.

"he was just being nice. it was nothing, i-"

"what's next?" sarah asks, cocking her head at you. "don't tell me, he lets you pick the music in his car?" she laughs, and the others do too, but you stare back at her blankly.

"just once or twice," you mumble, suddenly finding your drink and the misty glass far too interesting.

"oh my god. he's totally flirting with you." you whip your head up so fast you think you got whiplash.

"you're insane. that is so not what this is. he was just being nice."

"if any other guy did this, you'd be picturing your future wedding-"

"it's not just any other guy, it's sarah's brother. do you see the kind of girls he goes out with? that's how i know he's being nice, i'm nothing like them-"

you feel incredibly flustered, face hot and playing with your hands like you do when you get nervous. your friends are laughing, and though you know it's not at you, you still hate the feeling, feeling like you might burst from the intensity of the emotions you're experiencing right now. first and foremost—the fact that maybe rafe wasn't just being nice to you.

"yeah?" you hear, though you don't look up. "then why's he walking over here right now?"

[topazadine]

Things that immediately turn me off a fiction book

I'm pretty picky with what I read, because the time I spend reading is time that I could spend writing. I generally know if I will like a book within the first chapter, and I feel no shame in giving up if I'm not vibing with it.

And no, I don't believe in the "oooh read further it warms up" because does it? Does it really? Do I want to waste time finding out?

Frankly, at this point in life, I read more nonfiction than fiction because there's just so. many. bad. books. that are getting published. Worse than fanfictions.

Anyway, here are the things that make me give up. Maybe hearing this will help you as you write your own masterpiece.

Too Many Proper Nouns

Three characters maximum in the first chapter or two. Do not throw dozens of people at me. I will get confused and give up. Let me get to know the main character, by themself or with a few of their closest companions, before you make me remember everyone else. And go deep with those characters! I want someone to stick with!

You can reference other characters, to create a sense of a deeper world, but do not go all-in on them. Make it clear that they are just there to provide a bit of context, and we don't have to remember them yet. We should only be meeting three characters maximum.

Throwing Us Immediately Into a Dramatic Action Point

This is controversial I know, but I hate when something immediately starts with a battle. I don't care if any of these people live or die. I don't know them. I haven't grown attached to any of them.

Even just a page or two to get to know them first will help. You can have them gearing up for a battle, thinking about what's going to happen, maybe talking to their friends, maybe checking their armor, whatever feels natural for them. But do not just start with stabbing people! I don't care about them yet!

Too Many Details

Many this is just me, but I simply do not care about every piece of armor your character is wearing. I don't need to hear a play-by-play of every single color of every single thing because I don't care. Pick out a few specific things for me to focus on and that's it. Stop overloading me with colors and patterns and armor styles.

Yes, yes, you've done your research on historically accurate gear. That's great. It would be good for a movie. But if I have to look up different armor pieces every five seconds, I am glossing over it and moving on. I don't care. I'm here for the story. If I wanted an infodump about medieval armor, I would simply pick up a nonfiction book (and maybe I will).

White Space Syndrome

Tell me what the overall scene looks like instead of all these hyperspecific details of certain objects, like carts or emblems or whatever. I want to know where I am!!

Don't just say "a forest." Tell me what kind of forest. Tell me if it's a young forest or an old snarly forest or a swampy forest or a cold alpine forest.

Don't just say "a castle." Tell me if it's a bustling castle or a gloomy castle or a rundown castle.

Don't just say "on the sea." Cold sea? Tropical sea? Far far away from land or is land in sight? These are the things I want!

Too Much Backstory

For the love of god do not explain the entire history of this culture in the first chapter. The first chapter is for getting to know the characters we're going to be following. You can introduce those things slowly and carefully as the story unfolds.

I get that fiction writers are delighted by all the worldbuilding (or research, in historical fiction) they have done. But the reader does not care right away. They need to get invested before all those little specifics matter at all. My eyes glaze over and I give up because I don't want to have to remember all of that all at once. It's like you just threw a college textbook at my face.

Plus, if you're doing third-person limited, you have to remember that the character is not going to be thinking all of that! They won't say all of that either! Because they know all of that!

Even a general on the brink of a major battle is not going to go "yes, this all dates back to when we took Iuanfutila back in 181, when the brave Iuanfutilans protested the rule of our Yawwbaawnwhryr leaders ...." They are focused on the present moment, and they may discuss the backstory later. Tell us what we need to know now because that is what the character would be thinking too.

"Oh, but Topazadine, how will the readers understand the context if I don't tell them??"

There's a battle. Two groups are at war. Or something was stolen. Or two people are fighting. Whatever. We understand those things. We can get the basic gist of how things are going to play out by just showing us these things happening. Then, as we have gotten a feel for the characters, you can tell us more about the context.

If you walk into a store that's being held up by an armed robber, do you give a shit about his backstory, or do you only care once that person has been arrested and you have to testify? I think we know the answer. You're not going "ohhh why is he doing this??" at first. You're going "HOLY SHIT THERE'S A GUN WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN NOW???" and then you'll care about the other stuff later.

Too Much Play-by-Play

I also do not need a play by play of a fight scene. I need to know the general movements, and then the overall atmosphere. I want to feel what the character feels rather than feel like I'm watching a football game.

Your reader will fill in the gaps if you give them enough information, but when you overload them with every single action, they're now trying to keep track of what went where instead of how this moment is supposed to feel. And now the action and drama has gone out of the writing because it's become a manual of fighting techniques.

Pointless Dumb Conversations

"Oh, could you turn around for me? I want privacy."

"Sure, of course, I'm a respectable man." Manfred knew that a lady-in-waiting would be unsettled by the presence of a strange man, so he wanted to be respectful.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Oh my god no one cares!!! No one!! We don't need this exchange. Cut it. This is stupid. Unless something is actually happening or something is meaningful about them saying this, shut up.

How to Not Write a Horrible First Chapter That Makes People Ragequit

Can you tell I'm mad today? I started and stopped three different books because they were all so bad.

Three characters max in the first chapter, with deep discussion of each. (One or two is better.) General appearance, demeanor, profession, whatever.

Restrain the urge to infodump! Dribble it out over the chapter!

Give the setting more attention than random little details that ultimately do not matter. I don't need to know the pattern of the curtains on the horsecart that's about to be burnt. Don't care.

Do not give a play by play of every single action that a character takes because it's boring and no one cares.

In media res is great but do NOT start with a big climactic intense battle or fight or whatever because we don't know these characters and don't know who to root for (or why we should care).

Your character is not going to give us a history lesson in why this conflict is happening. Do not do it yourself either. Give us just enough to get intrigued and no more. Think how your characters would think and what they would prioritize in discussions.

If a conversation is just pleasantries and has no purpose, drop it, we don't care.

[deadsetobsessions]

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

F

E

L

L.

——

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.

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Balé Bruce taking female readers virginity? It can be headcanon or story. Ty!

Bruce taking your virginity ♡

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A/N: I'm so sorry this took me so long, please forgive me 😭🩷 this is like a weird merge between headcannons and a story lol

《Warnings》: smut (obvi), very sweet and gentle Bruce <3

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To say he'd be gentle would be an understatement. You'll be treated as absolutely royalty, touches so soft and tender you can barely feel them.

He'd be extremely honored and giddy that you want him to be your first. The fact that you trust him so much despite his reputation makes his heart beat faster and his cock twitch.

It's safe to say he's not a virgin, and boy, does he know what he's doing!!

He'd take you out on a nice date first, most likely a very nice restaurant. Bruce wasn't usually the romantic type when it came to relationships (if you can even call them that) but he loves you, truly loves you, and he wants to make this special for you.

I don't think he'd go the full 9 yards with rose petals and candles, but it's definitely still a very soft and romantic atmosphere.

Bruce would be insistent that you don't have a single sip of alcohol that night. Yes, you've been together for a while, but this is a big step, and he wants to make 10000% sure that this is what you want. No drinks for either of you that night.

So, he'd take you out on a fun night, have you get all dolled up and then drive around with you for a bit, the lights of a Gotham night reflecting in the windows of his very expensive car. Just something to take the edge off.

You're obviously very comfortable around each other, and he's probably seen you naked at one point anyway, but sex is a completely new form of intimacy.

He'd help you undress and place soft kisses on your skin. You'd lay in bed for a while, not completely naked yet, but still very much undressed. Just enjoying each other's company while the flame of lust and desperation slowly grows and grows. Maybe he'd tell you some of his weird or embarrassing sex stories that he (undoubtedly) had at one point just to make you less nervous.

Sex can be messy, clumsy, ungraceful, and sloppy. He wants you to know that there's nothing to be ashamed about and to always voice and concerns or wishes you may have.

He's gently caressing the skin of your arm as you both lay on your sides, facing each other, as you talk about whatever comes to mind. There's a little lamp on in the corner of the room, bathing the room in a soft golden glow.

He can't help but stare in awe as he follows the light reflecting off your features as your lips move. His hand trails lower, settling on stroking your waist, and when he hears you stop talking he searches for any sign of discomfort on your face but is only met with blushed cheeks and your breathing slightly picking up.

Bruce smiles softly and and gently tugs you closer to his chest, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. There are wandering hands, clumsy attempts at keeping your lips connected and the overwhelming urge to just touch. He'd ask you one final time if you're sure about this, that he would stop immediately if you asked him to.

The second you give him the go-ahead, he's almost bursting with excitement. He can't wait to explore this new side of you to figure out what you like and what makes you weak in the knees. His hands explore your body, caressing and teasing your sensitive spots whole his lips are attached to your neck.

He tugs off any remaining garments you had on and makes his way down your stomach, brushing his lips over your soft flesh. And, yes, he will eat you out for your first time (definitely not because he's a munch and has been thinking about this for months) maybe he'd make you come on his tongue, but he doesn't want to overwhelm you so he'll just tease you and rile you up until you're dripping with a fog of pleasure clouding your senses.

He'll gently ease his fingers inside of you one by one, getting you used to the feeling of having something inside of you. He'll switch between holding your hand and circling your clit with his thumb. He watches your face like a hawk for any indication that you're uncomfortable or, god forbid, in any pain.

And if you end up coming around his fingers, that's okay. He didn't really set himself any goals for this, like getting 5 orgasms out of you in 10 minutes or anything like that, he just wants you to feel good and loved.

If you don't come around his fingers, that's okay, too. What happens, happens, what doesn't, doesn't. As long as you're satisfied in the end, he doesn't care.

Expect to get like a thousand kisses and him telling you how much he loves you every second.

Bruce insists on missionary (it's his favorite position, but only with you) because the closeness and intimacy is very important to him during your first time. He will always have a safe word, it'll be just stop most of the time. It's easy to remember because it's the first thing you think of when it gets too much anyway.

Because, let's be honest, you're not gonna remember rhubarb-vanilla crumble or something ridiculous like that.

He's been ignoring his raging hard-on, purely because he just can't take his eyes off you. You look absolutely divine underneath him, your pretty features contorted in bliss. He's already been making mental notes to what really makes you melt. And then the moment finally arrives and he gently pushes himself inside of you, tightly grasping your hand.

Communication is really important to him (not only during sex) so I'm afraid you won't get any kisses until he's 100% sure that you're okay. He needs to hear you loud and clear, whether you want him to slow down, start moving, to angle his hips differently. This is all about you tonight.

But the second he's found a good and steady rhythm and has you mewling with your eyes rolling to the back of your head, he's smashing his lips on yours. Bruce would lay his entire weight on you, chests pressed together because he needs to be closer to you. It's not close enough for him, but it'll have to do.

But don't think this isn't affecting him, sex with love is way different than the hook-ups he had. He's panting like a dog, messy hair and dilated pupils. He's absolutely drowning in pleasure, reaching the deepest parts of you while your fingers are still firmly laced together. He'd be very insistent that you come together (he's probably the one that has to hold himself back) and he'd stroke your clit or suck on your tits, whatever tips you over the edge.

I believe the closer he gets to coming undone, the more incoherent babbles of love spill from his lips. It's all desperate and needy "I love you"s in between moans and groans. There are definitely night where he was more control, but this one is not one of them.

After he's brought you earthshattering bliss, and he tiped over the edge himself (he'd preferably come inside of you, but he wouldn't mind pulling out if that's what you wanted) he'll lay down with you. There's no rush, just the two of you gently coming out of your haze of pleasure.

Bruce can't ever shut up, which makes him the king of pillowtalk. You'll just take for a little while, make sure you're both okay before it's time to clean up and get ready for bed.

Depending on how deep you're into the evening, he'll either gently wipe you down with either a damp towel, make sure you're both getting some water, or he'll straight up pamper you with a full bath. I'm talking candles, bubbles, lots of differently scented soaps, and ,of course, his arms around you.

It's all very intimate and loving with tons of soft kisses to your temples, forehead or lips. After you're dried off, you'll help each other slip into your sleep attire before absolutely knocking out for a good 9 hours and waking up in the loving embrace of your lover with the sun kissing your cheeks.

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Hope you liked it, anon! <3

《Tag list》: @allysunny @certifiedredhoodlover @hellonheels-x @gaozorous-rex-blog

Lmk if you want to be added to my DC tag list! (Currently entails Bale!Bruce and Jason Todd)

[seababehh]

When did you get this? || Matthew Sturniolo x Reader.

Summary: Being best friends with Nick is great, but having his brother be your worst enemy is another story. What happens when summer is rolling around and it’s time those layers peel off and the bikini’s start rocking, and Matt so happens to see a newly healed belly ring attached to the girl he’s not allowed to touch?

MATTHEW STURNIOLO X F!READER.

Warnings : Smut (no actual P n V just a lot of kisses and touching. If you’re not into it, go look somewhere else. :)) Sexual tension (obvs), bikini weather, grumpy as shit Matt, slight flirting from Chris, belly piercing, worshiping, suggestive. Lots of touching LMAO.

Authors Note: WELCOME TO MY FIRST POST YAYYY, sorry if it’s shit. I just got my belly ring pierced and wanted to write something a little spicy with my favorite brunette. Tell me what you think!

THIS IS NOT PROOF READ

———

I groan, flopping down onto Nick’s bed with my face looking at the ceiling and an eye roll received from the triplet next to me. Nick was laying on his stomach, scrolling through his phone aimlessly as we both tried to beat the hot weather. With a house this nice and their damn AC doesn’t work? I was ready to situate myself into the fridge like a damn frozen hotdog.

“Nick.” I groaned dramatically once again, rolling onto my side and placing my hand on him, trying to be more annoying than usual. “What the fuck are you on about now?” He slapped his phone down on the sheets and shuffled to smack my hand away. I smiled cheekily at him, “It’s so fucking hot man, can we not do something else instead of melt into your bed?” I pulled on a strand of hair gently, letting it fall on my face and blew it away with a huff.

“Welllll, we do have a pool. Why don’t we go and see what my brothers are doing and we can have a pool day?” He looked at me with a smile, making me frown. “I don’t have a swimsuit here you asshat.” I sat up, looking around his room. Nick got up and looked in one of his drawers, before pulling out a black bikini. I looked at him questionably, before I was interrupted. “Before you get your fucking mouth yapping, one of my girlfriends left it here. Try it on and i’ll give you a t-shirt and a towel.” He threw it at my face, causing me to laugh and take it as well as the oversized T-shirt to the bathroom. “You have other friends?” I teased as I walked out the door.

I closed the bathroom door and started to strip out of my jeans and tank top. The bikini looked a bit small, but I slipped it on anyway. I tied the bottom’s around my waist, while adjusting the top to fit correctly around my chest. I threw my hair up and out of my face as I looked in the mirror. I have to say, it’s a little small, but it did make me look good and showed my curves off in the perfect way. I looked at my belly ring in the mirror, the silver gems with a hanging star dangled from my navel. I smirked to myself, thank god it’s healed. I shuffled the t-shirt over my head and walked back out to Nick’s room.

Once Nick and I were all ready with our beach towels and fresh pairs of sunglasses on our faces, we walked through the house to the backyard. Nick was currently talking my ear off as I opened the sliding door. Chris was chilling on the side of the pool with his weight against his elbows behind him, and backwards cap covering his curls and a set of red swim trunks on. He was currently looking at his phone, which I’m assuming was connected to the speaker. Matt was sitting on the beach chair in the shade with a grumpy look on his face that matched his black swim trunks,as he watched Nick and I enter the backyard.

“Look who decided to fuckin show up.” Matt said as he crossed his tattooed arms and leaned back in the chair even more. I strutted over, placing my stuff into the chair next to him, before taking my sunglasses and placing them on my head. “Nice to see you too, Matty.” I winked, hearing him grumble at the nickname as I walked to the end of the pool by the steps. I looked at Nick, who just took his shirt off and jumped into the pool with a shriek. I laughed, placing my feet on the first step. I waved at Chris, who smirked at me. “Aren’t you gonna jump in too?” He asked.

I gave him a look, “Are you fucking joking? Do I look that dumb to you?” We shared a laugh, before I placed my sunglasses on the floor and reached for the hem of my Nick’s over sized shirt. I crossed my arms and pulled it up over my head, throwing it at Chris’s face when he decided to let out a wolf whistle. I could feel eyes on me, snapping my gaze to Matt’s whose ice blue eyes didn’t leave mine. I tried not to smile, before making it down the steps and finally pulling my head under.

I resurfaced, pushing my hair away from my face before swimming over to Nick. Chris eventually joined and we were all splashing about and having fun. Chris had made it under the water and placed my legs on his shoulders, pushing up and I was now completely out of the water. I let out a shriek and a laugh, holding onto his head as we wobbled about. I then looked at Matt, who was sitting in his chair still. “Aren’t you gonna join us Matty?” I teased, pushing his buttons. I heard a hoot and shout from Chris and Nick, but Matt just replied with a “In there with you? No fucking thank you.” And looked away.

I rolled my eyes, before letting out a shriek as Nick had pushed me off of Chris’s shoulders.

—

After a while of swimming and having fun, I had now moved to the side of the pool, where I was lying on my back and soaking in some sun. I could feel the silver gem in my naval get hot, and my mouth became dry as I eventually sat up and looked at the boys. Nick was now laying on his stomach next to me, Chris was lounging around next to Matt on the beach chairs. “Okay, i’m fucking thirsty. Does anyone want anything to drink?” I asked, Nick asking for red bull, Chris shouting for a Pepsi, and I got a scoff from Matt.

I got up, sauntering in through the sliding door before making my way to the kitchen. I obviously didn’t hear who came in, because as soon as I closed the fridge door and turned around, Matt was standing right in front of me. I gasped at the sight, placing the drinks on the counter before looking at him with a glare. “What the fuck Matt?” I asked, placing a hand on my chest to calm my breathing.

I looked up at him, his chest wise rising and falling fast, and his hands were almost in fists at his side. I looked at him with a confused look on my face. “Hello? Are you deaf?” I could basically feel the anger from where I was standing. “When did you get this?” He gently placed a hand on my naval, just under my ring and gently caressed the star dangling against my skin. My breathe hitched, looking down from his hand back up to his eyes. His gaze followed mine, “W-what?” I asked dumbly, the air around us tightening as he moved closer to me.

He looked down on me, “Do I really have to repeat myself? When did you get this?” He said sternly, both his palms now pressed against my hips, his thumbs running under my naval once again. My skin felt like it was on fire, and it was now my turn to breathe heavily. “I got it in winter, so it’s completely healed by summer.” I said quietly, keeping my eyes on his. He licked his teeth under his lips. “Do you know what you’ve been doing to me? Sauntering around in this? And then I look down you to see a fucking belly ring?” He spoke in a raspy voice, pulling at the waist band of my bikini bottoms and letting it snap against my skin. I gasped, looking down at the hands on my hips, back up to his face. His brown curls fall over his forehead, as he wet his lips.

“What are you doing to me?” He whispered this time, making me shiver. His grip on my waist tightened, pulling my closer to him as his gaze went from my lips back to my eyes. I placed my hands on his chest as he slowly leaned closer. His lips barely grazed mine, and my heart felt like it was hammering against my chest. At the same time, it felt like if I let out a single breath, the moment would be over. I gently fluttered my eyes closed, leaning my head up and taking the leap. I placed my lips on his, and immediately it was like a fire had started.

He started to kiss my lips roughly, placing a hand behind my head and bringing me closer. I whimpered a little, placing my hands behind his neck and I began playing and pulling his hair. He let out a groan, before reaching down and placing his hands under my thighs, lifting me up and having me cross my legs behind his waist. His hands then moved to my ass, giving it a firm squeeze. I gasped, allowing his tongue to enter my mouth as he moved with me to the downstairs bathroom. He slammed the door closed and placed me on the counter with my ass nearly spilling into the sink.

I pulled back from the kiss and hissed as the cold tile pressed against my hot skin. He grabbed my jaw and focused my view on him again, kissing down my jaw and neck. “Matt-!” I whined, arching my back and pushing my tiny bikini clad chest against his. “You had me riled up the whole day, looking at this gorgeous fucking body of yours.” He said, groaning into the crook of my neck as he left sloppy kisses behind. I moaned, and he pushed his hips further into mine.

His hands moved down to my thighs, giving them a rub and a squeeze, before moving his hands closer to where I needed him most. “Couldnt-.” His voice almost sounded strained, a little whine. “Couldn’t stand to see your pretty little thighs wrapped around Chris’s head and not mine.” He pulled away from the kisses he was leaving down my neck to look me directly in my eyes. My chest was heaving as I was panting from all the built up pleasure and tension I was experiencing. I almost broke from the fucked out expression he was giving me.

He then gave me a smirk, placing a kiss on my lips, then the centre of my neck, followed by ones on my collarbone. He then looked up at me as he kissed me in between my boobs, his hand snaking up and pulling my bikini from my chest, my tits falling out onto display for him. He sucked in a breath, pulling his bottom lip into his teeth before pulling one nipple into his mouth. I moaned, pulling his hair and leaning my head back at the feeling. His left hand played with the other one, and he swapped. After my boobs were covered in saliva, and growing purple and red marks, he made his way down my stomach. “You sound so good f’me.” He slurred against my skin.

He stopped just above my belly ring, before looking up at me one more time. “God, you just do things to me no one else does.” He mumbled, gently kissing against my belly ring. “This fucking ring will be in my head forever. I’ll think about this and how perfect you look forever.” He rambled, getting lower and lower before he reached my bottoms.

“P-please Matty, I need you!” I whimpered, arching my back as he was right there. He smirked, pulling his weight back up as he stood at full height again. I whined at the loss of his face between my legs, not that he was doing anything but he was just so fucking close. I looked at him confused, as he just continued to smirk. “Now, that’s what you get for riling me up the whole day.” He whispered into my ear, smirking as he kissed me one more time and opened the bathroom door and walking out.

What the fuck.

I blinked a couple times, before regaining my posture. This man, did not just get me the horniest i’ve ever been, and walk out on me? Two can play at that game.

——-

A/N 2: Agg GUYS!! this is my first ever fan fic, i’m so nervous about it. I am going to make it a 2 part series where I will eventually write proper smut, but I am just a little scared LMAO. I hope it’s good, tell me what you think!

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

I’m just going to throw down my thoughts now real quick. Someone is obviously going to get taken over by Fyodor. This takeover seems to require blood to activate. Here are the potential options, rated lowest to highest by my own personal interest.

Random character we’ve never met - the easy and boring answer. Fyodor will body snatch one of the vampire guards he was communicating with. Fair amount of likelihood since he could easily have made the transfer of blood at any point, though I’m not sure yet if it needs to be an instantaneous thing or if his blood can lie dormant. Either way I think it’s a bit of an ass-pull with no stakes on our cast so I’m hoping this isn’t the case.

A named character outside Meursault - Probably someone he’s had a lot of contact with, so Fukuchi. This depends on the blood having a latency period and is also insanely contrived. I actually hate it more than the random guard.

The Catgirl thief - I’m assuming this is extremely unlikely since the host needs to be alive. But anyways. Women lovers here’s how we lose even worse.

Having said this now, I think it’s fairly obvious it has to be one of the other Meursault four. This is appropriately thematic and tragic, given that all of them place a lot of value on free will and self-determination, which a takeover by Fyodor would rob them of.

Chuuya - He spent a lot of time around Chuuya to be sure but there’s no blood on him. If there’s a latency period though, it is possible. I’m not feeling this one though, to be honest. I don’t see what narrative purpose it serves - Chuuya hasn’t had enough of a role in the manga for this to mean much, other than royally pissing Dazai off (which to be fair is definitely in character for Fyodor). I think it far more likely that Chuuya is going to be a witness for whatever comes next.

Sigma - High likelihood. He did get stabbed and had the memory transfer. I can’t remember whether Fyodor touched him with his wounded hand. It would be brutal for this to happen to him after he’d just broken free from his manipulation. But honestly I don’t know that Sigma getting taken over is all that interesting. For one, they’re going to need his knowledge (though that may be a reason for Fyodor to off him truthfully), and for another, I just don’t think Sigma’s… done enough as a character. I feel it would kind of render his arc in Meursault pointless to end his story here.

Nikolai - The most likely possibility to me. He is holding Fyodor’s severed hand, which he touched to his face. Fyodor’s ability probably kickstarts after his death, and Nikolai was the first to get his blood on him. Sadly, I suspect that if this is the case, this will be the end for Nikolai. If he gets taken over, I can’t see a reason or method to restore him to himself. What a horribly tragic end this would be to our favourite clown, his freedom snatched away for good by the one person he couldn’t help but get attached to.

Dazai - I dismissed this off-hand at first. Of course I did, Dazai is immune to abilities. I also want to be clear that I seriously doubt Asagiri will off his favourite boy like this. But oh man. What if Fyodor’s ability isn’t an ability, much like in the first skk manga team up? What if them both being there is a call-back to Rimbaud who snatched corpses, and Lovecraft who could hurt Dazai? What if Fyodor really has become no longer human - and this is the proof? I was kind of hoping the Meursault arc would end with Dazai (temporarily!) out of the picture, and this would be a way to do it - Atsushi and Akutagawa would have to step up, Chuuya could be more relevant. We could even have more Kyouka if what I’m starting to wonder is true - that Fyodor was involved in the death of her parents. At the same time, Dazai’s special boy plot armour nullification and mysteriousness gives us a plausible reason to bring him back. And all the while maybe they could continue their mind games, with Dazai being an annoying little pest in the back of Fyodor’s mind.

[girlokwhatever]

ʚɞ✧˖ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ- end of beginning,, pt.2

part one

emily engstler x fem!ex!reader

you got ready in record time. the combination of your nerves and excitement together spurred you into a frenzy, encouraging you to bounce around your hotel room like you were being rushed.

emily said she’d pick you up soon, causing you to hurriedly make the finishing touches on your look tonight. there was that feeling still, deep down, that you wanted desperately to impress her.

the shared conversation you had echoed in your mind the moment the two of you departed. she asked you out to dinner. your mind teetered on the line between two ideas: she wanted closure so you two could be teammates without your history getting in the way, or, maybe she hasn’t moved on.

you think in some ways you have, but was that even true? if emily came to you with a confession of love that she never let go of, what would you do?

there wasn’t time to ponder the thought because your phone dinged. it was a simple message from emily telling you she’s here. ‘waiting for you outside’ she said, simple but enough to make your heart beat faster. you gathered your essentials and left the ghost-like hotel room to meet emily outside.

when you caught sight of her, leaning against her car, hands buried deep in her pockets and ankles crossed, you knew you were done for. she looked so beautiful, no less than you remember.

“hey, sorry, i know i’m a bit early.”

“it’s all good, i was ready anyway.”

she eyes you up and down, smiling to herself because she recognizes the bracelet you’re wearing. it’s one of the many she bought for you during your relationship. a token of her love for you.

“i was thinking we could get some hibachi, your hotel is kinda close.”

you nod, affirming it’s a pleasant choice. the car ride there is filled with simple conversation. you realize it’s the kind of conversation you’d have with someone you barely know, but then again, it’s been two years since you’ve seen emily.

she is different. but so are you.

“okay i’m gonna warn you, i’ve heard mixed reviews about this place.”

the two of you had been seated almost ten minutes ago and still haven’t been given drinks. you didn’t mind much but you could tell by her bouncing leg that emily was losing patience.

“and you didn’t feel like that was worth mentioning earlier?”

“well i remember you like hibachi and this is the only place i know of that serves it.”

she’s giving you a playful shrug as her fingers toy with the lanyard attached to her keys. you can’t help but let your eyes linger, watching her facial features shift slightly when she breaks eye contact or noticing the almost invisible shake in her hands. she seems much more reserved, a lot quieter than you know her to be.

“hey do you remember that time,” she smiles as she pauses to collect her thoughts, “when we got hibachi and the guy accidentally burnt you with the shrimp?”

“oh my god- yes. i still, to this day, have no clue how he managed to flip it on me instead of the stove.”

“dude that was classic. i mean, unfortunate for you but definitely funny.”

emily leans back against the wooden chair, relaxing into the seat. she was looking at you again and still smiling at the contagious happy memory. it was a popular story to tell during your relationship.

“yeah okay, but when i mention that time in the park when you fell on your face it’s not funny?”

“no. you threw the ball way too high. i don’t even know how you threw the football like that.”

“from practicing when we went to the beach that one time, remember? we’d throw the ball on the beach at night.”

all the recounts of priceless stories never to be forgotten makes your chest swell with fondness. to see the way emily smiles when talking about them warms your heart even more because she’s genuinely happy and you sense no resentment in her tone. she’s appreciative of the time she got to spend with you, even if it was short-lived.

“i don’t think i could ever forget that. it was the best vacation of my life for sure. it was so good, school had kinda been stressing me out and all so i was just happy to get away with you. i remember our first night there you wore that really pretty dress, the white one, and you asked me to take pictures of you at sunset but it was so windy and you kept getting mad. oh my gosh you were so mad. i still have the one picture where you’re pulling that piece of hair out of your mouth and you got so upset because i took the picture and sent it to myself. but you looked so beautiful anyway, it was good.”

you don’t say anything, too shocked to properly collect yourself. though you knew ex’s could be friends, you weren’t aware it was like this. you’re in awe of her really, feeling your cheeks grow warm at her compliments of your beauty.

your eyes stay trained on emily but she’s looking straight ahead at the wall, rummaging through all her memories containing you. you’re all she can think about in this moment and she’s not aware how obvious that simple fact is. she was too lost in thought, too busy missing her past to realize her word vomit.

“i remember too how an ocean wave knocked you over and you got a bunch of sand in your hair,” she leans back further, trying to submerge herself in the memory. “and i had to help you wash it out that night cause your arms were tired. then for the rest of the week you made me go in the ocean with you every time so i could help hold you up, i think i can still feel how tight you’d grip me when a wave came. and we’d always get burnt cause we’d float together for ages. but i didn’t even care because i was just happy to be there with you. nothing else mattered to me.”

the intensity of her words finally dawn on emily, immediately stiffening and clearing her throat. the air between you is thick and her confession weighs in the space between. you have no idea how to react or what you could possibly say to her, but you don’t have to because someone is finally asking what you want to drink.

the rest of dinner was tense with very few shared words. every now and then emily would comment on the quality of the food and you’d say nothing in return.

what could you say?

the ride back to your hotel was even worse. the soft hum of the radio and an occasional road bump was the only noise to fill your space. your eyes stayed glued on the sunset out the window the entire time, trying to remember how you ended up in this situation.

you thought back on everything. from the moment emily asked you to be her girlfriend, the moment you broke up with her, to earlier in the night when she asked you out to dinner. anecdotes of your shared past with her flooded your mind and refused to leave. it wasn’t until she parked at your hotel that they drained, leaving you with a teary waterline and regrets of past decisions. and current ones.

“thanks for taking me out tonight.”

“yeah, no problem.” silence lingered as you climbed out of her passenger seat but once you were about to shut the door she spoke up again, “i’m sorry.”

but it was too late and she wasn’t even sure if you heard her because you just kept walking. shaky breaths and silence consumed the walk back to your room, nothing in your mind but blame on yourself.

you should’ve said something, acknowledged her admission and reciprocated it. instead you sat there silently and visibly watched her shrink in on herself.

you were a coward.

you were a coward back then when you broke up with her, not able to face the uncertainty change would bring. it had only gotten worse. you realized that maybe some things don’t ever change.

the harsh opinion you harbored for yourself only made you feel worse. once you reached your room the tears began to fall one by one down your face, a pent-up sob escaping you from your spot on the bed.

emily was still parked outside, watching the time pass by. with each minute she debated on going inside, straight to your room. she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d do or say when she got there, but she just wanted to see you again.

it had been thirteen minutes since you left. thirteen minutes since she saw you. thirteen minutes since the opportunity to win you over again had passed. thirteen minutes sitting in silence waiting for you to text her something, anything. but you never did.

she couldn’t leave knowing she didn’t try.

so she didn’t. she remembered seeing your key card, your floor and room written across it in bold lettering. that’s where she found herself now, standing on your floor gathering the courage to just knock.

finally she did, hearing you shuffle on the other side of the door. she could swear a drop of sweat was dripping down her forehead, bringing the back of her hand up to wipe at it.

“emily?”

“can i talk to you?” she was going to throw up, she was going to throw up, “please?”

“yeah.. are you okay?”

“are you?” emily looks at your face, makeup disrupted by wet streaks and eyes slightly red, red enough to be noticed. her tone came out harsher than she meant it to, pushing her way into the cold room. you don’t answer, instead busying yourself with shutting the door and turning the lights on.

“can i sit down?”

“go for it.”

she props herself up on the end of your bed, hands resting on her bouncing knees as you approach. you lean against the wall a few feet away as she begins to speak.

“i’m sorry for dinner, if it made you feel weird or anything. i think i should tell you, just get it out of the way, that i still think about you. all the time. and, like, i miss you. i know we’ve both probably changed and we’re different people now, i get it. but nothing, nothing, amounts to the way i felt with you. when i saw you today i felt like old me again. i want nothing more than to be like that again.” emily catches her breath, the jumbled confession coming so suddenly. “i went back to louisville last summer, just to see jeff and stuff. being there reminded me of you. i felt better there because i felt like part of you was there with me.”

she looks at you expectantly, waiting for some type of reaction. you just stare at her with an unreadable expression, tears dipping at the corners of your mouth and you bring a gentle hand up to wipe them away.

“do you ever..” she buries her head in her hands, dragging them down her face, “do you ever feel that way? tell me you don’t and i’ll leave if you want me to. i just have to know so that i can move on with my life.”

“emily..”

“it’s okay” she whispers, “it’ll be fine.”

she stands, tucking her flyaways behind her ear. your eyes connect with a silent message as you try to find the right words. you turn your head away from her direction because you feel like she’s peering into you, dissecting every thought and tearing you apart to find what she wants.

“i think about you all the time.”

it’s short but effective. emily’s heart skips a beat and so does yours, the gap between your bodies lessening.

“getting on the court with you again was so amazing and for that reason alone i’m happy to be here. i left louisville because i couldn’t do it without you. and i spent, oh my god, so many nights regretting my decision. i miss you emily. i’ve missed you for two years.”

neither of you have any words left as she surges toward you, pulling your body into hers. your lips meet in a passionate kiss to make up for lost time, finding peace within one another. emily holds the back of your head to press you as close as possible because she fears you’ll slip away again if she doesn’t. she finally has you back, nothing is taking that away from her.

you’re the first to pull away, placing your forehead against her own. your noses rest side by side, lips touching and fingers tangled in hair as you both pant from loss of breath. you’re so relieved that you’re almost convinced it can’t be real.

there’s no negative feelings plaguing either of you anymore, finally feeling complete.

the rest of the night is spent with tangled limbs and gentle kisses to pass the time. she never leaves your embrace and you don’t leave hers, feeling content right where you are.

you can finally wave goodbye to the end of your beginning with emily, ready to move into the next chapter with her.

ʚɞ✧˖ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

thank you @astroph1les for literally giving me all the motivation to do this

i hope no one forgot about pt.1 i know it’s been a minute 😬😬😬🤗

not spell checked yet but it will be later!!

pls enjoy!!!!!!!

[theorphicangel]

𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬. | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

tags: enemies to lovers, college au, smut, 18+, slow burn,

synopsis: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single, brooding man in possession of a good future in genetics, must be in want of a girlfriend.Or at least a fake one to get his family off his back. (college au & fake dating trope ft my favourite grumpy man who doesn't fall first but ends up falling harder. ouch.)

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taglist: @oharasfilipinawife @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @amelialysm @crimin4llyins4ne @strawberryjuice9 @beezusvreeland @faretheeoscar @lunablackcosplay @t4naiis @peachey-pie @mcmiracles @hardlystrictlystarwars @migueloharastruelove @fruityfucker @kingtwhiddleston n @nappingmoon

chapter seven: an interesting observation of your stupidity and insensibility.

series

Pissed would be an understatement if you were to describe Miguel's reaction when he found out.

“Whoa, whoa –” Peter’s expression changes to concern as Miguel emerges from his bedroom with a look of pure irritation on his face. Peter leans against the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal in one hand. “Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning.”

“Did you know someone put my car up on craigslist?”

“What?”

“My car.” Miguel emphasizes, his tone growing thick with impatience. “Why the fuck is it up for sale?”

Peter frowns. “I don’t– I don’t understand, what are you talking about?”

Miguel sighs, unlocking his phone to show Peter a screenshot that Gabriel had sent.  “Look.”

“And that wasn’t you?”

Miguel curses. “Of course it wasn’t me! Why would I sell my car for 69 bucks?”

It takes everything in Peter not to let out a laugh. “Well, it wasn’t me.” He attempts to defend himself with a mouthful of cereal. “ Miguel , I swear I had nothing to do with it–”

“I know.” He cuts off, waving a hand to dismiss him. “You’re too idiotic to do something like this.” Miguel squints, inspecting the ad; there’s even a fake email with his name attached to it. “I just– I don’t know anyone who would do something like this.”

 “Anyone you can think of? Maybe anyone you pissed off lately?”

Miguel shakes his head, glancing down at the ad again. Other than Peter there’s no other person who comes to mind. Just when Miguel was about to suggest reporting it to authorities, Peter speaks up.

“ Oh , maybe it was your friend.”

“What friend?”

“The one who works at the cafe.”

Miguel holds back a scoff at the thought. You , his friend? He barely even considers you an acquaintance. 

“She’s definitely not my friend. Never was and never will be.”

 Miguel gives Peter a clear look implying that he should elaborate nonetheless. Peter swallows, taking another bite of his breakfast before speaking. His words are muffled by his chewing – a pet peeve of Miguel’s – but he can just about make them out.

“She told me that she was friends with you but she needed a favor from me. And then, she told me that you were picking her up somewhere but she didn’t know what your car looked like and she didn’t have your number so, moi,” he pointed at himself with his spoon, “being a very good friend gave her your number and got a picture of your car for her on your behalf. I think she’s in your genetics class or something, right? But I did that because she said she wouldn’t be able to see you for the rest of the week and then she saw me at work and found out that I was your roommate which is why she asked me in the first place. Anyways, because I helped her out I finally got MJ’s number which was what I was meant to tell you yesterday but you were in a mood and—”

What?

At this point Miguel blocks out Peter as he rambles on, trying to comprehend his side of the story.

It was you. Of course it fucking was. He should hardly be surprised. 

Miguel storms away without another word, his face struck with anger.

“Hey, where are you–”

The door slams before Peter can even finish his sentence.

“And I didn’t even get to tell you the best part.”

/

Okay…so maybe he wasn’t too serious about reporting you to the police. But could you really blame him? 

His week was already heading for the shits when deadlines after deadlines began to be set. Not to mention the stress of lab work with two incompetent idiots who refuse to do anything, resulting in Miguel doing it all himself. Then the incessant texts from Gabriel begging him to talk to mamá, which only dug up memories of Miguel’s last unforgettable conversation with her which therefore reminded him of the upcoming anniversary . 

And then there was you .

You were the sickeningly sweet cherry on top of the dog pile of shit; causing an inconvenience to his life which only seemed to be full of inconveniences. 

At this point Miguel’s beginning to think that going to college was more of a curse than it was a blessing; perhaps bad karma for his behavior before he left home.

Either way, you were his last straw.

For the remainder of the day, a sullen expression was glued to Miguel’s face. Those around him actively avoided him, walking around him as if he were some sort of minefield; tiptoeing to avoid accidentally setting him off.

It wouldn’t be the first time. From a child through to his early adolescence he was used to being alone. Sitting in a corner by himself with nothing but a ‘simple introduction to all things science for teens’ textbook to keep him company . Throughout his childhood, his withdrawn demeanor caused him to stand out from the others, constantly being told by teachers to ‘smile more.’

But back then there was nothing to smile about.

It wasn’t until Jess approached him that afternoon that he actually considered letting off steam. He was surprised at first that she was coming to him, only noticing her a few times in his cells and molecular seminars.

“Wanna come out for drinks with us tonight?”

He hesitates at her question, his mouth slightly ajar; dumbfounded that she was addressing him directly.

 “You look like you need it.” She adds on.

He’s caught in a moment of insecurity, almost surprised that his social life is taking off. In that same moment he remembers the words of his seventh grade teacher echoing in his mind: ‘How are you going to make friends, Miguel, if you keep pushing them away? Give it a chance.’

And so he did. Ending up in a club a few blocks away from campus with shitty music and too many college students. The stench of sweat causes his nose to scrunch up as he squeezes past a sea of bodies just to make it to the bar.

Did he regret coming here tonight? Maybe. But it was better than staying cooped up in his room all night doing a piece of lab work that his classmates should have done.

Miguel waits his turn at the bar, eyes scanning the club as he does so. Strobe disco lights bounce across the walls, changing color in beat with the pounding music. If he stares for too long his eyes begin to hurt so instead he squints, still studying the room as he tries to remember the orders he was given. His lips move a little, mumbling to himself. “One gin and tonic, margarita and— 

His sentence cuts short, body freezing at the recognition of you. He didn’t notice you at first, the lighting of the club being too dim to make out anyone’s face. It was only as you turned towards the bar, standing directly across from him, that he noticed you.

He watches you from afar as you wave the bartender down but then you pause for a split second, sensing a pair of eyes on you and glance back at Miguel.

He feels your sense of panic as you look at him. He too silently curses himself for meeting your eyes. You look away as quickly as you can, the bartender now approaching you. 

As much as he hates to admit, he can’t tear his eyes off you as you lean over the bar– drunkenly he notices– to shout your order to the bartender.

Just at the sight of you, anger grew from the pit of his stomach. After your conversation earlier he had sworn that he wanted nothing to do with you. By now, you’ve probably already removed the ad but that still doesn’t excuse your actions. 

Despite his rage, Miguel just can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you; he watches as you pull back from the bar, stumbling a little. He can sense you actively avoiding his eye contact; just one look at him and your face cringes with embarrassment. 

He can’t remember what sparked his body to move closer to you. Maybe it was some left over resentment or pure concern at the sight of watching you drunkenly attempt to look as sober as possible. Even reflecting back, he’s still not sure what made him gravitate towards you. Maybe curiosity? Maybe boredom?

 or maybe he just wanted one last petty dig at his nemesis.

For a guy of his stature, it’s easy enough to push past the sea of people in his way who immediately make room. Just a few meters away from you, he sees the bartender pass over the two shots you had ordered.

 Miguel frowns. “Don’t you think you should slow down a little?”

You’re clearly caught off guard, nearly spilling shots in surprise as you turn your head to see him. 

Miguel’s brown eyes take you in, pouring over your outfit; a tight dress that suits your skin tone; it’s a little short but he can tell you’re playful with it, accentuating your curves and tits but his eyes move away quickly. For a second, he’s grateful about the club’s dark lightning as you miss the way that his face heats up.

“And don’t you think you should mind your business?” Your pronunciation sounds heavy, no doubt due to the alcohol, yet Miguel can’t miss the lethal tone as you speak. “How long have you been watching me?”

He’s caught off guard, stammering quietly but you don’t notice due to the music in the background.

“I wasn’t watching.” Is all that he could come out with.

You scoff a little. “Right.” You say sarcastically before taking the shots; one right after the other. Miguel raises a brow as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, wincing a little at the taste. “And I’m totally not trying to get black-out drunk.”

“Any reason why you’re doing so?”

You snort after his question, holding back a laugh. “Why are you even talking to me? Shouldn’t you be busy calling the police on me?” 

You fiddle with the empty shot glasses in your hands and Miguel senses your ever-growing frustration as you glare. He hesitates, unsure of his reasons for both questions. You turn around once you sense he has nothing more to say.

 “I’m going to get another shot so if you don’t mind please leave me alone.”

“Don’t you have a shift tomorrow?”

The words leave his mouth before he can even think. No , he doesn’t have your schedule memorized. He’s just noticed that whenever he has a genetics lecture at 9am, you’re usually on shift that day too. Miguel notices your face fall at the realization, your confidence soon draining out of you.

You shrug halfheartedly. “So what?”

“You need to go home.”

“And you need to leave me alone.”

Miguel stops himself from scoffing. You look like you can barely stand, trying to lean back on the bar for support. He repeats his words again, his voice a little more stern as a crease appears between his brows. “And you need to go home.”

“I said—”

The rest of your sentence was interrupted by your phone buzzing, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess what you were going to say. Closely, he watches your expression turn from frustration to a sense of dismay, eyes glued to your phone. You begin to chew on your lower lip with Miguel silently observing your dejection, managing to lip read the words that slip quietly from your tongue.

Someone’s not coming back?

At this he takes his chance. 

“I’ll take you home.”

Miguel’s words abruptly bring you back to reality and you snap your head back up at him in surprise as if he’s just grown two heads. You let a small pause pass through before coming up with an answer.

“Uhmmmm, no.”

“Why–”

“Because.”

 “That’s not a reason, nena , you can barely stand.”

“Because I hate you and I want nothing to do with you.”

The second your venomous words leave your mouth, he’s taken aback, eyes widening a little. It takes him a second to reconcile his thoughts. The words leave Miguel’s dry throat in an empty tone.

“You’re drunk.” 

“Drunk enough to know that I still fucking hate you.”

The second time that that word leaves your tongue, a chill runs through his spine; and as if you’ve set off a trigger, faded and blurry memories suddenly begin to resurface through his mind.

There’s a voice in his mind from his distant childhood, where the words “I hate you” were constantly thrown at him in another language. That same voice conditioning him to think that all he caused was screaming and shouting throughout the house.

You don’t hear Miguel repeat his words a little quieter. “You’re drunk.” 

You don’t mean it, he thinks. Internally, he tells himself a little more sharply. You don’t mean it. Of course you don’t. You don’t even know his past. It’s not the same. You’re just drunk.

“I should be the one hating you. You tried to sell my car.” As soon as that reminder slips from his lips, Miguel knows he’s accidentally set off a trigger. 

Your expression turns to rage, pointing at his chest furiously. “Because you were a fucking asshole to me and wrote a fucking mean ass review about me!”

Miguel quickly notices multiple eyes suddenly looking in his direction. Fuck , he does not want to be attracting too much attention right now. 

He lowers his tone a little, drawing in closer to you so that you’re the only person who can hear his words. “You did all this because I was rude to you?” Por favor, dame fuerza. ” He lets the ‘r’ roll off his tongue, fingers grabbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. 

He needed to get out here. He can’t do this. He can’t fucking stand you and your nonsensical behavior. Miguel’s chest begins to rise and fall a little more heavily; he was beginning to get overwhelmed. Your loss of temper, your words and the resurfacing memories were all getting a bit too much for him. A migraine was beginning to catch on with the pounding music only seeming to grow louder with every song.

“So when your boss criticizes your work, you’re just gonna go out and break the law for some petty revenge?”

“You’re not my boss, that’s the difference.”

“And if I was, I’d fire you in a heartbeat.” He snaps, locking eyes with you. For a moment, it seems like everything stops. The noises, the people, the flashing lights all fade into one hazy background as the two of you stare at each other with mutual hate and anger. A whole ten seconds seem to pass by before you succumb to his gaze and glance away.

You don’t understand him and he doesn’t understand you. He doubts he ever will. 

“I hate you.” You mutter. 

“Ditto here, nena .”

The little nickname has caught onto him. It’s become a habit that he can’t shake off. He says it more out of spite rather than a term of endearment. Miguel remembers when he called you ‘nena’ for the very first time. He noticed how your nose scrunched up and how you tried to ignore it, unsure of the exact meaning of the word yet you didn’t miss the sense of ridicule in his voice each and every time he said it. 

“I’m going.” you announce, turning away from him and camouflaging into the crowd. Miguel grits his teeth out of frustration as you disappear. Although, with his height he can just about make out your figure. It’s not until he sees you snap back at a stranger and spill his drink that he rolls his eyes.

Here you go again. You can barely go two minutes without causing a  problem. 

From just a few meters away, Miguel can see your expression change from annoyance to fear as the stranger begins to shout in your face, edging closer to you. Squinting, Miguel notices your wrist being held by the man and without thinking, he steps in.

“Maybe you should keep your hands to yourself then, compa .”

He scans the man up and down. The figure sways back and forth, an ugly drunk expression written all over his face. Ah, he’s one of those guys. The ones who get riled up over jack shit and want their egos validated by taking it out on others. 

Miguel turns his back on the figure, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Quick, before he gets angry. I think this asshole’s drunk.”

A mumble leaves your mouth as you turn to leave. 

“I’m taking you back to your dorm room. No ifs or buts.” The two of you easily weave in and out of the crowd, thanks to Miguel’s height.

Soon spotting Jess, he leads you over to her table.

Jess opens her mouth to scold Miguel for taking so long with the drinks before realizing that he hasn’t got any in his hands. Instead, a hand is latched to your arm as you stumble drunkenly next to him.

“Jess, I’m going to take her home.”

“Whoa, whoa.”

“Ay, por dios– not my home. I’m taking her back to her dorm room, she’s someone I know and her drunk ass is going to pass out at any second.” Miguel scrunches up his nose in disgust. 

God , no . It would never be like that. You’d have to be the last person on earth to even think about that. No, not even the last person. He’s confident in his decision to let humanity go extinct rather than…that. Despite his dislike for you as a person  right now, there was a part of him that was enough of a decent human being to make sure that you got home safe.

Of course, that was the least he could do. 

/

“I hate you Miguel O’hara.”

“Uh-huh, you keep telling me that.”

He’s learned to face your words a little more assertively than before but they still dig into his skin a little, despite him telling himself that you’re not in the right state of mind. 

You’re mostly using Miguel for balance as the two of you walk across campus to get to your dorm. Your heels echo off the walls of closed campus buildings, the  late October chill running through Miguel’s body. But despite this, he’s still rather warm. Whether it comes from his pent up anger from earlier or because his body hasn’t adjusted to the chill of the night just yet, he’s unsure.

“Just making sure that you won’t forget.” you say, a cloud of warm air leaving your mouth and dissipating into the late night.

“I sure won’t.”

“You ruined my life.”

“You did it to yourself, nena .”

His words are harsh but true; Miguel doesn’t fully realize the extent of his words after a long pause between the two of you. 

“I did, didn't I?”

“Oh, please don’t start crying again–”

It had taken Miguel a full fifteen minutes to get you to stop crying earlier after your near clash with the stranger.

“Who’s gonna buy him a drink? Oh my god, he’s gonna find out where I live and–.”

“He doesn’t even know who you are, you’ll live.”

Unfortunately Miguel’s words die on deaf ears as you begin to break down. He sighs, letting go of your hand as you cry for the second time tonight.

“I’m such a bad person, I-I-I ruined my life by trying to sell your car and I nearly got fired at my first ever job and I lied to my mom…” You pause, reflecting on your words. “I lied to my mom.”

Miguel shrugs. It’s not the worst thing in the world, compared to his relationship with his own mother, it seems pretty insignificant. 

“We all have, haven’t we?” His words have a slight tone of regret, the memory of his harsh conversation with his mother arising again.

“I lied to my mom about having a boyfriend!” you exclaim. “And-and-and I’m a terrible daughter and I deserve death! and– and—”

Miguel’s eyes widen at your words, he doesn’t hesitate in scolding you for your language. “ Hey , hey , don’t say that about yourself.”

He’s not really sure about what you’re talking about and he’s not going to ask, but the last thing he wants to deal with tonight is a drunk and self-destructive college student. 

 Maybe he should’ve stayed at home and done the lab work.

“But I lied and now she– she’s expecting me to bring someone over for thanksgiving and I don’t have anyone because I’m a liar and a criminal and I’m going to prison!” You kneel down against the pavement, an endless stream of tears running down your face.

Awkwardly, Miguel watches you break down. For a second, he panics, scanning around for any person nearby to help him. He’s not really the right person to be helping you with…this. A street light flickers nearby, the only sound on campus is you sobbing and the faint sound of a siren across the city.

Miguel doesn’t even know why you’re being so dramatic but he blames it on the alcohol. So you lied about having a boyfriend?  So what? If anything, he’s done much worse. But he’s not even going to ask. He doesn’t want to be involved with your shit. Whatever problems you have, he does not want to be a part of it. 

But he does want to get you out of here as soon as possible before anyone comes across him standing awkwardly next to a girl sobbing in the streets.

He crouches down, trying to meet your eyes.  “C’mon, let’s get you to bed and you can sleep and forget that this never happened.”

You lift up your head, tears dripping from your chin. “No. I- I won’t forget, I’ll just remember it all over again and– and –”

“Hey, look at me.” Your eyes meet his and he makes sure that his tone is more mellow than before. “I promise you’ll go to sleep and forget all about this okay? I promise.”

“Do you pinky promise?” You hold out your pinky in front of him. 

“I pinky-promise.” He sighs.

You shake your head, pouting. “No, you have to link with me.”

Internally, he curses; rolling his eyes before finally joining your pinky with his.

Slowly but surely he manages to get you to stand up again, leading you to your accommodation block. You’ve now gone silent, only letting out a few hiccups here and there. Miguel asks if you’re alright and you let out a nod. Soon enough, you make it to your apartment building and he  carefully helps you up the flight of stairs; a hand gripping onto his large bicep for support. He says nothing about it, now letting you lead the way to your dorm room.

The two of you stand awkwardly outside your door, silence infiltrating the entire corridor as neither of you know what to say. Miguel soon decides to break the silence.

“You think you’ll be okay?” His voice is still soft.

 A small part of him wants to ask more about your…dilemma . But he soon reminds himself that it’s none of his business, that he shouldn’t even care. He just wants to get you home and leave you alone. Hopefully, never having to speak to you again after tonight.

You don’t let out a reply and instead ignore him, heading inside without so much as a last glance back to him. The door slams shut in his face, echoing loudly down the soulless corridor. A faint thump of music and muffled conversation are heard from the dorm rooms on the floor above.

Miguel’s mouth is slightly agape, his chance to recommend water or aspirin is now lost.His mouth closes slowly and he exhales through his nostrils. Letting out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding, shoulders dropping. 

Pulling out his phone, eyes search for the name ‘Lyla’ . He sends a text to make sure that you get the support that you need tomorrow morning. Sure, you’re not his favorite person in the world right now, but he knows what regret feels like in the form of a pounding headache.

Miguel moves to lean next to the wall beside your door, tilting his head back as he closes his eyes. He’s beginning to feel a migraine come on. Ever so softly he can hear little shuffles behind your door, no doubt you trying to drunkenly make it to your room. 

This night had to be one of his worst nights in college so far and it’s not even the end of October yet. 

He hates you, he thinks. You irritate him with the way that you talk and the way that you somehow attempted to sell his fucking car. You irritate him in a way that he can’t stand, making him swear that he wants nothing more to do with you. In fact that’s what he told himself today, after your conversation at the cafe. Tonight was just an anomaly. A situation of him doing the bare minimum so that you’d end up without regret tomorrow morning. 

Only now, does he finally get a chance to respond to the multiple remarks you’ve spat at him the entire night.

“I fucking hate you, too.” he mumbles, the words barely audible from his lips.

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