#this country is so fucking disgusting I can’t believe it

[capetowncapers]

Kamala Harris really said omg nooooooo I love Gen Z I LOVE them! 🥺 I speak to them on college campuses all the time! 🥰✨ I just also think they’re completely naive inexperienced stupid dumb dumb little babies who know nothing of the world and don’t understand that sometimes you HAVE to actively fund the bombing of civilians bc there’s no other choice your hands are tied 😪 we would love to stop the violence! ☮️🙏🕊️ but we have no other choice no power there’s nothing at ALL we can do 😔 Love Gen Z tho ❤️

[jockpoetry]

tried to sleep. failed. realized something I should’ve done differently with that video

[dalekofchaos]

Doctor Doom gets ruined AND WHITEWASHED AGAIN!

4 attempts to get Doctor Doom right

4

And we STILL can’t get this right

A master of magic and science. A man who rivals Doctor Strange and Reed Richards as the most powerful sorcerer and the smartest man alive. He rules an entire country with an army of Doombots. Considered to be one of the greatest Marvel villains. And they still can't get him right. They have to make him a fucking Tony Stark variant. Tony Stark is not Victor Von Doom and Doom is above Tony Stark.

Victor wearing the mask always is integral to his appeal and aura like Vader's mask. It not only hides his vain scars he caused due to his failures, but it closes him off from humanity and makes him believe he’s beyond it.

As far as I'm concerned Marvel Ultimate Alliance and EMH are the only good adaptations of Doom

Doctor Doom being a romani man with a background CENTERING his family's racial persecution. with his ethnicity at the forefront of his motivations and his tragedy. and they really just brought back Robert Downey Jr.

Being romani is INTEGRAL to doom’s character and without that he’s not doom. he NEEDS to be romani and played by a romani character. full stop, don't believe me? Read Book Of Dooms.

Since 1964 Victor von Doom has been established as a Romani character. His childhood was filled with antiziganism and his parents deaths were caused by it. This later led him to become Doctor Doom and overthrow the Latverian government to protect his people

I am so fucking sick and tired of this whitewashing bullshit and the ethnoerasure of Marvel characters.

The Maximoff Twins, The Ancient One, Moon Knight and now fucking Doom.

God fucking forbid an actual Romani actor PLAYS A ROMANI CHARACTER.

But no they pulled another fucking multiverse shit all so RDJ could return and it all feels like blackface from Tropic Thunder

I DON'T GIVE A FUCKING SHIT ABOUT ANTHONY STARK FROM EARTH-11029 OR INFAMOUS IRON MAN

If you wanted evil Iron Man so fucking bad, why didn't you just do Superior Iron Man?

The LAZIEST, DUMBEST, most CONTRIVED BULLSHIT casting ever, Marvel continues to not beat the whitewashing allegations. Doctor Doom deserved better.

Romani actor Charlie Clapman was right fucking there AND HE ENDORSED IT!

I'd even suggest Romani actor Óscar Jaenada as Doom. Again another Roma actor who's actively interested in playing Doom

And you know what? As bad as the 1994 movie was, Joseph Culp the first actor to play Doom in the Fantastic Four (1994) movie by Oley Sassone & Richard Corman. Culp was also white but he very clearly cared for the comics background of Victor von Doom

and you also know damn well they're going to erase everything about Magneto too that makes him who he is… which is his entire fucking background. how horrible of a person do you have to be to repeatedly disrespect the minorities who created these stories?

Doctor Doom is Roma Romani. He is not white. The MCU loves to whitewash its Roma and Jewish characters and it’s time we called them out for it. Dr Doom is not a white man, he is Roma!

They will never nail down the complexity of Victor Von Doom

Every year Doom goes to hell to fight Mephisto to rescue the soul of his mother. He finally won her soul with the help of Doctor Strange only for her to reject him.

No evil Stark replicant will ever fucking match the complexity of Victor Von Doom.

I don't care if this is a one time thing for RDJ. They specifically chose to do this when the fans were begging for a fucking Romani actor. It also doesn't fucking help that Marvel has erased nearly EVERY fucking ethnic character has been whitewashed.

Scarlet Witch & Quicksilver: Erased Romani heritage and whitewashed. Moon Knight & Wiccan: Casted non-Jewish actors. Sabra: Featured in anything at all, and actress is an IDF soldier to make matters worse.

The MCU is full of ethnic erasure, military propaganda & racism. it’s disgusting this is continuing with Dr Doom’s casting. remember to continue to boycott marvel, because of the genocide they support by casting an iof solider to play a character from the zionist terrorist occupation

Dr Doom is one of those villains that it should be IMPOSSIBLE to fuck up but wasting him on a cheap Iron Man nostalgia casting pop might be the way

[gremlingottoosilly]

The only thing you want to do is... [Price x fem!Reader]

Price broke his hand on the last mission. Fortunately for him, his caretaker is just as adorable as she is eager to help him in every way.

CW and tags: Legal age gap, power imbalance, daddy kink, pervert!Price, obsessive!Price, coercion into sex, handjob (m!receiving)

Word count: 3246

This work on AO3

You’re such a sunshine, it hurts. 

John Price never considered himself to be a good man. He did what he had to do to protect his country, to ensure that big bad terrorists are kept at bay, and foreign militaries are ending up where they belong – somewhere in the ditch, with reports stating KIA an anonymous bullet drugged out of their skulls. 

His job was just that – a job, something that had to be done because he knew that someone else, someone worse, would gladly take his place in case of retirement. The captain can be considered a fucking angel compared to some people he is working with – no one would ever dare call him evil when people like Graves still exist out there, hunting for innocents. 

But you’re so fucking sweet to him, he simply can’t handle it. 

When his arm got injured, and he was forced to get on leave for at least a month – he tried to argue for something less, but Lasswell silently pointed out that he hadn’t had a break in the past five years, and she would kick him out of his own Task Force if he’d continue to refuse – he got assigned a caretaker by Kate recommendation. 

John was fully expecting some old lady, probably a retired officer or field medic. Maybe some burly man with too much time on his hands and the ability to give really nice massages under flights of bullets. Perhaps, worst case scenario, he would be assigned an actual; nurse that wouldn’t buy any of his shit – that amount of whiskey he drinks is prescribed by his therapist, smoking cigars in the apartment is a nice form of relaxation, and he actually doesn’t need help and can go in service back again less than in two weeks. 

But, the Captain got wee ol’ you, all nice and warm, and adorable, and too fucking young to have anything to do with his apartment. 

You’re nice, warm, fresh out of college, where you got some recommendations about rehabilitating veterans back into normal lives. Probably was writing a Thesis about something as dumb as “Healing PTSD through flower crowns and little touches”. You chirp your way into his heart and refuse to go out – just like Kate promised to him, you really didn’t allow him to do anything on his own. 

God, it was infuriating – how much he wanted to simply grab your shoulders and kiss you. Or kick you out and find someone else to take care of him, someone boring, someone of appropriate age. Without dumb, bright eyes and cute smiles, without enthusiasm, that can only be seen in unpaid interns and college graduates who still believe that the world is fair and nice. 

You cook his dinners and clean up his apartment – as small as it is, never having a family or any other reason to make it even slightly bigger – and you do this with such a wide smile on your face it actually makes Price question basically everything he knows about young ladies doing charity work. You must be paid triple because you fold his underwear in neat little cubes and refuse to accept his help. Always chirped something about his hand like he can’t kill a man with his teeth only. 

— I can fold my own pants, love. 

He presses his body against the doorframe of the small bathroom – looks at your ass so shamelessly bent over the washing machine. You’re folding his dried clothes, and he can only pray that you aren’t slowly resenting him for being such a disgusting old man. He knew he looked good for his age, 37 years in this world molded him into something that many young women would consider hot – even though his beard is unkept and his hair grew a bit longer since he couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it, and his dominant hand is broken. 

— We don’t want to sprain your hand even more, right? — Everythin’ is alright with my bloody hand…

— Lady Lasswell said I shouldn’t listen to you like this, sir. Sorry. 

— Little minx. 

— Me or Lady Lasswell? 

John looks at you, so eager and cheerful, and he just wants to…he can’t, of course, he stops himself before he even forms the thought because it’s dirty and you don’t deserve this, and your shy smile as you laugh softly and push the last of the laundry in the neat pile on the washing machine. 

You look too eager to please, and he has an idea – the one he will never act upon. Maybe will entertain himself later, stroking himself in some abandoned base deep in the snowy tundra, trying to remember your warmth as if a sinner like him can even comprehend your light. 

God, you got him so bad, he starts thinking about good ol’ Jesus again. You really are a side to behold, aren’t ya. 

He looks at you again – you’re so easy to please. You cook for him, the smell of home cooking that he almost forgot, all the ingredients you invited yourself to buy when he left his card for you. You didn’t think it was weird, not a single mischievous bone in your body – if anything, he was casually prompting you to go and buy yourself something nice, something as compensation for all the trouble you endured for him. 

Instead, you went out of your way to cook for him, to make him tea like he wanted it – without sugar, but with a small amount of milk poured into a cup that is probably the most expensive thing in this whole place except for his weapons. 

The problem is – John Price doesn’t really like it when people are taking care of him. Not because he is shy or insecure, god forbid, but because he knows that if a pretty young thing like you is going to show him kindness, he will take a fucking mile and make you run from him as fast as you can. He has desires, he has needs, something that pretty good girls like you should know nothing about. 

You’re so eager to please that you’ll probably jerk him off if he were to whine about his arm being broken and his inability to get himself off because of it. Which, in turn, gives him an…idea. 

Price was never a good person – he isn’t the worst guy either. He sees your reactions, that adorable heat of your face when he brushes his knuckles over your cheek in an affectionate manner. How you are biting your lips every time you have to fold his underwear, when you cook for him, and he presses his body against yours, rocking his hips just gently enough to not make his arousal obvious. John knows you like him in more ways than just one – he doubts that such a lovegirl like you would ever agree to take care of a grumpy military man like him. 

He wonders where your father is – probably out of the picture if his precious daughter is almost crying from a desire to please a guy like him. He wonders if you have a boyfriend or if you’re seeing someone else – if you’re a virgin or you already had a series of disappointing sessions with blokes that have no idea how to behave with an angel like you. 

Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be taking care of a SAS captain – did your superiors forget to tell you just how girl-hungry men like him are? That he didn’t even bother to find a wife, and the loneliness of a single life will make him fucking explode if a girl as pretty as you were in the vicinity of that perverted old dog. You must be stupid – or so insanely naive, it’s not even funny. 

He licks his lips, staring at you again. He is certainly isn’t a good guy – not the worst either, but it’s up for debate. He wants to hold you close and say all of those pretty good things he knows you want to hear. He also wants to push you as close to him as possible and just fuck that pretty girl until you’re begging for him to make you his wife. He’d always laugh at the thought of other military commanders and higher rank soldiers having sugar babies – especially the mercs and their fucking inability to keep a girl who isn’t tied to their paychecks. But now…he might just pay for your adorable pout and eagerness. 

Might make a call to that one masked arsehole and ask how the hell he keeps his questionably young wife around without breaking her legs. Visibly, at least. 

— Sir? Planet calls for Captain Price. 

You giggle when you are waving your hand around him. Shit – looks like he zoned out for a hot minute, leaving you free to stare at his face, the fantom red spreading across his skin as if he is actually embarrassed to be caught like this. He isn’t, of course, he is stronger than some girl trying to get a rise out of him. He thinks he is stronger, at least. 

You wave your hand in front of his face again, and the insects are kicking in – captain grabs your hand, not even caring that his supposed helplessness stems from the fact his dominant hand is still broken. He has no problems keeping you in place with just his left hand – and you almost look scared when you understand that you literally can’t move. 

Your innocent smile turns into a pathetic whimper when he squeezes you even more. Bruises, no doubt, are starting to form already – well, it should be your fault. Good girls are usually smarter than teasing an old dog like him, even if you’re trying to play innocence. He knows what you are. 

His future special girl that is. A wife, if he plays his cards right…and the captain was always good at poker. 

— Shite, love. Sorry. 

His smile mirrors yours – an innocent display like he didn’t almost break your wrist in his hold. He is still squeezing your hand, but not he slowly presses his lips against your knuckles – thin, dry lips gently caressing your skin in a gesture that you should never accept from a guy who kills people as a job. Who saves people, too – but a good guy with a gun is barely an upgrade from a bad one. 

He kisses your fingers and finds heaven in the feeling of your soft skin against his lips. You are certainly embarrassed, and this is exactly what he wants – an old pervert trying to get in the pants of a cute girl who just wants to take care of him without any strings attached. He just has to make this whale thing complicated, isn’t he? 

— It’s okay, sir. Just thought I lost you for a second. 

— Not a chance. 

Your smile looks a tad bit mischievous – that is, or he is simply hallucinating from painkillers he is forced to drink every morning because you refuse to let him feel pain even though he is used to it. You are acting like he is a soft doll made out of pink ribbons and soft plushes, not a seasoned soldier with his own thoughts and ideas about what he can do about your desire to please him. He might just use your eagerness – his cock has been pitching for too long without female attention, and he usually doesn’t indulge in shitty one-night stands in some sketchy pubs, but he can make an exception for now. For you. 

You smile awkwardly, still trying to get your hand out of his grasp. Little minx, teasing him like he can’t just push you on this exact washing machine and fuck you like a slut you are. Poor girl, you probably don’t even know what kind of thoughts he has in his head – even though your eyes tell him something your lips cannot articulate. 

John acts on his instincts, and they usually don’t deceive him. 

— If you want to help so badly, I can think of another way. 

— Is that so, sir? You’re going to get him in so much shit with Lasswell, he doesn’t even know how he is going to get out of it after fucking her best little protege. Would have to marry you – like it’s not his end goal, like he doesn’t want to make your care for him a tad bit more permanent. He has done so many good things for humanity, why can’t he be a bit selfish and get himself a little something to make this place feel more like home? 

He thinks of a pretty thing like you, heavy with his kids, cooking something nice and hearty in his house – not this crappy apartment, of course, he’d buy you something in the countryside, away from terrorists and public squares, with good schools and greenery all around. 

You lick your lips and tilt your head to the side. He is daydreaming again. 

— If you want to make me relax so badly, love, there is something I need help with…

Beating around the bush like this isn’t in his character – but he knows that you’re a good girl, maybe way too good and proper. He can’t just shove his dick in your hand, it would be too unpolite. 

He has to prepare you, it’s a slow sniper mission where he needs to approach you as gently and quietly as possible – he still holds your hand in his, a phantom of his lips tucked away on the softness of your skin. 

Then he places his hand on his growing erection – as awkwardly as he can operate with only using his left arm as a helper. 

Price might not be the master of espionage, but he also didn’t get his rank for not being able to do cover missions under pressuring circumstances and lie in the faces of people who trust him. Not be the best person, of course, but he gives you a choice. You have all the power now – even with his weapons safely stashed in his bedroom, he knows he won’t ever try to force you. He won’t have to. 

— Help your captain, eh? 

You’re embarrassed, shy, scared even – your hands are trembling, fingers tracing the outline of his cock with morbid curiosity he never thought he’d find this adorable. You don’t stop and don’t try to fight him – like a little animal, nervous and terrified somewhat, you’re slowly indulging yourself in something that you actually shouldn’t. 

He lets go of your hand and allows you to continue on your own – like a good girl, you only nod and slowly duck your palm in his boxers. He’d say that the way he is rock-solid just from looking at your ass and pouting on your face is weak, but he can afford to be a bit pathetic after so many weeks without the ability to jerk off. With your watchful gaze, he just couldn’t find it in his heart – or the only remaining working hand – to do something to help with his raging crush on this adorable social worker who comes to help him. 

John is many things – a war hero, war criminal, the captain, and the butcher of many who may deem his actions irredeemable. He made peace with not being the poster good guy and often dirtying his hands just to keep the world clean – and he knows that, in the end, he deserves a pretty young thing to jerk him off while he kisses your hairline and whispers sweet nothing with that beautiful accent of his. 

— This is not very… appropriate, sir.

— Bullocks, love. You’re helpin’, that’s why you’re here. 

 You’re nervous when your hand, squeezing his shaft firmly, goes up and down on his cock. You’re trying to find the rhythm in his quiet grunts and little moans, not having too much experience with pleasuring men who you like this much. It’s fear of disappointing him that makes you go wild, that approving gaze of his every time you press your soft fingers against the head of his cock and squeeze a little. 

He is throbbing in your palm, pre-cum leaking on the small of your fingers – naturally, you lick it as slowly as possible, not breaking the eye contact. 

Price moans. 

— Bloody hell, luv…so good for daddy. 

The name makes your ears burn, the desire growing in your stomach – you fight the urge to drop on your knees and take him fully in your mouth. This isn’t what he wants, you think, so you just continue to squeeze him more, making sure he is satisfied with every little movement your hand makes. You lick your lips and continue, feeble attempts at containing the rhythm with shaky fingers. 

— I just wanted to help you with your life, not…this. 

He chuckles, unharmed hand presses on the small of your back to fix you in place. You lick your lips, understanding that he is not going to let you go this easily – you don’t want to behave like this, of course, it’s against the terms of your contract and your agreement to help him without feelings attached, but he moans so deeply for you, hips are buckling to fuck the firmness of your hand like he is ready to use your moist, prepared pussy. 

God, what are you even thinking about? 

You don’t know if you should be doing this, but the captain is not letting you go – and you can’t even do anything against his wishes, can you? 

— We really shouldn’t be doing this. 

— Quiet. I’ll help you out after my hand is healed, eh? — This isn’t what I’m talking about, sir. 

— Now, let’s not use that here. I’m sir in the field, not here. 

He is manipulating you as hard as he can – he can feel the tension in your eyes and the way you’re squeezing his cock, and he wants nothing more but to simply push you harder, make you fall apart in his hold like a precious porcelain vase. You’re sensitive and shy, just perfect for a bastard like him – his only regret is that the dumb cast on his right hand won’t really allow him to relax to have sex with you properly. 

He will pay you back later – on your back, on your knees, on your tummy, moaning his name as he plunges his seed deep into you. It was about time he’d settle down with a pretty wife of his own – he can afford you, certainly. 

— I can’t call you daddy, it’s embarrassing…

Your shy words are what send him over the edge. John Price was never a good guy to begin with, but your little pleas are enough to make him cum – and it’s certainly one of the biggest sins he has ever committed. Cute girl like you shouldn’t be so embarrassed about jerking him off, but here you are. 

Your hands are covered in cum as he continues to release his seed, only sad because he wasn’t able to breed you properly – that’s the agenda for the time when he finally is freed from this dumb cast. Might just ask Lasswell for extended leave. 

— You’ll just have to get used to this, love. Not letting you go after this. 

You can only whimper when he kisses you – possessive and tender at the same time. A silent promise of making you his dumb little wife. 

[sugarlywhispers]

b.katsuki + reader!Quirk similar to him

Your first year at UA was going amazingly. Not only because it meant it was one step closer to your dream of being a hero, it also brought new challenges and new people into your life. You have made two new best friends: Gouna, a tall girl with an elastic type of Quirk, and Zynu, an exchange student from Greece, who had a fast Quirk. Literally, she was freaking fast.

The first semester of school consisted in getting to know each of the classmates and oneself. Training, studying, physical tests in groups. Also boring tests like Maths and English.

But it has been magnificent so far.

Until the training camp. Pushing one's Quirk to the limit had literally brought you to tears. Being a cold type of quirk yourself, you never thought you would be able to do what you were doing. But you gave your all, like always. You were focused. Witty and ready. Ready to fight for that number one spot in the rankings at every moment of your life. And very loud about it too.

"She reminds me of someone…" Kan-sensei once commented to Aizawa-sensei, smiling amused.

Your black haired teacher rolled his eyes, "Please, no…"

You didn't know who they were talking about at the time, but whomever they were, you decided you would be fucking better.

That camp had been one hell of a test for everyone. 

Or so that's what all of you thought until the day to meet the Big Three came.

Despite other previous years, these Class 1s, A and B, hadn't met them until closer to the end of their first year. Apparently, they had been on a mission in another country.

"Can you believe it??? They haven't even graduated yet and they already go on missions!!" Zynu exclaims, giving little fast jumps as the whole classes 1-A and B awaits for the Big Three to arrive at Gym Gamma.

"Well, our little Y/N has nothing to envy them, right?" Gouna lays her forearm on one of your shoulders, making you smile.

"Ughh, I still can't believe Hawks himself asked you for help…" Zyna smiles so happy for you, her hand grabbing yours and shaking it way too fast in excitement. Gouna laughs at the way your one fast and joyful friend pulls you.

"She was only called because Hero Shoto wasn't around to help."

The annoying voice behind you makes you groan.

"Don't you have anything else to do than to prove how very in love you're with my friend here?" Gouna's words make you snort before turning around.

Hamata Aiko, the one guy that always has an opinion about you –a bad one, if you may add– stands there, all bulky, full of himself and annoyingly looking down at you like you're scum, with hands closed in fists.

"All of you are going to be in love with me once I take down all three of the Golden Trio…" He declares, flexing his arm so his bicep pops out even more. Disgusting.

The look you share with your two best friends, followed by a cackle of loud laugh, brings the attention of most students around.

"I'll bring tissues for when you cry like a baby after being embarrassingly defeated. But that was a great joke, Aiko-chan," you can hear the grit of his teeth at your mockery.

A huge shadow with red eyes suddenly appears behind Hamata. "A joke indeed," the low voice that came from the shadow makes this same boy jump away like a scaredy cat.

You back away a few steps just so you don't get stepped on. Light then clears everyone’s vision and you see this man– this mountain of a man, with red eyes and blond hair, a few steps in front of you. You can’t help but think he’s insanely huge, more than anything you could have ever imagined. And the other two guys that also appear on each side of this blond mountain are just as big. Maybe not in muscles and height, but each of them has a powerful energy and stance that immediately makes you succumb to their glorious presence.

Like… fuck. Like fucking heroes! The biggest ones you have ever seen. Ever been in front of.

And you want that. You want that majestic power. That strength that makes everybody believe and trust that they are the best.

"Hello, everyone! It's very nice to meet you finally!" The green haired one greets enthusiastically as the blond mountain rounds him to let him stand in the middle. You also noticed how the blond one and the duo colored haired one stand two steps behind, giving this greenie one space, giving him the lead. "We are very sorry it took us this long to meet, but we hope to make the best of our time together!"

"He's too much of a sunshine," Gouna whispers at you and Zyna, the latter smiling and nodding. You somehow doubt it. Something tells you he is as deadly as his two companions look.

"My name is Midoriya Izuku, hero name: Deku," lots of whispers and gasps from the students are heard as he turns to his right, where the blond mountain stands with his arms crossed over his big chest, a frown deep in his face, "this is Bakugou Katsuki, hero name: Dynamight," some grunts and groans are heard. You even hear a kid say "this is going to fucking hurt", and you definitely feel that. Especially when you see the satisfying smirk on the blond mountain's face. "And, this is Todoroki Shouto, hero name: Shoto."

More whispers and grunts. Some look excited, others are already lamenting getting to class today. But most of the students are terrified. These Big Three look nothing like third year students. They look fucking Pro, and that shit’s scary. Not even your first day as an intern in Gang Orca’s agency made you this uneasy. (And it’s Gang Orca we are talking about!)

"It's Endeavor's kid," Gouna whispers, eyes open wide in excitement looking at Todoroki Shouto. Her biggest dream is to be part of the fire hero agency, but she had told you how that was a mere dream considering how Hero Endeavor only took fire type Quirks in. You feel sad for her, but still encourage her to at least try it. The “NO” was already a given; what harm could be to try for the “YES”?

Of course, you all have heard about the rumors circling the Big Three and their achievements. You are a liar if you say that, even if they are supposedly rumors, their stories don't ignite a spark of hope and admiration over them. However, being in their actual presence is a whole different feeling.

"So today, we are fighting," Midoriya Izuku smiles, but surprisingly enough for everyone except you, the kindness doesn't reach his eyes. His eyes change demeanor and look challenging, a bit scary even. (Ha! You knew it! He isn't as sunshinie as he looks.)

"We did this exact same exercise with the current Big Three of our first year, but this time we decided to give you all a bit of advantage, uniting both classes for the exercise, so you can have the upper hand." The shiny smile doesn't leave his face, and while most around you sigh in relief, you know right then and there is a fake sense of security. It's a trap.

And by the way some unnoticed snorts are heard from behind greenie, it's more than obvious.

This will definitely hurt.

You realize then, as Midoriya Izuku takes his bow and school jacket off and steps back closer to his own classmates, how his other two companions are getting ready. Todoroki Shoto hasn't his jacket nor his school shirt on already, but a sport kind of shirt that accentuates his defined chest, where the sleeves only cover a bit of his shoulders, arms on display. This is definitely strategic for his own quirk, half hot and half cold. You wonder if the material is actually made to bear and endure the changes of temperature in his body, like the ones you wear. Bakugou Katsuki, on the other hand… Holy. Mother. Of. All Might. He now stands with his whole school shirt unbuttoned, chest and muscles and freaking abs on display, sleeves rolled up his forearms, jacket lost somewhere. You haven't actually had time to admire any type of physics in boys since the year started, being completely focused on your goals and dreams. Now, this hot mountain of a man makes you feel things you haven't before. Is that the feeling of butterflies on your stomach as the tingles travel through your body? Fuck, it’s distracting. (Very much so.)

You have to mentally slap yourself to focus. This is not the time to drool over an upperclassmen.

"This is your moment to try your moves and Quirks, they will gladly take them and give you feedback. But remember, this is a sparring, nothing to seek real harm. Have fun, children," Aizawa-sensei speaks as he walks towards the entrance door of the gym and stands there, away from the bloodbath that is about to happen. (If you had to define what betrayal looked like, Aizawa-sensei’s smirk as he stands there looking should be it.)

You, in a very calculated and dissimulated way, grab both of your friends' wrists and pull them back slowly, away from where the Big Three stand. They don't say anything and follow you. After so many group tests passed, you three have learned to work together very well. And with one look, all three of you understood. If you wanted to at least hit one of them, you would have to be a team. No solo fight could win them. And even then, there was no guaranteed win over them. They look, and you're pretty sure they are, very strong.

All three of them crouch a bit, showing they are ready, evil smiles plastered in their faces like they enjoy each and every little sound that showed how scared the two classes were. 

How sadistic. You love it.

You so want to fight at least one of them, one on one. But you know you don't have a chance to win moving on your own. Yet.

"Should we go first?" Deku suggests, seeing how no young student is brave enough to approach.

It's not that you are not brave. You're not stupid enough to volunteer for death first.

Dynamight and Shoto look at each other for a moment before looking back to the front, both smirking, and then the blond mountain yells, "FUCKING DIE, EXTRAS!"

A blast clouds everyone's sight for a moment, before you have to jump to the side as Shoto slides with his ice way too close to you. And then it's chaos. Quirks and fights are seen and heard around. And fuck, you have to dodge Shouto's ice three more times. Not to mention his fucking fire.

Your best friends and you remain as far from the Big Three as you can. Gouna got caught by a little piece of ice from Todoroki on her right cheek, cutting it a bit. Zyna, on the other hand, in these kinds of environments gets anxious, moving rapidly on her spot, needing release to do something in her fastness tempo. You… you get calculating and observing. Everyone around is losing against the Big Three. They are too strong, too big. Students are falling to the ground like levees, no matter how strong some of their Quirks are. These three professionals know what they are doing and how to do it.

It's going to take more than just guts to confront them.

Then you see it. Shoto is standing close to Dynamight. And if he moves, he comes back closer to the blond as fast as he can. Oh. Are they guarding each other's backs? Your eyes travel around the gym until you find Deku on the other side of the gym, fighting at least a dozen of the students, who are trying to get their one on one sparring. Of course, none of them win, other than detailed observations from the one third of the Big Three and a punch that knocks them out. 

An idea then surges in your head. The one creating way too much chaos is Bakugou Katsuki. Maybe, just maybe, if there's a way to distract Todoroki Shouto, you could have a chance to at least try to take Dynamight out.

Alright, maybe not completely out, but at least a punch or two. That would be satisfying enough.

Your eyes travel to your two best friends, and somehow –even though none of you have any telepathic Quirk– you all know what to do.

You three high five together before running to different parts of the gym. You run towards the build up rocks behind and explode some to create more small and medium ones. While doing this, Zyna is smartly distracting both third year students. Running, flying around them to just annoy them as they try to attack her with their Quirks, which is impossible to target her for how fast she is. Once you're done, Gouna is right there, arm expanding to create like a catapult to throw the rocks in their direction.

"Hey!" Deku yells, but he's been held back by his own fights to do anything. It's enough though to grab his other two classmates' attention.

It's your turn to smirk now at their surprised expression, excitement driving your whole system.

Bakugou's eyes find yours as you say, "Now you fucking die."

The rocks fly their way faster than they expect. Both of them fire at them to disintegrate the rocks into ash. And that's exactly what you wanted to happen. The ash creates a wall of smoke that won't let them see either of you.

Zyna helps Gouna to run fast towards Todoroki Shouto so she could evolve him with her elastic arms and legs, putting him out of the fight. One down.

And you… Fucking. Damned. Shit. Why do you always pick the hardest and most difficult fights? You don't know. But you always win. So, could you win against this big mountain?

Only one way to know…

The smoke helps you disguise yourself in it, but you can feel his careful and ready at all times stance. So you play. A spark of explosion from your ice here, and he answers with another of his own fire one. Creating more smoke. Funny. Another spark of your ice there, and he answers again, groaning in annoyance and pain when a sudden spark of your ice finds his left forearm.

"FUCK! FACE ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

You chuckle maliciously from behind him, right at the moment your ice explosions hit the back of his knees. You're not stupid to even think that you'll be able to win a one on one. You need the advantage in height at least.

How's the saying goes? If the mountain won't come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain… Or well, in this case, you'll make Bakugou Katsuki, a.k.a. Hero Dynamight come to you.

Before Bakugou inevitably falls after that cold blast against the back of his knees that unbalanced him, he tries turning around and shooting whomever it's being a pain in his ass. He doesn't count with the knowledge of how small you are compared to him that you fit perfectly in between his stretched arms that are ready to shoot.

As he falls back, your crazed smile is the last thing he sees before an explosion of white and cold happens just in his goddamn face.

A hard and strong thud is heard as the smoke around finally dissipates, giving one impressive image that leaves everyone around stoic and in silence.

Bakugou Katsuki is laying on the floor. You're kneeling on his big chest, hands with spreading cold smoke, like snow, right at his face. His expression is one of complete taken aback and surprised. Like, he can not believe what just happened, as the smirk it's still on your face.

"Who's the fucking extra now?"

You're both inhaling rapidly, trying to bring your breathing back to normal. Your eyes won't leave his, completely enraptured in his deep ruby color, filled with so much fire it feels like he's trying to melt you. (And you would, if these were other circumstances.)

You then stand up and step back from him, smiling. You fucking won! And against this enormous and angry mountain! Fuck yeah!

He’s still lying on the floor, looking very surprised, so you laugh as you stretch a hand to help him up. Bakugou Katsuki takes it, a little side smile finally appearing as he shakes his head and stands. Now you definitely have to look up at him. Jesus, he’s way taller now up this close.

Before any of you says something, the annoying voice of Hamata Aiko says, "You're still an idiot," and he punches you on the side, making you literally fly meters away and hit your head with the wall.

The roaring scream of "HEY!" from several people is the last thing you hear before passing out.

.

When you next wake up, you encounter the kind smile of Recovery Girl.

"Hi, sweetie. How are you feeling? You took one hell of a punch…"

You groan. "Ugh, don't remind me… I'm going to fucking…"

"Language, dear."

"...kill him to pieces!"

She chuckles amused. "Alright, but first, you should rest. Then kick his butt." Her wink makes you smile in content as you relax in the infirmary bed.

"There are people outside waiting for me to report to them. Want them to get in, or should I tell them to come later?"

"It's okay, they can come in," you nod delicately, not wanting a new headache to deal with.

When Recovery Girl said they, you were expecting your two best friends. Not the Big Three entering the room in a hurry, especially the first one, the blond mountain who enters and walks directly at your side.

"How are you, Coldie?" Bakugou Katsuki asks, his big and calloused hand landing over your small one laying on the bed. You pull up an eyebrow at his nickname for you, but don't comment on it.

"I'm fine, Mountain. My left side still hurts a bit, but I have had it worse."

Bakugou Katsuki growls. Literally, like an angry dog.

“That kid was completely out of line,” protests Todoroki Shouto.

You sigh. “It’s Hamata Aiko. He needs to be the center of attention or he snaps.”

“I’ll snap him in two, give me a minute…” You don’t know if Bakugou it’s being serious or not, but the idea makes you snort as Midoriya Izuku exclaims, “Kacchan!” Todoroki just shakes his head and a small curve of a smile in his face.

“He’s being talked down to by Nezu-sensei. What he did… It's not okay at all. I hope he reconsiders his actions.” Midoriya says, in a stern but worried tone.

“What you and your friends did, on the other hand, was pretty impressive,” Todoroki says as both of his classmates nod, Midoriya more enthusiastically.

“I have never seen Kacchan so taken aback!”

“Shut up, nerd!”

“You were smart and fast and careful with all your moves. You took into consideration how different Kacchan was physically compared to you and you brought that to your own advantage! It was the true thinking of a hero in a dare situation! We were all impressed!” Midoriya rambles, his eyes shining now in true awe.

“Not to mention how in sync you and your friends were. I never expected being gripped like that by arms and legs functioning like ropes. It was funny, and smart,” Todoroki also comments while Midoriya nods in agreement.

You feel the tears in your eyes itchy, so you look down in shyness and smile.

“I… I just looked. Midoriya-senpai was on the other side of the gym, being held back by students so I knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything,” you look elsewhere but them, which is the window next to your bed, “and then I looked how Todoroki-senpai and Bakugou-senpai kept being close to each other, clearly looking for each others back, so I thought that the best option was to try and separate them. By looking at Todoroki-senpai using his quirk, I knew he was avoiding close contact combat, so I guessed that was his weakness. At least if you take him by surprise. So, I knew my friends were gonna be able to catch him. Me, on the other hand, I didn’t know what I was gonna do. I just knew I was gonna give my all to win.”

You finish shrugging, taking a deep breath to finally get the courage to look in the way the Big Three are standing.

They all look at you in complete amazement, pleased smiles on their faces.

“Another nerd alert,” Bakugou comments and Todoroki laughs.

Midoriya looks in reprimand in Bakugou’s direction, arms crossed over his chest. “Well, that nerd took you down very easily, without counting the times I also took you down…”

Todoroki then passes an arm around Midoriya’s shoulder in clear partnership as he prepares to pester Bakugou.

“There’s the fact that she is younger than you, Kacchan…” You think Hero Shoto has a death wish.

“I will blow both of your heads off,” Bakugou responds in a growl, pops already sounding from his hands. Both of his classmates snort in amusement.

Oh, yep, they all have a death wish.

“Oh! That reminds me…” Midoriya suddenly changes the subject, “Your Quirk.”

His eyes open wide and look at you in expectation. You tilt your head to the side a bit confused as you put your palm up and then make sparks of blue and white pop as the temperature around you gets colder.

“It’s a lot like yours, Kacchan, but…”

“Cold. Your explosions are cold.” Todoroki says, directing his hand from his cold side closer to your palm so he can feel the sparks.

“Did they discover how it’s produced?” Bakugou asks, looking very serious in your direction. But he isn’t angry, he’s just observing.

You shake your head. “They said it’s a composition of two or more chemicals, but they still can’t find which ones create this type of reaction.”

“That is a very important thing to know. I would investigate a bit if I were you. Knowing your Quirk to the fullest, even the small things, helps you be aware of the possible weaknesses and advantages you can have. That way you can be prepared at all times.” The professional tone in Bakugou’s voice leaves you mesmerized. He is… good. What he’s saying is so true, you haven’t actually thought about it.

“But, the doctors…”

“Doctors sometimes know shit.”

Midoriya physically slaps his own forehead while saying, “Kacchan..”

“He can’t help it. He’s an ass.” Todoroki snorts.

Bakugou decides to ignore them, not before stabbing them with his glare.

“What I’m fucking trying to fucking say,” you laugh at his foul mouth. He smiles a bit in your direction, “is that go beyond. You take the initiative to learn. Don’t wait for the teachers or doctors to tell you who you are.”

You can’t believe the Bakugou Katsuki is actually being nice and giving advice to you.

“You know who you are… Fucking number one, ain’t ya?” You nod smiling as he extends his hand closed in a fist so you can bump yours with his.

Midoriya’s big and proud smile makes you shy. And it's funny when he exclaims, “Plus ultra!”

Everyone laughs.

And, boy… Did you go plus ultra.

a.n; this will have a part two. 😉💥♥️❄️

[mintmatcha]

Inevitable Things: chapter five

Aizawa x reader fic

cw: cisfem reader, no quirks, office au, miscommunications, slow burn. full tags available on AO3 (linked in masterlist)

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Fridays are the only day you carve out time for lunch. Less than coincidentally, Fridays are also the only day lunch is catered.

“Here-” Izuku jams his bowl of take out into Katsuki’s face. “Does it smell like there’s peanuts in here?”

Bakugo Katsuki, Izuku’s fiance, is only half as ornery as he looks. A premature wrinkle has formed in between his brows, a sign of his almost constant annoyance. His straw colored hair is a sharp contrast to his deep red eyes, currently narrowed in disgust.

“Get this shit out of my fucking face,” he groans. “I’m not a fucking allergy alert dog-- I can’t smell peanuts.”

“To be fair-” Ochako interjects through a mouthful. She’s the opposite of Katsuki: dark hair, round eyes, a smile so sweet that it makes your teeth hurt. Her cheeks are always flushed, spots of broken blood vessels spattered like freckles. “Peanuts do have a smell.”

“Did you ask him to smell for penis?” Denki says, too loud to be genuine. “Kind of homophobic to ask a gay guy that.”

Both men give him identical deadpan stares.

“That’s just his fucking country-ass accent.” Katsuki brushes Denki off and turns back to the curly haired man. “Why would chicken have peanuts in it anyway?”

“The o’l.” Izuku stresses.

“The what?”

“Some places use peanut o’l.”

“Say oil.”

Izuku sneers a bit in return, smoothing out the curves of his accent. “Oy-I’ll.”

“Jesus christ, I’m marrying a hick.” Katsuki leans back in his chair and meets your eye with a jerk of his chin. “Can you believe this?”

You snap back into focus. Your own lunch is untouched, fork still in its little plastic wrapper. Hunger nips at your stomach, but nausea wins over today. The cafeteria isn’t very busy, but in the next couple minutes everyone will start pouring in. The lot of you arrived early to get the best seating-- a little couch and coffee table in the corner, a perfect place to eat and people watch.

“Oh, yeah, uh- Izuku, they have an allergen free option.”

“Well, yeah, but-” He tilts his head as he talks, watching you with those wide, green eyes, like he sees something just below the surface. “It doesn't have chicken-- are you good?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Katsuki fingers a piece of Izuku’s food and pops it into his mouth, much to the man’s dismay. “You’ve been making that sad little face all day.”

You pout a bit harder at that. Shit-- you thought you were being subtle. You haven’t been able to walk this whole Aizawa thing off yet, despite all of your attempts. No amount of emails, meetings, and other petty office bullshit managed to distract you from the absolute shock and humiliation of… whatever that was.

Embarrassment.

Embarrassment? You’re certainly not the prettiest girl in the office, but embarrassing? That makes your gums ache, like a punch to the nose, and it makes you feel dirty, like the fall to the ground afterwards.

“You’re doing it again.” Ochako points to your face and it’s apparently sadness. “What’s going on?”

You hem a bit, before condensing it the best you can.

“I’m having issues with a guy.” What an understatement.

A collective glance is shared between the group.

“Touya again?”

Again, Touya haunts a room he’s never been in. You debate what to say. If you admit to it being someone new, they might start sniffing around and jump to conclusions-- though Aizawa would certainly be the last assumption they would make, you still can’t risk it. Besides, you don’t need a gaggle of 23 year olds dissecting your every move. They’re going to jump to some stupid conclusion, like you’re dating Toshinori, if you aren’t careful.

“Yeah, it’s Touya,” you lie, as sheepishly as you can. “Oops.”

“Jesus Fucking Christ.” Katsuki rolls his eyes so hard that you imagine his brain must hurt. “Again?”

“Shh, just tell us what happened,” Izuku urges, elbowing his partner rather sharply.

“I don't know where I stand with him. It's so-- Ugh, I thought things were going to start going well and then it was just ice cold.” You press your palms into your eyes and sigh. The pressure feels good and helps with the remnants of your hangover. You need an electrolyte drink, stat. Maybe another fucking drink too. “And I’m not even sure why I’m surprised because it’s ice cold a lot.”

When you look up, Ochako is offering a hand, palm up and open. When you take it, she giggles a bit, squeezing gently.

“I think you need to prioritize yourself.”

Denki nods in agreement, cheeks stuffed with food. He’s finished his meal and started stabbing bits of yours. You just push the whole bowl towards him in defeat and slump down into the couch.

“Stop giving men who treat you poorly the time of day.” Ochako says. “When you let them in again and again, you’re basically, like, giving them permission to do this stuff.”

“Yeah!” Denki says through a mouthful. “Cut that fucker off! Don’t even talk to him!”

“Oh, I dunno--” You glance between them. “I think that’d be mean.”

Conflict makes your head spin. It’s so much easier to roll over and take whatever people give you, negative or otherwise. It’s what made your relationship with Touya work-- and it’s what’s allowed you to stay in this job for so long.

“Good!” Denki says. “He deserves it.”

“You deserve to be a little mean and a little angry when people treat you poorly.” She smiles again, wider this time. “Grow some balls. Stand up for yourself.”

“Yeah! Balls!” Denki agrees.

You suck on your bottom lip and turn the idea over in your head. Are you even angry at Aizawa? Or just hurt and confused? Right now, those things may as well be the same thing-- they certainly burn the same in your chest. Cruelty isn’t your usual indulgence…

But it’s someone else’s.

“What do you think?” You turn to Katsuki, who’s been scrolling through twitter for a bit now. His face doesn’t change when he speaks, locked into a general annoyance.

“I think you should kill that fucker.”

You turn to Izuku, the rational one of the couple. He shrugs, straw in mouth and completely unamused.

“Oh, I also think you should kill him,” he says, tone matching Katsuki’s.

Not helpful.

“Listen--” Katsuki leans forward, elbows on his spread knees. He uses a fork to articulate as he speaks. “I’m the expert on being a cunt-”

“-we don’t use that word!” Ochako grimaces.

“And it’s the most freeing and addictive thing you can be.” The tongs of the fork point directly towards you, as sharp as his gaze. “More people should be cunts more often. The world would be a happier place.”

Ochako gasps. “I don’t agree with that at all!”

“Oh please, miss goody-goody,” Katsuki sneers. “You wouldn't need to go to kickboxing five times a week if you let your anger out day to day like a normal motherfucker.”

The girl of the group puffs out her cheeks, but does not argue back. Izuku pats her shoulder affectionately. His food is still untouched, but his free hand guards it from Denki.

“I'm telling you. Try it out. You’ll like it.” Katsuki leans back into his seat. “Or don't. Your life.”

“Question-” The other blonde pipes up. “Did you, like, do something?”

“Kaminari!”

“I mean, like, was there a catalyst?” “A fight or a date or-?”

You know exactly what drives Touya away everytime, but Aizawa is a new beast. Did you breathe wrong or--

“Oh, I uh,” A realization hits you. “I ignored a couple texts, I guess.”

Suddenly, you’re very aware of the outline of your phone and how it presses into your pocket. If there wasn’t a chance of you flashing the group pictures of their boss, you’d check it immediately, but you can’t mentally handle the risk.

“What an overreaction,” Ochako sighs. “Dump him forever and move on-- Mr. Hizashi and his wife-”

“We aren’t like that.” Ugh. You love Hizashi, but the trio relationship isn’t your speed. “Besides, I don’t like blondes.”

The two toe-heads of the group roll their eyes in a practiced synchrony. Ochako’s smile changes a little bit, something tighter and brighter; is she excited that you aren’t interested? Interesting and a bit gross: she’s too young for that. They’re more than ten years older than her-

(How old is Aizawa? He went to school with Hizashi, so he’s at least 38-- but you could have sworn there were whispers of his fortieth last year. You’ll have to snoop.)

“We’re in agreement. Be a cunt, move on. The end.” Katsuki turns away from you, done with this topic. “Izuku, just fucking eat it already.”

The boy takes a deep breath and runs his fingers through his curly hair. “Well, alright, but if I get hives, you’re the one who has to deal with me.”

…

Be mean.

You’re written it on a sticky note and placed it under your computer monitor, like some sort of fucked up mantra. The mere idea of it feels antithetical to who you are at your core; you enjoy helping people, you love making the world better. That’s why you work like a dog for the company-- you know it’s improving the lives of its customers. If Toshinori wasn’t sick, you know he’d be doing even more too.

On the other hand, being nice has led to your own detriment many times. Touya has hurt you, your parents, and now even Aizawa. And you can’t even blame Aizawa, can you? Texting him was your mistake--

You rest your forehead against your desk. There’s still a sticky spot from when you spilled your coffee yesterday. God, yesterday feels so close and yet so far away. How does a man yoyo between yelling at you, sending you his weiner, then telling you that you’re embarrassing? The idea of ‘always wanted you’ goes flying out the window.

Just as you try and put yourself to work, you hear it. The familiar lopsided stomp. Fuck, it’s him, probably looking for his afternoon coffee. He’s been by much less than usual, a fact you’re very grateful for, so you haven’t even thought about the pot since before lunch. You glance over and see it’s empty. Crap.

As you start to get up, the sticky note catches your eye again. Be mean. That’s right. Why are you popping out of your chair for this, this, this--- total fucking cunt? Your chair squeaks with the force you sit down with. You try to embody Katsuki with your face - furrowing your brow and yet keeping your mouth unaffected-- and your worst nightmare turns the corner.

You keep typing and hope Aizawa doesn't notice that it's the same words over and over again, hit in the same rhythm. P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l. He waits a long moment, then clears his throat louder. You don't gift him your attention until he grumbles something under his breath, shifting his weight on to his other leg. Just as he begins to say something, you interject.

“I had more important things to focus on,” you lie. “You can figure out how to brew coffee, Mr.// Engineer.”

You throw in that last bit without thinking, but the bite rolls so easily off of your tongue. It’s nothing like your usual tone, but it feels so, so right. From the corner of your vision you can see his literally reel back, blinking hard,

“That’s how it’s going to be?”

You don’t respond. P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l P-e-a-n-u-t-O-i-l. Your fingers shake from the adrenaline boost. Ochako was right; don't even give this man the time of day.

“It's going to be like that?” He yanks the pot from its stand. “Fine.”

You have to muster all of willpower not to grin as he starts slamming open the drawers and scrounging around for supplies. It takes a whole ten minutes before he presses brew, then another five before the pot is almost half full. The whole time he grumbles to himself, leaning his whole weight against the flimsy table.

This is good. Too good. The vindictive rush of power feels almost sexual in the way it satisfies. Teeth dig into your lip as you hold back a smile even harder.

Embarrassment? You'll show him what embarrassment really means.

Finally, he pours himself a cup. He doesn't fill his thermos nearly as much as he normally does, most likely trying to leave as quickly as possible. Just as he starts to turn, you get up out of your chair and walk over. You take one of the little disposable cups from the stack and take your time adding three sugars and two cream, each one at a time, as he lurks there. Then, you pour the coffee, thick and oddly gritty into your cup. You finally meet his eye when you take a swig.

Aizawa’s face is set hard, small eyes narrowed even tighter. His lips are screwed up with annoyance, wrinkling his low bridged nose. Pissed would be an understatement. Just as you brace for another yelling match, he turns away, marching down the hall.

“Enjoy the fucking coffee.”

Oh, Katsuki was right. Being mean tastes good.

….This coffee, however, does not.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 3)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 2, Part 4

summary: A bad day turns even worse. Miguel surprises you.

warnings: angst angst angst, mentions of grief, very vague mention of domestic violence and abuse.

recommended reading: the painting Ophelia by John Everett Millais, and the song Ophelia by the lumineers.

a/n: i lowkey suck at communicating my "big" ideas so i really really hope this makes sense!

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 3.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

they were here, she says,

You’ve had your share of bad days.

Oh God , enough to fill an A4 binder with. For example, knocking out that tooth when you were twelve. A butterfly effect of fuck ups that led to a scuffle at school: blood in your mouth, a tooth on the ground, and a looong suspension. You received quite the earful at home, that day. 

And then there was telling your parents you had dropped out of college. Telling them you were moving halfway across the country with your boyfriend. Breaking up with said boyfriend in your favourite diner; thus sullying Pam’s waffles and pancakes with the bitter taste of… oh-fuck-I-don’t-know-how-I’ll-afford-an-apartment-now. Oh, and heartbreak – although that wasn’t as immediate. 

Scratch that, the day of the breakup had been fairly mundane. Pleasant, even. Jamie had an off day, and you only had a few lectures. He didn’t tell you, of course, so meeting him in the apartment was a surprise. You’re home earlier than usual, and you can’t quite bear to wake him up; slumped on the sofa like an old cat. He’s tired, lectures and clerkships running him ragged for the past few years. Only a year out until residency, with bags under his eyes as proof, and you see him less and less.  All things considered, you’re glad to spend the rest of the day with him. 

You’d spent too long after the break up analysing the days leading up to it: for a sign, something in his behaviour that would’ve warned you. And so, you remember it quite vividly: kicking your shoes off, putting your bag down, and sinking into the sofa next to him. You curl into him, looking up at his face: steady, tempered breathing. Something at your chest, solid and heavy. He looks peaceful, happy; and you haven't seen that side of him in quite a while. 

When you shift against him, you knock against his shoulder. Jamie stirs, groggy, and eyes adjusting to the light. The first thing he sees as he wakes is you; romantic, in theory. His expression is etched into your subconscious; stark and stiff like a marble statue, or a tombstone. A flash of disappointment, lip drawn in what seemed like disgust – but only for a moment.  

" Morning , baby." You squeeze his side, and take his hand into yours. That look ; it's gone almost as quickly as it came. 

"Thought…" He frowns, fighting dregs of sleep. "I thought you would be back later."

"Nope." You give him a smile and he returns with one that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He puts a hand on your cheek. 

"Morning," Probably tired, he sighs deeply. You move on with the day. And he breaks up with you, not even 6 hours later.

You had had 4 years of that: good days, bad days, but most of them had been… mundane. Boring. Not quite the heat and intensity of true love, as the movies had gaslighted you into believing in. 

You like the old black and white ones the best. Old fashioned, old-timey folk; declarations of love in tinny transatlantic accents. Suddenly, you’re on the floor of your childhood bedroom; eyes wide at the Sound of Music. Maria and Von Trapp hand in hand: her dress billowing, the flash of white glove on the small of her back. Love, love, love; and your lack of it.

You feel its loss all the same. 

Despite all your efforts – including a dash to the station that could rival an Olympic sprinter – you were late to your first lecture. Sweaty, out of breath, and ambushed with a pen and paper; thrust into your hands on arrival. You look around to see dozens of heads down, scribbling furiously. A surprise test – and you’re late.

Hand aching, you barely finish within the two hours, after bullshitting your way through at least half of the questions. By the looks of the people streaming out of the hall; faces rumpled and grimacing; you’re not the only one. However, it does little to comfort you. You’re sure you're the only one failing so spectacularly, with the semester already half over. 

You'd smacked your leg on the coffee table on the way out and a book had slammed to the floor. An art book, the kind in a model home - and you know damn well Miguel's not an enthusiast. The image sticks for some reason, leg aching as you trudge to your next class. When he gives you that blank look; the memory of men gone past is haunting – dead-eyed, and blank, like eyes cut out of a painting. You wonder if a Van Gogh would feel the same with the brilliant blue of eyes slashed out. 

Nevertheless, you feel like lead. Off

to your next class, and it's going over material passed out the day before; which you didn’t have the time to look over. The professor drones on; voice monotonous and gravelly. Struggling to keep up, you sink into your seat – tapping away at your laptop, whatever you can get down. You pick at your lip, unravelling; unfurling like the tip of a slashed rope.

That's what you’re waiting for, you think: sandbags clattering down from stage left, to bring the rest of this whole farce down.

A sinking feeling, that starts at your chest and makes its way to the tops of your fingers and toes, leaves you numb for the rest of the day. Dread, like a shadow, at your heels in the corridors, across the courtyard, all around campus. Another lecture, and you make it in time for labs, barely, but there’s no time to go over notes; what you managed to scrape together in preparation. And of course , your lab partner’s sick, because that’s just the kind of day you’re having. It’s hectic, doing the work of two people with only the scraps you’ve cobbled together. 

The pressure mounts. Like liquid in that flask you weren’t meant to stopper; and you just might end up like its remnants on the counter. Glass everywhere but where it should be. For a good grade, it helps to be organised: everything in its place, always. Except it isn’t, and you’ve fucked it up, again . It means the results don’t match up in your lab book, and another hour staring at liquid decanting, monitoring temperatures. Staring at stark white walls, with achy legs. 

You step out whilst machines run in your stead, and shed your lab coat. It’s hot and stuffy in there but out in the corridor, you can finally breathe. Forehead on the cool wall, it all stops for a moment. The persistent buzz of your phone, sat in the pocket of your trousers, creeps into the quiet. 

Absent-mindedly, you turn it on with a click. The buzzing stops. You’ve just missed a call from Miguel. It’s odd, he doesn’t usually call, but it’s the little box underneath the notification that makes you pause. A message, from a number you thought you’d blocked – that you should’ve blocked. 

From:Jamie <3

Hey

From:Jamie <3

We should meet. I’ve still got some of your things in the apartment.

Your blood runs cold. Dread, like a shadow; its hand wrapped your neck. You can’t breathe, stuck under the weight of something at your chest. You can’t breathe, the walls close in. We should meet , he says. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world; just friends catching up over a coffee. Like you didn’t watch him carve out a chunk of your heart with a rusty spoon. 

A panic attack, and you’re awkwardly hunched over by the wall, phone in hand. Someone will find you here, lying on the vinyl floor in Block B, spread eagle between lab 6 and 7. Dramatic timing, but if it kills you; you’ll find a way to haunt your ex's ass for the foreseeable future. And Miguel’s too, because if you’re having a bad day; then somewhere out there, he’s having a good one. 

~~~

The apartment is still when Miguel gets back – unusually so. You’re not on the sofa, watching a mindless soap opera, or howling some song in the shower. And he’s had to deal with that most days for the past few weeks, a break in the peace and quiet he’s so carefully cultivated. Rigorous routine, they keep him together. He needed it; the way myth needs a martyr, the way flowers on a small grave needs a body. A tick-tick-tick in his head, that drives him a little less crazy after a morning run, or a good meal when he comes home. A countdown, he thinks, a mechanical clock whirring and puttering with a shake of its gears. He feels them stutter and start, slowing down, but not quite stopping. An ache so deep, he feels its creak with every step. 

Absent-mindedly, he looks around the empty apartment, pulling at his ears.

When he was younger, Gabi would pull at his ears, to get him out of a book. Reading, always reading, whenever he could. At the dinner table, when his mamá would rap his knuckles with a wooden spoon and chuckle lightly at his little grimace. No en la mesa, Miguelito. Not at the table, Miggy. Léeme más tarde – read it to me later.

It was when he got his braces, and picked up a slight lisp. He stopped talking for a while, not completely; but a lot less, not as interactive in lessons. And it was always little Miguel, at the front of the class with his hand up to answer. It didn’t help that Gabi poked fun at him, often sneaking up to him to hiss in his ear: palms pressed together with a slithering motion, and then a strike to his ribs like una víbora - a viper , struggling to say his S’s. They’d fight because of it after, tousling on the floor of their bedroom in a mass of limbs, like pythons squeezing prey. Or at least, until their mamá rushed to separate them. 

She didn’t like it when her boys fought; so they’d been forced to make up every time. He still has the scars to prove it.

Car magazines at first, and then the newspaper, whatever book he had picked up at the library that week. Even with his lisp, his mother made sure he read to her, and sometimes to Gabi as well, at least once a week. Looking back, she was never perfect; the things he knows now about his dear mamá, and her visage tumbles like Ozymandias in the sand. Her mother, married to a piece-of-shit mechanic; and his mother, elbow deep in the oil spill. That’s the funny thing about love, he thinks. Love, and the lack of it; dripping through the cracks, passed on through generations. Maybe mamá felt the gears shuddering in her chest. He hopes Gabi was saved from that burden. 

A small voice at the back of his mind tells him: it’s not enough. Doesn’t explain the little boy pulling at his ears, in Miguel’s jacket and dress shoes.

A glimpse in the reflection of a shiny pan on the side table, and he looks like shit. Eyebags, a permanent scowl, shadowy lines that prick at the corners of his eyes. It’s ironic, crows feet without the penchant for laughing. He thinks you’d find it funny. The pink and purple of a setting sun spills in through windows and makes him sigh. It’s late, and you’re still not home. 

God, you're strange; sticking your nose where you shouldn't. Disrupting the calm of his apartment. A sanctuary, and you've got your grubby paws all over it. Your shit is all over the place; pun-based mugs in the cabinet, chewed pen lids with no pens in sight, a blanket on the couch. The same blanket, a ratty old thing, that he usually meets you wrapped in when he gets back. A creature of habit, he folds it up; trying to ignore the whispers of your perfume, sweet and heady on the fabric.

He gets dressed, starting with dinner; knife on a chopping board cutting onions and peppers into cubes. It's therapeutic, the steady thud ringing out into the kitchen. Quiet, for a fleeting moment. But the worry, it sticks ; despite his better judgement. Before he changes his mind, he clicks open his phone to call you. It rings out – you don’t pick up.

The urge to call again is surprisingly troublesome, so he shoves it down with a piece of tortilla. It sits in his chest, regardless.

~~~

You trudge into the apartment. Squelch seems more accurate, sopping wet as you step out of waterlogged trainers. It was an inopportune time to wear jeans and forget a jacket – and you fight the urge to wring out onto the wooden planks. Miguel would kill you; the place was already falling apart, and water-warped floorboards might just be the last straw.

It’s thundering outside; a torrential downpour you’d just been dragged through. Dragged, half-running through streets-turned-streams, with nothing but a tank top and hoodie on your back. And you must look a sight , eyes bleary and slick with rainwater. The bag heavy on your back goes first, slipped off your shoulder and on the floor next to the coffee table with a thunk . You’re unzipping the flimsy canvas, inspecting its contents. A soaked through textbook, clumps of loose paper. You’re ready to cry when you see what's happened to the pages of your lab book; bleeding ink that’s only half-legible. But it’s the state of your laptop that makes your chest really heave and knees weak.

It’s slick with rainwater, and the sandwich you’d forgotten to eat, smeared across its fans. Caked on, more accurately; an odd sludge that you try your best to wipe away. You put it on the coffee table and your hand shakes as you press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. 

You sink onto the floor, head in your hands between the coffee table and the couch. Everything was on there: photos from senior prom, end of semester projects – your whole life. You have to dig your teeth into your bottom lip to bite back a scream.

Miguel peers from the kitchen, watching your silent breakdown. Quiet, and so still, with only the slight shake of shoulders to tell him that something is wrong. He glances at your half-opened laptop. He’d eaten already, clearing up what remains of his dinner and this is the sight he’s greeted with: the lady of the lake, lain between the reeds. 

He shakes the image out of his head, and walks over. You feel a tentative prod, and look up.

“...I called you,” He says lightly, scratching at his neck.

You blink up at him. He thinks you look like a painting, watery and forlorn, framed in the yellow light of the soft bulbs.

“I was busy,” It’s not said with malice, nor as lilting as your usual sarcasm. Plain, simple. Busy. Your head slumps back into the little hollow you’ve made with your arms.

And so he sits, shoulders brushing against yours. He’s frustratingly patient, presence warm and comfortable despite… well, despite everything. 

You can’t help it. Popping back up, you state, “You never call, though.”

“You’re never this late home.” Home. The word is heavy, knocks you onto your heels.

“So?” You shrug. “Could’ve been out with friends, or at a club–”

Laughter slips out like apples loose in a bag, spills onto the floor. Crisp, sweet; but you glare at him all the same. 

“You don’t have friends.” He says it with the remnants of a smile, teasing. A challenge, and you’re more than happy to accept. 

“ Not true , fuckface.” It is. You'd lost track of most of your friends after moving – and all the ones you made here? Your friends were Jamie's friends, and they chose him  in the divorce. " You don't have any friends."

"I do ."

"You don't." It's your turn to scoff. "It's a Friday night and you're in here, washing up and planning to go to bed at a reasonable time."

"I'm an adult, doesn't mean I don't have–" 

"The ones you fuck don't count." And then you pinch the bridge of your nose. "God forbid, if that's how you treat your friends…" 

He laughs, properly, and you feel it in your chest too: the kind of laughter that bubbles like little breaths rising to the top of a lake. 

“M’serious.” He says it in between gasping breaths and you try to steady your own giggles. "And, I have a friend who could take a look at your laptop, if you wanted."

His eyes flick over to the crime scene besides you. It's sweet, but.. "It's gone, Miguel, I know. You don't need to… try and make me feel better."

" Chula ," He flicks the deep lines forming at your brow. You look up and he says, softly, "I'm not trying to make you feel better. I'm trying to get you off of the floor so I can mop up that puddle."

With the way he says it, with that little smile, you don't believe him. 

Now he's got your attention, he says, "You could've skipped that 9:00am. Or just been late. Don't think it would've mattered."

"Maybe." You shake your head. "M'not the best student. I'm blindingly… average. Just wanted it to be different, this year." 

Your voice crackles, leaves something in the air he can't quite name. Quiet, again, except this time it's thicker. Smoke, ash, rolling clouds of melancholy in the little front room. For once, he doesn't know what to say. 

You've got your head back on the sofa now, with a deep sigh. You look at the ceiling, and he's looking at you. It's the first time he's able to really study your features, trace the outline of your lips and sloping cheekbone. Your lashes, damp with little droplets of water, look crystalline in the light. Sparkling. Like the paintings depicted in the hefty book sat on his coffee table. He's read that one, twice , cover-to-cover in a fit of… insanity, maybe. He's not a man of frills and fancy, didn't really get it; nor why Gabi had given him the book in the first place. It felt like a filler piece, something to put on the little table and forget about, or to prop up a wooden leg. But that's not how his brother works, frustratingly convoluted. It's stupid, Miguel thought. Everything had to mean something , or what was it good for? 

But looking at you, here, like this ; it clicks. Reaching over for the book, he leans it against the flat of his thigh. And you see it in the corner of your eye, watching as he flicks through the pages. Filled with art, it's the kind of thing on a table in a model apartment: a space-filler in a false home. When you first came here, the starkness and severity of the space had stuck. To you, the book had only reinforced it. Who was Miguel? A serial killer for all you know, stocking fluff pieces and coffee table books; only pretending to be human.

Finally, he stops, finger over a specific place. A double page spread, of surprisingly good quality. 

He clicks his tongue. " This one. "

You follow his finger. A woman in a lake doesn't do it justice. It's beautiful, but it doesn't mean anything to you.

" Ophelia, John Everett Mills, 1852 ." He reads out the little label at the bottom of the image. "Like from Hamlet."

You shrug. "I don't…?"

"Well, she's in love with Hamlet, and then her father's murdered, Hamlet fucks off; and she's left heartbroken, goes mad because of it , arguably–" 

"I've taken tenth grade English, Miguel. I don't get what that has to do with anything."

"She drowns herself. Also arguably, to be fair," He chews his lip, thinking. "Slipped off the bark of a willow tree, into a brook. Incapable of her own distress, or something. Drowns. Do you know how horrible drowning feels? How violent? And yet–" 

He taps the page, and you come a little closer. Beautiful. She's beautiful. 

"I'll admit it, I'm not a big fan of Shakespeare. Gabi – my brother – is way better at this stuff than me. Drama and intrigue and–" He gestures vaguely. "– love . That's why he likes it, apparently. And I… I know someone who really liked this page; I think it was the colours, or the flowers…? She said it looked like a photo, and that the woman looked so pretty in the water."

He pauses, dead-eyed. He's rambling, only taking a breath to compose himself." I… didn't have the heart to tell her that Ophelia, in this painting, is dead. Dead as a fucking doornail. Dragged through still water, sentenced to death by her passivity and grief – but you wouldn't know it."

Unconsciously, you trace the outline of her hair with your finger; swirling locs that blend into muddy reflections. She's on her back and fully dressed; a beaded skirt billowing out into the water. On her back and looking up, like you were on the sofa just a moment ago. Oh. Oh . You blink at the image. Flowers, peppered around to frame Ophelia in her watery grave. It doesn't look like a grave from where you're sitting, but there's a body in the water all the same. 

There's a lump in your throat. Grief; the loss of 4 years of your life in a middling relationship, the aftermath of dead eyes and brilliant blue slashed from a canvas frame. Grief, rising to the surface like a bloated carcass. You thought you'd bound its ankles to cinder blocks and tossed it in a river long ago. 

"I'm probably overstepping. For that, I'm sorry, and I mean it. But I think there's something else. I..I hear you rattling around at night; and sometimes, when I look at you..." 

Your eyes are glassy, tears threatening to spill over. You’re hearing him but you don’t quite understand. Does he know? God, does he know?

"...it reminds me of this painting. You remind me of Ophelia .”

He sighs, turning to you.

“I know how it feels. And I think this shit is going to kill you, if you're not careful."

~~~

He doesn't talk about it. He runs off to start the shower, bundles you into towels and leaves you reeling. God, it's like you've been shot – barely a 10 minute conversation and he's cracked open your ribs to root around in what's left of you. He sees you; wades through the undergrowth and cuts through the bulllshit - he sees you. 

You couldn't even answer. That's what stings the most. 

You’ve settled on the sofa, cross-legged and still fresh from the shower. There’s a documentary on the TV; mindless background to Miguel clattering in the kitchen. He’s putting together some leftovers, even though you insisted that you weren’t hungry, that you’ve already eaten. Well , he had pointed to the gunk caked onto your laptop, wasn’t that the problem in the first place?

He’s good at it; wraps you up in the blanket you always keep draped on the cushions, and hands you a full plate. Wordlessly, because you suppose he’s said everything he needed to. Dutifully, he takes care of you, without a word; the strain of cutting you open on the coffee table clearly too much to bear.

You thank him, and he settles on the armchair opposite, mug of coffee in hand. The gloom of the TV bathes him in light, cuts his cheekbones and jaw just so. One of your mugs in his lap, and he's in a thick knitted sweater. His hair kisses the tops of his lashes, but he brushes it away. You swallow thickly, and when he turns, you look away.

“...You okay?” He asks, confused.

You nod, unable to speak. He gives you a small smile, the corners of his eyes crinkled up like crepe paper. You return it with one of your own. 

He sees you. Finally, you see him too.

_

_

_

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[writemekpop]

I Kissed the President (Part 2) | Jung Jaehyun

Summary: You're an undercover journalist digging for dirt on billionaire Jung Jaehyun. You'd do anything to get the story. Even fuck him... But what happens when he finds out you're lying?

Genre: Smut, angst, drama

Word Count: 1.5k

Part 1 | Part 2 ❤️ | Part 3

The idea of seeing you again makes Jaehyun feel a little hot. And not just in a good way. Kind of sweaty. Nervous, almost. 

You vowed to never go back to Jaehyun – but your editor said that if you couldn’t get this story, you ‘shouldn’t come back at all’.

So, three nights later, you go back to Jaehyun’s house. You’re wearing an outrageous black lace dress that ‘highlights your boobs’ (in Giselle’s words). 

A full-on limousine idles in front of Jaehyun’s house. 

Jaehyun slouches stylishly in the back seat, offering you a glass of champagne. “More tea, vicar?” 

You can’t stop smiling.

Jaehyun’s wealth should disgust you, but it secretly impresses you. He looks offensively good in a black three-piece suit, his fringe falling into his forehead. 

He treats you to a five-course meal in a skyscraper. The restaurant… is empty. 

“I asked them to keep our little date quiet,” Jaehyun murmurs. “Journalists, am I right?” 

You stifle a gasp. If only he knew.

A while later, you are in a designer clothing shop, resting your heads on your elbows. Your eyes burn into each other’s. 

A gorgeous three thousand dollar Chanel dress lies between you – one that you made the mistake of glancing at. 

“Get me to change my mind on one of my policies and the dress is yours,” he challenges. 

“Easy,” you say. “Stop cutting immigration. Instead, let qualified people from abroad enter the country. The economy will boom.”

Jaehyun clears his throat uncomfortably. “Well… I hadn’t thought of that.” He eyes the dress. “If I didn’t know how sexy you would look in this dress, I would be annoyed. It is very expensive.” 

Later, you and Jaehyun walk arm in arm along the banks of the Han River. Dangerously, the dress makes you feel like you are Asha… like you could do anything. 

Jaehyun smiles arrogantly down at you. “Did my date impress you?” He sighs. “Why even ask? Of course, you’re impressed.” 

You curl your lip. “You’re a little rich boy who showered his family’s money on me. That doesn’t take talent.” 

His face hardens. “Stop calling me that.”

“What?” you say.

“A rich boy. I’m not who you think I am.” His voice drops. “My father, who you love talking about, isn’t even my father.”

Your heart speeds up. This is the story you’ve been looking for. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, keeping your voice steady.

Jaehyun continues, “I’m an orphan. He picked me up from the streets when I was ten. Trust me, if he had any child of his own, they would be running the party.”   

You gasp.

He smiles bitterly. “Poverty? I know it.” 

You should be thrilled – this is enough to bring Jaehyun’s campaign down. But instead, all you want is for that pained look to leave his eyes. 

Just then, a strange memory surfaces in your mind. You frown. 

Jaehyun smiles sadly. “Now you remember.”  

And then it comes back to you. Almost twenty years ago, your mum sent you to the laundrette… when you saw a boy with large brown eyes and dimples, sitting on a huge box of Ultra Clean laundry detergent, grinning at you. You gave him your last coin.  

In delight, you clasp the sides of Jaehyun’s face, beaming up at him. You always wondered what that boy would be like when he grew up… how handsome he would be. You could barely believe that the boy was Jaehyun.

Jaehyun kisses you. And you like it. Far too much. You kiss him back, pulling his body as close to you as is humanly possible. He feels delicious against you. You feel his hardness against every inch of your skin. 

You try to see him as the spoilt airhead the way you used to. You try to stop yourself from caring about him. But you fail – Jaehyun has changed for you. Or maybe, you two were never that different in the first place.  

You pull away…

Removed from the intoxicating influence of his lips, you are confused. Jaehyun, if he likes you at all, does not like you. He likes Asha. 

The thought makes you stiffen. 

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you walk away, hoping the chill night air will bring you clarity. 

“Asha,” he calls. “Leaving so soon? That’s classy.”

But his joke does not make you laugh. You know where you have to go. 

---

The office of the Daily Herald is empty. 

Every time you try to write the news story that will bring Jaehyun’s campaign down, you get distracted. 

You see Jaehyun’s blazing eyes as he confessed to you. You feel his lips on your lips. You remember the grin of the boy at the laundrette so many years ago. And the words won’t come. 

You take a deep breath. This article will save your career. As for you and Jaehyun… well, there is no you and Jaehyun. 

You plug in your headphones and, though your stomach is twisting, you begin to write. 

Jaehyun Jung is the darling of the people. However, even he has his share of dirty secrets…

When you are done, you feel disgusted by your article. It’s a cheap shot. You’re not attacking Jaehyun’s policies – you’re attacking him for being working class. And, a little voice says, you’re hurting him. 

You decide that you will never publish this article. If you lose your job, so be it. 

When you see the time, you freak out. You need to get home. 

---

The next morning, you are awoken by a rapid pinging noise. 

You have 7 missed calls from Giselle, followed by a message that says, TURN ON THE TV. 

…is not, in fact, former President Jung’s son…

…orphan, picked up off the street…

…election campaign thrown off the rails… 

The newsreader lifts up a copy of the Daily Herald – with your article front and centre. 

How did they get that? You never submitted the article! You look for your laptop… then realise that you left it in the office last night. 

You feel sick. 

You have only one message from Jaehyun.

‘I trusted you.’ 

—

Read Part 3 here! 💋

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I’m sorry my beautiful boy…

Scaramouche x fem!reader angst

(I was reading angst stories so i decided to write one too😊)

He should have know… he should have noticed it sooner… but he’s now to late.. now he has to see his first love being buried, he can’t take this pain anymore so he walked away from the funeral, he hated himself, even disgusted with himself for ever cheating on his first love.. if only she had told him sooner he would have helped instead of making her live through hell…

“Jeez can’t you even do anything properly” he said in a annoyed tone, as he looks down at you while you try to clean up the food you had accidentally spilled due to your hand shaking. “Sorry scara” you said in a soft tone

“Whatever I’m going out don’t wait for me oh and don’t call or text” he said as he got ready to leave. “Where are you going?” You asked. “Mind your own business” he said in a annoyed tone as he walked out

After a few months your condition as gotten worse.

Scaramouche looked at you in disgust as he saw you on the ground with food spilled on you. “I’m s-sorry scara I tried to hold on it tight but I-“ you get cut off by scara. “Fucking save it, jeez you really are pathetic, no wonder you were single for a while and for being known as the weird girl” he said in a disgusted tone.

“Anyways I been wanting to tell you I found someone new so I wanna break up with you,I’ll be moving out of this place in a week” he said and walked out of the place. You just stayed there on the floor processing the word he just told you

After a week he moved out and fully started dating the girl he cheated on you with and moved in with her, you just smiled after you waved goodbye to him as you thought it was for the best as you would be gone… unfortunately you had to go to the hospital but you had no one to call as your friends are out of town and your parents live in another country so you had to call your ex boyfriend. He eventually accepted so he told yuki that he was going somewhere, yuki tried to ask where but he just told her it was a family emergency

At the hospital you were getting your stuff ready to leave as the doctor told you that it was best for you to do the things you love as you only had a few months left. Scaramouche was devastated to find out the truth… he refused to believe it… but unfortunately he can’t do anything but to watch you slowly leave this world. He made it his mission to try and give you the best memories during these few months left

“Scara you don’t have to come with me I can go alone” you said with a smile. “Yuki will get mad if she found out you’re still hanging out with your ex” you said while looking at the cherry blossom you loved. He hates how you said ex. But he knew it was the truth your not his girlfriend anymore your not his anymore still he refused to believe it. “I told her I was at a family only dinner don’t worry about anything” he said with a soft tone a tone he never use with you as he kiss the top of your head

He should have let you take those pictures you wanted to take the moment you started dating, he should have let you record your guys dates. So he decided to take videos and pictures on his own to have something to remember you. He thought to himself how beautiful you looked while the wind blew….

Now it was your last day.. he was devastated he refused to let you go. “Y/n pls don’t leave me!! Come on love you have to stay strong what- what about the dream we both had!!” He cried out as he hold onto your hand. “I’m s-sorry scara I tried but now I have to go, p-plus you have yuki you can have to dreams with her” you said as you tried your best to stay awake

“No no no I don’t want yuki to fulfill those dreams I want us to fulfill it pls don’t leave me!!” He sobbed and and lay on the the bed with you to hold you close.

“Im tired but pls don’t forget us…pls fulfill our dream for me..don’t forget i love you scara. I’ll only be a dream now” you said in a low tone as your eyes slowly start closing

“I’m sorry my beautiful boy,I’m sorry for having to leave you but now I have to go, pls don’t forget our promise…” you said in a tired tone as now your eyes close. “I will my sweet girl, I’ll fulfill our dream even if I have to fulfill it with another girl, now rest my love I won’t forget you…” he said as he closes his eyes and cries silently as he hold you close

[tteokdoroki]

✩࿐TRACK 05: SUMMER. hanta sero (2K)

about. after a whirl wind summer of fucking around - sero realises he’s in some deep, deep shit. he’s in love with you, but you’re set to move across the globe by the end of the season. what the hell is he gonna to do?

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! suggestive, sfw, slight angst, fluff, happy ending, sneaky links, mentions of (car) sex, friends with benefits to lovers, love confessions, sidekick + fem!reader, pro hero!sero.

things to note. reee can you believe the series is almost over? one last fic and then we’re done sobs!! this one is so corny but i love it !! some lovely sero content for you this humble saturday, i hope you enjoy <3 - masterlist / series masterlist / series playlist ✩

this was so fucked up. 

everyone had warned sero about what he was doing. his playboy antics would soon catch up to him and soon he would be the one catching feelings — he had listened to his friends but he didn’t think it would be true. he wouldn’t be this fucking whipped for a girl who was bound to leave him by the end of the season.

of course, bakugou had been the voice of reason, but his reasoning was worth questioning since he had just flown half way across the country to get back together with his girlfriend. they were going to make it work this time. lucky them. 

but hanta isn’t in the same situation as any of his old high school friends — he’s been messing about with a sidekick from bakugou’s agency who was set to transfer to america right after summer ended. doing things he shouldn’t have been doing, fucking you in places where he shouldn’t have, catching feelings when he shouldn’t have. at the start of this sneaky arrangement, the dark haired hero had told you that everything in the romantic sense was off limits.

no love, no lips, no strings. 

unfortunately for him, he can’t seem to get enough of you. he’s been trying so hard not to fall in love, but every time you kiss it’s like you’re healing all of his wounds and filling him up with life. sero first noticed it was bad when he caught himself avoiding flirting with other people, ignoring subtle invitations back to their place all in respect for your feelings. since when did hanta sero care about not hurting you? since when did he like you enough to always have you on his mind?

he would call it off as soon as the leaves turned. at least that’s what he’d promised himself — no more favours, he would act like your summer romance never even existed…but sero finds himself warming up the idea of holding you close through summer nights, growing excited at the feeling of your head against his chest so you could hear his dull heart beat.

it’s disgusting how fast his mind had changed about you, a sickly sweet and syrupy feeling coursing through the hero’s veins and clogging the arteries that led to heart just from you looking at him. like right now. your big doe eyes trained on hanta as you throw his shirt over your naked body. you’re giggling awkwardly, revelling im the brush of his sweat slicked skin against you own after the pair of you had fucked around and gotten a little messy in the backseat of his car.

he would never let this happen if it were anybody else, but you just had to be different.

“you’re staring, han,” you coo, teasing him. mocking him. as if you know how whipped he is for you. from your place, bare between the thighs in his lap, you lean forward and let your lips connect in a slow and sensual kiss — hanta lets you guide the motion and settles his calloused hands on the curve of your waist, chasing your sweet taste and your softness as he tries to cherish the moment knowing that this won’t last forever. “you good?” 

the way you breathe against sero’s open mouth drives him fucking insane — like a drug with a high so worth it he doesn’t mind if the crash kills him. “s’nothin’ princess,” he can’t help but lie, keeping his voice even. who would he be if he admitted that that he wanted more than this summer situationship he was putting himself through just for the sake of being with you. “don’t you worry your pretty little head.” 

he gives your waist a reassuring squeeze, but it does nothing to soothe the pout on your face. “hanta, we’ve been doing this long enough for me to tell when something’s bothering you,” looking away from his obsidian eyes, you trace a random pattern against the black ink  tattoo on his right shoulder, colouring outside of the lines. “you can be honest with me.” 

sero so wishes that he could be. however there’s some sort of innate barrier in his mind that stops him from admitting his truth to you. telling you how he feels won’t stop you from going across the globe to live out your fullest potential as a hero and everyone knows that long distance doesn’t work. it would never work with hanta, you probably wouldn’t be able to trust him enough… not with his past fuckboy reputation. 

“i promise it’s not worth worrying about, gorgeous.” he boops your nose, heart siezing in his chest when your face scrunches adorably at the contact. “once summer ends and you’re on the way to the states, you won’t need to stress over me, kay?” 

a quiet fills the car once sero finishes speaking, and panic takes a hold of his battling emotions. did he let slip what the real problem was? 

“you want to end this, don’t you?” your lips press into a thin line but you don’t make a move to pull away from him. the black haired hero blinks, his mind blanking. it’s now or never. “god! how could i be so stupid. to think i was going to stay here for you! i should have never gotten myself involved with you, bakugou warned me about this. he said as soon as i caught feelings it would be over and you would never feel the same—“ your mouth runs a mile a minute, all of your thoughts coming out as a whiny blur. 

it takes sero a moment to realise, but his brain catches one detail throughout your ramble — nestled between your hiccups for breath and the sound of cicadas in the bushes outside of his car. firmly, he grips your wrists before you can pull off of him — guilt settling his features when he notices the tears beginning to brew in your pretty eyes. 

“what?” you snap, voice wobbling. “let go of me hanta.” 

“no!” he snaps back. “look at me, princess.” 

“get off!” 

“just give me a second!”

both of your chests are heaving, your eyes wide and wet — and sero can’t believe how fucking beautiful you look even when teary eyed. even when it’s because of him. “just, let’s wait a minute. let me talk, okay?” once you give sero the okay and stop withdrawing from him, he pulls you to lay on his chest (just like he’s done many times before) so that you can hear just how fast his heart is racing for you. “princess,” he begins, brushing a hand down your spine to make you shiver and curl into him some more. “i’ve never been good at this feelings thing… i’ve never even been in a proper relationship b’fore…”

“is this supposed to be making me feel better, han?” 

the dark haired hero rolls his eyes despite the flustered expression that settles on his features. “aye, didn’t i ask you to let me finish?” sero half-heartedly scolds you, covering his face in embarrassment while his fingers curl in his bangs in frustration. he peeks one midnight black eye open at you once you quiet down. “good girl.” 

you pinch his nipple in response. “watch it.” 

“alright, alright, sorry princess,” inhaling deep, sero takes the plunge. “i’ve never been in a proper relationship, before you?” his lean shoulders raise, indicating how hard he’s trying. “like…this past summer, you’ve made me feel happy in ways i didn’t even know were possible. i wake up in the mornings ‘n i’m thinking of you. going by to bed it’s the same…and I can’t even explain the way i feel when i get to see you.” 

hanta feels your gaze on him, yet instead of clamming up, he swallows his pride and pushes forward. “when…when you leave; i feel like it’s going to kill me. and this isn’t me asking you to stay, princess. it’s me tellin’ you that i broke every rule i had in place for you. i think…i think that i love you.” 

a burning sensation pricks at the tips of sero’s ears as a blush spread over his body and you remain quiet. giving your hips a squeeze, he dares to look up and meet your soft stare. 

“say somethin’, princess.” 

“you love me?” when you finally snap out of your reverie, stunned into silence by your fuck buddy’s speech, you somehow manage to croak the words out shyly. sero nods once.

seconds later, a shining smile breaks out on your face — practically illuminating the back of sero’s car. “yeah. yeah i love you…” he mumbles, tipping his head up towards yours as he brushes a calloused thumb over your slightly chapped bottom lip. “i know we said no love but… i really want to…” 

“kiss me, hanta.” comes your soft command and he wastes no time in doing what he’s told — lurching forward to capture your hot mouth in a slow, calculated kiss. hanta sero pours every feeling he can’t seem to say out loud into you, hoping that you’re able to grasp how much he’s fallen for you. 

panting and with burning lungs, you pull away from one another when the need for air becomes way too much. “if you couldn’t already tell by that kiss, i love you too hanta.” you say, pressing your forehead against his, grimacing playfully at the feeling of his sweaty bangs against your sticky skin. 

“i’d fuckin’ hope so,” sero beams, grabbing your chin to get another taste. “‘m gonna miss you when you leave me.” 

“i’ll miss you more,” you breathe back, cupping his face. “we’ll figure this out.” 

“right. we’ll figure it out together.”  hanta agrees, opting to live in the moment with you instead of dwelling on what’s to come. and even though he still thinks it’s fucked up that he tried and failed at not falling in love, he truly is grateful for the three months you’ve had together this summer — looking forward the to the many more you’ll have in the future.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[fatalmorning]

‼️ REALLY LONG - Eve Moral. Deep dive? About the 3 brothers. Find them all really interesting… Edgar in actions, Eve in character and Kai in… story? Honestly can’t get enough of the Kai and Eve dynamic. Really the 3 brothers in general but them mostly. Their story is a lot more sad when you think about it.

First of all Kai. The youngest, and also the most screwed over one. He gives you this relaxed vibe, laid back but his last part gives you a kind of depressive vibe. He goes back and forth from putting on this “fun and cool” face to this “I need help” face. I mean think about it really. His older brother, who has sociopathic behavior, practically mentally tortures their mother into running away (when she clearly already had her own problems). Then years later his twin brother runs away. Leaving him alone with Edgar. Edgar then starts to blackmail Kai, in this fucked up relationship where it’s, “clean up my mess and I’ll pay you. If you don’t I can get you arrested for literally hundreds of murders from the DNA of YOURS that I have.” Kai almost makes it seem like he’s there, doing it willingly at first., which he’s clearly not, then outright says he’s not. Almost blowing it off at first by saying “oh well he’s providing for me.” Before deciding to just tell the listener. But then you realize how much more damage Edgar is causing by lying to Eve. Saying, “Look at him… the disgusting things he does. His life, his actions, his money. It’s greedy, it’s rotten.” (Not an actual quote). Almost like he’s playing into the visions Eve has by telling him that Kai does it for money. Because it’s profitable, which is Eve’s whole theory and big idea with Hypnos… about this power imbalance between society and people with power. Eve knows Edgar is a liar, but he believes him because Edgar has played into Eve’s beliefs. That might have been the cause for Eve running away. They would have been in their teens then since we know in the videos Kai is 19. Or he could have been told that after running away. We know they had little contact due to Eve sending checks in the mail. There’s no clear timeline. But lying and misunderstanding isn’t the (main) problem. The fact that Eve never knew what was really going on. He was so caught up with his own life, and problems with Hypnos. He’ll never know how much Kai actually cared about him. Kai talks about it, about Eve, and that the money is proof Eve is well- doing good for himself and that he’s glad Eve escaped. He’s glad that there’s a chance Eve cares even a little about his family after everything, and glad that he’s “happy and healthy.”

And then we have Eve. Him and his cult can be an entirely different post. But for now, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that Kai still gives a shit, he thinks the roles are swapped. He thinks Kai is murdering people, streaming red rooms for money. And Edgar is just a sociopath who drove their mother insane. He has no reason to like his family really… but he tried. In an effort to get out of his own problems he used Kai.

Having no context on what the possible standoff or event was like is heartbreaking. Maybe Kai saw Eve and was happy, hopeful, excited even.., before immediately being betrayed without an explanation. Maybe he was caught off guard and never got to see Eve one last time. Whatever happened, we now know Kai never got his chance to explain because of Eve’s explanation as to why he did it. And after Eve leaves the country, he won’t ever know unless somebody makes an effort to get to him about it. Somebody as in the only two people who know which are Edgar and Kai’s listener. Both know Eve exists but know nothing about his whereabouts. If Edgar wanted to, he could try to make an effort but he doesn’t seem like the type to care. He hasn’t really lost a lot, he could easily put another person in that relationship. And Kai’s listener doesn’t have enough material to go off of, if they tried it wouldn’t be long before they got themselves stuck in some situation with somebody who has connections to this whole problem. Likely ending with them dead too.

[blueberryinko]

How about this story idea/request??

Due to Covid + Quarantine, a boyfriend had been stuck over seas not being able to get back with her girlfriend back in the US (so imagine if the story took place today, that would of meant he was stuck in that other country for at least three years), only to finally get the opportunity to get back home.

He would get to his house where he and his girlfriend lives when when his went to finally see his gf again, he would see how quarantine had affected her; due to the need of money, she had to take jobs as a surrogate (with the current one being her 5th surrogate pregnancy with many, many multiples) with the cravings hitting her pretty hard, as she is now a heavily pregnant fat doughball, barely able to waddle and not being able to wear clothes due to her size (she also lactates a lot).

Then after a hard but loving conversation, the boyfriend admits that she loves the way his gf looks, with the couple getting into it.

Also you don’t have to write this, but maybe the boyfriend was stuck in Japan cause it was one of the first countries to get hit by COVID.

(Oh my fucking GOD this is so hot.)

Quarantine Gestator

(Minor reference to farting here only in the humorous sense, I promise)

“Can you believe I’m coming home soon?” Adam asked, looking at his computer screen, his girlfriend’s face showing on the monitor, though anything below her head was cut off.

“What- wait really?” Brie’s voice was pitchy and tinged with alarm, though she tried to mask it as enthusiasm. What would he say if he saw her like this? “Wh-when do you think you’ll be back?” She tried to probe gently, Adam not seeing his girlfriend’s nervousness. “Oh by next week at the latest.” He replied nonchanatly. “NEXT WEEK?” She yelped, her cheeks hot with embarrassment. “Oh my God, I- I can’t wait to have you b-back!” Truth be told she was dreading him coming back and seeing what a pig she’d made of herself.

Adam hadn’t seen his girlfriend in three years. The coronavirus pandemic had him stuck in Japan, only able to see her through Zoom calls. The time difference made it so that one of them was always tired and lethargic. She’d stopped showing her body a while back because ‘she’d grown too big to show ANYTHING off now.’ Being a professional surrogate, he’d gotten to see her belly grow with multiples twice over the pandemic, and he’d loved seeing every inch of her belly swell out larger and larger with half a dozen lives.

Being stuck in Japan hadn’t been all bad. Sure, the paper-thin walls of his apartment meant he could hear his neighbour blowing up her girlfriend like a hot air balloon, but the sights were still cool, he got delivery fresh from the restaurant across the way, and he’d managed to keep relatively healthy. The same couldn’t be said for his girlfriend.

“Hey honey, I’m ho-ome!” He called, opening the door to his apartment. “I-in here!” His girlfriend called. Last she’d updated him, she was seven months pregnant, and to his utter amazement, with eleven babies “Coming-holy shit babe!”

The sight Adam had walked into was.. really fucking hot. Brie had let herself go too much during the pandemic. She had REALLY let herself go. She was quite literally a huge ball of flab and baby, a doughball if he could make any such comparison. Adam felt his blood rush south as his jaw dropped, eyes wide. “B-brie.. baby, you look…”

Brie’s plump, round cheeks were a bright crimson, flapping her hands. Her body jiggled slightly as she did, completely humiliated by her titanic size. She was also, to Adam’s added arousal, completely naked, pink, puffy nipples gushing milk down her front. “Like a cow?” She knew it, she was a disgusting slob, she couldn’t even move of her own accord! Adam shook his head fervently. “No, god no, Brie, never! You look like a goddess!” He approached her, rubbing her soft, fat flesh gently. She cooed, sniffling. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Adam murmured. “You must have been so lonely.” He murmured. Quarantine had kept them apart for three years. “So.. when did you get, you know, this big?” He asked. Brie didn’t really know, but she could make an estimate. “Somewhere around a year and a half in? I think? I don’t know, I was carrying like seven babies back then, and my body just.. never lost the weight it gained. Doctors said my body was self-sustaining now at least, so there was that. I got used to it, but I didn’t want to show you my face, I love being like this, but I was so afraid you’d stop loving me.”

“Brie, how could I?” Adam reasoned. “You and I, six years we’ve been together, even longer we’d been best friends. I love you no matter how big or how small you are.” A kick from the babies made her body shudder, and Brie moaned. “What was it, thirteen babies in here this time?” He asked gently, kneeling to rub her belly. She confirmed with a nod. “Y-yeah, f-five families, a batch each.. the docs pumped me real full…” She moaned, the feeling of Adam’s hand orgasmic to her. She was so sensitive nowadays she could barely think, let alone waddle. Speaking of…

Her crotch dragged along the floor as she waddled. Small mews and whimpers escaped her as she did so, pounds and pounds of luscious, fatty flesh jiggling as she did so, the big butterball breeder simply unable to move under her own weight. Well, she could, just not for long. Adam caressed her belly as it met his hand. “So, you’re stuck like this?” Brie nodded, her chin hitting the thick layer of flab that was her divot. “For the rest of my life.”

“Then I’m moving you in to my place,” Adam decided. “We can get you a barn, some milking machines and an ultrasound room for you, I got a huge insurance payout from the airline after my flight delay.” Brie started to deny it, but Adam stopped her with a kiss. “Trust me babe, you can be my fat, bloated cow as long as you want.” Brie spluttered, “I don’t exactly like-nngggaaaahh!” She squealed as her clit throbbed, the weight of her pussy on the floor causing pressure in her underside.

“O-okay, I do like being like this.” Brie admitted quietly. Adam grinned, leaning down. He began to suckle from her teat, and Brie’s eyes went wide. “Oh, fuck, Adam!” She gasped as milk flowed down Adam’s throat. The babies kicked, and Brie wished they were theirs. Adam continued to drink, squeezing Brie’s golf-ball sized nipple, watching as a river of milk splashed down his girlfriend’s expanse, dripping down his chin. He stopped to take a breath, wiping his chin. “That.. tastes fucking amazing.” Adam grinned, rolling her further onto her belly.

“Adam-Adam, oh, sh-shit!” Brie shuddered, her entire frame reverberating as fat flesh slapped on her wooden floor. She flapped her hands, no longer in control of her body. The cold air wasted no time in chilling her sensitive, swollen labia, making her shiver. “C-cold, baby!” She whined. Adam leaned over, his hands over her head, fingers sinking slightly into her taut flesh. “I know love, want me to warm you up?” He asked gently.

Her coos were all the answer he needed, beginning to rub her belly. The sensation of dozens of unborn lives wriggling and shifting inside her caused her turgid frame to wobble, and she adored it. The fact that Adam seemed to be just as into it was a huge bonus for her. Her skin felt electric, his hands quickly warming her body. “Nnf- oh fuck!” She was a fat, baby baking blimp, and he was handling her like she was a modern angel, careful and loving.

“Fuck, you’re so big.” Adam hissed, playing with her fat belly. He wondered if her diameter would count as an entire baby bump in and of itself, layering kisses down her gut. “Aaanh!” Brie’s breath hitched, feeling him trailing down, down, down. Then, she felt hands on her underside. Then she was rolling. Her massive weight began to bowl around the room. “Uwaaaa…” If she could rub herself, she would. The feeling was heavenly, his hands manhandling her as she went. “Imagine what you’re gonna be like with MY babies inside you.” He growled possessively.

“A-Adam!” She started, and Adam watched as she babbled, her head coming around again to look at him from her divot. “You like that my big breeder?” She was helpless to him as she settled on her side. He kneeled down, taking her head in his hands and kissing her. “A-Adam, fuck, I want your babies!” She loved being a surrogate, but the primal, fertile side of her said she wanted her man’s babies cramming her womb, kicking and wriggling as they threatened to pop their big, fat mama.

“Oh I know baby, but don’t you like helping other families too? These babies are your gifts to the world, to people who want their own families.” Adam whispered, kissing her forehead. “Besides, you’re just a vessel now, right? What’s stopping anybody from, y’know, taking you as their breeder?” The teasing was too much. Brie’s pussy throbbed with need and her reddened cheeks heated further, sweat dripping down her chubby cheeks.

“N-nothing…” She mewed. Adam grinned, standing up. “Exactly, Brie. Nothing. Which means I can claim you.” She was rolling again, head over ass as she went, until her body pressed against the wall, her feet just barely touching the floor. Adam unzipped, his manhood threatening to tear his boxers in half. She couldn’t see it, but she sensed the shaft rubbing against her belly. “A-adam!” She needed him badly, and he knew it. Stripping off his boxers, he positioned himself.

“Such a big, fertile belly, gonna get so much bigger.” He teased, sliding his cock into her navel. She instinctively clenched around him, and he hissed. “Good girl, so fucking tight, aren’t you.” He loved how big her boobs had gotten, and as he fucked her belly, he leaned over, taking an engorged boob in his mouth. He squeezed and milk flooded his mouth. It was rich and almost like vanilla. “Adam, p-please-!” She gasped, flapping her hands. Adam kept a firm hold of her, pumping her for all her worth. She was surprised he was so eager, but she supposed her milk tank were just so big he couldn’t help himself.

Once he’d gulped down his fill, he wiped his mouth. He increased his speed, watching as she jiggled. He imagined her in the future, rolling about their house, moaning about how fucking pregnant he’d made her, his fat bred bride barely able to waddle under her weight. They’d have to get helpers, maybe maids. Those thoughts were naughty enough, and he could think of several ways they could help her. He was rigid, and Brie didn’t think he could get any bigger. “A-adam, gotta cum, g-gotta- please-!” She begged, vibrating visibly, creaking loudly.

SLAP, SLAP, SLAP- “Almost- there!” Adam came with a grunt- “UWAAA!” She came with a wet splash, shaking and shuddering as she rode out one of the longest orgasms she’d ever had. Brie gasped and panted for breath as it finally ended. She’d been pent up for a full two years and she was so glad she’d been able to cum. Adam wasn’t done yet though. And she was ready.

He rotated her body, grinning as her fat womanhood rose to meet him, her swollen underside glimmering with the slick results of her orgasm. Adam inserted a finger, testing. “Nggff!” She mewed, and he knew she was just if not more sensitive down here. “So wet.. all for me? Good baby baker.” He wasted no time in impaling her on his cock. She took him easily, and he was big enough that his head probed her cervix. He shifted his hips, pulsing inside her.

“A-adam, h-when did you get so— nyaaah! Big!?” She begged, alarmed at his size. He slowed, concerned he’d hurt her. “D-don’t stop!” She whimpered. He took it gentle, slow. Her heartbeat was so fast her skin was flush and hot, damp with sweat that dripped down her diameter. She was at the peak of her pleasure and she couldn’t believe how lucky she was. Any other man would surely have broken up with her, but not Adam. He sped up, fucking her vigorously. “Ngggh, nggh, graah!” He growled, her moans in tandem with his, plap, plap, plap, the slapping of their skin went. She couldn’t possibly get more pregnant than she was now, but he could certainly try.

“Breed me, breed me, fucking make me huge!” She begged, and as Adam came with a roar, her body billowed, stretchmarks becoming paler and harsher, her diameter straining and bulging to contain his gigantic load. She could feel his swimmers racing inside her, pumping her to the max. It was so much to bear that Adam fell back, taking her with him as she became plugged with his cock, sat right at the entrance to her cervix. “Whooaaa!” She squealed, landing on him with a soft whoomp.

He was pinned under her, and he wasn’t sure he could get up. They stayed like that for a while, Brie just enjoying being his cocksleeve, keeping his warmth enveloped in her puffy, pregnant lips. Then- “I really need to fart.” Adam admitted. Brie groaned. “Please don’t, please don’t-“ Too late, he’d already done it. “Babe!” She giggled, wrinkling her nose. “That’s so gross!” Adam laughed along with her, “C’mon, you’ve farted before too!” Brie squawked. “Yeah but not while someone has been inside my vagina!” The ridiculousness of the situation caught up to them and they couldn’t help but collapse into laughter.

Eventually Adam managed to roll her off of him, climbing on top of her. “Did you mean what you said?” She asked him. “About wanting your babies inside me?” Adam laid down on her belly, his head poking over the risen mountain of her cleavage. “Yeah. I love seeing you so fertile and fucked full of babies, but I want you to be my baby mama. Maybe exclusively just my babies one day.” He admitted. Brie bit her lip, before confessing something. “At the end of this pregnancy I get a thirteen million dollar payout. We could get married and start building our family.”

Adam gaped, before clambering over her breasts and kissing her. “You know how much I love you, right?” Brie mewed, kissing him back. And as his cock became stiff once again she raised an eyebrow. “Ready for round three? I wanna suck you instead this time.” And he did so eagerly.

-

Thirteen years later

“Belle, help me roll your mother to the truck!” Adam ordered. He helped his wife out of their mansion, the double doors built for her giant circumference. Their daughter rushed to help them. “Jesus Dad, was just trying to wrangle the octuplets! They’re being fussy with Millie and Jane again.” Their helpers were loyal friends to the family, but even they struggled with the twelve children the fat doughball of a woman had bred for Adam.

And she was very overdue with seven more, her body having delayed labour for a while to ensure the healthiest babies, somehow her body just knew, it was designed for incubating now. And finally it was time for the babies to be born so they had to drive a little ways up their land do the birthing house, where Adam and Brie could be in private for their new arrivals.

“Okay, go back and help them then, try and get them down for their afternoon nap?” Their daughter rushed off and Brie moaned through another contraction. “Baby stop worrying, we’ve done all this before..” She came with a grunt, another contraction tightening her diameter. Adam sighed. “I know, I just worry about you.” Brie chuckled. “Don’t, I know what I’m doing.” She murmured. As she was strapped into the truck, Adam rushed around to the driver’s seat.

Brie was a big, several hundred pound breeding blimp of a woman. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[batwynn]

I’ve gotten a few insistent anons lately demanding I state my thoughts and opinions on the current and past history of Palestine on this blog. (You can tell they don’t follow my more personal side blog, I guess.) On the one hand, I do understand people wanting to know that someone they follow has similar opinions on severely important things like this. But on the other hand, most of the asks have that certain… tone that gives me the feeling that they are more interested in ‘catching’ me in something, than any actual concern over my politics or the actual people involved. They’re worded in a way that is very immature—in a way that leaves very little room for anything other than the exact statements parroted back to them that they expect. Which I can’t do. One, because I can’t read their minds to say exactly what they want me to say. Two, because I’m an entire person with a whole life that they know nothing about—something that comes with all the flaws of being a human person with my own history and education based on where I lived and who I knew. And three, because I don’t want to parrot someone else’s words to appease a random person I don’t know. And the thing is, I’ve had this conversation already with nearly everyone in my life. I’ve gone over it at least a dozen times with friends and family from all walks of life. Some conversations were harder than others. All of them were hard. Partially because what is happening is hard to talk about, and partially because I don’t really know what to say. What do I say that changes anything? What do I say that isn’t speaking over someone who is directly affected? What do I say that won’t be misinterpreted by someone willingly misinterpreting/looking for a fight? What can I say that doesn’t hurt anyone at all? Because someone out there will always be hurt, no matter how carefully I try to word things. And I have tried. I’ve written this post 80+ times for months now. I’ve read other’s words and found parts that spoke to me and for me very well, but then have that certain edge that goes into the harm territory. Some lean into Zionism, some lean into antisemitism. Some are just outright racist, some are full on fascist. And that’s really the entirety of it. I just don’t want people to be hurt anymore. So to answer your questions, anon:

I don’t know what the right thing to say is and no matter how careful I am, it will never be correct enough for you. I am angry and horrified at the harm that has been done over many years to the Palestinian people. None of my words can really summarize that history, or what is happening to them right now. Every single day I learn something new, and every single day it is someone doing irreparable harm to innocent people. I am disgusted by the never ending terrorism and harm done by people who think that killing innocents is a worthy way to get them what they want. And that goes for anyone who does this, including but not limited to the Hamas, the Israeli army, or my very own colonizing country. I am alarmed at how black and white people are treating this, and how no consideration is allowed for those who fall between the cracks or who dont follow their strict narrative. That people forget that Jewish Palestinian people exist when they go on their rants, or what people from every ‘side’ or corner of the world can want the end of the harm. That people have hatred for Jewish and Muslim people with no regards to who they actually are and what they believe. That there are so many who support Palestinian freedom, and then parrot outright fascist talking points. That many come to support their Jewish friends, but then say that Palestinian children deserve to die because _____. So, no. There is nothing I can say that really matters. Because no matter what I say someone out there will twist my words, or misunderstand, or tell me that I’m supporting something I don’t support. Because no matter what I say, I just can’t write the right words on fucking Tumblr to stop the harm from being done.

[caitlynskitten]

Tara and Enid can't find any refuge

They try asking their other cousins for help

Tara asks Joey how anyone can be attracted to a monster that feeds on humans. Joey just says it's easier than you'd think as she cuddles Sammy and Tara wonders what the fuck has happened to her entire family

Enid brings it up to Pip and kind of blames her since her country made those films. She goes into detail about how her girlfriend fantasizes about the face sucking aliens and Pip is WAY too curious about the fantasies

I like to think they all love their girlfriends enough to try and indulge them and eventually start getting into it a bit

Tara comes home one day and finds a bag on the kitchen table and sees a face hugger toy in it. Tara just says "we'll try it tonight but only if you're a good girl" and Amber starts to get REALLY excited

Enid buys a Xenomorph costume and tries it on to surprise Wednesday with and finds she starts to enjoy the feeling of it and Wednesday comes in to their bedroom one day to find Enid sprawled on their bed in it and knows she is about to get absolutely ravaged

Yoko looks through Divina's art about the alien and loves how detailed she got and asks if she can borrow Enid's costume sometime. Divina even gets ready for bed one night and finds to her delight that Yoko has changed their bed spread

Not the alien themed bedroom set 😭😭😭 Enid, Tara and Bianca can’t believe this is their life now. And they can’t believe Wednesday has a spell book that can make them live their fantasies 😭 oh and you know they also fuck those aliens on the beds.

Pipa and Cara would be way too disgusted by the idea and leave to go back to London so they don’t have to se the monstrosity that is the girls being fucked by the xenomorphs. Maybe Pippa would be a little curios but Cara pulls her away because she doesn’t want her to get any ideas. Cara’s into a lot of stuff but she doesn’t want to do any of that.

Alternatively, Enid would stay and sit on the cuck chair to watch her cousin and her girlfriends get fucked by the aliens ♥️

[stephobrien]

I’m coming from my vent account because I don’t want to get found out as a Jew on my main. Please, please stop posting in the antisemitism tag. You’re clogging it up and taking away a safe space for Jews by trying to delegitimise Jew hatred. Now, I don’t know if you’re good faith or not, but I’m leaning on no. You keep on going onto posts about Jew hatred from Jews, saying what boils down to ‘wow! I’ve learned so much from this!’ and then you go back to posting inflammatory things again. I mean, you posted something from Caitlin Johnstone, I can’t believe that you give a single shit about Jews (or Ukrainians) after that

As for your most recent post on how poor you just can’t believe lying Jews when we talk about discrimination because you’re scared we’re deceiving you, you put in a comment ‘If I'd seen said Arab nations' governments massacring thousands of civilians, while painting every single criticism of said massacre as Islamophobic, yes, I would have’. This is… I don’t even know how to tackle this, do you genuinely not know all of the horrific shit so many of the Arab states have done? Qatar is known as one of the biggest countries of modern slavery. The Houthis in Yemen sex traffic Ethiopian women, and also reintroduced slavery into Yemen. Just look at the atrocities so many of these countries have committed against Shia Muslims! Is your brain mush, how can you say this when there is so, so much evidence of the horrors that these nations have committed?! And if you think these states graciously accept criticism of those horrors… you’re being ignorant on purpose. And it’s still not okay to say that you don’t believe an Arab when they talk about anti Arab racism that they’ve experienced, I think we can at least agree on that. So why’s it not the same for Jews?

For a more personal example to Jews, look up the Mizrachi expulsion. The Arab states violently expelled almost a million Jews from their countries ‘because Israel’, which they only care about because it ruined their dream of pan Arabism, not because of any solidarity with the Arabs in the mandate btw. My family was lucky, we came from Iran, which is not Arab, so the violence was coming from the people rather than the state itself. But I’ve had to heard accounts from people talking about how they watched their family get shot in the head while their homes were repossessed for no reason other than the fact they were Jews. Is that bad enough for you? Does it even make a dent in your image of the Arab states? Or is it okay because it happened to Jews?

I know I sound very angry in this, and that’s because I am very angry. And that anger is completely justified! My life, and the lives of almost every Jew on this disgusting website, have been beyond horrible for five months. The number of times I’ve had to read about a new Jew hating shooting or stabbing in the world is too many too count. And then, non Jews like you decide to play the ‘oops, I just caaaan’t believe those Jews about Jew hatred because they could be zionists!’ (Which are around eighty percent of the Jewish population, but I don’t think you’re ready for that conversation yet, it’s reserved for people who actually want to learn). All of us are so unimaginably angry. All of us are at our fucking breaking point, or we’ve completely snapped already! The people you have interacted with have been some of the kindest, most levelheaded people here, but you’d better not get used to it, because we’re all tired of this bullshit

Thank you for taking the time to call me out. Between you and the several other people who contacted me about this, I’ve come to realize that that post was a terrible mistake.

It was meant to be a vent post about people who deliberately blur the lines around what’s actually antisemitism, and about my lack of certainty about my own ability to independently assess the less obvious instances of that (which is clearly still very lacking, as the response to that post made clear to me).

But it apparently caught a lot of innocent Jews in the crossfire, making them feel unsafe, unheard, and delegitimized. That wasn’t the intention, but it was clearly the effect. I screwed up badly, and I’m sorry.

I admittedly don’t know all the details about the horrific shit Arab nations have done. I was aware of Iraq’s government mass murdering protesters, and Saudi Arabia’s horrifically sexist laws, but some of the info you shared in this post is stuff I hadn’t previously heard of.

As for why I mentioned false accusations of antisemitism specifically, it’s because that’s the one I’ve seen several times a day lately, sometimes in the form of stuff like telling people who protest child murder that “You just don’t like it when Jews defend themselves.”

That said, you and the other people who responded have made it clear to me that that focus was based on an overly narrow view on my part. I’ve been more active in pro-Palestine circles than in circles that focus on the other situations you mentioned, so naturally that resulted in me seeing more antisemitism accusations than accusations focused on groups that aren’t directly involved in that conflict. So that resulted in a less than balanced viewpoint.

While my vent post was meant to be about one specific phenomenon I’d personally seen a lot of, the fact that I didn’t mention similar behavior on the part of groups I hadn’t personally seen as much of that behavior from did result in it being unjustly targeted, in a way I didn’t intend but should’ve assessed better.

What happened to you and other Jews at the hands of Arab nations (and pretty much every nation) was absolutely not okay. The effect my post had on you and other Jews who saw it was not okay. The treatment you’ve endured on Tumblr is not okay. And I’m sorry for the pain I caused you.

You have every right to be angry at me. I won’t ask you to forgive me or trust me, because I know I earned your anger with that poorly thought out post. I shouldn’t have made my own insecurities and frustrations other people’s problem like that. I screwed up badly, and I’m sorry.

[saltofmercury]

Don't know that it's a *good* fic request but: Soap being freaked out by a giant spider and while others make fun of him, they're trying to hide that they're freaked out too

Thank you for this, I laughed and did not sleep for nights because I kept dreaming about this spider.

"Spider"

“I can’t believe we’re staying in a barn” Soap’s eyebrows raised, looking at the abandoned, huge, brown barn in front of him. 

On a mission in Venezuela, following a drug lord, the 141 ran out of options to secure a safehouse. A barn located about 45 miles from where they were supposed to be fighting, realizing they were a little bit over their heads on this mission. 

After a successful mission prior, cockiness had filled each of the members' heads. The barn, which smelled of lake water and horseshit, definitely humbled them in their new environment. 

Ghost, Soap, Price, and Gaz had all retreated to this small barn. Tired and hungry from walking so much. Price and Ghost settled outside keeping the first watch as Soap and Gaz took rest first.

Soap had opened the doors to the barn and the smell hit him. Gaz, who had been in much more disgusting places did not mind at all, just wanted to catch some rest before it was his turn to take watch.

He couldn’t help but shake his head at Soap. He never assumed Soap to be such a prissy thing when it came to staying in this barn.

Soap was disgusted. He had not slept in 3 days, the fatigue weighing heavily on his eyelids, shoulders, and legs. He dropped the gun slung over his shoulder and began to make a makeshift bed out of the hay and dirt left inside. He ended up realizing it was not dirt, but dried up feces he was mixing together. 

He gagged out loud. Now he was pissed. Rightfully pissed. Did they not have a better fucking place to take cover for the night? He threw his gloves to the end of the barn. “That’s boggin!”

He shifted over to another space of the barn where Gaz was. He flashed his light inside of the barn and began to make the hay bed again. He was fuming but he wasn’t going to say anything. Sure, there had been worse positions he was in, but right now, he could not handle a grotesque barn.

Gaz saw the opportunity he had to take. He knew Soap was pissed when his top lip curled into his mouth and he remained quiet. 

“Have you ever heard about the folklore here? They hanged a mom in a barn for killing all her children.”

Soap leaned in, “I told you I don’t like your ghost stories or any keech you researched.”

Gaz smiled, “You scared Soap?” “Y’know they say that in this very barn, the woman likes to come and snatch you by the legs to drown ya in the river nearby.”

“haud yer wheesht, just don’t like messin’ with the dead you dobber.” He was tired. Tired of all the useless facts Gaz had been blabbing about the country, and its ghost stories. 

He finished his set up near a thick post. The post was almost as big as his head. After shucking off his gear and carefully placing his weapons by him, he leaned by it, mentally telling himself this was better than any cold ground outside.

Gaz made an eerie noise. He made a guttural noise with this throat, followed by a poor impression of a woman.

“Johnny…. My children… please save my children”

“shitebag.. you startin’?”

Gaz bit the inside of his cheek to hold back laughter. Soap was just too easy.

Gaz continued to make noises, throwing small rocks from his pack to have Soap twitch around. The rocks weren’t hitting him, so he looked around for something else. He then saw his opportunity. A small spider on a post above Soap’s head. He grabbed it and chucked it softly onto Soap’s face.

Soap swiped at his face. His eyes went wide, and his stomach dropped. He turned to face Gaz.

“Enough playing around, I felt something crawl on my entire cheek”

Gaz howled. Soap was so stupid.

“Fuck this I’m not stayin’ here.” Soap had proceeded to sit up looking around.

“You scared of a little spider?” He said, attempting to catch his breath.

“You didn’t feel it mate, it took over ma’ entire cheek” Soap continued.

“You scared of a little bite?”

“You see when those get infected? Entire spot goes BLACK and your face starts fallin’ off I’m not dealing with that.”

Soap wasn’t satisfied. He got up and began searching beneath the hay with his flashlight. He pointed his knife and chucked the hay off trying to find whatever it was that crawled on him.

Gaz stopped laughing, thinking about how Price would surely be pissed knowing they were wasting time dicking around instead of resting up. He was about to tell him he grabbed the spider above his head and to try and get some rest. Soap flashed the light up on the post, where Gaz took the baby spider from and they soon realized the terror watching them from above.

They both jumped back. Soap almost dropped his flashlight just seeing it.

“Fuckin’ hell that’s HUGE!” Gaz pulled his light out and looked at the monstrosity.

The spider was massive. Hairy, brown, and thick– just like the post Soap was laying against. Completely camouflaged, its body had taken up the entire post, its legs wrapped around it. It didn’t move, or twitch. It laid there minding its own business.

Gaz now felt scared. “Shit what if it jumps?”

They turned off their lights. Gaz came to an awful realization in his head.

This was a goliath birdeater. He had been reading up on South America when he read a “fun fact” about Venezuela having a record for the biggest spider, and also eating this spider. He also came to the conclusion that the one he threw at Soap was its babies…

He spoke in shock –

“What if it laid babies underneath the hay?”

Soap eyed the barn hay, if any brown spots had been crawling around. Seeing Gaz terrified, only made him realize something horrific, if he was scared, who was going to kill it?

“Aye so now I’m not the only one scared?”

“Fuck off mate YOU never specified how BIG it was!” Gaz said, shaking his head.

“Aye and me sayin’ something crawled on my ENTIRE cheek wasn’t big enough for you?” Soap pointed at him with his knife. 

Gaz kept his eyesight on the spider. It was huge, hairy, and looked fake…like it took steroids, something you buy for a Halloween prop. It immediately reminded him of the time in Australia.

“This is why we left Australia,” he said in a low voice. Still astonished at the size of it.

Soap was already pissed he felt it crawl on him, and that he needed to get to sleep.

“What if we just shoot the damn thing?”

“Waste ammo? Do you think Price or Ghost would let us?” Gaz thought out loud.

“Cannae be sleeping with that half yorkie half crab above me.” Soap’s patience was thin. His fear had heightened.

“Right then, you should shoot it.”

Gaz cocked his head towards Soap. “You’re kiddin’ right?” Gaz knew once he shot that thing, either babies would come out or guts. “I’m not doing it. There’s no spider in my post.”

Soap rubbed down his face with his hand. He was about to tell Gaz to go fuck himself when Ghost opened the barn door and came in.

“You two muppets done cryin’? I can hear you from outside!”

“And you didn’t think to come inside to help?” Gaz asked him.

“Oh bloody hell, what are ya cryin’ about?”

Soap turned on his flashlight again trailing up the post for Ghost to see.

Ghost remained his composure, not believing his own eyes and spoke –

“Bloody hell, Soap shoot that damn thing!”

“I’m not shootin’ it Lt!” Soap looked at Ghost. “You shoot it and Gaz and I will be quiet for the rest of night.”

Ghost sighed, severely annoyed that they had been making all this noise over a spider, way up high away from them. He took his gun out and aimed for the spider.

When suddenly, something in his stomach told him to stop. What if it jumped on him or what if he missed? 

“Right then, let us stand back, yeah?” Ghost took a few steps back and asked Soap to position the flashlight on it. As soon as the light hit the spider again, it jumped forward.

Soap ran behind Ghost, where he pulled a gun from his pack, then positioned it with the light then began to shoot recklessly to the ground. Ghost’s eyes began frantically searching the floor before he shot anything while Gaz had been near the barn door, swaying his light around to make sure it didn’t jump on him. 

Price had barged through the door witnessing his task force acting like complete imbeciles.

“What the devil has got into all of you?”

“I still haven’t shot it, Lt. Let's just go outside. It’s his barn now” Soap motioned to Ghost walking toward the door.

“I’ve asked you all a question!” Price had shouted.

Ghost now felt so stupid, Price was the reason he came inside the barn to tell Soap and Gaz to shut up.

“Sir… it’s uh… a uh… spider.” Soap said.

Price had lost it. He yelled at his 3 members of the crew. “Givin’ out our location knowing that we’re basically on the run? Over a damn spider?”

Price was fuming. 

Gaz spoke up, “Sir it was huge. If we can kill it, I assure you we will go to sleep.”

The four of them turned on their flashlights and searched the barn. 

There was no sign of the brown creature anywhere. Price mumbled about not being paid enough for this.

“Well it seems it’s gone now, I’ve got no time for nonsense. ”

Soap nudged Gaz “Had t’ get yer daddy for this one aye?”

Gaz shoved him away, then out of the corner of his eye he saw the spider again. He motioned to it with his finger speechless. 

The spider looked unreal crawling around on the ground like that. It was fast too, crawling up the ground towards the barn door.

Price looked to where Gaz was pointing at, and stepped back, pulled his gun out and positioned it sideways, closing one eye to shoot the thing. The single bullet managed to kill the spider, guts flying everywhere. It shot one of his legs off in the process.

“There now, are we alright?” Price said again. Loading his gun into its holder. Mentally kicking himself for using ammo on a spider. “Let’s go Lt.” Ghost followed him outside, in disbelief that he overreacted.

Gaz and Soap settled by the door now, back to back, adrenaline still running through their bodies over the massive spider. Neither of them would admit it.

Right outside the barn door, Ghost and Price settled into their positions again, guns cocked and ready.

Price spoke, “bloody muppets crying over a spider.” he laughed to Ghost. Ghost nodding and continuing to scan the area.

“Tell you one thing, after seeing that creature in person I think it’s best we don't sleep in there.”

“Tell you one thing, after seeing that creature in person I think it’s best we don't sleep in there.”