#these comics refuse to leave my brain

[lildoodlenoodle]

Why I think Spider noir is on the younger side(18-20) in the new spiderverse movie per my previous post:

Let’s break it down by Context, Timeline, Mood, and ATSV

Context:

Spider noir has two comic runs that happen before COMICS spiderverse. With that said, there were like inter dimensional energy vampires and that’s obviously not the direction the spiderverse movies went with. So we’re going to largely disregard them for this. To expand, there was a big time jump between that last noir comic and the spiderverse ones. Peter would be closer to mid/late 20s at the start of the comics spiderverse and therefore ITSV if we were to integrate and replace the timelines, BUT I always hated the way they did that time jump in the comics and what it did to Peter’s character.

It felt like they were trying to tie him into 616 Peter wayyyy too much by making his love interest MJ(who we rlly haven’t seen and what we have seen hasn’t had good chemistry), have a good relationship with May(they rlly brushed him shooting someone in front of her and calling him an animal under the rug Huh), and going to college(I get it I do, but unlike most universes I don’t think this Peter could ever stop spiderman enough). There wasn't really any mention of Felicia, Urich, or Robby and their past. They also changed his webbing, his look, and his spider senses.

I felt like that was completely getting rid of all of Peter's characterization and he just becomes the spider with a gun from the 1930s. But the point is they clearly went in a very different artistic and narrative direction after the time jump to a point where it doesn’t feel like the same character.

Refitting the timeline:

So, scrapping the comics spiderverse timeline, I don’t really see a reason for a disjointed time jump. And after those first two comic runs it can be argued, for this Peter, that ITSV happens much sooner for him after that second run, possibly even after the first comic. Then ATSV would happen after that second run. There is an 8mo. time jump between the two runs so it is definitely feasible.

But let’s talk about mood between the runs.

We all know at least somewhat this Peter's origin, and if you don’t, to sum it up: organized crime, monsters, socialism, cannibalism.

The first run ends, Peter beats the goblin without killing him and he’s feeling pretty good about himself/confident. But he’s still got a lot of well deserved angst and self hatred. His uncle is dead, his new mentor/father figure is dead, his relationship with May is on the rocks to say the least, and there’s the whole Felicia thing. He’s still a high schooler and in that teen range, but a big ass lanky teenager who's only solid looking because of the gear he wears. I’d place him around 16-18, a case could be made for 15 but I’m going to politely disagree. ITSV could very easily be fairly soon after these events.

It’s 8 months after the first run. He becomes cocky and overconfident this whole next issue, possibly because of an interdimensionally inflated ego? Point is he feels on top of his game. Also worth mentioning, he’s ignoring MJ this whole issue to the point the audience knows basically nothing about her while he is having a very intense relationship with Felicia(which we already know how I feel about that whole mess) and who MJ is very blatantly and very badly a foil to.(I love MJ she is just not well written here).

The second run ends, his best friend/possible love interest(I said what I said), Robbie, is dead and unavenged.(I can talk a lot more about Robbie and what effect he had and will have on Peter going forward, also the disservice of his ‘death’) Felicia is disfigured and blames Peter. Peter not only blames himself for all this but the comic ends with him saying he feels powerless and a constant sense of impending doom. He really did not get a single win during this comic, man got the shit beaten out of him too. The age at the end of this comic is 17-19. After the last comic dude was messed up but still had hope, after this one we don’t see the fall out, but I can assure it was BAD. That whole ‘you don’t have to kill the bad guy thing’ is probably out the fucking window. I’m more hesitant to think ITSV happened after this run because of that. He isn’t just depressed or self loathing anymore, he isn’t just playing fast and loose with his life to get results. He does not care, he has no hope, and he doesn’t see a good future.

Pre - ATSV predictions with mild spoilers:

With the year and a couple of months time jump for ATSV it’s very plausible that the events of that last run plus possible spider task force shenanigans could happen before the movie. For more context in the comics spider noir was a recurring spider in the ‘elite strike force’. Personally, if he was invited, I could very much see him accepting, especially with his current mental state, and being very aggressive about it. Which, theoretically, could cause him to get kicked off or make a rash decision to leave bc fuck those guys. But the point is at the end of that last comic this man really doesn’t have a single win, he is in a prime state to be manipulated in.

Edit: my dumbass forgot literally the most important detail. The year 1933 is when ITSV noir comes from which matches this timeline with the comics as well.

To sum everything up, the reason why I think spider noirs age is in the 18/20 range is because it fits the above timeline, which I believe to be the most probable timeline of events that are canon by the movies while also staying consistent with at least some of the original comics. It should be further noted there is no evidence of his age throughout the ITSV movie, besides him being played by Nicholas Cage and being tall. In fact, I’d argue due to his excessive use of slang it would naturally place him in a younger category as well as the classic melodramaticness that can come with being a coping teenager. The most important thing that makes his age and at what point in his storyline he’s in up to interpretation is the fact that we see his face once and it’s heavily shadowed. If we saw his face more I’d feel better about giving him a more solid age, but till then context clues for the win. But anyways, this was long and I still have more I could get into/say and I will eventually. Feel free to ask any questions or even tell me why you disagree!

[quibbs126]

So my mind’s been just running with the “Strawberry Jam Sword is a corrupted Soul Jam” idea I posited earlier today, and so I made this

So for the joke context, it’s supposed to be that the other Soul Jams can recognize that the Strawberry Jam Sword is a corrupted Soul Jam (even if only they know), and they can just like, sense the evil coming from it. Meanwhile the SJS doesn’t like them for the opposite reasons, and so when you put two of them close together, they just like, hate each other on site and start hissing at each other like cats. Thing is, nobody else but their wielders (and probably the other Soul Jams) can hear them, and nobody knows about the SJS’s true nature, so to them they’re just hearing random hissing and don’t know where it’s coming from. Also they can each only hear their Jam’s side of the argument, if there is one

I like to think they eventually figure out it’s coming from the swords, so they pull them away, only for the noise to stop, then put them next to each other again, and they start hissing again. And then just doing this repeatedly, meanwhile any outsider seeing this is like “what the heck are you two doing?”

Also, potentially the reason these two just keep choosing violence against the other, their swords are each subconsciously making them want to fight one another, whether intentionally or not. Not sure if I’m keeping that as legitimate, but I dunno. It’s a possible explanation

Honestly I think I need to draw Dark Cacao more, because while I can draw Dark Choco just fine, Dark Cacao gives me trouble. Might also just be because Dark Cacao’s outfit is much more complex. Also probably because I drew this without a sketch layer, which I never do in these kinds of drawings

But yeah, random funny idea from my head that I wanted to share

[tvitr]

I mean Gummy Wurmples are still better than Gummy Weedles I guess.

(I could not for the life of me find the source of the quote, it's meant to be "he has pythons, you have gummy worms" and I swear it's from an old Disney Channel show but could I find it? No.)

[tired-teacher-blog]

denki kaminari finds out his s/o thinks his voice is attractive/it turns them on? please, and thank you so much

Melodious temptation

Characters : Kaminari Denki/ Fem reader

Warnings and Genre : NSFW/ 18+/ Sexual Intercourse/ Fluff/ One shot

Notes : Thank you for the lovely request cutie though I'm truly sorry it took me too long to deliver, but I still hope you enjoy my input.

Masterlist|Second Masterlist|Third Masterlist

_ "Hello gorgeous." a shiver runs up your spine at the sound of his voice mouthing the words straight into your ear.

It's a habit of his to whisper sweetly, and seductively, just so he could sense the breath hitching in your throat everytime he does.

_ "Oh, h.. hi." and there you are, failing to maintain your composure yet again.

His hands move up your shirt, and his chin rests on your shoulder as you finish up rinsing the last plate, "I'm done folding the laundry honey, so can we go to bed now?"

_ "Wha.. yeah, yeah sure." it's almost comical to be frank, that you're barely able to hold on to your sanity whenever he's being this way, does he even realize the extent of his behavior on you? The heat pooling in the pit of your belly or the electrifying throbbing in your deepest depth? Does it ever cross his mind that in moments like these, all you could think about is being trapped beneath his large body while he pounds you into oblivion?

Probably not, luckily..

_ "Denki.." you start cautiously as he plops down on the bed with you, pausing for a bit until hearing the cheerful "huh?" moving past his lips before you decide to carry on, "how was work today?"

He shifts a little to face you and blinks a few times but says nothing, the confusion plastered across his face is understandable though, as he has already answered that same question of yours over dinner just a few hours ago.

_ "Is everything okay sweetheart? Were you not paying attention to me earlier? That's brutal you know." and he finally regains that familiar bright smile you adore.

_ "Of course I was!" you sit up at once, strained shoulders shaking slightly and hands fisting the bedsheet beneath you, "let's just go to sleep okay?" you feign nonchalance and kiss his lips softly before turning on your side and squeezing your eyes shut in a futile attempt to escape the interrogation you know is coming, but for a while it doesn't, coaxing a sigh of relief to leave your chest as you finally start to relax.

_ "Wanna tell me what's going on?"

You were wrong, he will not let it slide easily because he is now pressed up against your back, arms wrapped around your waist and lips ghosting over the reddening shell of your ear, and it's the last thing you need right now.

_ "N.. nothing, nothing's going on, so let's just sleep." and the strangled moan lacing your words does not go unnoticed as he chuckles amusedly in response before sinking his teeth into your soft flesh to bring out an even louder whimper from you.

_ "Oh, I see," it's like a switch has been turned in his brain, and his previously careful hands suddenly became a bit more persistent as they lowered to clutch onto the delicate skin of your thighs, "that's okay love, you don't have to be shy about it."

Your eyes widen and your jaw clenches when he forces your legs apart with one swift flick of his wrist, you wish to scold him for it but your voice refuses to give, and who knows? Maybe it is for the best, because you're sure to humiliate yourself otherwise.

He thinks he's smart, that he understands the state you're in right now but he truly doesn't.. and you just want to laugh at how funny, endearing, and truly embarrassing this makes him look.

_ "So tell me princess, should I carry on?" his teasing words are nothing less than a blissful torture for your ears, you crave hearing more of his nonsense but also wish he would shut up.

_ "Just.. don't stop." you express eagerly and brace yourself for his next move, the throbbing in your core intensifies as he pushes your panties to the side and runs his thumb slowly along your glistening clit.

_ "Oh look at that, you're already wet for me, I wonder why, I only just touched you," he growls smugly and nuzzles your nape before saying, "you love me too much that just having me near is enough to wreck you."

_ "It's not.. what you think." it's really not, his dumb brain is painting a picture that couldn't be further from the truth.

Although you do love him– more than he knows, more than anyone else in the world, what you're experiencing right now is due to something else that you've tried your hardest to hide, but maybe it's time to give in and admit it.

_ "Then tell me what it is." his demand is laced with a smirk that you could perfectly imagine, the words vibrate throughout your body and settle right where his fingers are teasing you relentlessly.

_ "Just.. stop talking and do something!" you're at your limit already, and the stiffness nudging your bum is evidence that he is as well.

_ "You got it sweetheart, fuck.." he struggles to keep his cool while clumsily working on freeing his raging cock.

Ragged breath and impatient grunts are hitting your ear and pushing you closer towards orgasm, and suddenly, nothing is any longer enough to quench your thirst for the man chanting your name over and over again while brushing his leaky tip over your folds, before carefully pushing into your welcoming heat with a satisfied growl.

Finally..

_ "Baby you're so warm.. you feel really good around me." his whines are just above a whisper but you hear them loud and clear.

He sings your praises while setting an unforgiving pace from the get go, but you truly don't mind, if anything, you're yearning for more and are no longer reluctant to ask.

_ "Keep going.. please Denki don't stop! Deeper please.. talk to me, tell me you love me.." you burst out in pleas and reach a shaky arm over your head, threading your fingers through his golden hair and pulling his face even closer to yours.

_ "I love you, of course I love you, fuck.. you're the only one for me.. you make me, ugh damnit.. you make me lose my mind."

You've always loved the sound of his voice, when he's upset or when he's excited, when he's confused or when he's pleased, and especially during his most vulnerable moments, moments like this one, when he'll truthfully tell you anything you wish to know.

_ "I'm so close!" you cry out a warning and arch off his chest as his thrusts turn erratic.

_ "Together sweetheart, let's cum together." he moves a hand down to join the cock drilling into you mercilessly, fingers rubbing on your sensitive clit and delighted moans invading your senses and coaxing shockwaves of pleasure to wash over your shuddering body like a hurricane.

_ "That's it, that's my girl, ugh fuck!" he reluctantly pulls out of you, fisting his pulsating cock until finally bursting all over your thighs.

Silence fills the air for a while, nothing is heard but heavy breaths and stifled whimpers as you both come down from your high, and all you wish for at the moment is to close your eyes and drift off, however..

_ "I kept wondering what turned you on all of a sudden, until you asked me to keep talking to you," he gently turns you around to face him, flushed cheeks and tired smile brightening his handsome face as he playfully slurred the words, "that's interesting." and the teasing continues.

_ "N.. no you're wrong! I was just caught up in the moment." you're fully awake now as you strived to defend yourself, hitting his chest weakly before hiding your face there in shame.

_ "Okay okay I'm sorry," hearty chuckles ripple through him while he held you close, luring a soft giggle past your lips as you finally started to relax, "alright princess I'll tell you what, let's take a little break and then test this theory again shall we?" and he whispers the proposal provocatively, greedy hands already exploring your body, and pulsing cock awakening to rub against your thigh.

You knew from the start, that revealing your secret would be a bad idea and you were right, because the sparkle in his eyes as he's eagerly groping your flesh and sensuously whispering promises of what awaits you, proves it.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Psst, hear me out: The Beast being fucking yanderes with the ancients.

You Get It™️ I mean... Did you guys see episode 6? Burning Simp Cookie is already a yandere lol. He's been there and he refuses to leave. And Shadow Milk is honestly not that far behind, he feels some type of way towards Pure Vanilla and it would be cute if it wasn't so sad and creepy lol

Really though, I just love hero/villain ships in general (always have, since long before Cookie Run ever existed) and I get a kick out of villains acting stupid over crushes (read: obsessions), and acting stupid in general. There's just something about a villain being in love with the hero to a psychotic, comical degree, and the hero rebuffing them at every turn that's just really amusing to me lol. Like what Joker sort of has with Batman, you know?

Here are my Yandere Beasts in bare-bones terms:

Burning Spice: come on, if you've read my stuff, you know EXACTLY what Yandere Spice is like lol. If not, I'll refer you to this and this, as well as my fics on AO3. If those don't tell you what Yandere Spice is like then idk how else to help you lol

Shadow Milk: if the final boss of theater/drama kids had a crush but was also a malignant narcissist of some sort lol. Absolutely DESPERATE for Vanilla's attention at all times. If he's not actively trying to worm into Vanilla's brain and harass him in his thoughts and dreams, he's in the real world brainstorming better ways to do that lol. He does not grasp why the creepy puppet shows and gaslighting attempts aren't convincing Vanilla to fall in love with him. Will attack and torment and insult Vani in one breath and then praise and love and worship him in another, because he's a histrionic clown freak with whirlwind emotions. But above all else, he literally thinks he owns Vani and is meticulously plotting the horrible and hilarious demise of any and all he perceives as a threat to their union

Eternal Sugar: World's Laziest Stalker™️. Almost exclusively haunts Holly in her dreams (I have to assume that that's what her power will entail, as the Beast of Sloth); however, she's more "effective" in her wooing attempts due to her past experience as the Herald of Happiness. She actually goes out of her way to construct dreams and the like that have things in them that make Holly happy (or what she thinks makes Holly happy; she, as well as the others, has big tunnel vision and is very selfish and self-absorbed, and thus pays more lip service to her own wants than those of who she loves/obsesses over). Thankfully doesn't run into Holly in person often because that's work... but sometimes she DOES work up the nerve to go after her for real, and... well

Mystic Flour: Denial, denial, denial. Not just a river in Egypt the Golden Cheese Kingdom, but she'll say and act like otherwise. No, she does not like Dark Cacao. He robbed her of her volition and the chance to enact her will. He prevented her from freeing the world from pain and suffering. He is a stubborn fool who refuses to understand the truth. He... is very handsome. She does not like how handsome he is. It is distracting. She doesn't like dwelling on her memories of him and their encounters. She doesn't like how she came to harbor a single kernel of respect in her heart after he stood his ground against her; a kernel that she inadvertently nurtured and cultivated slowly but surely, until... no. No, she doesn't like Dark Cacao. She doesn't think about him all day. She doesn't want to try to lure him back to her land so she can trap him in the flour fog with her again. She doesn't miss feeling his dark eyes on her. She doesn't deeply resent his attachment to his people, and seek to transfer that attachment to her instead. No, she... damn it, he's ruined her. He's made her feel things again. He's made her succumb to selfishness and greed, to earthly desire and attachment - desire for HIM, attachment to HIM. All of her hard work and enlightenment gone to waste... She doesn't want to like Dark Cacao, she recognizes the folly in such a thing, but she's stuck - and so stuck is she that not only does she not really see a way out, she doesn't WANT one. She's become too content with her attachment to him too quickly. Now she has to agonize over her own foolishness, and try to keep denying that she doesn't care while also longing for his attention and wanting to do away with all that steals his attention away from her

Silent Salt: probably the least awful of the five, but he's still creepy and that's not a high bar to clear anyway lol. Has a better grasp on "normal" behavior than the others (like... he pays attention to what White Lily likes/wants and tries to adjust accordingly), but he's following her around everywhere and acting extremely violent and territorial over her towards anyone who he catches approaching her. He's legitimately, surprisingly sweet and gentle towards her; he brings her flowers, he listens to her when she asks/tells him something, he's more or less respectful of her personal space (he will try to be as physically close to her as possible, but actually backs off a little if she asks him to, only to try again, and so on and so forth)... but he's still a villain, he's still violent and creepy, he still gets angry when she pays attention to other people for too long and he has brought actual harm to others out of jealousy. He's the best of the worst but that really doesn't mean much of anything, he's still a psycho creep like the others

In short, they form a tight-knit coalition of absolutely fucking deranged freakazoids and they should all probably die :)

[somerandomdudelmao]

I think this scene is so far my favorite part of the whole comic. Those three panels put my little writer's soul at ease. Major kudos from a storytelling point! It just accomplishes so freaking much. It highlights all of Leo's best character traits (love, strategic thinking, leadership skills), and fixes the problem of having an OP character in your story that otherwise would be able to solve the main conflict in a heartbeat. It does so much for Mikey. There is no one-person-per-portal limitation and I'll always end up wondering why they would not gather the resistance and simply take everyone and go. Sure Mikey might die or end up being left behind if he does so and of course, Leo/April/Casey would try to stop him but in the end, I feel like he would do it anyway cause as long as his family is saved Mikey does not mind. But with this clever twist, he can't do that, cause Leo would be stuck with him, alone and with no resources, and doomed. Not an option. Mikey loves his family above all. Don't get me wrong I think he'd sacrifice his own life to help everyone else (he does so already), but he would never sacrifice his brother. It's a greedy and beautiful love that always gets to me. The moral dilemma of one versus the many. Revealing the core of who you are and what you stand for. It makes him so much more real, more human. It elevates his character from good to great...

I don't know scenes like this - one willing to sacrifice himself and the other refusing - tend to come with a bitter aftertaste. But Leo is not brushing Mikey off. He says not 'no', therefore allowing Mikey's own agency to shine. And in adding his condition he still gives Mikey a choice ultimately helping to shoulder his brother's burden.

Don't get me started on Mikey's 'thank you' as a response cause I already have tears in my eyes! Here both of them bring the best out in each other and the thing I love the most is that it's never at the cost of the other.

All in all this scene is a great character moment, explains plot holes (from the movie), and did I forget something? Ah yes, sets up the upcoming conflict of Casey having to choose between them. And oh my gosh, I wouldn't want to be in his shoes. Leo's declaration to stay with Mikey makes it kinda unlikely for him to go with Casey and leave Mikey behind and though Mikey has some wiggle room in this regard, it is a decision that will not come lightly aka it hurts just to think about separating them...but then again they might even are not together in the first place. Wherever this may be. Who knows?

Thank you so much for creating and sharing this beautiful piece of art!!!

I..mhm..I mean...igdjndukvdjj sorry my brain don't want to do English words today. Thank you oh my god I don't know what to say it's just

T h i s

[chewnotchoke]

in the moments where my love thrives - m.jaehyun

note: this fic wouldn't be possible without anon's sexy brain! thank you for letting me write this!

warnings: no proper proof reading, getting drunk (legal line), black cat!reader x retriever!myungjae

genre: fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn (kinda)

word count: 2.5k

jaehyun wakes up from the glow across the room, and the sun's rays beaming through his white curtains. he hears feet pounding from the living room, which sounds like excitement from their game, and a faint sound from the television. he got up and stretched his body, dissolving the stiffness in his limbs and arms. 

“why is everyone so early today?” 

taesan and riwoo did not even bat an eye at their friend who just woke up. their pupils dilated with the thrill of the game,  jaehyun watched as their character dodged, rolled, and retaliated, the game world a vivid blur of motion and color. he shook his head before pulling the chair from the table. 

“where’s y/n?” he asks. “she went out earlier to grab us lunch.” riwoo continued pressing buttons on his game console. jaehyun’s apartment was everyone’s hang-out place. got kicked out of home? jaehyun’s apartment. pre-game place? jaehyun’s apartment. sleepover? jaehyun’s apartment. but he didn’t complain nor reject anyone’s company because you were always there, and if you needed a place to stay, jaehyun offered his apartment like it was your home too.  

at times when the friend group, including you, spent the night over in his apartment, you were always the last to leave in the morning. you were always cleaning the mess that no one paid attention to when everyone was drunk, and jaehyun always helped you with it. 

“you can go home and rest. i’ll take care of this.” you refuse to leave unless the apartment returns to its state before the chaos happened. “you want me to leave?” your lower lip jutted out in an almost cartoonish pout, eyes narrowing as you aimed a playful glare to jaehyun. “n-no! you drank a lot last night and you might be feeling sick because of the hangover…” he stuttered. you chuckled at jaehyun’s silliness and reassured him that you were nowhere near to feeling sick from the alcohol. jaehyun found himself hiding a smile. 

in that moment, the room is filled with a light that is all your own. he holds onto the feeling, cherishing the lingering warmth of your presence, hoping that this moment, like you, will stay just a little longer.

when the group went on a camping trip and everyone was outside grilling meat, cooking ramen, the two of you were left in the kitchen making kimchi fried rice. the kitchen was filled with the aroma of the garlic. jaehyun peered over at you, your brow wrinkled in concentration as you diced the vegetables with precise movements. a faint smile spread across your lips, and he couldn't help but feel a flutter in his chest.

you turned to him, a cheeky gleam in your eyes, and offered jaehyun a sample of the sauce you had been meticulously stirring. as he leaned closer, your fingers met, shooting electricity up his arm. the sauce was excellent, as was everything else at this moment, at least for jaehyun. 

jaehyun's eyes expanded comically as he took his first spoonful of the sauce you prepared. he froze, the spoon suspended in mid-air, and his mouth slowly extended into an exaggerated "O" of surprise. he gave a theatrical gasp.

“how is it?”

“good! good! good!” he kept throwing you thumbs up if it wasn’t obvious how good it was. 

you came back with the lunch you promised to buy for everyone. the guys who were once so busy playing ran over to the dining area as soon as the food overpowered the aroma of the burning incense jaehyun always lit. 

for jaehyun, you are a rare combination of power and compassion, a woman who is fiercely independent but deeply connected. you were a reminder that true confidence isn't about knowing all the answers, but about believing in one's potential to discover them. you exemplified authenticity, enthusiasm, and unashamed self-love. your presence commands attention; a mixture of danger and allure, a living contradiction wrapped in leather and lace. a baddie, he must say. 

and if it isn’t obvious yet, he likes you. 

a belief ingrained deep within that girls like you—with a glint of silver at your ears and neck that catches the light, and exposed to the secrets of the night—could never harbor the slightest flutter of affection for a boy like him, was something that jaehyun carried in the quiet corners of his mind but rarely voiced aloud. 

the ink on your collarbone was exposed today from the top you were wearing and jaehyun couldn’t get his eyes off of it. 

“wanna get one?” you spoke, startling him. “you keep looking at my tattoo, do you wanna get one?” 

“you’re asking for something impossible. he’s scared of needles.” taesan answers. “i just found it cool.” no, he found it sexy. 

no one else in the room probably sees you as a woman other than jaehyun. there persisted deep regard for the person you were—a friend adored for her essence, and a woman cherished for her soul. it was the latter for jaehyun.

a few days later, the group went on another outing. surprisingly, it wasn’t at jaehyun’s apartment. they spent overnight at a rented villa. the villa itself was a marvel, its grandeur softened by time and the gentle touch of care it received. 

midday found them scattered throughout the villa’s nooks and crannies, each discovering their own quiet corner for reading, sketching, or simply soaking in the tranquility. in the afternoons, they convened once more, perhaps to play some badminton or table tennis, or go out on a walk. 

before evening, you found jaehyun watching a performance on the big screen and heard him singing along to a familiar tune. “you always watch that.” he turned his head over you. “oh, this? i think she’s cute.” an idol appears on screen, she is indeed cute, and has the same eyes like jaehyun’s. “never thought girls like that are your type.” 

“she isn’t my type.” he was in fact telling the truth. ever since it dawned on him that you could never catch feelings for a guy like jaehyun, he forced himself to like someone else. it was like planting seeds in barren soil and hoping for flowers to bloom where none naturally would. you lounged comfortably with jaehyun on the couch and took an interest in what he was watching. 

your eyes were fixed on the screen. jaehyun extends his legs on the coffee table and crosses them together. he was dumbfounded at you who were trying to keep your laugh. his foot, clad in a mismatched sock, ventured cautiously across the worn wooden coffee table that stood between them. you took a sight of his toes wiggling and cracked up. 

“what’s funny?” his foot, clad in a mismatched sock, ventured cautiously across the worn wooden coffee table that stood between them. “your socks. they look unmatched and silly.” his eyes swoon over to the pair of socks he was wearing.

“it’s cute!” and you kept laughing. jaehyun becomes lost in the depths of your stare when your eyes wrinkle at the corners and sparkle with unsaid laughter. it’s not just the sound that captivates him, but the way your entire being seems to come alive with that laughter.  

you playfully brushed your pinky toe against his big thoe, still finding the socks funny. jaehyun played along with you, leaving the colors on the television forgotten. 

for him, there’s a certain magic in the mundane moments you share. he always sees the spark in the things you do together. everyone had a heavy dinner to fill their stomachs before drinking. tidying up with you, cooking with you, washing the dishes together, jaehyun feels his heart burning with the realization that he finds beauty even in the smallest, everyday acts of life with you. and he couldn’t help but go beyond the imagination of dating you, living harmony in your shared life to the point that even with the simple brushing of fingertips as he reaches for the same spoon, he has found intimacy in these moments. 

after cleaning up, everyone was gathered in the same living room you were with jaehyun earlier. bottles of beer and wine were uncorked, passed around with toasts to friendship. after a long day of exertion, the first sip of cold beer seemed like nectar; the alcohol-infused their bodies with a warm, languid satisfaction.

with every passing hour, the night grew deeper. riwoo told stories, one after the other more ridiculous and funny than the last, interspersed with bursts of hysterical laughing. sungho tried telling a ghost story, attempting to scare jaehyun, but everyone was laughing at his rushed words and theatrical motions that made it into a comedy. 

not sooner, the air was thick with the scent of stale beer and the faint, sweet tang of spilled wine. sungho was sprawled on the carpet. riwoo was slumped in a chair with his head resting on the table, a lone, half-eaten slice of pizza lay beside him. leehan’s head lolled back, his mouth slightly open, a faint snore escaping his lips every now and then. beside him, taesan was curled into a fetal position, clutching a throw pillow like a lifeline. 

amid the messy place, you and jaehyun were still up, luckily. his cheeks were flushed from the alcohol and the heat of his body, but his gaze never wavered from you. he spoke in hushed tones, and your conversation held private. 

“people used to say i look intimidating and unapproachable. sometimes, i want to have new friends but they say their first impression of me always feels like you can never start a talk with me. have you ever thought that way, myungjae?” 

“no. you have great charisma, and your features make you look strong. but i guess i can just see through the gentleness in your gaze. your kindness was never unnoticed by me, and everywhere you go…the true essence of your character always shines through. you’re a great person, y/n.”

a gentle smile crept up to your face, “no one has ever talked like that about me…but anyway, i know i’m tipsy but i don’t wanna sleep yet. can we talk about something else?” 

“sure. anything in mind?”

“science!”

“science?! i’m not the best person to talk to about that, y/n.” 

“don’t you think science is amazing? i take interest in everything about science from the flutter of a butterfly's wings to the movement of planets in their orbits. and also the balance of the ecosystem! hm…but maybe i like zoology the best. i just love animals so much. have i mentioned my favorite animal is a meerkat?”

it was obvious that you were drunk from the way you were rambling about the most random things, but jaehyun was listening to your niche interest—no. he wasn’t just listening, he was looking through the pieces of your soul while you talk about natural science.

your intellect and the boundless beauty of your mind smote him. it was impossible not to be mesmerized by you, to feel the gravitational pull of her enthusiasm drawing jaehyun closer. 

“come to think of it…you and meerkats are kinda similar! they’re social butterflies too, myungjae!” 

the world seemed to spin a little slower, and inhibitions faded into the night. in that moment of blurred lines between courage and intoxication, jaehyun caught his heart pounding like a drum. “hm? you look like a meerkat this close-” he leans in, drawn irresistibly to you. and then, as if guided by some invisible force, you felt his soft lips under yours. the alcohol’s effect must have overpowered jaehyun’s consciousness because of his impulsive actions.

you pulled back gently, your eyes searching jaehyun with a mix of curiosity and something unnameable. yet, before he could utter a single syllable and apologize, you smiled—a soft, knowing smile that softened the edges of his embarrassment.

a week after the trip, jaehyun’s friends camped in his apartment again. of course, you were there. the rest of the guys were in the spare bedroom, sleeping. on the couch, controller in hand, jaehyun was fully immersed in a heated FIFA match. his fingers moved with practiced precision, and the sounds of simulated crowd roars and commentators' excited chatter filled the room, creating an illusion of being in the heart of a packed stadium.

on the other side of the room stood you, hanging several pieces of clothes on the balcony because the laundromat was closed today, and you slept in jaehyun’s apartment too. but amidst the digital drama and the electric atmosphere of the game, there was almost an imperceptible interruption. bending over to grab another clothes from the hamper to hang it on the clothes wire, you effortlessly commanded attention.

jaehyun tore his gaze reluctantly from the screen as your undershorts peeked underneath your sleep shorts, and his gaze went to the hamper as he spies the booty shorts you wore the other day. his little possessiveness jumps out of him in case his friends might see them. jaehyun pauses the game quickly. you turned to meet his eyes,  it was in the way he hovered near the balcony door, his gaze occasionally flickering towards the fluttering garments. 

he rests his chin on your shoulders as his arms slide to your waist. “can’t we bring those in? your…uhm…booty shorts.” his voice tinged with concern. “hm? my booty shorts? why?” you set down the clothespins.

“what if sungho and the others see? i mean…they’re just clothes but you know…”

you chuckled at his comment, “why can’t you just say you’re getting a little possessive, myungjae?” you tapped the tip of his nose, finding him adorable. 

“then, can you sit on the couch with me and hang those clothes later? please?” he snuggles on your neck, his arms wrapped around you getting a little tight. jaehyun grabs your arms as you both lounge on the couch and enjoy the time together while the others are still asleep. 

his gaze lingered on your face, tracing the curve of your cheek, the arch of your brow, as if committing every detail to memory. jaehyun lays his head on your chest. one thing you learned about him is that he loves quality time and physical touch together.

you sat together on that couch, lost in each other's company. the warmth of his presence enveloped me, sending a shiver down my spine. his hand found yours naturally, fingers intertwining with a familiarity that felt both comforting and exhilarating.

“i love it so much…when we set up the table together, tidy up the place, the slightest form of touch…i like to think that i find the most comfort in living with your simplest existence.” jaehyun says. 

with each shared glance and fleeting touch, the two of you reinforce a relationship woven from the threads of daily existence, finding comfort not only in the duties at hand but also in each other's presence. 

it is in those moments where jaehyun’s love thrives.

“what the hell is going on…” taesan blinks, with his cat ear-shaped bed hair. 

not my proudest work oh my god!! really struggled finishing this bcs i got unproductive in writing but i hope this was still fun to read!

[unholyhelbig]

Keep the kate angst coming pls

Title: Firecrest (Part 4/???)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Summary: Kate Bishop and y/n have an unspoken agreement that revolves around being enemies with benefits. But when Kate's new mentor is someone Y/n is very familiar with, things become complicated.

Warnings: Bad parenting, panic attacks, possible arson, descriptions of fire, fight scenes, blood, angst, and horrible grammar (I don't proofread)

[A/n: All of my Kate Bishop stories have a tendancy to flop, but this one is for you, six loyal readers, I love you!]

Bobbi Morse refused to release her hold on the duffle bag. It was comically pink but covered in different drawings that bled into the nylon as if the item had been wounded. You hated the color, despised it, really, but defacing it with sharpie markers seemed to settle your discontent.

Her other hand gripped her daughters shoulder with her usual confidence and you knew better than to pull away from her. The woman in front of you was only a head taller than you, her face pockmarked with zits of different pustules of width. When she smiled, her lips made an uncomfortable noise against her braces.

“Miss Morse, I promise you, Y/n will have a fantastic, safe, time.”

They were playing tug-of-war with the bag now. It was subtle enough that no one else would notice. But of course, Eleanor Bishop was always the first in the room to notice subtle. She materialized out of a Rolls-Royce that had a strange purple tint to it in the mountain sun.

“Oh, Bobbi, you have to relax.” The woman gabbed your mother in the side. If anyone else had ever tried that, they’d lose a hand or possibly a heart. “You think I would really send Katherine to Target Trails if it were dangerous? These are trained professionals.”

That seemed to relax Bobbi’s shoulders by half an inch. Your mother was not worried about safety. She had ensured that you knew how to take care of yourself from a young age, much younger than the counselor in front of you now.

The idea of leaving you in the middle of the forest wasn’t a problem either. You had survival skills, you could make a home for yourself out here in the wilderness and wander back to civilization on your own in time for school to start in the fall.

Bobbi trusted you. What she didn’t’ trust, was your powers. You had become less reactive over the years, relied on therapeutic techniques to control the fire that festered just below your fingertips. But there were moments, sporadic ones, where the heat got away from you and you were too groggy to chase it.

“Jessica, dear. Can you make sure that Katherine and Y/n are in the same bunk?”

“Mrs. Bishop, the assignments have been set for weeks, I can’t just-“ a crisp hundred dollar bill was slid across her neon clipboard. Her eyes widened, narrowed, but she snatched it up all the same. “Would you look at that? We just had a bed open up in the bullseye cabin.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Bobbi was suddenly relinquishing her hold on your bag to cup both of your shoulders. At fifteen, you were nearly her height. She made a point never to bend down to speak to you. It was demeaning, and you both knew it. She addressed you like an adult in these moments.

“Okay, sweetie, remember what doctor Garner said.”

It wasn’t a question. Your coping mechanisms were drilled into your mind, tattooed against the softness of your brain. You were supposed to name five things in the room you could touch, five you could see, five you could hear, and five you could smell. By the time you’d puzzled it out, you had reached to the end of that ever-familiar heat.

There were other tools; an imaginary box to put your worries in, a safe-space that was fire retardant. But there were almost always moments you feared that nothing would work. That you’d torch a place and add more names to your ledger of misuse.

“I love you, firefly.” Bobbi kissed between your eyebrows and gave your shoulders an extra squeeze. “Send a smoke signal if you need me.”

She smiled jokingly before loading back into her jeep and expertly pulling from the gravel drive. She kicked up white dust behind her that tasted like the salt of the earth when you inhaled. Jessica smelled like sunscreen and sweat, and you stepped to the side before she had a chance to touch you in a nurturing way.

“Right, let’s get you to your bunk.”

There were four other girls in Bullseye, including Kate; America Chavez, who had somehow already found a stick to carve with a pocket-knife that should have been confiscated upon entry. Cassie Lang, a small blonde that had already claimed the top bunk. And Gwen Poole, a girl who would have loved your pink bag before you destroyed it, the tips of her hair dyed the offensive color.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s good to see you too, Katie.”

“Okay!” Jessica clapped her hands together, “Y/n, I’ll leave you to get settled. Dinner is at six and there is a mandatory campfire afterwards.”

She seemed to sense the tension and left fast enough not to get hit with the sticky screen door. She took the cabin steps two at a time and kicked up a trail of dirt much like Bobbi had. Kate had claimed the bottom bunk on your side of the cabin, leaving you with the rickety top.

“I hope you’ve curved that nasty bed-wetting habit of yours.” She said, just loud enough for the whole cabin to hear.

“Hope you packed an umbrella.”

Kate turned as white as a sheet and clutched her pillow to her chest. She could never tell if you were being serious or not. Of course, you weren’t. You’d never wet the bed. Setting it ablaze on the other hand? That wasn’t so far out of the realm of possibility.

“You take that back,”

A wolfish grin moved across your face before you pulled yourself up onto the scratchy green blanket. The springs creaked as if they’d been used for years. You were suddenly exhausted and made no move to remove your boots, or unpack the duffle shoved to the side.

“Do you two know each other?” America asked, shirking a long strip of birch onto her own bed. She was sitting cross legged, getting it as sharp as she possibly could. You had a feeling you would gravitate towards her throughout the summer. “Or is this some weird attempt at flirting?”

You sat up fast enough to make your head spin, “Our parents run in the same circles. We’re obliged to be in each-others presence at least 75% of the year.”

“Obliged? Try forced” She scoffed, scowling at you. “You don’t even like archery.”

“I like being better at it than you.”

“You’re not.”

“They’re totally flirting.” Gwen whispered to Cassie, who gave an exaggerated nod, barely stifling her blinding grin with the stuffed bear she’d brought along to suffer with the rest of them.

Most of that summer had passed by in a blur. You really didn’t like archery. Your aim was there, but your form was lacking. Kate ticked all the boxes and had even split an arrow straight down the middle on the second day of camp, much to your dismay.

The two of you mostly stayed out of one another’s way, on opposite schedules by design. You’d grown impossibly close with Gwen and America, the three of you none too enthusiastic about the sport that Target Trails boasted about. You were much too interested in the lake, and spent most of your time out there.

A week and a half before the end of summer, and you had let your guard down. You would never admit this, but you were actually having fun and participating. Gwen had begged you to attend a movie night at the fire pits, and you had agreed with the promise of sickly sweet marshmallows.

The two of you were huddled up under a blanket, biting through the late-night mountain chill. You hadn’t been paying attention to the content that would be shown, nor to anything other than the slow-moving bag of puffed deliciousness that was making its way towards you.

“We have a real treat for you tonight, campers. We’ve got first hand access to the new Hawkeye documentary! It’s not releasing until this November, but he loves what we do here at Target Trails and gave us an exclusive.”

A wash of numbness fell over you, appetite suddenly gone. You were frowning, you knew, at the documentary as it played on a hung white sheet, strung up between two evergreens. Your fingers curled around the edge of the blanket.

Gwen nudged you with the bag of marshmallows, but you shook your head, too engrossed in the picture on the screen. Seeing him as a hero, you could handle. He’d been on the news, and you’d caught glimpses before Bobbi shut it off. But this was different. This was about his life.

He sat at his kitchen table with his family. A baby cradled in his arms and a woman with kind eyes at his side. There was a girl around the same age as you in the other chair, pushing yellow eggs around her plate and doing her best to ignore the camera. A daughter.

“Lila, don’t be rude, say hi to the nice film crew.”

Clint was joking, and the frame was shaky, but she gave a small wave and dazzling smile regardless. The thought was bitter; what made her different from you?

You didn’t realize that your breath had quickened and you’d wigged out of the fleece blanket that you shared. Gwen looked at you with worry, but you had the stamina to hold it together until you could maneuver around other campers to the darkness of the surrounding woods.

Far enough to stifle your sob in the side of your hand and fall to the damp forest floor. The pain that ripped through you was unbearable, and you naively dug your fingers into the dirt to see if it would extinguish the building flames.

The pressure licked at your throat and pressed down your spine like a metal rod. It hurt to hold it in, to let warm tears soak through the glowing embers that had taken over your irises. You were doing so well. You were pretending almost too well, to be normal.

Arms were around you in an instant, but you were too far gone to push them away. Instead, you folded into the embrace. It was cold compared to your body-heat, the scent of artificial wintergreen rivaled the real thing. It was Kate. You knew from the strong grip of her hands and the gentle soothing words that you couldn’t process.

A growl had escaped you, and when you peered up at her, the orange glow of your eyes shaded her features. There was no moon tonight. They flickered like a lantern used as a beacon. Kate drew in a sharp breath, but didn’t’ push.

“You need to breathe for me, y/n.” She said instead, letting you clutch onto her camp shirt and stain it with dirt. You were in her lap like an insolent child, but you would combust if she let you go. As if on instinct, she held you tighter. “Four in, six out, come on.”

You tried to follow instructions, but the pain started to roll in waves. The rolling in your stomach felt like you were about to vomit up magma. Kate was panicked, you could see the beautiful gray of her stare flicker with worry. Your hands were getting hotter.

“Fuck it,” She hissed.

Kate leaned down with fervor and pressed her lips against yours. It was not graceful, her teeth hit your own with a dull clack and her hand was gripping your collar to hold you up. Her nose was cold, and her chest heaved up and down with anxiety. It was much too clumsy, and it was glorious.

Eventually, you sucked in a deep breath and used your heels to scramble away from her, back hitting the hard bark of a tree. She had a dazed, glassy stare that still seemed to seep with worry. The worst of it was over, and you were suddenly exhausted.

Your stare didn’t glow like engine coal and your skin had returned to it’s normal pigment. You were breathing normal, almost greedy for the tinny taste of it. “What the hell, Kate?”

“Me what the hell?” She whispered harshly, “You what the hell! I was preventing a forest fire.”

“You’re not smokey the mother-fucking-bear.”  

It was harsh, you should be thanking her, but you wanted to get as far away from the archer as possible. You clambered to your feet and started to head towards civilization. You needed to get to the payphone. Screw the last few weeks of camp. That was too close of a call.

Kate didn’t’ let you get far. Her fingers wrapped around your wrist and she held you in place with an impressive amount of strength for a girl her size. “I don’t understand a lot about what happened just now. That’s not important. I don’t get why you’re so mad.”

“Because,” The first word was easy, the rest got stuck in your throat. You tore your hand away and she let you. “You… stole my first kiss.”

Her features softened for a moment before she narrowed her eyes in what you could only describe as discontent. There was plenty to thank Kate Bishop for, and plenty more that you had to explain to her. Instead, you were hung up on this. And why wouldn’t you be?

You’d been saving it. You’d expertly dodged Tommy Maximoff at a game of spin the bottle just last week. And before that, you’d gone to see a movie with Teddy Altman who seemed as worried about grabbing your hand with his sweaty one as you were. None of it felt right, and the two of you both breathed a sigh of relief when the credits rolled.

She kicked dejectedly at the dirt. “You took mine too, you know? You were freaking out and I saw it in a movie. It worked. Didn’t it?”

You blinked at her in surprise. Kate bragged on multiple occasions that she and Eli Bradley, a kid that was way too into ROTC, had made out behind the bleachers. It made sense now, why the two of you had done your awkward little dance on the forest floor.

“Thank you,” You settled, working shaking hands through disheveled hair, suddenly feeling even. “For doing that, I mean. It could have been really bad.”

 An obscure pop song crackled through the overhead speakers in the grocery store. The lights buzzed under the melody, uncomfortable and neon in their flickering annoyance. You hadn’t been able to sleep, which wasn’t a surprise, so you took advantage of the low traffic to stock up on essentials.

Bread, milk, and dry pasta. Your diet wasn’t the best, but it filled you up and the staples still maintained an easy enough price for you to justify your purchases. The basket hung from your arm, slowly filling with off-brand items.

You were busy stocking up on bandages and antiseptic when you felt an odd crawling feeling up the back of your neck. You were being watched. Your movements stilled for half a second before you continued with your task, senses becoming overwhelmed with an expensive floral scent.

“Miss Morse, strange running into you here.”

Yes, it was strange. You didn’t know that Eleanor Bishop did her own grocery shopping, and judging by the single orange in her cart, you weren’t sure she had actually decided to do so now. There was a sheepish smile on her face. She had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed.

“Relax, sweetie.” She squeezed your upper arm. “You don’t have to be so guarded. I just wanted to extend an invitation to dinner this Friday. It’s a formal event, just a chance to get to know my daughters partner a little better.”

The air suddenly felt thick. You still hadn’t produced a comprehensive sentence and now you opened and closed your mouth like a goldfish that had hopped from it’s bowl. She had a thin smile on her face that failed to hide her true rage.

“I’ll even extend the invitation to your father.”

Finally, you found your voice. “I’m sure Lance would appreciate the thought, but he’ll, uh, be out of town until next Monday I’m afraid.”

“No, no. Not Lance, silly. Clint.”

Your grip tightened on the box of bandages. It made a sad noise under your crushing fingers. Eleanor’s unwavering gaze flicked down and then back up, hardly phased by your knee-jerk reaction. You were flushed with an odd type of calmness.

Five things you can touch: The rough fabric of your jacket. The metal handle of the basket. The obnoxious blue plastic at it’s end. The crumpled box of bandages.

“How do you know about that?”

“Well, dear, people talk.”

Five things you can see: The venom in Eleanor Bishops eyes. A single fly trapped in the light fixture above. A bored clerk that pushed packs of gum around the counter. The puke-colored floor tiles under your feet. The line of green vitamin bottles just below your shoulder.

“That won’t be a problem, will it? I’ve heard through the grapevine that you and Katherine are getting quite serious. It’s only customary to meet the parents. I know Bobbi so well, but Clint is all anyone can talk about these days. We’d love to get to know him better.”

Five things you can hear: The pitiful last cries of the trapped fly. The squeak of a cart that was three aisles over. The dull hum of the frozen section across the store. Eleanor Bishop’s even, calculated, breaths. An obscure rock-song blaring from the clerks’ headphones.

“Y/n?” She prodded, lifting a sculpted eyebrow.

“That… that uh,”

Five things you can smell: Your own sweat, quickly slicking your back. The musky floral perfume that Eleanor Bishop bathed in. The sharp edge of antiseptic contained by plastic bottles. The faux citrus scent of floor cleaner. The beginning of bile climbing your throat.

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Bishop.” You schooled your features into something you hoped was calm. “I’ll be there.”

She clapped her hands once, a moment of success. You were absolutely drenched in sweat with a heat that even the frozen section couldn’t cure. She went to pat you on the shoulder but thought better of it, before leaving her cart with the singular orange behind.

Shopping was the furthest thing from your mind at this point. Any semblance of productivity was morphed into shock, and then scathing anger. You set your own basket down and turned to rush from the grocery store, entirely overwhelmed in the area you’d just used to steady yourself.

The change in temperature between the store and city streets was minimal. You could feel your breath speed up, your fingers start to tingle. You had to get out of here, so you started to run. Kate’s usual haunts as a hero weren’t too far, and even if they were, you were positive that you could sprint to them.

People became scarce on the sidewalks, a humid mist coated your skin. White fairy lights adorned every other tree, and then none at all. There was a darkness, chain link fences and a dog that lunged on a short lead. The streets were empty, and your chest began to ache.

You stopped in the center of the street, shouting out “Hawkeye!”

It wasn’t certain which one you would summon. You tightened your fists, clenching your eyes shut as you tried to control your breathing. You hadn’t had a panic attack like this in years, high school, to be exact. The turmoil kept building. The memories you’d shoved down boiled up.

“Hawkeye!” You shouted again, letting the orange flames engulf your fingertips, cracking against skin. “Come out or I start torching everything!”

An overreaction? Perhaps. But part of you, a very small part, was tired of playing the hero when all of the cards were stacked against you. What was stopping you from being a villain? You had your nemesis in both archers for different reasons, and a formidable villain you would be.

It would be easy to let go of the control you’d worked so hard to build. Fires were uncontrollable, they were dangerous and deadly. There was no problem setting them. It was controlling the blaze once it’d been ignited that could bring absolute destruction.

“Five!” You called out, your boots on the ground the only noise. “Four!”

You spotted a trail of gasoline leaking form the bottom of an old Camaro that was propped up on cinderblocks, all four tires being ripped from the frame. Perfect. It was clearly abandoned, and far enough away from the brownstones to be a real risk. An attention grabber.

“Three!”

You were feeling heady now. A wash of dizziness had replaced the panic as your emotions were simmering down. You knelt, the sharp scent of gasoline filling your senses. Even the smallest touch would ignite the vehicle in a wash of flames.

“Two!”

Still, nothing. The quiet was eerie. Much like crickets and frogs in the country, the city relied on it’s staple noises. There was never silence, but it fell heavy on your shoulders now. You could cut your losses, raise to your feet, and walk away. But walking away never got you anywhere. Walking away was too much like your father.

The sharp sound of an arrow being pulled back pulled you from your thoughts. “Not another move.”

Kate was bluffing. You could see the uncertainty and fear in her eyes. Of course, you were positive that you were harboring the same thing. You weren’t obedient in this moment. The sight of her in her black tactical suit, marred in purple, was captivating. Infuriating all the same.

A rush of hot air pooled at your palms as you righted yourself. They’d gotten stronger, hotter. Blue licked harmlessly at your skin now. You clenched your jaw and lilted your head to the side. In this moment, despite the intoxicated hold she had on you, you wanted to fight her. Wound her as she’d wounded you.

“Do it. Shoot.” You called her bluff. Her aim was slipping. “Or we could put all of our flashy toys away and have it out like adults.”

She made no move to lower her weapon. “We can talk this out. Just step away from the car.”

“This car? God, she’s a beauty. It’s such a shame that it was put to waste like this.”

“Y/n,” She warned in a muted growl. “I will shoot.”

This time, you believed her. Any slack in her stance had tightened like she were on puppet strings. She aimed directly at your chest. Hawkeyes never aimed to kill, but they would. Kate would, if she was pushed far enough.

You lifted both of your hands up in a half surrender, letting the flames extinguish themselves. You’d shown so much restraint. So much leniency for an unfair situation that plagued the both of you. Kate lowered her arrow, the metal tip pointed at the ground before she placed it back in the quiver entirely, sensing the danger dissolving.

When she glanced up and closed the distance between the two of you, your breath hitched. There was insurmountable anger in her eyes. In a quick movement, she slapped you with an open palm, hard enough to make you taste metal, but not hard enough to cause a ringing in your ears.

Kate hissed “that was fucking stupid of you.”

Your head was turned to the side, the harsh sting throbbing in tune to your heartbeat. You pulled in a humid breath and let it out within the same sentence. It had been stupid of you, nearly starting another fire that could very easily get out of control. You’d never admit that to Kate.

In a swift move, you grabbed Kate’s arm, twisting it until she let out a yelp and fell clumsily to one knee. You stopped shy of breaking anything. “No, it was fucking stupid to tell your mother about Clint.”

Kate’s fist hit your stomach with a cheap shot. It was still effective, knocking the breath right out of your lungs. By the strap of her quiver, you dragged her back to her feet and slammed her against the side of the car.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re the only one that knows, Kate!” You snarled “Your mother invited me to a family dinner with him.”

Your knee was in between hers, she was panting, strands of hair falling into her slate stare. There was a smear of dark blood against the corner of her lip. You hadn’t put it there, and though she was pinned under you right now, you wanted to destroy the person who had done that to her.

Fist-fights were predictable for you and Kate. The first time she landed a punch was at her 9th birthday party. You don’t remember how the quarrel started, it was that trivial. It was a pool party with an inflatable slide that might as well be a boxing ring.

There was hair pulling and you remember Lance wrapping his arms around you while Derek Bishop wrestled to pull a feral Kate to the other side of the yellow slide. After fifteen minutes, the two of you were sitting at the edge of the pool digging into chocolate cake.

“Y/n, have you ever considered that other people heard the conversation we had at the benefit?” She sighed, letting her head thump softly against the side of the car. “My mother has ears and eyes everywhere. I didn’t even tell her we were dating. I would never do that to you.”

She shoved you off, and you went slack, allowing her to. You were close enough to a catering table that it was plausible. Kate sounded broken, and it filled you with a deep guilt that you weren’t quite prepared for. You had been so certain.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck.” She bumped into your shoulder as she walked past you. You turned, tracking her with your eyes. “After all these years, do you really think that little of me?”

“No, Kate I...”

She looked at you expectantly. Sadness rimmed her stare. All of your previous anger had melted away. There was nothing there but a deep dread. You never wanted to hurt her. You hung your head like a kicked dog, feeling a lump form in your throat.

“We’ll do the dinner. Keep playing the part. But after that, it’s done. I don’t owe you anything.”

“You don’t.”

Your voice was tight, chest suddenly painful. She used the edge of her thumb to wipe at the wound on the edge of her lip that you’d reopened. She swiped her tongue over it for good measure.

You were crying.

But she respected you just enough not to say anything.

Tag List💕: @noturlondonboy, @slvtformaria, @pianogirl2121

[sentientgolfball]

Coughs weakly…. Golfball … the winter …. It’s so cold … need …. Biggs and pebble content … need … weird Biggs and pebble porn… cough cough… ough…. I don’t have enough to survive the harsh season …

Man the freak infestation gets so much worse this time of year

Anyways heres 2k words of Biggs and Pebble fucking nasty

For context: Biggs is just the name the name I use for Earth :3 also in my little brain space he is mute and Pebble is trans

All day. Alpha has been fucking with him all day without showing any sign of stopping. Without any mercy. Pulling Pebble into a dark corner and sticking his tongue down his throat while petting him through his jeans. Leaving just as fast as he appeared. Before Pebble could even wrap his mind around what happened. Before he could even think to demand Alpha make him cum. 

Over and over again all day Alpha would find him and grope him or whisper something filthy in his ear but dart off before Pebble could do absolutely anything about it. By the time he gets back to the den when he is finished with his chores for the day, he is pissed and horny and needs fucked right now before he sees how much nightshade it would take to kill a full grown fire ghoul. 

He does not know if it is a blessing or a curse that the common room is empty when he enters the den. On the one hand he will not have to deal with more of Alpha’s shit but on the other there is no one here to help deal with his problem. He could just go jerk off like any sensible ghoul, but after all that all day he refuses. For once in his life he did not do anything to instigate, so why should he have to fix it? Instead, he sits on the couch with huff and waits. Next ghoul who walks through that door is getting dragged into this. He hopes it is not Alpha. Alpha will not give him what he wants and he knows it. 

Lucky for Pebble, about twenty minutes later the door creaks open. He cranes his neck to see who it is and oh did he get sent a blessing. Biggs is by the coat rack kicking off his snowy boots and peeling off his jacket. His face is flushed and there is sweat beaded at his hairline. Pebble nearly topples over at how strong the scent of patchouli is. His mouth practically waters at the sights of Biggs’ muscles rippling under the black long sleeve he has on. He must have just finished chopping wood for the fireplaces around the Ministry. 

Pebble grins and hops off the couch, “Hey big guy.” 

Biggs jumps minutely before looking down and smiling warmly. He signs, Hello my little crystal. 

If he can smell the desperation on Pebble he makes no comment. Instead he just affectionately runs a hand through his hair before stepping past him towards the kitchen. Pebble stops him though before he can take more than two steps. He grabs his hand and tugs to get his attention. 

“Not so fast.” 

But my laundry. 

“Your laundry can wait.” Pebble grins and begins to drag Biggs behind him towards his room. 

It is almost comical how one of the smallest ghouls can push around one of the biggest, but that is the fun part. Pebble knows Biggs would never ever say no to him. He is the exact opposite of Alpha. Never teasing, never leaving him worked up to deal with it himself. Biggs is too lovey dovey for that. When Alpha pushes all the right buttons, Pebble can always rely on Biggs to fix it. 

When they arrive in Pebble’s room, he is on Biggs in an instant. He gropes at his hips, sticking his hands under the hem of his shirt just to feel his skin. Cold from working outside. Pebble is sure he can help with that. He tries to pull him down into a kiss but Biggs hesitates. 

At least let me shower first. I’m dirty. He quickly signs. 

“Fuck yea you are,” he leans forward and buries his nose into his chest, inhaling sharply, “That’s just how I like it.” 

What’s gotten into you little crystal? 

A stupid question really. When is Pebble not like this? Still, he decides to indulge him. Because he knows what will happen the moment he says the word. It makes the burn in his stomach grow just thinking about it. 

Pebble huffs and puts on his best pouty face to really seal the deal, “It was Alpha. He wouldn’t leave me alone all day. I couldn’t get any work done.” 

Pebble’s tail wags as he watches in real time the way Biggs’ face morphs from one of confusion to understanding. To annoyance and maybe a little anger if he looks hard enough. 

All day? 

Pebble nods as he tries his best to keep the excitement off his face. 

Biggs hums lowly, I’m sorry crystal. That must have been tough. 

A big hand rests on the back of  Pebble’s neck. Fingers thread through his head, tugging just enough to tilt his head up. 

“Yeah. It was,” he pauses, eyes dropping to his lips, “care to help me out?” 

Without another word, Biggs crashes their lips together. Pebble groans into it immediately, like it is the first time he has ever been kissed. He licks over the seam of Biggs’ mouth. He does not have the mind to wait. To let him build it up like he normally does. He has been on edge for too fucking long and he needs something inside of him right now before he explodes. 

Luckily Biggs does not seem to mind. He bends just enough to pick Pebble up at the same time he opens for him. He takes one, two, three steps backward until he collides with the bed. He drops onto it with a grunt. He situates Pebble more comfortably in his lap, never breaking the kiss as his large hands hold his hips. 

Pebble eagerly licks into his mouth as he grinds against the bulge forming in his pants. Biggs squeezes his hips and meets him halfway, bucking up when Pebble grinds down. He moans into Biggs’ mouth, pulling away to tuck his face into his neck. He inhales deeply before licking at his skin, still a bit salty from sweat. His patchouli scent is strong and it just makes Pebble work his hips faster. 

Biggs grunts and tilts his head back, letting Pebble use him as a glorified grinder until he cannot take it anymore. He squeezes Pebble’s thigh twice to get his attention. Reluctantly Pebble lifts his face from his neck to look at him. 

He smiles and gives him a quick kiss, Let me see you? 

Pebble rolls his eyes with a grin. Ever the sap. 

“Took you long enough,” he flinches just a bit at his tone, “Yes. Sorry. Please?” 

Biggs nods and kisses him again as he slowly pulls Pebble’s shirt off. He only breaks away to get it around his head so he can toss it to the floor. His hands run reverently down Pebble’s now exposed abdomen. He leans down and presses his lips softly to the middle of his chest. Right where his element sigil is branded. 

Pebble sighs. He loves Biggs, but right now soft and romantic is not what he needs. He laces his hands through his golden hair and tugs until Biggs gets the message. He lets out an amused huff against his skin before indulging him. 

He tilts his head until warm breath puffs over one of Pebble’s nipples. His tongue darts out, giving it a quick lick before he takes it into his mouth. He sucks on it, occasionally rolling it softly between his teeth. He drags one of his hands up the side of Pebble’s body. His thumb brushes over the scar under his pec adoringly before taking his other nipple between thumb and forefinger. He pinches it at the same time he bites a little harder. Pebble curses and chokes out a moan. 

“More. Biggs I need more.” He squirms in his grasp. 

He must agree because he pulls away to give Pebble a little smile. His eyes are locked on the little string of salvia that still connects him to his chest. 

He pats his thigh twice again, Hop up. 

Pebble slides off him, crawling over to sit on the bed instead. Once he does so, Biggs pulls the shirt up and over his head without any hesitation. Pebble stares as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants, tugging them down along with his boxers in one fluid movement. His mouth waters at the sight of his cock, hard and straining and wet at the tip. 

When he turns his attention back to Pebble, he is not sure what he wants more. Suck him off until he cums down his throat or ride him until they are both seeing stars. He does not have time to decide though because next thing he knows, Biggs is tracing the tip of his claw over the waistband of his shorts. 

He does not even wait for him to ask permission, “Take it off big guy.” 

Biggs happily obliges. He pulls them down and makes a surprised little chirp when he has no underwear on. Pebble just shrugs. Alpha already ruined them, there was no reason to keep them on. 

He does not seem to mind though. He just leans forward and presses a trail of kisses over his hips down to the crease of his thigh. He breathes deeply, savoring Pebble’s scent. Like freshly churned earth. He wants to bury himself and never come back up again. 

He glances up at Pebble from between his legs, Sit on my face? 

Pebble groans and tips his head back, “I could never say no to you.” 

He presses another lingering kiss to the inside of his thigh before sitting up. He rolls over to lay back against the pillows, smiling at Pebble. Oh he loves that big idiot so much. He crawls over, not wasting a second. Skinny little legs straddle broad shoulders and Pebble hovers over him. 

Biggs’ hands come up to hold his hips. He does not push or pull, he simply just holds. Touches him just to touch. Pebble takes it as encouragement though. He drops down with force, desperate to finally get something. If it bothers Biggs he does not show it. He gets straight to work, dragging the flat of his tongue through his folds to circle around his little dick. Pebble cannot help but grind down, chasing the feeling. Demanding more. 

Biggs gives him what he wants. He licks through his folds again, drinking down as much of him as he can. It is not enough though. Never is when it comes to Pebble. So he takes right from the source, dipping the tip of his forked tongue inside of his dripping hole. They both groan at the same time. Biggs’ hips twitch up, fruitlessly searching for friction in the air. 

Pebble huffs a breathy little laugh. He is sure he can help with that. He falls forward, bending at the waist to rest his elbows on the mattress. He hisses, sucking his teeth as Biggs tongues at him. He arches back into it at the same time he wraps a hand around the base of Biggs’ cock. He gives it a squeeze, enamored with the way a bead of pre wells up from the slit only to dribble down his shaft. Pebble licks his lips, tongue darting out to trace it all the back up. Biggs groans but the sound is muffled as he continues to feast on Pebble like he will never eat again. Like all he has is this one moment before he spends the rest of his life starving. 

“Fuck I hate you and your stupid fucking mouth.” He punctuates each word by rolling his hips back, fucking himself on his tongue. 

More pre drips onto his hand, remaining him of his current goal. Filling another hole. Maybe helping Biggs a little since he oh so kindly is helping Pebble. He presses a kiss to the tip of his dick, tongue flicking out to taste him. That is the only warning Biggs gets before Pebble takes a deep breath and swallows him down as far as he can. He sucks on cock until salvia dribbles down the rest of his length. He uses it to ease the glide, rapidly stroking what he could not fit in his mouth. 

Biggs’ grip on Pebble’s hips tightens. He gives his dripping hole one last lick before dragging it back up to his clit. He swirls it around that little bundle of nerves, letting his dick rest against his tongue for a moment before he wraps his lips around it. He sucks on it gently, reveling in the way Pebble’s hand falters on his cock. 

He lets go of his hips with one hand. He brings it to his cunt, swiping his fingers through Pebble’s folds. He gives his little dick a particularly hard suck at the same time he slides two of his thick fingers inside of him. Pebble pulls off of Biggs’ cock with an obscene pop. 

“You’re gonna oh shit you’re gonna make me cum. Fuck.” He squeezes his eyes shut, mouth hanging open. High pitched little uh uh uh’s leave his mouth each time Biggs pumps his fingers inside of him. He does not even have the brain left to put his cock back into his mouth. All he can do is sit there and take it. 

It only takes about three more good thrusts from Biggs before Pebble gasps. He tenses, whole body shaking as he gushes against his face. Biggs dutifully swallows all of it down, gently tonguing him through it. Pebble squeezes his dick without even fully realizing it. Not until Biggs gasps into his cunt and he feels something warm and wet coat his face. 

As the aftershocks work through both of them and they slowly start to come down, Pebble hangs his head and laughs. 

“Alpha could never fucking make me cum that hard.” He pants heavily. 

Biggs quickly taps his thigh twice. Pebble groans as he crawls off of him, turning around to curl into his side inside. He grins down at Biggs, “Thanks for the help big guy.” 

He stares at Pebble for a moment before brushing the hair off his forehead. He signs, You’re dirty. 

Pebble stares at the way his face glistens, slick dripping down his chin. He laughs, “So are you but don’t worry.” 

He flicks his tongue out, gathering some of Biggs’ cum on the tip. He darts forward, quickly capturing him in a deep kiss. They both groan as they taste themselves on each other’s tongues. Though Pebble pulls back far too quickly for Biggs’ liking. 

“That’s just how I like it.”

[soodoonimin]

I have had this idea for a story rattling around in my brain. I’m thinking a Soulmate AU where the weapon plus program happened much much earlier in history and Wade was born much earlier too:

And Wade gets his healing factor/powers kind of like he did in the comics but instead of him getting it as an adult he gets them as a kid (Logan is also experimented on as a kid during the same time) the two only know about each other bc they’d see each other briefly before every surgery

(The one time they’re able to talk is when they confirm that they are soulmates bc of the name on their wrists but while Wade seems excited about it Logan (James) is ambivalent at best. Wade just thinks he’s scared because of their situation.) 

Anyway, Logan escapes but doesn’t save Wade (bc he’s trying to save himself) and it’s bc of this that Wade grows up a prisoner of the weapon plus program & grows to hate Logan

Wade eventually escapes on his own, and the first thing he does is hunt Logan down. He finds him pretty early on and sees that he has a life w/o him and has basically forgotten him (he’s hurt)

Wade starts a fist fight with him at a local bar and it’s only towards the end of the fight that Logan realizes who he is. He stops fighting but he doesn’t know what to say to make Wade feel better. He isn’t going to leave his life behind and he knows he made a mistake he should have saved Wade but…but what? It’s too late for that now.

Wade thinks he wants to avoid him but he can’t help but want to check in on Logan from a distance ofc, even if he’s happy with someone else. One of times he checks in on him, he’s gone. So Wade has to track him down on his own bc not only did they capture Logan, they killed his wife.

At some point Logan got captured by the weapon plus program again and Wade debates if he even should save Logan bc it serves him right

But he ultimately decides to go and save him. And when they fully escape he realizes that they wiped Logan’s memory and not just that but they removed his soul mark. Wade is devastated not just because Logan doesn’t remember him and not just because they’re technically not soulmates anymore but also because Logan doesn’t even remember he had a family that was killed. (He doesn’t know where this selfless thought came from btw)

He decides to stay with Logan who for his part thinks Wade is annoying but doesn’t really know their history and so he kind of lets Wade take care of him even if doesn’t fully trust him

Logan slowly starts to remember and this is when he realizes he might have feelings for Wade (he doesn’t know why though) but he doesn’t know how to tell him bc they’ve been “friends” for so long

Logan does ask about people’s soul marks and he asks why he doesn’t have one (Wade tell him) but he lies to Logan and tells him that his soulmate rejected him a long time ago and he absolutely refuses to let Logan see his mark

“The fuckers in that lab didn’t just ruin your life, peanut. That’s why I’m taking care of you. I know what’s it like to lose yourself and someone you care about.”

One night Logan comes back from chopping wood and something about Wade’s words finally break free that one memory of what they are to each other.

He comes back home:

“I thought you hated me?”

And Wade is replies “No I don’t hate you, what would give you that idea?”

And Logan answers “I don’t know, maybe I didn’t save you. Because I left and tried my best to forget about you until…” He holds up his blank wrist, “Be careful what you wish for right?”

And that’s when Wade knows this is *his* Logan. He doesn’t even hesitate to kiss him and he is SURPRISED that Logan kisses him back

There are still big chunks of Logan’s past that he’s missing and he doesn’t know how much of that he wants back. So he and Logan decided that for now it’s best they think about the present.

Bonus: one could maybe say they’re kind of like soulmates but whether that’s a natural thing or an artificial bond created by the weapon plus program, not even they know but it doesn’t matter.

Let me just finish my cute little dancing one shot (I should have it done by Friday) and I’ll get right on this fic lmao bc I fucking love soulmates and I LOVE tragic soulmates more than that! And who is more tragic than these twooo??? (Okay I lied I know two others who are maybe a little more tragic but you get my point)

[behindthesoul]

Forgotten Child - Ch. 2 (SMUT)

Shang Tsung x Reader

Masterlist || Previous Part || Next Part

Characters - Shang Tsung, you

Summary - Shang realizes he’s more in love with you than he thought.

Word Count - 1149

Warnings - smut (18+ pretty pleaseee), oral sex, reader’s genitalia isn’t specified, Shang is a liar, he hates you and himself, not proofread hehehe

Tags - @mortal-kombat-shitposts

Shang Tsung never anticipated becoming so deeply attached to you. His initial mission was straightforward: earn your trust, gather necessary information, and depart. However, he found himself caught off guard by the way your eyes brightened whenever he entered a room, by the comfort of your embrace after a long day, and by the simple, genuine way you treated him – like a normal person. These unexpected displays of affection and warmth drove him to the brink of insanity.

He snuck into your room late one night, craving your touch. You responded by laying him on your bed and placing kisses on his neck. Shang tenses, he was in his laboratory all day. You’d scream in terror if you saw what went on there.

“I apologize, it was not my intention to make you uncomfortable,” you say after you quickly pull away from him, misreading his tension. “I will stop-”

“No, continue,” he interrupts. Shang forces his body to relax before speaking again. “Please.”

You nod before attacking his neck again, he closes his eyes and memorizes the feeling of your lips on his neck. Soft, slightly chapped lips sucking his skin and leaving marks he’d have to cover before he left in the morning. Shang thinks back to his life just months prior; staring in the mirror at bruises given to him by angry townsfolk. Each scar and bruise handed to him in the past was replaced by your loving marks.

“May I continue?” you ask, pulling Shang back into reality. He never noticed your hand dancing around his crotch. He stiffens under you and nods. But it’s not enough.

“Say it. Let me hear your voice.”

You receive an impatient huff before getting a response. “Yes, continue.”

You hum before you remove his clothes and carefully place them on the floor. Shang doesn’t know what to do with himself when you pause and admire his body. Your eyes hold such tenderness; never had he imagined someone would regard him in such a way. Still, he refuses to wait a minute longer. He grabs your hand and wraps it around the place he needs you most, shuddering as he feels your grip tighten.

You laugh before quickly removing your hand. You spit in your palm, briefly wishing you had a better lubricant, before wrapping it around him again. You experiment with different rhythms until you find the one that made his legs twitch and hands tremble. He bites his lip to prevent moans and gasps from escaping his mouth. You assume he's ensuring no one overhears, yet he's desperate to prevent you from gaining complete control, to stop you from shattering the final barrier guarding his locked-away heart.

It’s almost disgusting how he’s responding to your touch. Blown pupils, disheveled hair, throbbing chest, and a blush decorating his pale skin; It's a striking, almost comical difference from his usual poised and collected demeanor.

He damn near died when you took him in your mouth.

He was already inching toward bliss, but you just had to go ahead and push him closer to the edge. Shang blames his sensitivity on the fact he hasn’t had sex in years, choosing to ignore the part of his brain that reminds him of the night you two shared last week. He finally whimpers when your tongue drags across the crying tip, lapping at the sticky pre-cum. Gazing down at you with half-lidded eyes, he's relieved that your mouth is occupied, well aware that you would likely jest about finally coaxing a sound out of him. Shang feels dizzy as his body burns, signaling his body’s eventual betrayal. With one last swipe over the tip of his dick, he cums with a soft groan, spilling into your mouth. His body jerks with aftershocks and he weakly pushes you off when the pleasure turns into over-sensitivity.

You look down at him and swallow his cum. “Beautifully done, sorcerer,” you say. He huffs in amusement while he catches his breath.

“I think it was you who did the hard work.”

“Hm, I disagree,” you tease. You’re sick, just sick. You just attempted murder and you have the nerve to smile down at him.

Shang manages to catch his breath and decides to be a gentleman. He rolls over and pins you under him, feeling a little irritated when he realizes you’re still fully clothed. Your robes are quickly torn off, different to the way you gently undressed him.

The night is starting to grow tired of keeping you hidden and tells you to hurry by encouraging the sun to rise. Shang groans, annoyed; he won’t be able to take his time with you like he wants. He throws your legs over his shoulder and replicates your earlier movements with his tongue. Swirling, flicking, anything that will make your body give out the way his did - which it does. You’re much more willing to be vulnerable than your lover. You melt into his tongue and allow a string of expletives and moans to escape your mouth. Shang hums when you whine his name and it sends a shiver down your spine. His hands massage your thighs, addicted to the way they tremble.

The birds singing outside signal the end of your moment together, a final warning to you and Shang. He rolls his eyes but encourages you to cum. Your hands find purchase in the bed sheets while your stomach tightens. You cry out with the birds, releasing into his mouth and on the bed sheets. Panting, you squeeze Shang’s hand. He lays down next to you and stares into your eyes.

“When will I be able to tell Outworld you’ve captured my heart?” Shang feels slightly empty when you avert your gaze. He wants to laugh at you suddenly feeling shy when you were choking on his dick just moments earlier.

“Soon, my darling,” he lies, “you can be patient for a little while longer.”

“Well, will you at least give me the pleasure of a nice breakfast? I’ll tell the servants I am not well, and we’ll eat in here.”

“I am afraid not. I must meet with the Empress on important matters.” He almost regrets lying when your face falls. Shang is to assist Quan Chi with setting up the soul stealers. You get out of bed and quickly put your robes back on; he does the same.

“Be in the gardens after dark,” he blurts out. He doesn’t even realize what he’s said until your eyes light up. You nod, before opening your window so he could leave.

“Yes! I will be there!”

With a final nod, Shang gracefully takes his leave from your room. Internally, a torrent of self-directed expletives courses through his thoughts. He berates himself for the hasty commitment he made to meet with you, regretting the words that slipped from his lips so easily.

God, he misses you already.

[its-crowning]

Sleeping around thinking that T means the chances of pregnancy are next to zero.

Over the course of a week, over 20 different guys dump a load in you.

And each week that passes your brain has to try harder and harder to ignore the fact your belly went from flat to bloated and now is slowly getting bigger and bigger.

Sucking in, big jumpers, using a belt or even a corset to keep it flat, and it works…

But all it does is hide it, and deny to you and everyone what’s happening inside there…

But that’s a problem for future you, now it’s time to enjoy yourself in the club…

I feel it kick for the first time when another random from the club is pounding away at me. If he thought it was weird that I’m wearing a corset under a sweater and refuse to take both off during sex, insisting that he fuck me doggy style in this club bathroom stall, then he doesn’t let on. He’s drunk. I’m painfully sober.

It’s not that I don’t want to drink. It’s that the smell of alcohol makes me nauseous, now. I don’t like to think about why.

He cums, inside, and I don’t even have to ask him to leave. He slaps my ass as a farewell, and leaves the stall. I hear him leave the bathroom all together, and I’m alone again. I’m frozen, trying to tell myself what I felt wasn’t really a—

I feel another kick. I stand upright with a start, cum dripping down my legs. I stare down at my sweater, as my shaky hands lift it to reveal my straining corset.

Don’t.

You won’t like what you see.

Just go back out where the music is.

Don’t take it off.

I feverishly start untying the corset strings, feeling myself bulge more and more with each one that comes free.

Don’t!

I rip it off, all the way.

My belly surges forward almost comically, sort of flopping outward. I gasp out loud at how big it is—I’ve been getting dressed in the dark (both early in the morning, and late at night) ever since I noticed the distinct, firm, round swell. Keeping my hands away from it. Ignoring how much harder tying the corset is, throwing aside any pants that don’t zip anymore regardless. I hadn’t realized it had gotten this bad.

But deep down, I have a rough estimate of how many months it’s been. It feels like time has gone too fast.

There’s a feeling that’s less of a kick and more of a dragging feeling. Like a limb. Inside. I whimper out loud, stumbling back to try to escape it. But the belly comes with me. It’s grotesque—if I concentrate hard enough, I swear I can hear a heartbeat coming from it. pulsing. growing bigger.

I have to admit that I’m pregnant—really pregnant, giving birth in two or three or four months pregnant, middle-of-the-road-unable-to-terminate pregnant, going to get huge and obvious and then physically have a baby pregnant—and I don’t know who put it in me. Any one of the people I fucked over the past four or five or six months could have done it. If I went to the doctor, I’d probably be able to narrow it down. But going to the doctor is admitting that there’s a baby in there. Going to the doctor means acknowledging that it’s going to be born, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Tears burn at my eyes. My hands shakily hover over the round, bulging mass. I almost touch it, like all the happy pregnant people in advertisements do. I almost accept that I’m going to be a Daddy soon. And by the flutters of activity that keep just barely shifting the visible surface, it might be sooner than I thought.

But maybe not tonight. I close the corset tight, shoving it back in. Pulling my sweater over it. Out of side, out of mind. I have another round of fucking in me, even though the corset has me out of breath, and something in there is squirming.

[kaijuparfait]

I saw ur tags about indulging in the body horror aspect of the Symbiote/Host dynamic and im just here to say: do it >:3

YES.

GOD. ok so. I've always enjoyed the concept of body horror, not all the way, but it looked cool in art! But! Recently Symbrock (and Venom as a whole) has turned that up to 100- both in a "Wow! Cool alien creature biting people's heads off! >:D" way, but also in a "The goo is in his organs, his tissue, his cells... how romantic!" way.

And, if you'll excuse me, I'll only be talking about my (limited) knowledge/headcanons with Symbrock because I haven't read all the comics yet so this is all with Eddie and the Venom Symbiote in mind-

Firstly, I don't think I've ever seen anyone mention how the Symbiote can enter/exit it's Host's body through their skin, without damaging the Host. There's no wounds, just the easy slide in between layers of cells, Venom can be as solid as they want but can also come together so seamlessly, its like watching someone fold a deck of cards.

Even on a psychological standpoint, the idea of actually being "Venom". Singular. Not "We" are Venom. But the idea of two beings, from different sides of the universe, coming together perfectly as one being, one mind, one consciousness. A bit of an OC ramble, I have this OC that goes into this idea of acting as one being and I'll talk about them later but WOAH is it fun. The sheer intimacy of it.. not losing your own self, but simply combing it with another to create something- someone new.

Ok onto the actual body horror-

I am not normal about the Symbiote literally being in Eddie's blood. Blood is everywhere in the body, anywhere you poke, blood will come out- and in that, the Symbiote, ready to heal the wound.

Speaking of healing wounds, and also this post because I keep rereading it, it makes me ill, the Venom Symbiote truly sees it's Host as it's home. and that does something to me. The way it keeps the body healthy, like how you would clean your house, no longer having to worry about illnesses or infections; how it heals any injuries, like fixing a broken wall, repainting it, like there was no damage in the first place.

Knowing it's home so well, able to know what's wrong and how to make it right. Complete and utter devotion to it's beloved home, the one that keeps it safe, willingly, lovingly let's it- wants it inside to keep it safe. To know that something that could tear apart planets if it so wanted to, something that bares it's rows of teeth as a natural expression, something that has destroyed countless lives- to know something like that gently rests in the space between your organs because it wants to. And how much you want it to too.

And this goes both ways too! When they're Venom and get hurt, they way the Symbiote peels away from the body is.. its amazing that the Symbiote can be torn away from it's Host. When Eddie gets hurt, the Symbiote comes out, from inside- When Venom gets hurt, instead of blood or organs, it's Eddie at the center, but he acts as the same anyways. Eddie is the Symbiote's life, he is it's heart, carefully tucked away and protected.

Even though Eddie doesn't particularly enjoy eating people's brains, he comes up with a compromise for the 2 of them anyways, he buys tons of chocolate for it to eat too, and that adds up for a guy that is living in a one room flat. and AND AND I will never get over how, in LTBC, Venom leaves all the red m&m's, because the red dye is said to be harmful to humans in large amounts, so even though it's one of the few things it needs to live, it refuses it to keep Eddie- it's Host- it's home safe.

and, I mean, Venom totally could eat Eddie if it so wanted to, in the first movie, Eddie's literally going through.. several organ failures- but Venom puts him back together, back better! and i am suddenly ill-

excuse my weird ideas but hhhhhh Eddie being torn apart and put back together..... yeah. how much trust is needed for that? how much love is shown from letting it consume his flesh and bones, from it eating the thing it loves the most, from it knowing every ridge and curve of every organ and cell to put everything back where it was?

how much love is needed to destroy something, to be destroyed, and come back together?

also Trust Exercise is a dang good fic, i need more of this. please. or i'll start making it myself (i'll do it anyways)

This, too, can go both ways, I am a big fan of swapping how Eddie and Venom and portrayed, both in canon and in fanon, just for the fun of it- and I'm just saying... let Eddie tear apart the Symbiote! maybe Eddie wants to rip it apart with his teeth and bare hands! Let them fight and rip each other apart, but with love <3 (oh fight/sparring scenes between friends/lovers, how i love you so)

you can't really see it well, and i'll make a better show of it later, but my design for (movie) Eddie has sharp teeth and that isn't for no reason. I.... ADORE the idea that, after being Venom for so long, Eddie starts adapting parts of them into his "normal" body- sharper teeth, clouded eyes, maybe even some of his skin is pitch black too, just because it makes him feel like Venom in his everyday life, even a little bit.

ough i need to lay down after that but- THANK YOU so much for asking me this, this was such a treat to let out, it's like a weight has been lifted off me lmao

i'll probably have more on this topic later on, but i'll probably use those ideas for art/writing, i love thinking about them :3

EDIT: ALSO ALSO ALSO the way the Venom Symbiote literally goes against it's very nature to love Eddie, it goes against what every other Symbiote does, it betrays it's entire race and planet- JUST TO BE VENOM WITH EDDIE <3

[theriddleskeeponriddling]

Rambling : RiddlerLore : Riddler And The Medication in Arkham

I saw someone post about the comic panel that shows that guards are told to sedate Riddler regularly, and wanted to talk about my version and events that it reminded me of

Everyone hates Riddler. The mostly-Sane inmates, The guards.. He just doesn’t stop talking. Riddler would rather take a baton to the head than back down. He enjoys the annoyance that everyone gets by him being around, constantly demeaning their intelligence; Bringing up all of their personal information that he scavenged for; And spitting insults at everyone’s faces.

The corrupt and poorly funded system of Arkham Asylum allows little checks for what medications are prescribed to Riddler. At some point his sleep medication dosage is cut in half so that Edward is more tired and talks less during the day. Riddler typically relies on Jonathan who often works there, to ensure that he is being prescribed the proper stuff, and doesn’t get hit by the guards, but it’s not always effective.

There is a period in time when Arkham Asylum is under so much extreme backlash for their poor security and slow progress, that the amount of rules that the facility breaks, doesn’t matter to them anymore. They treat inmates worse, fund the guards less if one escapes during their care, and start providing meds that are unchecked and improperly administered. Riddler happens to be sent to Arkham during this period, and faces large amounts of regular sedation. Riddler’s thinking is horrid at that point, he doesn’t leave the cell rarely ever, doesn’t talk, and has a hard time just functioning entirely. He is seen, for the entirety of the time, sitting in the corner of the room with a straight jacket on, leaning on the concrete wall zoned out and unresponsive

This is most upsetting to Jonathan who does in fact understand how much Riddler values his mind and ability to process. Riddler takes actions such as not drinking too much because he wants a clear head, ensures a healthy diet so that he is most mentally productive, ect. Because Jonathan ends up failing to convince the facility to lower the dosages given to patients, he ends up speaking to batman for once, knowing the man has the power and morality to help. This happens a bit into my late V.1 early V.2 when Riddler is about, 30 or 33. It has side effects that future Riddler will never bring up, like how he zones out a little more often than before, and is a lot more hesitant to drink for a while or take any possible brain altering pain medication. He refuses to take any required medication in Arkham from then on, his escapes from the Asylum happen faster than before, but physically, he ends up having few problematic side effects.

[heli0s-writes]

kiss each other clean

a/n: Another Pacific Rim crossover because it truly is the best. Reader/Steve/Bucky with a side of Clint/Nat. I am writing comic Clint bc I love him most. Everyone is hot and sad and potentially poly. I am assuming this because of Reasons. Prompt is panic attack, "if only we could hold on" 1.8k words.

moonchild masterlist

Circumventing the Apocalypse makes Atlases.

Clint jokes that your Jaeger—Atlas Ronin—must have sired every Ranger in the Dome. Her namesake, after all, is both a reminder of the weight you carry and the outcome if you’re too weak to lift. The world splitting in half. Monsters streaming out.

Many Rangers lift their weight with so much grace and poise they could be trying out for pageants.

Not you, though. You’re a real crapbag when it comes to keeping your cool. You say that if you’re ever graceful about someone’s knife to your throat, you might as well be eating it. You’ve never tried to be any other way because it keeps you fighting, keeps you alive.

So when Ronin touches back down in the hangar with so much damage that you can hear her joints screech, hear Clint gurgling blood in your head, you’re worse than ever.

The medical staff refuse it when you limp alongside the gurney. They want you in a bed, hooked up to an IV and not plodding after Clint—not threatening to amputate a doctor if they touch him wrong.

But you tell them to fuck off, bursting through the swinging doors of the ICU unit, barely another word out before Barnes is wrestling you back, Rogers on his other side with his brow scrunched.

“Quit it,” Barnes hisses. “You’re making a goddamn scene.”

“Did you see him?” You jerk against them, your shoulder threatening to dislocate. “He’s got brain damage— he seized!” You swipe at Barnes, knee Rogers the side, but they’ve had enough experience handling you that they just take it in silence.

You’re a terror, according to Bucky, but you’re the only one who can make any sense of Clint when he’s drifting. And when Atlas is in play, she’s so close to unstoppable, Pentecost would personally punch out a senator before they shut your Jaeger down.

They need you. And maybe you abuse that power too much as you thrash around again, take your teeth to Bucky’s shoulder. Sometimes when you return to the hangar you’re still too worked up, can’t quite figure out how to leave the fight behind.

It’s much worse when Clint’s been hurt because you defend him how Steve defends Bucky— but Steve’s got some sense out of the field and you can only see red after drops.

They’ve never tried to make you be otherwise, though. It’s easy to see that 6’4” Clint Barton—who can shoot with immaculate precision, who’s more clever than anyone gives him credit for—has been beaten down so badly by something that he walks with a perpetual slump, makes jokes at his own expense like it’s the only way people will find him deserving of their effort. If they can punch him, at least he’s useful.

Steve had to coach that out of Bucky. After the war, he was always shrinking himself, and it killed Steve to witness.

Clint’s harder to reach. You’re soft on him, hard on him, begged and pleaded and threatened him, but he’s mulish and self-loathing. And in the end, all you could do was hold on, drift alongside him, keep him going one step into the future at a time.

You slacken, the adrenaline ebbing away and leaving you a boneless mess. Your face is puffy, eyes hot and wet with tears, gasping for air and digging your nails into your fists.

Steve keeps propping you up, holding you tight by the waist and leading you down the hall. “Come on,” he urges, “that’s enough.”

They take you back to your room, give you water and space and stick to the walls. Bucky crosses his arms, frowning. “You got me good.” He touches his chin to his shoulder where the indents of your teeth still remain on the cotton shirt.

You cover your eyes, the light too bright, the room too much, and manage, “You were in my way.”

“What’s not in your way?”

You shoot Bucky a hateful look and he only rolls his eyes.

“Clint Barton’s not the only person in the world. And he’s not a kid, either. Give him more credit.”

Your chin trembles. “If he dies, he’ll get what he wants.” You glare, bitterly disclaiming, “We’re all gonna fucking die, but if he dies—”

“Stop,” Steve says firmly.

You look away.

You’re not a dog, but you’ve been trained to follow commands for longer than you’d like to admit. And for as much honor as carrying the world can get you, you’re still following orders one way or another.

If you’re the only one who can make a lick of sense out of Clint, Steve’s the only one who can pull you in when you’re spinning off course. Bucky’s the only one who can keep Steve grounded when he’s tearing through the Shatterdome on a warpath to dismantle the Corps one dignitary at a time.

And the strings animating all of you are Pentecost, who owns some part of everyone for better or for worse.

“Natasha will be there when he wakes up.” He raises one eyebrow as if asking you to really make him explain the situation anymore. “He’s more than fine.”

You begin to argue, but Steve cuts his eyes to yours and you resign to rest your elbows on your knees, leaned over in a pathetic lump at the edge of the bed.

You feel sick to your stomach, sick to your bones. You love Natasha for being able to complete the facet of Clint you can’t and don’t want to— and yet still— want to.

“If you could be,” you start, swallowing the same lump that forms in your throat every time, “enough—” and the hiccups that threaten—the gasping fit that always takes over, whites out your vision--

“Get rid of that,” Steve says.

You put your face in your hands. You can kill a primordial beast. You can tear it to shreds and this is the thing that takes you apart.

Steve understands your pain. He used to want to be enough. Used to want to be the only person Bucky ever needed because didn’t that just make perfect sense? They were each other’s brains. Past and present and future and why would Steve let anyone else mishandle Buck? Get too close to him, trigger him into self-immolation? Steve knew all of Bucky’s haunted foxholes, all of his deepest secrets. Anytime Bucky wanted or needed, he could excavate or ignore with Steve. Why entrust him to anyone else?

But Steve learned that asking why he wasn’t enough was as helpful as decrypting alien speech. There was no language for it that he understood. He just didn’t know. But others could do it, and others could pick up what he couldn’t. And in the end, if Bucky needed another shitshow to love more than himself because it’s just wired in him or something, Steve wasn’t going to keep him from that.

Steve felt lucky enough that Bucky could love one shitshow in the first place.

Bucky pats his thighs and you grudgingly crawl into him, wilting on his chest. And this is where everything slots into place, all the things Steve can’t do, all the things Bucky is naturally good at. He can be terse and serious, make his impact known in a couple of phrases, but Bucky could just open his arms and handle the rest.

The three of you quiet, settling in.

“Sorry,” you offer.

Bucky gives Steve a grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Whatd’ya think Tasha’ll do when Barton tries to run outta the med bay? Punch him back down?”

Steve hums, “You got the wrong person.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, “Guess that’s you, huh?”

You put your hand over his face in a weak slap.

“She’ll be peeling an apple,” Steve says, “And he’ll start getting squirrely.”

“And she’ll just point it at him.”

“That’s it.”

Bucky taps the top of your head. “Let’s go talk to her. You forget you like someone if you don’t see them for a while. You need to remember that you like Nat.”

“I do remember.” 

“Kissing her on the mouth when you’re drunk doesn’t count.”

Steve sighs from inside of his bones. It truly is astonishing how you and Clint can be the most effective killers inside of a Jaeger but take you out of one and you’re two college fratboys at best.

“Why do you think she chose Banner? I mean, Clint, you know? She could have picked Clint.”

Bucky touches your chin, tilts your face up to his, quiet and serious. “Do you think Natasha wants Clint in her head? Do you think it would be good for him? Would it be good for you to be in mine? Ask yourself honestly if it would be your first choice to be in mine.”

And Steve, more straightforwardly, “Do you want war?”

No, you don’t.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “You’re always right, whatever.”

Bucky wipes a dried tear from the corner of your eye, “Don’t forget it.”

-

Clint’s unconscious when you knock. As predicted, Natasha’s by his bed, reading a book with two apples neatly peeled and sliced.

“Hi,” she says, looking up, smiling sweet and small, and sly.

“Hi,” you reply, staring at your shoes, “Thanks for being here.”

“Mhm. Sit?”

You don’t know why you clam up around her. Clint would cut off his own hands if Natasha needed a new pair, and it’s a funny little thing, the way you’re all connected. Clint can’t seem to do anything but annoy Bucky, yet fixes his collar and starts calling everyone ‘sir’ if he hears Steve down the hall.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” you say dumbly.

“I know.” She smiles again and looks at you, really looks, her eyes big and bright and you get a little lost in them. “He woke up earlier and said he can’t die yet because he didn’t want you to be mad at him. Or you might die out of spite so you can kill him ‘extra dead’. His words.”

And sometimes you're not sure with her—if she says things because they’re true, or if she says them because they’re true enough, and what matters more is you just need to hear them.

She reaches out for your hand, squeezing it, and it takes just about everything for you not to burst into tears again. You can feel her relaxing, ready to let go, but you hold on, and she smiles again. That beautiful, otherworldly smile that almost reads your mind, and suddenly you understand why Clint would cut off his hands for her.

“Thanks,” you say.

Natasha offers you an apple, glancing to the door where Steve and Bucky stand. They're connected, too. In a way you're not, in a way only they know, but you don't seem to mind it anymore.

“Yeah,” she says, and this time you know she means it. “Anytime.”

[kotias]

Writer retaliation - Danee's comic

The angst war rages on @goodomensafterdark !

I SAID THIS IS MY TURF AND I WILL DEFEND IT TOOTH AND NAIL.

@daneecastle you're up 🫵

Word count: 827 words

Disclaimer: no, I didn't write this in the span of thirty minutes, I'm not a monster yet. Danee was kind enough to give me a little peak at the after-fluff and I worked with that 😁

Liquid gold dripping on the floor. One, two, three steps forward, leaving the trail of his righteous vengeance behind him, soiling the perfectly sterile ground of Heaven.

In the background of his consciousness, his nose informed him of the smell of burning flesh. Rationally, he knew where it came from, and that wasn’t from the sword lodged into Crowley’s body; a celestial flaming sword might be made of flames, yes, but it was not one to leave a trace, even the particles of scent, behind. He grabbed the handle, pulled it out, and let it go in a loud clang before dropping to his knees with a sigh.

It took a little while before his ears, deafened by the screams of those victims he had sworn fealty to, heard a weak groan, and he opened his reddened eyes, saw Crowley’s body jerk. His gaze followed the lines of his waist, the wound in his chest, the scarf around his neck, and stopped at his face, twitching in pain.

His heart skipped not just a single beat, but most certainly eight or ten of them, as he rushed to grab the sword, inspected it in disbelief, wondering- wondering if, somehow, by some miracle that God had bestowed upon them, it might just be defective. It didn’t look like it was- and he scrutinised it further, refusing to trust this blessing just yet.

“Angel?” he heard from a rough, tired voice on his left side, and his heart bumped into his chest yet again. “What happened?”

He threw the sword a long way from him, heard its clangs resonate in the distance, and with each of them, his heart jumped, wanting, wanting to believe in the Lord’s mercy at this moment. “I will tell you about it later, dear,” he answered with a sweet smile.

“Fine,” the demon groaned, rolling his eyes. “Then can you untie me?”

Untie hi- Oh. As his body was slowly recovering from the adrenaline, as his eyes stopped seeing everything with a red sheen, he realised how… delightfully twisted Crowley’s body was at the moment, vulnerable, bound under hi-

“AZIRAPHALE!” he screamed, fully affronted by his flustered hesitation.

“Oh- sorry, I guess I haven’t been myself,” he answered, rushing to help him up and liberate him from his bonds.

“Yeah, I’d say…” Crowley groaned. The ropes fell to the ground, and he looked away for a bit. “I didn’t say anything weird, did I?”

And the memory came back to him like a blooming, hot tempest, the words I love you, angel ringing in his ears, his face contorted in pain, tearing up as he thought he would be living his last seconds, his lips opening to utter those words…

Bump.

His heart was beating, one bump at a time, reminding him that it was well and truly present, its cadence so wonderfully sinking into Crowley’s presence.

“Uh-oh… What did I say?” He gulped, his lips quivering as he felt the weight of his next action on his shoulders. “... Angel?”

One last breath in, and he drew close to him, pressed his lips against his, tasted him for just a moment. He smiled against him and pulled only slightly away, whispering against his mouth. “I love you too.”

“Uh-” Crowley started, and closed his mouth again. Aziraphale could practically see the gears turning in his brain as the information settled into it. “Uh-” Oh, dear, he wasn’t doing alright, was he? An amused form of worry settled in his chest, and only then did Crowley startle him, more flustered than he had ever been. “WHAT DID I SAY?! What happened?! And why, why are you covered in gold shit?!”

“Oh… well…” Now came the embarrassing truth of the last day spent being anything but an Angel of the Lord, Guardian of humanity. “... You said ‘I love you’. Then… you were stabbed. Then, I… well, took care of Uriel and the Me-” He couldn’t fully admit it, not when it had felt like another him for those long, excruciating hours, those last words turning and turning in his head like a metronome. “Oh, please don’t make me relive this…”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, looking quite displeased by this half-explanation. “Vague…” And, blessed as he was, he sighed in defeat. “Fine.” Their hands intertwined, and the warmth of him went straight to Aziraphale’s chest. “Let’s go home, angel.”

“Yes- yes, of course, Crowley,” he answered, his voice breaking apart with relief, and he stood up, pulling the demon up with him to bring him to the lift down to the Earth, absolutely certain that this, all of this, was the ending they had secured for each other.

And yet, it was but a fantasy, he thought, opening his reddened eyes to Crowley’s still body. His gaze followed the lines of his waist, the wound in his chest, the scarf around his neck, and stopped at his face, resting in the crimson shroud of his own blood.