it’s still hilarious how people in gotham react when superman stops crime in their city. how downright insulted gotham rogues get when superman swoops in with that look on his face like your father is disappointed in you, arms crossed, floating above the ground because he can do that. he can fly. they’re like, “no. fuck you. i want my dark onion back. i want to get my teeth kicked in, not to be carried in the air like a kitten. you’re not my MOM, superman.” how they start bargaining not to get arrested because if they knew a superpowered alien was on patrol tonight, they’d have upped their crime game
what’s even more hilarious is when batman finds out superman’s in town, the way he looks at him just like the captured rogues are. everybody all around disapproving getting the streets cleaned much sooner than usual. they have a carefully implemented timetable, clark. go be resourceful somewhere else
Meant to be a short drabble, became longer and lead to an identity reveal. Oh well, it was fun to write. c: Hope you enjoy!
Chat Noir was
just going home after a lunchtime akuma, and he was starving. He could feel his energy draining from him, and if it
weren’t for the suit, he’d probably be collapsed somewhere, starving to death. Then
he would die and his father would be arrested for parental neglect. Ladybug
would never know what happened. His classmates would mourn…
He stopped on
top of the school when he caught a glimpse of one Marinette Dupain-Cheng,
holding a sack of flour on her shoulders. She and her father seemed to be
unloading some sacks from a delivery truck right outside their bakery. He
watched as Marinette put down her sack next to a small towering pile and roll
her shoulders as she entered the truck to grab another one, passing her father who
had one sack on each shoulder.
He whistled as she
easily hoisted another one on her shoulders, impressed. He never knew she was
that strong. She always looked so small and soft that seeing her easily carry a
sack of flour that was half her size and probably twice her weight was quite a
would be a terrible hero if he didn’t go down there to lend a helping paw. Maybe he could ask for a croissant as repayment. Just one. He was just so hungry, and they were nice people so
they’d at least give him one, right?
Summary: Sometimes a lazy morning in bed with Dean is all you need…
Characters: Dean Winchester x reader
Word count: 906 (I stand by my decision to call this a drabble lol)
Warnings: This is pure, unadulterated fluff.
Author’s Note: This is just a little something I wrote for @escabell‘s birthday. My dear friend, Sandee, you are an absolute, overwhelmingly giving angel that loves with everything you got and I’m happy you found my fic and became friends with me. Happy birthday! <3
And to all of you reading this, enjoy and have a great day <3
Walking up next to
Dean Winchester is a gift.
Whether it’s on an
insanely early morning or just on a lazy day, the way his warmth seeps into
your skin or the way you’re woven together, limbs and edges blended so
perfectly, overwhelms you with serenity and makes your heart flutter unevenly like you’re a schoolgirl on her first real date with a boy.
Most of the times,
he’s the first one to wake up, so, he gawks for a while, takes in all the
little things he loves about you and then, after a few silent minutes of
morning bliss, he strokes your hair lightly and greets you with a forehead
kiss and ‘morning, sweetheart.
Today though, he’s
still asleep when your eyes flutter open, so you settle closer to him, enjoying
the way the sunlight dances on your bare skin, and let your gaze roam over his
and soft when he’s sleeping, rugged edges giving way to innocence and youth,
olive skin almost golden in the morning glow and freckles darker than usual.
It’s a fascinating
thing to see, one that makes you fall in love with him all over again, and you
grin, prop yourself on your elbow and start peppering his face with
Emotionally? Uraraka. Physically? They both hurt each other in training, but I doubt Bakugou would raise a hand angst her in anger. Plenty of death threats tho, bcus that’s how the anger child communicates.
who is emotionally stronger?
who is physically stronger?
Sheer strength wise Bakugou
who is more likely to break a bone?
Probs Uraraka bcus the girl does not know when to stop pushing herself, but neither does Bakugou tbh. They are both horrible to themselves in that regard
who knows best what to say to upset the other?
Bakugou, the boy could destroy a grown man’s dreams with a single sentence
who is most likely to apologise first after an argument?
Uraraka probs, but if it’s Bakugou then he’ll sulk for a while and then bring her a present, all while refusing to even look in her direction
who treats who’s wounds more often?
Bakugou, but like, all while bitching at her for getting hurt in the first place. Uraraka treats his wounds with a smile to distract him. It’s like 45/55 tbh
who is in constant need of comfort?
Def Bakugou the boy is A Mess
who gets more jealous?
Bakugou likes to hoard her time to the extreme, and shows his emotions on his sleeve but denys feeling them. Like I said, A Mess.
who’s most likely to walk out on the other?
Ok first of all rude. Second of all, In the middle of a fight, Bakugou, but a real break up would come from Uraraka bcus Bakugou wasn’t growing enough to keep up with her
who will propose?
Bakugou and he’ll literally be like ‘I bought you this shitty ring now put it on oh god stop crying yea I love you too OI I’M FLOATING RELASE RELEASE’
who has the most difficult parents?
Bakugou, but they are like, def v loving. All parents are loving. But Bakugou’s are def more diffuclt to talk to and disagree with.
who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public?
Uraraka and Bakugou is a blushing mess
who comes up for the other all the time?
Bakugou but he’ll complain about it constantly even thought she never asked him too
who hogs the blankets?
Uraraka is a heat bunny and will swaddle herself and then curl into his side
who gets more sad?
Uraraka does but she hides it, and then Bakugou will just cuddle her while bitching about something to distract her
who is better at cheering the other up?
They’re both p good at it by this point tbh. Honestly Uraraka’s easier to cheer up so that means Bakugou by default, but she’s one of the only ones who can get him to stop threatening murder
who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes?
Uraraka but she forgets about her Quirk lol. Poor Kacchan
who is more streetwise?
Uraraka in the financial side, but they’re p even on regular street smarts. Bakugou just doesn’t care.
who is more wise?
Bakugou when he’s not in a mood
who’s the shyest?
Bakugou tbh. He gets shy around Uraraka at first, and still flushes at PDA
who boasts about the other more?
Bakugou will RAVE about Uraraka tbh and he will shove your face in how strong his gf is look at her!! Look at his angel face SHE’S FLOATING A BUILDING CAN YOU DO THAT???? THAT’S WHAT HE THOUGHT YOU SHITTY EXTRA
who sits on who’s lap?
Uraraka sits on his lap, and half the time it’s from Bakugou just. Pulling her onto him in the middle of the conversation. Yeah that’s right. She’s his. Wait no dON’T HOLD MY HAND THAT’S EMBARESSING
Leonardo Stonewell is a nowhere man
set to living his life on the outskirts of civilization, until one morning, he discovers a body floating in the bogs behind his home, it’s face a blank slate. Cue other equally terrifying events happening to the small town of Blackpool, from a mysterious shadow that follows in his foot steps to his ex-best friend suddenly dropping teeth like it’s going out of style.
TEETHING is a horror webcomic that is currently underway, featuring the spectacular work of @kotsukotsu. It’s a story that follows two boys who partake on a road trip to uncover the truth behind the horrific events plaguing their lives. This includes but is not limited to: swamp lands, science fiction taking place outside of the United States, growing pains, tons of teeth (mostly outside the mouth), glam rock bands of the 80s, adult themes and the constant nagging feeling that shit isn’t alright.
Somehow I’m just thinking of Robert as a guy who actually doesn’t watch porn and would be oblivious to a lot of kinky sexual references - like, you can call him “daddy” as a sly joke when you’re together sometime, and he’d just be like “Yeah? What’s up?” If you are quiet because you’re wondering if that actually just flew over his head, he’ll go on and say, “Are you trying to make me feel better about Val? Because thanks, but…I’m dealing with it.”
And okay, this guy tried to get in your pants before he learned your name that first time you met and he isn’t picking up on sexual jokes??? But no, cmon, if you make fun of something phallic like a hot dog ofc he’s gonna giggle like a stupid 14yo - okay, what I’m saying is that he’s just a natural when it comes to kink and he doesn’t even know it. Bc when he’s biting you that other time? Instinctual. When he kisses you like he wants to fuck you right there, right now? Impatience. When he’s pinning you against the door with his fingers at your belt? Dexterity.
So okay, Robert is just a natural-born at seduction but he has no clue about kink. But oooh boy, are you going to teach him bc you’re a lil tipsy one night and start calling him Daddy again and he’s just a little confused but brushes it off as part of your quirkiness until you throw a leg over his lap and squiggle real close, a hand going to his crotch and murmuring, “Won’t you be a little rough with me, /Daddy/?” You’ve never seen his eyes go so wide, and you can see his brain working as hard as it can to process what you just said and did.
All he can do in reply (at first), is just breathe out a surprised, “Oh, my God,” and you’re giggling in his lap now because /that face was funny/ and suddenly you’re floating - well, actually, Robert’s picked you up and God /damn/ that’s hot so you just wrap around him, lulling your head to the crook of his neck, and then you’re suddenly so interested in the vein going down the side of his neck so you blow at it, feeling Robert jerk a little. “What’re y'doing?” he asks, all jumbled. You giggle again bc maybe you’re a little more drunk than you thought at first, and seeing Robert uncomfortable is just so rare and amusing, that you mumble, “You’re fucking sexy, Daddy.” You feel yourself jolt just a bit - and you straighten up a tad, looking at Robert a little miffed. “Did you almost drop me?”
Robert, trying to be the ~mysterious and cool~ man that he is, denies it. You’re past the level of tipsy where your attention span is still intact, so you’re just staring at his eyes with the wrinkles at the sides and you lean in, forehead to forehead, and mutter, “Kiss me like you did the other day.”
Robert, back in his territory and really not knowing how kinky he makes you want to get, presses you against the wall and smirks. “Oh yeah? You liked that?”
You nod and murmur a yes, and he kisses you to the point where you don’t know how to stand anymore.
(welp this was written very poorly so sorry I’m cutting it here and also I haven’t played any of the routes where you sleep with Robert so this may be highly inaccurate idk but given the good route, this is what I think)
Request - you’re living in the same building as Tom and you walk out of the apartment and walk into Tom wearing some unruly clothes and hair.
The day was going to be a good one. Until you woke up with an agonizing headache and sweaty skin. You were sick. And it was the achy, cold kind of sick. The type that drained all your energy and made you dead on the couch for five days. You hated being sick. Well, you were positive everyone hated being sick, but you especially hated it because you always felt like you were losing days you could be doing something productive.
Sun draped the walls as you groggily walked from your large comfy bed, to the living room. Staring out the large windows at LA. Sun kissed the roof tops and spelled out a forecast of high twenties. You smiled warmly as you felt the sun reach your skin and warm your aching body. What you really needed was your favourite tea and to watch Gossip Girl on repeat. Gathering more strength, you dragged your body to the kitchen, which was open to the living room so the sun followed you where you went.
I’ve had a few people ask for Peter sick while staying over night at Stark Tower. I’ve taken pieces from each and combined to make this fic!
Word Count: 2001
Peter’s drowning; his body is sinking
towards a bottomless pit. The water around him is hot, borderline boiling, and
he tries to kick up, to swim to the surface. But, he can’t. He can’t move his
legs; they are stiff and tense. He flails his arms about to try and keep from
sinking, but nothing works. It feels as if there’s an anchor tied to his foot
and pulling him down, down, down, with no end in sight.
His lungs are burning in his chest; his
cheeks are puffed out with the small, remaining air keeping him conscious. An
unsettling grey color teases at the edge of his vision, and he knows now he
doesn’t have much time left.
In front of his fading vision, the water
begins to bubble against the heat until a shape forms, a shape that has Peter’s
mouth opening in a gargled gasp. Before his strained eyes, Aunt May floats,
face smiling and warm, and Peter reaches out desperately.
“Aunt May,” he calls, voice tense and lost
against the heated water as he grasps before him. “Aunt May, please!”
May!” Peter jerks up in bed with a strangled sob that grates against his
burning throat. He clutches one hand to his neck while the other fists the damp
sheets pooling around his waist. Sweat has his plain blue shirt clinging
uncomfortably to his skin, leaving him feeling oddly chilled and shaking. He
makes a slow move to lift his shirt over his head, but the small motion of
raising his arms above his head pulls painfully at his cramping stomach, and
next thing he knows, his stomach is lurching violently.
“Do ye…have protection?” Jamie gasped, his knees hitting the back of the bed as he flopped onto the soft, supple mattress.
Claire ignore the soft throb that pulsed through her chest at the thought and shook her head, “we don’t need it, don’t worry.”
“A-alright,” he stammered, his eyes flitting over every inch of her as she began to untie the waistband knot of her flannel shirt. “I don’t usually—“ he started, her eyes silencing him as she let the faux-tartan patterned shirt fall to the floor with a dull thud.
“Me either, but that doesn’t matter, does it?”
“Do you want me?”
What a question, Jamie thought as she rested her hand over the partially undone metal of his flies. She was beautiful, her long curls floating around her face as she hovered over him, a halo of light beaming around the crown of her head small shards of the gentle yellow beam peaking through the breaks in her hair as she swayed above him.
She was waiting (patiently) for him to give her the okay before stripping him. Inhaling deeply, Jamie tried to banish the niggling doubt that said something was amiss. Instead he focused on the fact that he wanted her —really quite badly. And it looked as if she wanted him too. Something akin to *need* seemed to hover beneath the surface of her skin, the electricity of it flowing through her fingers and into his veins.
Claire Beauchamp was nothing if not intoxicating. And he was drunk on the fumes of her.
“Aye, Claire,” he said, finally, the breathlessness of his voice rocketing through Claire from head to toe as she pushed the small buttons through their holes, exposing his underwear as she carefully undid his trousers.
Finally bare, the pair stared at one another, an unfamiliar strangeness encasing them for just a moment. They’d met only a few hours prior, but already Claire could feel a buzz that made her slightly uncomfortable. She sat aside his hips, this skin of his legs warming her to the core. He was like a human radiator, all hard lines and heat. The short, sharp hairs that lay in sleek sheets along his thighs tickled the insides of her legs as she shifted herself higher. His hands rested gently against her hips. He was large, but not intimidating — all of him. It was his hands that swayed it. The careful way that each fingertip caressed her flesh, bringing alight sensations she hadn’t felt for years. She was alive. The flame lit beneath her skin as he waited for her to make her move.
Leaning forwards, Claire bent to kiss him. Seeing his mouth open as his head tilted up to meet her, she could she see the moist slip of his tongue. Glancing at Jamie through half closed eyelids she could almost feel an odd camaraderie.
Maybe that is what love would feel like?
The moment the ‘L’ word appeared in her mind, Claire banished it. She’d been there once before and it had very nearly broken her. She’d been young and naive, foolish to believe his lies. In the years since she’d accepted her single status - and one good looking man wasn’t going to break the vow she’d made to herself.
“Just a little fun, right?” She whispered into his mouth as she nipped his lower lip. Her teeth made small indentations in his skin and she marvelled as they plumped once more.
Jamie neglected to answer, his heart picking up pace at the intonation of Claire’s voice. He’d never been the sort to be frivolous with his affections, but if she needed to mask their brief courtship as ‘fun’, then he was willing to allow it. But Jamie wasn’t sold on it. He felt what Claire felt but was unable to truly understand. Unmarred by previous affectionate exchanges, Jamie wasn’t burdened with the same emotional turmoil as Claire.
He’d known about Frank. Geillis had, of course, spoken of her friend. Frank had been older than Claire. They had met through her uncle before he’d died - and had been a close knit friend of the family. Her uncle had worked closely with Frank and so the growing relationship quickly developed by the pair, urged on by Claire’s uncle (albeit quietly). Geillis knew Claire wished, unconsciously, for a father figure. And at a time when she’d needed that stability, Frank had reacted by his gentlemanly acquiescence of that role.
Soon though, Frank had wanted children. When *Claire* had been unable to provide them for him he had conveniently found someone who could. Jamie rolled his eyes at the thought, who blames their partner? Well, ‘partner’ in the loosest term, he quipped in his own head, if you’re going to lay *all* of the blame at only one person’s door when things start to fall apart.
He’d heard all this and more on Geillis’s bi-annual trips to balance his books. Jamie had felt a certain kinship with Claire through these stories before she’d even stepped foot into his life properly. But he wouldn’t divulge that for now.
Claire, unaware of Jamie’s internal ramblings, was enjoying the subtle tang of whisky on his tongue as they massaged one another through blissful kisses. Jamie had a good, solid grip on her arse, holding it carefully above him as they learned the curve of one another’s mouths.
Shifting his hips, Jamie tried to progress, moving so that he could manoeuvre himself over Claire, but in one swift motion she had his hands pinned above his head; his pectoral muscles stretched deliciously beneath her; his biceps lying flat against her floral sheets. “No, Jamie,” she moaned, sliding herself level with him, every inch of her lying flat over him from chest to ankles, “I’m on top -always.”
“Y-yes…” Jamie mumbled in return, unwilling to argue with her in their current state. He felt high, as if all the oxygen in the world wouldn’t be enough to sustain him. But still he kept breathing, the powerful vibration of their chests moving almost in time with one another causing his skin to ripple with goosebumps.
She took him inside her then, one quick movement that saw him thrusting his head backwards in time with his hips moving upwards. She was hot. Almost unnaturally so. And wet. Jamie felt the moisture of her coat him as her muscles held him prisoner in the most delightful way.
Claire watched through blurred vision, her mouth hanging open as she panted out uneven breaths. Jamie was glorious - in the way that men who work outside with manual equipment often were. He was well toned, but that was down to the lifting and heavy work he did on a daily basis. She kept an even eye on every twitch, every smooth slide of muscle beneath skin as he writhed beneath her.
She could hardly breathe herself, and viewing him as he struggled made her ache for him all the more.
Geillis had been right, she blearily acknowledged silently as Jamie shimmied his hands out from below hers and flipped her straight onto her back.
Claire hated feeling powerless, and the moment her spine hit the heated top sheets, she fought the urge to squirm away. Her mind was at war with her. The pleasure of Jamie surrounding her was lulling her heart into a false sense of security, but her brain rebelled forcefully against being at Jamie’s mercy in this way.
“Claire,” Jamie whispered, sensing her internal battle. Her limbs had seized in the move and he’d instantly regretted putting her in such a situation. His whole body had simply reacted without thinking but now, hovering over her as he was, he could bring her back to him - of that he was certain. “Claire, look at me lass…please.”
Pealing her eyes open, Claire gazed up at him, her heart racing with equal parts terror and lust. Jamie moved slowly now, an increased caution that brought her pulse back down to a more normal level and quashed her fear of drowning. “I said I was on top,” she replied, more a statement of fact than an argument of their new positions.
Jamie sighed, his hips quivering as they began to pick up pace once more. “A-aye,” he returned, “yer still on top, Claire…fuck…” he swore, the powerful swell of want expanding inside of him as she crushed her thighs around his hips and ‘encouraged’ him to move fully inside her. “See,” he said, with no hesitation now. “I feel you, Claire.”
Claire nodded, her helplessness decreasing with each tight thrust of Jamie’s hips as he fought to continue moving against her in their current situation.
Her world was spinning as she felt his pelvis grind against hers. It was like nothing else and stars sprung up behind her eyes. “Kiss me…” she blurted out, her voice sounding strangled and strange even to her ears, “please, fuck…kiss me now!”
Obeying, Jamie redistributed his weight onto his elbows as he let himself lower softly over her subtle curves. The press of her breasts against him set his flesh alight and his mouth immediately found hers to stop himself from saying something improper in the moment. She was beyond beautiful now, and he’d thought her captivating before - but in the dim glow of the bedroom light with her hair fanned around her face and the palest hint of pink glowing against her cheeks she looked almost otherworldly. He could have lain like this forever with her, cataloguing each freckle, each delicate line that formed her body, each blue vein that ran just beneath the surface of her pearly white skin. But his cock was singing off a different hymn sheet.
He shouldn’t have sullied divination with a ‘one-night stand’, he knew, but the comparison of heaven and being inside Claire like this were surely one and the same. If not, he hoped the afterlife yielded something incredibly similar or else he’d be very disappointed.
“F-fuck…Jesus, fuck…” Claire cursed, pulling Jamie from his thoughts of God and heaven back to Claire herself. The slight pink had increased, spreading across her face now in an ocean of deep red as her nails dug painfully into his sides. She convulsed, her mouth falling open and her lips flushing red as her thighs increased their pressure around him.
Claire couldn’t think. Her mind emptied as the waves of pleasure captured her and dragged her under. She hadn’t had sex since…
…and even then it had been perfunctory. The actions necessary to create new life and not an act of pleasure for either. This was immensely different. This was passion like nothing she’d experienced before. This wasn’t about power or possession. Frank had always *loved* Claire, but he always wanted to own her. His behaviour towards her was always one of control. Jamie gave freely, expecting nothing in return, only wanted to lay himself at her feet. As the haze faded and her breathing evened out, Claire rolled her spine, her legs flopping bonelessly against the bed as she tried to ascertain whether Jamie had…
She could tell instantly. The tense set of his jaw and the fiery lust that glimmered in his eyes told her all she needed to do. He was patiently waiting for her to be conscious again, his thoughts only on ensuring her utter emotional comfort in his presence.
“Jamie…” she whispered, her palm coming to rest carefully against his cheek as she ran her fingers of his almost smooth face, “come…don’t hold back,” Claire coaxed, her tongue peeking out to wet her dry lips in a move that had Jamie squirming above her. “Oh, fuck, Jamie…please,” she gasped, feeling one strong movement of him against her sensitive flesh.
“Ah…Dhia!” He moaned, his Gaelic overriding English in the heat of the moment. Dropping his forehead to rest against hers he allowed his body to take control of his actions. His hips thrust erratically, the sweat of exertion coating him head to toe as in a few short, sharp motions he came his chest throbbing with the force of it.
Lying together in the aftermath, Claire stroked the damp curls on Jamie’s forehead as he nuzzled against her neck. The tickle of his breath against the thin skin there made her smile. It sent little shockwaves through her, but she was enjoying his close contact too much to move him. She could still feel the after-effects of their passionate evening between her thighs as the moisture gathered there. Something about the warmth of it soothed her. She hadn’t known closeness in such a long time and having Jamie’s body molded to hers whilst the essence of him lined the tops of her legs made her heart throb with want.
Shaking off the thought, she pulled the duvet tighter around them and let sleep pull her under.
Morning wasn’t as awkward as Claire envisioned it would be. She left her bed before Jamie woke and began getting some breakfast ready for the both of them.
Jamie followed only moments later, appearing with only his boxer shorts on, his hair flicking up all over the place. He looked well rested, sleep still forming in his eyes as he rubbed them and yawned.
“Morning, sassenach,” he said on arrival in the kitchen, a crack echoing around the small space as he stretched his spine and pulled a chair up to the breakfast bar.
“Good morning, Jamie,” she replied, placing a steaming hot bowl of porridge in front of him with a large cup of coffee. “What are your plans for the day?”
“Ach,” he replied with a distinctly Scottish clearing of his throat, “I have to go and view some cattle just outside of the city. I’m looking to expand the farm.”
“Oh,” she said, her eyebrows raising, “that sounds interesting. What do you look for in a good heifer then?” She joked, winking as she sipped at her own cup of coffee.
“Good strong rump!” Jamie retorted, a twinkle in his eye as he replied. “And spirit. Every lassie needs a wee sprinkle of sass, aye?”
“Aye, indeed.” Claire chuckled, the sensation shocking her a little.
Jamie saw the shadow beneath Claire’s eyes reignite at the sound of her own laughter and he smiled sadly in recognition. Finishing up his breakfast, he tapped his bare foot against the metal legs of the chair. “I should go,” he said meaning the complete opposite.
“Yes,” Claire replied thinking that she didn’t want him to go. Something about him that spoke to her on a completely unconscious level. He was like sunshine, covering her in warmth, increasing the level of vitamin D in her veins. But she couldn’t let her baser needs dictate her actions.
It had been one night. As she’d told him before they’d done it. Just one night of fun, nothing more.
Even as she thought it, nodding with a small, coy smile plastered across her face, she knew she was lying. She’d been lying when she’d said it out loud to him only hours before. The question that he’d asked her before they’d found themselves in flagrante came to mind as she watched him depart the kitchen to get himself dressed.
She was lonely, he was right. Lonely and so very fucking tired.
True to her word, she didn’t see Jamie again. Much to Geillis’ distaste.
“Claire, he asks about ye all the time. Let me gi’ you his number…call him? Please?” She’d begged over tea one day, her bright green eyes imploring Claire to accept her offer.
“Isn’t it wrong of you to give out the number of your clients, Geillis?” Claire had lightly castigated, trying to change the tenor of the conversation away from her very dubious love life.
“Aye, but only if he doesna want you to have it. And he does.”
“Has he said as much, or are you just assuming?”
“Me?!” Geillis replied, faux-scandalised by Claire’s suggestion, “assuming, Claire? Never.”
“So that’s a yes then.” Claire scoffed, scalding herself on her hot tea as she tried to sip it. The mention of Jamie now came with added tension, something that she didn’t want to open up to her friend just yet as she surreptitiously rubbed her womb, her fingers metaphorically crossed with each passing day.
“Claire, at least let me gi’ him your number?”
“No.” Claire bit back quickly, the sudden remembrance of her late period causing her to be sharper than needed with her friend. “No,” she repeated in a softer tone, “I’m not ready, Geillis. Not yet.”
“How long into it will ye wait, Claire?” Geillis said, a glint in her eye as she nudged Claire’s foot beneath the table.
“You know?” She whispered in return, her world spinning.
“I ken you, Claire…that and ye keep holding onto yer abdomen like your worried it might abscond without permission.”
Claire gawped, her mouth falling open and closing again like a fish out of water as her friend pushed her fringe from her face and tilted her head. “It’s too soon, Gellie. To know for sure…and I don’t want to…think it. Not now, not until I *know*.”
Geillis smiled sadly, her memory of Claire’s utter desolation through the later half of her relationship with Frank still raw even to her. “…and if ye are, then will you talk to him?”
“Yes, of course.” Claire said, nodding along as she nursed her cooling drink. “He has a right to know.”
It only took two more days for her world to be shattered once more.
Sitting on the cold plastic of her office en-suite, Claire rocked back and forth, her belly convulsing with pain as she tried desperately to control her sobbing.
“Dr!” A loud call came from beyond the loo.
Pulling herself together, Claire scrubbed the shed tears from her cheeks as she cleaned up - placing the disregarded tampon wrapper in the correct bin as she steeled herself to go back to work. Whatever the cost, she still had a job to do.
“Come in,” she called, sitting at her desk and rearranging the photograph she had of her uncle Lamb sitting aside her laptop.
“Dr Beauchamp,” the intern said with some trepidation, he could tell already that she’d been crying but her obvious attempts to cover it up made the young doctor bury the urge to ask if she was alright. She probably wasn’t. “There’s a call for you through at reception, can you come and take it?”
Sighing, she pushed the chair away and forced herself up.
Taking hold of the ancient receiver she swallowed back her grief. “Hello, Dr Claire Beauchamp here, how can I help?”
“Claire,” came the crackled response. Jamie. “I had t’ phone ye. I hope you don’t mind. Geillis said-“
Immediately Claire knew why he was calling. Geillis could *never* keep her mouth shut. Gulping back the large lump that had suddenly appeared -as if trying to choke her- she prepared herself for the words she knew he was about to say - and the response she had to give in return.
“Weel, she said you might be *pregnant*?”
She could hear the worry in his voice as he said the word and she didn’t leave him hanging for long.
“I’m not. Not as of today, so you don’t need to panic, Jamie. I’m not.”
Slamming the phone down without waiting to hear his reply, Claire shook her curls and rolled her shoulders. Ignoring the bustling reception of the A&E department around her, she turned and walked slowly back to her office without acknowledging anyone. Just wanting to return to the relative safety of her office, she sloped back.
“L.J.!” Joe called out, seeing Claire’s discrete distress as she tried so hard to conceal her brimming tears.
Dr Joe Abernathy had trained with Claire, and was the person one who knew absolutely everything. He hadn’t quite heard all of the one-sided conversation, but he’d heard enough to hazard a guess. Him and Geillis had differing ideas on how to keep Claire afloat and upon hearing the end of her sentence, he cursed the woman for interfering so.
Claire studiously ignored Joe, knowing full well that if she allowed him to talk to her that she would lose it completely and break down in the middle of the busy hospital aisles. She just had to make it back to the office.
“Claire,” Joe called again, following her into the small room and closing the door behind him as he watched her crawl back into her swivel chair, pulling her knees up to her chest, cocooning her arms neatly around them as she rested her head against her knees. “Shit, L.J. I think you need to go home. Cry off sick, I’ll cover for you. Jesus.” He said, his thick Bostonian drawl a welcome break from the Scots burr that reminded her too much of Jamie for the moment.
“I can’t go home, Joe.” She said matter of factly. “I’ll be fine, just let me get on with this mountain of paperwork, and I’ll be—“
“Don’t dare say ‘fine’, L.J.” He warned, a slight tilt of his head as his eyes narrowed at her. “I knew that whole blind date shit was going to be a disaster.”
“It wasn’t,” Claire replied, not wishing Joe to get into another discussion with her about Geillis’ meddling. “Trust me, it wasn’t. Not at first…”
“Chuff!” Joe retorted. “Fuck. Claire. Pregnant? Is that what that guy said down the phone to you?”
“How rude, Joe,” Claire said, with no weight to her words as she looked sorrowfully up at him. She didn’t have the strength to mean it. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s rude to eavesdrop?”
“When it comes to you, L.J., nothing is off limits. If I didn’t, you’d never tell me anything.” He countered, a soft look aimed at her as he spoke.
Claire’s chin quivered, the gentle throb of period pain bringing back her huge sense of loss as she tried to hold it together for just a minute longer. “Fuck, Joe…” she sobbed, the first tears falling as he chest heaved with the weight of her grief, “what am I going to do?”
Launching himself forwards, Joe caught Claire just as she flopped forwards. Gathering her up in his arms he held her softly against his chest and rocked her soothingly. “For a start, Claire Beauchamp,” he whispered, placing a delicate kiss against her forehead, “you are going to go home and take care of yourself. Don’t worry,” he continued as he felt her drag in a breath, preparing to disagree with him no doubt, “I’ll get you home. Nobody will know a thing.”
“Thank you, Joe,” Claire said, the fight falling from her lips as she look up at him, her eyes sparkling with a mass of unshed tears. “Thank you.”
Curled up under her duvet with the television softly playing in the background, Claire finally let herself fully crumble. Her chest ached and her throat stung, raw from the sheer amount of tears she’d shed since crawling into bed only hours before.
She’d wanted to make Jamie believe that she was relieved. She fucking hoped she’d achieved it. If he thought her unfeeling, perhaps he’d move on and accept her decision.
“I can’t,” she whispered as her subconscious castigated her foolishness, taunting her with ideas of a blossoming relationship with Jamie instead of just the one night stand she’d convinced herself she’d needed. “Not again, I just can’t…”
Burying her face in her pillow, she wiped the detritus of her sorrow onto the soft casing. Pulling the sides up around her ears, she clung to the fabric with all her might and let out an almighty scream. The hate poured out of her and into the fluffy duck down as she clenched her fingers tight.
“I fucking hate you!” She yelled at herself, loathing coating her skin like ash and death. “I *really* fucking hate you…”
Summary: In which Peter Parker embarrasses himself in front of the new girl.
Comments:Sooo, this is basically really, REALLY cliché, but we all need a little cliché in our lives, amirite???
ALSO, get ready for an adorably flustered Peter b/c I live for that. Alright, moving onto the actual imagine.
He wasn’t looking for a relationship.
Not when he was so concentrated on school. He had no incline to find “true love.” No, not when all that was on his mind was that damn pop quiz last period - I studied for hours Ned and I still somehow forgot that formula - the piles of papers that were stacked up on his desk, suffocating in the work he honestly couldn’t care less about. There were people out there who needed saving - who needed him - but he was stuck writing another paper on some dead guy. He was too busy being stressed, being responsible, being a superhero than to concentrate on anything else in life.
He was a star student - honour roll, valedictorian? Kid, you’re gonna go places - pats on his shoulder from yet another A and the answers he said with such ease. He was a prize student - handsome too, but no one seemed to say that to his face - and he was planning on keeping it that way.
Late study sessions, spares used to remember something that was already seared into his mind - you can never be too sure. Peter spent so long to perfect everything he did, some deemed to question his sanity at times.
No one found it peculiar that Peter didn’t have many friends. He was always alone, always studying and balancing his second life to have time for them anyways. He liked being alone, swimming in thoughts that sparked up in the pits of his mind.
But not once had love popped up his mind.
Not until he met you.
You could call it cliché.
How this new girl would idle into the wrong hallway, too distracted by her surroundings to notice the boy rounding the corner just in front of her. Call it fate, call it destiny, call it whatever you want, but in that moment - distracted eyes and bustling thoughts - in that moment you both ended up where you needed to be.
On the ground, staring up into two brown eyes.
“Holy shit, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”
Your eyes gaze up at the boy in front of you, head spinning at the impact you had with him. You don’t know how to respond in all honesty; too caught up in your thoughts and feelings to even think about words forming on your lips.
“I - I’m fine. It’s no big deal.”
He stares down at you, nervously biting down on his lip. He hasn’t seen you around before - knowing he’d remember those eyes if ever saw them -mentally face-palming at the horrible first impression he gave to this girl. He scrambles to help you up, albeit and awkward in his demeanour.
You both stand in silence, quietly gathering your belongings as you both try to get away from this very… awkward situation.
He stares at you for a minute, not finding any words coming to mind. Just a minute ago, he was sprinting down the halls, mind set on getting to his AP Algebra class before the bell. But now that he’s here - with you - he finds that his class was long forgotten.
“Are you new here? I mean, I know I would’ve recognized you if you went here because, well, you are really pretty - I mean, er, um, I’m sorry. It’s just hard to forget a face, especially one like yours, I mean - wait, I -”
Peter stares at you for a minute, before letting the words tumble from his lips, words too fast and sentences smushed together. He sighs loudly, mentally slapping himself at how lame and awkward he must sound. Before he embarrasses himself once more, he turns, letting a small sorry, see you around leave his lips before sprinting in the other direction.
He shakes his head, before turning back to you, a stunned look etched don your face.
“My class is this way.”
It’s the last thing he says before he’s off in the other direction, silently muttering curses under his breath.
You’re an idiot, Peter Parker.
“And you just… left her there?”
The figure stood dumbfounded at him, questioning the state of Peter’s brain capacity. Ned sent a glance over his shoulder, eyeing you as you sat alone at a table not too far from their own.
“Dude, what the hell iswrong with you?”
“I don’t know! I guess I just panicked…”
Peter’s mind was filled with thoughts of you, lightly smacking his head every time he heard your voice in his mind. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. No, he was too busy for girls, especially those with beautiful smiles and bright eyes and perfect hair and -
He couldn’t be thinking like this. No, no, no, no. He had to focus on his own life, not on this girl he didn’t even know the name of. He felt attacked, wanting to just rid himself of the many thoughts of you. You meant nothing.
And he wished his brain got the message too.
Soon, he pushed away from the table and stood, sending a farewell to Ned before walking out. He hit the side of his head multiple times, trying to rid his mind of your voice that seemed to be recorded in his head.
“It’s no big deal.”
He wishes that was the case. He really did.
He walked out of school feeling defeated.
He had not a clue of any of the homework needed for classes, nor did he remember if he was even assigned any in the first place. All he could remember was your face - a delicate cloud that floated around his head, too fragile and feeble that he was scared to touch it. He smiled at just the thought of you, his stupid, little sigh being replaced with a grump groan as he remembers how he completed blew you off in the middle of the hallway.
He thinks he saw you in math, but he’s been seeing you all day in the most absurd places, so he doubts it. He quickly runs his fingers through his hair, before turning a corner and running into a small figure.
Oh God, not again.
He stares at the girl sprawled across the floor in front of him, before catching her gaze, hearing a laugh recede from her throat.
“Is this just how we’re going to meet now?” You smile brightly, picking yourself up and off the gravel, rubbing the dirt from your pants. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were doing this on purpose.”
He’s speechless, to say the least.
“What? No, no, I swear I don’t want to bump into you. It’s just - well, I mean, it’s not like I don’t want to see you, but bumping into you really wasn’t my intention. Oh God, um, you see, you’re - how do I say it? Um -” He looks up for a minute, catching your gaze before sighing in defeat. “I’m really not the best at talking to people, which I guess you’ve already caught onto.”
His hair is a mess from the countless times he ran his hand through his hair - you’re calling ten in his last ramble, though that truly wasn’t what you were focused on - seeing his rose tinted cheeks rising higher. You smile brightly, quite amused at how flustered you made such an attractive boy.
“No, I totally didn’t catch on,” you laugh, crossing your arms over your chest. “Is this always what happens when you talk to new kids?”
“Just the pretty ones.” His eyes go wide for a second, before squeezing shut, body hunching into itself, hopefully being able to shrink small enough to never be seen again.
Peter would really like that right now. Very badly.
You laugh, before stretching your hand out. “Well, you’re not so bad yourself.”
Any words that could’ve left Peter’s mouth got stuck at the base of his neck, awkwardly attaching his hand to yours. He doesn’t say anything, prolonging the silence that filled the air. His thoughts are throbbing, heart beating up in his ears, watching you stare at him. Oh god, just say something!
“I’m Peter.” He clears his throat, swiftly removing his hand from yours and scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, Peter Parker.”
The smile on your lips grow, exceptionally happy to finally find out the name of the mystery boy who’s occupied your thoughts all day.
As your name slips past your teeth, Peter feels his cheeks heat up, replaying it over and over in his head.
Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard: The Sexuality Crisis
Magnus had never been attracted to boys before, only girls. He could appreciate the aesthetic of them, but never before had he wanted to date one. He was as straight as a rod-always had been, and always will be.
So it wasn’t gay of him to think Alex was cute. She was cute on both her female days and male days. It wasn’t gay at all.
Or: Magnus has a crisis over whether liking Alex is gay or not and everyone else is facepalming at him.
Sure, he had that period of time where he had questioned his sexuality after learning that heterosexuality wasn’t the only one, but everyone went through that. And by the time it was over, he had decided that he was nothing other than straight. The thought of being anything else never crossed his mind again.
But just because Magnus was straight didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the aesthetic of other guys from time to time. He wasn’t blind, he could tell whether people were attractive or not. And sometimes, those guys were pretty nice to look at for a moment or two longer than necessary. But he never once felt the desire to do anything romantic with them, because he wasn’t attracted to guys. It was as simple as that.