#Fury and Rampage

[scribbiesan]

Day 2: Horseman

“After all these eons, I still believe in smiles behind masks and laughter behind hoods.”

@imagine-darksiders

Back at it again, had to scrap the first rendition of this prompt. I have a deep love for all the Horsemen, but Fury is surprising in the fact that she was once harsh and crude and belittling of others. And then she met humans. We know the rest.

Anyway, hope you enjoy! I got more to do, not a lotta time to do it.

Toodles!~

[the-broken-truth]

Darksiders 3 - Fury With A Human Who Has Rampage's Soul [PART ONE]

Summary: As Fury heads to Ulthane's Tree to enhance her weapons, she encounters a person who possesses the soul of her deceased horse, Rampage.

[On the Way To the Maker Tree - Fury's Point Of View]

'Noooooo!'

"Mistress?"

'Rampage - Get UP!' 

"Mistress!"

That bellowing from the Watcher snapped Fury out of her mental space and turned on her heel to glare into the Watcher's Face, causing her to float back.

"As a Watcher, your role is to observe without speaking." Fury growled into her traveling companion's face, who straightened up and waved her hand around in a rather dramatic manner.

"I apologize if I'm mistaken, but I noticed that you have been standing there for a while. Is there something that may be troubling you?" The Watcher said as Fury turned away and looked up at the Maker's Tree, she had collected more 'wee-ones' for him, collected some artifacts for herself, and some material to improve her whip but for some reason - the memories of Rampage have been plaguing her mind, making her drift off into her subconscious. Fury exhaled and looked up at the Maker's Tree where Ulthane rested on the top of with all the humans she had sent to him. Fury was about to take another step with the Watcher following behind her when the snarls of demons caught her attention. She looked in the direction of the noise and saw a cluster of 5 demons surrounding a human.

The person was a [man/woman] with [length] [color] hair and [skin color] skin. Their [eye color] eyes were narrowed as they glared at the demons around them. They had a long black chain wrapped around their right forearm and held it in their hand, letting it dangle to the ground. Fury was amazed when she saw a mere mortal bravely fighting off demons with just a chain. She thought the human was putting their life in danger. However, she quickly jumped down from the cliff she was on and ran towards the scene when she saw the human's eyes turn light blue - a color she recognized well. As the human's arms and face started showing familiar runes and their hair burst into blue flames, Fury slowed down to a jog and came to a stop. She watched in awe as the chain in the human's hand also caught fire.

"Excuse me, I believe this individual may not be a typical human," informed the Watcher, her four eyes fixed on the ongoing altercation. She only noticed Fury approaching when she entered her field of vision. "Excuse me?"

Fury was amazed as she watched the human swing the chain, burning away the demons with ease. She couldn't believe what she was seeing - the flames and aura were truly incredible. Meanwhile, the human was dancing around the demons, dodging their attacks, and countering their strikes. Fury lifted her hand in disbelief, trying to process the incredible display before her.

After defeating the final demon, the human wrapped the remaining chain around their arm and closed their eyes. They breathed in deeply, absorbing the flames and runes back into their body until they returned to their normal state. When they opened their eyes, they met Fury's bright, glowing gaze.

"Are you Fury? I saw you at the top of Ulthane's Tree. Thanks to you, more humans have been visiting the Maker's Tree. I appreciate that. My name is [Name]. Nice to meet you, Fury." As [Name] extended their hand for a shake, Fury held onto their forearm instead and looked into their eyes. Fury seemed to be shedding tears.

"Rampage? Is that you?" That question caused [Name] to raise a perfect eyebrow in confusion.

"Rampage? Who the hell is that?" [Name] asked as they tried to pull their arm away out of Fury's grasp but her grip tightened and this frightened [Name]. "Hey, let me go, you're hurting me!!!" 

The person, Fury, held onto the human tightly and then let them go, causing the human to take a few steps back while holding their left hand where Fury had grabbed them, and their right hand where the chain was wrapped around. Fury remained quiet for a moment before turning to [Name] and starting to speak.

"Fury is calling you, Rampage. Let's go!" With a fierce roar, [Name] ignited a blue flame. "I was right! You have been reincarnated as a human and are now Rampage!" As Fury called out, [Name] attempted to regain control of their power but it did not respond to their efforts. With frustration, they gritted their teeth and quickly headed towards Ulthane's Tree, leaving scorch marks on the concrete with every step. Fury chased after them, pleading for them to stop.

[xsweetelegantdisasterx]

Phew. I am a horrible fan. . Pretty sure I fell off the posting bandwagon.

But I AM BACK. .

BABY boi Riku has a birthday 🎂 so I'm celebrating it!!

I hope by now you're sleeping in your beds 🛌 and not on my mens.

Listen, if you can agree on one thing with me, it's that he has a jaw line chiseled from the gods themselves.

The secret to a good night's rest is sleeping in your bed 🛌, not on my mens.

[victorluvsalice]

-->Fortunately, chatting with the other customers went a lot better. Hell, Smiler not only managed to ring up Geoffrey Landgraab for a box of tomato sauce, they even got some money advice in the bargain (judging by the Focused moodlet they had after the interaction)! And the hits just kept on coming --

Alice finished up her workout in time to ring up Emilia Ernest, Victor’s dueling partner from the last episode, for a box of cheese (because even if she can't greet customers, she can apparently finalize sales – logic!), then – after a bathroom break – went out to have some zoomies as the Fury was starting to get a little high from her being cooped up in the break room all this time. She then returned and plopped down by one of the planters for a nap, only to be chased back inside the break room by the rain. Can't have wet werewolves stinking up the joint!

Victor sold some Playful scent to Lily Feng and a box of vegetarian MREs to Ukupanpio (one of the Sulani mermaids) before his growling stomach forced him to take a quick break, grabbing Cameron’s abandoned microwave pastry (which wasn’t great but at least filled him up), before returning to sell a Purple Parallel flower arrangement to Annette. Which I was frankly glad to see, as the flower arrangements did NOT seem to be garnering a lot of customer interest before. Come on, guys, we have so many flowers...

And Smiler, of course, was the selling MVP, ringing up Cameron Fletcher for a box of mayonnaise; Venessa for an Energizing scent; Penny for box of meat substitute; and Nalani for a box of veggie MREs! All while managing to ignore the fact that Judith Ward was visiting and the paparazzi were taking pictures of her in the bathroom. XD At least now I’m sure customers can use it! We also had Yuki yank a quill fruit out of one of the produce fridges, though the game really wasn’t fond of her doing that, spitting out an LE. I’m not sure my game likes some of Brazen Lotus’s mods, unfortunately...might need to consider a mod folder clean-up in the future...

-->Anyway – by this point, it was getting a bit late in the day, and everyone’s enthusiasm for the store was flagging. Victor took some time to magically clean the produce stands and the bathroom sink before going for a nap on the break room sofa, while Alice similarly did a little more working out, licked herself clean, then curled up on the break room floor for a snooze of her own (as her werewolf instincts were demanding another one). Smiler was still keen to talk to people, but as it was getting to be about 6:30 PM in-game, I figured it was about time they closed up and had them do just that. Final totals of the day – eleven items sold, for a total profit of $4,932! Not too shabby. AND it wasn’t quite as laggy – the game still had a nasty habit of pausing when customers grabbed items or when someone was trying to clean up out-of-stock signs, but it wasn’t NEARLY as bad as it was the last time I played the store. Seems like having less for sale did actually help in that regard, yay! :) Anyway, I was all ready to pack it up and send the trio home –

[socialmediasocrates]

the endless struggle of "she's such a weird asshole i don't even like her and i wrote her" and "she's the product of a conga line of trauma and dysfunction" with the character of mayeari as i write her for fic purposes discussed under the cut broad cw for discussion of a wide range of unsavory themes including child death and the character herself having a hazy understanding of boundaries regarding physical contact (specifically non-sexual touching)

she's different in fic bc i didn't decide i wanted to do a play through with her until after i'd invented the character (maybe in hopes of working out some characterization inconsistencies) so her actual play through is uncanonical so that's a choice i made to complicate things for myself specifically

and on one hand even i sit here going "damn bitch how many times does someone have to tell you they don't like you constantly touching them before you get it" but on the other one i'm the one that gave her a backstory that made her need physical touch as a reminder that she is, in fact, a real, existing person who experiences real, actual sensations in the right now. she died as a child, and she's subsequently "lived" longer as a facsimile of a living woman than her own mother ever lived at all. sometimes i have to remind myself that my dislike of the personality i wrote her having doesn't just give me a free pass to completely flanderize the character. she's never been able to assert hard boundaries about people touching her, and she always feels like she isn't real in between physical contact with someone, so it simultaneously feels melodramatic and pointedly cruel to her when others get angry or annoyed about her touchy-feelyness. the line of thinking makes sense even if she makes me personally incredibly uncomfortable when i'm writing her

she's a ghost haunting her own body, and i have to remind myself of that like all the time

i'm planning on her being my dark urge play through and it'll be interesting to see what i can pull from that in order to round out her characterization a little more as i move forward

[arendaes]

from the micro story prompts: 48) rampage

@outeremissary thank you both for the prompt! We're back to Dance of Masks for this one, so there's spoilers in this one!

48. Rampage (Ariadne/Daeran/Woljif, 354 words)

“Must you make such a racket?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are we inconveniencing you? Might I remind you that you -”

“Enough! You do not have to make your point. Again.” Ariadne could swear she saw Razmir’s eyes narrowed to slits behind his mask, but he said nothing further as he watched her and her companions continue to tear through his palace. Tough luck - he’d offered this up as restitution, and while it might not be possible to completely dismantle the palace brick by brick, that didn’t mean they weren’t going to try.

Woljif mumbled something beside her, tossing a golden candelabra into the pile of treasure that sat in the middle of the room. He’d actually tried to remove the bricks from the walls and only had a broken dagger and several marble flakes to show for it. It had put him in quite a mood. Well, more of a mood.

Most of their other companions had dispersed throughout the palace, looking high and low for anything of value that was easy to transport back to Mendev. Besides them, only Ulbrig had remained in the great hall, not taking his eyes off Razmir and muttering under his breath about “fey tricksters” the entire time.

The sound of boots screeching across tile caught all of their attention. They turned to find Daeran rushing down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Excitement burned in his eyes, a look mirrored in Ariadne when he reached her and leaned down to whisper in her ear. Razmir wasn’t standing close enough to hear, but Ulbrig was, and he let out a hearty chuckle as they caught Woljif’s attention and all three of them hurried up the stairs and out of the hall.

“It would appear they’ve found your bedroom!” Ulbrig said when they were gone. Razmir titled his head. “Let’s put it this way - I hope you pay your cleaning staff well. And I don’t just mean because of all the mincemeat we’ve made of your followers.”

Razmir sighed. He would think twice before agreeing to another stunt like this again. The Commander had earned her reputation honestly indeed.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Locker Room

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, enemies-ish to lovers, sexual tension, arguments, suggestive themes, intimate touching, teasing, dirty thoughts

A/N: For @glitterypirateduck 's Ghost Writing Challenge. I used prompts 43, 97, & 99. (I had so much fun challenging myself to do this all in one go. I set a timer and everything.)

After finding an infuriating note on your desk, you confront Simon in the communal locker room.

Part Two // Simon's POV

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

Beneath your skin is an inferno.

It’s not the kind that blazes for another, or burns in tandem with a deep yearning. This is just seething anger and blunt frustration.

You’re ready to knock out some fucking teeth.

How dare he? Who the fuck does Lieutenant Riley think he is?

When you return reports to Captain Price, you point out all the inconsistences and errors. The lack of accountability and absolute carelessness has been scratching at you for ages, and this time you had enough. Usually Price shrugs, fixes whatever you’ve marked—to a degree—and then returns them without argument.

This time? Price took one look at them and told you to talk to Simon.

Not a problem. No issue at all. You and Lieutenant Riley have always been on good terms. Sometimes, it’s been more than good. You’ve caught him staring for far too long, or he stands a bit too close as if the two of you are a couple and not coworkers. And while you’ve internalized the fantasy, it’s not like you’ve ever acted on it.

But now you’re just irritated.

You handed over the files yesterday evening, and this morning you found them back on your desk. It’s not the turnaround but Lieutenant Riley’s audacity of placing those files back on your desk with a singular sticky note.

The reports are just fine, sweetheart.

Sweetheart. Sweetheart?

The other day you imagined what it might be like to have the burly, masked man call you a pet name, but this is just fucking condescending.

Your heels clack sharply against the linoleum floor. Perhaps it’s the rage in your face, because every person you meet on your rampage steps out of your way, their gaze averted. Rounding a corner, you exit through a side door and into one of the hangars. A few people glance up, frowning, but return to their job.

Sighing heavily, you approach the nearest person. “Where’s Lieutenant Riley?”

The young man—who looks right out recruitment—glances up. He swallows and peers over his shoulder as if he’s not sure he’s supposed to say. “Locker room, ma’am?”

“Thank you,” you reply sharply, turning on your heel and heading for another door leading to the communal gym.

“But—” he begins, stumbling to his feet as you charge on. “Ma’am! You can’t—”

The door slams shut behind you and you don’t look back.

This is one of several communal spaces. There are the usual training areas on base but there are also a few gyms for those that want to get a bit of extra work in. Every head turns toward you and many don’t look away. This one is just for the men, and you’re the odd duck.

And fuck it. You don’t care. You’re too fucking mad right now to think of anything else but giving Lieutenant Riley a piece of your goddamn mind.

With everything pumping in your veins, the reality of you storming toward the locker rooms hasn’t even dawned. Hasn’t clicked. Fury laces your every step, and even here, where you’re not supposed to be, the men in your path move as if they sense the rage.

When you burst through the door and meet a wall of steam, all the heat suddenly extinguishes. Glancing around, you’re met with wide-eyed stares and surprised expressions.

Keeping your gaze as upward as you can, you clear your throat. “Where is Lieutenant Riley?”

There is only silence. Maybe if you stare at the top of the lockers for long enough, you’ll somehow gather your courage again.

“I asked where Lieutenant—”

“I’m right here.”

You turn abruptly and freeze.

Lieutenant Simon Riley stands before you in nothing but a towel. It hangs low on his hips. Other than that, the bottom-half of his face is covered up by a black mask and his dog tags dangle from his neck. His hair is a wet, tussled mess, and his chest glistens with water like he just stepped out from the shower.

Simon simply stares at you for a moment as you stand in utter silence. His gaze, which is piercing and fierce, slides away to scan the room. He doesn’t have to say anything. The rest of the men in the room grab bags and clothes, rushing to exit through the door you just entered from.

When the last man leaves, Simon rolls his shoulders, straightening his spine. It makes him appear larger, more intimidating, and that one movement draws forth a heat in your belly. This isn’t anger. This is need.

“I know what you came here for,” he says, and it’s so casual a tone that the earlier rage comes rising up.

“I’m sure you do,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

Simon says nothing. His dark eyes remain on you, unmoving and cold, yet pinning you to the spot as if you’ve been impaled by a spear.

“Are you going to apologize?”

“Why?” he asks automatically.

You scoff. “Are you fucking serious?”

“You didn’t come here for an apology.”

You uncross your arms and hold them out in front of you, bent at the elbows. “The reports—”

“The reports are fine.”

You roll your eyes and throw your hands up in the air. “There are inconsistencies everywhere. I can’t submit them as they are.”

Simon rolls his neck and then strides forward. Instinct has you stepping back, moving away, but you bump into a row of lockers. He doesn’t stop until he’s leaning over you, one large hand pressing into the metal to the side of your head.

“You’re nitpicking,” he replies.

“About lazy writing?”

“Oh, love. I assure you. I’m thorough.” At that, Simon leans in, and your hands rise instinctually, pressing against his firm chest.

Simon’s gaze doesn’t drop from your face. His entire attention is on you and that heat is back, twisting in your stomach, stirring up a slickness between your legs.

“Lieutenant,” you breathe, wanting the need between your legs to leave but also loving how close he is.

Sure, you’re pissed off but my god. The fresh scent of him is intoxicating, and you’re doing everything in your power not to lean in and lick up the droplet of water running along the side of his throat.

“Why did you come here?” He waits a beat, and when you don’t reply, Simon continues. “To argue?” He lightly pinches your bottom chin, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip, dragging it down a bit. You open your mouth involuntarily and Simon makes at sound in his throat that makes your legs weak. “To see me?” He leans in like he’s about to kiss you. “To be alone?”

“I didn’t ask for this,” you whisper.

Simon has you caged in. Pinned. The only thing separating your body and his is that towel.

“Why do you think everyone left when they did?” Simon’s thumb drops away from your lips only to press at the hollow of your throat. “It’s not because you walked in.”

“Why?” you ask, as Simon’s thumb drags lowers over your top to the space between your breasts.

“Because you’re mine. And they know it.”

“You—what?” Without anywhere to go, you can’t escape his intense stare.

“I’m staking a claim.”

“Lieutenant—”

“Simon,” he growls. “Call me Simon.”

“Simon,” you say, and he groans.

His dog tags brush against your fingers. The metal is slightly cool and damp. You curl on finger around the chain, and tug, bringing Simon’s face down to yours. If he can tease and touch, you’re going to do the same. He can’t have all the power.

Your lips brush against his through the mask, and Simon’s eyelids begin to close, revealing his gentle submission in this moment. Deepening the movement, you kiss him as if there were no barrier. This time, he truly groans, and you’d give anything to remove the barriers between you and find out what it’s like to feel him deep inside.

Fisting his dog tags in your hand, you shove him away, but only enough that there is a fraction of distance.

“Fix the fucking reports, Simon.”

Instead of kissing him again, or even touching him, you unclench your fist, releasing the dog tags. Slipping under his arm, you exit through the door and out into the gym, leaving a trail of steam in your wake.

taglist:

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@miaraei @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666

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[natalievoncatte]

“Okay,” Alex said, “listen, prepare yourself. She’s acting… strange.”

Lena strode next to her, clenching her fists as if she could grip her own cold fury with them. The audacity of Danvers

(Alex)

to call her in like she was some employee after what Kara had done to her, was shocking. She would have told her to fuck right off if not for the desperation in her voice. She almost hung up on her when Alex said it was about Kryptonite, and they needed an expert.

Outside the exam room, Alex directed Lena’s attention to a screen. Some two-bit “villain” (how she hated that word) was on the screen. She wasn’t sure what he was going for with his outfit but he looked like a cross between a cable repairman and a wannabe Ghostbusters with a helmet that reminded her of the cap on a salt shaker. He was thrusting a wand device at Kara, spraying her with a fine pink mist.

Some of the substance had been gathered into a small vial, currently residing in a lead canister. Lena turned the vial in her hands, watching the tiny, powdery crystals flow over each other like sand.

Lena swallowed, hard.

“She’s not on a rampage, so it’s not red kryptonite.”

“It appears to be pink kryptonite,” said Lena.

“Your scientific skills of observation astound me,” said Alex. “Marie Curie would be so proud.”

Lena gave her a flat look.

“Fuck you, Danvers. I haven’t had a chance to say this to your face yet, but fuck you. Fuck all of you, playing your little games mocking me to my face when we were supposed to be friends.”

“We were friends,” said Alex.

“Not friends enough for Kara to tell me the truth.”

“I told her not to,” Alex said, coldly, “and I was right. Maybe I kept at her too long about it, but she ended up keeping the secret because she was afraid you’d flip out and blow up your whole friendship over it, you fucking drama queen.”

Lena screwed the lead canister shut. It looks like it was meant to hold radioactive flour.

“Do you want my help or not?”

“Please save her. I’m prepared to deal with your sanctimonious bullshit if you save my sister.”

“I’ll need to work on the sample, but I should examine her first. Is it safe?”

“She would never hurt you.”

Lena rolled her eyes. Alex stared at her flatly.

“You two, Jesus Christ. If you were anyone else I’d just call it out, but fuck it, let’s keep this professional.”

Lena crossed her arms. “Call what out?”

Alex arched a brow. “Should I start with the office full of flowers or the literal billion dollars you spent on her?”

Lena’s nostrils flared and she felt red creeping up her cheeks. “That wasn’t about her, that was about keeping Edge from owning his own media empire. Murdoch is bad enough.”

“It’s a fashion industry magazine,” said Alex, “and Edge could just start his own. The difference is Kara worked at CatCo, where you started working instead of…”

“Do you want my help or not?”

Lena huffed. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Alex opened the door. Kara was seated sideways on the exam table, swinging her feet like a bored child. There was a faint pinkish tinge to sparking points on her pale skin and she looked up with a slight pink gloss to the whites of her eyes, visible at a distance.

“Heyyyyyyyyy~”, said Kara.

Lena blinked.

“Kara? How are you feeling?”

Kara stared at her hands. “Why are you here? I thought you hated me now.”

Lena felt a sharp sting of regret deep in her chest, but brushed it off, like crumbs from her sleeve. It was as meaningless as crumbs. Kara’s honeyed words were always to sweeten her lies.

Kara resumed staring at her hands. “Humans call them fingers, but I’ve never seen them fing. Oh,” she giggled, wriggling her fingers, “there they go.”

“Kara?” said Lena.

“Oh, hi, I didn’t see you come in,” said Kara. “Some dude sprayed me with glitter and now I’m all funny.”

Alex leaned over. “We only got her in her by convincing her the Backstreet Boys were waiting inside and she spent three hours singing those stupid songs with Nia before I called you.”

Lena licked her lips. “Ah, I see. Kara?”

“Yeah, babe?”

Lena flinched. Babe? What?

“How are you feeling?”

“I feel great,” said Kara. “Kinda… kinda relaxed but excited. I’m excitalaxed! I made up a new word!”

“Would you excuse us a minute?” said Lena.

“Sure,” said Kara.

Lena stepped out and closed the door after Alex joined her.

“Alex,” said Lena.

“Lena,” said Alex.

“She’s high,” said Lena.

“I know,” Alex sighed.

“That’s incredibly dangerous. If she was just a dumb blonde we could let her sleep it off, but she can bench press an aircraft carrier. What if she gets some inane idea in her head and levels half the city?”

“She isn’t going to hurt anyone.”

“Didn’t she throw Cat Grant off a building the last time she was under the influence of something? It was on TV, Alex.”

Alex scowled. “That was different. Also she had it coming.”

Lena’s brows shot up.

“What? She was a bitch to my sister. She made her cry like three times a week. I don’t buy into that hardass girlboss mentor routine, I never liked Kara working for her. It was a relief when you bought the company, I had hopes someone would finally be looking out for her. She’s fragile, Lena.”

Lena blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, turns out that having your planet explode and losing your entire culture, family, and way of life, then losing your foster father, and then having to kill your aunt who is your mother’s twin sister can do a number on you. Might make you a little bit clingy and weird and paranoid about losing everyone you love. Shit, Lena, out of that whole list I just lost my dad and it was not make me a drunk for six years and captain of the varsity slut team. And I’m gay.”

Lena stared at her.

“Why does everyone I know need therapy?”

Kara chose that moment to throw the door open, making them both jump. She was grinning ear to ear.

“I don’t need therapy, I need rum,” said Kara. She turned to Lena and stage whispered, “alien rum that I can get drunk on.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Kiddo. Why won’t we go sit down and try to rest.”

Kara snapped her fingers. “I know what we can do! We can go clubbing! Come on, Lena, let’s go clubbing. If I go clubbing with you it’ll make Lena jealous.”

“We are so fucked,” Alex muttered.

Kara started forward, but Lena stepped in her path and pressed a hand to her chest.

She froze, staring open-mouthed at Lena. Lena could feel the muscles flexing under her palm and fingers, the nearly infinite strength pressed against her simple touch and yet yielding to it.

“Kara,” she said, softly, but firmly. “Let’s just go back in the room, okay? You’re intoxicated by the altered Kryptonite you’ve been exposed to and you’re not thinking straight.”

Kara looked her up and down, slowly. Lena felt a hot tingle pass through her and her legs quivered in her slacks. Kara’s eyes had gone dark and her chin dipped slightly and holy shit she was staring directly at Lena’s mouth.

Alex looked at her nervously.

“Lena,” Alex said, in warning.

“She won’t hurt me,” said Lena.

Brainy walked into the lab. “I have good news,” he said. “The half-life of this particular type of Kryptonite is very short, by my calculations it should only last a few… hours…” he trailed off, then added quickly. “I have business elsewhere, excuse me,” and fled the room.

Lena gave Kara a tentative push and the invincible Kryptonian stumbled back. Lena ended up guiding her into the room again and sat her down.

Alex began to follow.

“It’s fine,” said Lena.

“Are you sure?”

“She won’t hurt me. Close the door.”

Kara sat down and stared between her feet, fiddling with her hands.

Lena waited for the door to close and sat down next to her.

“Are you mad at me?” Kara whispered.

“Yes,” Lena murmured. “I’m so angry at you that it makes me want to scream.”

“Oh,” Kara said, her voice small.

Lena sighed. “I’ll never be mad enough to let anything happen to you, Kara.”

“But you’re mad.”

“I’m mad. I let you in, you didn’t do the same for me. I let you see who I am, good and bad, and you held back from me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“But you’re still mad.”

“Yeah,” Lena sighed.

Kara rubbed at her arms, sniffling.

Great, Lena thought, she’s coming down.

“Everybody changes,” said Kara. “Everybody goes away and leaves me. I’m so scared, Lena. I’m so scared of being alone. I was alone forever and ever in my pod and it hurt so much,” she choked out a little sob. “Everyone goes away and I can’t take it. I can’t stand it. I didn’t want you to go away so I lied to make you stay. I’m sorry.”

Lena, haltingly, put an arm around her. Kara leaned her head on Lena’s shoulder.

“Can I make it so you’re not mad at me anymore?”

Curious, Lena thought.

She wasn’t mad at all right now.

Kara began to sob softly, and suddenly, all at once, being mad didn’t make so much sense after all. She still felt it burning in her chest but it had gone from hot coals to dying embers, from raging magma to something bitter and sticky coating her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

“I think you can do anything if you try hard enough.”

Lean smoothed back her hair and curled the sleeve of her designer jacket around her hand and used it to dry the tears, and Kara hugged her, tightly but gently in her insistent way.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know, darling. Just relax and breathe, I promise it’ll be better soon.”

It was a funny thing, when Kara kissed her. It happened so naturally, so easily, that once it began, Lena was hardly aware how it started. It was not a lustful kiss, though she could feel that was there in the hungry way that Kara’s lips tugged at her own, almost pleading. Nor was it sad. It was hopeful, and it made something flare in her chest.

No, more than that. A crushing blast of warm air snuffed the dying embers of fury in her chest and in their place a new bonfire blazed into being, a sudden explosive joyful warmth that would blaze in her forever until the sun went out and the sky went cold. It was as if Kara had given her some red sun fire.

On instinct she lunged into the embrace and suddenly they were on the table, Kara swinging one leg lazily off the side as Lena straddled and locked lips with her.

"Oh God," Lena blurted, yanking back.

"What's wrong, baby?"

Lena almost fell off onto the floor when Kara called her that. She was sitting on Kara, panting.

"We can't," said Lena. "Kara, please, you're high as a kite."

Kara let out a soft, sad sound. Lena brushed her cheek softly. "It's okay. Just let me lay with you."

Kara shifted so Lena could join her, and they lay facing each other.

"I love you," Kara whispered. "You are my red sun, my scarlet sky, my beacon calling me back from the void."

Lena's breath caught. She tucked in close and kissed Kara on her nose.

"I'm tired," said Kara.

"Go to sleep," Lena whispered. “It'll be okay. I'll still love you tomorrow."

With a contented smile, Kara closed her eyes, looking so peaceful that Lena wanted nothing more than to watch over her.

When Alex came in and laid a blanket over them, she had the most frustrating grin on her face.

Lena decided she'd allow it.

[shenachigans]

Volleyball with the Kirammans | KIRAMMAN SANDWICH AU

CollegeStudent!Caitlyn would beam whenever you came to watch her volleyball matches. She would see you situated on the bleachers, keeping to yourself as your eyes wandered in interest (and perhaps slight confusion if you weren’t familiar with volleyball mechanics) while the crowd cheered around you. It brought the younger woman pride and eagerness to impress you with her skills as the captain and main setter of the team.

You were her good luck charm, dedicating each point they scored to you, and her heart fluttered every time you flashed her a proud smile, of course it was only directed at her. When the team was going through a challenging match, she would find your stressed expression endearing because you cared so much about something she found trivial. The glow of amazement in your eyes whenever she set the ball or served (and sometimes spike) was something she wished to etch in her brain permanently. You were so expressive, wearing the truth on your face unlike many others, and she loved you for it. However, the bliss didn’t last long, especially not when her mother got involved.

LawProfessor!Cassandra happened to attend one of Caitlyn’s games out of the blue — something she never did because she didn’t want her daughter to continue her volleyball career after high school. Caitlyn, of course, was sure something was at play and she suspected you were involved. Her smile had never faltered so quickly at the sight of her mother tailing you as you looked for seats. She didn’t like how the older woman sat too close to you on the bleachers either, there was plenty of space to create a respectful distance, but nooo, Cassandra had to rub in the proximity between you. No one would bat an eye because they knew you were her TA, and if they did, no words were said as it was obvious that you belonged to her. It was the unspoken gossip on campus.

Caitlyn’s blood fumed at the satisfactory expression on her mother’s face. What was the older woman up to? The distraction cost her team a few points, and it started to take a toll on her teammates. Now was not the time to be petty and jealous, she couldn’t embarrass her team and herself, so she tried to focus on your presence only, her good luck charm, and the point gap lessened. However, something nagged at the back of the younger woman’s mind. Were you sick? You were hot and bothered from her view on the court and it wasn’t a particularly hot day today either. Worry started to wash over Caitlyn’s expression… then her gaze flicked to her mother.

Oh.

That sly old hag– The older woman was aroused. It was clear now: your poorly masked trembling, flinching, and feverish disposition. It was a telltale sign: Cassandra plugged you with a vibrator. In public. At her daughter’s volleyball match. And she was teasing you with the controller. Fury overtook Caitlyn. How could her mother do this? Was this revenge for fucking you first and mocking her for being a coward? She wanted to peel that victorious smirk off the older woman’s face. It only fueled the younger Kiramman to go on a rampage, breaking the college milestones and winning the match with a large point gap, as adrenaline and jealousy coursed through her veins.

Instead of celebrating at the end with her members, Caitlyn watched how her mother cradled you in her arms as you silently came while the crowd rejoiced, unaware of the dirty act that had occurred. With this, the (petty) war of who would monopolize you had just gone into a different and more dangerous route.

A/N: No one asked for this, but it popped into my head. Also, I know Caitlyn is mostly, if not always, associated with basketball with the fics I read, but I think she would be pretty good at volleyball too, she is a decorated woman after all ;) Cassandra got her revenge and how she did it was FREAKY. They're gonna have a freak off smh, poor reader.

Inbox is open! (Please read my rules first)

© shenachigans — do not plagiarise, translate, repost, or copy.

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader Pt. 7✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

♡ A heart can beat, even for the hated one...♡ Tag list: @irlandajacquelinne-blog

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ Unbound Tensions‧ ₊ ˚

☆ WC: 9k+ [Part 7] ☆ TW: fluff (mainly Lensless Mark) ☆ Author's Note: I wrote 22,072 words for this chapter. YES, you heard me. Why? Because, I wanted to include smut!!! AH, I talked with a lot of people, and everyone said I should split it (╥﹏╥) so here's the lead-up to the smut chapter, pleaseee give it some love <3 I worked really hard on this...

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The silence was a physical weight, a suffocating blanket woven from the threads of destruction.

Not the peaceful hush of a forest at dawn, but the hollow stillness that follows a storm's brutal rampage. Dust motes, like tiny, restless spirits, danced in the slivers of weak sunlight filtering through grimy, cracked windows. Their ethereal ballet cast long, skeletal shadows across the room's battered floor.

Y/N lay on the remnants of a broken bed frame, springs jutting out like the ribcage of some forgotten beast, the torn mattress a testament to the room's violent history.

Distant explosions, muffled thunder in the ruined landscape, vibrated through the weathered walls of the abandoned house. Smoke, thick and ashen, billowed against a sky the color of a bruised plum, visible through a jagged crack in the half-drawn curtains.

Consciousness returned slowly, a reluctant swimmer surfacing from murky depths. The room spun, a dizzying kaleidoscope of faded floral wallpaper, cracked plaster, and forgotten, overturned furniture. Her muscles screamed, a symphony of throbbing pain that spoke of brutal battles and forced, rapid healing.

The memory of the raw, blazing power that had erupted from her, the desperate grasp of the variants as she faltered, and Omni's tear-streaked face flashed behind her eyelids.

A ragged breath, a broken sigh, shattered the oppressive quiet. Y/N's eyelids fluttered open, her gaze snapping to the source of the sound. Her pupils dilated, adjusting to the dim light, and her heart clenched.

Lensless Mark sat against the far wall, a prisoner in his own skin. Heavy, industrial-grade chains, thick as her wrist, wrapped around his body like metallic serpents, binding him from shoulders to ankles. Each link, precision-welded, gleamed with a cold, surgical intensity. The metal crisscrossed his torso in an intricate, punishing web.

His luchador-style mask, usually a symbol of his arrogant swagger, was askew, revealing a landscape of mottled bruises blooming across his cheekbones like dark, grotesque flowers. One eye was swollen shut, the skin around it a bruised purple-black, a testament to the brutal beating he'd endured. A trail of dried blood, like a macabre paint stroke, ran from his split lip to his chin. His single visible eye, however, burned with a fierce intensity that belied his vulnerable position. A fresh bruise, a dark purple blossom, marred his jawline—a souvenir from the other variants' fury after his attempt on her life.

Y/N's muscles coiled, her instincts screaming for defense. Her fingers curled into half-fists, ready to unleash the power that still hummed beneath her skin. But Lensless Mark wasn't lunging. He wasn't attacking. He was simply watching, his gaze a silent, smoldering question.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice a low, gravelly rasp, that single eye glinting with a mix of sardonic humor and barely contained rage. "Sleeping beauty finally graces me with her presence."

His nostrils flared slightly, his upper lip curling into a brief, almost involuntary sneer. "Wonderful performance back there, by the way. Real fuckin' heroic."

The sarcasm dripped from his words, but beneath it, Y/N detected an undercurrent of something else—a flicker of curiosity, perhaps, or a grudging respect. The chains rattled softly as he shifted, a metallic whisper in the oppressive quiet.

"Your Marks were... thorough," he remarked, his one good eye tracking her movements as she examined him. His voice carried a note of grudging respect. "Bunch of overprotective bastards."

Y/N arched an eyebrow, her lips pressing into a thin, hard line. "You tried to kill me."

"Fair point." A sharp, unexpected laugh escaped him, a sound that was part genuine amusement, part something darker, almost feral. "But where's the fun in killing you quickly?"

Ignoring him, she traced the intricate pattern of the restraints with her gaze. They weren't just simple bindings; they were a statement, a message from the other variants: You are not to be trusted. Each link, custom-forged and precision-engineered, spoke of a desperate need to contain someone with superhuman strength. A Viltrumite's handiwork.

"Comfortable?" she asked, her voice raspier than she expected, her throat dry and raw.

Lensless Mark let out a sharp bark of laughter, tilting his head back to expose the bruised column of his throat. "Oh, absolutely. Nothing says 'five-star accommodation' like being chained up by my multiversal doppelgängers."

Despite the humor, tension radiated from him like heat. His unrestrained eye darted around the room, assessing, calculating. The trademark cocky swagger of his personality, usually a roaring fire, was now a smoldering ember, struggling beneath a glass dome.

"They could have killed me," he said suddenly, his shoulders pulling against the chains as he leaned forward. "But no. Chained me up like some... pet." The last word dripped with contempt, his teeth bared in a brief, almost involuntary snarl.

Y/N shifted, wincing slightly as a jolt of pain shot through her side. The memory of her recent power surge, of the blinding moment of self-healing, was still vivid. She could feel the residual energy humming beneath her skin, a subtle vibration that spoke of untapped potential.

"Why didn't you try to escape?" she asked, her head tilting to one side, her eyes narrowing as she studied him.

Lensless Mark's lips curled—part smirk, part snarl. "And go where, exactly? I'm stuck in THIS universe. THIS world!" His good eye widened with emphasis, veins standing out on his neck as anger flashed across his face.

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken history. Y/N's fingers traced absent patterns on the worn fabric of her partially torn suit, a nervous habit honed through years of survival.

Her eyes continued to study Lensless Mark, searching for something beyond the surface bravado.

"You want to know about the GDA," she said, her voice flat, devoid of inflection. It wasn't a question.

Lensless Mark's eyebrow arched, a micro-expression of surprise quickly masked by his characteristic smirk. "Well, aren't you a mind reader?"

A humorless laugh escaped her, a dry, brittle sound. "Trust me. If I could read minds, I'd have escaped that hellhole years ago."

Her gaze grew distant, her eyes unfocusing as they fixed on a point beyond the room's peeling wallpaper. The chains binding Lensless Mark seemed to fade into background noise as memories surfaced—sharp, jagged things that cut like broken glass.

"They didn't just experiment," Y/N began, her voice taking on a clinical detachment that spoke of practiced self-preservation. "Experimenting implies scientific method. What they did? That was torture disguised as research."

Lensless Mark remained silent, his good eye fixed unblinkingly on her face.

Her fingers unconsciously traced a thin, barely visible scar along her forearm—one of many hidden beneath her suit. "Viltrumite physiology is... complex. Unpredictable. The GDA wanted to understand its potential. To create something controllable. Something they could weaponize and use."

Her jaw clenched tight, a vein pulsing at her temple. The chains nearby seemed to vibrate with her rising emotion, though whether from residual power or pure psychological intensity was unclear.

"They'd inject me with different variants of Viltrumite blood," she continued. "Mark Grayson... Nolan Grayson... and they watched how my body responded. Rejected. Adapted. Died. And then brought back." Her laugh this time was closer to a sob, her eyes glistening briefly before she blinked the moisture away. "Regeneration was both a blessing and their favorite torture method."

Lensless Mark's eye had lost its sardonic gleam. Something darker moved behind it—recognition, perhaps. A flicker of something that might have been empathy, quickly buried beneath his trademark cynicism.

"Sounds fun," he muttered, but the words lacked his usual bite, his gaze dropping momentarily to the floor.

Y/N's head snapped toward him, her eyes blazing with an intensity that made the air between them seem to shimmer. "Fun? You think this was fun?"

The chains binding Lensless Mark seemed to shift almost imperceptibly. Not from his movement—he remained perfectly still—but from the charged energy suddenly filling the room.

Her hands, which moments ago had been trembling slightly, now looked frighteningly steady. The same hands that had unleashed that devastating energy against Lensless earlier. The same hands that had survived countless GDA experiments.

"I'm not looking for your pity," she said quietly, her chin raised, her eyes hard as flint. "I'm telling you so you understand. I'm not a victim. I'm a fucking survivor... And the only one who lived out of every one of their goddamn experiments."

A long moment passed. The dust motes continued their silent dance. Outside, the world remained in total destruction—unaware of the complex drama unfolding in this forgotten room.

Finally, with a heavy grunt of pain, Y/N pushed herself up from the broken bedframe. Her legs trembled beneath her weight, muscles quivering with the effort of supporting her still-recovering body. Each step toward Lensless Mark sent shockwaves of pain through her healing tissues, but she refused to show weakness, her face a mask of determination.

Lensless Mark raised a brow as she approached, his one good eye tracking her movement with predatory attention. The dark swelling around his other eye had begun to recede slightly—the accelerated Viltrumite healing already at work.

Her fingers hovered near the industrial-grade chains, tracing their intricate welding without touching. The metal gleamed coldly in the dim light, each link casting its own small shadow. She could feel the energy signature of the other variants on them—their anger, their protective fury encoded in each precision weld.

"Admiring the jewelry?" Lensless drawled, that single eye glinting with humor. His chest rose with a deep inhale, nostrils flaring slightly.

"No… It just looks like you lost a fight with a garbage disposal," Y/N's lips quirked, a flicker of amusement in the dim light. "I've seen cleaner dumpsters."

"Cute," Lensless Mark retorted, the single visible eye rolling with exaggerated disdain. "Real original. You want a medal, or just a participation trophy?"

Their banter, sharp and laced with unspoken tension, filled the room. Outside, the world burned, a stark counterpoint to their delicate dance of words. Each jab, each retort, was a subtle negotiation, a drawing of invisible lines in the dust-laden air.

Her fingers, light as a feather, traced the cold metal of the chains. Not sympathy, but a clinical curiosity drove her touch. She tested the links, feeling for weaknesses, gauging the resistance they would offer to her enhanced strength.

"You want out?" The question, deceptively casual, carried the weight of unspoken conditions.

A sharp, barking laugh echoed off the cracked walls. "Out? I want to not be a goddamn ornament in this charming apocalypse-chic bedroom." He leaned forward, the chains biting into his bruised flesh, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

Y/N arched a brow, a flicker of a smirk playing on her lips. "Conditions, then."

"Always," he hissed, the word a rasping promise. His good eye narrowed, calculating, predatory.

"A pinky promise." She extended her smallest finger, the gesture absurdly childish in their brutal reality. For a fleeting moment, a hint of something softer, almost playful, flickered across her face.

Lensless Mark stared, his jaw slack, the single visible eye widening in disbelief. "A what?"

"You heard me." The playful glint vanished, replaced by a hard, unwavering stare. "Pinky promise you won't immediately try to kill me, or anyone else, when I release you."

He laughed, a startled, genuine sound that rattled the chains around him. "Are we children playing in a sandbox?"

"Promise, or stay chained." Her voice held a steel edge, the extended pinky a silent challenge.

Slowly, deliberately, he extended his own pinky, a gesture that was both ridiculous and utterly serious. "Pinky. Fuckin'. Promise."

Their smallest fingers locked, an absurd pact sealed in the heart of a shattered world. The brief contact, surprisingly warm, lingered as she turned her attention to the chains.

Her fingers closed around a link, thumbs tracing the metal's cold, unyielding surface. She felt for weaknesses, pressure points where the metal might yield. Her grip tightened, the chain feeling like a throat beneath her fingers.

Muscles coiled, Viltrumite strength surging through her arms. Veins, dark and prominent, mapped the pathways of her enhanced power. She applied pressure, a slow, inexorable force.

The first chain snapped, a sharp, gunshot-like crack that echoed through the room.

Metallic links scattered across the worn floorboards, catching the weak light. They skittered into shadowed corners, disappearing like fleeing insects. Y/N's movements, precise and fluid, spoke of countless hours spent understanding mechanisms, a skill honed in the GDA's brutal laboratories.

Lensless Mark watched, his single eye narrowed, lips parted slightly. The bruising around his socket began to yellow, the first signs of rapid Viltrumite healing pushing through the battered skin. "Impressive," he muttered, "didn't know they programmed lockpicking into their little science project."

Her hands stilled, her eyes flashing with a dangerous intensity. "I learned a lot in the GDA. Survival wasn't a choice; it was the only option."

Another chain yielded, the sound softer, almost intimate. The metal twisted and deformed, giving way under her relentless pressure.

Outside, the world continued its fiery death throes. Distant screams and explosions painted a hellish soundscape, a constant reminder of the multiversal war raging beyond their sanctuary. The other variants—Omni, Mohawk, Sinister—remained locked in their negotiations with Angstrom Levy, their voices a distant, indistinct rumble.

"So," Lensless Mark drawled, breaking the silence, his head tilting to one side, "you're not curious why they left me here? Chained up like some… personal project?"

A flicker of humor touched Y/N's lips. Her fingers moved with methodical precision, each link yielding to her strength. "Maybe they thought you needed a timeout." A soft giggle escaped her, surprising even herself.

"A timeout?" His single eye narrowed, a muscle twitching in his bruised cheek. "Because chaining up a multiversal Mark Grayson variant is standard procedure."

Another chain fell, joining the metallic graveyard around them. Each broken link was a promise, a step into the unknown.

"They beat the shit out of me," Lensless Mark said, his voice losing its edge. His gaze fell to the floor, his shoulders slumping. "Not just a fight. A statement."

Her hands paused. Her gaze locked with his, the single eye burning with an intensity that cut through the dim light.

"Because you tried to kill me." She stated the fact, not an accusation.

"Because you're a fucking clone," he spat, his voice raw with rage. "A disgusting imitation wearing her face."

Y/N's fingers froze on the chains, her mouth falling open in shocked confusion. "What?"

He turned away, jaw muscles working furiously. "Forget it."

Her grip tightened, knuckles whitening. "No. No more chains until you explain." Her voice was hard, all humor gone. "You owe me that much."

"I don't owe you shit!" he snarled, yanking against his restraints. The chains held, barely. His eye blazed, and Y/N braced herself.

"FINE!" he exploded, the word echoing in the room.

"My Y/N was HUMAN!" The confession tore from him, his voice cracking. "Just a normal, beautiful human. She didn't need superpowers," a brittle laugh escaped him, his head shaking. "... she looked just like you. Exactly. But she didn't have Viltrumite blood. She was perfect, not like…"

His words trailed off, his jaw clenching. The unspoken venom hung heavy in the air.

The confession hung between them—raw, unexpected. A glimpse beneath the sardonic exterior that showed something more complex than the sadistic killer the other variants had described.

Her fingers silently resumed their work. Another chain fell, the metal giving way with a soft, metallic groan. Y/N's face remained unreadable, eyes focused on the task at hand rather than on his face.

"And that's why you hate me," Y/N said softly, the realization settling like cold steel. "I'm her echo, but distorted. A version you deem... wrong."

Lensless Mark remained silent, his posture shifting subtly. The defiant edge, while still present, was softened by a flicker of something akin to vulnerability. His shoulders slumped against the wall, the fight draining from him like air from a punctured lung.

The final chain fell with a heavy clank, joining its brethren in a metallic heap on the floor.

Freedom waited, a tangible presence in the room. Potential crackled in the air, a silent, volatile energy.

Lensless Mark slowly brought his arms forward, rubbing at the raw, chafed skin where the chains had bitten into his wrists and chest. His fingers probed gingerly at the bruises marring his torso, wincing at particularly tender spots. He flexed his muscles experimentally, gauging their response after hours of confinement. Despite the lingering weakness, a predatory grace underlay his movements—a hunter assessing its strength before the kill.

"Well," he purred, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he looked up at her through his lashes, a smile playing on his lips that didn't reach his eyes, "about that pinky promise..."

The air thickened, charged with a palpable tension. Y/N's muscles tensed instinctively, her body reacting to the predatory gleam in his eye before her mind could fully process the threat.

His bruised face transformed, the fleeting vulnerability vanishing, replaced by a cold, calculating mask. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he slowly, deliberately, rose to his full height.

The broken chains lay scattered around his feet, discarded metallic snakeskins. The afternoon light caught each link, casting distorted, elongated shadows across the worn floorboards.

Lensless Mark rolled his shoulders, his neck cracking with a satisfying pop as he tilted his head from side to side. His single good eye never left Y/N's face. The swelling around his other eye had receded, revealing a sliver of iris, giving him an unsettling, lopsided gaze. He ran his tongue over his split lip, tasting copper and a hint of victory.

"I did promise not to kill you," he whispered, taking a step forward that closed the distance between them. His boot crushed a chain link underfoot, the metal yielding with a dull crunch. "Immediately."

Y/N didn't flinch. Her feet remained rooted to the dusty floor, her weight subtly shifted to the balls of her feet, poised for action. Her chin lifted, nostrils flaring as she inhaled deeply, registering the scent of his sweat, blood, and something uniquely him. Her eyelids lowered slightly, her gaze sharpening with focused intensity.

"So, that's it?" Her voice, deceptively soft, held the edge of a honed blade. "First taste of freedom, and you're already breaking your word?"

A harsh laugh reverberated through the room, devoid of mirth. It grated against the silence like fingernails on slate.

"My word?" Lensless Mark's chest expanded with a sharp inhale, the bruises on his torso shifting with each breath. "You dare speak of words and promises? That's rich."

Another step forward, the floorboard creaking beneath his boot.

"In my world," he continued, his tongue darting out to touch his split lip again, "the GDA took her too." His voice dropped to a whisper, the words hanging in the air like poisoned darts. "But she didn't survive. She didn't become… this." The last word dripped with contempt, his hand gesturing toward Y/N with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

Y/N's eyes narrowed, her pupils dilating and contracting as she processed his words. A tiny muscle twitched at the corner of her mouth, the only visible sign of the emotional impact.

"I didn't ask to be their experiment," she said, each syllable precise and measured. The veins in her forearms became more pronounced as her hands curled into loose fists. "I didn't choose this."

Lensless Mark's gaze raked over her, taking in the subtle signs of her enhanced physiology—the unnatural grace, the contained strength, the too-perfect healing of old wounds. His lip curled, revealing his teeth in a predatory snarl.

"But you survived it," he hissed, bitterness etched in the lines around his mouth. "You thrived on it. Became exactly what they wanted."

Before Y/N could respond, a chorus of angry voices erupted outside, distant but distinct. Both occupants of the room froze, heads turning toward the window. The abandoned house suddenly felt paper-thin, the walls barely containing the sounds of the apocalyptic world.

"That's Mohawk," Lensless Mark muttered, his good eye narrowing as he cocked his head, listening. His earlier aggression momentarily receded, replaced by a flicker of concern.

Y/N moved to the window, careful to stay to the side of the grimy glass. Her fingers curled around the peeling windowsill, wood flaking beneath her touch. The sky had darkened to a bruised purple-black, smoke spiraling upward from multiple points across the devastated landscape. Several blocks away, floating figures hovered in the haze.

"Something's happening," she whispered, her breath fogging the glass. Her enhanced vision picked out details—Sinister's distinctive black and yellow suit, Omni Mark's red and white insignia, and a smaller figure with a bulbous head surrounded by portal drones. "Angstrom."

Lensless Mark appeared at her side, his proximity sending a shiver down her spine. He shouldered her aside, pressing his face to the glass. His breath quickened, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Well, well," he drawled, the forced casualness failing to mask the tension in his voice. "Looks like the family reunion is getting heated."

The voices rose again, carried on the smoke-laden air—anger, threats, demands. The hostility vibrated through the very foundation of their sanctuary.

Y/N turned from the window, her mind racing. Her gaze swept over the broken chains, the splintered bed frame, the peeling wallpaper—evidence of a world unraveling. Determination hardened her features.

"We need to go there," she said, the words dropping into the charged silence.

Lensless Mark's head snapped toward her, his expression shifting from surprise to disbelief to mocking amusement. "We? There's no 'we' here, sweetheart. I tried to kill you. Multiple times."

Y/N stepped closer, invading his space. Her eyes locked with his, unflinching.

"And yet here I am, unchaining you," she countered, a dangerous smile playing on her lips. "Something's happening with Angstrom. Something that has all of them," she gestured toward the window, "in an uproar. Don't you want to know what it is?"

A muscle ticked in Lensless Mark's jaw, his gaze flicking between her and the window. Outside, a flash of blue light illuminated the sky, followed by Mohawk Mark's enraged bellow.

"I'd rather be anywhere but helping your little boyfriend squad," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt even as curiosity flickered in his visible eye, warring with the hatred that had become his constant companion.

Y/N sensed the opening and pressed her advantage, closing the distance between them. The floorboards creaked beneath her careful steps. "They're not my boyfriends," she said, her voice dropping to a honeyed whisper that seemed to reach past his defenses and resonate somewhere deep within him. "They're using me to replace someone they lost. Just like you said."

A subtle change rippled across Lensless Mark's features—his pupil dilated, the one visible eye darkening with an emotion he couldn't quite conceal. His lips parted involuntarily, the slightest tremor passing through them as her words found their target with unerring precision.

"And if Angstrom gets what he wants," she continued, her gaze steady and unflinching as it locked with his, "we all lose. Including you." Her hand hovered near his bruised forearm, not quite making contact but close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. "You want revenge for your Y/N? Angstrom is the architect of all this destruction. Of all these universes colliding. He's the reason we're all here, suffering."

Something shifted beneath the carefully constructed mask of disdain Lensless Mark wore—a flicker of genuine emotion breaking through like sunlight through storm clouds. His nostrils flared with a sharp intake of breath, shoulders squaring beneath the tattered remnants of what had once been an immaculate suit.

"Fine," he spat, the single word seeming to cost him physically. His jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped along its edge as he practically vibrated with the storm of conflicting emotions battling for supremacy within him. "But this doesn't make us allies. This doesn't make us anything."

Y/N's smile appeared briefly—genuine despite its fleeting nature, a flash of relief that vanished as quickly as morning dew under a harsh sun. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Without further conversation, she moved to the window with fluid, purposeful strides. The hinges protested with a rusty screech as she pushed it fully open, the metallic sound slicing through the heavy silence hanging over the room. Cool evening air rushed in, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of destruction—smoke and dust intermingling with the faint, metallic tang of blood.

Y/N paused at the threshold, glancing back once at Lensless Mark. Her expression remained unreadable in the fading light, shadows playing across the contours of her face. Then she stepped onto the windowsill and launched herself skyward, her body cutting through space with the effortless grace of a predator taking flight.

Lensless Mark watched her disappear, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He stood motionless for a heartbeat—just long enough to mutter a string of creative curses under his breath, each syllable laden with frustration—before following her lead.

They soared above the devastated landscape, twin shadows against the darkening canvas of the sky. The city sprawled beneath them in ruins—buildings reduced to skeletal frameworks, streets split open like wound-like gashes across the face of the earth. Bodies of fallen civilians painted macabre patterns on the ground below, while fires burned unchecked in several districts, their orange-yellow flames serving as beacons in the gathering gloom.

Y/N maintained a slight lead, her body positioned to minimize wind resistance, arms extended at her sides. Her hair streamed behind her like a battle standard, dancing and whipping in the turbulent currents.

Lensless Mark kept pace a few feet behind and to her right, his movements marginally less fluid, the grace in his flight hampered by injuries that refused to be ignored. The exposed portion of his face remained locked in a grimace of concentration, jaw muscles bunching as he clenched his teeth against the pain radiating through his body with each powerful thrust through the air.

They approached the gathering of variants with tactical caution, using the smoke-filled sky as natural camouflage. Below them, the confrontation unfolded above the skeletal remains of what had once been the Grayson family home, its once-welcoming structure now reduced to little more than ash and memory.

The variants hovered in a loose circle around Angstrom Levy, whose bulbous head glistened with a sheen of nervous sweat. His beady eyes darted between the assembled Marks, constantly calculating as he manipulated a constellation of glowing green portal drones that floated around the group like mechanical fireflies, their emerald light casting eerie shadows across the faces of the gathered variants.

Y/N signaled to Lensless Mark with a quick gesture, indicating a partially collapsed rooftop nearby. They descended in perfect silence, landing in a crouch behind a chimney stack that had somehow survived the destruction intact.

"—you promised us anything we wanted!" Mohawk Mark's roar cut through the evening air, each word punctuated by flecks of spittle flying from his contorted lips. The mohawk crowning his head seemed to bristle with his rage, while veins pulsed visibly at his temples. "And now we get nothing?"

Angstrom's laugh—nasal and grating—bounced off the ruins surrounding them as his abnormally large head tilted backward. Sweat trickled down his bulbous forehead, catching the green light of the portal drones as his eyes continued their nervous dance between the variants. "I promised you new universes to conquer. But first, you need to complete your part of the bargain."

"We've done enough," Omni Mark grunted, his powerful frame rigid with barely contained violence. His fists clenched at his sides, the red material of his gloves straining across the knuckles as though struggling to contain the force within. The black lenses of his mask gleamed with menace as he leaned forward, shoulders hunched like a predator preparing to pounce. "This world is in ruins, and we already lost half of us. Invincible's reputation is destroyed. It's time for you to pay up."

Sinister's laugh shattered the moment like broken glass, sharp and dangerous. "Or should I rip that swollen head off your shoulders and be done with it?" His fingers flexed with deliberate slowness, a silent promise of violence to come.

Emperor Mark floated slightly higher than the others, positioning himself with the natural authority of one accustomed to command. His voice cut through the tension like a well-honed blade. "You're stalling, Angstrom. That makes me wonder what you're hiding."

Phantom Mark hovered silently to the side, his full-face mask rendering his expression unreadable, but his body language—head tilted at a calculating angle, arms crossed over his chest—radiated cold assessment.

Prisoner Mark spat on the ground below, his scarred face twisting into a mean grimace that pulled at the puckered tissue crisscrossing his features. "If you think you can double-cross us after everything we've done—"

"Maybe he needs a reminder of who he's dealing with," Viltrumite Mark suggested, his voice a study in deceptive calm. One by one, he cracked his knuckles, each pop carrying ominously through the still air like distant gunshots.

No Mask Mark's lips curled into a cruel smile, his eyes reflecting the sickly green glow of the portal drones as he edged closer to Angstrom. "I've been wanting to get my hands on you since day one."

From their vantage point, Y/N's fingers curled around the rough edge of the chimney, knuckles whitening with pressure as she observed the confrontation unfolding above them. Beside her, Lensless Mark's breathing had become a carefully measured rhythm, each inhale and exhale a deliberate exercise in control.

"Something's wrong," she whispered, the words barely audible even to Lensless Mark's enhanced hearing. "Look at Angstrom's portals."

Lensless Mark narrowed his eyes, focusing on the glowing rifts surrounding the variants. Several of the portal drones pulsed with an erratic rhythm, the edges of their projections wavering and fluctuating as though struggling to maintain coherence. A discordant humming filled the air, the vibration setting teeth on edge and raising the fine hairs on the back of the neck. Behind each variant—all of whom had their attention fixed on Angstrom—additional portal drones were silently rising into position, their movements deliberate and predatory.

"He's losing control," Lensless muttered, a note of grudging respect coloring his voice. "Too many portals open at once, too many dimensions bleeding into each other."

Y/N's gaze flicked to him, surprise momentarily widening her eyes. "You know about dimensional physics?"

His lips curled in a sardonic sneer, though a glint of dark humor danced in his good eye. "I've hopped more dimensions than you've had hot meals, sweetheart. You pick things up."

Their attention snapped back to the confrontation as Mohawk Mark's voice rose above the others, slicing through the cacophony with razor-sharp clarity.

"Enough talk!" he shouted, his dark suit blending with the gathering shadows. "Either you send us where we want to go, or we tear you apart."

Angstrom's expression twisted—fear and calculation battling for dominance across his features. His hand slipped into his pocket with practiced smoothness, withdrawing what looked like a small remote control. Behind the variants, the drones began to rise higher, their movements synchronized with cold precision.

"I believe in contingency plans," Angstrom said, his voice suddenly steadier than it had been moments before. "You want new worlds to conquer? Fine. But not the ones you're thinking of."

His thumb descended on a button, and the drones surged forward, surrounding the variants in a complex geometric pattern. Green energy crackled between them, forming a lattice of dimensional power that began to constrict around the assembled Marks.

"He's going to send them all away," Y/N breathed, her body coiling with tension. "To some hell dimension where they can't threaten him anymore."

Lensless Mark's hand shot out with surprising speed, fingers closing around her wrist with undeniable strength. His eye locked with hers, something unreadable flickering in its depths.

"Let him," he hissed, teeth bared in a feral grin that spoke of old hatreds and deeper wounds. "Less competition for me."

Y/N yanked her arm free, disgust flashing across her face like summer lightning. "They're you. All of them. Different versions, but still you."

"Exactly," he countered, leaning closer until she could count the flecks of gold in his irises. His visible eye narrowed to a dangerous slit, while the corner of his mouth curled upward, revealing teeth stained with dried blood. "And I hate myself more than anyone."

The air between them vibrated with unspoken tension. Y/N's jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the skin of her cheek. Her pupils contracted then dilated as she made her decision.

"I'm going," she stated simply, her voice brooking no argument as her body tensed like a spring.

Lensless Mark's curse disappeared into the wind as Y/N launched herself skyward. Her body sliced through the smoke-laden air, arms extended at her sides, hair streaming behind her like a battle flag. The bruised sky seemed to darken further around her as she rocketed toward the confrontation, a living missile aimed at its heart.

Below, Lensless Mark's features contorted in frustration, nostrils flaring as he dragged in a ragged breath. The swelling around his injured eye had receded enough to allow him to squint through it, giving him a lopsided, dangerous gaze. With a growled string of profanities that would have made hardened criminals blush, he pushed away from the rooftop with enough force to cause the decaying structure to crumble further beneath his departure.

The variants remained oblivious to Y/N's approach, their attention locked on Angstrom. The villain's fingers danced across his remote control with manic energy, sweat beading on his forehead as he manipulated the floating drones. Each mechanical orb pulsed with increasingly erratic energy, the portals they generated flickering and destabilizing as they formed a tightening net around the assembled Marks.

"—tired of your games!" Omni Mark's voice carried over the electric crackle of dimensional energy. His fingers curled into white-knuckled fists at his sides, tendons standing out like cords beneath the material of his gloves.

"You promised us new worlds!" Mohawk Mark snarled, his teeth flashing dangerously in the sickly green glow of the portals. Jaw muscles bunched beneath his skin as rage contorted his features.

Sinister Mark hovered slightly apart from the others, his yellow cape billowing behind him like wings of sulfur. His shoulders hunched forward, head lowered in the posture of a predator preparing to charge. A savage grin split his face beneath the black lenses of his mask, teeth gleaming as a low, menacing laugh bubbled from deep within his chest.

"You lying piece of shit," Sinister hissed through clenched teeth. "I'm going to enjoy peeling your skin off strip by strip." His yellow-gloved fingers flexed and curled in rhythmic anticipation, as if already feeling Angstrom's throat beneath them.

Angstrom's lips peeled back from his teeth in a nervous grimace that tried and failed to masquerade as confidence. His thumb hovered over the central button of his remote, eyelids flickering with anticipation. "You'll get your worlds," he said, voice pitched higher than normal as adrenaline coursed through his system. "And you'll die there."

Y/N's approach created a subtle displacement in the air, a whisper of movement that Omni Mark detected first. His head snapped toward her, eyes widening beneath his mask as recognition dawned.

"Y/N, NO!" His arm shot outward, fingers splayed in desperate warning as he tried to alert her to the danger.

Angstrom pivoted with unexpected agility, eyes bulging as he spotted Y/N hurtling toward him. His finger jabbed frantically at the remote, redirecting one of the drones into her flight path. The device responded with a mechanical whir, positioning itself directly before her. Green energy coalesced around it, swirling into a vortex that yawned open like a hungry maw.

Y/N's pupils contracted to pinpoints as she registered the trap too late. Her momentum carried her forward despite her best efforts, muscles straining as she attempted to alter her trajectory. The portal reached for her with invisible fingers, the air around it warping and distorting with dimensional instability.

Lensless Mark streaked through the air to her left, the remnants of his mask fluttering away from his face, revealing more of his features than he had exposed in years. His hand dipped into a pocket, producing a shard of mirror—a makeshift weapon salvaged from the abandoned house. The setting sun caught it at precisely the right angle, creating a blinding flash that struck Angstrom's eyes with surgical precision.

Angstrom's head jerked backward, eyelids squeezing shut against the sudden assault on his vision. His grip on the remote faltered, thumb slipping across its surface. The drone pattern wavered in response, creating a momentary opening in their formation.

Y/N seized the opportunity, twisting her body mid-flight to avoid the portal directly in her path. Her trajectory shifted, bringing her around behind Angstrom. The air parted before her fist as she drove it forward with all her strength, connecting with Angstrom's skull. The impact reverberated up her arm, bone meeting bone with a sickening crack that echoed across the ruined landscape.

Angstrom plummeted, his body spiraling toward the devastation below. Blood sprayed from his mouth in a fine crimson mist, catching the light of the surrounding portals. His fingers maintained their death grip on the remote, thumb pressing a sequence of buttons as he fell.

The variants roared in unison, breaking free of the destabilized portal net. They remained hovering above, their attention fixed on the spectacle below rather than pursuing Angstrom themselves. Their expressions ranged from surprise to excitement, but all shared one common element: bloodthirsty anticipation.

"Finish him!" Mohawk Mark shouted, fist pumping the air as he destroyed a nearby drone with his other hand. His mohawk seemed to bristle with bloodlust, eyes wide and feverish with excitement.

Prisoner Mark's chains rattled melodically as he crushed a drone between his palms, the metal links of his restraints clinking against each other like wind chimes. "Don't let him escape!"

"Watch the drones!" Emperor Mark warned, his voice carrying the authority of command as he blasted one out of the air with his heat vision, the red beam cutting through the darkening sky like a laser scalpel.

No Mask Mark grinned savagely as he kicked one drone into another, creating a small explosion of green energy that illuminated the scars crisscrossing his face. His eyes glittered with malice, reflecting the dimensional energy surrounding them. "Show him what happens when you cross us!"

The variants focused on destroying the remaining drones, smashing them with fists, feet, and energy blasts. Green sparks and fragments of metal rained down upon the devastated landscape below, a strange technological hailstorm over the ruins.

Y/N dove after Angstrom, her body streamlined for maximum velocity. Wind roared past her ears, heart hammering against her ribcage as she accelerated downward. Her hand reached out, fingers stretching toward Angstrom's falling form.

Too late, she saw what he had done.

A new portal opened beneath him, swirling with sickly purple energy—different from the familiar green of his standard portals. This was something else, something engineered for a specific purpose. His thumb caressed the remote one final time, altering the destination encoded in the vortex.

Angstrom's eyes locked with Y/N's as he plunged toward the portal. Blood bubbled between his lips, spattering across his chin and neck in a grotesque parody of a beard. His mouth stretched into a rictus of hatred, teeth stained crimson with his own life essence.

"Enjoy your trip," he spat, the words barely audible over the roar of the portal's energy.

Y/N tried to pull up, to change course, her muscles straining against her own momentum. Too late—the portal expanded like a hungry beast, swallowing Angstrom and reaching hungrily for her.

The variants froze in mid-air, horror dawning on their faces as they realized what was happening. Omni-Mark's arm extended toward her, fingers outstretched in futile desperation. Lensless Mark hovered nearby, both eyes now visible and widened with what might have been concern, his hand reaching toward her in an unconscious gesture.

Sinister Mark, who had been hanging back observing, suddenly became aware of a drone hovering unnoticed behind him. His attention had been entirely focused on Y/N, his black lenses reflecting her plummeting form. For a split second, his normal vigilance lapsed, his body frozen as he watched her fall. The drone's circuitry hummed as it targeted his distracted form. The device activated, creating a second portal that intersected with his flight path.

"Son of a—" His curse was cut short as the portal's energy engulfed him, pulling him inexorably in the same direction Y/N had vanished.

The sensation was like being flayed alive while simultaneously being compressed into a space far too small for a human body. Colors that existed in no known spectrum swirled around Y/N, pressure building against her eardrums until she thought her skull might shatter from the force.

Then, abruptly, release.

Y/N tumbled through open air, disoriented and gasping. Her body struck the ground with bone-jarring force, enhanced physiology absorbing an impact that would have pulverized ordinary human anatomy. Dust billowed around her, a cloud of gritty particles that coated her sweat-dampened skin and invaded her lungs with each desperate breath.

She rolled onto her hands and knees, fingers digging into alien soil as her vision swam and finally began to clear. Her head lifted, eyes widening as she took in her surroundings.

A wasteland stretched in every direction—not the devastated cityscape she had left behind, but something far more alien and terrifying. The sky above hung low and oppressive, a sickly shade of yellow-green that reminded her of infected tissue. Three moons of varying sizes and colors suspended in that alien firmament, casting overlapping shadows across the barren landscape. Jagged rock formations jutted from the earth like broken teeth, their surfaces gleaming with an oily iridescence that suggested something beyond normal geology.

And moving across that landscape—massive shapes that defied classification. Creatures composed primarily of teeth and claws and hunger, their bodies shifting and reforming with each lumbering step. Smaller, quicker things skittered between the giants, gleaming carapaces reflecting the eerie light of the alien moons.

Y/N pushed herself to her feet, muscles trembling with the effort. Her heart hammered against her ribs as understanding crystallized in her mind. This wasn't just another Earth, another timeline. This was something else entirely.

A monster universe. A place where the laws of nature had taken a different, nightmarish turn.

The largest of the distant shapes changed direction, its hulking form now moving purposefully toward her. The ground trembled beneath its approach, vibrations traveling through the soil and into Y/N's bones. Her muscles tensed in response, body automatically shifting into a defensive stance despite her exhaustion.

From three other directions, more creatures noticed her presence, their misshapen heads swiveling toward her with predatory interest. The smallest was still twice her height, its body a writhing mass of tentacles supporting what appeared to be a cluster of jawless mouths. It moved with surprising speed, covering ground in undulating lurches that ate up the distance between them.

Y/N's fists clenched at her sides, knuckles whitening as she prepared for a fight she wasn't sure she could win. Four against one, each creature more nightmarish than the last, and her body still recovering from the dimensional transition.

The monsters closed in, forming a ring around her. The largest towered at least thirty feet high, its body a grotesque fusion of insectoid and reptilian features. A cluster of milky eyes tracked her movements, pupils contracting to vertical slits in the dim light. Its maw gaped open, revealing row upon row of serrated teeth arranged in concentric circles that extended deep into its gullet.

Y/N circled slowly, keeping all four creatures in her field of vision. Her breathing steadied, muscles warming as she gathered her remaining strength. If this was to be her last stand, she would make it count.

The tentacled monster lunged first, appendages whipping toward her with the speed of striking snakes. Y/N leapt skyward, barely avoiding the attack. Her fist connected with what might have been the creature's head, the impact sending shockwaves up her arm. The monster stumbled but didn't fall, tentacles reconfiguring to maintain its balance.

Before she could press her advantage, the largest creature's arm shot out—a limb that seemed to elongate impossibly, ending in razor-sharp claws that raked across her back. Pain lanced through her body, hot blood soaking through the torn fabric of her suit. She spun in mid-air, teeth gritted against the agony, and delivered a retaliatory kick to the monster's forearm.

The third creature spat a stream of caustic fluid that struck her left shoulder, eating through fabric and searing the skin beneath. Y/N bit back a scream, the smell of her own burning flesh filling her nostrils. She dropped lower, trying to use the tentacled monster as a shield against further chemical attacks.

The fourth monster, a quadrupedal nightmare with a body structure suggesting both canine and arachnid heritage, circled warily, looking for an opening. Its face split horizontally, revealing not a mouth but a writhing nest of smaller, worm-like appendages that reached toward her hungrily.

Y/N fought with everything she had, each blow delivered with precision and desperate strength. Her fists created craters in monstrous flesh, her kicks shattered what might have been bones. But for every creature she staggered, another pressed forward. For every attack she evaded, two more connected.

Her stamina began to flag, muscles burning with exertion. Blood ran freely from multiple wounds, her accelerated healing struggling to keep pace with the damage. The monsters seemed to sense her weakening, their attacks becoming more coordinated, more precise.

A tentacle wrapped around her ankle, yanking her downward. She twisted, breaking free, but the motion left her open to the quadruped's charge. Its multi-jointed limbs propelled it forward with startling speed, body colliding with hers in mid-air. They crashed to the ground together, Y/N pinned beneath its considerable weight.

The worm-like appendages in its face writhed closer to her skin, exuding a paralytic toxin that numbed wherever they touched. Y/N struggled beneath the creature, muscles screaming with the effort as she tried to heave it off. Her vision began to dim at the edges, consciousness wavering as the other monsters closed in for the kill.

This was it. After everything she'd survived—the GDA experiments, the variants, Angstrom's traps—she would die here, torn apart by monsters in an alien dimension.

A dark blur streaked across her fading vision—something moving too fast to track properly. The weight pinning her suddenly vanished, the quadruped monster flying backward as though struck by a wrecking ball. The sound of impact echoed across the barren landscape, followed by an inhuman shriek of pain.

Y/N rolled onto her side, blinking to clear her vision. Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, she made out a familiar silhouette standing between her and the remaining monsters. Armored and imposing, his black and yellow suit gleamed in the light of the three moons, lenses reflecting the creatures' movements.

Sinister Mark.

His masked head didn't turn toward her, attention fixed on the creatures regrouping before him. His stance radiated aggressive confidence, arms hanging loose at his sides, shoulders squared beneath his dark armor. His yellow cape fluttered in the alien breeze, torn but dramatic against the wasteland backdrop.

"Stay down," he commanded, voice tight with barely contained rage. The words emerged as a snarl, every syllable vibrating with violent intent. Gone was the mechanical calm she'd heard from other variants, replaced by raw fury barely contained within human form.

The largest monster roared, the sound vibrating through Y/N's bones like a physical force. Sinister Mark didn't flinch. He simply tilted his head slightly, a wide, savage grin splitting his face beneath his lenses.

"You can't touch what's mine," he laughed, the sound cold and menacing. His body tensed, poised like a coiled spring. "My turn."

What followed wasn't just a fight—it was a massacre. Sinister Mark moved with lethal precision, each blow calculated for maximum damage. His laughter rang out with every strike, a sound of pure joy at the carnage he created. He didn't waste energy on showy techniques or unnecessary movements. His fighting style was brutally efficient, almost surgical in its application of violence.

The tentacled monster exploded in a shower of viscera as Sinister's fist punched clean through what passed for its central mass. "Too easy!" he cackled, lenses glistening with alien blood as he shook gore from his yellow glove with a flick of his wrist.

The acid-spitting creature's head separated from its body before it could unleash another chemical attack, Sinister's hand moving too fast to see properly. "Is that the best you've got?" he taunted, voice dripping with disdain as he kicked the severed head toward another approaching monster.

The quadruped that had nearly killed Y/N limped back into the fray, its body structure already realigning from the previous impact. Sinister Mark met its charge head-on, hands gripping opposing sides of its horizontally-split face. His arms tensed, muscles bunching beneath his armor.

"Let me help you with that face," he sneered and then ripped outward with a wet, tearing sound. The creature collapsed, twitching, as Sinister tossed the separated halves of its head aside, his shoulders shaking with laughter. "Much better!"

The largest monster hesitated, milky eyes tracking Sinister Mark's movements with newfound wariness. It began to back away, massive feet creating small tremors with each step. Sinister leapt upward, his body a dark projectile against the alien sky. He landed atop the creature's shoulders, hands gripping what might have been its skull.

"Not so fast," he growled, spittle flying from his lips as he snarled the words. "The fun's just starting." With a single, powerful motion, he twisted until something inside the monster gave way with a sickening crack that echoed across the wasteland.

The creature's legs buckled, its massive body crashing to the ground with earth-shaking force. Sinister rode it down, maintaining his position until the last tremor had passed through its dying form. His laughter echoed across the barren landscape, the sound filled with genuine pleasure at the destruction he'd wrought.

Silence descended over the battlefield, broken only by Y/N's labored breathing and the distant calls of other monsters, wisely keeping their distance after witnessing the fate of their brethren.

Sinister Mark turned toward her, his armor spattered with multicolored fluids that dripped slowly to the ground. He approached with measured steps, his silhouette black against the alien sky. Despite having just saved her life, there was nothing reassuring about his advance.

Y/N pushed herself to a sitting position, wincing as her injuries protested the movement. Her eyes never left Sinister's face, searching for some hint of intention behind the blank lenses of his mask.

"You look like shit," he observed, voice sharp and abrupt. A smirk played at the corners of his mouth as he loomed over her, cape billowing around him like a shroud. "Waiting for a thank you? Or did I interrupt your suicide attempt?"

A bubble of unexpected laughter escaped Y/N's throat, the sound edged with pain and the rising tide of hysteria. "I feel like shit too," she managed, one hand pressed against a particularly deep gash across her ribs that pulsed with each heartbeat.The alien ground lay scattered with dismembered creatures, their multicolored fluids pooling beneath mangled limbs. 

Sinister folded his frame into a crouch beside her, the movement as fluid as the violence had been moments before. His yellow gloves—vibrant against the desolation surrounding them—reached toward her face, the leather catching on her skin as he tilted her chin upward. Blood transferred between them at the contact, a macabre watercolor of her own crimson mixed with the iridescent fluids of the monsters he'd torn apart with disturbing enthusiasm.

"I don't save people," he said. The words slipped from his lips like blades, sharp with an undercurrent of promised violence. Behind the black lenses of his mask, she couldn't see his eyes, but his exposed lower face betrayed him—a twisted grin spreading slowly, pulling at the corners of his mouth until teeth gleamed in the dim light. Her own battered reflection stared back at her from those obsidian lenses. "But these things don't get to have all the fun with you."

His thumb brushed across her lower lip with unexpected delicacy, leaving behind a crimson streak that stood stark against her pallor. 

He cocked his head, a gesture both predatory and curious. The movement caused a ripple through his torn cape, the yellow fabric catching what little light filtered through the alien atmosphere.

"Those idiots lost you," he continued, leaning into her space until his breath warmed her face, carrying the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of battle. "Their loss. My gain."

Y/N wrenched away from his grip, the sudden movement sending fresh waves of pain radiating through her battered body. A hiss escaped between her clenched teeth. Her hand flew instinctively to her shoulder where an acid burn throbbed beneath her torn suit, the edges blackened and still smoking faintly. The muscles in her jaw worked beneath her skin as she fought to control her expression, to hide the vulnerability the pain created.

A laugh erupted from Sinister's throat—high and untethered, his head thrown back with manic abandon. The sound echoed across the barren landscape, returning distorted and hollow.

"Still playing tough?" His body shifted closer, bringing with it the scents of battle that clung to him—a heady mixture of sweat, adrenaline, and blood. Something glittered behind the black lenses, something hungry and intent. His smile never faltered. "Reminds me of my Y/N."

Before she could react—before she could even process the possessive claim in those words—his arms slipped beneath her knees and back. He lifted her against his armored chest in one fluid motion, the metal plates cool against her torn suit. Her injured shoulder pressed against him, drawing an involuntary gasp from her lips. Her fingers clutched at his suit, seeking stability in the sudden vertigo.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" His mask remained fixed on her face, head tilting as he studied her reaction. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. "Pain means you're still alive. Be grateful."

Without warning, he launched skyward, the sudden acceleration forcing her body against his. Her arms wrapped around his neck, instinct overriding caution. Her face pressed against his shoulder as the wasteland blurred beneath them. Three alien moons hung overhead, their overlapping shadows creating patterns of darkness across the barren landscape.

"Let me go," Y/N demanded, her voice tight with pain and anger. She pulled back just enough to meet the impassive black lenses of his mask, the wind whipping her hair across her face in wild tendrils.

A laugh vibrated through his chest, genuine in its amusement. The sound rumbled against her body where it pressed against his. "After I went through all that trouble?" His grip tightened, pulling her closer until the yellow of his gloves stood stark against her torn suit. "Besides, those things down there are probably calling their friends for round two."

In the distance, massive shapes undulated across the alien terrain, drawn by the earlier commotion. Sinister adjusted their trajectory toward a jagged rock formation rising from the wasteland. As they approached, the dark mouth of a cave became visible, a shadow deeper than the surrounding darkness.

“How sweet home~”

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☆ YAY! Okay, I hope y'all like this chapter, even though it was just build up... ☆ And mainly fluff cause the next chapter is the main course~ ☆ Good news, I already wrote the next chapter so no waiting!! ☆ Go check it out for some fun with Sinister~ ☆ Pt.8

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're No Good - part four Preview

Pairings - Cult leader/clan Leader Geto x F! reader

CW -Spoilers- don't read if you haven't read part three - heavy, heavy fucking angst, sexual connotations. Will be out this week <3

Preview below

He lets out a shaky breath, cupping your face gently, something Suguru Geto just did not do. He was looking down at you, his eyes dark with pupils dilated, glimmering with something you would almost think were tears, but there was no way, was there? No way that Suguru Geto could truly feel, not this cult leader who has lost his mind, who you’re clinging to just glimpses of currently.

His breath ghosts across your sore, bitten lips, thumb swiping away a tear that falls without you truly knowing, brushing the salty tear across the apple of your cheek, his other hand drifting down your back. It’s too intimate, it’s too sweet of a way to touch you, causing you to break apart piece by piece, hands that had clutched to fists on his robes releasing their grip, your head tilting down.

“Don’t do this, Suguru.” Your words strike him like a stab to the chest, your teary eyes looking back up at him, hair falling softly to the side, brushing against his arm softly, while he pulls you closer.

“There’s a good chance Satoru will kill me.” His words are flat, matter of fact, as if you’re having a conversation about tea, not murder. Your heart thuds in your chest as he speaks. “I may not come back.”

“You’re choosing this, instead of me. Instead of us.” Your hand goes to your tummy, vivid images of it growing in his mind, of seeing your glow, seeing a smile, and not the pain that he brings instead.

If he wasn’t so selfish, he’d let you escape.

“I’ll make sure you and the baby are taken care of, if I don’t return. I have things set in place-”

“No, no! You think they won’t kill me without the connection of being your wife?” You’re pulling away, but Suguru is dragging you back against his chest, sighing, brows drawing together while the girl he loves looks so hopeless.

“I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

“Just choose me. Choose us. Stop this madness, it’s not who you are-”

“You do not know me.” His dark tone takes over, earning you shoving at his chest, turning away, only for him to drag you back against him, pressing your back against his hard frame, an arm coming around to wrap you tighter.

“You won’t let me, you won’t let anyone. I miss my family, I miss my friends, yet you keep me trapped here, and now you won’t even choose me?”

“I would choose you, over anyone. You’re… beautiful-”

“No. Do not.” You’re wriggling in his hold, as his big palm presses against your tummy now, and you’re sniffling tears of fury, chest heaving when he turns your face towards him, hand gripping your face even tighter.

“You are. Allow me this night with you, even if it’s just me drinking all of you up.” Your sobs make you shaky, when he grips you right between your thighs, pressing up against your heat, eliciting a whine he shouldn’t deserve.

“Allow what, you to fuck me before you go on a murder rampage!?”

“No. Allow me to do what I should have with you.” He turns you now, picking you up like it’s nothing despite your struggling, gently lowering you on the bed, watching you avidly as his fingers trail down the silk brocade of your robes. “Allow me to worship you for tonight.”

“Worship a human? Before you end us all?” Your hesitation waivers with every moment that Suguru lays on you, every gentle brush of his rough fingertips on your skin, while violet eyes grow deeper, more vulnerable. For a moment you see it, you see him, the dream that you believe in so foolishly.

“I will never end you. You are my only exception.” His whisper breaks you into pieces, his hand unknotting the ties of your obi, letting that purple silk fall against the bed with a whisper, baring a breast as he presses the material apart.

“Exception?” Your little breathy voice ignites too much in him, his lips hovering over yours, while his thumb brushes a sensitive peak, heat pooling in your tummy so unwillingly, fingers itching to entangle in his silken raven locks.

“You’re the exception.” He repeats, hand gripping a breast now, squishing in his huge hands, eliciting the cry from your pretty lips, as he instead wishes to say more.

That he’s fallen.

But how can he ever truly love someone?

If he did- he’d let you go, not take such liberties he knows he does not truly deserve from you. “It’s your choice, if you want to share this last night with me.”

“Oh I get a choice in something now?” Your words hurt, but they’re true, as your own hand slips to your robe, parting it fully and revealing your gorgeous body to his fiery gaze, making Suguru falter. “One last time then.”

“One last time.”

Ahhhh :'( This chapter will be rough. So remember there will be two endings - one sad/one happy after this chapter. I will try to have them out together if I can! This is set right before Suguru's march of a thousand curses.

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[delirious-donna]

I Will Possess Your Heart [Nanami Kento]

an: I started thinking about Curse User!Higuruma and naturally that led to me writing... Curse User!Nanami (why am I like this?). I haven't explored this AU for him before so please be kind <3

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: dub-con (reader is willing but the warning is there so take it how you wish), Curse User AU, slight yandere behaviours, toxic traits, spanking (with open palm), unprotected sex, thoughts of baby trapping, breeding kink

Masterlist

For weeks you had been on edge. Conscious of the impossible presence that seemed to lurk in every shadowy recess, the malicious whisper of laughter on every breath of wind and the scent of someone who was long gone. Were you afraid? You should be, but you weren’t. 

In the back of your mind, if the faint traces of Cursed Energy that you sensed before disappearing as quickly as they emerged were real, it meant that he wasn’t dead, that he hadn’t been captured and executed as you had been informed.

Satoru swore he was dead, that you should put him out of your mind and move on. Especially after his betrayal, after his bloody rampage that took out more sorcerers from the three big families than any Curse User in the past twenty years. Yet, you loved him. Grew up standing right beside him until… 

Kento snapped.

You shook off the feeling of unease that had followed you around all day like a personal spectre, finally kindling the sense of security that came with approaching your apartment. It was new to you, decked out in the highest-grade security equipment that money—specifically Jujutsu High’s money—could buy.

Whilst it didn’t quite feel like home, at least you were protected. You waved at the guard posted in the entrance hall, smiling when they blushed and turned their eyes from you, a scowl creasing their brow. Shaking your head in humorous exasperation, you travelled the remaining distance to your front door with the tension of the day melting from your shoulders.

Little did you realise that the precious bubble of safety you believed yourself to be protected by was about to pop like a thorn piercing an overinflated balloon. 

Kento observed from the shadows, watching, seething. They’d moved you. Lied to you. Kept his name from caressing your tongue, and he had more than had enough. He hated the games played by the higher-ups of the Jujutsu world, hated the politics and strategic alliances of the big three families which were no more than thinly veiled facades to cover the knife in the back that was around every corner. Power play far worse than the corporate drudgery he had tried to escape to, though he was ashamed to admit how long it took for him to finally open his eyes to it all.

They deserved what had transpired. He would ensure that the pain he inflicted would only be the first taste of his retribution. Hate was too emotional a word to use for those he considered to be less than human, and it was his mission to be the one to eliminate them all. Perhaps, Suguru had been right all along.

You were the exception, the one and only person he wanted to protect from the white-hot fury that poured through his veins like magma spewing from an erupting volcano, its path steady and devastating. He was still furious, and rightly so. The second you turned your face from his, he felt the last shreds of his bruised heart wither in his chest. You turned to Satoru and Shoko instead of moving towards him. You chose to remain in a world that cast him out, that actively tried to hunt and bring him down. 

He refused to believe that you had picked them over him. No. You were bewitched by the six eyes, hoodwinked by a false narrative that they were the good ones, and he was the monster. Kento couldn’t blame you, he had believed the lies for just as long and it was only now that he stood on the outside, peering in, that he could recognise the lies for what they were. 

It would be okay. He would enlighten you. After he punished you.

The front door unlocked with a quiet snick; the interior bathed in cool darkness that held no hint of the impending situation. Your fingers instinctively found the light switch, flicking it once and then twice when the bulb didn’t flare to life as it should. Click click click. Had there been a power outage? No, the neighbouring apartments were as well-lit as normal. 

Something crunched underfoot when you stepped deeper into your apartment, and that was when you realised the trap you had fallen into. Only then did your nose inhale the warm scent which had plagued you for all these long weeks, the rich aroma of expensive coffee mixed with leather and spices you couldn’t name. Only now did it intertwine with coppery, bitter notes of blood and the unforgettable reek of death. An impossibly hard body slammed into your back, sending you tumbling forward and only just catching yourself before your knees slammed into what you now knew was the broken glass of the bulb above.

The bodily contact lasted all of one second before he disappeared again. Your eyes had yet to adjust to the pure darkness that no longer felt comforting, and fear kept you from bathing yourself in the brilliance of your Cursed Energy, certain it would only help him target you all the quicker. Instead, you slapped a hand over your mouth to silence the sound of your breathing, crouching into a defensive position and fumbling forward. You weren’t as intimately familiar with the layout of this apartment as you were with the one you had lived in prior. All you could do was control the pulse of fear thrumming through your body and ignore the competing reaction that spoke of hungry anticipation. 

Kento smirked, head canting sideways whilst he watched you flail pathetically. If you wanted him dead, then he would already be a corpse on the floor, but that would never be the case, would it? His eyes had long adjusted to the absence of light, gaze following you around the room as you bumped into furniture and flinched at every touch. He could smell the terror escaping your pores. He could almost taste the frantic beat of your pulse on his tongue. Patience wasn’t a new concept to him, but right now... he found his fingers flexed deep into his thighs.

He waited until the kitchen island was at your back, stepping with silent footsteps around you and leaning back against the granite. You moved in a slow, perfect circle with your arm outstretched. Your fingertips came within an inch of grazing his abdomen, but alas, his calculations were as perfect as ever. When your back was to him once more, both arms shot out to tug you with one forceful effort into his chest. You struggled; arms pinned by your sides, but his hold was impenetrable as it always had been.

“Kento?” 

Kento laughed and even to his ear it sounded cold and devoid of emotion. “A silly question,” he answered. His voice was rough, unused for many days and the effect resulted in a ripple of something unspeakable down your spine, dripping—dripping—until you swallowed harshly and tried to twist your head around to see him.

“I think not... that luxury will be earned. I didn’t take you for such a silly girl,” Kento mocked, tightening his hold on your biceps until you squirmed in painful discomfort. “But then again, I didn’t take you for someone who would abandon me, and I was proven wrong there.”

You felt the temperature of his body skyrocket. His essence crept into you in every imaginable way, tendrils of his fiery anger licked against your bones and whilst you wanted to sob at this unexpected reunion, the rational part of your brain roared to life. He left you! He abandoned his friends and colleagues. He broke the hearts of the students who looked up to him, and yours... your heart hadn’t even begun to mend. The relief you should have felt for knowing what that poor shell of a heart had done all along, that he wasn’t dead, was a secondary reaction.

“I didn’t abandon you. How dare you say that... I thought you were dead!” 

“Did you now? I guess I should add stupid to your list of transgressions, or perhaps gullible would be more fitting. Since when did you take everything the six eyes tells you as gospel?” Kento gripped your chin with finger and thumb, the scent of his skin so close to your nose that the salty tang invaded effortlessly. With one fluid movement, he wrenched your head around and pressed a hot kiss to your lips.

The action was so unexpected that you gasped into the depths of his mouth, lips parted in surprise and Kento refused to miss the opportunity to let his tongue curl past your teeth and stroke along the pink muscle he had long admired and desired above all else. He tasted like coffee, nothing to be surprised by, given his penchant for the most expensive French roast. What did blindside you, aside from the kiss itself, was the sweet caramel that chased those bitter notes. Even now, the mellow caramel burst upon your tastebuds and brought an abundance of saliva to your mouth. The kiss was heady, all teeth and tongues, until it ended abruptly, and you were shoved forward.

It was a well-aimed push to propel you over the seat of the kitchen stool, and he smiled when he heard the air knock loose from your lungs. Before you could brace your arms onto the plush leather padding and try to stand, he moved up and let his heavy palm rest at the back of your neck, squeezing firmly. “Hold onto the legs of the stool, let’s see if you can redeem yourself.”

Did you wish to redeem yourself? Did you even believe you had anything to atone for? Shockingly, your hands trailed lower until your fingers curled around the cool brushed metal. Your heart was in your throat. Tears threatened to sting your eyes but only the desire to grit your teeth and prove that you were still the woman he had once trusted above all others outweighed your loyalty to the people trying to protect you. Keeping you in the dark was no protection, it was no life to lead when the man at your back no longer looked upon you with that crinkle of warm hazel eyes that you loved.

“There’s a good girl. I knew you’d come around to my way of thinking with the right incentive,” he cooed whilst leaning over the curve of your spine and planting one wet kiss to the juncture between your neck and shoulder. With his lips so close to your ear, a rumble of laughter was followed by words you never dreamed of hearing from him. “Imagine how receptive you’ll be when I fit my cock in your pretty little cunt.” 

Happy with your position, and certain you weren’t going to go crashing to the floor, he let his hand loosen from your neck and traversed the path of your spine. His fingertips grazed over every bump and ridge beneath the thin material of your blouse until his palm found your backside. He pawed at you once, filling his broad hand with the meat of you and imagining himself doing this to you on both sides without the barrier of clothing in his way whilst his heavy cock sawed between the cleft of your cheeks. There would be time for that, all the time in the world if he had his way.

Your eyes had finally adjusted to the lack of light, the shapes of your apartment now visible and yet you chose to squeeze your eyes shut to it all. It heightened your remaining senses, the even breathing of your captor injected with muffled little noises of satisfaction when you complied without question. His hand rounded your hip, kneading you before searching for the button and zipper of your trousers. At that, your eyes flew open, and a startled squeak escaped your tight throat. It didn’t deter him—oh no—if anything he delighted in your reaction, slowing the descent of your zipper so that every scrape of metal against metal as the teeth released tore at your nerves until they were frayed.

“Lift,” he commanded, crouched low at your feet and tapping your ankle until you did as requested and your trousers were divested of you completely. The air-conditioning was conveniently not on, leaving your bare legs to feel prickly and clammy with the warm air permeating the room and worsened by the heat of Kento’s hands as they slid from heel to backside. 

He hummed when they reached the waistband of the black thong which did so very little to cover your modesty. You wriggled, experiencing the weight of his hungry stare and clenching your thighs together in the hopes of hiding the small yet very obvious damp spot on the cotton. “If I didn’t know any better, I would have said you were expecting my visit… you wouldn’t let anyone else see these, would you?”

Rough calluses scraped your soft derriere, toying with the fabric that disappeared between your cheeks and cupped your beautiful sex. You mewled out a ‘no’, readjusting your hold on the legs given how sweaty your palms had become and basked in the answering grunt of appreciation when your backside swayed in nothing but pure temptation. Kento wanted to rip apart the threads holding him back from you, to take out his cock that had been pulsing for release since before you even entered the apartment and force your walls to accommodate him. Fuck… he would envelop you in him—only him. 

Rub his scent right into your untainted soul until it was soiled just like he wanted. 

Paint your womb with his seed with the chance of it taking. His eyes rolled over at the thought alone.

Later.

He would see you ruined beneath him soon enough, he merely needed to get your punishment over. Kento needed to hear your apology—heartfelt and sobbed through a veil of tears. Without warning his palm reared back and with the sound of a whipcrack he brought it down against your right cheek. You struggled, bucked at the impact that forced your eyes to bulge and your throat to convulse. Only his palm at the middle of your back kept you in position.

The pain was not as immediate as you assumed it would be. It was more the startle of having it happen so unexpectedly that kicked you into action, on the heels was the warm tingle of your backside. Pulses of pain moved outwardly from the impact site like a stone causing ripples on a calm lake. “Ken—"

“Uh uh. This is not time for speaking,” he chided with a click of tongue against perfectly white teeth and a tone that silenced you instantly. “This is the least you could endure after you ripped my heart out of my chest and crushed it beneath your heel. Ten. That will suffice, and then we can converse like proper adults. Until then, the only words out of those pretty lips are going to be the number we are on.”

He didn’t even wait for your reply, knowing that you would take whatever he chose to gift you like a champ. You were strong, always had been, and this was nowhere near enough to break your spirit. Kento didn’t want that, he wanted the real you that he had fallen for all those years ago as an emotionally stunted young man. You would come to understand his point of view when presented enough evidence and he had stacks of that to show you. Not now. Later, he thought again. So much had to wait but patience was his forte. 

Standing to his impressive height, he skimmed his palm over your tender backside and let out a bark of laughter when you tensed, waiting for what was to come. He waited until you relaxed, listening to your breathing mellow before delivering a short, hard smack to your left side. “Good girl,” he murmured thickly when you hissed out a ‘two’ from between clenched teeth. 

Kento was painfully hard; the length of his cock pressed stubbornly down the leg of his trousers to lay trapped against his thigh. His every inhale was like a knife to his groin, every squeeze of the muscles in your backside was a torture that he was inflicting upon himself. He twitched, precum dribbling down his thigh and turning the golden hairs of his legs sticky and wet. He would see this through. It was for the greater good, of that, he was convinced.

The repetition was agony. A vicious cycle that felt like it would never end though you had a target so close yet so far. A wealth of salty tears sprung from your eyes, falling to the floor to gather as a pitiful little puddle given the gravity of your head and body. Blood rushed through your ears; the pounding of your pulse nearly loud enough to drown out the weight of the smacks levelled against your arse. The plump tissue ached endlessly, throbbing to its own beat and it left you trapped inside your head. 

This was Kento—your Kento—delivering a punishment he deemed necessary, and you poked at his earlier words. If you were honest with yourself, you had suspected that the attraction between you was a mutual one and that the feelings ran deeper than either of you was willing to admit. You pondered how you would have felt if he had been the one to turn from you, taking the morality of who was wrong and right out of the equation, you would have been devastated.

Noiselessly, you wept for the connection you had lost all those months ago. You should be repulsed by the blood that stained his hands, but you couldn’t find it in you when all you wished to do was pull those bloodied hands to your mouth and suck the fingers between your lips. How badly you wanted to hear him groan in pleasure, to cup your face and drag his thumb over the swell of your bottom lip until it bounced back into place. 

“Ten…” 

Kento’s harsh breathing became apparent, the sound building in your ears whilst you dared not move an inch. Sweat caked your skin—hot and uncomfortable—it slid over the natural dips and curves of your frame, and you knew your face was warm enough to cook eggs. Your fingers slid against the metal legs resulting in a loud squeak and you winced… waiting, suspended in a moment that couldn’t last forever, the spell would be broken but by whom?

The rustle of clothing popped the bubble you were both suspended in, the telltale jangle of a metal belt buckle and stammered curses brought your focus behind you, your head turning to find Kento with an expression you had never seen before and undressed from the waist down. He looked like he was ready to explode. A thick vein popped from his temple, throbbing against the etched scowl and snarled mouth. You moaned and his eyes snapped to you, lips curling back from teeth to show you the ferocity firing through his veins.

Without a word, Kento moved you, so you were bent over the kitchen island, and you sighed from the reprieve of the awkward position you had been forced to hold. The buttons of your blouse skittered across the kitchen tiles when two powerful hands fisted either side of them and ripped it open. His mouth and hands were everywhere and all at once.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he admitted. Wet kisses decorated the side of your neck, lips moulding over your pulse and humming happily at the frantic rhythm that mirrored his own. The brush of his bare thighs against yours elicited a guttural groan, taking the opportunity to reach back and scratch at the rough undercut at his nape, fingers delving into his hair and pressing him deeper into the crook of your neck whilst he marked you as his.

“…’m sorry, Kento. Please forgive me,” you sobbed brokenly, completely torn between burning joy and icy regret. An urgent hand pressed between your legs, thick fingers prodding and feeling the sopping fabric slick with arousal and sculpted to the molten heat of your swollen lips.

“Fuck. Save your apologies. I’ll hear them later, preferably whilst you’re gagging around my cock.”

Your backside rippled from the impact of his pelvis slamming into you, pulling a pained hiss from your lips. Kento chuckled darkly, the heat of your abused flesh warming that part of his soul that refused comfort until this very moment. He had no time to spare to remove your underwear, having used up all his patience in the measured delivery of his hand against your perfect behind. Ignoring the sharp prickling sensation radiating in his palm, he simply shoved them aside until he could push his heavy cock through. He wanted to ask if you were this wet because of the spanking or if you were merely pleased to see him, but the beastly part of his brain was firmly in the driver’s seat.

He was merciless; kicking your feet apart to widen your stance, tapping the fat head of his cock against your swollen clit and roaring in triumph when you pushed back against him. One second, he was teasing you, the next he was notched at your cunt and shunting himself forward. Kento gripped your hip, pulling you back whilst he worked inside, and the stretch was exactly what you expected. Every inch tickled your insides, thick veins stark and massaged by gummy walls made to take him.

“That’s it… there we go. God, look at you. Your pretty pussy is sucking me in… mm, more? All yours, sweetheart.” He crooned his lust-roughened rhetoric, and all you could do was hold onto the counter so your knees wouldn’t give out entirely. They shook with the force of his thrusts whilst he held you so tightly as if he worried you would slip through his fingers again. Not a fucking chance. You were his, and he wanted you to know that.

“Mine,” he growled, spittle flecking your shoulder as he bent over your body and bit into your tender skin. You howled, a mixture of pleasure and pain lighting up your insides. Stars winked in and out of your vision and you danced on your tippy toes as an orgasm near forced him out of you. If not for his determination to remain in the heart of your body, abusing the soft tissue near your belly, you would have expelled him with the force of your release.

Kento crowed like a maniacal king. Fucking you right through your high without a care for the overstimulation that left you whimpering and drooling onto the granite countertop. Your cheek pressed against the cool surface, eyes flickering between open and shut as you fought the desire to pass out. The pressure of your pulsing walls, the suction of your cunt drawing him back inside each time he pulled back was his undoing, and although he had planned to cum down your throat so he could see your tear-stained face, he couldn’t pull out. His balls drew close to his body, the familiar drip of impending release stirring at the small of his back but so much more intense than ever before. His head was thrown back at the first spurt of seed exploding outward to knock up against your fertile womb with only thoughts of what it might be like to have your soft stomach grow with his child on his mind.

Never had he produced so much, and he wondered if he had been saving it up for you. A ridiculous thought had he been in his right mind, but you both knew that wasn’t the case. His hands gentled, bruises forming the pattern of his fingertips marked your hips and waist. He smiled, the first true smile in what felt like forever. Soon he was laughing, and the jostle made you moan out, his softening cock twitching in your cunt and tickling you.

“I think I am more than ready to hear your apology, little dove.”

And you were more than ready to give it to him, after all… Kento possessed your heart.

[xsweetelegantdisasterx]

Happy Birthday 🎂 to this beautiful ethereal being!

I hope by now you're sleeping in your beds 🛌 and not on my man's.

BONUS BECAUSE I SAY SO:

[victorluvsalice]

Hi all! It's the next update of the Chill Valicer Save, bringing us to Spring Sunday in the game and my birthday in real life! So everybody be nice and like this update. :p Today was another day spent largely at the store, so let's get straight into it --

-->Started with a few werewolf shenanigans from Alice -- thanks to her and Victor's amazing bed, she was full energy around 4:30 AM, and as she was already pretty Furious, I decided her task for the morning would be to knock herself over the edge so she could RAMPAGE and then immediately regain control with her Fury reset. She thus got sent outside to transform into her beast form and do werewolf stuff – marking her territory, howling, smelling and scavenging for treasures (nothing good though -- scavenging doesn't actually turn up stuff most of the time, I've noticed), things like that. *shrug* Sometimes, you just gotta indulge the beast!

-->While that was going on, Smiler finished off another computer chip and a mechanism on the robotics bench, then wandered into the living room to prune the regrown bonsai into a playful shape. I allowed this because I was curious as to what a "playful shape" was -- turns out it's a freezer bunny. XD I quite like that!

-->Victor woke up a little bit later with a talent point in hand – I had him spend it on “Charge Control” to reduce the amount of charge he builds up from casting spells (and as he does a LOT of that, it’s an important upgrade!), then head downstairs to do some laundry, which came with some free flirting from Smiler. :p Once everything was in the wash, he got dressed and headed into his greenhouse to check on all of his plants, and Smiler headed to the cow paddock to go refill Moory’s feed and check on the cow. Because we can't have this fussy cow deciding we don't love her, after all! After making sure she was good, I decided to have Smiler tip her (in Sims terms, this means “making it rain” simoleons in front of your cow) to get some enriched milk from the day's milking, then left them to it while I checked in on Alice! How was her proto-"rampage" going?

-->Well, uh, turns out she was rather more into cleaning up puddles and chatting with inanimate objects (like Victor's lettuce). Which, I couldn't object to the former, at least, even if it wasn't in my plan for her for the day. I was determined to knock her over the edge into a proper RAMPAGE, though, so after sending her to feed Toothy, I had her start going places FEROCIOUSLY and marking her territory to kick up the old Fury...

[snowyduck]

Inspo from an artwork comic I found in X, @akaiyashinoki

The underground construction site was a labyrinth of steel beams, half-finished tunnels, and flickering work lights casting eerie shadows. The air was thick with dust and the lingering chill of liquid nitrogen, clinging to every surface like frostbite creeping into metal.

Through it all, Doey rampaged, his monstrous new form thundering against the ground. His three-mouthed head snarled, the voices of Kevin, Matthew, and Jack overlapping in a discordant, rage-fueled symphony.

"You let them die!" Kevin's voice accused.

"I could’ve stopped this..." Matthew’s voice wavered with guilt.

"It’s my fault! It’s my fault!" Jack's voice, trembling with raw, pure sorrow.

The Player, standing on an unsteady platform, merely watched. Their expression was unreadable, their posture loose, relaxed, as if this were nothing more than a simple game.

"What's wrong, Doey?", the Player spoke.

Doey’s monstrous body stiffened, his three mouths twitching, voices overlapping with uncertainty. The Player still wasn’t afraid.

The Player took a single step back, hands loosely at their sides. Their posture was relaxed—completely at ease, as if this weren’t a life-or-death chase, but something far more simple.

A game.

"I'll play tag with you," the Player said, voice even, calm. "Until you're too tired to move."

Doey’s breath hitched.

"Then I'll come hug you."

For a moment, the underground facility was silent. The only sound was the faint dripping of liquid nitrogen melting from the steel beams.

Then—

Doey lunged.

The Player dodged. A hand from their grabpack sent them effortlessly dodging to the side, barely missing a swipe of clay-like claws. Their body moved like this was routine—like they knew the rules of this game better than Doey himself.

They leaped to another platform, swaying as the scaffolding creaked. Doey scrambled after them, his massive frame crushing machinery under his weight.

"Stop acting like this is a game!" Kevin’s voice roared from one of the three mouths.

But the Player just tilted their head, offering the closest thing they had to a smirk. They tapped their temple as if to say, Think about it.

Doey didn't. He couldn't. He was too far gone.

Another attack. Another dodge. Liquid nitrogen burst from a broken pipe, freezing sections of Doey’s monstrous form. But still, the Player didn’t strike back.

And then—

Doey staggered. His breath was coming out in ragged, white puffs. His once-fluid movements grew sluggish, exhaustion settling deep into his form. His monstrous frame trembled, weakened from the cold and the overwhelming guilt still eating him alive.

The Player stopped running.

They stood still, watching, waiting.

Doey panted, his three mouths clicking shut as the rage inside him dulled into something else—something smaller. He shrank, his monstrous form dissolving into clay until only his usual shape remained.

Silence.

The Player stood there, body swaying slightly—before their legs buckled entirely.

Doey barely had time to react as they collapsed.

And then, as exhaustion finally took hold, he whispered, almost pleadingly—

"...You said you'd hug me."

The dust settled. The underground site was eerily quiet, save for the distant hiss of leaking pipes and the gentle dripping of thawing ice. Doey stood frozen, staring down at the Player, their unconscious form completely still.

The hug never came.

Doey clenched his fists, staring at his hands, then back at the Player. His clay trembled, uncertainty creeping in where fury once burned.

He had wanted someone to blame.

But now, as he kneeled beside the only person left, he realized… he didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Your post about sparkling hedgehogs.

I can't help but imagine the moment our favorite trio of humans became Cybertronians was exactly this.

Oh absolutely.

Having not experienced sparklings for millennia, it came as a bit of a kick to the teeth when the trio threw themselves into alt-mode for the first time. The team had largely forgotten about the inherent nature of sparklings, and so were expecting Miko, Raf, and Jack to transform into their vehicular modes.

They were wrong.

Raf was the first. Up until that point, he'd been calm and composed and thus had no need to transform. But after Optimus went out on a mission for a little too long, he lost it. Transforming into a ball of fury and screaming power, Raf shredded his cot, tore up the floor, and left a battered battleground in his wake. The team were initially quite helpless to stop his rampage. None of them were fast enough to grab the terror tornado and they couldn't risk getting torn up in the effort. So they let him roam, screeching and rolling around base shredding all in his path. But his panic quickly grew infectious and before the team could do anything about it, Miko also lost her cool. The stress of the situation and the beginnings of flight frame coding urged her to become stressed in sympathy, sending her careening onto the ground alongside Raf in a similar spiny destroyer.

Jack kept it together for a bit longer, but as time wore on, he couldn't help it when the stress got to him as well. The team were all but helpless as the three terrors rolled around base, forcing every bot to get on a box to avoid having shredded ankles. Ratchet made valiant efforts to gather up the trio, but lacking proper armor and not having undergone revisionary sparkling care training since long before the war, he found no success and only ended up earning a few gashes for the attempt. Bumblebee and Smokescreen tried calming the raging sparklings, but their efforts seemed to make things worse. Bulkhead and Arcee focused on defending anything delicate while Ultra Magnus, being too big to hide, accepted the shredding and did his best to herd the sparklings and keep them in one room. Wheeljack took up a place in the rafters and refused to come down. Optimus's return might as well have been the second coming of the Thirteen with how relieved the team were.

The team were quick to learn that so long as Optimus was around, there was no sign of the hedgehogs of hatred. But the instant he was registered as having been gone longer than two hours, all hell broke loose. Every. Single. Time. Well, that was at least until voice recordings were introduced to keep all three calm (at the behest of Wheeljack of all bots).