#bashes head onto a concrete wall bashes head onto a concrete wall bashes head onto a concrete wall bashes head onto a concrete wall b

[emunenenes]

for ruikasatober

[boy-comics]

XDINARY HEROES AS SOULMATE TROPES

── .✦ gunil;

first words to each other written on your skin

you've often wondered what situation would warrant the words stamped on your shoulder, and what kind of person would suit those words. they're innocuous enough, you suppose, and leagues better than a threat or something totally creepy; at worst they're just a little vain. your friends joke about it constantly, and when you start your new job at an athletic apparel store the teasing only increases tenfold. of course you would, they say. gotta up your chances.

the day it happens is—normal. you're on the upper floor, busy in the corner, and don't see him until he and his friend wander up to browse through the track jackets. he's trying on different colors in front of the mirror, testing the feel of them when they're zipped up, and doesn't seem to notice when his companion slips away for a moment.

you approach him to ask if he's finding everything okay. but before you can speak, he does, his gaze occupied with the zipper and his tone too warm and familiar and silly to be intended for you.

hey, does this make my biceps look sexy?

and even though you know these words, even though the reality of the order of them hits you until you're dizzy with surprise, you can't help it. you snort, and the man's head snaps up so quickly you'd think he heard a gunshot. he turns around quickly to apologize, laughing, and up close you see how his smile warms the corners of his eyes and makes his cheekbones pop. it's funny, you think as the two of you giggle in the middle of the store, he's funny, and you like funny people.

will you buy it if i say yes?

── .✦ jungsu;

marks left behind when you touch each other

it's easy to be enamored with how things feel—soft fur against your cheek, cold water over your feet, smooth paper underneath your hands. a tactile learner, a teacher once told you a long time ago. that is what you are; one who knows the world as it is beneath their hands, understanding by touching and being touched. and you want to understand everything.

this makes you brave, and it makes you reckless. it makes you climb a crumbling wall after a light rain to pick the prettiest pine cone you've ever laid your eyes on, and it is why you find yourself slipping and falling from a height that is perhaps larger than you'd like.

you know what concrete feels like against your back. it hurts. what stops you is not concrete, but something much more alive, and once you're steady on your feet again, you see that it is a boy with a shy smile and bashful cheeks. he asks if you are alright, and you say yes, because you are until you look down and see the sunshine-yellow fingermarks painting your arms where he had touched you.

oh. you stand and stare at the yellow, then at the fern green that covers the entirety of the boy's overturned palms and fingers. his cheeks flush even pinker, and you notice a faint smear of green on one, where the back of your head must have brushed it.

he makes no move to pull away when you take his hand, dragging your thumb along the back of it to see the color that blooms underneath. that evening, you go home with faint yellow hearts on your wrists, one step closer to understanding everything.

── .✦ gaon;

matching marks on your skin

it's in such an outspoken place—inked onto your right temple where everyone can see, two intersecting circles, one orange, one yellow. you wonder what it means. fortunetellers at fairs tell you it's good luck, representative of a strong and lasting bond, of a warm compatibility; your classmate in sociology tells you it means whatever you want it to mean. your boss at work still thinks it's a tattoo, though she hired you anyway so it must not be too bad for business.

you're told that he's your soulmate before you meet him. he's a friend of a friend of a friend, and when you're texted a picture of some guy's temple while studying for a midterm, you're convinced it's a prank at first. your mark is no secret. a venn diagram is easy enough to photoshop. but you get his number anyway because your friend swears up and down that he's a nice guy even if you don't believe her, and you text him, and he does seem like a nice guy and even calls you a couple times to ask about the mark and your favorite music and least favorite teacher and all the other mundane things that you don't think anyone else has ever cared to know. and even though you are a skeptic at heart, you start to entertain the possibility that maybe he really is yours, if only because you want him to be.

he shows up at the next friend gathering. you think that you'll be okay because you've talked and texted, but when he spots you and bounds over with his arms wide open, your name sweet and bright off his tongue, you find yourself unable to utter a word. perhaps you are right and it is too good to be true.

he lifts the fringe of hair covering his temple. here, he exclaims, his smile gentle, touch it. i swear it's real. i wouldn't lie to you.

your fingertips trace the warmth of his skin for the first time, and you let yourself believe him.

── .✦ o.de;

timer that counts down to your first meeting

sometimes the only thing that tells you time is passing is the set of numbers dwindling down on your wrist.

you kind of dread it. when the timer reaches zero, there will be a break in your routine. there will suddenly be someone unfamiliar in your life and it will be uncomfortable and strange, even if they are good. the change worries you more than the person themselves. you can't do anything about it.

when this dreaded change is scheduled to occur, you forget your id badge the first time out the door and lose time retrieving it, burn your tongue on your coffee, and receive a scolding from your manager about a report you submitted last week. by the time you board the metro to go home, having to stand because all the seats are taken, you want to cry.

hey.

you don't know how you hear him, or how you know he is talking to you, but you do. you turn to meet his gaze—and your wrist burns, and you suddenly remember that today is the day. you had forgotten. face hot, you point at yourself, questioning despite knowing the answer very well.

it's a small comfort that he seems surprised too. his eyes have widened, though he recovers quickly and stands. the corners of his mouth turn up. his gaze is kind, and you think that maybe change is not always a bad thing.

just wanted to offer my seat if you want it.

── .✦ junhan;

red string that ties your pinkies together

you have always known him, and he has always known you.

even before you understood the importance of the red string that ties you to him, you had known his importance to you. your family often regales you with stories from when you were toddlers, just learning how to walk, and how you would make a fuss and try to help him up whenever he teetered over. he was the only one you'd share your toys with, and if he hid away from the adults, you were right beside him, keeping him company.

growing up, you don't think too deeply about your relationship with him, even when everyone else starts to. it simply is.

then your first year of high school starts. you try to make a show of looking after him, like you always have, and he goes along because this is how it has always been. but it's hard for you to make friends too and—well, people in high school can be cruel. acting tough can only get you so far.

he easily finds you in the bathroom nobody uses on the third floor, thread of sunset red tangling underneath the third stall. he convinces you to uncurl and stand up, folds a paper towel and pats your cheeks dry. his hand takes your hand the way it always has, softly, his pinkie with the red string linking with yours, and that is when you realize, really realize, what he is to you and what you are to him.

because, of course, taking care of your soulmate has never been one-sided.

── .✦ jooyeon;

hearing their voice in your head

… but for some reason, it only happens when he's singing. and he sings a lot and about a lot of things, anything and everything, about living, about dying, about love and heartbreak, about boiling ramyeon on the stove and choosing his socks. you are not a singer, not like he is. but sometimes you find yourself mumbling lyrics to yourself while washing the dishes or putting away your clothes and only realize it, mortified, when he joins you in the back of your mind, a strange and beautiful echo that far eclipses your own normal little voice. you wonder if he is disappointed that you lack the talent he possesses in spades.

you meet him while on vacation. or, rather, you hear him, which is quite fitting. it's ideal weather for a hike, and you almost trip over your own feet when the song that bursts into your head matches the one drifting around the corner; his voice carries and to hear it in person is like submerging your entire body underwater after only being able to dip your toes in. perhaps it is fate that it is one of the few songs you know by heart, but it is your own decision to pluck up the courage to sing along, loud enough for him to hear outside of his own head.

when he rushes around the corner, your singing turns into a squeak. all of your insecurities come flooding in and you open your mouth to apologize but his face is shining and his smile is so so wide and as he half-stumbles through a singular hi he sounds like he loves you, and you think you love him back when he says—

let's sing some more. i want to hear your pretty voice again.

[florencemtrash]

Hummingbird: Chapter Four

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

What if the Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe) version of Miguel’s wife was actually Miles’s AP Art teacher?

Masterlist

Warnings: Violence and injuries

Seven months later

This shit was getting old.

One of Doc Oc’s tentacles rammed into Miguel’s side, tossing him against a wall and leaving a crack in the concrete. She smiled in satisfaction, oblivious to the spider-venom blaster he’d stuck to the underside of the mechanical arm. With a quick chirp and blast of energy the arm was blown off. It landed with a pitiful twitch on the ground as electricity sparked through its circuitry.

“Let’s go!” Hobie whooped, slamming his fingers down the guitar strings with so much force Miguel was surprised they didn’t snap in two. 

Doc Oc screamed, blown backward by an eclectic spray of pink and purple newsprint. 

Three arms down, five more to go… or so they thought. 

New arms sprouted from their old stumps, flailing around for a brief moment before they shot out towards Hobie. 

He barely dodged the series of blows.

“Is that hammer space, bruv?!” 

Joder.

Hobie lept around the barren stage, launching battered amplifiers slathered in a dozen layers of stickers towards her. A stray limb punched through the drumset as Hobie spun out of the way. 

He gasped. The amps they could replace, but no one fucked with his instruments.

“Is it time to call for backup?” Lyla asked Miguel as Hobie gripped the neck of his guitar (the battle-safe one of course) and swung at Doc Oc’s head.

“Do not call for backup!” Miguel growled in annoyance. 

He could handle this.

“Yeah, I didn’t even ask you to come, mate!” Hobie yelled over the sound of Doc Oc sailing over the empty mosh pit and crashing into the guard rails. “I ain’t part of no band.”

“You literally just finished a concert three hours ago!” 

“That got nothing to do with you.”

Miguel groaned, ready to bash his head into the wrecked drum kit. 

No puedo más. No puedo más. He found himself thinking that a lot lately.

But as much as Hobie and Miguel liked to pretend they hated each other, they made a good team out in the field. They swung from the ceiling lights, electric blue and pink lights showering down on them in that crazed, photomontage way that tinged every part of Hobie’s world. It was enough to give Miguel a headache. 

The worst part about the multiverse is that there was no telling what kinds of powers and modifications existed out there. For example, Miguel didn’t know a Doc Oc existed that had lasers shoot out of their tentacles.

“I feel like it’s time to call for backup.” Lyla repeated, casually watching from the safety of her AI existence as Miguel’s webs were split in two and he took a sickening punch to the jaw. He shook his head, blinking away the dots in front of his eyes as he took a moment to rest in the comfort of his rubble sofa.

“Do not call Jess. She’s on maternity leave.”

“I wasn’t talking about Jess.” Lyla grinned mischeviously. 

Miguel narrowed his eyes, “No. Absolutely not.”

It was too soon, far too soon for him to drag you into a fight like this. 

“CALL FOR BACKUP!” Hobie cried out from the confines of Doc Oc’s tentacles, squirming around and trying to use his head spikes to free himself.

“You weren’t saying that earlier!”

“THAT’S THE TOXIC MASCULINITY TALKING! YOU GOT TO BE COMFORTABLE WITH CHANGING YOUR OPINION AND ADMITTING YOUR FAU-”

A portal opened up stage left. 

Miles swung out first, black and red suit standing out like an ink stain.

“¡¿Alguien pidió ayuda?!” Miguel could hear his smug smile through the mask.

“You already called him!?” Miguel scowled and hopped onto his feet, sprinting to join the fight as Miles landed his first punch against Doc Oc. 

Relief flooded his system. He thought that-

“I actually called her.” Lyla said, pointing a finger with a grin.

Miguel’s heart skipped a beat.

You stepped through the portal, adjusted the gloves on your newly designed suit and teleported yourself onto Doc Oc’s back, casually blinking away any tentacles that got too close. 

You were absolutely buzzing with excitement. Nevermind that you were currently blinking across spacetime to avoid the lazers that left behind scorched scars on the grass. This was your first real mission outside of occasionally helping Miles with his friendly neighborhood Spider-Man duties. And in Hobie’s dimension no less! Ever since you’d seen his unique color palette and design you’d been itching to see his world for yourself. Maybe you and Miles could take an impromptu field trip to the nearest museum afterwards.

“Lyla said you didn’t want to call me.” You said, happy with the way his eyes slightly widened beneath his mask. He coughed to clear his throat.

“You’re supposed to be at work.” Miguel said, tearing into Doc Oc’s tentacles with his forearm blades, “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s summer break.” 

“You said you were teaching summer classes.” 

“I am! Only five kids are enrolled and he,” You tilted your head towards Miles, who waved back before he tore off an arm, "was the only one who could come to the Met field trip. Which you so rudely interrupted by the way.” The smile in your voice exposed the fact that you were quite ok with the interruption.

Miguel rolled his eyes half-heartedly, hoping you didn’t notice his restrained smile.  “Let’s just get the job done.”

And you did. 

Fighting a flesh-and-blood supervillain was a far cry from the simulations you’d fought at Spidey HQ where the only injury you could sustain was a blow to your pride when Lyla flashed the battle stats on the screen. Your training also didn’t account for the absolute chaos of working with a team. You nearly got in the way of one of Miles’s spider venom blasts and accidentally teleported onto Hobie’s back, throwing him off his rhythm long enough for a punch from Doc Oc to send you both crashing. Miguel had nearly lost his mind after that.

But after walking away from the fight with only a bruised jaw, cut upper arm, and a very disgruntled Doc Oc in tow, you were going to call your first real superhero outing a success.

“Sorry about earlier,” you said, extending a hand out to Hobie from where he groaned on the ground. He grabbed your arm and rolled onto his feet, shaking the dust off his jacket.

“Eh, it’s part of the learning.” He straightened his coat and reattached one of the pins he’d tucked safely away in his pocket, “Not bad for a first anomaly though.”

“Hmmmm, are we counting Spot?”

“No.”

“Damn.”

A shadow fell over your shoulder and you smirked, turning around on your heels to come face to face with Miguel. The fight was over, but somehow Miguel looked even more tense and irrate than before. Behind his back you saw Doc Oc yell and punch at the orange walls of her prison. 

“Are you here to say good job?” You teased.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, voice tight.

Hobie brushed past you, “I’m good, cheers.” he said, patting Miguel on the shoulder before heading over to where Miles stared in awe at the anomaly. You felt more than saw Miguel roll his eyes.

“I wasn’t asking you.” 

“I know.” 

Hobie’s reply widened your smile. There was something glorious about seeing Miguel lose his cool. Normally you tried to get him to smile or laugh, but sometimes annoyance was an easier emotion to muster from him. It reminded you that beneath all that hard-won armour was a man just trying his best.

“I’m fine, Miguel.” You said. 

He gently tugged at the bottom of your mask and you took the hint, pulling it off entirely. Miguel’s frown deepened as he gently tucked a finger beneath your chin and turned your face to the side, eyes narrowed in on your swollen jaw. You tried not to blush under his watchful gaze. It really wasn’t a terrible injury, and with your enhanced healing it would fade within a day, but it stll felt like a gut punch to Miguel.

You were used to this kind of attention from him. The first two months after joining the Spider Society had been a pool of uncertainty that you’d flapped around in with little control - you’d been uncertain about your powers, the multiverse and your place in it, and your relationship with Miguel… especially your relationship with Miguel. 

His aloofness was only matched by his sincerity and once you’d forgiven him for what he’d done to Miles, you found him easy to like. His grouchiness and sarcasm pulled smiles from you as easily as water from a spring, and it didn’t escape anyone’s notice that you were the only one who could make him laugh and crack through his walls. But there was always that itch in the back of your mind that told you he only cared because you looked like his wife, not because you’d both grown to know and care for each other. 

You tried not to think about it too often. 

It made moments like these harder to handle.

“Nada que no pueda manejar.” You said softly, pulling his hand away and towards the anomaly, “Now come on. This anomaly isn’t just going to hop dimensions on its own.” 

Miguel opened his mouth as if to say something, but ultimately relented, allowing you to lead him to where Hobie and Miles bent their heads towards one another, shooting jokes back and forth as easily as their webs.

Margo portaled in to help Miguel take Doc Oc to Earth-928 and you watched their retreating backs disappear with a blink before Hobie turned towards you and Miles, rubbing his hands together and pulling you both into his side.

“Now! Who’s ready to see some real art?”

______

“I can’t believe all the museums in your dimension are Koons-themed.” Miles said, slouching in his seat and looking positively disappointed.

“Why’d you think I took you to the back alleys, mate. Real art’s cheap.”

“Say that to my bank account after a trip to Blick.” You muttered, biting into your empanada with a groan of satisfaction.

You sat cross-legged on top of the bench, watching Margo’s cyber body split into two as the Go Home Machine whirred to life. Its metal claws clicked together, sounding like the chirping of birds as it spun its web around Doc Oc as she watched with no small amount of curiosity.

“You think you could ever do that?” Hobie asked, leaning against your shoulder and slinging his arm around you casually. 

You raised your eyebrow, “What, forcefully send a living person back to their home dimension?”

He shrugged nonchalantly.

“You try interdimensional travel without your fancy watch and tell me how easy it is.” You said with a grin, poking at his side until he squirmed away with a chuckle. You took the opportunity to steal a french fry from him.

“Alright, alright, stop. I think you could do it.”

The four of you watched as the Go Home Machine finished its kaleidoscopic work. Miguel always had a clinical view of the work he did and the machines he created. Whenever it was traveling to another world, or encountering a new being (Spider-Person or otherwise) the last thing on his mind was beauty or a fascination with the ways things were. That’s where you two differed the most. So while Miguel hardly ever stayed around to watch the Go Home Machine run its science-magic, you always craned your neck to catch glimpses of the worlds beyond Earth-928.

“I better check in with Miguel.” You said, hopping off the table once Doc Oc was safely back in her home universe.

Hobie, Miles, and Margo all shot each other a knowing look before you could notice. 

Now that school was out for the summer you found yourself spending more and more time on Earth-928, and after six months of training you could walk to Miguel’s lair from any part of the building with a blindfold on. The first few weeks you hadn’t been able to suppress the slight unease at entering the dark room where many of the captured anomalies would sneer at you like you were a meal to be hunted.

Now… not so much.

“You’re still here, Norm?” You asked, catching sight of the familiar gentleman who shrugged and smiled. He sat comfortably on the floor, purple hood and goggles abandoned beside him to expose his weathered face.

“Still here,” He repeated, “I suppose I’m not as high a priority to send home now that I’m not, you know, evil anymore.” He sighed, “I just can’t believe my luck. I leave an alternate universe and not even a year later I’m sucked into another one!” He chuckled.

“I’ll talk to Spider-Man about it.” 

“Peter?!” His eyes brightened at the possibility.

“Ummm…no. Sorry.” 

He nodded, shoulders deflating every so slightly, “Thanks anyway Spider-”

“Y/sh/n, actually.” Miles and Gwen had helped you come up with it.

“Well, thank you Y/sh/n.” He said and waved you on before he could steal more of your time.

“I told you it’s dangerous to talk to the anomalies.” Miguel said, eyes still trained on the screens as you blinked next to him. One day you’d manage to sneak up on him, but today was not that day. 

You frowned when you saw he was still wearing his mask. 

“Well you’re talking to me right now, aren’t you?” You said, bumping his shoulder with your own before climbing onto the empty space on his desk he subtly reserved for you.

Miguel stiffened and his fingers froze over the keys. It had taken you months to fully forgive him for all the terrible things he’d said and done to Miles - the things he may have said to you if you didn’t have his wife’s face… if you were just a regular anomaly.

“That’s not what I-.” 

“You also said Earth-199999’s Peter Parker took care of the Green Goblin. I think we’re fine.” 

He nodded and sighed. His eyes were killing him right now and even the faint flicking of the red-orange lights from the screens felt like blows to his skull. 

“He wants to go home.” You said and saw his eyes flicker to the anomaly on the screen, red and tired.

“I know. He’s scheduled to be sent back tonight. I promise.” 

You nodded with satisfaction and snapped your fingers, a pair of sunglasses blinking into the palm of your hand, “You should take a break. You’ve been working non-stop for over two days now.”

“I’ve got work to do.”

“The multiverse is not going to shatter because you take a thirty-minute lunch break, Miguel.” 

He eyed you warily and shook his head, fingers flying across the touchpad like they were racing to win gold. 

He always did this. He always worked himself to the bone until you would find him red-eyed and slumped over the tabletop for one of his thirty-minute “power-naps.” 

“Lyla.” You called out. The woman appeared perched on your shoulders.

“You rang?”

“Can you please tell Miguel that the multiverse isn’t going to collapse before he does?” 

“Ooooh you said please. I like you.” Miguel muttered a few choice words under his breath, “The multiverse is holding steady. I’ll alert you if anything changes at all.” Lyla winked at you and disappeared. 

“Realmente necesito cambiar su código.” Miguel grumbled.

“¡Ni se te ocurra!”

Miguel tightened his lips but said nothing. You slid over to sit in front of him and pushed against his chest until he finally relented and sat down in the chair. He didn’t want to admit this, but the only reason he agreed to sit down was because he’d fractured two ribs in the fight, and you pressing against his chest hurt like a bitch.

“Did you really come all this way just to get me to rest?”

“Obviously.” You tossed the sunglasses into his lap along with the extra empanada you’d been carrying around the last half-hour. You hoped it was still warm, but then again, if it weren’t for you he probably wouldn’t have remembered to eat at all. 

The corner of his mouth tilted up. “Gracias.” 

“Solo cállate y come. Lo juro, es como si estuviera tratando de mantener viva una planta de interior. Una planta de interior muy obstinada.”

He tilted his head down, hiding his face as his mask disappeared. 

You held your breath, reaching out instinctively to hold his face in between your hands. Color rushed into his cheeks, emphasizing the dark, purple bruise that crawled its way up from his jawline to his cheek bone, the flesh around it swollen and warm when you carefully traced it with your finger. The bridge of his nose was similarly bruised, the strong slope of his nose tilted ever so slightly to the left. 

Miguel also stopped breathing, the pain hardly registering as he felt your eyes against his skin as physical and real as your hands.

You became all too aware of the closeness, the way he was looking at you. A familiar and malicious voice scratched the back of your mind - What are you to him? Who are you to him? Who is he really thinking about when he looks at you like that?

You let go of his face, your heart sinking in your chest.

“¿Qué te sucedió?” You murmured. His brown-red eyes were wide and soft.

He cleared his throat, disappointment gathering in his chest when you withdrew your hands, “I guess I should have called for backup sooner.” 

“Where else are you hurt?”

“I’m not-”

“Where else are you hurt? Y no te atrevas a mentirme.” 

Miguel melted under your fiery gaze. You weren’t one to show your anger - teaching teenagers had strengthened your patience - but Miguel had a special way of pushing your buttons, whether he knew it or not. 

“I may or may not have cracked a rib… or two.” 

“Miguel!” 

“I’ll heal!” 

“Estúpido, bastardo terco.” You muttered under your breath with no small measure of affection.

You reached over and gently pressed on his stomach, hearing him hiss in pain. He grabbed your arm to get you to stop, shame coloring his bruised cheek.

“I’ll be ok. I promise.” He whispered when you leaned down from your seat to inspect his jaw again. Any longer under your watchful gaze and he might just combust.

“I know you’ll be ok. I just…” Your lips tightened. “I don’t like to see you hurt.”

You’d been in this situation before with Miguel a few times. It always ended with him promising to take better care of himself, holding to that promise for a few weeks, and then falling back into old, self-destructive habits. The others said he had gotten better about taking care of himself ever since you’d come into the picture, but you found that hard to believe. 

“I don’t like to see you hurt either.” He admitted, gently rubbing up and down your forearms. He eyed the tear in your suit, and the clean white bandage that peeked through. 

Who is he really thinking of?

You told that voice to shut up.

“So you can imagine how worried I get when I see you like this.” 

Miguel sighed, running his hands through his hair and mussing up the curls. He could imagine it all too well. Every time you left for your own dimension a knot of worry would sink in his chest like a boulder dropped into a lake, and it wouldn’t dissipate until the next time he saw you safe and whole. He flinched at the very thought of you sporting bruises and cracked bones like the ones he had - the scars he bore after years on the job.

“What would you have me do?” He asked, “I can’t just give this up.” 

“I’m not- No one is asking you to. I know you need to do this. But you don’t have to do it alone. You know any of the other Spider-People would be more than happy to help monitor things in the Spider-Verse.” 

“One - it’s the Arachnoid Humanoid Poly-Multiverse. And two - the other Spider-People aren’t like me. They can’t do what I do.”

“You’re right, they’re a hell of a lot funnier” He scoffed, setting his jaw in a scowl that had pain flaring up the left side of his face. “And they don’t go around punching teenagers.”

“That was one time!” 

Your lips turned in a downward smile, trying to suppress your laughter at the indignant expression on his face. The scowl on his face slowly but surely loosened, twisting into a barely concealed smile.

“Stop doing that.” He muttered.

“Doing what?” You asked innocently.

“Getting me to smile and laugh. It hurts my ribs.” 

“All the more reason to get some rest, Miguel.” You said, ruffling his hair and gleaming with satisfaction when he finally allowed himself to smile. You plucked the sunglasses from his lap and placed them on his face, careful not to upset his healing nose.

How was it possible that he hated and loved the way you said his name so much? He knew you cared for him. The first two months had been tense and filled with questions of what you were to one another - A mistake? A bad memory? Husband and wife? It had been a time when every touch, glance, and hidden smile had been given with a measure of uncertainty and restraint.

Miguel didn’t feel that way anymore. When you messed up his hair and forced his hidden smile out into the open he just saw you. Not some version of his wife. Not someone he’d barely known. Not someone he’d lost. 

Just you.

“If I promise to take the night off to sleep and let Ben and LEGO Peter take care of it, would that satisfy you?” 

You hummed in thought, “How many hours of sleep are we talking about?” 

“Four.” 

“Seven.” You countered.

“Five.” 

“Deal.” You stuck out your hand, a wide grin on your face that Miguel matched when he shook your hand.

“What would I do without you?” He asked sarcastically.

You scoffed, “Shrivel up and die, probably.” 

<- Previous chapter Next chapter ->

_________

Author's note: Here's Chapter Four! Y/n is feeling some insecurity about her relationship with Miguel... I wonder if that will come up again in the next chapter 👀...........

As always, please let me know your thoughts! Hope you enjoy :)

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[azulsluver]

FINALLY ANOTHER YANDERE TF2 BLOG

I’ve checked your blog out and I’m finding out you just recently added tf2 🤭 since requests are open can I get something about the post you did of Scout falling for the teams enemy. Can you write a reaction about realizing they have the hots for them? Spy and Scout pretty please with a cherry on top and thank you 🙏🏻

This one got a lil kick to it

Note that I personally have red and blue tf2 characters have different personalities (bc I made my lil tweaks for blue team as my ocs :3)

tw. yandere, gore (?), description of violence, stalking, implied psychological torture, mind break.

Scout is just that guy. So when you’re face planted into soil or concrete you have already given up on fighting back. It’s harder and less gruesome this time, there isn’t a chance to exchange snarky insults when a bat is smashed into your gut.

You don’t wanna point fingers but you’re so sure the Scout is targeting you. Not even going after your Medic, it’s always straight towards you. There were plenty of times you wanted to confront him about it but that just makes you look silly to pout about.

So when you did have the balls to corner and yell at him to piss off, his winning smile would be the last thing you’d see before being blasted with his scattergun.

You’re beyond furious for not being taken seriously, this feels way more personal than fighting over land, it’s as if you offended him in some way.

Scout definitely takes is personally. Like who even are you? All high and mighty on the enemies team with your cute little weapons. It pisses him off so bad he doesn’t even know why. There’s a deep hated settlement for the Blue team, your other teammates don’t catch his eyes like you did, you want his attention so bad dontcha?

When it’s another day of going out to work you almost wanna stay back. But your team needs you as much as you needed them. So you suck it up and pray that Scout would get tired of you one day. You think of what could go wrong, or how it could get even worse. To the point where you’re forced against the wall with his metal bat strangling your neck, the cold steel crushing your windpipe as Scout eyes you up.

“I felt as this could’ve been way more easier on your part, ya know, take ya out some’r real nice. But you wanna be difficult, huh?”

“I mean, I know you got the hots for me, all the babes do.”

His grip lacks in pressure as he geeks to himself, prideful. Taking large amounts of breaths, your hand finds its weapon and clumsily hit him over the head.

It knocks him off you, you’re wheezing and lightheaded as you stumble on top of him. Your fist repeatedly bashing into his face, all the pent up anger slowly releasing as you come to a stop. Holding onto his dog tag with one hand and the other in his hair.

You can say you fantasized the day Scout would fumble into your hands, where you can put the little shit in his place and show him just exactly why you were hired to be here.

The blood dripping down his nose and mouth was not flattering, but god did it feel good. Scout can only suck in his breaths through busted teeth and nose, hazy eyes staring up at you so adoringly.

Putting an end to it, leaving him back in respawn, Scout shudders as he falls backwards on his ass. His heart racing of feeling alive, dead before, but it felt amazing by your hands. The way you looked at him like he was some scum, angering you might be his new favorite hobby.

However, he had to show you what happens when stunts like those get out of hand, don’t you know only he can do that to you?

Spy didn’t think to find himself in love. Not exactly love, loving someone doesn’t make you repeatedly stab their back more than usual. Lingering, waiting, for you to be alone so he can pounce. It’s ungentlemanly of him, but he doesn’t wanna stop so soon.

Just the smell of cigarettes has you on edge, you know it’s your Spy, damned look-a-like. It leaves you paranoid, like a dog with its tail between its legs.

Anyone can be him. Is your Scout a little too nonchalant? Or did you feel unease at your Engineer not answering you in the dead of night, but it’s Engineer, the poor guy needs sleep. But so do you. You can’t feel comfortable in your own base. Always looking over your shoulder, that Demo has been too touchy with you.

It leaves things complicated, one, Spy isn’t so sure on how to reciprocate his feelings with you. It’s unprofessional to date coworkers, one on the other team to be exact. He won’t deny the terror on your face amuses him, it felt nice to know he left a permanent presence that has you petrified. It’s selfish of him to want and indulge, so he carefully, makes himself known in your life. Understand he’s here to stay.

Some psychological damage is being done, you’ve seen plenty of fucked up shit, but being human can only get you so far. It’s gotten to the point you begged your Medic to give you some sorts of medication to sleep better. A place where Spy wouldn’t be able to get you even if he had your physical body back in reality.

You need sleep. He’s making you lose it. You’re losing it and the bags under your eyes are proof.

War leaves something for everyone, a part of you is within those battle grounds. By his hands, laying dead in his arms as your body disintegrates into nothing. You’ll be back at spawn. Dreading to step foot out back to chaos. Because you can see him waiting for you.

Spy needs you without a doubt, you have shown that you aren’t capable of caring for yourself. A mercenary is strong and stable, you were once, yet he’s stripped away a valuable part of you.

[katealpha]

Art by Zenny’s Club

https://x.com/clubzenny?s=21&t=Y5k0MmFAcnmbYxSfSGgVFA

———————————-—

It was great to be out of Pam’s strangling vines, thought Catwoman as she dropped onto the edge of a building from a guardrail above. Behind her was another, larger building that cast a shadow over the famed cat burger. It was the place that Selena had just made her way out of. An old brick built structure that was covered in emerald tendrils that bore blood red flowers. Practically the signature colors of former doctor Pamela Isley. Of course, everyone knew her as Poison Ivy, the ecoterrorist widely considered one of the deadliest women alive. Selena liked to believe she was somewhere on that list. Being able to clear rooms full of men bigger than herself had to count for something. Plus, she had just survived another brush with death

Just moments earlier, Selena found herself hanging upside down at Ivy’s mercy. Only due to necessity. Selena knew of a pair of cases locked away in the Arkham City vault. The newly opened open air prison had a place where the valuables of select inmates were kept. A place she couldn’t just break into on her own. Some force was needed, and with Bane locked up in a toy factory somewhere, Mr Freeze occupied by his popsicle of a bride, and Croc probably eating someone someplace in the sewers, Selena went with the only choice she felt was right for this. Selena expected the redhead to be mad at her for that one time she forgot to water her flowers during some getaway that the burglar had long forgotten, but what she didn’t expect was for Ivy to leave her with something before agreeing to help and let Selena on her merry way. While she was still upside down and before Ivy agreed to drop her, one of the free plant tendrils forced its way into Selena’s mouth, and she felt something pump down her gullet.

Selena wondered what that was about, still having the sour taste of chlorophyll in her mouth and a tingling feeling in the pit of her stomach. Selena spat to the side to get that taste out and then without further adieu, she kicked off the corner of the building, and with her whip she swung over the ice cold waters of the flooded portion of the so-called amusement mile. She was eager to get that loot that Ivy agreed to help her get her claws on, but had no idea what was already set in stone, and that a sour feeling on her tongue and TYGER Guards were going to be the least of her concerns that night.

Five minutes later

The feeling of her heels bashing the skull of a TYGER guard in was more than satisfying for Cartman as she dispatched the last of them that were sent to investigate the sudden vine attack on the storage facility door. Her green eyes watched the man fall limb onto the asphalt, sunglasses broken by the force of her kick. Everyone one of these pricks had it coming, thought Selena. In this quiet moment as sne stood over the manhole cover that led to the underground entrance of her destination however, she began to feel a little off. There was a sudden low groan that audibly bubbled in her lower abdomen. It was an intense enough feeling that it caused her to stop in her stride towards the sewer entrance and hold her clawed hand over her belly. Selena felt bloated. Like she had eaten leftover fast food earlier and her body was reminding her that, hey, fast food is bad for your lifestyle. The bloated feeling didn’t go away seconds later.

“Ugh, either you drank spoiled milk earlier, or Ivy put something really nasty in me. Better hurry up and get that plant back…” Selena muttered to herself before heading down the manhole with quick succession.

Once inside the tunnel, Selena surveyed the damage that Ivy’s vines had done. There were shattered bricks and bits of concrete laying all over the place which she found herself stepping over. Ahead was a series of holes in the walls that had been punched into wide enough to create a hole wide enough for Selena to simply walk through until she arrived at the front door. The storage facility was right there, and as she walked into the empty security room, another churn rippled through her gut. The feeling was a bit more intense this time. Had someone been standing next to her, they’d have heard the noise. Selena once again rubbed her hand against her stomach as she approached the camera feed. The vault was guarded by two armed guards, as well as an extra detail that patrolled the surrounding area that seemed to be a maze of halls and shelves. She sighed with relief as she saw that she’d be able to open the vault from here, though she’d need to obtain three key cards from the guards. It would be easy enough, assuming her raunchy stomach didn’t start acting up on the fly.

For the next several minutes, the guards patrolling the room were completely unaware of the latex-clad woman lurking above them. Not noticing as a gloved and clawed hand slipped into their pants pockets, pulling out each key card until she had three in hand. Once back in the security room, Selena began to use the card, ignoring the growing feeling in her stomach. She couldn’t let this sudden bloat slow her down. She was so close. All she could do was rub around again to soothe the rising pressure she felt inside. The last thing she needed was to be flatulent in close proximity to one of these armed guards as she was taking them out, because that’s what she would half to do in order to get inside that Vault. Soon, Selena jumped back into the fray, now set on knocking out every guard in the area before moving into the vault. As she moved about the facility, crawling through the vents, dropping onto guards, choking each one out, Selena could swear that she could feel her stomach pressing into her suit more than it usually did. Was she really bloating up here? The rumblings of her belly ironically coincided with the ground shaking around the facility, Protocol 10 already underway outside.

With the last guard dealt with, the vault was all hers. Her stomach wasn’t feeling much better or worse, but there was a constant gurgling sensation that persisted. In the table at the other end of the room were a pear of metallic painted cases, and a single potted plant. In a moment of sly spite for the one who had put her through so much trouble to reach her just hours earlier, she approached the plant and chuckled, picking it up.

“Try and tie me up in your plants, like hell.” Selena purred. With a smirk, she dropped it onto the floor where the pot shattered. She then stamped the dry soil and leaves for good measure. A chuckle in her throat.

Catwoman then came to realize that doing that may have been a bad life choice. As she approached the table again for the loot cases sitting upon it, a much stronger reaction took place in Selena’s gut. A deep, ominous churn roared from within, and the feeling was enough to make the thief lean over with a grunt. The bloated feeling exploded, and Selena felt her stomach pushing out and straining against her already skintight suit. Her back curved inwards and Selena turned her body to lean against the table, finally watching with wide eyes as her belly visibly grew outwards under her suit and desperately pushing hand, a futile attempt to make it stop. During this moment, her voice came out as gasps and grunts, her words lost in her throat until the growing stopped. Selena was now panting and sweating in shock, staring down at her belly which now looked like she was about to give birth to twins. It heaved in and out with her breath, and Selena finally found the will to at least say something to herself.

“What the hell??¦I shouldn’t have done that just now….what is happening to me…am I pregnant?…” Her frightened eyes wandered the expanse of her midriff. Inside, there was that constant gurgling, as well as a gentle shifting sensation. It felt like a bad dream, but there was nobody here to pinch her. Whatever Ivy had pumped into her body, it was growing, and it was alive, and somehow, her suit hadn’t ripped open yet despite the size of her stomach.

Before Selena could compose herself, more TYGER guards stormed the room, ready to apprehend her. They faltered, seeing her current state. One of the guards held up their radio to their cloth covered mouth.

“Professor, Catwoman seems to have undergone some kind of accelerated pregnancy since she’s been here.”

Strange’s deep and posh voice replied over the radio. “Most fascinating. Be sure to take her alive then. Perhaps there’s something more I can learn from her.”

Selena groaned and pushed off the table, bracing herself to fight again, now expecting to be weighed down by her new, massively bloated belly. She’d worry about what was happening once she got some more alone time. Pregnant with a plant monster or not, she wasn’t going quietly.

“You don’t say…don’t expect me to go any easier on you boys.” With a deep breath and clenched teeth, she extended her claws and took hold of her whip as the guards began to come closer.

To be continued…

[bludrogue]

Another Random Headcanon About Jason Todd

This is another weird experience I have had, but this is due to a personal experience. If I slam on my breaks too hard, witness a car accident in front of me, or bash the back of my head against the driver's seat (or any seat in the car for the matter), I tend to have the scent of burning oil fill my nostrils.

I don't know if that's normal, and sure, I'm projecting myself onto the headcanon, but I think it's an interesting experience. With that said, here's headcanon #3:

Headcanon #3: Phantosmia

-- Every time Jason has bashed his head against a hard surface, whether it be a wooden table, a brick wall, a lamp post, the concrete streets, a car door - honestly, the list is so long he can't even remember what he's smashed his head against -- the first sense to kick in was his olfactory.

-- Now he wouldn't care if this was just a physical response in general, but his nose always picks up on a scent that's never there. He's not entirely certain why his nose fills up with nonexistent fumes, this has been the case for as long as he can remember.

-- You'd think the scent of bourbon would remind him of Willis, the man always had one in his hand or in the cup holder of his arm chair. Jason can still recall the scent to this day - oak dipped in smoke, tinted in caramel, and saturated with vanilla. And as much as his mind can recognize the smell like he can recite a Shakespearen play off the back off his hand - that's not the scent his body would use to recall Willis.

-- No matter how many times Willis got close enough to burn his nostrils with his breath, it's never been the whiskey either.

-- Instead, it's fucking drywall.

-- Of all the scents in the world, it's fucking drywall. Because of course it is.

-- When he was a kid, it was this putrid scent of a heavy dose of rotten eggs nearing sulfur with a hint of chalk dust. And maybe those particular remnants are from a memory where Willis probably bashed his head hard enough into their shabby walls that he made a hole. Not that Jason remembers aside from the egregious smell - whether that's a side effect of the pit or straight up trauma, Jason is not would willingly attempt to recall any shared memories with his biological dad by choice.

-- If he could, he'd bury those memories deeper than when his body was trapped in the earth and surrounded by an ocean of soil.

-- But it's not just before being Robin.

-- During his time spent as Robin, if he hit his head hard enough, Scarecrow gave off a musty odor with a tinge of the world's worst garbage dumpster. Peguin, oddly enough, reeked of spoiled milk. And don't get him started on the Riddler -- that one he can't even describe with just words. (He weirdly gives off the scent of nail polish remover, do not ask him why.)

-- But the Joker?

-- The Joker's scent was nothing what he expected.

-- His sense of smell doesn't go toward the crisp and suffocating scent of smoke, the one that clogged his lungs so much that he wondered if that was the final straw to lead him marching towards death's door. Nor was it the smattering metallic smell emitted from the crowbar that bashed him over and over and over and - And his nose does not recall the Joker with the lead heavy scent of blood, no matter how much of his own spilled the day he died.

-- No, instead the monster carries the scent of fucking bubble gum.

-- Sweet, fruity, pink chewing gum.

-- Because of course the universe just has to ruin the little things, those simplicities of enjoyment. Like the birds chirping in the morning become screeching alarm clocks, his coffee mug always being chipped, a hole in his favorite pair of pants, just anything to ruin his day. He wonders whoever the fuck is in charge of mapping out his life is relishing in the misery he endures every fucking day. When he fucking gets his hands on -

-- Did you know it took him a solid year to even so much as spare a glance at a pack of the most basic, minty chewing gum again after his spent training with the League of Assassins? Did you know that it was until two years after his whole war between him and the bats he was finally able to even hold a stick in his palm without gagging? Did you know that only four years after all the bullshit he went through, he could finally place one stick of ice peppermint gum in his mouth for a solid ten minutes without throwing up immediately after?

-- He still can't handle the fruity flavor gum - no sour apple, no watermelon, no strawberry, no cinnamon, and especially no bubble gum flavored shit - without the dreadful urge to vomit lingering after.

-- And before Jason mended his relationship with the bats (or is still trying to, he has plenty of ups and downs with Bruce that he's getting dizzy from the ride.) Bruce's scent was ruined.

-- When he was Robin, Bruce carried the redolence of leather and a warm campfire. There was just something that screamed safety in his scent that he couldn't explain. The every time he woke up in the gurney from a concussion, the smell would hit before he would open his eyes and he knew Bruce was there.

-- But everything changed the night Bruce chose the Joker.

-- Bruce had hit his head hard enough against a porcelain toilet seat that his nose was bashed with the scent of leather instantly. He thought he had picked on his own jacket, but once the campfire wood wafted into the air he knew that was his designated scent for Bruce.

-- The emotional side was then crying for his dad, begging him to keep him safe from the monster in the closet, pleading to just let him come home, to choose him - his son - please - But the logical side was louder, especially when he aimed the gun at the Joker's head and gave Bruce a choice to make.

-- He had a job to complete and Bruce had a choice to make.

-- And Bruce decided and his scent was tainted.

-- Now, when there's a meeting held in the bat cave, or the only company he shares is with Bruce, he has to resist the urge to rub the scar on his neck to reassure himself he's not bleeding. To remind himself that his nose is just playing tricks to get himself to believe his throat is sliced open again.

-- But he never minded his olfactory any attention about these scents. Honestly, it was more subconscious than anything else, so why pay any attention to the matter? Plus, it wasn't like the matter was giving him any issues or disrupting his routine in any sort of way. He was still able to patrol and function to his usual capabilities -- which was not the standard, but still... functional.

-- And that meant had nothing to be concerned about. That these phantom scents had to be normal, right?

-- Maybe this was just another secret human function nobody spoke about. Kind of how the American education system fails to explain safety for sex because of the desire to keep a 'puritan' image.

-- But, as usual, he was proven wrong.

-- According to Tim, phantom smells were not a normal human function. Because, 'No, Jason. People do not have specific scents when you hit your head too hard,' and 'No, Jason. It is not common when you hit your head hard enough to smell a person or smell a nonexistent scent.' And blah, blah, blah.

-- He stopped paying attention after the third no.

-- But how did this conversation come about? Allow Jason to draw the scene for you:

-- Jason 'allowed' himself to be dragged to the manor by Bruce due to the severe concussion he received due to an Arkham breakout, followed by the orders of mandatory bed rest. And so, he was trapped under one roof with his siblings, who were piled into his room to force him to remain awake for the required hours necessary to be deemed safe from a coma.

-- He knew Dick was besides him, and the head massage he was receiving was not helpful in keeping him awake. But the others were somewhere in the room, he didn't need to open his eyes to know. He could tell by their scents.

-- The only person who wasn't in the room was Tim, who claimed he'd come right back without another word. (He's positive Tim went to go refill his coffee mug for the seventh time, and someone needs to get a handle on this kid's caffeine addiction.) But when Tim returned, he heavily smelled of apples - he always did when he was anxious.

-- Not that Jason usually minds if he hits his head, but this time the pounding was an incessant bitch who brought a drill to ram against his skull, so he couldn't handle the heavy scent at the time.

-- Jason immediately scrunched up his nose the moment Tim entered the room the moment he caught a waft of green apples. He rolled onto his side to have his back face the door, followed by a groan of, "Dude, Timbo, you fucking reek."

-- If Jason hits his head, sometimes he can practically smell Tim's potent and eternal state of anxiety. It's just as bad as Bruce's paranoia (but no one can ever beat that man in his levels of anxiety). However, when Tim is anxious, he carries the particular scent of green apples.

-- He hears Tim scoff, and there's a dip of weight at the corner of the bed. Jason lightly kicks Tim to shove him further away, only for the asshole to scoot closer.

-- "Hey, I took a mandatory after-patrol shower," Tim retorts, and he lifts his mug up to his lips and sips his coffee.

-- "No, you smell like fucking green apples," Jason hisses, burrowing his face into the pillow. If Tim gets any closer, his churning stomach might aim at Tim as his puke bucket. "You always do when you're fucking anxious about something, but Jesus fucking Christ, tone down the scent or, fuck, go sit in the arm chair."

-- "Green apples?" Dick mumbles, pausing in the movement of his hand. Jason almost whines at the loss of movement and he taps Dick's wrist. The moment Dick's hand continues those soothing circular movements, he relaxes.

-- What Jason doesn't see - or decides to blatantly ignore -- is the wide - eye stares everyone is glaring into his head. If Jason were to look, he would find a 'what the fuck' expression on each of their faces.

-- "Are you positive you're not smelling one of Tim's scented shampoos, tough guy?" Steph asks with curiosity lacing her tone. Tim has an array of scented shampoos and unscented ones -- the kid may be shit at self-care, but he certainly knows how to tend to his hair -- ranging from pomegranate to coconut to lavendar to oaky to vanilla, etc. (The list could go on.) But he certainly does not have a single apple scented shampoo.

-- "I'm positive," Jason replies. "He has a scent, you have a scent, everyone has a scent. Especially when I hit my head, it's normal."

-- People having individual scents is totally normal. He's positive of it. Plus, he's hit his head a multitude of times that the phantom scents kind of linger.

-- Tim taps the side of his coffee mug with his nails. "Jason... that's not- that's not normal."

-- Jason lifts his head from the pillow, the combination of scents burning his nostrils, but he ignores the hot twinge in favor of glaring at Tim. "It's fucking normal, Tim. I fucking experience it every time I hit my head."

-- "May I implore that none of your human experiences are what is considered 'normal', Todd?" Damian raises an eyebrow. He's settled on the ottoman by the end of the bed.

-- Jason opens his mouth to argue, but quickly clenches his jaw shut. As much as he hates to admit... the demon-brat has a point. Not that he needs to elaborate.

-- 'Is this a side effect from the lazarus pit?' Cas signs, tilting her head at a slight angle. Her eyebrows furrow together and the corner of lips curl - just as she always does when she's curious about a topic she doesn't understand.

-- "No." Jason whispers, keeping his tone gentle and crossing his arms over his chest. These phantom senses have always been around for him, even before the pit.

-- "So," Tim drawls, shifting the weight in the bed as he crosses his legs and holds his coffee mug. "When did this start?"

-- Jason narrows his gaze at Tim. "Fuck you, you're not my therapist."

-- Besides, he'll see his therapist next Wednesday, and he'll snitch on Bruce to his therapist. (And yes, his therapist is Harley.) He's not clinically insane - yet - but if this another 'Jason Todd anomaly', then why does he have phantom scents that hit his nose at random times? Especially when he hits his head?

-- "Wait, Lil' Wing," Dick pipes up, and Jason finds a cheeky grin on his face that warns Jason that Dick is about to ask a question he won't want to answer. "What do I smell like to you?"

-- "Yeah! I want to know too." Steph chimes in, resting her head in her hands as she places her elbows on the bed. There's a doe-eye look in her eyes that screams 'Pretty Please' as she flutters her lashes.

-- Heat crawls across Jason's face and spreads across his cheeks. He should have just kept his mouth shut, but he just had to go and whine about Tim reeking of fucking apples. It's not that he's embarrassed - not that he'd admit the truth out loud - but he's now more nervous than anything to reveal their scents. Especially now that he's more aware that having phantom scents isn't a typical human function.

-- Jason releases a breath, and decides to tell each one of them their identifying scent.

-- He has to admit, there are some positives to this phantom scents.

-- Dick carries the scent of sugar coated, blue cotton candy and mouthwatering salted popcorn. It reminds Jason of the one chance he took to sneak into the circus tent and hide under the bleachers as he watched the performance of the graceful Flying Graysons. He's always transported back to that memory when the scent hits his nose. But there's always a hint of hyacinth, and Jason has no idea where that comes from.

-- Tim may smell like apples when he's anxious, but he always carries a different scent of a different apple depending on his mood. If Tim is anxious or afraid, he reminds Jason of the odious redolence of a green apple. If Tim is mildly annoyed, enraged, or upset, he carries the scent of red apple. If Tim carries the scent of a yellow apple, it's an indicator that Tim is in a good mood.

-- Jason likes the yellow apple the most because A) That means Tim is in a good mood, and B) the smell of a yellow apple is a piquant flavor he has added on to his list of good scents. He doesn't feel has to avoid that apple without a specific reminder which is nice.

-- Steph smells zesty and sweet and reminds him of pop rocks candy, specifically the grape flavored kind. This could be due to her vivacious nature, but he nose tingles every time her scent appears. That could sometimes lead him to sneezing - which he doesn't admit to her.

-- Cas smells like Jasmine and sandal wood with a hint of roses.

-- Damian smells like paprika and cinnamon.

-- Duke smells like honey (and a part of him wonders if that's just because of the suit or the bee meme that his nose decided to join on the bandwagon.)

-- Alfred smells like his homemade chocolate chip cookies and hibiscus tea.

-- "And what about Bruce?" Dick's question is hanging in the air as Jason is drifting off to sleep. And Jason will never speak the truth of how Bruce smells now.

-- But he can always bend the truth.

-- "Used to smell like leather and campfire wood," Jason yawns into his pillow. "Used to smell safe."

-- "Used to?" Tim's question remains unanswered as Jason finally falls asleep.

-- When Jason wakes up, he notes that everyone is asleep except for Tim, who's claimed his spot in the armchair and curled around his laptop. His mug rests on top of the coffee table, his fingers are rapidly yet quietly typing away on the keyboard, and his focus is so honed in on the screen in front of him that he's caught off guard when Tim abruptly states, "Phantosmia."

-- Jason rubs the sleep out of his face. "Phanto-what?"

-- "Phantosmia," Tim repeats, adjusting his body weight on the arm chair and his eyes remain on the computer screen. "Or more known as a phantom smell, meaning you'll smell something that isn't there. Most people typically smell metal, burnt toast, or chemicals. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, just what occurs with either strokes or severe head trauma."

-- "Well, that explains a lot." Jason huffs, a smirk teasing his lips.

-- Even though he has an answer - which is pretty rare considering his medical history puts Santa's naughty list to shame - he doesn't believe having phantom smells is necessarily a horrible thing to have.

-- If the wind blows in just the right direction, he'll have scent of his mom follow him. Not his birth giver, Shelia, but Catherine. His mom carried the luscious scent of marshmallows, lilac flowers, and lit vanilla candles. And in his mind, it's still like his mom is there, still with him. Oddly, that was the last scent he remembers before he died in the warehouse and it's the safest he ever felt in years despite all the surrounding chaos.

-- "Thanks for researching, Timbo." Jason whispers.

-- Tim turns his head to Jason, and his lips lift into a grin. "Sure thing, Jay."

-- Phantosmia, while there are aspects of it he despises, he thinks there's a bit of a blessing buried in it too.

Hey guys! It's been a solid few days (I got super busy this week), but I thought I'd produce another headcanon. I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading! I'll post another head canon soon!

Other headcanons:

Head canon 1

Head canon 2

[jermer10]

Oh god.. this is a bit depraved but here we goHello! Uh if you are taking requests right now, could you maybe make a spicy TF2 mercs x male!reader where the reader is into weapon play (could be their reactions to simple things .. like a gasp from the gun touching their skin to something more smutty, your pick!)It'd be nice to have all mercs but if too much sniper, soldier and engineer would the the 3 favs!

TF2 male s/o with a weapon kink

18+ only, male reader | tried to add some heavier nsfw, i hope you enjoy anon!

includes: soldier, engineer, sniper tw: sexual content, weapon play kink

drabbles under the cut :P

Soldier: - Soldier knew about this kink long before he had started fucking you - he may be stupid, but he knows what an erection looks like, and you were always rock hard after watching him bash an enemy to death with his market gardener - so he decided to confront you, like any concerned teammate would - ARE YOU ATTRACTED TO ME, MAGGOT?", he pressed the shovel into your throat, backing you into a corner - subtly isn't his strong suit - "what the f..fuck..?" your skin crawled with arousal - you couldn't speak, let alone think with the rusted edge of the weapon tugging at your skin - "why do you ask?" you choked out, face flushed in embarrassment - Soldier shamelessly palmed your erection, "THAT'S WHY." - you groaned, jaw slack and eye brows furrowed. you expected Soldier to relent, yet he continued to stroke you through your pants. - subtly DEFINITELY wasn't his strong suit, and to be frank you were enjoying the way he was man-handling you - "I SHARE THIS...ATTRACTION." a sickening grin plastered on his rough features and his shovel pressing harder into your trachea - his body was so close to yours, backing you against the concrete walls of the base and forcing himself onto you - your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he continued to grope at your cock - "fuuuuuck Soldier p..leas..e..." your voice was gruff, the words seemed to be drawn out of you "PLEASE WHAT, CUPCAKE?" you didn't take him for a tease - "fuhck me!" you plead, throatily moaning at the cold, stinging sensation of the shovel cutting into your throat, your cock throbbed, the fabric rubbing your dick raw - you didn't have to ask twice, Soldier pushed you to the ground, ass up, knees scraping against the concrete floor, and market gardener pressed strongly between your shoulder blades

Engineer: - he would never admit it, but if he had a dollar for the amount of times he spent fucking his fist thinking about stuffing you with the muzzle of his shotgun, he would be rich - so when was walking past your room and noticed your door ajar, hearing the unmistakable slick sounds of masturbation, he couldn't help but peer in, hoping to get some new material - and when he saw you fucking yourself with a pistol and breathily moaning his name, he knew that he had to help - "hey darlin', seems like you were callin' out my name?" he knocked on the doorframe, smirking at the way you scrambled to cover yourself - "now don't you worry, y/n...i'm here to help," your face was burning - he positioned himself behind you, leaning against the wall and pulling you into his lap - Engie pulled the gun out of your puckering hole and began thrusting - your slutty moans, accompanying the praising whispers and sticky noises of the gun and your asshole meeting repeatedly, bounced off of the walls in your bedroom - Engie, feeling the high from the moment and the power he held in his fist, clicked off the safety on the gun - you began to shake, adrenaline coursing through your veins and the fear that at any moment the trigger could be squeezed - he lazily stroked your cock with his right hand as his left drove the gun into you - even if he did kill you, you would just respawn with no memory of the last hour or so, but he wanted you to remember everything - it was all becoming too much for him, he could feel himself reaching climax as your writhing body pressed into his chest and crotch, and when he finally came, you came with him - ropes of cum lathered his hand and your bare chest, Engie was impressed, to say the least - but despite your joint climax, he wasn't finished with you

Sniper: - Sniper's hide site was in a heavily concealed room sitting atop a random abandoned building - where he was and what he was doing didn't matter, you had been targeted by the enemy team's Sniper, and despite the fact that from where he was perched you seemed clearly annoyed, he couldn't help but see the redness in your face as the other Australian cornered you time and time again with his kukri - countless backstabs from Spy, bonks with Scouts bat, nothing came close to the way your face would go beet when he held the knife to your neck before swiftly ending you - Sniper wanted to try it for himself, clearly you had some sort of attraction to him - and he would be lying if he didn't find the idea of forcing you to suck him off while holding a blade to your throat hot - he signaled you to come up to his spot, making sure no one followed you - "hey, what's up man?" you huffed, you looked exhausted - Sniper felt awkward, but the erection in his pants was unrelenting and the way your eyes met his with a sort of nervous lust didn't help - "on your knees." he simply stated, unsheathing the kukri from his belt holster - your face went blank, did you hear him correctly? was Sniper wrong about his assumption? - "oh god, you saw me with the other Sniper..." realization hit your face, and so did an embarrassed flush - you bashfully knelt, doe-eyed looking up at the New Zealander-Australian man - Sniper unbuckled his pants, his cock springing out into your face - he held the knife up to you "suck." he commanded, his face flush and his palms sweating profusely

[itgirlgyu]

COLGATE CRUSH | choi beomgyu.

pairing: beomgyu x fem!reader ft. huening kai.

genre: fluff, crack.

summary : because of your undeniable curiousity, and lack of survival instincts you end up meeting the junoesque artist, choi beomgyu, and his oddities.

word count: 1.4k.

warnings: illogical made up professions, there's some violence (one line), reader is very curious, beomgyu thinks he got rizz.

"this is how i might end up dead someday."

you had no concrete idea how you found yourself in front of a building undergoing construction; especially when it looked like there might have been a case of aggravated assault etching the history of the eerie institution.

the very first thing that you can recollect was probably the chime of the ice cream man that lured you into an empty alley lined up by the blossoms blessed by spring, and the gentle breeze of nonage, and once you had got your hands on the vanilla cone, you kept wondering into the strange place. curious eyes marveling the unfamiliarity of the street, until of course you found yourself standing in front of the said building.

'if i see no sign from the heavens preventing me from entering this sketchy building then I'll probably still be alive,' is what you thought right before you nearly got trampled by two idiots in a razor scooter with one of them holding a giant rock in his hands, yelling some things along the lines of, "ill bash his head in with this!"

you may have been lucky enough to get your feet trampled over that death vehicle, but that was not the case for another person walking along the road. the man, victim, laid on the floor while holding his feet as some brilliantly colorful curse words flew over his mouth and the two offenders, standing there while profusely apologized to the man.

this would have been a supposed sign from god if you were gifted with the blessings of being self aware—but since that had not been the case for you, along with the fact that your bad luck had bled onto the other person— you were pretty sure of the fact that instead of warning you of any impending danger that awaited you depending on your action, has been warded off successfully.

so you step inside of the damned property; breaking off the sheath of protection, and entering the land of foreign, filled with nothing but cement, and broken debris of bricks. there had been nothing new to explore, plus the added anxiety of hurting yourself at every step increased the pace of your heartbeat; and you couldn't deny the fact that it didn't excite you.

amongst the mucronate end of iron rods sticking out, and half made walls your eyes captured something—a single panel of windows installed. it intrigued you as you approached it cautiously, stepping over the sharp objects laid on the dirty floor, your eyes focused on the peculiar scratching on the glass. the crack swirling into an enchanting ornate design as if it had been crafted by hands, and not born out of a misjudged trifling accident. the broken rays of sun streaming through the gaps of the cracks casting a riveting image onto the floor with you as its muse, compelling you to move closer to learn more about it's unrivaled individuality.

"its so beautiful," you couldn't help but wonder out loud, as your fingers dipped into the clementine shadow the drowning sun casted onto your fingers through the art before you, carefully enough not to go close to the sharp edges of the charmer.

"isn't it?" you twirled around almost immediately to the owner of the voice, and maybe turning around that fast might have not been the best idea as your lungs empty the air out of your system—or that might have been the breathtaking beauty of the mystery man before you with the healthiest long hair you've ever seen, and the most precious lips.

"uh-" you paused, words failing you as you fumbled in front of the beautiful stranger, but maybe the god was actually on your side today. instead of scowling at you for trespassing, or coming off as a creep, he actually laughed at your awestruck expression, as he slightly adjusted his bangs. alluring bruises, and adorable band aids covering the expanse of his winsome hands stirring awake the incessant need to know about the beautiful stranger before you.

maybe his eyes caught the way your gaze followed the movement of his hands, and he somehow smelled of your curiosity as he put on a bewitching smirk, and took a step closer.

"I'm beomgyu, i actually am a professional window scratcher." the beautiful stranger, beomgyu, introduced himself, putting forth his hand for you to shake. you gently put your hands in his, providing him with the confidence to sneak in a squeeze before he lets go.

there's exactly two thoughts swirling in your head: first was the pride that swelled in your heart for recognising art when you first saw it. you're just one step away from becoming the next best socialite at this rate, and the second one was the fact you were almost flirting with one of the prettiest men you've ever come across who is actually the creator of the art as well!

"you-" you stumbled on your words as your eyes widen to hide your excitement—calming the high pitch in your voice you turned around to point to the art, and face him, " you made this?"

beomgyu nodded, the halcyon lines of his eyes tugging at the ends of his lips, as the cheeky smirk melted into a smile dipped in fondness. unbeknownst to the both of you, he took another step closer to you.

"oh i forgot to introduce myself," you chided yourself, and gave him your name.

"that's a pretty name," he commented, "for a pretty girl."

you could assume that he had the full view of your blushing cheeks by the way his lips tugged at the corner. you tried to hush away all the butterflies that started to emerge into your stomach at his silly comments you know he doesn't even mean.

"im being truthful, you're the most beautiful girl I've laid my eyes on," He comes in closer, and closer—until there's only a shy line of invisible distance between the two of you, taunting you for it's presence. even though it feels wrong, you feel like it's the right thing to do, so you look up at his starry eyes, through your eyelashes to show your approval.

words held not much of importance of the strings of your heart tangled, and you could feel beomgyu tugging yours as he gently grabbed the sides of your lips and pulled you close to him.

what you had not expected from this comely artist to have the stinkiest breath that you ever had the misfortune to smell. you tried your best to hold your breath as he moved closer to you. the unbearable stench of filth assaulted the inside of your nostrils—you could hear the sizzle of your nose hair burning off in the acidic smell of his breath—but you persisted for your new found love, well until he opened his mouth, that's when the world blacked out as the lack of oxygen, and the insufferable smell of his mouth knocked you out of consciousness, and to some degree, your misery.

"if you're afraid to come closer to your loved one because of the fear of something like this happening," huening kai, korea's best mc appeared into the camera holding a mic to his mouth, as he pointed at your unconscious self, and a hyperventilating beomgyu holding your pinky with his own as he cried your name, praying for you to wake up.

"don't worry because we have the perfect solution!" huening kai held up a packet of colgate next to his face, staring straight into the camera with a grin with a similar voidity of the black hole—might not be wholesome but at least it sucks you in!

"colgate—no need to be afraid to fall in love!" huening kai explained, and threw the packet at beomgyu, who caught it and brushed his teeth immediately. as soon as the paste touched his teeth, it's as if life was breathed into you by some miraculous spells. your body jolting forward, as you lovingly gazed at beomgyu and the foam in his mouth, almost dripping as he shook in happiness to see you conscious. you giggled at his excitement, and scooped some of the foam that was holding onto it's life by his chin and put it back into his teeth.

"i was so scared of losing you," beomgyu cried out, splattering you with the foam, but you didn't mind as his minty fresh love coated your skin. coloring you ivory in his love—this time you closed the gap between you two and smelled the scent of love directly from the source.

" i will never leave you."

"curating love stories all around!" huening kai yelled, holding up the the colgate as he wiggled his squatted body to come to the center of the camera in order to block you and beomgyu, "colgate!"

"AND THAT'S A WRAP!"

NOꕀT. ִֶָ E : COLGATE SPONSOR ME?!?!!?

i know ive been awfully ia that's why i really wanted to comeback with a writing as awful as this,, but this idea! is so dear to heart because my favourite writer and my best friend came up with this and i just had to write it!! sometimes ill get her on tumblr one day for sure!!! PS the pedestrian the two dumbasses ran over was yeonjun, and the two dumbasses were soobin and taehyun. taehyun being the one with the big ass rock.

PERM〞TAGLIST— @impureperhaps

©ITGIRLGYU—feedbacks are so so so appreciated and ill love you forever!!

[iwritewhump]

"what happened to you?" + recapture + new clothes

day sixteen of whumpember

760 words

warnings: bashing someone's head in, kidnapping (technically)

a/n: this one is a little underbaked as far as my writing goes but i like the concept! if enough people remind me about it after september i might try to rewrite it eventually

~

Living Weapon resituates on the couch, tucking its legs underneath itself hoping to find a perfect position to fall asleep in. It lays its head on the armrest and watches the documentary.

Lights flash in the corner of its eye and its heart drops. The frosted glass around the doorframe lights up a few more times and Living Weapon stares hopelessly outside. It looks at Caretaker, the TV reflecting on her sleeping face.  It blinks and looks ahead, counting the flashing lights in Caretaker’s driveway. By some miracle the flashing light doesn’t wake her up and Living Weapon walks up to the door. 

It slides the bolt over and cracks the door open. The flashing lights stop and Living Weapon steps out onto the porch. The concrete has been warmed by the sun and it relishes in the moment, closing its eyes for just a second. The car honks and Living Weapon springs to life. 

It slides into the passenger seat and stares at Caretaker’s house. Slowly, it relaxes into the seat and looks at Handler. The lines on his face are more defined, softening him almost. Living Weapon bites the inside of its cheek until it tastes blood. It inhales sharply and looks at Caretaker’s front door. 

“Glad you came out, I didn’t want to break in.” Handler says, tapping irritably on the steering wheel. 

Its breath hitches and it looks at its hands. Almost whispering, it asks, “How did you find me?” 

“Oh please,” Handler scoffs. “I never lost you.” 

Living Weapon nods solemnly and takes a shuddering inhale. “So what now?” 

Handler huffs and reverses out of the driveway. He stares at the road and sighs, “Now you’ve hopefully found out that everything I do is to help you. Not to hurt you. Now we go home and fix whatever Caretaker did to you.”

Living Weapon picks at its cuticles as Handler turns and twists and travels back to the cabin in the forest that he called home. 

Blood beads out of Living Weapon’s nail bed by the time Handler parks the truck. He jumps out of the truck and motions for it to do the same. 

Its feet sink into the mud and when it pulls its foot out of the mud, its sock stays. Living Weapon jumps to the small mat outside the door and wipes its feet, doing its best to get all the mud off of its feet before walking inside behind Handler.

He whistles and throws a bundle of clothes at it, “Put these on.” They fall onto Living Weapon’s feet and Handler seethes. 

“What happened to you?” 

Quickly, Living Weapon plucks the clothes off the ground and smears the mud around, working it into the fabric. “I’m tired, I wasn’t expecting it. Nothing’s happened.” 

Handler chucks his shoe at it, “I think you’re slow. I think Caretaker coddled the killer instinct in you and now you can’t keep yourself alive. You rely on her.” 

Living Weapon spits and hurls the shoe back at Handler. “You’re wrong!” it stomps up to Handler and hovers a hand over his chest. “She made me stronger than you ever could.” 

It takes a deep breath and lowers its hand to its side. Handler exhales shakily and blinks a few times, forcing a laugh. 

“Then why did you come back with me? If you’re so strong?” 

Living Weapon grins, its teeth showing, “To do this.” 

Without a moment’s hesitation, it charges Handler and shoves him up against the kitchen wall, hands around his neck. Handler gasps, a hand flying up to his throat and he tries to claw Living Weapon’s hands off of him as the other gropes behind him, hopelessly searching for something to help. 

Living Weapon pulls him away from the wall and slams him back, his head making a sickening cracking sound at impact. Handler’s mouth makes a strangled sound and his head falls forward, nose brushing Living Weapon’s arm. 

Living Weapon lets him go, his body falling forward onto the kitchen floor. Blood spills onto the tile and Living Weapon watches it spread. The blood reaches its feet and Living Weapon steps in the puddle of it, letting it get sticky underneath it. Slowly, it reaches into Handler’s pocket and pulls the keys to his truck out. 

It peels its feet up from the ground and walks out of the cabin. This time, it avoids the mud and climbs into the driver’s seat. 

The music blares through the speakers, deafening Living Weapon to its thoughts as it drives back home to Caretaker.

[eggcompany]

Lost Bears Part 2

That night when Jamie showed up to watch the rest of the show, dressed in comfy clothes, he had Roy following behind him, something wrapped up in shopping bags. Jamie kicked his trainers at the door, shucking his zip jacket off to get comfy on the couch. He hugged Keeley briefly, saying hey, before flopping onto the couch. 

“Hey, I’m gonna order Italian, I know what everyone likes?” Keeley said, phone out in her hand, having thought over dinner for the last hour. 

“Yeah.” Jamie said and Roy stood by Keeley. Just standing there, looking at her, bag in hand. 

“And the bag is?” Keeley asked softly, hand landing on Roy’s forearm, not reaching for the bag but referencing it. 

“Bear-Bear, and a pack of biscuits.” Jamie answered with a smile and made himself comfy on the couch, pulling the folded blanket apart. Roy looked down at his hand and forced his clenched fingers to relax. Keeley took the plastic bag, untying it, she left there, hanging open from Roy’s fingers. 

“Are you any better now Roy? Are you feeling any… safer?” Keeley asked quietly and rubbed up and down Roy’s bicep. He was so strong, solid and warm under his shirt, she always loved that about him. His solid warmth she could always fall back on. But she saw the soft side of him now, his eyes looking up, finally catching her own gaze. He shrugged, not shaking his head no, so she took it as progress in the right way. 

“Okay, it’s okay. We’re gonna make sure you’re alright. Why don’t you go get a shower, you’re staying the night again, the guest bed is just the way you like it if you don’t end up staying on the sofa again.” Keeley explained, trying to sound calm and cool. She’s made up the bed how Roy needed it, with the heavy blankets and the pillows that stayed cold and cranked the fans up. He liked being cool and weighed down. She knew how to get that done. 

Roy nodded and looked at her hand that laid in the crook of his elbow. He had a thinking look on his face, swallowing thickly before he spoke. 

“The blue blanket… Can I have it?” Roy asked and kept his eyes to the side, on Keeley’s hand unable to meet her eyes anymore. Keeley paused and swallowed. The blue blanket. Not a blue blanket. The blue blanket. 

The blue blanket Roy had told her felt like the one he had when he was a kid. The blue blanket she’d wrap around him after six too many drinks or when his knuckles were freshly wrapped from punching concrete or that one time he bashed his own head into a wall until he passed out. 

That was the hurt blanket. That was the hospital visit, having an episode, ‘we’re gonna pretend it didn’t happen till the morning blanket. 

Doctor Fieldstone had called the blanket a grounding item, like the blankets they put on shock patients. It was a blanket that made Keeley feel sick to her stomach.  

“The blue blanket?” Keeley asked and felt her own heart picked up, she just needed to make sure. Roy nodded and looked back up at her finally. His eyes were watery, chaos rolling in his mind behind them. 

“Can you sit in the bathroom?” Roy asked, tears sitting in the lines of his eyes, barely contained. Keeley felt a cold shock roll through her, freezing her to her core. 

“Roy, do you need to go to the hospital? I’m being serious, I’ll tell Ted you can’t be coming for a few days, we can say you’re on vacation.” Keeley offered and kept looking at Roy who shook his head. She was dead serious, voice steady and unwavering. 

If she had to take him to the mental ward, it would be fine. She could have the NDAs printed in ten minutes, lord knows she had them saved. Roy just shook his head, moving his free hand to catch hers, giving it a squeeze. 

“I feel… tired. My head is too fucking full. Fieldstone on Monday. Just don’t wanna fuckin… be” Roy explained in a struggled manner, like it hurt him to even try and make the words form in his mouth. 

Keeley took a minute to think it through. It was Friday. Monday would make him reset. Seeing the doctor would help and she would send him to the hospital if he needed it or on vacation or give him advice to help him get over it. Only the weekend and it would be all better. Keeley could handle that. 

“I want you to go get in the shower upstairs, leave the door open. I’m going to get the blanket and get everything set up in here. Jamie can go home and then we-” Keeley started to explain, laying out her plan, but Roy spoke up, cutting her off. 

“He doesn’t have to.” Roy said, stopping Keeley in her tracks. She was going to just tell Jamie and send him home, they could watch the show some other time, Jamie would understand. But if Roy wanted him to stay, or felt like having Jamie there would help with the awkwardness, so be it. 

“Oh, alright. Then I’ll come sit in the bathroom with you while he sets everything up down here. Can you get in the shower and get cleaned up for me though? By yourself for just a minute?” Keely asked, squeezing Roy’s hand, moving to be in his field of vision. Roy nodded and took his hand away, shoving the bag covered teddy bear into Keeley’s chest before turning for the stairs. 

“Yeah. Yeah.” He grumbled, almost drowned out by the crinkle of the plastic bag as Keeley took Bear-Bear out. She sighed and walked to the couch. 

“Jamie, I'm telling you this once and only once. You know when you had your big fit? Your big one and you broke your finger?” Keeley said sternly when she heard the shower kick on upstairs. 

Her and Jamie had been dating for a bit when he had his big fit. He’d come home having been shoved around by his dad after a shitty match, scratch on his cheek that Keeley had tried to tape up but he’d just broken. Screaming that he wasn’t a baby, that he didn’t need her treating him like he was six. He’d pulled a shelf from the wall to the floor, kicked the cabinet doors, and tried punching the fridge while wailing like a possessed man. Keeley had just watched him, calling an ambulance when she saw the way his finger twisted to the side. He’d just laid on the kitchen floor, curled up knees to his chest, hands on his ears, cabinet door splintered beside his head, and wailed. The paramedics had to sedate him to keep him from hyperventilating. 

She wasn’t scared, never had been scared of Jamie hurting her, but she knew he needed help. She’d been at the hospital the next morning with NDAs for the psych ward nurses and everyone else who needed to help Jamie. And he came out better, apologized, and bandaged up. The stress of everyone looking at you, it got to a person, she knew that. She knew that when she was with Roy. That the eyes were still glaring at him. 

Jamie nodded, remembering the shitty food and the stupid brace on his finger. 

“Yeah? It sucked. You made me stay in the hospital for, like, ever.” He said and absentmindedly reached to his pinkie that had snapped. Keeley looked at him, trying to make sure he knew what she was saying. 

“It was two days but you remember that it was horrible and you felt horrible and it was scary? For everyone, it was scary.” She said and raised an eyebrow at him. Jamie nodded, guilt still digging at him years later. 

“Duh it was shit” Jamie said but his voice hung heavy with guilt, with seriousness that was never present. Keeley took a breath, calming herself. 

“Roy’s there. He’s right there. No old man jokes, no poking him, no teasing. He is so close to falling apart completely. Understood?” Keeley said and got into Jamie’s space, looking up at him. She watched his face turn pale, eyes widen. He swallowed, opened his mouth, and closed it again before clearing his throat and nodding. 

“Un-understood. Should I leave?” He asked, eyes going to the front door. He could leave, leave and it could be between Roy and Keeley, they were dating after all. He was just… He was just Roy’s friend. Keeley put Roy’s bear down next to Jamie on the couch. 

“He wants you to stay. Just get the food, the blankets, put the show on. Just don’t… ignore the fact he’s an actual active volcano right now. Like he’s…. Ya know?” Keely said as she went to the linen closet that held her million throw blankets and couch pillows. She pulled out the blue blanket from the very very very bottom and a couple extra pillows. Jamie was nodding, remote in hand already up to fix the couch and make tea. 

“Roy, what'd you feel like wearing? I know you like wearing your shirt and pants, why don’t we just put these on and wrap you up in blankie. Come down right away, food’s going to be here in a sec." Keeley said and brough the found (definitely not kept) pair of Roy's boxer briefs and one of his shirts she'd kept (it was left.) She put them on the sink, folded up like she hadn’t worn them, before sitting next to them on the counter. She could see through the fogged class Roy was just standing under the steaming hot water, letting the water half drown him. She sighed and leaned back against the mirror, he didn’t even flinch. 

“And Bear is waiting downstairs for you. Jamie too.” She said and that got a response, a slight nodding of his head, his shoulders drooping a bit further, a big breath shaking through his chest. Keeley just watched, watched until he was turning the water off, opening the door to reach the towel she had laid out for him. 

She let her eyes take him in. He always looked good, strong and healthy. She watched the water roll down his chest, off his hips, down his legs. She couldn’t help but smile at the way he scrubbed the water away roughly, like he was mad at it. He always did that and always his skin was still damp when he was done, hair soaking the collar of his shirt until Keeley toweled it off better. 

She took his hand, his rough palm a warm solid reminder he was alive, and took him to the couch just in time to catch Jamie tipping the delivery boy and hauling the food in. Roy picked at his food, taking small slow bites and then looking at Keeley or Jamie, watching them eat before taking another bite for himself. 

Keeley watched him, he was always weird with food, she didn’t understand but she watched until he had eaten his portion before finally stopped picking at her own.

Jamie threw away the trash, being as quiet as he could, stealing obvious glances at Roy as the older man leaned on Keeley heavily, bear tucked in his lap. 

Keeley was rubbing at Roy’s shoulders and neck, hands working on the tense muscles and tight knots. It made his eyes slide shut and content sighs leak from his lips, his mind finally starting to spin down. Jamie was dead set on watching the show as his own hands found Roy’s feet and ankles, careful as he dug his fingers into the pressure points. 

Roy was calm, the air in the room felt different than the night before, than a few hours ago when they arrived. It felt… warmer. Something had shifted and Jamie could feel it in the back of his neck down to his hands where he touched Roy’s clean warm skin. Keeley could feel it too, like Roy’s gloom had lifted off them all, at least a bit.

[just-a-creep-babe]

a demon's ache is so good i bashed my head onto a concrete wall in hopes it gives me amnesia so i can reread it again for the first time 🤷🏼 it's been such a long time since i've been fed good ej fics 💔 thank you for your service 🫡🫡

SKDJFHGLSKDJDL ok but hearing ur fic makes someone wanna bash their head in is SUCH a high compliment I’m—

[everythingcanadian]

Some new years Thommy for you all

Hints at sex stuff but it's mostly fluffy and warm. HAPPY NEW YEAR!

It was cold but not enough to stop them from enjoying a little celebration outside of the servant’s hall. Thomas had been gifted a bottle of champagne from Tom. It was both a joke gift but also a sincere one as it came with a note in the box.

"Enjoy tonight and take care of your heart like I did with mine."

Thomas knew he meant take care of Jimmy, his love. As Tom had referenced Sibyl as his heart a few times. This was meant to be shared, and God dammit Thomas was going to do that. He made sure Mrs. Hughes didn't lock them out. She had left the key for him to lock up after. He was, in fact, old enough to be responsible for some things.

Earlier, Thomas had made sure to cut away some of the wax seal so he could open it when the time came. It was that time. He and Jimmy were bundled up, a bit warm from mulled wine coursing through them from dinner as well as the New Year toast. But now they were heading just a little ways away from the main house, so their own celebration could happen.

No matter how many knew or thought they knew of his and Jimmy's extremely tight friendship, Thomas still didn't want prying eyes or the creeping unease of being sicked upon by police or dogs of hell. They were already on thin ice from their shenanigans. They didn't need to be sacked for "flaunting their perverted sins" on the downstairs staff. Mr Carson had scared them both into behaving; Thomas knew when a firm line was never to be crossed. That was one of them.

Instead, he had had Jimmy carry two small water glasses in the pockets of his oversized brown woolen coat. And he also made Jimmy carry the lantern Thomas had nicked from the boot room so they could venture father than the little walled in servants area.

Thomas himself carried the wax sealed bottle in a tea towel, knowing it may get messy. Jimmy looked adorable in the warm coat and his customary cap. Thomas had to refrain from kissing him dumb while getting their coats.

As they neared the hip height garden wall, Thomas felt warmer than he had in the house, sweat itching under his own wool coat at his back and shoulders. Jimmy's own footsteps slowed as he came up next to Thomas.

"Here's as good as any." Thomas took in a full breath of cold winter air, letting it burn his nostrils and seep into his lungs like it's own brand of smoke.

Jimmy smiled softly, eyes showing his crows feet and lips just parting to show some teeth. That was a genuine smile. That was a smile meant only for friends. The bashful sway in Jimmy's stance was only for Thomas. "Lets start off 1923 with a bang." Jimmy set the lantern down first with a soft ka-chink of the hamdle falling and hitting the side. He sniffed as he took the glasses out of his pockets, cold air getting to him already.

"Easy there, Mr. Kent. Let's settle it down to a very loud pop instead?" Thomas teased. "Cups on the stonework. If you drop them, it's both our heads this time."

Jimmy put them down onto the low wall with distinctive clinks of glass on concrete. He then took his hands away and showed Thomas he wasn't holding them anymore.

"Cheeky."

"Always."

Thomas raised a brow before carefully unwrapping the bottle of none too cheap champagne, hearing Jimmy whistle low as he got a look at the lable. Thomas snorted softly, understanding the meaning.

"It's nice of Branson to gift something of taste for once." Thomas smiled as he sput the towel over his shoulder and started untying the twist that held the whole thing together. He already felt the pressure under his thumb as he held the cork down. "Ready?"

Jimmy nodded and watched in awe as Thomas let his thumb come off the top. The loud POP of the cork exiting the bottle echoed a bit too loud across the grounds. The explosion of foam that followed was a cascade that fell in wet slaps to the well trodden and frozen pathway they were on. He had to hold his jaw closed when that foam ran down Thomas's good hand. The barely pale yellow bubbles running over Thomas's knuckles and leaking down to the ground as well as down his wrist a little made for a stunning, if not errotic image. Jimmy wanted to kneel under him and accept the offering of pure fizz. Kneeling at the alter of his lover and accepting another gift like that came to his mind.

Jimmy tore his gaze away to watch Thomas's warm laughter come out with plumes of hot breath between his lips. And that grin cased Thomas's dimples to come out in full force under the bright moon and the low light of the lamp.

"I don't think they'll ever find that cork. It flew as a bird." His glee made the joke funny and Jimmy chuckled.

Thomas poured them both a full glass, watching it fizz over the lips and create a puddle under each one. "Careful, don't want to waste it."

"And that display was what then?" Thomas set the bottle down before wiping his hand on the towel he brought. "If that wasn't a waste-"

"That was a show, Thomas." Jimmy's voice dipped as he quieted it. "A very- lovely show." His eyes trailed from Thomas's mirth filled face down to where Jimmy had been kissing and licking on Christmas night. "One that I want to try and replicate."

Thomas almost dropped his glass at the suggestion, but his smile was very much into the idea. Even his flushed cheeks agreed. "We can arrange that whenever you'd like." Thomas watched Jimmy pick up his champagne. "When appropriate, mind." Thomas picked up his own glass and held it out. "To another year of our lives, may we continue on in happiness and healthiness."

Jimmy clinked their glasses together, sloshing champagne over the edges. His giggle was as bubbly as the alcohol. "I can do you one better, Barrow. To our continued affections and constant learning of and from each other."

Thomas's lips parted, and he felt tears prick his eyes. "I love you, Jimmy."

The smile that answered calmed the sudden roiling ocean of emotion as quickly as it started. "And I love you, Thomas. I love you."

They looked at each other as they savored their first sip of champagne together.

[ctommyisnt]

Fighting with my brother bc I find concrete to be gorgeous and wonderous and he’s like ‘if I see another gray wall I’m going to bash my head onto it so at least my blood will stain it into something better like NO. STOP DISSING THE CONCEETE IT IS BEIYIFIL

[blacknidstang]

Thinking about John giving Dean the colt and how that is exactly the same as John leaning onto Dean on that hospital bed to tell him about Sam and how China has put the quote "man hands on misery to man" over the hospital scene in this insanely gorgeous post and now I'm violently bashing my head to the wall and chewing concrete

[greedyarts-official]

"Look what we have here.."

/ you've gotten an bounty over your head by the high table, especially eclipse. Everywhere you go, nothing is safe. After a bashful 6 months of hiding, you haven't seen the 4 in a while. Every angle you look, they weren't there. Maybe they have forgoten about you. Just maybe. \

A fic for @8um8ble8ee's cyberpunk au, which i adore dearly. (This is mostly fron my self-insert perspective, but it can also be used for a y/n perspective!)

You've been wandering through the alleys with a sickening feeling in your stomach. It wasn't the first time you've been under a bounty by eclipse and the others.

But it felt different this time.

You shrugged it off and continued walking to try and find your partner. It's felt like hours finding them.

But the more you continued to look, the more it felt like you kept being followed. Every turn you made. Every path you go..

.

..

..someone was following you.

There was a dead end to where you had found an empty wall, nothing but concrete. A place to create art on.

You sigh to yourself to finally have a place to unravel your emotions onto art.

No one in the way.

Nothing to get in the way..

But,

the moment you pulled out a bright pink paint spraycan and shook it up & down to get ready for motivation; a voice cracks the silence from silence.

" Well, look what we have here. "

Eclipse spoke, looking over you at a whooping 10 feet in height. The shadow fulfills the wall from infront of you.

" Isn't is the one & only, Greedy. "

You slowly turned to eclipse. The look of horror and feeling of your stomach just rotting away just at the sight of eclipse just made him smirk.

You backed up to the wall, dropping your spraycan that rolls to eclipses foot.

" I thought you'd never leave your little hide-out.. "

You quivered at the voice. Inhaling your fear into your body before responding;

" ..Why do you want me, why- with this bounty?"

Eclipse narrowed his eyes as he leaned forward, making you shiver in terror from the height difference. Eclipse could easily squish you like a balloon if he wanted too..

".. Cause, Greedy."

The 4 arms on eclipses back quickly extended & grabbed your whole body, slaming you into the wall. The pain filled your body.

You gasp for air at the short and forced movement that knocked the wind out of you. With you being 5'8, being held by some 2 times your height, it scares you.

But, it also had this odd feeling of admiring towards eclipse. It flushed your body into a warmth layer of woah, they are big.

"You've brought me interest,"

Eclipse leaned in with a smug look,

"And I've been waiting to finally find you."

The two free hands let go of you, shrugging as he tilts his head to the side.

" I'm sure you're friend Y/N is worried, along with sun & 8ot.."

Eclipse looked back at you, his smug smirk slowly turning into a crazed smile.. Narrowing his eyes as his 2 free hands cup your face.

" But I think you'll be just fine with me. "

[therrerium-valkryonia]

Heroism

TW: Sexual themes, Violence, 18+.

Jumping from building to building wad getting her achy and sore, but not her legs.. no her belly was, her large bump of a belly and her tight and hot suit didn't help the spider-woman.

Her genes we're altered to save her from a very lethal dose of radiation, her body coped with spider genes that made her.... well her.

She wore a purple suit with black armor pieces and green gilded lines, her eyepieces glow with a turqoise as she glides across the sky.

She shot a web and swung from tower to tower and pulled herself between tight places at high speeds, she landed onto a roof to breathe off.

Sat off the edge, taking slow breaths to calm her tightening belly down with a small rub across her underside easing the tightness.

Once ready, she stands up and moves back as she takes a long leap but a contraction takes her attention, she grips her belly but shoot a web at the right moment. Swinging through the city.

She inhales a sharp breath, through the pain while she swings above across New York city's streets and corners, reaching across a gang.

Shots fire through the air and she dodges every one of them swiftly, landing on her feet and punching someone clean out "So wanna go?"

They shot bullets and she dodged every single one of them, webbing one from behind and slamming him on the truck wall "Oops, sorry."

She webs one and slams her foot into them, "Ouch, that must hurt. Oh, yeah you." She spins around the bullet and punches them cold.

A hard pressure binds her belly, she pulls her body in and grunts at the strong pain "Ooh, okay not a great time, Oh we are goin- OOH okay yep"

She let it pass and swings off to another gang scene, finding one atop a rooftop being hit by heavy contractions frequently on the way here.

"Oughhh, C'mon just a few mor- hraaagghh" Her breath was shaky, she shrugged it off and went in for the attack, slamming onto the concrete.

"That's a hospital visit, Ouhh hold on... Damn it!" The remaining crooks point the barrel towards her "You sure...? Really? Okay, here we go."

She shifts her stance as a sharp burns grows with in and a slow gush of fluid drips down her leg "Hgk! Oh, fuck now?" She inhales deeply.

She punches the man to her left, making him faint "Hooo, Oughh.. Okay *Gulp*" They all fire and they miss every shot as she pulls their guns out their hands and slingshotting it back.

Whilst flurry of contractions wrack her belly, slowing her down and she compensates and speeds up tightening her clench on her belly "nrrggh! Ack, auuhhh." The head slides near.

The head bulges out with great force "Ougghh, Grnnghh. Damn it!" Stretching her suit and had forcefully stopped her as she barely dodges the bullets "Ouuhhhh, Haaahhh." As the pain grows.

She felt a sudden stop and crunched her fist tightly, letting out a small groan "F-- ffucck! I ne-eed Haagghh!" Hiding behind supply crates.

She groaned cupping the head trying to stop it's movement but it was to far out, she rammed the thug to the ground "Shut it, be quiet- Nrgghh!".

Then slammed his head on the floor knocking him out, she gripped her belly as the baby pulls out the amniotoc sac from her body "Ghaa- ?!".

The head abruptly stops by her tight suit, and left her a strong searing pain as the last crook, tall and powerful as he grabbed a table.

He threw it and broke a huge chunk of the crate as she braces "Hooh- Hoo, here *gulp* we go" And she swung above him as he throws tables.

She dodges every attack he threw, fighting huge contractions as she grabs a pillar and bashes him, leaving him fainted as she fell to her knees.

She screams in horrendus pain as the head was beginning to tear through the suit and through pain she bore, all in she stopped holding back.

She heard a loud rip, as a huge gush of fluid had flowed out, puddling up as the baby fell out as it tore through the amniotic sac.

It gasped and wailed loudly, calling for it's mom as Louis crawled to her child and pulled it to her chest calming it down. She smiled so tiredly.