#andrew garfield curls

[sincericida]

ANDREW GARFIELD and FLORENCE PUGH

at the Toronto International Film Festival 2024 for "WE LIVE IN TIME".

(X)

[kenobion]

Andrew Garfield for WIRED

[strangerstilinski]

sharing a stiles thought i keep thinking bc brainrot and sharing bc you’d appreciate it

he would beg you to do the spiderman kiss and immediately fall as soon as it actually happens

i know this wasn't technically a request of any sort but oh boy did it tickle at the nearly nonexistent inspiration in my brain, so.. here we are. just a very short fluffy little thing that made me feel all warm inside. x

You tug at the sleeves of your sweatshirt in an attempt to cover your cold knuckles as you take an overly-cautious step out onto your front porch, hugging one arm around your ribs as a shiver wracks your body all while your grip tightens around your cell phone.

“Stiles, if this is one of your jokes-” A sigh escapes you, a wispy cloud of fog pushing past your lips as you look around for your boyfriend. There's a familiar blue jeep parked at the edge of your driveway, but the owner doesn’t seem to be anywhere in sight. You tut softly into the phone, “I think your pranks are cute, baby. Really, I do, but I need to study-”

Your socked feet carry you that much farther outside, shuffling slow across the smooth planks of wood underfoot while you cautiously scour the yard for his familiar figure.

“I'm right-” There's a scratchy crackle against the speaker just as you hear a scuffle from somewhere to your left. Stiles' yelp meets your ears twice, once from the dark emptiness at the edge of the porch, and then again half a second later through the phone.

It's just as you're just stepping up to the edge of the porch, hand falling to grip the railing as you squint into the darkness, when something drops down from above and makes you flinch back with a small scream.

“Here!” Stiles grins, the momentum of his body still making him sway forward and backward for a moment as he hangs upside down in front of you. He's dangling from the roof overhanging the porch, his torso curled around the edge in a way that can't possibly be comfortable, but he's grinning like he couldn't be more pleased with his current position.

“Stiles!” You scold, reining in the urge to punch his shoulder and instead redirecting the motion to simply grip at his biceps when he reaches out for you. The slow motion of his swinging slows under your steady hold, “Are you insane? You're banned from climbing on the roof! We- We have talked about this-”

“Neh, eh, eh,” He interrupts with a goofy grin, “The rule was that I can't climb on Scott's roof-”

While you don't remember the specifics, you have no doubt that your boyfriend would have been clever enough to worm some sort of loophole into his previous promise. Your nose scrunches up in annoyance while your heart continues thumping wildly in your chest, both from the scare and from the panic pooling in your gut as you watch your boyfriend shuffle and slip another inch or so over the edge of the roof.

“Sti, babe, please,” You whine anxiously, fingers digging into his arms a little meanly, “Stop moving around, alright? You're going to fall!”

“I'm not gonna fall,” Stiles rolls his eyes and he reaches a hand out to brush against your cheek, his pinky brushing the apple your cheek as his thumb presses lightly into your jaw, “Come on, don't you wanna know why I'm up here?”

You sigh softly, a small smile pulling at the corner of your lips while you release him with just one hand so that you can run your fingers through his floppy hair where it hangs loosely beneath his head. Your hand scrapes lightly though the soft strands, your cheek pushing imperceptibly into the warmth of his palm.

“Why are you on the roof, Sti?” You ask begrudgingly.

“Spiderman.”

“Spiderman?” You repeat slowly.

“Spiderman!” Stiles grins, “You know, the first one. The Raimi one-”

“Like.. Andrew Garfield?” You clarify with furrowed brows.

“What?” Stiles scoffs, “No! Toby Maguire! Baby, we watched them together-”

He looks appalled, mouth gaping just slightly in incredulity.

“Well, we watched the Andrew Garfield ones together too-” You defend with a small laugh, amusement filling your chest at just how worked up he seems to be getting by your mistake.

“The first one!” Stiles repeats in a huff, “Because that's the one where it's raining and he saves MJ and he's hanging upside-down in the alley and she pulls his mask down to kiss him as a thank you-”

“Ooh, a wet, New York City alleyway,” You tease, “How romantic.”

Stiles groans woefully, “This was supposed to be romantic. You are totally ruining this for me, right now, you know-”

His words do make you feel a little bad. He'd clearly put some thought into the idea. He'd climbed all the way up onto the roof of your porch, though you're still not quite sure how — there's no ladder in sight.

You plaster a sweet smile on your lips, slipping your feet up onto the rung at the bottom of the railing to boost you up another few inches, until your nose is level with Stiles' chin.

“I'm sorry, Stiles,” You murmur softly, chin tipping toward your chest so you can look into his eyes, “You wanted a big, superhero movie kiss?”

His adam's apple bobs when he swallows, his body reacting naturally to the familiar teasing lilt in your voice, “Uh huh.” He nods.

“Well gee,” You sigh wistfully as you drag a finger up the side of his cheek in a slow trail toward his mole-speckled neck, “You are awfully brave for climbing up there. And you did do it with the intention of wooing me..” Your teeth pull lightly at your lower lip and his eyes track the movement, “Maybe I could show you just how brave and sweet I think you are. Maybe.. I could show you how grateful I am, that you were willing to risk getting hurt for me.”

Stiles is nodding along, eyes wide with anticipation and cheeks flushed dark from a combination of your words and the blood rushing to his head in his current position, “Yeah.” He rasps weakly.

Your fingers curl around the back of his neck, your lips catching against his in just a light brush of skin, teasing. His lips part beneath your own and your warm breath mingles in the narrow space, the scent of spearmint overtaking your senses for a moment.

The hand on your cheek drags you closer in a gentle nudge as he grows impatient, and your mouths meet in a slightly awkward press of lips. Something about the new angle with such a familiar action scratches at the back of your brain, and you tilt your head just slightly when your mouths separate and rejoin only a second later.

Stiles presses his thumb softly into the hinge of your jaw in a silent request for you to open your mouth, his tongue catching on your lower lip before pressing inside and meeting your own.

Your tangle your fingers in the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. Another wet peck to his lips has him shuffling forward to chase your mouth the moment you ease back, and he seems to slip just a little further over the edge of the roof.

“Careful.” You warn softly.

“'m always careful.” Stiles whispers, his upturned nose pushing into your jaw as he kisses you again.

You lean back after allowing him another moment of indulgence. Stiles seems to follow the movement again, pitching forward as you go back like you're two magnets, but this time around he slips just a bit too far to allow for recovery. You can only watch on with wide eyes while he comes tumbling down from the roof and crashes into the bushes below with a small scream.

“Oh my god!” You gasp, leaning over the railing to watch your boyfriend roll into the grass with a groan, “Are you okay?”

“Never better.” Stiles manages weakly, voice hoarse.

“You sure about that, Spiderman?” You tease hopefully as you watch him drag himself to his feet, brushing himself off to free the small bits of branches and leaves and dirt that are now clinging to his clothes.

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs, “Yeah, 'm good.”

“Good,” You grin, beckoning him closer when he finishes ridding himself of yard debris and meets your eye, “You should get yourself a mask though. I hear masked superheroes tend get more than just kisses and I have to admit, I think it's kinda hot-”

“Noted,” Stiles agrees with wide eyes, tripping over his own feet and the porch stairs as he rushes toward you, “Fucking- Shit, I am so on it.”

[luvrxbunny]

Bunny I was randomly thinking about slow sex with Miguel with the !Cradle Sex Position! 🥺

i had to google what that was and omg the fucking fire that starting in my stomach AHHHHHH

also there were a bunch of diff photos so i hope this is the one you were talking about

warning 18+ - an animated photo of the position is below the cut

not proofread and probably some improper grammar CUS THIS WAS JUST SUPPOSED TO BE A BLURB

wc: 1k

it'd be really emotional sex. like maybe you almost died on a mission, ohh- like andrew garfield's spider-man! you were falling like that and Miguel had seen that canon event for other spiders so many times that he thought this was it- that no matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries, how quickly he shoots his web it wont reach you, he wont catch you, you're gonna die and it's his fault. but then his web reaches you and you're shaken up but completely safe.

he doesnt leave you alone for the rest of the day. he becomes worse than your shadow because at least your shadow can't insist your keep one part of your body on his at all times.

once you guys get home you ask him why he's so worked up and bent outta shape by what happened today and he breaks down. tears begin to stream down his face despite how aggressively he's trying to rub them away and you force him to sit down and explain himself to you.

you’re being so gentle as you comfort him, so caring and loving in a way he’s never felt before. so ofc he gets hard 🥳

he pulls you into his lap slowly and just stares at the shocked expression on your face once you feel that he’s hard. you’re sitting across his lap because of how he pulled you in. your legs run off the sides of his thighs as his legs stay planted on the ground.

he readjusts himself, slides down a bit and spreads his legs before wrapping a thick arm behind your thighs, one behind your back and slowly folding you up for him. he turns you so your back is to his chest but you can still hold the eye contact he’s kept this whole time.

the silence in the room is so fragile you’re afraid to breathe, not wanting to shatter the moment. his eyes flicker to your lips for a moment before coming back up with a pleasing look. his cheeks are still wet with tears, you can’t resist him. you lean in slowly and don’t close your eyes until your lips are locked with his. he moans and he reaches for your hand. he grabs your wrist and fidgets with buttons until your suit dissipates, one of his favorite things about having chosen to make you a digital suit.

he adjusts his watch to just dissipate the crotch, always needing that power imbalance between the two of you. his cock slaps against your pussy the moment it’s freed, eliciting a shocked, but desperate moan from the both of you.

miguel planned on taking his time with you but after his cock hit your plush, wet, lips— he can’t wait any longer. “putting it in, baby.” he grunts out into your ear as he lines himself up with your entrance. your hands reach back to caress his head, play with the curls at the base of his neck.

both your eyes roll back as he slides into you. it’s funny how in sync the two of you are, feeling the same things at the same time for the same reasons. the emotional exposure has left you both raw, sensitive for each other. you both are moaning louder and more frantically than you usually would, on edge already.

“m’not gonna last miguel. oh i love you so much, baby. you’re so good, keeping me safe at all times. my big protector.” your delirious, running your hand through his curls and grinding on his cock as you speak. your words affect him more than he ever could’ve expected. he’s cumming.

it’s worse than a punch to the gut. he lets out a yelp/moan of your name like a scolding and you can feel his warmth flooding your insides. his hands grip your thighs so hard you actually think they may pop, you have to dig your nails into his wrists for him to realize. his hands are shaking— his whole body is shaking so violently that you’re trembling along with him, causing an extra tightness over his cock as you start to cum.

he was on the tail end of his orgasm but now that you’re cumming around him… it’s been renewed. he lets out another shocked moan, closer to a whimper and a sob as he crosses the line into overstimulation. he’s still fucking into you though because you’re cumming. he wants you to cum so hard you’re nothing but jelly in his hands but it seems to be having the opposite affect.

your head is turned to his, you hand on the back of his head, in his curls to angle it towards you and you’re mumbling with a smirk against his lips. “oh- yeah. fill me up, miggy. you’re pumping me so full, baby. kee- keep going. miguel. keep filling me up, my love. m’all yours. make me yours- mark me. want everyone to know.” your words penetrate his brain like bullets. shooting through him and never leaving. mark you

he takes a bite before he can think. wanting to mark you in anyway he can and the sensitivity on his fangs as his eyes crossing as his cock shoves out another fat rope of cum into you. you’re squealing, trying to hold your sounds in as you flutter over his cock again, creating an obscene noise as his thrusts die into slow grinds. his teeth are still in your shoulder, feeling too good under the rush of your warm blood to pull out. his brows are furrowed as he tries to collect his thoughts again.

this never happens to him. you’re stroking the back of his head now and whispering loving words into the air, hoping he can hear them. you’re usually the one in this position, all fallen apart and gifting miguel the honor of putting you back together. but now he’s gifting the honor to you, giving himself you you completely, letting you clean him up and take the both of you to bed.

HOW THE FUCK DID THIS GET SO LONG OMFG 😭 THIS SHOULD COUNT AS TODAYS FIC

i literally burnt myself out from this and now today's fic is like 800 words

[slut-for-slutty-fictional-men]

"Halfway to You” – Part 4: You Know Where to Find Me”

Pairing: Andrew Garfield’s Peter Parker x Reader Warnings: Emotional resolution, love confessions, friends-to-lovers, tender physical affection, soft happy ending Word Count: ~700

Pt 3

masterlist

The sky outside your window has turned that soft kind of gold — the one that only shows up when the day is ending and something else is just about to begin.

Peter’s still here.

It’s been hours.

You made pancakes.

He insisted on washing the dishes.

And now, he’s sitting cross-legged on your floor, flipping through an old physics notebook you forgot he lent you two semesters ago.

It should feel strange — the way he’s slipped so easily back into your life like he never left.

But it doesn’t.

It feels like the space between you just… paused. And now you’re pressing play again.

You’re sitting on the bed, watching him without meaning to.

He looks up, eyes catching yours.

“What?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. Just… feels like old times.”

Peter smiles, and it’s a little sad. “Except it’s not.”

“No,” you say softly. “It’s not.”

Because you’re not pretending anymore. You’re not pretending that your heart doesn’t ache when he looks at you like you’re a miracle he’s afraid to touch.

You’re not pretending that Gwen doesn’t still exist in the space between you — kind, lovely, and everything you’ve tried not to resent.

You’re not pretending that you didn’t fall in love with him the moment he made you laugh in chem lab and never quite stopped.

You’re just… here.

And so is he.

“Can I ask you something?” Peter says.

You nod. “Always.”

“Why didn’t you give up on me?”

You blink. “What?”

“You had every reason to,” he says. “I ditched you. Chose someone else. I didn’t even see you for months. But you still let me in. Last night. This morning. Now.”

You take a breath. Let it sit for a second.

“Because I know you,” you say. “I know the way your heart works. I know that sometimes it gets tangled and confused and scared. But it’s still yours. And I love it.”

His mouth parts slightly. Like he doesn’t quite know how to process the words.

You didn’t mean to say them like that.

But you don’t take them back.

“I love you,” you repeat, quieter now. “I tried not to. I tried so hard not to. But I do.”

Peter stands slowly, setting the notebook aside. He walks to you with that careful, steady way he always does — like he doesn’t want to startle whatever’s fragile between you.

You look up as he stops in front of you.

He cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing under your eyes.

“I didn’t know,” he says. “I swear I didn’t know.”

“I know.”

“If I had— God, if I’d seen it sooner—”

“You didn’t. It’s okay.”

“No. It’s not. But I want to make it okay.”

Your voice wavers. “Peter—”

“I love you too.”

It’s quiet.

Then: “I think I always have.”

You close your eyes.

And then he’s kissing you.

It’s soft. So soft it breaks you a little — like he’s afraid to hurt you, even now.

But you kiss him back.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in and kiss him like you’ve been waiting your entire life to feel like this.

Like home.

Like finally.

When you break apart, you’re both a little breathless.

Peter rests his forehead against yours.

“Can I stay?” he asks. “Not just tonight. Not just until I screw things up again. Can I stay?”

You nod.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You can stay.”

⸻

That night, he curls around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish in your sleep.

You don’t.

You stay.

And for the first time in weeks, he is the one who cries — soft and quiet, mouth pressed to your shoulder like an apology he doesn’t know how to say.

You hold him through all of it.

Because he’s yours now.

And you are his.

⸻

You still go back to the fire escape sometimes.

It’s not about waiting anymore.

It’s about remembering.

That love doesn’t always arrive the moment you want it to.

Sometimes it takes the long way.

Sometimes it stumbles.

But if it’s real — if it’s true — it always finds its way home.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗦 - part three charles leclerc  x  fem! driver! reader (angst+ smut) series summary . . . after mysteriously waking up in an era that you don't belong in, you learn that you have amnesia and that your memories from the last few years have been misplaced somewhere in a memory dump. you're challenged with living in the future in a foreign body and life, especially with a husband who used to be your enemy. forgetting truly is troublesome.

( fic master list | general master list ) ( requests ) ( previous | next )

"What's that?" You pulled back Charles' arm to see what he was holding. He put a finger over his mouth signalling for you to stay quiet. Cookies. He stole cookies from the hospitality. "Try one." He whispered, offering one to your lips. You glanced between him and the dough unimpressed. "I thought we were dieting." "Just try it!" He urged and you could help but roll your eyes.

Holding his wrist, you held his hand still as you took a bite. A frown curled on your face as you chewed. "They wouldn't know if we took the whole box right?" You whispered looking around, before pulling his wrist closer and eating the rest.

Charles found himself smiling softly, feeling your lips brush against his fingers. "Come on." You took his other wrist, pulling him back to the hospitality.

You two ended up sharing the entire box in your driver's room, with you laying on the couch discovering tiktok while Charles sat on the floor beside you petting your ashera cat, kiki ( who was purring on your stomach ) while feeding you. "Won't Andrea be mad?" "Not if he doesn't know." Charles chuckled, brushing a few strands of hair out of your mouth.

You looked at him from the side of your eye, opening your mouth for him to put another one. "He'll kill you for being a bad influence." You leaned up taking a bite. "Me? A bad influence?" He teased, receiving a pillow hard on his head.

He watched as the cat leaned into your head scratches and belly rubs. Kiki was a way to get familiar or a taste of parenthood, he'd gotten her to decrease your baby fever while he tried make one with you. 

"What's with sll the shirtless pics? Makes you look like a whore." "It does not." He defended, leaning his head beside yours to watch what you were looking at. Yep, someone had a collection of shirtless Charles Leclercs, and you were looking through each one.

"Your ugly." "You wouldn't have married me if I way ugly." He reminded you and you turned to him unimpressed. Charles gave a knowing smirk before he went back to giving attention and affection to your cat.

Were you lying to yourself? Sure he wasn't ugly with that haircut . . . and those back muscles . . . and that torse . . . and that smile— no! Not his smile! Charles Leclerc had the worst smile. He still doesn't know how to wink!

"How did we meet anyways?" "What? We met in France at . . . 10—" "That's not what I asked. What made me like you?" Charles felt his breath hitch at the memory as he turned to face you slowly. "W—well its a long story, and we don't have enough time before the race." You turned on your side narrowing your eyes at him.

What are you hiding, Charles?

GASP! "Is that?— No way!" You fangirled, ready to take off only to be pulled back from Charles. He wrapped his arms tight around your stomach, lifting you up to make sure you didn't run off and tackle Andrew Garfield ( seventeen you's crush ). "Leclerc, let me go." You fussed and wriggled only for him to run away with you.

Yeah, if he loosens his grip for a second, he's going to left in the dust for spiderman. He won't lose the prettiest woman on earth for an actor. "I wanna see spider man!" "I— Hey you hear that? Andrea is calling." "BUT SPIDERMAN!!"

You grumbled and huffed angrily as you juggled the tennis balls next to Charles who was putting on his fireproof and zipping up his suit. "I hate you." You reminded Charles throwing one successfully at his head. "You have any idea how much meeting him would've meant to me?" He really didn't.

He took your scolding, feeling his heart clench and sob with each mean insult you threw at him. "Are you really that scared if I met a celebrity? Are you really that fragile and jealous?" You huffed tugging your gloves on and pushing him out of your way to retreive your driving shoes.

"Y/N— I'm sorry." He pulled you back from your hand gently, turning you to face him. He only saw your face fuming and angry, ready to punch his stomach up his throat. "I'll make it up to you, I promise." You You tried to pull your hand out of his grip but he was stronger than you for sure.

"Please. I'll get the whole cast. And the cast of the notebook." He tried to take your other hand put you pulled it out of his reach. "I'm an asshole. The biggest asshole. I don't deserve a woman like you. And yes, I am scared of losing a woman like you. You are the only good thing in my life, Y/N, and you don't even remember me . . . Don't you know how much that hurts?"

"I do and that makes it more bearable." Charles sighed, dropping his head, gently running his thumb across your knuckles. ". . . We had . . . a night in Australia . . . and we kept doing it. I asked you out later and we got married in december." He quickly explained clenching his jaw.

"We started of as an affair." You concluded, snatching your hand out of his, absolutely disgusted. "No! No." Charles denied quickly, backing you up in the wall trapping you, holding both your hands. "We had . . . talks and moments. You— you trusted me with your feelings and I thought, I still do think that you are a blessing, heaven on this earth. Sure we kissed and things escalated, but I'd never use your body Y/N."

You sighed as Charles searched for your eyes, trying to get you to look at him. You snickered once you finally looked into his fear stricken ones. "Please believe me when I tell you that I love you and you alone were meant for me.." He shook your hands gently, feeling himself hyperventilate.

"Please believe me when I tell you I love you, you're the best thing That's ever happened to me." The faceless man held your hands close to his chest, leaning close to you. "You're amazing and funny. You can be mean or nice when you need to and you've trusted me with yourself Y/N." "I love you, I really do." He chocked on his sobs, tears streaming down his blurred eyes. "I've you given you my heart. And you alone were meant for me."

"I know it's not like you can gain your memories on command or with a snap of your fingers, and I'm not asking you to do that. Just please . . . work with me—mhh" He moaned against your lips when you pulled him down roughly.

You tugged your hands free. Charles felt his hands twitch missing yours. That feeling was quickly forgotten once he felt your hands pull apart his race suit and zip down the top to pull up his fireproofs. "H—here?" He stuttered between kisses, feeling himself gasp with your hands trailing down his skin, past his waist line and underwear.

"Here." You asserted, pushing him to the couch, climbing on top of him pulling your own red suit off, an accidental hum leaving your lips against Charles. "Then we'll do it right—" He flipped you over, pinning your hands over your head.

You sadly didn't get to get as far as you would've liked. Charles held your hand as he jogged through the paddock, pulling your dishevelled self along to the garage. The race was starting in a few minutes and you couldn't miss it. YOU WERE THE DRIVER.

You huffed as Charles quickly fixed your hair and suit, helping you strap your helmet and put your gloves on. "I'm not three." "I know that." Charles whined before kissing your cheek from atop your helmet, scurrying off to get himself ready as well.

Sitting in your car, you watched as Charles ran up the grid to you. "Don't crash out, please." He crouched beside you, kissing your cheek. "Mother fucker— just go." You pushed him away, sighing.

You could see the relieved smile that's been plastered on his face since he got to taste you again. You on the other hand felt agitated because he pulled away thousands of a second before you reached your peak. You were going to have to take revenge for that, you thought as you watched him climb the car in front of you.

"Well, David, it's a scorching day here in the heart of Monte Carlo, and the engines are roaring as we prepare for the start of the Grand Prix!" "Absolutely, Martin! And it's not just the weather heating things up. The Leclercs' presence is making waves. Y/N, dealing with amnesia, is a 17-year-old spirit in a 25-year-old body. A unique twist in today's race."

"Indeed, David. It's lights out, and the cars surge forward. Charles Leclerc, starting from the front row, quickly slots into P2 behind Verstappen who's got an amazing start."

Lap 20. — "As we cross the 20-lap mark, disaster strikes for Charles Leclerc! In a bid to block out Perez, he clips the front of the Red Bull, sending both into the barriers." "A heart-stopping moment, Martin. Charles is out of the race, a DNF, and that's a tough blow for the Ferrari driver on his home turf."

"Oh no." You mumbled passing the red and blue cars. You stayed silent once you pressed the radio button. "Yes, Y/N?" The radio was on but you were quiet. "Is he . . . is Charles . . ." "Charles is okay Y/N. He's coming back to the garage right now. Don't worry." "Alright . . ."

Lap 25. — "Meanwhile, Y/N Leclerc's facing her own challenges. After some intense battles, she's fallen to P7. The young racer is under pressure, but she's fighting hard." "She's showing real tenacity out there, Martin. And we've got some team radio messages coming in from Y/N's crew."

"Y/N, keep your focus. We know it's tough, but you've got this. Picking them off one by one." "I know, I know. I'm trying!— Lando stop fucking—" "Stay calm, Y/N. Stay calm." "Yeah yeah."

final Lap. — "And here we are, the final lap of this exhilarating Grand Prix. Verstappen has dominated the race, but behind him, the real battles have raged."

"Absolutely, Martin. And Y/N Leclerc, after a stunning performance, crosses the finish line in P4! What an incredible comeback from the young driver after taking the last 4 rounds off."

"You did it, Y/N! An incredible drive. We're so proud of you!" You Felt yourself screaming in exitment, throwing your fists up in joy. "How many points is that?" "These are 12—" "TWELEVE! OH MY GOD, NO WAY. NO. WAY."

"Verstappen takes the win, David, followed by a sensational Lando Norris in P2 and the seasoned Fernando Alonso in P3." "Monaco has truly delivered, Martin. Drama, determination, and unforgettable moments. That's what the Monte Carlo Grand Prix is all about."

"Okay, it was a bad race." "It was the shittiest race." Charles corrected you, huffing as he pulled your leg up to undo your shoe laces ( one of the few things you forgot how to do ). And although Charles was fuming, filled with fury and anger, he felt more at ease with your shitty attempts of comfort.

You sighed for the thirtieth time, watching him set your sneakers on the rack and rub his face in his hands. "You're annoying." You reached a hand under your shirt undoing the straps. "I— I know I'm being a hassle and—" Charles looked up to face you only to come face to face with your bra that you were holding up.

You dropped them. Charles was quick to react and catch them, watching your retreating figure pull your shirt off as you walked to the bedroom. "Wait— wait for me." Clothes were quickly abandoned on the floor as charles practically tackled you onto the bed. He couldn't keep his hands or mouth of your breasts that he's missed so much. You could feel your body twitch and tense feeling his warm tongue on your skin.

It was unfamiliar to you, but it felt . . . satisfying, with the way charles was doing it. He kissed and licked and nibbled on every inch of your skin, practically ripping your panties off so he could reach what he needed.

"No teasing this time." You pushed his head away when he tried to lick up your arousal. "Condoms." You pointed at the drawer. And he obeyed, quickly sliding one on. With his gentle touch, Charles pulled you to stand on your knees, your back to his chest with your arms holding his biceps that wrapped tightly around your stomach.

"Haa! Fuck!" You tried to jump out of hold at the weird sensation, the stretch felt . . . Foreign. But you didn't not like it. "Hey- hey. Relax. Breath." Charles pulled you further into his chest, kissing the spot behind your ear. "I got you. We can stop whenever you wan- ow!"Your body jolted feeling him push you down to take him further, head involtarily snapping vacation and hitting his nose. "Shit- I'm sorry." You tried to turn and check on him but Charles only laughed quietly.

'She apologized?'

"I'm okay." "I swear if you're lying—" "—I'm not. I'm not." He assured you quickly making you slimb your body in relief. "Let's take things . . . Slower?" He offered slowly, gently setting you dowm on your chest.

"How did we do it the first time?" "Oh wow, that tales me back . . ." ". . . You don't remember?" "—I do! It was my first." He defended, pulling you to straddle his lap. "I rode you? What kind of sex was that?"

"Well you took lead." That idea wasn't so bad. You watched as he intertwined your fingers with his, bending his knees so he could keep a steady pace. With a deep breath, you sank down slowly. The pain was almost non-existent from all the times you did it before. You felt on fire, leaning your hands on his to keep yourself up.

"Ready?" "Just go already." Almost immediately when his hips thrusted upward a moan left your mouth feeling him push deeper than you had settled with. "Charles— Fuck!" The monogasque held you up from your hips before you face planted in his chest.

Your eyes were squeezed shut, gripping his pecks while he kept a steady pace. Charles felt complete finally, he felt at home with you. You weren't usually this loud but he wasn't going deny the extra treats.

You switched position a few times, but you stuck with prone; with Charles pinning your hands above your head, he littered your chest neck and collar with small bites and licks.

He knew you were close from your mannerisms, having been married to you for 4 years and with you for almost 6. Charles fucked you through your orgasm while you engraved ten red lines down his shoulder and back.

"E—enough." You hiccuped, trying to push him away. "Almost there, Amour. Please just a little bit more." He begged in your ear, picking up just pace. Your body twitched and flinched every few thrusts and you grew tired and limp in his arm. "Wait wait." His voice was thinner and lower as he chased his high.

How more was a little bit? How more could this man go? Charles must've been making up for the few months you missed. You were tired yes, but watching him so desperately beg and whine and moan on top of you felt . . . It felt satisfying.

His body was sweaty with hair sticking to his forehead as he rocked back and forth repeatedly. "Mon Amour, mon Amour." He begged and he begged and he begged, squeezing his eyes shut so he could only feel and hear you.

He only opened his eyes again when he felt your finger tips ( that had thrown tennis balls at him this morning ) brush his hair from his eyes and wipe the desperate and needy tears that trailed down his eyes.

You were so gentle with him. How could you not? He was giving all of himself to you. Why were you being so mean and cruel to him? You watched your heart skip a beat as he nuzzles his cheek in your hand, taking your wrists and pressing soft kisses to your palm. He was practically worshipping you. And he was.

"Je t'aime— fuck fuck! Y/N!" He finished with a final few thrusts, finally stopping to catch his breath. You watched him pull out and flop on your chest, back rising up and down as he nuzzles in your neck. "Amour." He wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing kisses to your jaw .

You've never seen him in such a state before. So vulnerable and open and weak. You could hurt him, you could win the game. But you didn't, instead resting your head on his back, patting him gently as you two fell asleep tangled I each other. Charles might've been not so bad after all.

[buckyssoldat]

Lost exit (Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: A drive through Queens brings back memories of a love with Peter Parker that was never meant to last. When he reaches out, the truth is undeniable: love isn’t enough when he belongs to the city first.

Word count: 1.6k

Requested: No

Warnings: angst, heavy emotional themes, breakup, unresolved feelings, driving while distracted (emotional distress), mentions of bruises (implied violence, not graphic)

A/N: Hey! I wrote this about Andrew Garfield's Peter Parker. Hope everyone likes it! Also, please check my series ‘Forsaken - The Fallen Soldier’. Feedback is always appreciated, don’t be shy to share your thoughts on this :)

The streetlights smear into golden streaks as you drive down a road you know too well, their warmth lost on you. The crisp autumn air seeps through the cracked window, slipping cold fingers against your skin, but it doesn’t sting – not the way your heart does. Your knuckles turn white around the steering wheel, gripping it like a lifeline, the same way you once held onto him. As if holding tighter could’ve kept everything from unravelling. But it did.

Your foot presses the gas a little harder, blurring past the stop sign where Peter once made a joke about you needing “spidey senses” to drive. His laughter still lingers in the hollow of your chest, an echo of something that used to be real.

This was supposed to feel like freedom. Getting your license had been a dream, one Peter helped you chase, quizzing you on road signs while balancing books and an overstuffed backpack on his lap. You used to talk about the places you’d go – late-night diners just outside the city, museums you’d pretend to care about for his sake, streets that would only belong to the two of you.

But the license should have felt like freedom, and all it brought you was a ticket to revisit ghosts of a love you couldn’t outrun. A love that felt more like a missed exit now, something you were always close to but never quite arrived at.

Queens is a graveyard of memories. The bodega on 24th Street where Peter bought you hot chocolate on a freezing December still stands, but now, it feels like a tombstone. You can almost see him there, cheeks pink from the cold, his breath curling in the air as he waited for you to laugh at one of his terrible puns. You try to blink the image away, but it’s carved into you, impossible to forget. Love doesn’t just disappear. Especially not the first kind – the kind that swallows you whole.

A song filters through the speakers, the one Peter used to sing along to, voice cracking at the high notes while you giggled and told him to stick to saving the city. Now, the lyrics feel like a wound reopening, raw and aching. You should turn it off. Instead, you turn it up.

Your fingers clench tighter around the wheel, and suddenly, you’re not here – you’re there.

On the rooftop of your building, the city stretching beneath you, vast and indifferent, while you tried to hold together something already slipping through your fingers.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you had whispered, the words breaking you as much as they broke him.

Peter’s breath hitched. You saw the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his mouth opened and closed like he was scrambling for the right thing to say.

 “I can’t be with someone who always has one foot out the door,” you had forced yourself to continue, the words tasting like blood. “I know you love me, but you love the city more. And I can’t compete with Spider-Man.”

He had taken a step forward, his voice sharp with desperation. “It’s not about that – it’s not about choosing. You know I’d do anything to make this work.”

But you shook your head, feeling like the world was crumbling around you. “It’s not about making it work, Peter. It’s about being enough. And I never feel like I am.”

That was the moment you left. The moment you walked away, tears blurring your vision, leaving behind the only boy you had ever loved – leaving him to a city that would always own him first.

A horn blares behind you, dragging you back to the present. You blink, realizing the light is green. You mumble an apology to no one, press the gas, and keep driving. But the weight in your chest only grows heavier.

You pass the high school, and a fresh wave of grief hits like a fist to the ribs. The halls of Midtown High were where everything began – stolen glances across classrooms, late-night study sessions, the slow realization that love was settling into your bones like something permanent. You think about the homecoming dance when he had shown up late, out of breath and with bruised knuckles you pretended not to notice, because Spider-Man never took a night off. He had kissed you under the stars that night, his fingers tangled in your hair. He had promised you, that night, under a sky full of stars: I’ll always be here.

A lie.

You find yourself at a familiar intersection, one that leads to his apartment. Your fingers twitch, the instinct to turn down the road almost overwhelming. But you resist, swallowing the lump in your throat and heading straight instead, the route you had planned for this drive. You tell yourself that you’re stronger than the pull of old promises, but your heart aches for a boy who couldn’t just be yours.

As you continue, the city transforms into the outskirts of Queens, quieter and filled with small parks and quiet streets lined with brownstones. You find yourself pulling into the parking lot of your favourite lookout spot, a place that used to feel like an escape but now feels like a trap. Turning off the ignition, you sit in the quiet, listening to the hum of your thoughts.

This spot holds too many memories. It’s where Peter kissed you for the first time, where he told you that no matter how many responsibilities he had, he’d always find time for you. The wind had blown through his messy hair, and he’d looked so sincere that you believed him.

You lean forward, resting your forehead against the steering wheel as tears spill down your cheeks. The truth is, you still love him. Even now, even after everything. And that’s the worst part – knowing that love isn’t always enough.

Your phone buzzes in the cup holder, the vibration breaking through the silence. You glance at the screen, and your heart skips a beat at the name you’ve tried so hard to forget. Peter. The text is simple, like he has no idea the chaos he left in his wake: Can we talk?

Your breath hitches. Your fingers hover over the screen. What would you even say? That he left a crater where your heart used to be? That you see his face in every damn street? That you hate yourself for hoping he misses you too?

Another buzz.

This time, the message is worse: I’m here.

Panic floods you as you glance around, and sure enough, you see him. Peter stands at the edge of the parking lot, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, hair ruffled by the wind. He looks smaller than you remember, like the weight of the world has finally crushed him down. His eyes find yours, and the sorrow in them is enough to break you all over again.

You step out of the car, heart pounding. “Peter,” you say, your voice cracking.

His lips part, but for a moment, no words come. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper: “Hey.”

You cross your arms over your chest, a defensive gesture. “What are you doing here?”

He takes a step closer, but not too close, like he knows you might run. “I­­—I couldn’t stay away anymore. I heard you got your license, and I wanted to see you. Talk to you.”

You scoff, even though it comes out more like a sob. “Talk? Peter, there’s nothing left to say. You made your choice.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he’s struggling to breathe. “You think I chose this? You think I wanted any of this?”

The anger in his voice sparks your own, and you glare at him. “You chose to be Spider-Man. You chose to save everyone else, and I get it – I really do. But you couldn’t choose me, Peter. Not fully.”

His hands fall to his sides, something breaking in his expression. “I thought I could do both,” he murmurs, voice thick with regret. “I thought I could keep you safe and still—”

“But you couldn’t.” Your voice cracks. “You couldn’t be mine, Peter. Not fully.”

The silence between you is suffocating. Then, barely audible, he says, “I miss you.” His voice wavers. “Every day.”

You hold up a hand, cutting him off. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to show up and make me feel this way, Peter.”

The pain in his expression nearly undoes you, but you stand your ground. He takes a breath, his voice breaking. “I’m still in love with you.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and dangerous. You want to believe him, want to run into his arms and pretend that love is enough to fix everything. But the scars he left are still too fresh.

You wipe your tears and take a shaky breath. “I’m still in love with you too, Peter. But love isn’t enough when the world is always calling you away.”

He flinches, and for a moment, he looks like he might shatter. But then he nods, understanding the truth that neither of you wants to accept. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again.

You don’t reply. Instead, you turn and get back into your car, your heart breaking all over again as you drive away, leaving him behind. The city lights blur once more, but this time, you let the tears fall, because maybe one day, you’ll find a road that doesn’t lead back to him.

masterlist

[faerieroyal]

𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐘’𝐒 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄’𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐒 !

— ❥ 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 + 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

( warnings: insecurities, mentions of kind of shitty parents and past partners, one mention of food )

( note: this short was written with tom holland’s peter parker in mind, but i think it would also work for andrew garfield’s if you’d rather picture him. )

you are not a person who is used to praise. this isn’t something you say to garner sympathy or to make people feel bad for you so they’ll compliment you, not at all - it’s just a fact. your parents have never been the kind of people to vocally express approval, usually settling for an awkwardly cleared throat and a hand squeezing your shoulder, and the few romantic partners you’d had before your current boyfriend apparently hadn’t seen the need for it either. but then, you’d realized after those relationships had ended, your partners hadn’t really seemed to appreciate anything you did for them anyway, so the fact that they weren’t big on complimenting you isn’t exactly shocking.

what is shocking, however, is what happens when you start dating one peter parker. when he’d first confessed his feelings to you and asked you out, face scarlet and stumbling over his words all the while, you hadn’t really expected much of a difference from your previous relationships. sure, peter was much sweeter and more genuine than your former partners, but at that point you’d been convinced that you just attracted people who didn’t express gratitude, so you’d assumed, with no small amount of disappointment, that this relationship would turn out to be the same.

you find very quickly that you’re in for a surprise.

peter isn’t really known for being the most eloquent guy around; everyone at school is familiar with the way he tends to trip over his words, even if he can occasionally land well-placed verbal blows on bullies or anyone who’s being an idiot. but his tendency towards stumbling over his words hasn’t stopped him from praising almost everything you do since the two of you started dating - quite the opposite, in fact. almost every time you do something for him, or, in fact, even when you just do something that could be generally considered good, he’s quick to shoot a compliment your way in that sweet, slightly awkward way you’ve come to associate with him and him only.

“oh, you didn’t have to make breakfast - thank you, though, really, it looks like it’s gonna be delicious!”

“is… is that a new outfit? i mean, it’s fine if it’s not, too, obviously, but you… you look really good in it. like, wow.”

and, you’re surprised to find, even when you mess up or you’re struggling, the praise doesn’t stop coming; in fact, it seems to increase, now combined with encouragements and forehead kisses and even offers to help with whatever you’re having trouble with, something you’re even less used to than compliments.

“i know this is really hard, but you’re doing really good, okay? i’m super proud of you, no matter what.”

“is there anything i can do to help? maybe i can’t help with the actual thing, but i can get you a snack? or, are you cold, i can get you a blanket?”

“i’m really proud of you, you know. i just… i mean, i dunno, i just thought i’d tell you.”

it’s everything you haven’t had from anyone up until this point, everything you didn’t know you wanted until you and peter got together… and you’re not entirely sure you deserve it. you know your boyfriend isn’t exactly in the habit of saying things he doesn’t mean, but it’s all just so much, all the compliments and affirmations, and while it does feel good, you’re never sure exactly how to react to it at the time, and it always makes you feel like the worst partner ever when your own attempts to return the praise are always so awkward and stilted.

you tell peter all of this, one night when the two of you are curled together in bed. you’re not entirely sure where you find the courage to voice what you’ve been thinking - maybe it’s just the effect of being in the dark, the little burst of confidence to say things you’d never have the wherewithal to say in the light of day. nevertheless, you finally voice all the negative thoughts swirling around in your head, your voice quiet and shy, but the words there all the same.

the moment you’re done, peter shifts around in bed, moving so that the two of you are facing each other, your own face cupped gently in his hands. you can’t make out every little detail of him in the dark - not that it matters, when every facet of his face has been engraved in your mind and heart for months now - but you can see the way his eyes are wide with genuine concern and affection, how his mouth is turned down in a sad little frown that you’d surely think was absolutely adorable had you not just shared your most vulnerable, insecure thoughts with him.

“babe,” peter says, his voice soft and sweet and oh so gentle. “of course you deserve compliments and encouragement and all that, you’re amazing. and i mean, everyone deserves compliments and that kind of stuff, but you deserve them more than most people, because you’re amazing and ‘cause i know you haven’t had a lot of them. and it’s okay if you can’t always give it back to me, you show your love in other ways and that’s fine. i know it’s kind of hard to believe when you’ve convinced yourself of something different, but i don’t have any problem keeping on telling you until you do believe it, and i will. okay?”

it’s not the most eloquent speech ever, but it’s honest and loving and so peter that you can’t help it, a few tears well up in your eyes. but peter sees them immediately, because of course he does, and he immediately swoops in to kiss your eyelids, pushing them away. you nestle your face into the curve of his neck, so overcome, for a moment, with all the love you feel for this awkward, adorable, wonderful boy, and in return the boy in question wraps his arms around your waist and snuggles you closer to him, knowing to give words a rest for a moment and just let you hold him and process.

he’s right, of course, as he tends to be. everything you think and feel, all the effects of being deprived of praise and encouragement for so much of your life, are going to take a while to overcome, to replace with positivity and acceptance of all the things your boyfriend thinks and says about you. but you can’t help but believe peter when he says that he’s going to keep at it, with all the boundless determination that makes him such an amazing person and hero, until you really do believe him.

marvel taglist: @hiya-itsamber, @fairyofthehollow, @whiskeyswriting, @dancingwith-sunflowers, @xoalexandrarose !

general taglist: @maddipoof, @thatmagickjuju, @talkingturnedtoscreamss, @malafvma, @auxiliarydetective, @heliads, @oneirataxia-girl !

( send me an ask if you want to be added to a taglist !! )

[carlsdarling]

How to save a cat Part III

The relationship between Carl and Y/N evolves, and not everyone appreciates that… Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, angst, violence

Over the next few weeks, Garfield recovered. And it was inevitable: The relationship between you and Carl evolved rapidly. You only met secretly, either at secluded places in Alexandria, or Carl climbed on the roof under your window at night, woke you up by tapping softly on the window, and then you sat together on the roof for hours, holding hands, making out a bit and looking at the stars. Most of the time, though, you just talked. But there was always the danger of being seen and caught.

One night the mood between you was very sexy, and it ended with you having your hands in Carl's pants and stroking him, Carl bucking his hips, moaning softly, and caressing your boobs. "Do you mind if I cum on your hand, baby?" whispered Carl, breathless with arousal.

"No," you kissed him softly on the lips as he also began to spill his cum all over your hand, whimpering. With hearts beating wildly, you held each other. You didn't have anything with you to clean yourselves up.

Carl looked at you. "Y/N?" You raised an eyebrow. "Would you like to maybe... sleep with me?" he asked shyly.

"Now?" you responded in shock. It wasn't very comfortable on the roof - especially for someone who was inexperienced - and the night breeze quite chilly, and there was no way you could take Carl to your room. Your parents could notice it. But you also desired it - Carl's caresses excited you incredibly, besides, you were head over heels in love with him. You wanted to be as close to Carl as possible.

"No," he said hurriedly, laughing nervously, "Of course not right now. I meant sometime, soon." He cracked his knuckles and glanced at you uncertainly.

"Yes," you replied simply and kissed him. "I want to make love to you, too, Carl."

He beamed happily at you. "Okay. I'll take care of condoms." A little later he said goodbye and climbed down the tree in front of your house, walking home elated. Neither of you suspected that he was being watched from a downstairs window.

                                                 ***

The next morning, Carl was on his way to his guard duty. He had slept too long and was already running late, hurrying down the streets of Alexandria. Guilelessly, he rounded a corner when someone unexpectedly grabbed him by the upper left arm, brutally punched him in the stomach twice, ripped off his bandage and threw it in the dirt, then twisted his arm. Tears welled up in Carl's eyes, he couldn't even scream, the pain in his stomach was so intense. "You stay away from my daughter, Carl," your father hissed hatefully in Carl's ear. "Y/N is way too good for you, you're not worthy of her, just look at you," he said with a sneer. "The sight of you is an inconvenience. Your scar is hideous. No wonder you always cover it up. It would have been better if you had died from that shot. I won't let my daughter ever be seen with someone like you, understand? You look like some creature from Wrong Turn, who could ever love you?" he taunted Carl before pushing him to the ground, sneering at him and sauntering off as if nothing had happened. Carl lay curled up on the ground holding his stomach, tears streaming down his face.

No one had ever spoken so viciously about his injury; not even Negan. The latter had made fun of it and marveled at the empty eye socket, but then conceded that it had just been a joke and Carl had no reason to be ashamed of the scar. But this was different. Carl was aware that he might have been the first to look behind the governor's smooth facade and realize what lurked behind it: an abysmally evil and empathy-less man. Robert Andrews, the governor, was dangerous, and Carl was very afraid for you.

After a while, Carl managed to get to his feet and made his way to your house with a bad feeling.

There, hidden behind a wall, he spotted your father who was chopping down the tree in front of the house. Carl knew there was nothing he could do right now; reluctantly he went home, with his stomach ache and sprained arm he could not do his guard duty anyway.

You were caught off guard by events just as Carl was before. You left the bathroom to go downstairs to breakfast when your father grabbed you by the hair, yanked you around and threw you against the wall. You yelled out loud as your shoulder was bruised. Before you could get up again, he kicked you several times, then grasped you by the collar and dragged you to your room. "You get to watch me cut down the tree in front of the house now," he let you know with a cold smile. "No more Carl climbing up to your window. No more sneaky dates. No more dating at all! I warned you. You're to stay away from that white trailer park trash. You stick to your room!"

He slammed the door and locked you in, and you broke down crying. Garfield lay on the bed watching you from his big amber eyes, then came to snuggle up to you. He meowed quietly. You buried your face in the cat's soft fur, sobbing desperately. But you were already so used to your father's abuse that you quickly shrugged it off. You just hoped he would leave Carl alone.

Not wanting other people to become aware of how he was treating you, your dad let you out the next day. "'See Carl Grimes again, and you'll regret it. And so will he," he threatened. "I'll find out."

That's why you were half-mad with fear when you met Carl behind the stables a few hours later. He looked pale and unhappy, and you fell into each other's arms. You noticed immediately that Carl tensed in your embrace, as if he were in pain. "Carl? What's wrong?" you asked alarmed. He held his stomach, his face contorted. "Are you hurt?"

"It's nothing," he groaned, avoiding looking you in the eyes. "It's just... yesterday I was fighting with a walker, and he grabbed me and threw me onto a trash can."

You reached for his flannel and shirt and lifted both. "Oh, God, Carl," you said in horror. A huge hematoma was visible below his ribs. "That must hurt terribly. Poor you. Come here." You stroked his back. "We have to be more careful," you whispered. "My dad, he knows. He chopped down the tree."

Carl nodded somberly. "I saw it. Do you want us to break up? I could understand," he said sadly. "I might not be good enough for you anyway, either. You're so pretty, you come from a politician's dynasty, and I'm just... maybe someone else would be better for you." He fiddled with the bandage. "You don't have to feel obligated to be with me just because I helped you with Garfield, you know."

Disgruntled, you groped for his hand. "Carl, what is this bullshit? What makes you think I don't want you anymore? I love you, you moron. And I don't want to be with anyone but you." You involved him in a kiss. "We just need to be more careful," you repeated. "Already forgotten, you get condoms," you tried to lighten the atmosphere.

Carl silently hugged you to him and stroked your head. "We'll just meet outside," he then decided. "I'll take the car out by myself, and you climb over the wall, and then I'll meet you outside Alexandria."

You nodded. "That's what we'll do."

                                                 ***

When Carl went home later, he encountered Michonne in the kitchen. Rick was apparently not home. Carl had been unable to bring himself to tell you about your father's assault on him; he didn't want to add fuel to the fire, and he was also ashamed of how helpless he had been.

It had also stirred up unpleasant memories in him, of how he had almost been raped then, of how he had been lying on the wooden soil, unable to defend himself, at the mercy of his tormentor. Most of the time Carl repressed it all, but now it was present again and tortured him. He just couldn't talk about it.

And your father's spiteful words burned inside him and made him feel bad and worthless to top it off.

Michonne immediately recognized that something was wrong with Carl. "Carl? What's the matter?" she asked cautiously, lowering the knife she had been using to slice carrots.

He hesitantly met her gaze. "Uum, it... it's just, I have a girlfriend." Michonne tilted her head in confusion. Carl's expression didn't match the happy news. "It's Y/N, the governor's daughter, and... and he doesn't want that. He's told me very clearly that I'm not what he wants, and I'm not good enough, and he doesn't want me and Y/N together, but we love each other." Carl rubbed his chin defiantly. "So we're meeting secretly, just outside of Alexandria now, but I... we plan to... soon, so, we want to have sex with each other, and I need condoms," he then blurted out, red-faced.

Michonne was trying to process all this information. Despite everything, she was glad that Carl had confided in her. "The condom thing is no problem Carl, but where are you guys going to go? Why don't you just come here and go to your room? You know you have your privacy there.“

Carl's eye widened. "No," he protested. "Y/N would never enter our house, she's far too afraid of her dad finding out!" He looked scared himself.

Michonne frowned and pushed aside the incredulous anger at the governor. Carl and Y/N didn't deserve this. So it would probably happen in the back seat of Carl's car, on some country lane where Carl and Y/N could neither relax nor feel safe. Michonne felt bad at the thought - Carl wasn't just her best friend, he was like a son to her. She would have liked something less complicated for him.

Carl seemed to have read her mind, because he said, "We have a place we can go where it's safe and we'll be undisturbed," he revealed to her. "Don't worry about it."

Michonne looked at him inquiringly, registering how tense he was and how pasty. "I'm glad to hear that. But Carl, that's not all, there's more," she said softly. Carl's lower lip quivered, then he began to cry.

Michonne took him in her arms, and now he was sobbing. "Robert Andrews... he said to me I was ugly because of the scar, no one would ever love me, and it would have been better if I had died then," he said in a choked voice. "He said it was an inconvenience to have to look at me."

"That's not true," Michonne said, aghast, holding Carl a little away from her to stare at him. His eye was red from crying.

"Yes, it is," he sniffled. "That's what he said." He didn't mention the beating.

Michonne was speechless, she would have preferred to go right out and kill the governor, but she forced herself to be calm so as not to upset Carl even more. He looked like he had hardly slept anyway. She cuddled him gently and murmured comforting words. "I'll get you the condoms, and then the two of us will bake waffles with strawberries," she announced, struggling to somehow cheer Carl up. He loved waffles with strawberries. "And after that, you're going to sleep." Later, she would talk to Rick about it.

Rick was sad and angry when he learned about it later. Carl had endured so much awfulness in his short life, so many losses, and now this douchebag of a so-called governor was insulting him and shattering his self-confidence. Rick was so proud of how Carl's personality had developed, and Lori would have been, too, had she lived to see it. Hershel as well.

Couldn't Robert Andrews see how lovable, brave and sensible Carl was? How could he behave so callously toward him? Besides, it just wasn't true that the scar disfigured him; even if Carl himself still saw it differently. "I could kill Andrews," Rick growled. "Where's Carl?"

"He's asleep," Michonne informed him. "He said he had a headache. And I'm afraid you'll only make things worse for Carl and Y/N if you confront the governor." Frustrated, she threw a rag into the sink. "I already told Carl that it's really important that they use protection every time. If Y/N gets pregnant, it would be fatal."

                                                  ***

The next day, Carl made his way to the main gate. Negan had arrived, some goods were to be traded, and since Rick was on a mission of exploration in a nearby town, that task fell to Carl.

His stomach still aching, he slowly circled one of Negan's pick-ups and looked at the goods on the back of the truck - oranges, lemons and more exotic fruits. "Okay, we can use several palettes of these," he said, holding his stomach unobtrusively. "In exchange, we'll offer eggs, bacon and corn."

Negan eyed Carl from top to bottom. "What's the problem, serial killer?" he then asked straightforwardly. "You look like shit."

"Oh, thanks, Negan," Carl replied aggrieved. "I already know I'm so ugly I'd better be dead, and the sight of me is an insult! You don't have to tell me that, just shut the fuck up!" he yelled at Negan.

The latter flinched, startled. "That's not what I mean," he said, puzzled. "You look really sick, Carl. You're as white as a ghost." Again he eyed Carl. "You haven't been... bitten, have you?" he asked in a lowered voice.

"No," Carl muttered. "It's just, a zombie threw me on a trash can, and my stomach's been hurting ever since. It'll be fine," he finished sullenly.

"Doesn't look like it. You have two doctors in your crappy Alexandria town," Negan opined sternly. "You should see one of them. For your own sake. Just my two cents." He shook his head in annoyance.

So, after completing the trade, Carl went to the doctor's office, where he found Siddiq, and also told him the tall tale of the walker who had attacked him. Siddiq instructed Carl to lie down and expose his abdomen, then carefully palpated Carl’s body. Carl wailed in pain. "That's a massive bruise, Carl," Siddiq expressed with concern. The injury was just below Carl's old scar. "What other symptoms do you have? Did you throw up after the accident?"

"Twice," Carl admitted meekly. "The abdominal pain is pretty bad, too."

"Did you witness blood coming out of any part of your body?" insisted Siddiq.

"Um, no." Carl pulled down his shirt and sat up.

Siddiq sighed and rummaged around in a closet. "I hope you don't have a ruptured spleen, and that it's just a bad bruise," he then informed Carl, handing him some pain killers. "We'll have to wait and see. Take the pills, and get into bed. You need rest. Do not lift anything heavy. No strenuous activity. I will check on you tomorrow." Carl nodded gratefully and went home.

[silly-lovestruck-em]

Favorite Spiderman GO!

Uh uh uh-

First one that came to mind was Miguel-

But if we’re talking the live action movies- Andrew Garfield.

But.. first time I heard Miguel speak in Across the Spiderverse… when he grabbed the empanada and went “Que maravilla”

I can tell you for sure… toes curled, tensing in my seat in the theater and I was like “oh… oh no- 😳”

Fucking kid you not, my brother glanced at me going “do not go thirsting over another character right now-“

Me: Too late..

Andrew Garfield’s Spider-Man… I dunno, he’s just so- FIFJFJDJ- must protect. He’s precious. Especially when he was in No Way Home. His story seems very tragic though, and I’m not just saying that because of the AU fan art I did- *cough*

And then most recently… I kept seeing Spider-Man from Marvel Rivals.. I don’t play but.. 😚

If I’m going off of who I’m thinking about the most? It’s definitely Miguel. Papi can quite literally do anything to me and I would be okay with it. Por qué ese hombre es.. 🥰🤭🫠

[sincericida]

ANDREW GARFIELD

in photoshoot for "We Live In Time" promotion | for Icon

(source)

[kenobion]

Andrew Garfield for Sky TV

[phielows]

NOT MY BFF ACTUALLY SLANDERING ME FOR NOTICING THIS LATE THAT I HAVE A SPECIFIC TYPE IN MY FICTIONAL CHARACTER MEN😭🙏 cuz from what I told them, I'm a huge James Potter and Harry Potter girlie, then Andrew Garfield's Spiderman,etc (i literally hc them to be tan with curls and glasses) then now I'm crushing on Clark Kent(ALSO HC HIM TO BE A BIT TANNER, CURLS THEN GLASSES AND A BIT CLUMSY)

This is how the convo went:

Me: just realized that I have a type in men...(after showing her my doodle of Clark and Bruce and also yapping about how Clark looks so good)

Her: you realized that, NOW?

I was literally shut off and stunned.

[aslvt4ag]

Healing light

Peter Parker (Andrew Garfield) x reader

Word count 323

Chapter title: "Hope's Glint" ( 2)

Summary: Peter finds hope in y/n's kindness amid his grief over Gwen's death. Their conversation hints at healing.

Warning: Contains themes of grief and emotional turmoil.

As they stood in the alley, Peter took a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around him like a protective barrier. Y/n watched him for a moment before speaking up.

"Mind if I ask why you smoke?" she inquired gently, her voice soft yet curious.

Peter glanced at her, a hint of surprise in his eyes. He hadn't expected her to strike up a conversation about something so personal. "It's... complicated," he replied, his tone guarded.

Y/n nodded, sensing his reluctance to delve into the topic further. Instead, she shifted the conversation to lighter subjects, asking about his favorite places in the city and his hobbies.

Despite himself, Peter found himself opening up, the words flowing more freely than he had anticipated. Y/n listened attentively, her genuine interest in him sparking a warmth in his chest that he hadn't felt in a long time.

As the night wore on, their conversation grew more intimate, delving into deeper topics like loss, grief, and the struggle to find meaning in a world filled with pain. Peter found himself sharing things he had never told anyone, surprised by how easy it was to confide in y/n.

At one point, y/n reached out and gently touched his arm, her eyes filled with empathy. "You don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders alone, Peter," she said softly. "Sometimes, it's okay to lean on someone else for support."

Peter felt a lump form in his throat at her words, a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability washing over him. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to face his demons alone.

As they finally parted ways, Peter found himself feeling lighter than he had in months, a newfound sense of hope flickering within him. And as he watched y/n disappear into the crowd, he couldn't shake the feeling that their encounter was just the beginning of something truly special.

[denimbex1986]

'Last night, at the Bafta awards, actor Andrew Scott was interviewed by the BBC on the red carpet. In an exchange that viewers have branded “awkward” and “inappropriate,” Scott – who stars in gay fantasy drama All of Us Strangers, which was up for several awards – was asked by entertainment correspondent Colin Paterson about a specific scene – the finale – in Saltburn.

If you haven’t seen it, look away now – but it involved Barry Keoghan running around a mansion naked, while Sophie Ellis-Bextor’s “Murder on the Dance Floor” plays overhead. Paterson first asks Scott: “Do you know Barry well?” When Scott says he does know him, Paterson says: “Your reaction, when you first saw the naked dance scene?” Scott awkwardly laughs and responds “it’s great, it’s great”. “You can spoil away!” Paterson prompts again, to which Scott finally says: “no, I won’t spoil it for anybody.”

The exchange is already uncomfortable by this point, but then Paterson asks another question: “There’s been a lot of talk about prosthetics…” Then, somewhat suggestively, he asks: “How well do you know him?” At this point, Scott walks off. Sensing he’s gone too far, the interviewer shouts “Too much? Too much?” after him. The clip is excruciating to watch.

Viewers have slammed the interview – and it’s easy to see why. It seems like a strange choice to probe Scott – one of the very few gay actors on the red carpet – about Keoghan’s genitalia, or insinuate he might know what his penis looks like. (Does he think there is some sort of Irish actors nudist club, to which they are all a member?) It’s also bizarre because, if he wanted to ask Scott about nude scenes, specifically, there were plenty to choose from All of Us Strangers – where he stars alongside Paul Mescal.

Watching the clip, I can understand why gay fans in particular are unhappy with the line of questioning. It taps into an overfamiliarity a lot of us might have experienced, often from complete strangers, when it comes to sex. Straight people – particularly men, in my experience, after a few drinks at parties and weddings – can feel entitled to ask some pretty graphic sexual questions. Some might say this is just curiosity – a form of acceptance, even. Maybe that’s true, but sometimes it can also feel intrusive. There is a subtle homophobia in assuming all gay men are sex-obsessed – or will leap at the chance to talk about other men’s penises.

It is very possible that Paterson wasn’t aware of these dynamics. It might not have occurred to him that Scott is gay. But that in itself is an issue: As journalists, we have to be mindful that our questions don’t always come across as neutral, or without prejudice, to the people we’re talking to. Questions, like people, don’t exist in a vacuum – their appropriateness often depends on who is asking and answering them. It can be a delicate balance – and there was nothing delicate about this interview.

It is common for red carpet interviews to take on a much more informal tone than a magazine or newspaper profile. These chats are all about the buzz of the night and giving the audience a glimpse at the glamour. The excitement of it all. The gossip!

Since awards shows started live streaming on social media, I’ve noticed that red carpet interviews have become increasingly geared towards chasing a viral “moment.” Sometimes it’s harmless fun, like when Amelia Dimoldenberg and Andrew Garfield gave the world a masterclass in the toe-curling yet adorable art of British flirting at last year’s Golden Globes. But when fleeting exchanges have the potential to become huge viral clips in the content stream, it’s also easy to see how some questions might be ill-judged in the pursuit of online engagement. This feels like one of them.

That said, red carpet interviews are a very tough job. (Seriously, underestimate it at your peril.) For reporters, there are hundreds of actors and creatives – each with a different reason for being there and a different project to plug. There’s a wide variety of temperaments (and egos) to juggle, too. Remember at last year’s Oscars, when Hugh Grant was accused of being “rude” to Ashley Graham? You could see the fear in Graham’s eyes when confronted with Grant’s curt British responses, as she seemed unable to steer the interview out of awkward territory.

Still, the more informal and off-the-cuff format of red carpet interviews can also be a microcosm of wider industry inequalities. In 2015, Cate Blanchett called out E!’s “glam cam” as it panned up and down her dress during an interview. She stopped the interview and said: “Do you do that to the guys?” She later said: “[People] forget the fact that women are up there because they’ve given extraordinary performances.”

With Scott’s interview, it feels like just that. His own performance in an immensely moving film was pushed to the side in favour of a crass moment – one that felt beneath everyone involved. Watching the exchange, Scott’s fans see a gay actor being put in an uncomfortable situation and, crucially, not getting the respect he deserves. Maybe there’s a wider industry message there, too.'

[chaotic-orphan]

Haiiiii !!! Do u have character descriptions for the characters in intoxicating fear?? Would LOVEE to draw fanart if that’s chills ^_^

Intoxicating Fear Introductions

Hello yes I do!!! It is absolutely chill to do fanart for them!! PLEASE TAG ME IN IT I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE!!!

I can actually do a little reveal now for this of my boards for Hero and Villain WHO HAVE NAMES NOW.

Hero — Kit Mallory

Hero’s name is Kit Mallory and he has not been having a great time… his description?

This kind of vibe, like a golden retriever but make it suffer. He’s tall— like 6ft, this kind of floppy light brown hair and his smile used to be so bright before Villain. He just turned 20 a month before Villain took him, and he wears oversized clothes and layers to make himself appear bigger and bulkier because he is a self-conscious little bean. Especially next to Superhero who seems to dwarf him.

Kit is look wise based off of Andrew Garfield in the Spider-Man movies. He is determined and always wants to do good and help others more than beat the shit out of bad guys, that’s why he didn’t debut for so long. However he has no trouble fighting when he is defending someone like Other Hero or trying to defeat a Villain, he holds nothing back.

Villain— Ambrose

Then of course we have Villain, my boy.

Villain’s name is Oscar Ambrose, but Hero only knows him as Ambrose.

His looks are mostly based off of young Tom Riddle in Harry Potter, but with more ✨style✨ For example in the top left is his casual outfit and the kind of thing he wears around Kit’s house. He loves his suits and his shirt and pants combo because he can intimidate people dressed like that.

I think Young Tom riddle just captures Ambrose’s charisma and malice perfectly, because he is very boy-next-door, someone your mother would approve of you bringing home but there’s just something off about him.

He, of course, adores this. That he is unapproachable and he likes to show it off with how he dresses, speaks and presents himself. He lives off of fear day-to-day but having someone to satiate it around the clock is simply Christmas for him. Ambrose is older than Kit, he’s around 25, 6ft 4, towering over Hero and broader too. He is cruel and his eyes are dark and look into your soul, his lips just a little too red. My favourite sadist.

His hair is dark and almost silky looking, closer to black than dark brown but brown nonetheless, and he has his own board for his hair because he is meticulous about it. He also has a slight stubble that has been growing ever since he brought Kit back to his own house to torture him.

I must stress this is huge for him because he is so well groomed but he is just having too much fun with Kit to shave. His hair is more like the two top pictures below, perfectly styled and curled just behind his ears, but the same kind of cold perfection of the bottom two as well as a more similar colour.

And that is it!!! I was going to just drop in the names on the next update but this ask gave me an excuse to fangirl for a bit over my boys!!! Again please tag me in whatever art you make!!!