'til delilah showed me how | Marvel comics | Kate Bishop/Kate Bishop
t: 'til delilah showed me how
f: Marvel comics/Young Avengers
p: Kate/Kate
ch: femslash100 kinks drabble table - #18. mirrors, #23. self-love, #28. voyeurism
r/wc: PG-13/753
s: Kate’s not really sure where you’re supposed to send back alternate universe doubles of yourself, exactly. They really need to start producing actual handbooks for this kind of shit.
n: [Title from Delilah by Florence + the Machine.] Okay, so, I apparently decided writing Kate/Kate was a GREAT IDEA, so, just go with it. It's got nothing to do with Secret Wars because I haven't read enough of it yet, and there's some implied Spider-Verse stuff you can ignore.
Mirrors.
This has been happening to the people with spider-related powers, Kate knows, because it was actually pretty hard to keep that secret, and suddenly people’s dead girlfriends were rocking up with cool new outfits and an apocalypse to match.
“Guess Cassie set a trend,” the girl sitting opposite Kate says, with a wiggle of eyebrows.
And, well, okay. The spider thing, maybe that kind of made sense, in a weird arachnid way Kate’s not going to ask questions about because a) she won’t understand and b) she won’t care, but she doesn’t know what to do with the double of herself that rocked up in her apartment, messy hair and bandaids round her fingers and looking pretty much exactly like Kate, except for the jagged scar running parallel to the corner of her mouth.
Kate’s not really sure where you’re supposed to send back alternate universe doubles of yourself, exactly. They really need to start producing actual handbooks for this kind of shit.
“I’m going to send you back,” she tells her double, who’s sitting in the same pose as her, hair falling over one shoulder.
“Sure,” Other Kate says. “To where?”
Kate hates her already, and can see that in the smirk on her other self’s face. She knows that smirk. She invented that smirk. She thinks.
“Well, until it turns out Hank Pym or Tony Stark caused this, what am I mean to do with you?” she demands.
Other Kate arches a significant eyebrow, and Kate scowls, caught.
Self-Love.
You’ve got to have kind of a lot of confidence to be a superhero, to willingly step up and put on one of those clingy dumbass outfits and believe that you can change or save or do something for the world.
Confidence is, Kate supposes, just one form of narcissism.
If you’d told Kate last week that something like this was going to happen, she’d probably have suggested that she and the other her would basically sit and discuss differences between their worlds.
The truth is, of course, that people are curious, and Kate is curious, and Other Her is apparently much more willing to just go with things than she is.
Other Kate has a left breast bigger than the right one too, and the same freckle to the right of her belly button, and when she laughs, it’s with the same catch of breath in the same place. It’s herself, and it’s not herself, and to be honest, Kate is kind of freaking the fuck out.
Other Her likes kissing with more teeth than Kate does, and apparently goes way in for waxing in a way that Kate doesn’t, but when Kate slides a hand down her stomach and does some experimental touching, she gasps in the same way Kate does, a matching stereo of startled wanting sound.
It’s like masturbating while simultaneously being nothing at all like masturbating. Kate thinks she should probably stop, pull away, and apologise; but she doesn’t, and she doesn’t, and she doesn’t.
Voyeurism.
Kate watches herself fall apart, head tipped back into the pillow, mouth clenching. She’s never made a sex tape and even now isn’t tempted to try, and apart from that one time with Noh she’s never really gone in for sex in mirrored rooms, so she can imagine how she looks in the throes of passion, but has never actually seen it.
Seeing it now, spreading across her double’s face, her body, her chest flushing, eyes fluttering shut, is too much and not enough at the same time. Kate knows what she likes so she knows how to pick her double’s body apart, where to slide her fingers, when to grind her clit until it’s almost too much stimulation, under her other self grabs for her wrist to try and make her stop, make her carry on.
It’s something Kate’s not sure she’s supposed to be watching from the outside, something surreal and too natural. It’s weird and it’s interesting and Kate’s pretty sure she’ll never be able to tell anyone about this ever, except maybe America, who seems like she’s been around and made some dubious choices herself.
Other Kate climaxes with a clenching of shuddering thighs, thrashing on the sheets while staying in place, and Kate watches because she can’t stop herself, fascinated and horrified and wanting more of it.
Eventually, the other her flutters dark wet lashes, and says: “round two?”
Tony Stark will probably sort this out soon, Kate tells herself, and sheepishly nods her agreement.
f: Marvel comics/Young Avengers
p: Kate/Kate
ch: femslash100 kinks drabble table - #18. mirrors, #23. self-love, #28. voyeurism
r/wc: PG-13/753
s: Kate’s not really sure where you’re supposed to send back alternate universe doubles of yourself, exactly. They really need to start producing actual handbooks for this kind of shit.
n: [Title from Delilah by Florence + the Machine.] Okay, so, I apparently decided writing Kate/Kate was a GREAT IDEA, so, just go with it. It's got nothing to do with Secret Wars because I haven't read enough of it yet, and there's some implied Spider-Verse stuff you can ignore.
Mirrors.
This has been happening to the people with spider-related powers, Kate knows, because it was actually pretty hard to keep that secret, and suddenly people’s dead girlfriends were rocking up with cool new outfits and an apocalypse to match.
“Guess Cassie set a trend,” the girl sitting opposite Kate says, with a wiggle of eyebrows.
And, well, okay. The spider thing, maybe that kind of made sense, in a weird arachnid way Kate’s not going to ask questions about because a) she won’t understand and b) she won’t care, but she doesn’t know what to do with the double of herself that rocked up in her apartment, messy hair and bandaids round her fingers and looking pretty much exactly like Kate, except for the jagged scar running parallel to the corner of her mouth.
Kate’s not really sure where you’re supposed to send back alternate universe doubles of yourself, exactly. They really need to start producing actual handbooks for this kind of shit.
“I’m going to send you back,” she tells her double, who’s sitting in the same pose as her, hair falling over one shoulder.
“Sure,” Other Kate says. “To where?”
Kate hates her already, and can see that in the smirk on her other self’s face. She knows that smirk. She invented that smirk. She thinks.
“Well, until it turns out Hank Pym or Tony Stark caused this, what am I mean to do with you?” she demands.
Other Kate arches a significant eyebrow, and Kate scowls, caught.
Self-Love.
You’ve got to have kind of a lot of confidence to be a superhero, to willingly step up and put on one of those clingy dumbass outfits and believe that you can change or save or do something for the world.
Confidence is, Kate supposes, just one form of narcissism.
If you’d told Kate last week that something like this was going to happen, she’d probably have suggested that she and the other her would basically sit and discuss differences between their worlds.
The truth is, of course, that people are curious, and Kate is curious, and Other Her is apparently much more willing to just go with things than she is.
Other Kate has a left breast bigger than the right one too, and the same freckle to the right of her belly button, and when she laughs, it’s with the same catch of breath in the same place. It’s herself, and it’s not herself, and to be honest, Kate is kind of freaking the fuck out.
Other Her likes kissing with more teeth than Kate does, and apparently goes way in for waxing in a way that Kate doesn’t, but when Kate slides a hand down her stomach and does some experimental touching, she gasps in the same way Kate does, a matching stereo of startled wanting sound.
It’s like masturbating while simultaneously being nothing at all like masturbating. Kate thinks she should probably stop, pull away, and apologise; but she doesn’t, and she doesn’t, and she doesn’t.
Voyeurism.
Kate watches herself fall apart, head tipped back into the pillow, mouth clenching. She’s never made a sex tape and even now isn’t tempted to try, and apart from that one time with Noh she’s never really gone in for sex in mirrored rooms, so she can imagine how she looks in the throes of passion, but has never actually seen it.
Seeing it now, spreading across her double’s face, her body, her chest flushing, eyes fluttering shut, is too much and not enough at the same time. Kate knows what she likes so she knows how to pick her double’s body apart, where to slide her fingers, when to grind her clit until it’s almost too much stimulation, under her other self grabs for her wrist to try and make her stop, make her carry on.
It’s something Kate’s not sure she’s supposed to be watching from the outside, something surreal and too natural. It’s weird and it’s interesting and Kate’s pretty sure she’ll never be able to tell anyone about this ever, except maybe America, who seems like she’s been around and made some dubious choices herself.
Other Kate climaxes with a clenching of shuddering thighs, thrashing on the sheets while staying in place, and Kate watches because she can’t stop herself, fascinated and horrified and wanting more of it.
Eventually, the other her flutters dark wet lashes, and says: “round two?”
Tony Stark will probably sort this out soon, Kate tells herself, and sheepishly nods her agreement.