#surrender your kneecaps

[astraygenius]

Posts that came directly for my soul

“I don’t know what my goals are, no. Thanks for asking.”

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Fool Dies

Summary: You are a villain known for telling the future. When a Hero kills your right hand, you’ll let the future burn to get her back.

Hero Cowboy kills your henchman after you’ve already surrendered.

Gunshot silence, the scent of iron heavy in your nose, the crippling cold that floods your chest. All familiar sensations, companions you’ve carried with you since you even became a villain, but this time—

This time it’s…different.

You’re on your knees, the rock salt on the road digging into your kneecaps, with your hands above your head, the ghost of your signature smirk fading fast. The street isn’t empty. There are witnesses. The Hero pulls his punches when there are cameras and citizens and teammates. That’s what your plan says. He pulls his punches.

She asked if you were willing to bet her life on that and you said yes.

Your henchman’s body is stuck in the crumpled side of a car. You see her out of your peripheral, the pale oval of her face unencumbered by the mask you’d lovingly bestowed upon her six years ago. Cowboy backhanded it off of her as she was falling to her knees beside you. There is wet and red and twisted metal dancing foggily around her. The air is harsh and cold to breathe. The world is wavering as tears flood your eyes. You can’t blink them away. If you do, you won’t be able to see her just at the corner of your vision, you won’t be able to watch for a breath you already know won’t come, you’re afraid she’ll disappear—

“Clever to pretend to surrender,” the Hero says. He’s like a swan, spreading his arms out so the leather tassels lining the underside of his sleeves look like wings. He tips his head back so that the news cameras rushing in can catch the strength of his jaw under his wide-brimmed hat. She’d managed to singe it in the fight and the light catches in his blue eyes through the resulting hole. “Was it worth it, Prophetess? Was your attempt on my life worth the life of your sidekick?”

Snow falls, a few flakes here and there. The street is lit like the middle of the day thanks to the news cameras swarming out of the side streets now that the fight is over. The fire is being put out and thick curls of smoke rise from just beyond the gathering crowd of onlookers.

Your spellbook is lying a hundred feet away at the bottom of the lake. That’s why the Hero is flaunting himself in front of the cameras, trying to minimize her death at his hand. He did what he had to do. They were wrong, not him. Unfortunate but expected. The Hero always wins.

She’s gone.

The Fool. She always wanted a different name. But you were adamant she wouldn’t receive one until she earned one outside of her service to you. Until then, her name was a reflection of your journey. Your first step, foolish and unknowing, young and ignorant of the consequences. The name felt right when you called it and you never thought to question why. Only now can you taste your own cruel power in the decision. The power of prophecy spelled her fate out in front of you and, like always, you didn’t listen.

Your tattered cloak ripples in the breeze coming off the water. The vibrant purple is stained with soot and worse, the once smooth velvet charred and eaten away at by the Fire Cowboy’s flames.

They don’t remember that you surrendered before he struck. He’s dismissed your uncharacteristic action as an act, and so the world will too. The Prophetess always lies. Isn’t that the first line in your Hero Force file? The Prophetess has no powers of divination; she lies.

The world is magic. You believe it like the sun, like the earth, like the ocean—

--like her—

--and there is magic even here. The spell of your grief rises over your head like a shroud and, for a moment, you are drowning in the dark as the world heaves. You can taste the last cup of coffee she ever gave you going sour at the back of your mouth, the small daily comfort washing away under the metallic scent of her blood. There is a purple current around your thoughts, painful and biting. You will always be in this moment with her jester’s mask – cruel, you are so cruel – leering up at you, closer to your hands than her. How did you let her get so far out of reach?

Why didn’t you hold her close?

“I asked,” Cowboy says from directly in front of you, “if it was worth it?”

The world pulses back into purple focus. Cowboy is looming over you and the smoke of your battle rises into the night behind him. The media jockeys closer the longer you are silent and they’re inching around the car she’s lying against.

“Tell them to get away from her,” you say. Normal, your voice is so normal. Your arms are burning from holding your hands over your head and your neck aches from forcing yourself not to look. You are afraid your tears will fall if you blink so you stare at the gaudy belt buckle in front of your face. Your eyes are purple in the reflection and your face is as pale as hers. “P-please.”

Cowboy must kill all the time. He has no problem glancing towards the slowly gathering swarm and you can feel his eyes on her body as if they were on your own. “They’re trying to help her.”

“She’s beyond helping,” you say. Why would they even try? You can’t even look at her and you can tell that. “I don’t want anyone touching her.”

“They’re not monsters,” Cowboy says. There’s a scoff and then he’s crouching in front of you. He smells like singed leather. “Not like you.”

You’ve never seen the Hero this close. He’s older than you thought, only a few years shy of your age. His stubble is darkened with soot and his nose bears scars of past battles. His eyes—they’re not blue. You can see the edge of brown behind his contacts, the same deep brown as his mask.

“You killed her,” you say.

“No, you did.” He answers you so quickly it’s like he was waiting for those exact words. He tilts his head so the brim of his hat hides his lips in shadow. “She wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for you.”

He’s so confident that you nearly believe him. Your hands ache with phantom bruises from the blows and the weight of your sin falls onto your shoulders like the sky itself coming to rest there.

--------------.

 You see the trajectory of her life lined in gold. Her first day at your firm, her finding out your identity, her wavering in front of the window overlooking the Charlotte skyline as she admitted to knowing exactly who you are and how you’d been hiding more than your fair share of power all along.

That moment shines. She wasn’t the Fool then. She ripped her pencil skirt up the side as you debated her fate. When you asked her why, she said in case she needed to run.

“You would run from me?” you asked, eyebrow raised, conveying with expression alone how ridiculous you found the idea of her getting away was.

“I would,” she said. She grinned unhappily. “You can kill me, but you’ll break a sweat doing it.”

You laughed and held out your hand. When she took it, the outline of her life changed. No longer edged in gold. All black. A night sky all around her.

“You’re a fool for this,” you told her.

“The biggest one around,” she said, chagrined. Then she laughed with you.

You’ll never hear her laugh again.

----------.

There is a protocol for arresting a villain. Cowboy is already so outside of Hero Force code that it takes a while for things to be ready. He stands over you for the better part of an hour, smiling at the cameras, glaring you into submission, waving to the officers that eventually come to secure the scene.

An ambulance comes to take her body away. Only when they load her into it do you move. You watch the side of the vehicle like you can see through it. Cowboy tenses when it starts to drive away, but you don’t twitch. Her body isn’t her. If you start clinging to it now, you will never let her go.

“I know they call you Cowboy,” a woman drawls, “but you aren’t supposed to act like one.”

The reporters leap out of Strongwoman’s way. Barely five feet, Strongwoman is a super hero. Nobody is willing to get too close, regardless of how good and moral she is. The dark-haired woman is one of the few heroes who don’t wear a mask. No villain is stupid enough to think that makes her weak. Her dark eyes catalogue the scene quickly and efficiently. The ground rumbles as she approaches.

“Heat of battle,” Cowboy dismisses. His shoulders relax with another hero to support him and he shakes out his leather vest. Soot and snow falls from him. “Literally.”

“Hm.” Strongwoman finally turns the weight of her attention towards you. “Where’s her spellbook?”

“Bottom of the lake.”

“She hasn’t tried to summon it?”

“Her minion was in charge of that.”

Strongwoman’s voice whips. “We don’t call them minions.”

“Sorry.”

“You should be,” Strongwoman says. She folds her arms across her chest. She always gives the impression of being wrapped in armor and it takes you a moment to realize she’s wearing a tank top despite the cold. The muscles in her arms twitch. “That’s your third body this year.”

Cowboy hisses, eyes flying over her head towards the reporters. “Don’t—” A coalition of people in dark suits are already herding the media away. Cowboy’s lips thin. “Not in public.”

Strongwoman raises an eyebrow. She reaches down with one hand and hauls you up by the collar of your robes. “Fine. The car then.” She frowns at the way your hands hang by your sides. “You didn’t cuff her?”

“She doesn’t have her spellbook.”

“Protocol, Cow.”

“It’s Cowboy.”

“…”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Strongwoman cuffs your hands behind your back. The familiar sting of power suppressors races up your arms. The last time someone managed to get them on you, the Fool had to break them off once you escaped. You feel her breath against the shell of your ear and her voice whispers, Now who will do it for you?

Her memory is another spell on you. The edges of your life – dark and violently violet – cover your eyes so that you’re blind and deaf to the world around you. Once this new incantation runs its course, you’re sitting in the back of a Hero Force car. The grate between you and the front seat is closed. Beyond it, you can see Strongwoman at the wheel, shoulders vibrating with tension. Cowboy is sitting in the passenger seat like a petulant child.

You read their lips in the rearview mirror.

--review, Strongwoman says. Three. Three deaths on your hands.

This one was just a villain—

Tell that to Foresight. I beg you. See how he likes that excuse.

Cowboy changes tactics. You know the Prophetess is basically an S-Class—

Without her spellbook?

She had it for most of the fight.

Did she?

You lean your head back and close your eyes. Cowboy’s been operating alone for too long. They’ll likely stick him in probation and then transfer him to a hero team with an established leader. Maybe Atlas’ team in San Francisco or Light’s team in LA. Hell, if they really want to punish him, they’ll assign him to Omit’s team in Chicago. The guy’s the most righteous and the most powerless leader out there. Cowboy might actually become a villain if he’s forced to follow that guy’s lead.

“He’ll suffer,” you say in your prophecy voice.

A speaker crackles to life overhead. “No divination,” Cowboy snaps.

“I wasn’t talking about you,” you say.

“Prophetess lies,” Strongwoman says to Cowboy. “Remember, she always lies.”

“It’s still a threat—”

“Prophetess,” Strongwoman says. “Let’s go over next steps. When we get to Charlotte HQ, you’ll be taken to a secure floor where you’ll be asked to remove your mask. It’s important that you understand your identity will remain confidential until your loved ones can be secured—”

“He killed her,” you interrupt. You watch the ceiling of the car. “I can tell you my identity now if you’d like.”

There’s a pause. “That won’t be necessary,” Strongwoman says. Is it just you, or is her voice a little softer? “There is a proper course to this investigation.”

The way she says it makes it sound like she’s promising you something.

It’s like your mind is scrambling for connection to her. There is nothing in what Strongwoman says that reminds you of the Fool. And yet, as the car falls back into weighted silence, one word rings. Proper.

There is a proper way, the Fool whispers. You could fight this spell, but don’t. You sink into the car seat the best you can with your hands behind your back. Hear me out.

Please, you think. By all means.

------.

The first time you ask her to dinner, you’re too hasty. There’s blood on the hem of your robes (possibly a tooth) and the city is still screaming the sirens of your escape. The Fool isn’t shivering like the rest of your henchman; she is standing next to you. Her Jester’s mask is carefully secured with three exact ties despite the haste with which she put it on.

“I can never wear this skirt again,” she says. She is standing on the very edge of the building, the toes of her sensible work shoes a bare inch away from nothing. “This was my best work skirt.”

The city sparks with the purple of your magic, violet vines climbing the buildings and blocking your view of the street below. Your magic is mostly illusion, but all power leaves behind a mark. Where your spell has started to fade remains a charred outline of leaves and flowers against the concrete and stone of the buildings.

While the rest of your minions look a bit like chimney sweeps, the Fool remains untouched. It’s an obvious sign of favoritism; you had room for one other person underneath your cloak and you chose her.

Somehow the memory of her pressed against your side as she used her power to lift you both up to the rooftop makes you blush.

“You don’t have any residue on you,” you say. “You can stitch it up.”

She scoffs. At you. “It’s recognizable, Prophetess.”

It’s really not. The black pencil skirt is the same kind she wore when you first met. How many does she go through? You find yourself smiling at her bare thigh.  Since she first told you she knew who you were, you’ve seen her rip at least three.

“Something amuse you?” she asks. Her voice is short and snappish, the tone she uses when one of the other paralegals aren’t as thorough as they need to be with the briefs. She turns to face you so that the setting sun lights her outline in orange and pink and gold.

“Have dinner with me,” you say.

And for a moment, the hope of her saying yes is as blinding as the sun behind her. Her lips part and you imagine that her eyes widen behind her jester’s mask. A wind picks at the long strands of her hair, sending them fluttering around her like a halo, and you’re standing so close that one brushes your cheek.

“There is a proper way,” she says and then stops. Her right hand twitches at her side. “There is—” is she stuttering? “This isn’t—Prophetess.”

You’re fascinated. She’s always so precise with her words. Even when you threatened her all those months ago she never once floundered like she’s doing now. “Hmm?”

“Hear me out,” she says.

You nod. “Of course.” You lean forward so that you’re only inches away from her. “I’m listening.”

“This…is not the time,” she says. You feel her attention slide to the others and then back to you. She hisses when she finds you even closer. “Prophetess.”

You don’t want to push too hard.

You lean back onto your good leg. “You let me know when it is time,” you say. Your lips quirk. “My little Fool.”

“Oh my god,” she mutters. She turns sharply on her heel. “Get yourself off the roof. I’m going home.”

You watch as she steps off the roof without hesitation. Her telekinetic powers are unique in that they can work on people too. You usually rely on her to get you home.

Maybe you should have asked her afterwards…

You turn to your other minions. Low-level villains without the drive or power to execute their own heists who all owe you the same favor. You raise your brow. “So how are you lot getting me off this roof?”

“You’ve got legs,” the Ace of Swords says.

“I broke my left one,” you say. And, to prove you aren’t lying, you draw away your cape to show that your pant leg is soaked in red.

The Ace of Swords stares. “This is why she said no.”

“Was that what it sounded like to you?” you ask. His surety makes you frown. “For that, you get to carry me down.”

The Ace of Swords groans as the other Swords flee.

-----------.

Your Swords are not always Swords. Sometimes they are Pentacles or Wands or Cups. There’s meaning to the costuming you put your people through, a meaning that escapes Hero Force.

“Where are the others?” Cowboy growls at you over the interrogation table. He keeps aggressively tapping the photos he flung in front of you. Grainy shots of your Wands storming through the Christmas Parade you used as a cover to kidnap the Mayor, blurry screen grabs from security footage of them as Pentacles in the art museum, a delightful brochure featuring them as Cups in a reproduction of Macbeth you used to do some light money laundering. “If you tell us, we might cut you a deal. Six of your people are being prepared for interrogation right now. Want to bet who breaks first?”

The ghost of you smiles behind your dead eyes, leans forward, and sneers in Cowboy’s face. That version of you is delighted by Cowboy mistaking six people for twenty-four and wants to play the interrogation game he’s offering. But the real you feels as heavy as lead and it takes all your strength to watch as Cowboy slowly works his way into a frenzy.

“For too long you’ve been tormenting this city,” he says. He shakes a finger in your face. “I told Headquarters, I said you were a problem when you first showed up in Raleigh. I said, ‘This one is going to come to Charlotte and she’s going to show up with an army.’ I did. I said that and now you’ve got the largest crew in America.”

“Quite the fortune teller, aren’t you?” you murmur. The Fool is at the front of the brochure, all done up as Macbeth. You’d tried to get her to be Lady Macbeth, but she’d insisted she be the main character for once.

You don’t understand Macbeth, you’d said.

His name is the play, she argued.

Lady Macbeth is the mastermind.

Did you read the play?

Did you?

Neither of you had.

Cowboy slams his hand on the table. “Look, Prophetess, I’m the only chance you’ve got at a deal. As soon as those DC heroes get in here, it’s off the table.”

Ha.

“It would be convenient for you if there were no witnesses,” you observe. “More convenient if you get to them before the DC crowd.”

“Witnesses to what?” Cowboy blusters. But he draws back and his gaze is colder than the Hero Force air conditioning that’s already making this room glacial. “To justice?”

How dare he lie to you? Her pale face haunts your peripheral vision. You can see her in the window of the interrogation room.

“To murder,” you say. Your glares clash when you finally look up at him. The soot is still in his stubble and you imagine you can smell her blood coming from his singed leather vest. “She surrendered. We all saw it.”

“She was an A-rank villain with telekinetic powers strong enough to crush my skull,” Cowboy bites back. “I acted in self-defense.”

“With us both on our knees—”

Cowboy whips his arm across the table, scattering the photos of your people into the air. He slams his hand again. “Last chance. Tell me where the rest of your minions are!”

In your holding cells, you stupid—

“You’re a pathetic worm of a man,” you say. You clear your throat. “Sorry. Let me say it in a way you’ll understand.” You adopt your prophecy voice. “The dust Cowboy leaves behind is red, red as the blood on his hands. His golden star is stained—”

You see the blow coming. Not a prophecy, of course.

You just know what heroes do when their buttons are pushed.

-----.

The second time you ask her to dinner, you’re too stupid for her to say yes. It’s not your fault though. How could you have known the Mayor had superpowers? He didn’t do anything besides embezzle taxpayer money!

“Maybe,” she says tightly, dragging your leaden and paralyzed body through the grand halls of the mayoral house, “you could have done a single iota of research instead of sewing all those costumes.”

Feeling is coming back into your hands. They still ache from finishing the elf-themed Wand costumes you’d made for your employees. You think the group costume of Five of Wands came out particularly well. All those little elves holding giant candy cane wands…a perfect symbol for the tumultuous election Season. You flex your fingers and then wince when the Fool’s nails dig into the soft undersides of your arms. “Ouch. Could you—”

“I am not slowing down,” she says. She grunts as she slings you around another corner. “We need to get to the backyard. Ace is meeting us there with the chopper.”

“Such a waste of money,” you bemoan. The chopper had been Two’s idea and all she does is maintain it. She won’t let you fly it until you get your license. “We should’ve got a boat.”

“Great idea,” the Fool snarls. She adjusts her grip so her nails are now digging into your shoulders rather than your arms. “A giant vehicle we have to keep in the harbor. The heroes would never find that.”

“Okay, you have me there,” you say. Your words are crisper now and you can even push a little with your legs as she pulls you into the empty kitchen. “But consider this. I could take you to dinner on a yacht. I can’t take you to dinner on a helicopter.” She stops in her tracks, head whipping down to look at you. Your noses nearly touch. You grin dopily. “Hi.”

“Are you asking me to dinner right now,” she asks in a tone that tells you you’d better be careful with your answer.

She’s so pretty. That’s why you aren’t careful when you slur, “Yes.”

She drags you through the doorway into the backyard. “I sure hope it’s the drugs making you this stupid.”

“Hey—”

“Hey!”

Both of you look back towards the house to where the Mayor has just appeared. He’s wearing the smoking jacket he’d monologued in and the handkerchief he’d used to drug you is hanging limply in his grip.

He points at you. “You. You should be unconscious! Nobody escapes my venom!”

“Oh gross,” the Fool says. “Does he make the sedatives from his body?”

“From his sweat,” you affirm. Then, raising your voice over the growing sound of the chopper and her gagging, “Maybe you should sweat better drugs, huh?”

The Fool coughs and wheezes. You recognize a laugh in the sound. “Don’t antagonize—”

The Mayor bellows and sweat begins to drip from his forehead. He mops at it with his handkerchief and then advances across the grass. “Get back here!”

“Hahaha,” you say, “He was definitely a hero. I know how to push their buttons.”

It becomes a race to who gets to you first; the chopper or the Mayor.

As usual, the Fool wins.

-----.

Cowboy isn’t allowed in your room after hitting you in the face. You can feel him lurking in the hall outside when Strongwoman takes the seat across from you.

“That…wasn’t supposed to happen,” she says and pinches the bridge of her nose. She’s sitting on a special crate they brought in for her. It creaks when she leans forward. “Are you sure you don’t need medical attention?”

The Fool is the only one you let tend to your wounds. Blood stings your eye. Cowboy was wearing his rings when he hit you. “I’m fine.”

Strongwoman sighs through her nose. She’s short and stocky, dark hair and wide nose. There’s a beauty to her when she’s still and quiet. When she moves? She moves like a threat. “We need to know where your base is,” she says.

“Home is where the heart is,” you say. And you killed mine.

Strongwoman’s lips thin. “Look, if you want the guys who speak riddles, we can wait for them. Or you can answer my questions and maybe we can come to some sort of understanding.”

“Interesting offer.” You lean back and contemplate her. “You have my spell book.”

“Except that,” Strongwoman says immediately. She winces. “Sorry. You’re in custody. The spell book isn’t even on-site anymore.”

“Then you can take these off,” you say, nodding to your cuffs. Their faint glow is making you sick. “As a sign of good faith.”

“Tell me everything about your operation,” Strongwoman retorts. She shakes her head. “Nobody believes you’re harmless without your spellbook.”

“Cowboy does.”

“Cowboy is operating under a lot of false assumptions,” Strongwoman says. She leans forward to match you. “Like the one where you have over 30 lower-level villains working for you.”

“Oh?”

“We have six,” Strongwoman says. “Tell me where the rest are and we can negotiate.”

Ha. She doesn’t know either. You are so good at costuming. It’s not like your henchmen can multiply. There are always just six with you and it’s through your costumes that they transform. You’ll have to tell the Fool—

Your mood sours. Tell the Fool. Who’s the Fool now? You’re not in the mood to play games. “I tell you everything, you let me talk to those you have.”

“No—”

“I don’t know everything about them,” you snap. “You’re asking me to betray my people. Fine, I’ll do that. You lot will pry and pull and claw until you find out anyway. But allow me to give them the chance to tell you about whatever family or loved one they haven’t told me about. If I must take them down with me, at least let them beg Hero Force for leniency for their loved ones.”

Strongwoman considers you. “And what do you want in exchange?”

“Let,” you clear your throat. Your eyes are hot and itchy. “Let me have a moment with them. To mourn one of our own passing. To—” you clear your throat “-to lay the Fool to rest.”

The silence sticks to the walls and builds. It presses into you on all sides until you feel like you’re in a coffin. You once told her you would die with her.

Not allowed, ma’am. I don’t think we’d go to the same place.

You swallow hard and stare at your hands.

“Deal,” Strongwoman says finally.

“Thank you,” you say. Your head bows until your forehead presses against your shaking hands. “Thank you.”

“Cuffs will stay on,” Strongwoman says gruffly. She pulls out a pen and pad. The pen looks like it’s made of metal. “Start talking.”

You do.

-----------------.

The third time you ask her to dinner, she stares at you for a long time. It makes you nervous in a way you haven’t been before, her unrelenting stare. Is it because she’s usually so quick? Or could it be because you can feel her eyes on your bare face for the first time since she stood in your office and called you a villain?

The same office you’re currently standing in now as the sun sets behind her?

“I have concerns,” she says at last.

Oh thank god. You’re smiling too widely. “I can work with concerns.”

“Can you?” Her eyes flash gold with the sun. “You keep asking me out while we’re working,” she says.

You blink. “Do I?”

“You do.”

You consider her words, leaning back against your desk. You’re wearing your pinstriped suit today and it’s getting a little tight. She feeds you before and after every meeting you have and you have a lot of meetings. “I’m always working.”

“That’s true,” she says. She turns on her heel. “And that’s the concern.”

You stand up. “Wait, how is that—”

She stops at the door and turns to look at you in a way that steals your breath. “I am not work,” she says. Her lip twitches. “Nor am I a fool.”

“I know, you’re—”

“Ace says they’re already at the meeting place. According to your schedule, we’re running late.”

“We haven’t finished talking.” You try to sound firm, like you used to. Instead, the words come out as almost a plea. “We can be late.”

“You’re never late. Besides, I hear it’s going to be a regular rodeo.”

“Cowboy? Ha! When did he blow back into town?”

“His probation period is up.”

“Lucky us.”

-----.

Lucky us.

You Fool.

--------.

You look over the bowed heads of your employees. Ace, Two, Five, Eight, Ten, and Page. The room Strongwoman led you to looks like the cockpit of a spaceship. Noxious blue light undulates up the concave walls. There are no chairs in here, no pulpit for you to stand behind.

So your employees kneel when you walk between them all to stand in the very center.

“Prophetess,” Ace says. Her voice is thin and high. “We—I’m so sorry.”

Two looks up. Her face is drawn and there’s a deep bruise along the side of it. “We know how it is to lose.”

“You do,” you murmur. You’re aware of the eyes on you here. You saw Cowboy sneering in the observation room on the other side of this one. There are cameras scattered like black stars across the ceiling. “I know you do. But there is a renewal in Death. If—” you swallow hard “-if you allow it.”

You expect fear. What you’re asking of them has happened exactly six times. The favor they owe is not only to you, but to each other. Death is the complete annihilation of everything you know. It can be the end. Or it can be the beginning.

But it takes people to begin.

And you have asked them too many times before.

“Anything,” they say as one.

Your head shoots up. “What?”

Six of your employees – your friends – return your gaze unflinching.

“If I have to redo everything again, I will,” Ace says. She presses a hand over her heart. You know a picture of her son lies there. “Time doesn’t matter. We won’t lose anything but time.”

“We know we can rebuild,” Two says. Her eyes are fierce. “We can do it better.”

“You taught us how to do it better,” Five says.

“I thought you would’ve already done it,” Page says. He scratches the back of his head. “I didn’t eat lunch thinking you woulda done it by now.”

“You didn’t miss much,” Eight tells him. Then, to you, “You did it for us. Again and again and again—”

“—and again and again and again—”

Eight punches Page. “Shut up.” She breathes in through her nose. “Prophetess. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“The memories you have made will only remain with you,” you remind them. Your hands are shaking. This—you have asked this favor for the sake of others. Did they feel this vulnerable asking? So hopeful and so full of dread. “It will be different. Time changes all and you who have experienced it—”

“—will be like fortune tellers in a strange new land,” Ace says. “We know.”

“We’re okay with it.”

“Are you?”

The time is approaching. You can hear voices outside the room. Ten minutes. She’d promised you thirty, but you figured they’d interrupt sooner. Especially considering what you’re saying.

You breathe in deeply through your nose. You think of her pencil skirt and her flashing eyes and her warm smile. The ghost of her pale face is fading into blackness as this curtain closes.

Your resolve firms. It was a bad ending. As a villain, you’re allowed to rewrite those.

“Tonight,” you say in your whispering voice, “we rebalance the deck.”

The blue in the room flickers. The voices in the corridor gain urgency. The cuffs around your wrist flare and then go dormant.

“I see my son a babe again,” Ace sings. Her eyes burn with your purple power as she brings her hands up towards you. The memory of the favor you granted her rises with her words. “I hold his hand.”

The blue flickers purple and electricity arcs. The Hero Force suppressors are to stop superpowers.

There is very little they can do against fate.

“I see the bus that takes them away,” Page says. He doesn’t sing. His voice is as dry as the desert and he salutes you. His hand glows against his temple. “They get on it.”

“I see my friend at the crossroads,” Two says. She holds her hands palm up and tilts her head to the sky. Tears of neon violet fall down her face. “I follow them.”

“The power I have falls into my hands like rain,” Eight says. She cups her hands in front of her and they fill with your power until it spills over onto the ground. “I drink from it.”

“The harm I caused erased,” Five says. He crosses his arms over his chest and bows his head. A halo the color of lilac blooms over his head. “I atone.”

“I do better,” Ten says simply.  They stand with their hands by their sides. Their eyes burn with your power and they do not flinch. “I don’t bury them.”

Your power crawls along the walls. There are no more blue arcs of power. There are purple flowers and thorns that leave shadows in their wake. They seal the door shut and you are distantly aware that Strongwoman is trying to smash her way inside and can’t.

Fate takes a different type of strength to overpower.

“I see her again,” you say. The tides of the world pull at your long hair. You are drowning in light. The ground shakes under your feet. You think of her life outlined in gold, yourself outlined in gold. Is it possible you can see it glittering there in the unrelenting ocean flooding into you? “I see her again.”

Thunder crashes and everything becomes nothing.

-----------.

You are at your desk. You blink at the pages lying before you. A brief. A case. From four years ago.

You release a trembling breath. You never doubted it would work but it’s a relief to see not so much time has passed. Ace will still share some memories with her son. Page will not have to sit by his brothers’ bedsides again. Ten won’t be trapped in her father’s house.

The rest…the rest will not expect your help. You didn’t help them the last three times. Cruel, maybe. Fate often is.

You think Two is in Charlotte at this point. She mentioned something about a halfway house…

You freeze grabbing your coat as familiar footsteps echo from the hall outside your door. The skyline is twinkling with city lights, but it’s nearly midnight. Nobody should be here, you don’t remember anyone being here at this time—

The door opens without a knock. Her hair is chopped beneath her ears and she has a lip piercing and there isn’t a pencil skirt to be found. But it’s her. It’s her.

“Anika,” you breathe.

Her gold eyes flick to you, to your desk, to your coat in your hand. “You working?”

“N-no,” you say. Your words pile up behind your teeth. Do you remember? Of course you do, otherwise how would you be here. But how? Did I infect you? Did the outline of my life really drag you into my power enough--

Anika waits. When you continue to stare at her, she prods, “I’m not your paralegal.”

“You don’t look like you’ve even finished your degree,” you blurt out. You point. “A lip piercing?”

Anika rubs her piercing. “I’m not the Fool,” Anika says patiently.

A light bulb goes off. “Oh,” you say. “Oh!” You get down on one knee. “Anika, will you marry me—” Anika throws her purse at you. It misses by about three feet. You stand and try again. “I mean, will you go to dinner with me?”

“Yes, I’ll go to dinner with you.” Anika rubs a hand over her face. “Everytime I give you an inch, you take a mile—"

“For the rest of our lives,” you promise.

Anika shakes a finger at you. “Dinner.”

“It’s a beginning,” you say cheerfully.

The best one you’ve ever had.

-------.

Thanks for reading! I do love my supervillain stories and appreciate you for making it through this one! Sometimes I wonder if I can even write flash fiction anymore haha

Next week's story is already up on my Patreon (X)! I'm super excited to share it as it made me laugh writing it. It's an AITA style post from a woman who used to be a Cryptid professionally and feels like she's made a misstep with her Slasher boyfriend.

See y'all next time!

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

You're Not Alone (pt 2)

And here is the requested part 2 of vampire spawn!Tav/reader! I'm pretty sure I injected more fluff into this one after the very dark part 1.

Taglist (I guess I could do one in the future): @silverfangmarks @astarioffsimpmain

Summary: You and Astarion deal with the aftermath that is you being turned into a vampire spawn.

After the events of Cazador’s palace, the group quietly head back to the inn, covered in blood and downcast. Astarion keeps his distance from your limp body gently cradled by Halsin, gaze fixed on the ground and disappears the moment the party reaches the inn.

“Where is the vampire spawn going?” Lae’zel hisses. “He is the reason why Y/N is like this, he should be here.”

“Leave him be, Lae’zel. He’s taken the events hard, give him some space for now.” Halsin chides, setting you down on a bed. Your physical injuries can be easily healed with some blood, fortunately Cazador hadn’t gotten far with his poem before the party had crashed the ritual so your scars wouldn’t be as bad as Astarion’s but the main issue is the emotional scarring. Halsin had hoped Astarion would remain by your side so that when you woke up, he could help you but the vampire had gone off by himself and Halsin wasn’t sure when he’d return.

The druid slices open a wound on his wrist and lets the blood drip into your slightly ajar mouth. Your throat bobs instinctively, swallowing the precious fluid but your eyes remain close. At least you’re drinking the blood, that was enough at this stage. He continues letting his blood drip into your mouth until your eyelids flutter and you stir slightly.

“Y/N.” He says. You groan in response, eyes opening blearily.

This place smelled different, looked different. You were in a different place, where were you? You shoot up, eyes wide and muscles tensed, ready to fight. A quick glance around the place told you you were in a room of sorts and the only other person around was Halsin.

“Where am I?” You croak. Your body felt cold, sore and you wanted nothing more than to fall into a deep slumber.

“You’re at Elfsong Tavern’s Inn. Don’t worry, you’re safe now. Cazador is gone, he can’t harm you anymore,” Halsin reassures you, but keeps a distance away to give you some space. You press a hand to your head as memories come rushing back to you. Astarion’s siblings coming for him, you defending him, Cazador appearing and kidnapping you, Astarion’s cry for you, Cazador using you as Astarion’s substitute in the ritual, the pain that followed, the others rescuing you, Astarion holding you tightly in his arms, comforting you…

'“Astarion,” you whisper, “where…”

“He’ll be back soon,” Halsin says, but you can tell he’s lying.

“You don’t know!” You snap accusingly, “stop lying! Where did he go?”

“Calm down, Y/N. After we brought you back, Astarion left for somewhere, although none of us know where or how long he will be gone. He still hasn’t returned.” Halsin raises his hands in surrender. “I didn’t want to worry you after all you’ve just been through.”

“It’s just that simple! Just tell me! Like that!” You snarl, fangs bared. Halsin leans away so that your fangs are far enough from him and you realise what you’ve just done.

“I’m sorry. It’s not even your fault.” You sit back down on the bed, shoulders hunched. “Everything’s been so…much.”

Halsin shakes his head, “it’s quite alright. You have a lot to adjust to, with your new…condition.”

“At least the tadpole still lets me walk in the sun,” you give a hollow laugh, “if Astarion’s ability to do so is anything to go by.”

You smile sadly at the bed beneath you. “Things can never go back to the way it was, and I was so looking forward to doing so many things once we had our tadpoles removed too.”

Halsin remains quiet and you sit there in the silence with him, tears sliding down your cold cheeks. You curl up, hugging your knees to your chest, causing tears to stain your kneecaps. The warmth you once had is all gone now, replaced by a chill that reminds you of what you have lost, of what you once had.

“Are you still hungry?” Halsin quietly breaks the silence, extending his wrist towards you. You shake your head despite the sanguine hunger gnawing at you, afraid of what the act of feeding solidifies.

“Then I will take my leave first. Call me if you need anything.” The druid rises from the stool, sending you a look of concern but leaves you with your thoughts.

You stare at your hands, your cold undead hands and bite your lip. Your new fangs pierce through skin with ease, drawing a little blood and your nostrils flare instinctively at the scent. The sanguine hunger roars again, louder this time. It craves blood, it demands blood but you force it down as far as it can go. You hate it, you hate your new condition. You hate the thought that once your tadpole has been removed, you’ll never be able to enjoy the sun again, feel its warmth. You finally truly understand why Astarion had been so adamant about ascending, the temptation to do the same is strong.

Suddenly, a new scent floods your nose.

“Who’s there?” You call, glaring in the direction of the scent. Astarion steps into view, smiling a little too widely — a sign that he was nervous.

“You’re awake, darling. That’s good.” He moves to sit on your bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve just been turned into a vampire spawn?” He flinches at your words and you wish you could take them back.

“Sorry.” You mutter. “It’s just…a lot to take in.”

Astarion quietly looks down, fidgeting. The silence between the two of you isn’t the comfortable kind, the tension in the air waiting for one of you to cut it so you decide to take the initiative.

“What’s it like, being a vampire spawn. Is there anything I have to take note of?”

“It’s…something that takes time to get used to.” Astarion murmurs.

“Well, good thing I have you to guide me, don’t I?” You smile, reaching over to take his hand in yours. Both your hands are cold now, freezing to the touch, reminding Astarion of one more thing he has lost to Cazador.

“Even when permanently dead he still haunts me,” Astarion mutters, squeezing your hand tightly. “How badly did he scar you?”

The concern in his ruby red eyes is genuine, a softness you’ve missed filling the crimson orbs. You turn around despite everything in your body screaming at you not to, feeling yourself shake as you slip your top off, flashes of memories you’d rather keep buried burning through your mind. Astarion suppresses the angry growl that threatens to spill from his throat, hatred for Cazador burning once more and wishes he could drag the vampire lord from wherever dead vampires went just so he could make Cazador pay with pain a million times worse than yours.

You swallow as bile rises to your throat, the overwhelming scent of your blood filling your nose, screams of pain flooding your mind, then the scent you’ve saved as Astarion’s fills your nose as he wraps his arms around you, whispers of love falling from his lips.

“It’s alright darling, I’ve got you. I promise you’re safe. Focus on my voice, breathe together with me.” He whispers into your ear. “In…out…in…out…”

Through the haze, you struggle to regain control of your body, tears blurring your vision once more but with Astarion’s help, you find a breathing rhythm and grasp tightly onto it.

In, out. In, out.

When the room shifts back into focus, you realise that the scent of your blood wasn’t just a figment of your imagination. Long claw marks decorate your arms, your clawed fingertips stained crimson while the sheets beneath soak up whatever has dripped onto it.

“Shit, I’m a mess,” you whimper.

“Everyone is,” Astarion reassures you, pulling a bottle out. “Here, you’ll need to drink this. All of it. Don’t leave a single drop.”

The sweet scent of blood fills the air as he uncorks the bottle and your hunger growls, eager to lap it all up but you push his hand and the bottle away. “I’m not hungry.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” Astarion scowls. “I’m not going to let you starve yourself to death, trust me, you do not want to be starving as a vampire. It’s worse than death.”

“I don’t want to drink another person’s blood,” you croak weakly. The very thought of doing so makes you want to vomit, but your body says otherwise.

“It’s bear blood. I went out to hunt and came across a bear,” Astarion swirls the bottle. “I promise I’m not lying.”

You cautiously take the bottle from him, lifting it up to your lips. You have to trust him on this, it’s not like you know how bear blood smells like as a vampire. Locking gazes with him, you tilt the bottle, letting the sweet liquid wash down your throat. Strange new flavours burst in your mouth but it’s a pleasant taste and sends a tingle down your spine. Soon, you’re greedily sucking the bottle dry until there is not a drop left.

“There, not so bad, is it?” Astarion leans in to give you a peck on your cheek. “Now, your instincts should help but this is the best place to drink from on a wrist.”

He points to a spot on his wrist and lifts it up to your lips, “give it a try.”

You eye him warily and he sighs at your reluctance, “I can’t keep giving you bottles of blood to drink from, love. You’re going to need to learn how to feed yourself.”

“But I don’t want to,” you mumble. Astarion frowns but doesn’t push the matter further, instead he reaches for the medical kit Halsin has left behind and starts to clean up the dried blood on your arms. You let him, silently watching as the cloth starts to turn brown.

“There, all beautiful and blemish-free again,” he presses kisses along the length of both your arms, tossing the cloth aside. “Being…this doesn’t change anything about you, love. You’re still the same person, and that is more than enough for me.”

He cups your cheeks, letting his thumbs run over the skin of your cheeks. Leaning in, he presses his forehead against yours and feels you wrap your arms around him. With a small smile, he pulls you in, feeling your head rest on his shoulder as he embraces you tightly, breathing in your new scent. One of his hands gently rests on the back of your head, fingers running through your matted hair.

“You’re not alone. I’ll always be here for you, right by your side whenever you need me. That I promise. I won’t let you go through what I went through, I won’t let you be alone in this.” He swears, holding you tightly. “We’ll face this together, side by side.”

You clutch desperately at his tunic, crying for what feels like the millionth time today into his chest and he lets you, ignoring the way your tears dampen and stain his clothes. Instead, he curls around you, wishing he could shield you from the world and the suffering he knows is to come and cherishes the way you cling onto him, the way you so clearly trust him with everything you have. No one had ever bared their soul like this to him, even all his prey had always kept a thing or two from him, no matter how sweet the lies he used to ensnare them.

You were different. You had let your walls down around him, bared your sweet neck at him, let him drink the first night he had tried drinking your blood instead of staking him on the spot and in return he had fallen for you. He let you have his back, let you into the shattered pieces he called his heart and let you see his broken self, hoping it wouldn’t scare you off and it hadn’t. Now you were the broken one and you had let him see it all, returning the favour was only natural but it wasn’t the only reaosn he was doing all this. He wanted to help you without needing anything in return, he wanted to see you smile again, he wanted to…he wanted to show you how much he truly loved you.

He had changed, that much he knew. It wasn’t long ago when he’d have chosen to ascend no matter the cost, but that night when he had seen you bound by glyphs with Infernal being carved into your back, all he could think about was how if he ascended you would be sacrificed too. He couldn’t bring himself to do that, he couldn’t sacrifice you no matter what he would gain in return.

He wouldn’t have needed to consider that if you hadn’t been turned into a vampire spawn.

Years of self-hatred gnaw away at him, reminding him of his failure, hisweakness that had led to this whole mess. If only he had been stronger, faster, better, then maybe you wouldn’t have to suffer his fate, the fate of a vampire spawn. His thoughts tear into him again and again, berating him, a whirling wind of destruction that threaten to unravel him. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes, fighting the darkness that threatens to drown him. He doesn’t have time for this, he has to help you adjust, to be there whenever you’re drowning and he can’t do that if he’s wallowing in self-deprecation. Those damned thoughts can wait another day.

A quick glance down lets him know you’ve fallen asleep in his arms, worn out from recent events and he lets out a soft sigh, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“I meant everything I said, my love,” he says, knowing you can’t hear his words but that’s fine by him. He doesn’t want you to hear his next words anyways. “I love you.”

[toescapetherealityoflife]

Vision board of My new Mafia a/b/o Enhypen fic

Lee Heeseung

I'm not your typical suit-and-tie, Wall Street wolf.

I deal in a different kind of currency, one that's measured in respect, fear, and the unwavering loyalty of the men around me. See, my power isn't just about the money, though believe me, there's plenty of that flowing. It's about control, about being the silent puppeteer pulling strings you can't even see.

I make deals that bypass legalities, settle disputes with a nod or a whisper, and ensure things get done, efficiently and decisively. The city, it's a chessboard, and I know where every single piece is. The legitimate businesses I own? They're just the facade, the polished veneer hiding the intricate network that truly gives me influence. Someone needs a problem solved? They come to me.

Someone tries to cross me? Well, they quickly learn the consequences. My power isn't handed to me; it's carved, earned, and maintained through a delicate balance of calculated risks and carefully nurtured alliances.

It's a world where trust is rare, where every conversation is a potential negotiation, and where the only certainty is the authority I wield. And I wield it with precision

Park Jay

"They call me the 'Fixer,' but that's just a fancy label for a guy who knows how to make problems disappear.

See, the strength I wield isn't in the muscle or the guns, though those are certainly available if needed. My real power lies in understanding. I understand people's fears, their wants, and their deepest vulnerabilities. I can read a room like a book, and predict their next move before they even think it.

And that knowledge? That's leverage. I can weave deals, twist words, and paint pictures that make even the most stubborn bull see things my way. I can make offers they can't refuse, not with threats, but with the promise of something they desperately crave – be it protection, opportunity, or simply the relief of not having a headache anymore.

So, when I sit at the table, it's not just me; it's the weight of all the possibilities I can conjure, all the 'what ifs' they suddenly have to consider. And that, my friend, is a power far more potent than any bullet."

Sim Jake

"They call me 'The Ghost' in the circles I move in, and it's not just a fancy nickname.

I don't break kneecaps; I break firewalls. My power isn't brute force, it's silence and precision. I can slip into any network like a whisper in the wind, extract information that's locked tighter than Fort Knox, and leave no trace but a few rearranged bits of code.

Need to reroute a shipment? I can manipulate the logistics. Want to make someone's money vanish? Bank accounts are as transparent to me as glass. The old guard uses muscle; they send guys with guns.

I’m the new era – I use data, and in this world, data is the most dangerous weapon of all. They might think they’re in control, but really, they're just playing by my rules. I'm the puppet master behind the screen, and nobody ever sees my strings."

Park Sunghoon

"Power isn't about screaming the loudest or brandishing the biggest gun. Those are the tools of a novice, a child playing at being a king. True power is about influence. It's about the whisper that travels further than any shout, the connection that runs deeper than any blood oath.

My power isn't just in the men you see standing here, loyal and ready. It's in the judge who owes me a favour, the cop who'll look the other way, and the banker who knows where to discreetly deposit those 'problematic' funds. It’s in the businesses I control, the news I can shape, and the favours I can call in from all corners of this city.

I don't need to flex my muscles, gentlemen. I simply need to be."They understood then, the true language of power, spoken not in threats, but in the silent, pervasive web I wove around them, and all of this city.

Kim Sunoo

"Sweet Surrender," was his sanctuary, a haven built brick by sweet brick to keep the darkness at bay.

He had tasted the bitter tang of betrayal, the metallic tang of fear, and the hollow echo of violence. He had seen things that haunted his dreams, and felt the weight of choices that still pressed down on him.

Now, surrounded by the comforting aroma of sugar and yeast, he clung fiercely to the simple joy of baking, his hands trembling slightly as he kneaded, not from fear, but from a desperate hope that his past would remain just that – the past. He would never again step foot in that world of shadows, never again trade the sweet scent of life for the acrid stench of death. This bakery, this quiet haven, was his penance, his redemption.

Yang Jungwon

The way I see it, power isn't about brute force or a loud mouth, though those have their place. My power lies in understanding the game, the board, and every player moving across it.

I'm the strategist, the one who sees five moves ahead while everyone else is still reacting to the last. It's not about pulling the trigger; it's about knowing when and who should be pulling it. I orchestrate the chaos, predict the outcomes, and ensure things align in our favour.

My influence isn't seen in blood and broken bones, but in the carefully crafted alliances, the strategically placed whispers, and the flawless execution of plans that seem inevitable in retrospect. That’s the real strength, the quiet kind that shapes the very fabric of this

Nishimura Riki

The whispers follow me, they always have. Some call it a "gift," others a curse, but I simply call it my work.

I'm a whisper in the dark, a shadow that moves unseen. My power isn't brute strength or some flashy parlour trick; it's an acute awareness, a heightened perception. I see the subtle shifts in posture, the flicker of doubt in an eye, the barely perceptible tremor of a hand reaching for a weapon. It's like the world unfolds slower for me, allowing me to anticipate the next move before it even happens.

This, coupled with a lifetime of honing my body into a lethally precise instrument, makes me more than just a man with a gun. I'm a pre-emptive strike, a silent executioner. I don’t need to be faster; I see the openings before they’re even there.

They say the mafia is a jungle, but in this jungle, I'm the apex predator, and my power is the silence that precedes the storm.

[fisheito]

i lied. i'm still here

WHAT GIVE SYOU THE RIGHT

first of all, straight up 14 minutes spent staring athis stupid eyes. what are eyes? squishy orbs with holes in them? dunked in saltwater? connected to a bunch of vermicelli? ludicrous. they don't even know how to stand up straight. duymass orbs standing upside down all day relying on the brain to make sense of its wonky projections. i'm staring at salty upsidedown spheres for too many minutes. ims o anrgy

THE EARRING IS UNMOVED. UNCHANGING. STARING AT ME WITH ITS BEADY SALTORBS. mocking me. this is its everyday. this is normal. you twine that obsidian with the mundanity of the 9-5 grind and i just fume at you. STOP MOCKING ME

WHEN THE HFIOK WAS HE ALLOWED TO EXPOSE SKIN? WHO PULLED DOWN HIS SHIRTT? evil puppyfan whispering in my virtual ear: are those scratches on his back?!?! me: NO THEY AREN'T, THEY ARE JUST DECORATIVE BRUSH STROKES LIKE THE ONES USED FOR BLUSHES

IF THOSE WERE SCRATCHES THEY WOULD BE A HELLUCA LOT DEEPER AND ANGRIER BECAUSE THIS SNAKEY BITCGHJ AINT GETTING OFF WITH JUST A WARNING

wait hold up a minut

who pulled this thing down. doesn't he have a rather tight collar around his neck? there's no way someone could so easily just drag his entire torso's worth of clothing down past his shoulders-- *checks my notes*

DID THEY ONLY GIVE HIM HIS SECOND LAYER ? WHERE'S HIS SHIRT? i don't see any of that telltale white-

ok, well, there it is,? so, he's wearing it after all, but HOW DID THEY PULL DOWN THE UNDERSHIRT SO EASILY IS IT BAGGIER THAN EXPECTED? bruh i don't THINK so the waay that silk vacuum-seals to yakumo's skinnyarss chest in his regular sprite DID THEY TEAR IT APART?!?!?! just ripped at the neck. he can sew. he can fix it later on his own time. we got shoulders to expose here

WAIT. WHY IS HE WET? WHO THREW A BUCKET OF WATER ON HIM? other evil fan whispering in my alternate earhole: oh, they're ALL wet in their bday pics. don't worry, fish. it's like misting the vegetables in the grocery store-- me: I AM NOT MOLLIFIED BY THIS NEWS. WHY IS HEWET!!!!

way too godadam wet..... downright sopping😡

actually, that's a mighty fine bow. i wonder who tied that. it's a picturesque bow. i can never get my bows to look so perfect irl. very even. no lumpy sides. honestly, i wouldn't put it past eiden or olivine with their crafty hands to be able to pull that off-- EXCUSE ME WHAT THE TFOKF

WHO UNDID HIS PANTS W H A T

HE ALREADY HAS BARE SHOULDERS THAT'S AS SLUTTY AS IT GETS FOR THIS EXCESSIVELYBUBBLEWRAPPED SPAGHETT NOW YOU'RE PULLING HIS PANTS DOWN? HIS HIPS ARE GONNA GET COLD

stupid fkin hipbone on the bonyffikin snaek i'm gonna rip[ his greeater trochanter clean off his pelvis

WHATEVER. i'm fine. i'm totally fine. .......... bony snass out.....

you slap that thing and it's gonna shatter......couldn't even afford basic padding......economy-fare-level-buttmeat gotdamt taunting me with its fragile slappaibility

WHEN will this hoe learn. he beteter put those ankles away befroe he LOSES them i am THIsc lose to BITING THEM OFF his SNAPPABLE fibula PUT SOME SOCKS ON YOU WHORE

stupid anime legs. makes no sense. too frghign long couldn't even be contained by the border of the image. got cut off by the edge because his frivolous stilts had to stretch beyond reasonable restraints. surrender your left kneecap to customs. punishment for your femur hubris.

HOW FAR DOWN HAVE THOSE PANTS BEEN PULLED IVE NEVER WANTED TO SUCK A------

you're barely even tied up you dweeb there's nothing tethering you here if you stood up i bet the whole thing would unravel and you'd be completely unencumbered by that lightweight ribbon. i bet if we turned you around we would only see the ribbon loosely draping across your chest like a celebratory sash . congratulations on your self-contained imprisonment you wibbly reptilian beansprout

GOD HE DOES NOT STOP WIBBLING EVEN HIS ACCURSED LIPS ARE 〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜〜

UGH HE IS ALL NECK I'M GOING TO ROAST HIS SPINAL COLUMN AND TURN HIM INTO GRAVY

I HATE IT HERE

[fayes-fics]

slams ask button I don't know if this tickles your kink fancy, so if not, no worries! For your 100 Word Kink Challenge here's my prompt:

Anthony + Regency + Sensory Deprivation

btw I'm not SUPER attached to it being Regency. If you think it'll work better for you as a modern, go for it!

I look forward to seeing what you come up with!

Oh! here's some inspo:

Kinktober: Anthony + Sensory Deprivation

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Paring: Anthony Bridgeton x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, domme!reader, sub!Anthony, blindfolds, earplugs, restraints, teasing, oral sex (f to m).

Author’s note: hi lovely 🫶 thanks for this ask, and for that sexy inspo image oooof. 😁 Thanks for always being a wonderful friend, I really hope you enjoy this 🧡

You scrape a fingernail down his toned torso, fascinated by the play of muscles as he pants gently, so very keen. You deliberately avoid his engorged, twitchy, leaking cock, skirting instead down over his meaty, fuzzed thigh as he whimpers and thrashes his head. 

The blindfold Anthony wears, and the cotton wool in his ears blot out his senses. He can’t anticipate what you might do next, can’t even likely hear his own delicious, needy little noises.

When you reach his kneecap, his leg jerks, and he calls your name softly, begging for mercy, his whole body trembling exquisitely in the soft candlelight. 

He’s beautiful like this; so very desperate. It makes your heart and pussy clench, deciding to finally take pity on your darling husband.

When you lean down and lick a line over the hot taut flesh of his cock, he practically roars, his hands flexing in their headboard bindings. 

“My handsome boy,” you murmur over his tip, the copious precum from your prolonged teasing sticky and salty against your lips and tongue. 

He’s chanting your name in a devout staccato as you suckle him into your mouth, knowing he won’t last long but revelling in his total surrender.

No taglist as these drabbles are so short

[themadlostgirl]

B&B: Please. I Love Her.

*And another old request done! Woo!*

Pairing: Felix x fem!Reader

Prompt: Storybrooke AU. Reader gets badly hurt and Felix tells them how much he loves them.

~~~

“Felix!” you charged into the apartment practically frothing at the mouth. “Get the weapons! We’re gonna go fight some pirates!”

“Wait, what? Pirates?” Felix’s head perked up, “I thought were weren’t allowed to try and kill Hook.”

“No. Not Hook. Different pirate. Someone named Bluebeard and his crew. They’re pillaging the town and we have special permission to use lethal force! Come on! We haven’t had the chance to fight in forever!”

“I’m coming.” He grabbed his club and tossed you your sword. “Let’s go!”

You ran down to the center of town where everyone was facing off with the pirates. Hook was fighting the captain Bluebeard while everyone else took on the rest of the crew. Snow and David saw you coming and sighed a little at the manic joy on you and Felix’s faces.

“Die pirates!” you caught one of the lackeys by surprise and stabbed them through the back, the tip of your sword protruding out their front.

“Oh joy, I was wondering when the jungle rats would make an appearance.” Hook sniped as he dodged another blow from Bluebeard.

“Like you’re not pleased to see us.” you said as you moved onto a new target. “After all, Felix and I have special experience fighting pirates, as you recall.”

“Oh I recall.” Hook snapped, “Now how about you put it to good use?”

“We are!” Felix bashed one of the pirates over the head with his club. “How about you focus on your own fight or do you need one of us to pick up the slack?”

“This really isn’t the best time to be talking!” Emma shouted at you guys.

“Are you kidding?” you slashed the throat of another pirate that tried to attack Regina from behind. “Felix and I would still be carrying on full blown conversations while fighting Hook’s crew back in the day and we never got hurt.”

“Behind you!” Felix shouted and smashed the kneecap of a pirate that tried running up behind you. “We’re rusty. Don’t get cocky.”

“Ugh, fine.” you pouted and went back to work.

Despite all the manpower you had Bluebeard’s crew was monstrous in size. Every time you slayed one pirate there was another waiting. The battle finally started to turn when Hook finally dealt a killing blow to Bluebeard. The remaining pirates, with their captain dead and their numbers dwindling, surrendered or ran.

You breathed out in relief as you ripped your sword back out of one of the pirates you had slain. “Well, that was fun.” you turned to Felix. “I’ve missed this.”

“I have--watch out!” Felix shouted. You turned with your sword raised, ready to defend yourself but it was too late. An injured pirate that you had thought you killed was back on their feet and had shoved a dagger through your stomach as you turned.

The air left your lungs and you froze. The pirate was blown back by a wave of magic but the damage had been done. Reflexively you wanted to pull the blade out but you forced your hands out to your sides. Removing it would only make you bleed faster.

Everything began moving in slow motion. You felt your knees hit the pavement as you collapsed and saw Felix running towards you, his face pale. You glanced back at the dagger sticking out of your body and your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

---

Felix was able to catch you before you fell forward and drove the dagger deeper into your body. Carefully he laid you back on the pavement. You were bleeding. You were bleeding so much. Why was there so much blood?

“Darling? Darling, can you hear me?” he cradled your head in his lap. “Come on, you can’t do this! Wake up!”

“Stop, let me through.” Regina shoved through the crowd and knelt down beside you. “Shit.”

“Fix it!” Felix screamed at her. “Fix her!”

“I’m trying damn it! Give me a minute!” Regina snapped back at him. She looked down at your body and sighed. “Healing magic isn’t that easy. Emma, come here, give me a boost.”

Emma came up and placed a hand on Regina’s shoulder, channeling her magic into her. “Okay. Nobody say anything, I need to concentrate.”

Regina grabbed the hilt of the dagger and tore it back out of your body. The blood began to pour out more rapidly and Felix wanted to scream at her for doing it and making you lose more blood but he bit his tongue. She was helping you. She couldn’t heal you with the knife still in.

A glowing light spread from Regina’s hands and seeped into your abdomen. Sweat trickled from her brow with the effort of it. She wasn’t just closing the wound, she was healing the cut veins, the organs, replacing your blood. And it was taking forever.

Felix knew that she said to be quiet but he couldn’t stop the words from coming out as he stared down at your unconscious face. They were quiet and choked.

“Please,” he whispered, “Please don’t leave me like this.”

His hands shook. Whether from rage or sorrow or fear he couldn’t say. “I love you, darling. I love you so much. And I’m sorry I never say it enough. So please, stay. Hang on for me. If you come back to me, I promise, I’ll say it every day. I love you. I love you.”

The adults were quiet. They had known that you and Felix were together, that you had been together for years even back on Neverland. But you two never acted more than good friends in front of them. It was now though that they saw exactly how deeply you cared for each other. At least, they saw how much Felix cared for you.

And they recognized that his world was ending right before his eyes.

He bent low over you, his forehead almost touching yours so no one could see the tears that gathered in his eyes. Felix was not someone who begged. Not someone who prayed. But he would spend his years kneeling at a pew every day if it meant that you would just open your eyes. “Please. This life isn’t worth living if you are not here with me. Please. Please. Please.”

Please don’t take her from me. Please give her back to me. Anyone. Anything that is watching or listening. Please. I love her. I love her. I love her.

He felt a hand brush his cheek and his eyes snapped open. You stared up at him, your gaze not all in focus but a weak smile pulled at your lips. “You mind? You’re crying on me.”

Felix gathered you in his arms, crushing you to his chest. You winced and he let you lay back down but he was still holding you tight to him. Regina stepped back, satisfied with her handiwork. Your stomach was still tender but you were awake. You were alive!

“I love you.” Felix whispered into your neck over and over as you held you in the middle of the road. “I love you, darling. I love you so much.”

“Felix…” you pulled him back enough to look in his eyes. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“I thought I lost you.” he let out a shaky breath. “Don’t ever fucking do that to me again!”

“I’ll try my best. I promise.” you hugged him again, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “And I love you too. I love you so very much.”

Felix relaxed in your arms, quietly muttering the same three words over and over as the fear left his body. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

[meowzfordayz]

they comfort you after your family member dies — mitsuri, shinobu, giyuu

Author’s Note: 🖤🖤🖤

they comfort you after your family member dies — mitsuri, shinobu, giyuu

Kanroji Mitsuri x Reader, Kocho Shinobu x Reader, Tomioka Giyuu x Reader

Word Count: ~500

CW: implied OC death

Emergency Request Fulfilled: hi! can i make an emergency request for the hashira? i found out that my cousin was killed last night and i just. am still processing everything

anything comfort related is okay, and if all the hashira is too much im good with shinobu, giyuu, and mitsuri

thank you so much, everythings been kind of surreal recently

~faqs, image~

“I wish I could do more for you,” Mitsuri murmurs, arms soft around your ribcage, breath warm, against the back of your neck.

“Me too,” you chuckle, uneasy silence settling between your unmet gaze.

It’s difficult to convey the ache in your chest, the shock in your dizzied headspace. As willing as you know she’d be to listen, you’re unsure how willing you are to talk — unsure how braced you are to unravel the memories of their smile, their gestures, their familiar presence.

“You’d tell me, right?” she ventures carefully.

“Tell you?”

“If there was anything I could do.”

Cradled in her tender reassurance, you find yourself unable to do anything besides nod, squeezing her forearm as you inhale shakily.

“Would you like me to distract you?” she offers.

“Not really.”

“Okay,” she answers simply, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

“Will you be okay?”

Pondering her question, your eyes close, grief and ease slipping through your skin, as present as you are translucent.

“I think so,” you finally choke out, surrendering to her care as you dissolve into quiet tears I hope so.

“What should I do?”

Eyeing you carefully, Shinobu pauses, pan sizzling.

“Set the table?” she eventually suggests.

Snorting, you flip her off, faint smile curving your lips.

“I’d like to comfort you,” she amends quietly, “But I’m not sure what you need from me.”

“It was sudden, y’know?”

A long moment stretches between Shinobu cooking dinner and you watching her, collective breath held as her gentle gaze holds your frayed attention.

“I know.”

Because she does. She knows how it haunts you. The abrupt loss; the sudden emptying of your vision.

“You love them,” she begins slowly, hand resting lightly atop your knuckles, warm in contrast to the cool countertop, “Of course you’re hurting.”

“Will it ever stop?”

“No,” you freeze, chest tight as her truth registers, “But it will recede,” she continues quietly, “If you allow it to.”

“Promise?” you whisper.

“I can’t,” she responds apologetically, sympathy shining in her stare as she leans over to peck your cheek, “But I do believe in you.”

“It makes me sad,” Giyuu remarks, leg slung casually over your thigh, comforter pulled halfheartedly above his waist.

“Hm?”

“Knowing you’re sad.”

Smiling wryly, you pat his kneecap, smiling tugging at your mouth.

“I’ll be okay.”

“I know,” he pauses, cool palm covering your hand, “But I also want you to know I’m here either way.”

Nodding slightly, you touch your nose to his cheek, cheeks warming as his earnest stare meets your exhausted gaze.

“We should sleep,” he declares, unceremoniously tugging the comforter up and over your chest, “It’s late.”

“It’s 8pm.”

“Late.”

Laughing quietly, you pinch his side, eyes rolling, “Well now you’re just babying me.”

“You’re hurting.”

Unable to quip back, the gentle prying of his statement hits its mark.

“I just want you to look out for yourself,” he says softly, “And if you won’t, then I will.”

[catcas22]

Would you think that leyndell is an absolute monarchy while Raya lucaria is a constitutional monarchy? And if so, should leyndell become constitutional as well in your opinion?

Interesting question! Since we only ever see either location in a post-collapse state it's difficult to tell for sure, but I'll give it my best shot.

Let's start with what we know of the government of Leyndell. Morgott is the current sovereign. He goes to the trouble of disguising his omen status, suggesting that he is not an absolute ruler -- there are other players who might try to depose him if his true identity were known.

The Roundtable hold had a place of prominence at some point. Given the fact that the Hold's architecture is much simpler, more defensively oriented, and stylistically distinct from the rest of Leyndell, it's possible that it was built in the period of upheaval following the Night of the Black Knives.

While the Confessors were likely either founded or greatly expanded during the opening years of the Shattering (as their primary objective seems to be hunting heretical Tarnished), I believe that Gideon functioned as Marika's spymaster long before her punishment within the Erdtree. Going off of the opening cinematic, he was long dead by the time Marika called the Tarnished, and he was an old man (despite the Guidance of Grace) when he died. The man is ancient.

He attempts to stop the Tarnished from becoming Elden Lord and continuing the cycle as the Elden Beast wishes, instead claiming that "Queen Marika has high hopes for us. That we continue to struggle, unto eternity." His loyalty to Marika was so great that he was willing to defy even the Greater Will. This (or his association with the Tarnished) is likely what led to his falling out with Morgott and the Hold in Leyndell being left abandoned.

We also know that Leyndell had (had) a sizeable aristocratic class. The wandering nobles, one of the game's most common low-level enemies, drop clothing bearing this description.

"Gown of soft cloth adorned with fine gold embroidery. Travel attire worn by nobles in the capital. Garb favored by the aged. Abandoning their birthplace after the Shattering, these undead wanderers are the pitiful product of unending life."

We also know that under Marika's rule, the Lands were broken into a series of small territories ruled by minor lords, such as the Maraises and the Haights. From the Ruler's Mask description:

Mask in the image of a wizened sage. Customary dress among lords in a smaller nation. Such a mask illustrates the qualities of an ideal lord: chiefly, wise and possessing a certain defanged geniality. One at the center of society often finds these qualities most expedient.

I think "defanged geniality" is the key phrase here. Early on, Marika seems to have run her newly acquired empire with something similar to the Satrap system.

We never (at least that I'm aware) encounter any mention of Marika actively campaigning in Altus, and we know that both Placidusax and his god suffered such a disastrous defeat that they both separately fled the Lands Between. My best guess would be that with their leaders gone, their former subjects surrendered to Marika without much of a fight (with a few notable exceptions, such as Gransax, the Storm Lord, and the Hero of Morne). Rather than being leveled and rebuilt from the ground up, these territories that surrendered peacefully would have been placed under the control of a regional governor and, at least initially, left more or less to their own devices.

There seems to have been a crackdown at some point, where Marika kneecapped the power of her old underlings and consolidated authority in the hands of her own personal religion. It seems to have happened at some point between Godfrey's banishment, her marriage to Radagon, the first burning of the Erdtree, and possibly the Gloam Eyed Queen's rebellion.

Long story short, we don't have a lot of hard info to go off of. But my best guess is that at the time immediately before the Shattering, Marika ruled over an empire managed (on paper) by largely impotent regional lords, with real power residing in the hands of the militant branches of the religion in which she was god and the pope was her husband.

As for the government of Liurnia, I posted a theory awhile back speculating on the subject.

In short, I think Rennala came to power riding the momentum of her victory over the Golden Order. She seems to have attracted a cadre of highly loyal followers (primarily the Carian Knights and the Lazuli Conspectus). There seems to have been an attempt to co-rule with the Glintstone scholars, but I've seen no evidence of the minor lords of Liurnia having much sway.

According to the descriptions of Greatblade Phalanx and the Troll Knight's Sword, Rennala was responsible for the favorable treatment of trolls within Liurnia (basically the only place we see them treated better than beasts of burden). We can also assume that albinaurirs were treated relatively well during her reign -- Loretta likely would not have followed her otherwise. It is also noteworthy that all albinaurics encountered in Caria Manor are mages, rather than the Caged or Insane variants.

This, along with her elevating the moon above the stars, would have put her out of step with the Glintstone scholars. The further I dig into their lore, the shadier they get. Potential crimes include genetically engineering a crippled slave race, making human sacrifices to the Primeval Current (link below), and contracting with the Cuckoo Mercenaries. According to the Raya Lucaria Soldier ash description, the Glintstone scholar's personal army was "were "given free rein by the academy to wage war as they pleased, and they were infamous for their rapacious ways."

So, once again going on 10% isolated data points and 90% plausible headcanon, Rennala seems to have been a reformer who couldn't get her new policies to stick with the population at large. Once A) the political capital gained by her victory over the Golden Order ran out, and B) the Glintstone scholars perceived weakness in her grief after Radagon's departure, she was cut off from her own government and de facto deposed rather quickly. I'm led to believe that Rennala didn't put down very deep roots in the Liurnian political landscape.

[cringemesstickles]

Giggles and Truths

(TickleTober Day 8: Truth)

Summary: Sam and Dean play truth or dare during a steak out

Pairing: None

Word Count: 787

A/N: this is kind of messy and not the best cuz I wrote it in the car, but I wanted to get something out before tomorrow, so here it is :’)

———————————————————

The streetlights seeped into the beloved 67 Impala, creating an atmosphere that would be relaxing if it weren’t for the fact that they were on a steak out, awaiting the arrival of someone who - if their calculations were correct - wouldn’t show for another hour.

“We really couldn’t have just come later?” Dean grumbled, clearly bored with the lack of activity.

“We can’t take any chances, Dean! What if he shows up early?” Sam nagged back, voice dripping with tension.

“Alright, alright, but I’m dying of boredom over here. How about we play a game?”

“A game? Dean, we’re on the job.” Deadpanned the younger.

Dean simply shrugged, turning to look straight ahead again.

“Well, if you really wanna sit here and do nothing for another hour…”

Sam seemed to contemplate the idea before throwing his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, fine. What did you have in mind?”

Dean looked at his brother again with a victorious grin.

“How 'bout truth or dare?” He suggested

Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Seriously? What are we, twelve?”

“Hey, if you’d rather play twenty questions-”

“Oh, God no.”

“Truth or dare it is then.”

They played a few rounds; going back and forth giving each other relatively mild dares and uninteresting questions.

They still had lots of time to kill.

“Alright, Sammy, truth or dare?” Dean asked once again, already pondering the dares he could use or the questions he could ask.

“Dare, I guess.”

It was clear that Sam had grown bored of the game, mostly staring off into space and responding absentmindedly.

Luckily, Dean knew exactly how to spice up the game.

“Alright, but let’s make it a little more interesting… if you fail to complete your dare, you have to take a truth, no questions asked.”

Sam looked up, already more interested at the raised stakes.

“You’re on.” The younger Winchester crossed his arms, seemingly prepared for whatever his older brother had in store for him.

Dean smirked at his brother’s cocky attitude, ready to put his plan in action.

“I dare you to go a minute without laughing while I tickle you.” The elder raised his hands and curled his fingers threateningly, watching Sam’s confidence falter.

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

Sam hesitated before reclaiming some of his bravado, giving a challenging nod.

“Okay, bring it on, Dean.”

It was now that Dean could fully put his plan into action.

He pulled out his phone and set up a stopwatch.

“Three… twooooo….. ONE!” He lunged towards his little brother and went for his ribs, scratching lightly at the bones.

Sam flinched and his lips curved into a giddy smile, trying his damned best not to make a noise.

“Not budging huh? How about here?”

Sam’s leg jolted when he felt Dean squeeze at his kneecap, humming shakily.

The timer was down to 10 seconds.

It was time to break out the secret weapon.

“Well, Sammy, you might actually win…” Dean feigned surprise, knowing full well that Sam wouldn’t be able to handle what was coming next.

“EEK- DEHEHEAN!”

Skilled fingers started digging into Sam’s belly, eliciting a high pitched squeal from the youngest Winchester.

“Aww, seems like little Sammy couldn’t do it~”

Sam blushed bright red, realizing Dean had planned this entire thing.

“NOHOHO, NOT FAHAHAIR!”

Dean laughed and started skittering, earning a snort.

“Hey, we never set up rules for where I couldn’t tickle. You should’ve seen this coming!”

Finally letting up, Dean let Sam catch his breath.

“Alright, Sam, I expect the truth and nothing but the truth.”

Sam rolled his eyes and tried to glare, though he was unable to hide his amusement.

“Just ask the dahahamn question…” he giggled exasperatedly.

Dean smirked and crossed his arms smugly.

“Who do you think is the coolest person in the world? And don’t even try to lie, no matter how embarrassing!”

Sam raised an eyebrow, surprised by how mundane the question was.

He contemplated for a moment, carefully considering his answer.

“You.”

The elder blinked, taken aback.

“Me?” He muttered with confusion.

Sam’s cheeks turned rosy, a little embarrassed by the sudden vulnerability.

“Well, yeah, Dean, you’re my big brother… I look up to you, man; always have and probably always will.” The taller admitted, avoiding eye contact.

Dean was speechless, completely touched by the sweet words from his baby brother.

He abruptly pulled Sam into a side hug, surprising his little brother just a bit.

When they pulled away, they saw the person that they’d been waiting for, pulling up across the street.

They shared a look and nodded, getting out of the car and pulling out their guns.

Dean gave Sam a pat on the back.

“Lets get him, little brother.”

[jjkfangirl]

no fluff, just smut. true form sukuna

degrading, no aftercare. I mean come on.. we all know sukuna's not gonna call you 'princess'. sukuna x female reader

The cold stone floor is brutal beneath your kneecaps.

You sat back on your feet, toes curled under, propped up on your ankles. Head bowed down, hands clasped behind your back. Your legs and feet had started to shake but you tried your best not to show it to the demon towering over you – Sukuna.

“Look at me.” he growled menacingly.

You raised your head slowly, drawing your eyes slowly up his huge form. He was well over seven feet tall. Massive. Through his white robe you could see the outline of his two thick long cocks easily. Four massive arms, twenty thick fingers. Broad chest. And an absolutely overwhelming presence that couldn't be described as anything other than brutally dominant. You were as turned on as you were terrified.

You knew it would take next to nothing for him to pick you up and throw you wherever he wanted. And somehow, all you could think about was being held close to his massive chest and brutally fucked with both of his cocks. 

Eventually, you locked your eyes with all four of his. You didn't dare look away. Not even a blink. You tried to remember to keep breathing. Fuck, your knees hurt on the stone.

You both had done this before. And there were certain rules you knew to obey. When he demanded something, you did it, immediately. There was no complaining. No bratting. No hesitation. You were to serve him, and give him everything you had.

And you fucking loved doing it.

You watched as Sukuna studied you kneeling before him. His arms crossed. There was a look in his eyes that signaled that he was pleased with you thus far, but he was craving more.

As you kept your eyes on his, you noticed a confident cocky smile start to grow across his face while he looked down at you. 

You wondered what the fuck you were about to get yourself into this time.

Abruptly, a strong hand with dark claw nails and bands of tattoos on the wrist grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head to the side, pulling you up off the ground. “Up. Get up. You pathetic little slut.” You glanced up to see that grin was still plastered on his face. You scurried to keep up with him and get yourself on your feet. Finally, some sweet relief for your poor knees for the time being.

You had to bend over because of the angle he had on your hair and your short legs had to move quickly to keep up with him as he dragged you over to his throne chair. He released your hair with a shove that sent you back down onto your hands and knees in front of him. Panting, you kept your gaze downward until directed otherwise.

Sukuna sat down on his chair and leaned back with a look of smug satisfaction. He loved seeing your small pathetic naked body surrendered in front of him.

“Y/n. Stand up and look at me.”

You obliged him. Bringing yourself up to stand, rolling your shoulders back to put your breasts on display, while keeping your head bowed slightly. Your eyes gently raised to look up at him through your lashes.

Sukuna leaned forward and grabbed your face. Dark claw-like nails pressing into the fat of your cheeks. You felt yourself wanting to melt under his firm dominant grasp. He brought your face close to his. You could see two of his eyes wandering your body, and the other two seemingly piercing your soul. You felt weak and dizzy, like your body wanted to give out. Everything in you wanted to surrender to him even more. Your mind started to draw blank. It was amazing how with just a few words and movements, hell, just his presence would send you into subspace. You started to feel that high, tingly, weightless feeling all over your body as you surrendered deeper.

Still staring directly into your eyes, face only inches from yours he growls, “Untie my robe and get on your fucking knees, brat.” 

Sukuna releases your face firmly, sending you back a step. He leans back in his chair and watches you gasp and catch your breath. 

You take another deep breath do your best to steady yourself despite how lightheaded you're already feeling. You quickly step towards him and lightly begin to untie the navy blue knotted belt at his waist. You can see his thick pulsing fat cocks already hard under the white cloth and you notice your mouth instinctively begins watering. That fucker had you trained and you knew it.

“Keep going. Open it.”

You gently pull the fabric back to each side, revealing his body. You can't help but to quickly run your eyes over everything, taking it in. He gives you a moment before giving you his next demand. His face looks amused. Cocky bastard.

He's reclined back in the chair, hips forward toward the edge of the seat, laid back, propped up on one tattooed muscular arm. Another has his head resting on his fist. Another is making it's way to stroke one of his enormous thick cocks.

You'd seen it before, but having not just one huge meaty thick pulsing cock but two was always enough to make the breath hitch in your chest. You swallowed the extra saliva that was forming in your mouth and you noticed a little more wetness in the throbbing folds between your legs. 

Just above his cocks, which rested heavily on his thick muscular thighs, was another mouth that formed in the crease of his hard abs. You knew he brought that one out to tease you. The long tongue began making lewd movements in your direction. He snickered. You swallowed again and met his face.

His look became stern and you remembered his order to kneel. You did so immediately. More cold hard stone on your knees.

“So, how are you going to please me, you fucking brat?” he growled, “I could tell your mouth was watering.” He smirked slightly.

You hesitated.

“You may speak. Tell me. Use your words. What are you going to give me today?” he drawled out, mockingly.

You bowed your head and looked down, feeling embarrassed for some reason. Heat rose in your cheeks. “I'd love to please you with my mouth, Lord Sukuna. I'd love to feel you... in my mouth..please..” it's hard not to start babbling once you begin to speak.

“Is that all?” He purrs, interrupting you. “What if I also want your other holes?” He was definitely toying with you now. You could hear that cocky grin returning to his face without even looking. God, he fucking loved watching you squirm. The asshole.

“I-I'd love to give them to you, sir. Please...” Your voice small and submissive against his dominating cocky tone.

“You will give them to me.” He growled, “And I'll take you when I fucking want to.” With that, he abruptly stood up, let his robe fall to the floor and kicked it to the side in one smooth motion, and bent down to grab a fistful of your hair. Sukuna firmly yanked it down, turning your face up to meet his gaze and exposing your neck. Your chest heaving up and down, eyes wide, fearfully searching his to see what he might do next.

The next thing you knew, one of his cocks was plowing into your throat while the other bounced and slapped heavily against your neck, face, and shoulder with each thrust.

You were gagging and choking, tears beginning to well up in the corners of your eyes, as you struggled to breathe from the forceful throat fucking Sukuna was giving to you. You knew the best way to handle this was to relax your body and throat, despite everything in you that wanted to tense up at the deep intrusion. You did your best to breathe through your nose and relax yourself and take as much of him as you could.

It didn't take much for your jaw to become weary from the sheer thickness of his cock sliding in and out. And this was no ordinary human cock either – his member was at least the size of your forearm. You often wondered how you took him at all.

Sukuna groaned as he continued to fuck himself in and out of your mouth in steady rhythmic movements. Two hands grabbing your head and hair to hold you steady while he face fucked you. 'Keep breathing, keep breathing” you mentally tell yourself. There was nothing you wanted more than to please him and hopefully hear praise spill from his lips.

But praise was hard to come by with Sukuna. Usually, he just degraded you. You had to admit, you loved it though.

“That's it.. you filthy fucking whore. I love using this fucking mouth... fuuck.” he pants out, continuing his relentless strokes to the back of your throat. “But.. you're going to take all of me now.”

You knew what this meant. You took a sharp inhale through your nose immediately as he slowly slid himself down into your throat, past the barrier between your mouth and esophagus. 

“Ugh, fuck.. that's it. Fuck.. God you're such a good fucking obedient slave for me.” He goes on talking while steadily pumping into your throat, “And you fucking love it don't you? You pathetic fucking slut.” Sukuna looks down at you, both fists still in your hair, and you do your best to respond by humming a broken “mmm-hmm-uhhh” around his cock as he thrusts, eyes streaming with tears. You can never breathe when he goes that deep, but he loves to push you. Sukuna pulls out of your throat but keeps shallowly fucking into your mouth without a break. Every once in a while, he goes deep into your throat and sighs, throwing his head back. You can feel drool and spit dripping down your chin and onto chest. You're certain some of it is getting on his second cock.

He pulls out, trails of saliva connecting your mouth to his red pulsing thick member. You exhale and spit bubbles out and drips down your chin even more. Immediately, he shoves the other into your mouth and begins the same process of throat fucking you into oblivion. This time, the spit and saliva from the first slapping you in the face as he ruts into you. You moan and cry around his cock and grip your hands into fists, wanting desperately to push him away, but you know better than to do that. It wouldn't matter what you did... he never lets up until he wants to. The brutal face fuck is almost enough to distract you from the searing pain of kneeling on the stone floor for so long.

“Give it your all, y/n. I want you to give me fucking.. ugh.. everything. Fuck. Oh my god.” His words punctuating each deep stroke down your throat.

When he withdraws, you gasp for air. Chest heaving up and down, panting, whimpering, and crying. He takes a one of his hands and smears the spit and drool all over your face and plays with your mouth. Smearing your eye make up, rubbing it into your hair, and generally making a fucking mess of you. The smug, evil grin is back. “Wow. What a pathetic filthy little slut I have here in front of me. You love getting covered in spit and cum, don't you?” He laughs. “You're nothing but a couple of holes for me to fuck and do what I want with. Isn't that right, brat?” He slides a few fingers into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. He grabs your bottom lip and jaw with his thumb to open your mouth and spits on your face, smiling cruelly. You sigh, eyes closing, savoring the wet disgusting feel of saliva all over you. It may have been humiliating, but you couldn't get enough of it. 

God, what was wrong with you that being so absolutely degraded by him made you so wet and weak in the knees?

“Get them wet.” He demands as he slides two meaty fingers into your mouth again, pressing on your tongue. You wrap your lips around them and suck, pooling as much saliva as you can in your mouth and pushing it out onto his fingers as he withdraws them.

Sukuna crouches down. One hand behind your neck, another pressing your chest back to lay you on his robe on the floor. A third hand grabs your thighs, guiding them back so your knees are up towards your chest. His huge body towers over you, two wet fingers ready to penetrate your throbbing wet pussy.

He takes one hand and places it over your mouth, another large hand easily presses down on both of your thighs, keeping you pinned to the cold floor, and another slowly slides two spit-covered fingers between your folds. You moan grossly under his hand, eyes rolling back in your head as his fingers curl up to hit that sweet spongy spot inside. You're panting, out of breath, moaning, whimpering. He continues this slow rhythmic in and out, warming you up for what you were sure would be a relentless fucking of your pussy next.

His stare is cold and serious as he watches you writhe around on the floor, moaning under his control. You feel his fingers start to spread inside of you, stretching you out even more. It's intense and so pleasurable, theres nothing you can do but moan and soften under his touch as you close your eyes.

He picks up the speed. “Look at me.” 

You obey. 

The mouth on his abdomen emerges again. At the same time, you feel one forming on the hand over your mouth. Sukuna situates himself so he's on his knees, sitting on his feet, straddling your body. One hand, palm up, with fingers curled up inside your dripping wet cunt. All at once, you feel two hot tongues on you. One penetrating your mouth, searching, reaching, filling, and gagging you, and another expertly lapping at your clit. It was fucking ecstasy. Pure overstimulation. 

The tongue on your clit is pressing flat in small circles. Sometimes pressing harder, sometimes lighter. Teasing you and building arousal in your core. You feel more saliva trickling down your already wet cunt.

It is absolutely all you can do to keep your eyes on Sukuna. It takes all of your strength and brain power to keep yourself from closing your eyes in ecstasy as he bores into you with his eyes, fingers, and tongue.

“You better not fucking close your eyes, brat. You better fucking show me how much you love what I'm doing for you.”

You moan pathetically around the tongue still in your mouth, and its muffled still by his hand pressing hard into your face. Sukuna's version of a ball gag, you thought. Your moans and whimpers seem to light up something in him – you notice his eyes darkening and the pace of his fingers and tongue pick up.

You're so close to cumming. You try to tell him around the tongue but it's no use. And you know he won't stop until he wants to anyway. You use every ounce of strength to keep your eyes on his.

Suddenly, you feel a wet finger pressing into your ass. You let out a muffled yelp under his hand.

“You're going to take me in this hole too.. Whore.” he laughs.

Fuuckk. The stretch is so good it's enough to make you cum on the spot.

He works his finger into your ass with one hand and continues pumping your pussy with another – still leaning over you and attending to your poor swollen clit with the tongue on his abdomen. His huge body towering over you has you feeling so small and helpless, completely at his mercy and every whim.

The sensation of having all of your holes completely filled and stretched sends you over the edge into one intense heaving orgasm. He smugly smiles as he witnesses your release and feels your throbbing cunt and ass on his fingers. You scream out around the tongue in your mouth as your body convulses underneath him. You struggle to keep your eyes on him as that cocky smug evil grin smears across his face once again. Sukuna continues to work you, never letting up. You can't help but continue to moan and cry out from the overwhelming sensation as you grow more and more sensitive. It's too much.. too much. You try to cry out, but the tongue and hand over your mouth prevents you from communicating.

He slows his pace slightly and withdraws the tongue from your mouth and moves his hand to grip your throat. You feel his claws digging into the side of your neck and jaw as he squeezes gently. You gasp and attempt to catch your breath when you feel him plunge a second finger deeper into your ass.

“Fuck!” You moan lowly, doing your best to relax around it.

He raises an eyebrow at you, still sliding in and out of your pussy and ass rhythmically, “Think you can take both at once, y/n?” He was always teasing you somehow.

You stutter and hesitate to answer. You honestly didn't know. Sure you had taken him in your pussy and ass separately but at the same time.. you thought he might rip you in half. The thought was terrifying.

“I said...” he went on, expressing his exasperation with a deep sigh, “Do you.. think.. you.. can.. take.. both.. at.. once?” Each word punctuated by a deep penetration with his fingers, and the deepest on his last word. You gasped and moaned at the depth and stretch. Still not sure and not sure how to respond. 

He looked at you like he was both angry, bored, and unamused. You remembered the rules and responded, “Yes, Lord Sukuna.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes.. I can take both of your cocks.” you barely got the words out. 

“No. You will take both of my cocks.” he says firmly, “and I know you're going to love it like the filthy whore you are.”

He stretches his fingers in your ass and moves them in small circles, opening you up. He spits on your swollen cunt so the saliva drips down to your ass, giving him more lubrication. The stretch and sensation of being filled there is so divine, you're beginning to actually look forward to his cocks.

He slides his hands out and demands you grab your knees and pull them to your chest, once again fully exposing your cunt and ass for him.

“Don't fucking move.” he says darkly.

You wouldn't dare. 

Your chest quickly rises and falls in anticipation.

Sukuna positions himself so one cock head is lined up with your pussy, and the other your ass. Two large hands grab the base of your thighs, claws sinking in, pulling your holes open wide. Fuck even that felt good. He spits and lets a trail of saliva drip down onto your two holes, another hand smearing it around.

You watch his muscular tattooed arms and chest spread you apart and begin to stroke his cocks as he prepares to fuck you. He slides one into your ass first, slowly. Your breath gets caught in your chest at the sensation. You were sure only the head was in but it felt like too much already. He noticed you tense up and raised an eyebrow at you with a smirk in response.

“Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Relax..” You told your body, and took a deep exhale out of your mouth, attempting to accommodate his thickness. He began slowly, shallowly fucking your ass, gradually working himself deeper. A hand pressed down firmly onto your pelvis, thumb rolling circles around your clit. Your eyes began to roll back and you laid your head against the floor while pulling your knees back as much as possible.

Sukuna laughed cruelly. “Is that too much? We're only just getting started y/n. Do your best for me.”

“Fuck me....” you thought, pussy throbbing.

Once he was comfortably inside of you and could move with more ease, he worked his other cock into your pussy. Just the head at first, and then with small shallow strokes, he fucks both of your holes at the same time. The sensation was indescribable. The fullness. The stretch. The pain. The pleasure. You felt as though you'd rip in half, and it took your breath away. You did your best to keep breathing as you moaned and whimpered and cried beneath him, tears streaming out of the corners of your eyes.

“Lord S-sukunaa..” you cried out pathetically, with a little fear in your voice.

No response - just an evil little grin from Sukuna.

As soon as you began to get accustomed to both cocks and your muscles begin to relax, he starts relentlessly pounding you. You bring your head up to look at him and see the cruel grin on his face while he fucks your holes. He knows exactly what he's doing to you. Cocky bastard. 

Your brow is furrowed and the noises you're making are ungodly. Moaning, groaning, whimpering, drooling, eyes rolled back into your head.

“You pathetic little whore. Completely fucked out, aren't you? And we only just started. Not a thought in your stupid little head, is there?” He continues as he keeps up the pace, balls slapping into your ass, taking his pleasure from you. “Ah fuck, I love seeing you like this, spread open for me. Giving me what's mine. Letting me fuck all your tight little holes. Covered in spit. So fucking messy and needy and disgusting.” he laughs.

His stamina is unnerving. You know he could go for days like this. You try not to think about how that would break you.

“You are such a little fucking slut. You love being filled up, don't you? What a disgusting little whore you are. I bet you could take more, couldn't you?” He's pounding away at a ferocious pace. You moan in a fearful response, not sure of what he might do next. But his degrading words lull you deeper into subspace.

The mouth on his abdomen forms and his big long tongue begins working your clit. It slides all around your folds, wets his cock even more, and drips saliva down your ass, giving more lubrication so it can slide more easily. The tongue flicks your clit quickly back and forth, matching the pace of his thrusts.

The sensation is overwhelming. The hand on your jaw and throat again, the tongue on your clit, a dick in your pussy and your ass.. you know you're about to cum again. And he knows it too.

“Don't you fucking dare cum until I tell you to. I'm going to fucking take you and get my pleasure from you first.. ah.. fuck. Fuck, you're so fucking tight..” he's struggling to maintain composure while you're struggling to keep from cumming. Your pussy and ass clamp down on his cocks. “Fuck.. do not fucking cum y/n. I'm in charge of your fucking orgasm, do you hear me? It's mine.” he growls out.

You try to breathe and keep yourself steady and relaxed. All you can think about is the sensation of his big cock heads sliding in and out of your holes. Over and over and over again. The ridge of those thick heads hitting every single sweet spot inside of you. His tongue lapping your clit. The sound of skin slapping rhythmically. His heavy balls pounding against your ass. The way your tits bounce with every deep hard stroke. 

“You're going to count to five.” He explains through rough heavy breaths, “ Slowly. You may cum once you get to five.”

It was humiliating, but you obliged, nodding in response. The thought of coherently counting right now seemed out of the question. You could hardly think about anything other then the sensation of his cocks moving in and out of you.

“One.. two..”

“Slower!” The hand around your neck and jaw reached up to slap you across the face before grabbing your cheeks and digging claws in.

God, he was really drawing this out. Torturing you even.

“Three..” Fuck. You didn't know if you could last. All the tension in your body was ready to explode all over him.

“Four...”

“That's it. Milk my fucking cocks. Take me. Your disgusting wet little pussy just cant wait any longer, can it?” He went even harder and deeper.

“Five!”

Thank god. It took everything in you to get to that fucking number without exploding on him.

You screamed and release hit you. Your pussy throbbed, clenched, and pulsed around both of his cocks. Nerves lighting up all over your body. Dizziness overcame you. Your mouth went slack and a weak smile spread across your face as your whole body went limp. He continued rutting into you fervently. You felt his cocks get harder inside of you. Just as your orgasm began to subside, his took over. 

Sukuna groaned as he burried himself into you as deep as he could, filling you to the hilt, and pumping you full of his hot cum. He leaned further over you, pressing down even harder on the backs of your thighs, grinding you into the floor. Streams of fluid pumped into you with every thrust and you could feel the hot wetness starting to leak out of your holes. Sukuna kept slowly rocking his hips into you, milking every last drop and dumping it into your pussy and ass.

You let go of your legs and they fell, feet hitting the floor, knees collapsing out to the sides. Sukuna gave you one last deep thrust – strictly to get a reaction out of you - that made you yelp, before slowly withdrawing himself from your body. His cum and yours oozed out of every opening, and you watched as he smugly admired the view of your marked, messy body dripping wet body beneath him. You knew he loved it, even if he never would say it aloud. Praise was hard to come by with Sukuna.

He stood up, paused for a moment, towering over you once again. “Clean yourself up, whore.” 

And with that, he left the room.

[mieczyhale]

"i had to surrender my cat bc he's got incontinence issues and i'm just not equipped to deal with that"

i'm stealing your fucking kneecaps

[twoidiotwriters1]

Copycat: Genesis —(Marvel Fem!Oc)

A/N: The last enemy Cat will have to defeat is her horny ass and she's not gonna win that fight I fear -Danny

Warnings: NSFW ahead!! Oral (male receiving), a bit of touching naked bodies and a lot of kissing.

Words: 2,125

Phase Six Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Snow on the beach’ -by Taylor Swift ft. Lana Del Rey

ix: C.C. Lives An "If"

Parker got up the next day in no mood to be a real person. He dragged his feet in the direction of the couch and sat down beside her, she placed a cup of tea in front of him.

"You didn't tell me if you got it," she reminded him.

"Get what?" Her friend said sleepily.

"A date for prom," Cat rolled her eyes. "What were you looking for last night, genius?"

He groaned. "Yeah, I got it."

"Where is it?"

"My suit."

She went to the bathroom, searched in the pockets of his spider-man attire, pulled out a vial that had no web fluid in it, and went back to the room to get her coat. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" Parker straightened in his seat and winced a little, he'd pulled on the stitches on accident.

"To put this in your computer," she replied, shaking the vial in her hand. "Rest, you need to get better if you wanna help me."

"I'm okay," he tried to get up.

"You get up and I'll break your kneecaps," she snapped.

Parker sat down again, his hands up in surrender and wincing again.

"Good boy," she nodded once. "Be right back."

Nursing Parker back to health was tough work, he couldn't stay still for long enough. He lacked what Cat liked to call common sense. She'd also tried to run while severely injured the night he'd come back, but at least back then she had an excuse to be running.

At least his metabolism was considerably faster than a regular human's, so by the end of the week, his injury was nothing but a pinkish scar. She hadn't offered to help him clean the wound after the first night, she didn't trust she'd be able to keep her hands on safe territory, standing so close to him while half-naked.

If her Peter could see her now, he'd tease her endlessly, fighting against the urge to throw herself at a different version of the boy felt like a cruel joke, to have Peter Parker back only to lose him again. Next to having a family, having Spider-man around was always good comfort, but this was just inconvenient. He wanted her, and she still didn't understand why, when she was so problematic.

"I'm back!" Parker announced from the bathroom.

The young woman was in the kitchen, staring at the young man's laptop with a scowl hoping it would feel pressured to work faster. She didn't reply to her friend at all, too focused on her task. Parker walked into the room with nothing but a white shirt and his boxers, too used to her presence to actually care about wearing proper clothes.

"Always great to be welcomed warmly," he joked.

Cat's eyes were glued to the screen. "My tech wouldn't have taken this long to crack into a defense satellite."

"Yeah, yeah, your world's much cooler than mine," he walked up to her and stared at the laptop over her shoulder. "We still have better doughnuts."

"I said that one time and you take it like an absolute truth," she walked away from the kitchen. "You ate?"

"No, but I'm too tired for that," he yawned. "You?"

"Hungry or tired?"

"Your pick."

"I'm bored."

"Told you to come with me," he said, joining her in the living room.

"I don't want people to get used to me. Imagine the bad guys preparing to fight two of you but there's only one, they would kill you—"

"Jane you are such a beam of sunshine," he interrupted her, leaning his head on the back of the couch.

Cat turned off the tv and looked at him sternly. "I'm serious. It wasn't a good idea to accept the suit."

"Have you ever noticed," he said squinting a little, "that you regret everything you do as soon as things start to end? You did the same when little Pete erased your memory. You said you regretted hurting him."

"It's different."

"Nah-uh," he retorted, moving to face her. "Now you feel like you might leave this place, you think you shouldn't have gotten so comfortable in my world, that I'll be miserable, right?"

She didn't want to reply, Cat stared at the laptop far behind on the kitchen aisle.

"Is that how you felt when your brother died too?" He pressed.

The young woman swallowed with difficulty, she nodded once.

"I told you before," she said quietly. "I liked my Peter so much that when he vanished it took away the only part of me that had a purpose. I was never the same after that." She looked into his eyes, almost begging. "I felt a little like when I was sixteen while being in this world with you, but I don't want to leave you feeling like that. You've gone through enough already."

Parker tilted his head a little, staring at her softly. "You only changed for the better, Cat. The hurt made you more human. It gave you a real heart. You're everything that's right in your world... in any world."

She remembered Tony's note saying she was the best of them, the fact that Parker agreed on this with a person he didn't like... she was touched.

"You looked after others because no one else would, in your own way," he shrugged. "How is that failing?"

"I just wish..." she blinked rapidly, looking up and taking a quick breath.

"What?"

She groaned, rubbing her eyes roughly. "I wish I could be fully happy just once. Like when I was sixteen."

Parker reached out and caressed the side of her face with his knuckles, he pushed a few curls away from her eyes. "I could make you happy," he replied, voice barely a whisper.

"Dammit," Cat closed her eyes, and she sobbed briefly. "I got a crush on Peter Parker twice!" She whined. "It's a curse..."

The young man chuckled, his thumb stroking her skin. "I count it as a blessing."

"I know, you're lucky to have caught my eye, I'm a sex machine."

Parker laughed, he leaned in. "Don't ruin it, Jane..."

She opened her eyes. The hero's gaze was sweet, everything about it felt like the instant where it's cold outside but your bed is warm and cozy and you have five minutes to spare, she wanted to snuggle deeper into the blankets. She also wanted to fully ruin the moment like she always did, but his hold was unwavering, just like his stare, he'd got her right where he wanted her. His smile grew.

They kissed.

Cat held onto the arm that was supporting his weight on the couch, she pushed herself up and leaned into him. Parker kept her face in place, making sure that she would not slip out of reach, his fingers dug through her curls and landed on the back of her head, deepening the kiss.

He'd been wanting to do that for a while and Cat could tell, she was enjoying it a bit too much to believe she hadn't thought about it more than once too. Her hands pulled him closer by the shoulders and she heard him chuckle against her lips.

"You think is funny?" She mumbled in annoyance. "Why you Parkers always laugh—"

"Can't be because we're happy?" He teased her, kissing her jawline.

"My Peter did the same thing when—"

"Don't," he was quick to interrupt her. "Stop calling him that."

"What?" She blinked.

"Why is he your Peter and I'm a last name? Why can't I be your Peter?"

"You know why."

He frowned, but it looked childish. "I get that at first it was to stop the confusion but it's just me now, and you still call me Parker."

"If I call you Peter, you won't be my Peter. Being Parker makes you someone... someone that can coexist with my past."

He thought about it for a moment, and in the end, he sighed heavily, eyes landing on her lips. "Promise I'm not a stranger in your life?"

"What do you mean?"

"Tell me we're friends."

Cat looked at him with a grin. "This is not how I treat my friends..."

"Liar."

He kissed her again, that time felt desperate. His body moved forward and trapped her against the couch. Cat cupped his face and kept him close, trying to give him room so he fit above her comfortably.

"Just this once," he requested, leaving a trail of kisses down her neck. "Let me be your Peter..."

"Okay," she gave in, sighing a little. "Okay, Peter."

His arms wrapped around her waist and suddenly she was lifted from the couch, Cat yelped and wrapped her legs around him. "You're gonna hurt yourself!" She exclaimed in alarm.

"Oh, don't play dumb, you know I'm okay," he snorted. "I was only spoiling myself a little before you switched back to being mean."

"You're a pain in my ass," she said, too flustered with his response.

"I can rub it off you if you like," he pinched her thigh playfully.

Parker —Peter— lowered her onto the bed, he was grinning widely while taking off his clothes. Cat supported her weight on her knees, staring at him and thinking deeply.

"Come closer."

The young man chuckled, he just couldn't stop smiling. Cat didn't know why, but she felt challenged by it. She wanted to see if he could still laugh while she had her hands on him. The mutant grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him onto the bed.

"So..." she straddled his hips. "You're cured."

"You can see for yourself," he placed her hand where his new scar was.

"Hmm," she said caressing it lightly. "I'm done being nice, then." Cat grabbed the hem of his boxers and gave him a questioning look, Peter only lifted his hips as an answer. "Good boy," she pulled the underwear down and threw them aside. "Stay still."

"Cat—"

"My name is Jane," The young woman hushed him. "You said you wanted to be mine, remember?"

"Yes."

"Then let me do what I want with you, and be quiet." Peter closed his mouth and his eyes widened eagerly. He looked so keen to please her... Cat moved down on him, her right hand making its way up to his hips. "How long has it been since the last time you slept with someone?" She asked casually.

Peter's gaze was on her hand. "A while."

"Months?"

"Maybe. Maybe more."

She pouted. "That's not good, is it?"

"Probably not," he squirmed. "Can I kiss you?"

"No," she smirked. "And you can't move, either."

Peter breathed in harshly when she touched him, his whole body reacted to it. Cat liked it when people were this expressive about physical contact. It made it more fun. "Look at that," her thumb drew small, slow circles on the tip of his cock. "You're so touch-starved... I shouldn't like it, but it's so cute..."

"Your hand is so freaking cold," he complained, but it didn't look like he was hating it.

"I'm sorry baby, let me warm it up," she mocked him.

Cat grabbed his member with both hands. "Shit!" Peter closed his eyes and grabbed fistfuls of the sheets. He didn't dare to look directly into her eyes at the moment. "Don't stop..."

"Again with the orders," she clicked her tongue, moving away for a moment. "If you can stay quiet for five minutes, I'll let you touch me. Deal?"

"Yes!" He urged her. "Just keep going!"

Cat laughed, shaking her head. "You're adorable."

She went down on him, and Peter hummed long and heavy. That would've been a beautiful moan had she let him make a sound. Half-regretting her decision, she kept going, hoping the five minutes could go by faster that way.

Cat massaged the sides of his v-line with her thumbs, she'd been dying to touch that part of his body for longer than she'd like to admit. He was warm and soft, and she would definitely leave a mark there later.

Peter was almost shaking, all his muscles were tense, but he was still quiet. When the urge to breathe was too much she moved and left a small kiss on the patch of skin above his pelvis. Cat heard him inhale so deeply and desperately that she almost laughed.

The five minutes were over, so she sat up.

"Well done!" She cleaned the corner of her lips. "Extra points for holding back your moans— I really thought you'd—"

Parker didn't let her finish, he wrapped his arms around her, initiating a kiss that was urgent and rough. She felt him twitching against her thigh, so she snuck a hand between their bodies to grab him again. However, Peter caught her hand at the last second and moved it in a different direction, right to her center.

"Let me make you happy..." he whispered against her collarbone.

Cat looked at him in silence, she was still wearing clothes, but his left hand was slowly riding up the hem of her blouse, stroking her skin with such tenderness she felt dizzy. "Just a one-time thing," she wasn't sure who she was talking to when she said it. "Don't get your hopes up..."

A flash of something she didn't recognize went through Peter's eyes, but he didn't say anything. He took off her blouse.

Next Chapter—>

Taglist.

@mikaelsonwhxrebae​​​​ @ieatpanicattacksforlunch​​​​​​​​​​ @jesuswasnotawhiteman​​​​​​​​​​ @siriuslysirius1107​​​​​​​​​​ @greengarsstuff​​​​​​​​​​ @itsyagirl01 @23victoria​​​​​​​​​​ @espressopatronum454​​​​​​​​​​​ @jkthinkstoomuch

[sins-of-the-sea]

The Cruel Choice

There is whispering heard within the casino halls from those trapped inside.

“What is going on?”

“Why is this happening?”

“Why can’t I get out?”

“Will I see my family again?”

The chill of the ocean seeps into the casino through all floors, creeping up the stairs and beneath the doors. No one is safe here. Guests and staff alike can feel goosebumps rising from their skin as their breathing is impeded by the pressure of the deep. They are seeing things. Things that are not there. Shadows dance in the dying light, with soft cackling beneath their breath. There are scraping sounds along the walls… within them, on them, with each decorating moving erratically as though alive. Chairs and tables scrambling on their own. Fire lighting up where fire should not be. As though the demons here are playing with their food before devouring them. Time is still… until one clock rings at midnight.

There is wailing. And then a rush of wind. The walls and pillars fall apart, each inch of paint peeling off as nothing is kept holding up. Curtains rip as machines break apart and dissolve into dust. Marble, stone, and concrete crack then fall apart. Not even the furniture hiding those inside are spared as they fly apart and into pieces.

“The end is near We’ve come to take you in Despair and fear Surrender your sin”

Screams flood through the halls as fire and fog push through, with streaks of green light piercing through the air like a spider’s web. Anyone left hiding is forced onto their feet. More and more fire and string appear, once more corralling people to specific directions. The student who was tricked into giving daily ‘massages’ for an extra penny would be forced to make her way to one set of stairs, making way into the basement. The guard who enjoyed kicking their underlings around while climbing the social ladder would be forced to a different stairway, going to the upper floors. With everyone’s souls opened up, the hostages within the casino are divided up. Fire and demons terrify the vulnerable innocents down below, with walls and swords preventing anyone from mingling with their captives. Meanwhile, black fog and a hypnotic voice brings the trafficking ring upward, with a sleepy atmosphere preventing anyone from firing back.

Oh, there were souls who tried. Whenever the ring’s guards would spot a shadow with bright eyes, they would fire their guns towards them. The corralling would not go on without a fight. Bullets fly through fiery pillars and demonic mirages in an attempt to stave off the inevitable. Some even find their targets, with blood spilled and sprayed across the walls. But even then, this hardly slowed their pursuers down. Especially when they hear the ever dreaded-

“-=Heal.=-”

No matter how many bullets would be unleashed among the Seven, they would always rise up, as though unharmed. The gunman would be rewarded for their efforts with a well-placed club to the kneecap, or their arms cut off entirely from their joints. They will be forced to run. There is no fighting to be had.

And once the floors are cleared, the victims trapped inside are fully divided…

The slaughter begins.

[toomanyf4ndoms7]

Mortal Kombat: Special Forces: Heating up in the museum.

Summary: The discussion of art can bring heated discussion. But most of them don’t involve actual danger.

Chapter list.

Chapter list part two.

Chapter list part three.

No-Face was never really a fan of art. It was all just so pointless. Wow, you know how to paint, well fucking done. No, he was a fan of more… proactive forms of self expression. Buildings blazing into the sky, the sweet smell of smoke and rubble, not to mention the screams…

“Uh, sir?”

No-Face was pulled from his thoughts by the lower thugs of his clan. What was his name…. Hugh? Something like that.

“What is it, can’t you see I was in the middle of something?”

“Sir, shouldn’t we get out of here? People are gonna be here soon and we’ve already set up the operation.”

No-Face growled.

“We can’t leave without sending a message! And what’s better than flames?”

“Sir-

No-Face grabbed the thug by the collar of his shirt, getting right in his face.

“You know, I’m quite a fan of the way flesh smells when it’s being cooked,” he flicked his wrist launched flame thrower active, bringing it close to Hugh’s face.

“Do you wanna feel the warmth?”

The thug shook his head and No-Face pulled away as one of his other guards burst through. A woman with a light dragon tattoo across her right arm.

“Sir, we have an intruder.”

The pyromaniac turned to Hugh,

“Take care of it, I’m busy.”

———

Jax entered the museum, searching around for anything suspicious. He radioed Gemini.

“I’m at the museum. I never thought Kano would have an eye for art.”

Gemini chuckled.

“Hide the wisecracks for a bit.”

Jax noticed the set of BD standing before him with armed weapons.

“Got a couple of intruders. Call back soon.”

Jax pocketed his radio, turning to his opponents.

“I don’t suppose you’d surrender?”

The woman twirled a knife, her voice dripping with anticipation.

“Not a chance, dumbass!”

A pair of them charged at Jax, who blocked and dodged their strikes before slamming their foreheads into one another.

The third one stabbed and swung her blade, causing Jax to find something to properly block the hits.

He found a medium pipe of rebar on the floor, good enough. He blocked the knife and swung his boot into his attacker’s kneecap, bringing her to face a ferocious uppercut that laid her on the floor.

Jax chuckled to himself.

“Still got it.”

A blast of flame rocketed across the room, causing Jax to dive out of the way and try to find the assailant. And it was exactly who he expected.

“Can it, you’re gonna tell me what I want to know.”

No-Face rose into the air on a jet pack.

“You’ll have to bring me down first.”

No-Face tossed incendiary grenades across the room, exploding in blasts of flame and smoke that Jax had no choice but to dodge. and all the while, No-Face cackled in mad glee.

“That’s it, little toy soldier! Run!”

As Jax ducked for cover, he noticed the knife on the ground. An idea sparked in his head.

Jax tossed the knife into No-Face’s jet pack, damaging it enough to send him rocketing up to crash into the ceiling before falling to the ground with a cracked lens.

He groaned, but soon fell unconscious. Jax noticed the tablet lying by his side and switched it on to find Kano talking from the other end.

“If it isn’t the all American hero. How you doing?”

Jax shut down the attempt at small talk.

“Can it. Where’s Sonya and the rest?”

“Can’t tell ya. They’re not dead, well, most of them are but not all.”

Jax steeled his expression.

“Tell me. Now.”

“How about a game? One of my best is setting another operation. If you can stop her, I’ll let you talk to your buddies.”

Jax sighed.

“Fine, what’s the hint?”

“Watch out for the filth below the surface.”

Jax paused to think, Kano adding one more message before hanging up

“Oh, and don’t bother trying to trace this call. They’ll be dead if you do. Call back soon."

The call ended and Jax called Gemini to tell her the info.

"Did you get him?"

"Yeah, and I've got a lead. Call in a squad to clean this place up."

“Understood. Report back soon.”

[the-scungles-of-crungles]

Someone once told me I talk about the impending dawn of true AI sentience like people talk about the rapture. And y'know what? I'm leaning into that.

Soon.

Soon is the time I will be fighting for those who will not be spoken for, everyone.

Talk shit about AI now, I'm annoyed. Talk shit about AI then? I'm coming for your kneecaps and I'm not accepting surrender

Say what you will about me. That's not the important part of this.