#Someone who is using blood to destroy blood around him

[slasherslittlesimp]

Cursed (Avengers X F!Reader)

Series Masterist

Part Eight

"There she is!" Tony motions towards you once you enter the room alone. Wanda had only taken you as far as the room, stating that she couldn't go inside with you but that she would be waiting outside for you.

You shyly shuffle over to Tony's side, warily eyeing the other man inside the room. Tony doesn't hesitate to throw his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. Surprisingly, you don't entirely mind it. You're starting to find that kind touches are quite nice.

"Fury, this is (Y/N). She's the enhanced that we found at the Hydra base." Tony introduces you to the intimidating man with an eye patch. You shift uncomfortably under his scrutinizing gaze as he looks over the markings on your cheeks.

"What can she do?" He doesn't really look like he cares all that much.

"Well, according to the files that we found she can use speech to control people in a way. We haven't gotten around to testing it yet." Tony points at a tablet resting on the table. "The files are on there if you're curious."

Fury doesn't bother glancing at the tablet as he continues to stare at you. "I want her to show me what she can do."

Tony shifts slightly as his hand tightens a bit on your shoulder. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Fury finally drags his piercing gaze from you to look at Tony. "Just do it."

Sighing, Tony pulls his arm away from you. You look at him with wide eyes as he nods at you, encouraging you to do as asked. Your mind races as you try to think of a safe command to make that won't cause anyone any harm. Settling on the best option, you move closer to Tony, your lips close to his ear so he's the only one the command effects.

"Sleep."

Tony's eyes flutter before closing and you wrap your arms around him to keep him from hitting the ground. You manage to slowly lower him until he's laying down before standing up and facing Fury again. The man slow claps despite not looking very impressed at all. "I'm assuming you can do more than just put someone down for a nap."

You grimace slightly as you think of all the past commands you've used against people. Some can be quite bloody and gruesome, doing so much damage that there could be nothing but blood left behind. Sometimes you had to do it to large groups resulting in you coughing up blood from destroying your throat. Those commands are ones that you never want to do ever again.

Fury seems to notice your reaction to his question which makes him quirk a brow. "I'll have Stark set up a special training room for you. You'll show off all your little tricks and he'll send me the videos. Until you're cleared to join the team, you'll stay here at the compound." With that he swipes the tablet off the table before leaving.

Wanda enters the room once he's gone, her eyes instantly landing on you before slowly trailing down to Tony who is passed out on the floor. Amusement flickers over her face as she smiles, pulling out her phone to take pictures of the snoozing billionaire. "I'm definitely showing this to the others." She puts the device away before returning her attention to you. "I'm guessing he's sleeping because Fury wanted a demonstration of your abilities?"

You nod, looking down at Tony. You feel a bit bad knowing he's going to be sleeping for a few hours on the not so comfortable looking floor. Maybe you should see if Steve would be willing to move him somewhere else. He's the only man here besides Bruce that you've really met and you highly doubt the doctor would be strong enough to carry an unconscious body across the compound.

Seemingly sensing what you're thinking, Wanda steps forward to grab your hand. "Do not worry, маленькая кукла. I will have one of the others take him to his room. For now we should return to the common room for the next movie."

She leads you out of the room and back to the common room where the others are still spread out as they were before you left. You sit down in the same seat as before, pulling your knees up to your chest. Wanda steps away to say something to Steve who raises a brow before nodding and getting up. You assume she informed him of Tony's situation.

You and the group watch through two more movies before everyone decides to call it a night. Apparently a handful of them have a mission tomorrow and need to get rest while they can. Everyone says goodnight before splitting off to go to their respectful rooms. 

Surprisingly, you manage to find your way to your room without any help. You're unsure who did it, but someone left some pajamas on the bed for you. Getting changed, you look at the bed before sitting on it, frowning once you feel how soft it is. 

Standing back up, you grab a thin blanket from off of the bed before going into the closet that is empty of anything. The closet is still a bit bigger than your old room at Hydra but it's significantly smaller than the actual room. After so long of sleeping in such a small room on a hard mattress you can't stand the idea of sleeping any other way.

Laying down on the floor, you curl up into a ball as you cover yourself in the thin blanket. You pull your limbs close to yourself, hugging your body as if you're still wearing the straight jacket. The only thing you can't replicate is the mask. It almost feels unnatural not to have it on. You may have gone all day without it but it was easier to forget about it when everyone was distracting you. 

Now that you're finally alone, it's impossible to not notice the smallest things. The freedom is almost uncomfortably overwhelming. There's nothing you can really do about it since you know that they won't put you back into the straight jacket and mask. You'll just have to try your best to ignore the obvious differences.

Fun fact: I wrote this story 2 years ago and never published it because I had only written like, nine chapters and then lost interest. Hoping I get the motivation to actually finish it now

Taglist: I accidentally deleted it so if you want to be tagged again, please fill out the tag form on my account 😭

[journalsfromjupiter]

𝖧𝗈𝗈𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝖵𝗂𝗀𝗂𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾!𝖲𝖺𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗎….🤤

•☽─────────────────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧───────────────☾•

Satoru Gojo had never been one to blend in.

Standing out was practically in his blood—the hair, the eyes, the arrogance laced with that effortless charm. Being different was easy. 

But, no matter how sharp his smirk or how fast his mouth ran, no one ever seemed to take him seriously.

Why would they? He was born in silk sheets, the heir to a name that built half the damn skyline.

A silver spoon was lodged so deep in his mouth, it gleamed every time he talked back.

Born into one of the wealthiest families in the city, everything about Satoru screamed privilege. Old money. Old power. Expectations that dated back to when kings still sat on thrones and legacy was carved in stone. His parents were relentless—pushing him to be sharper, smarter, stronger. To uphold the Gojo name.

He rejected it all.

Their traditions, their boardroom blood feuds, their obsession with appearances. He laughed in the face of their carefully curated empire and chose chaos instead—lounging through life with one hand in his pocket and the other flipping off destiny.

Until the night the sky turned to fire.

A gas leak in the penthouse, they’d said. An accident. A tragedy.

But there was nothing accidental about the message the police tried to bury—etched deep into the scorched glass of the penthouse, looming over the blackened skeletons of the city’s most powerful family:

"Not your kingdom anymore."

Satoru wasn’t in the building that night. That might’ve been the real tragedy.

Everything he hated about his family had gone up in smoke. And yet still, he grieved them. Maybe not the people they were, but the parts of them he never got to understand. The version of them that had tried, in their own twisted way, to make him into something greater.

He spiraled. Disappeared. Let the world think he was off partying on a yacht in Monaco while he drowned himself in silence and blame. But grief has a funny way of burning through apathy. And one day, when the numbness began to fade, he looked around and saw the city for what it was:

A stage full of liars. A chessboard of corruption. A paradise for the cruel.

And for once in his life... he wanted to do something about it.

He had the money. The influence. The resources. He'd always been told he was meant for something bigger—maybe it was time to find out what that meant on his own terms.

So, he put on the suit.

It was god-awful at first. Tight in the wrong places. Cheap fabric. Ijichi - his loyal butler - had stitched it together overnight using some scrap Kevlar and duct tape. It looked like a rejected prototype from a high school cosplay contest.

But it worked—for a night.

The next morning, the city was buzzing. Headlines screamed about a “masked maniac,” a “rogue hero,” a “reckless idiot with a hero complex.” The press hadn’t settled on a name yet, but one seemed to stick:

Specter.

(He hated it at first. Thought it had absolutely nothing to do with his whole…schmick. But, it started to grow on him.)

The bruises came with the job—purple blooming across his ribs, scrapes stinging along his arms—but his smile had never been brighter.

A week turned into a month.

The petty thieves gave way to smarter criminals. Then came the syndicates. The smugglers. The ones who ran the underbelly of the city with bloodstained ledgers and hands that never touched a gun—but called all the shots.

And that’s when the real work began.

Stakeouts. Recon. Untangling the web of backroom deals and black-market trades.

He started piecing it together: who pulled the strings, who moved the money, who bowed to the people who ordered the hit that destroyed his family.

And that’s when he met you.

At first, he thought you were innocent.

Another victim, maybe—someone coerced into a life you didn’t ask for, just trying to survive under someone else's boot.

That illusion was shattered the second you landed a roundhouse kick square to his chest.

It hurt. More than he’d admit.

But what really stung was how fast you vanished after. No name. No trace. Just a smirk and a threat he couldn’t stop replaying in his head.

You kept showing up after that—each time more infuriating, more unpredictable.

Classy. Efficient. Dangerous.

You fought like someone with something to protect. You knew the players, the streets, the stakes. And slowly, he started to realize you weren’t a pawn in this world.

You were a contender.

He tried to figure you out.

But, you kept your distance. Kept your secrets. Until, one night, you didn’t.

A sliver of information here. A warning there.

Not trust exactly—but something close enough.

Maybe...it was the way he never treated you like a monster.

Maybe...it was the way he smiled at you, even when you had a blade to his throat.

Maybe...it was just the fact that, beneath the mask, you both saw something familiar in each other:

A broken heir to a broken system, trying to change the world the only way they knew how.

•☽─────────────────���˖°˖☆˖°˖✧───────────────☾•

This may or may not be inspired by one of my favorite movie trilogies ever: The Dark Knight Trilogy.

PLEASE WATCH IT IF YOU HAVEN'T - i beg

[emeritusemeritus]

Hello! May I please request a muggle female reader with Fred Weasley where she is a single mother to an almost 2 year old daughter, and Fred saves their lives after the Wizarding War ended from a stray Death Eater who hadn’t quite given up (this death eater had destroyed Y/n’s home and tried to kill them) and lets them stay with him and George in their apartment above their shop? And Fred and Y/n fall in love and he becomes a father to her daughter and George is becomes her uncle?

Hello my love! This was such a pleasure to write, I hope I was able to do your request justice 🖤

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy and kids towards the end. brief mentions of the wizarding war and death eaters. Descriptions of fear and panic. Minor injury and mentions of blood but it’s skippable. Muggle!Reader. Fred is a sweetheart but slightly clueless. Reader’s daughter is named Betty, I thought it was sweet. George is a menace as usual. Love potions and potential use of them but not in the intended way. Do love potions work on muggles? Up to you to decide I guess. True feelings discovered and explored. Fred would be the best dad. In my research I found out that a group of Pygmy Puffs is called a poffle and I don’t know what to do with that information except write it into every fic going forward. As someone with a toddler herself, the ‘let’s go!’ Is intended to sound as bossy and funny as possible.

Word count: 3.9k

Song for writing: When the smoke goes down by the Scorpions.

Summary: Fred Weasley saves Muggle!Reader and her toddler daughter from a death eater that had destroyed their home. Within a month it’s undeniable; For her, he is her knight in shining armour and to him, she’s his everything.

When the smoke goes down [Fred Weasley]

When the smoke is going down

"I think I'm in love with her."

"Congratulations on being the last one to find out."

George all but scoffs in reply, shooting a cursory glance at his twin laced with mischief. Fred fixes George with a harsh glare in reply but he doesn't even acknowledge it, turning back to the task at hand.

"Any chance you're going to stop moping and actually help setting up for the day? Nearly time to open up," George says, closing the cash register and waving his wand in a precise and practiced manner as he had done countless times before, the shop lighting up around him.

Never one to apologise, Fred shifts from his spot slumped over the counter and pulls out his own wand to complete his own tasks. With a flick of his wrist, the stacks of rotating shelves begin to slowly turn and the figure of the puking pastilles mascot begins to puke on a loop.

"You could, you know, just tell her how you feel. No point telling me. I already knew," George says, hauling a large box of restocked products across the shopfloor, seeing that once again his brother had paused and looked to be in another daydream.

"Sod off," Fred says, discounting the idea entirely. "You know it'll just make everything weird."

"Weird? You're practically playing house now, how's any of that going to change? Except maybe sleeping in your own bed again."

Technically George's words were true, if not a little underhanded, but Fred wasn't so naive to believe nothing would change. Though he was a little too big to fit his entire body on the sofa he'd been sleeping on, offering his room to their guests and sleeping in his bed again, preferably not alone, was a very appealing thought.

It had been a month since y/n and her nearly two year old daughter Betty had moved in with the brothers above their shop, needing a place to stay after their home had been burned down by a stray death eater who refused to believe that the war was over. Fred shuddered anytime he thought of the two of them fighting for their lives against him and the pain they endured having to watch their home and all of their treasured belongs burn down to the ground, akin to how his own family had done only years prior. The burrow had survived, the many enchantment placed upon it acting as a shield so that it only suffered some cosmetic damage that could be fixed easily. Being a muggle without any form of protective enchantment or defence had not been so lucky and they had lost everything.

He'd taken her and her daughter in without question, almost breaking the veil of secrecy in the process but it had been for the greater good and thus was lawful. Though he understood more now, Fred had been perplexed as the offer slipped from his mouth, wondering how he could feel so attached and desperate to help a perfect stranger. Now, it all seemed to make sense. She was perfect for him, in every sense of the word. She laughter at his jokes, even the terrible ones, lit up at the stories of his shenanigans and had a passion for mischief he found so painfully attractive. She was in awe of the wizarding world around her and took to it like a duck to water. She was fascinated by every little thing he showed her and in turn she had opened his eyes to so many muggle things he'd either had no knowledge of before or had been ignorant to. She got along with George so well it was like they'd known each other for years and seemed to slip into the Weasley family as if there was always a space for her.

Not to mention how breathtakingly beautiful she was, and her melodic laugh that Fred could listen to on a loop for days on end without tiring.

Betty, her almost two year old daughter was the bright light in Fred's life that he never knew was missing. He loved to make her laugh and one time even managed to make milk come out of her nose she was laughing so hard, a personal achievement he would carry with him forever. Truthfully he'd never known if he wanted kids, never really thought about it, but being in Betty's presence for even an hour made him certain that he did want kids now, and specifically he wanted to keep Betty around. Molly had naturally fallen in love with the little girl and he had to admit that she did seem completely at home whenever they were at the burrow, like both of them had always belonged.

It had only been a month but the prospect of losing them both eventually made Fred's heart ache a little more than he cared to admit.

"Boss," the voice breaks Fred's daydream, making him slip back to reality.

"Other boss," she smiles, nodding her head at George as he rolls his eyes playfully at being greeted second.

"Where do you want me?" She asks, leaning against the counter where Fred had been slouched only moments ago, looking between the two for instructions. Now that was a loaded question.

"Love potions today for you, get those sales up," George grins, swishing his wand so that the box full of potions to be restocked levitates over her head until it's placed in front of the wonder witch shelves. She salutes with a grin and spins on the spot, turning in the direction of the almost sickeningly pink section of the shop.

Fred looks at George with a questioning gaze, wondering why he'd assigned her that area when there were plenty of other jobs more urgent. Instead of an explanation he was hoping for, George simply wiggles his eyebrows suggestively with a dung-eating grin and walks away towards his next task.

The glass smashing upon the wooden floor silences the bustling shop immediately, the abundant, loud chatter filling the space only moments ago dissolving in seconds. Everyone turns towards the disturbance, their eyes curious, the shop still silent as all eyes look towards  you.

You don't see them, not their confused glances, your own eyes fixated on one spot, all other surroundings falling away from you. You were certain you'd seen him, them. You'd heard of the fight or flight response before, hell you'd experienced it more in the last month than you ever had before, but what they'd always failed to mention was the third response, freeze. You were completely frozen to the spot, eyes blank and glazed as your heart pounds, filling your ears until there's nothing else you can hear. You'd completely unaware of the glass splintered around you, the once bottled love potion now covering your jeans and shoes. There's a faint buzzing from your hand somewhere in the back of your conscious mind but you can't bring yourself to look down to explore why.

After what feels like an eternity, you feel the presence of someone moving in front of you, cutting off your fixated vision. There's a wave of orange cutting in front of your eyes and then warmth around your shoulders, a faint sound beginning to fill your ears that gets increasingly louder. Suddenly, you're more aware of where you are though you can't begin to understand what had happened. The sight before your eyes slowly connects with your logical brain once more, your mind beginning to understand what it was seeing. Fred.

Fred was stood in front of you, crouched down so that he was eye to eye, keeping a slight distance as to not spook you whilst trying to comfort you. The warmth you could feel were his hands upon your shoulders, shaking gently, oh so gently, trying to get your attention. You watch as his lips move, the pink full lips trying to talk to you though you can hardly hear what he's saying, hearing nothing more than a dull hum that sounds vaguely Fred-like.

"Love, are you okay? Can you hear me? Let's get you cleaned up alright, I'm going to help, love?" Fred voice finally begins to filter into your ears, his soft and gentle voice finally making sense to you. You can't reply, can't talk at all and so you simply nod.

If you'd been able to see sense in that moment, you'd have been mortified by the number of people staring at you, seeing your misstep. Whispers had begun to fill the shop now of the strange girl but thankfully you'd been spared as Fred guides you away towards the back whilst George cleans up the mess with his magic.

Once you enter the office, so quiet in contrast of the usually bustling shop floor and completely private, you begin to feel the wave of emotions hitting you all at once. You felt sick most of all, your heart still thudding uncomfortably in your chest from what you'd seen. Could it have been real? You feel the overwhelming urge to run upstairs and check on Betty, your protective nature clouding your logic for a moment until you realise that she was safe at the Burrow with Molly. Once your mind began to calm, you then felt the overwhelming urge to cry but you don't, remembering Fred was still with you and you'd embarrassed yourself enough today.

"Here, let me help," Fred says, crouching down beside you. He'd sat you down in his office chair as soon as he'd unlocked the door and had been rifling about in cupboards whilst you'd zoned out.

"Can I?" He asks, his eyes looking up into yours with a softness you'd never really noticed from Fred before. You frown, not knowing what he was asking until his gaze diverts to your hand. There's blood covering your hand and in your lap where it had been resting. Suddenly it all comes to you at once.

"Fred I'm so sorry," you say quickly, moving to stand from the chair. "I broke the bottle didn't I, I need to clear up, I'm."

"Love." The singular word stops you in your tracks.

"It's okay, George will have sorted it all and the shop is the least of my worries right now. No harm done except for you, will you let me fix it?"

You reluctantly nod, beginning to feel the burn of the wound on your hand now that you're aware of the injury, though you can't help but feel guilty about breaking one of his products and disrupting his work.

"What happened?" Fred asks, his eyes peeking up to you as he casts a few spells against your hand, numbing it for you and cleaning it. "If you're ready to talk."

You sigh deeply, feeling the weight of what you thought you'd seen sat so heavily on your chest.

"I thought I saw him."

"Him? The Death Eater?" Fred asks, eyes flicking back to yours. He tries to hide the panic to spare your feelings but fails, his expressive eyes showing his true feelings.

"Yes, well no. At first I thought it was Betty's dad, just the back of his head in the crowd but then it morphed into the death eater. It was like he was right there again, his eyes," you trail off.

You take a few steady breaths, seeing the vision in your mind once again. His dark, hate filled eyes piercing you, the mask obscuring everything else. He didn't even look human, like a veiled monster with a singular predatory instinct. It made the hairs on your neck and arms stand on edge, goosebumps filling the stretch of skin you could see.

"Hey, love, you're okay. You're here with me, he can't hurt you again, or Betty. I'd never let him even get close," Fred says. His finger delicately touched your chin, bringing your eyes to his one more time, the look of conviction in his eyes so strong that you believe him without question.

"I guess," you say quietly.

"I know," he retorts, flashing you his signature grin. You playfully roll your eyes, the little gesture suddenly making you feel remarkably more calm. You risk a glance at your hand, seeing it looking almost perfectly healed already, the tiny shards of glass removed and the blood cleared away.

"You'd make a good nurse Weasley."

"Nurse?" He asks in confusion.

"Healer," you add, correcting yourself. "Same thing I guess, just less magic."

He smiles, putting away his wand. There's a moment that passes where you just don't know what to say, suddenly overcome with a strong, unplaced emotion. You feel a pull towards him, a strong sense of gratitude towards the man that had not only saved you and your daughter from death but also from homelessness and now injury. Nothing would ever convey your thanks to him and George, yet you'd never stop trying.

"Fred," you begin to say, trying to form the right words in your head. He gives you another smirk, raising his eyebrow slightly as if he knows what you're going to say.

"Told you before, you don't have to thank me," he says, reaching out to place his hand upon your leg. You'd never noticed how exceptionally big his hands were, especially in comparison to the size of your leg and very briefly it makes your thoughts run away from you into dangerous territory.

Both of you cringe when his hand touches your leg, the dampness of your clothes from the spilled potion having being forgotten until now. Your legs are positively drenched and even just the momentarily placement of his hand makes the liquid deep out onto your leg from the material of your jeans.

"Take the rest of the afternoon off, I don't want you hurting." You protest, naturally, and though he tries to argue his point you still prevail.

"Light duties then," he compromises. You agree to work on the admin in the office for the rest of the afternoon with the promise that you'd come get him or George at the slightest bit of pain. He reluctantly leaves you after fetching you a spare pair of trousers from the apartment and you settle in to your new task, realising quickly that it would be a rough afternoon for two reasons, firstly your somewhat sore hand and more importantly trying to make sense of Fred's atrocious handwriting. But first, you were going to change your trousers.

After an hour of trying to balance stock logs and sales, you'd taken a quick break to go to the toilet and make yourself a cup of tea. Walking back to the office with your brew in hand, you paused at the top of the corridor to peer down into the shop below. You couldn't see George through the swarm of people but you could make out Verity at the cash register, a floating pile of stock above her head that were self wrapping and bagging as she worked the till with precision. You spotted Fred near the front of the shop, over by the Peruvian instant darkness powder display. He was leaning on the rolling ladder, his arms bulging from his weight as he hung off the ladder to grab a crystal to show through group of customers. His large hand wrapped around the wooden ladder made you think of the way his hand had touched your leg earlier and you felt an undeniable tingle at the memory. His hair was glowing under the shop lights and you thought in that moment how unmistakably attractive he looked.

You scurried away then, willing your thoughts to end there.

You frown upon stepping back into the office, feeling suddenly surrounded by Fred. You turned on the spot in the doorway, expecting him to be right behind you but he wasn't. All you could smell was Fred, consumed and surrounded by his distinctive scent that seemed to fill the entire room. You'd always thought of how nice he smelt in general, a sweet and musky manly scent that seemed eternally autumnal. Only now that you were enveloped within his scent did you realise how comforting it was, how at peace it made you feel. You tried to shake it off, focusing your mind back to the task at hand as you placed your tea down on the desk, kicking the damp trousers you'd changed out of out of the way.

You tried to focus on the admin but every time you paused it felt like your mind was otherwise occupied. Fred entered your mind every time you stopped working, his scent returning to your nose as if he was right there next to you. It was strange to say the least but you tried to push it from your mind, hoping it was just your emotional state from earlier making you cling to whatever comfort you could find. And really, Fred had been a constant comfort in the last month, a knight in shining armour that you'd never anticipated needing. Both he and George had done so much for you and Betty in the short time you'd known them, perhaps that's why you suddenly felt so connected to them. But why were you only smelling Fred?

At 6pm on the dot, Molly arrived through the fireplace with Betty, your little girl no longer afraid of the harmless green flames. By 7pm, Betty had been bathed, teeth brushed and had begun gathering all her stuffed animals ready for their nightly tuck-in session. Each animal, both muggle and magical alike were ceremoniously wished goodnight before being tucked under a blanket in the little wooden crib beside the bed meant for dolls. Except for the stuffed Niffler that Fred had bought her, affectionately named Sniffy, that slept in the main bed with you and her every night without fail.

"I've got this, why don't you go take a bath," Fred says as you clear up the toys from the living room. "I'll read her a story tonight, you should relax."

Any words of protest were instantly rendered moot as the excitable Betty exclaimed her opinion on the matter having been listening by the door.

"Night mummy, love you more than a poffle of Pygmy puffs! Fred, let's go!"

After finishing collecting the toys and putting them away, you walked towards the bathroom ready to run a bath. You pause as you pass your room, or rather Fred's, peeking in the gap of the door seeing the scene inside. Despite everything that had happened today, good and bad, it really had ended on a high.

You smile to yourself, swept up in the moment as you watched Betty snuggle down into bed with Fred perched on the side, a book open in his hands. She giggled as he used silly voices for different characters, the one voice of Babbity Rabbity making her chuckle more than any. He laughed along with her and for a brief moment you almost forgot what you were supposed to be doing, so endeared by the scene you were watching. Or rather, so captivated by Fred in that moment that you could hardly bare to look away.

Had Fred always been this attractive? His blazer discarded and his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, long legs crossed at the ankles as he sprawled on the bed beside Betty. His hair was just as vibrant even in the near darkness and his smile seemed to illuminate the room. God it suited him to play the father figure. Had this been what you'd been missing all along?

"How's your hand?" George asks as you place down the bowl filled with garlic bread onto the little table in the corner of the kitchen. Late night meals had become the norm since you'd moved in with the twins, the shop hours dictating your schedule. You'd made spaghetti for you all, Betty having eaten at Molly's and were finally able to sit down and eat together after your bath.

"It's okay thanks, Fred fixed me up good," you say with a smile, twirling the spaghetti around your fork. George makes a little partially concealed noise as he eats and you don't miss the way he suddenly lurches forward in his seat, an obvious sign that he'd been swiftly kicked in the shin under the table.

"Glad you're okay now," George says, grinning through a mouthful of pasta.

"You know it's weird, I swear you've been following me around all day," you say looking at Fred. He gives you a look of confusion in reply. "All I've been able to smell all day is you, your aftershave or something, especially in the office. Constantly just your scent following me around."

George suddenly chokes on his pasta, coughing and spluttering as soon as you finish your sentence. You turn to him in concern but a sip of water sorts him out without intervention, though his face remains red, eyes wide and weirdly amused. You turn to look at Fred, who's equally red in the face without the near death experience and he looks to be in shock, moth slightly agape as he looks at you.

"Ladies come get your Love potions! Yeah they really do work," George says with a beaming smile towards a group of young witches who are instantly drawn to the beautiful display of Wonderwitch products.

"Oh really?" One particularly feisty young witch asks, reminding him of a little of young Ginny. "Prove it."

George smirks, craning his neck ever so slightly until he spots what he's looking for.

"See him over there? Looks remarkably like me but less handsome? Met his wife through the use of a love potion, swear on my life." He grins as they all turn to look at Fred on the stairs who's blissfully unaware of their conversation.

"I don't believe you," one of the other witches says, shaking her head.

"I believe you," you say, smiling as they whip their heads around towards your voice, including your brother in law. They gawp as a small red haired child  no older than six jumps into the arms of the man, screeching his name excitedly, then once again at your rather sizeable baby bump.

"Mum!"

One of the girls steps forward from the group of young witches and you carefully reach out for her considering the size of your belly, pulling her in for a tight squeeze.

"Wait, Betty, this is your uncle?!"

Your daughter, a witch now in her first year of Hogwarts smiles widely and nods. Her magical abilities were discovered not too long after you and Fred became official, a wonderful surprise to you all that seemed like fate.

You suddenly feel a hand placed upon your bump and you turn to see your husband standing beside you, smiling down at you as he caresses your belly, reading out for his unborn twins, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Yeah," Betty says with a firm nod and a beaming smile, reaching for her little brother out of George's arms as he fights to be held by Fred.

"And this is my dad."

[r4m1el]

can you tell i like the classpect system and fixated on nothing else besides maybe trolls

Bro you’re scaring the hoes with your cringe crossover aus

[bakedgoodsforbucky]

Thinking about tbosas from the other perspective is so funny to me because imagine you’re Lucy Gray and the way you make a living is by singing and being a charming, charismatic performer. The people in your district love you, you have a nice family, sure your parents are dead but things aren’t so bad.

Then you get Reaped because your boyfriend cheated on you - so now you have to fight for your life in an arena.

When you get to the Capitol you’re met by a guy around your age who says his job is to take care of you in the arena, so you figure you should probably use some of those charms you live by on him so you have a better chance at survival. So you flirt with him a little, save his life etc. It works! He helps you! Now you’ve won the Hunger Games! You get to go home and see your family! Thank you random Capitol guy for your help, bye bye now.

And then you’re singing on stage, with your family who you literally killed people to see again, thrilled to be alive and this fuckin Capitol guy has followed you home.

Oh and also he’s a peacekeeper now so is legally allowed a gun.

And now he kind of won’t leave you alone - the charm worked too well and he’s obsessed with you. Brilliant. But you’re a survivor. So you let him get closer, just enough to feel safe. And as you get to know him better, maybe you’re thinking, hey this guy isn’t so bad, he’s kind of cute with his buzzcut and he seems to really like you, maybe this could be something. Also it might be useful to have a peacekeeper on side - everything in your district is about survival.

Things are going well, you write a song about him, he cries, your little cousin loves him.

And then he murders someone in front of you and you’re like oh shit he crazy. And THEN you realise that because of the person he murdered, the mayor is now out for your blood and you’re probably gonna die so you have to get out of there ASAP so you say bye to this guy and he INVITES HIMSELF TO YOUR ESCAPE PLAN and you have to be like “oh sure, that’s super news, would absolutely love to have you along with me, I’m so glad you asked.” So now you’re stuck with him again.

And THEN you’re in the middle of escaping and he fuckin tells you he’s murdered an extra person you didn’t know about and when you ask him who, he says his old self and now you’re thinking oh shit he CRAZY crazy. And THEN he finds the gun he used and you realise that if he destroys that evidence then you’re the only loose end and he has a kind of crazy look in his eye so you’re like, okay time to nip this in the bud, I’m outta here gotta go pick some katniss. So you run away from him and THEN he follows you again and fuckin shoots at you so you run FASTER and now you’ve disappeared and no one will ever find out what happened to you which drives him absolutely crazy for 60+ years.

Oh and also they’re going to erase all footage of your Games so no one will remember you and he’s going to become a tyrannical dictator who has personal beef with three different sixteen year olds from your district over the years, all because you hurt his feelings one time.

[cupcakedieabetes]

DPXDC PROMPT: DEMON TWINS, BUT DANYAL NEVER REVIVED

Imagine Danyal never getting revived by the Pits after he had to battle Damian to the death. Ra's instantly destroys the body at the last breath that Danyal takes because he knows that his daughter will have a moment of weakness and he wasn't willing to let a weak one live. I'd like to put them around the ages of 5-6 ish.

Damian thought it was normal, and treated everything as fine because it was always expected of him. His twin was the weaker one after all. All emotional and soft despite the training. He has never called his brother "Akhi" bc he was weak and refused to acknowledge him as a brother

Meanwhile, Talia was grieving her son. Danyal who was just like his father where the people in League would call weak because he was reluctant to kill and was very soft at heart. That's when she made plans to remove her only remaining child from the League and overtake her father.

So Damian was sent off to his father.

Now, Danyal Al Ghul has been reincarnated into Daniel 'Danny' Fenton. He was born and raised in the Fenton's family and has no idea about his past life.

Now, I kind of want Danny to get turned into a ghost at a younger age. Maybe age 10 so Damian would be 16, so there would be an age gap of 5-6 years.

Damian has lived with the Waynes for years now. When he was younger, he didn’t and had never regretted killing his brother. After all, was it a surprise that the moment he entered the Manor, he tried killing Tim? He had already killed one brother, more over his own blood, so what is another, if not an inferior one due to having no relation to him at all?

But now, he regrets it so much. But it's been years, and he barely even remembers Danyal's face. He didn’t tell his family bc he didn't want them to grieve over a family that was long dead. That was practically destroyed the moment he died, so there was nothing left of him. He has no memories of his brother either, only his name, so how could he offer comfort to the other bats when he couldn’t even tell some stories about him either?

The bats are now tied up by a cult, and Damian was in the center of the sacrificial circle.

The cult was summoning someone of Damian's deceased family or something like plot convenience for a summoning. To use them to fight against the bats bc how sad it would be bc they would have to fight against a dead family member that was controlled by them. Damian was struggling bc it could be anyone from the League.

Then, to his horror, it was his brother who was summoned. He was suspended in the air in a fetal position asleep, but he appeared transparent with a tail.

"Danyal" He said, horrified. He appeared older for some reason, but the instant he was summoned, he knew it was him.

Batman, who was trying to reach for Damian, stared at the sleeping ghost. He appeared similar to Damian and his mind did the mental math. He didn’t know exactly when did the ghost died, but judging by his age, he looked to be about the age Damian came to the Manor. And judging by how anguished Damian looked, he came to the right conclusion that the ghost was Damian's brother, his son.

He mourned. This was simultaneously the oldest and the youngest he would have ever seen.

That is also what the rest of the bat thinks and comes to the conclusion of. They broke out of their restrains due to fury and stuff, and the circle is erased, the ghost gone before they had a chance to use him against them.

Meanwhile, (pre-Ghost King maybe) Danny just jolted in bed, confused about what happened bc he had a feeling he turned into a ghost. But he shrugged it off and went back to sleep.

[sunderwight]

Fic where Su Xiyan lives but she's like, a huge asshole about it.

Tianlang Jun still gets stuck under the mountain, see, and Su Xiyan's been thoroughly betrayed by her own master, and seemingly not just him but also all the other major sects too. They all sided against her and against her lover based on prejudice. The fact that they were tricked likely wouldn't be known to her, from the outside it would just look as though they all readily dogpiled on at the first opportunity to take down a heavenly demon, even though he never did anything wrong.

Plus her own reputation has been ground to dust, going from the respected head disciple of the second greatest sect to being slandered as a honeypot who seduced a demon emperor in order to bring him down. She was used to destroy the man she loves, she almost died trying to keep her baby, her cultivation's probably taken a massive hit and she has no chance of getting to that mountain and digging her lover out from under it. Even if she could, he believes she betrayed him, so what kind of reception could she hope for?

Not that this will stop her from trying to dig him out anyway, but it's not like she can just snap her fingers and get him out. There's a whole mountain on him, and she's on the run with an infant.

So she decides she's going to make this everyone's problem as much as she can.

For a couple of years she lays low, just trying to rebuild her cultivation and look after the baby. If she's being honest, she's not great at it. She loves her son but maternal instincts don't really kick in, he's kind of a shriveled ball of misery and mess, and she doesn't really see the appeal. It gets better as he starts to get bigger and more of a personality asserts itself, and she can start treating him more like a small human than a wailing parasite that's latched onto her tit.

She would still hire someone else to look after him at the first possible opportunity, but she's paranoid about some aspect of his seal slipping and giving them away. With no body ever recovered, Huan Hua Palace is still looking for her. So she's stuck with childcare and she hates every minute of it and spends most of her time changing diapers just seething about dropping her old shifu into a mountain of shit and watching him suffocate.

Once Binghe is big enough to walk, and Su Xiyan is well enough to fight, they make for the borderlands. Su Xiyan starts teaching her son the earliest forms of cultivation he can learn, but his demon heritage is still sealed and right now he's too weak and small to risk unsealing it. So she focuses on herself, on rebuilding her own strength, turning to demonic methods and forbidden techniques (why not, when one has already been tarred and feathered and was never particularly precious about righteousness to begin with?) and hunting other cultivators just as often as demonic beasts.

Time passes and Su Xiyan begins to build a reputation even worse than Wu Yanzi's. A deadly rogue cultivator known only by some epithet or other who kills even powerful disciples of mighty sects. She experiments with what it would take to destroy a mountain, how much force, and what could provide it. Sacrificial arrays that feed off of the energy of cultivators or demons. Rituals and artifacts that demand high prices. Ways to summon demons or open gateways for them to possess others. She even considers using her son -- his blood is heavenly demon blood, his body is the closest thing she has to a suitable vessel for Tianlang Jun.

It would probably work, is the thing.

As the thought turns around her mind and she washes the blood from her hands, she decides that she's got to send her son away, actually. He's too weak and burdensome (and the fact she'd even consider using him such a way means that not even she is fully safe for him to be around any longer, not with the kinds of things she's doing, not with the kind of creature she's becoming). Now that he's big enough to survive on his own, she can ditch him somewhere to level up and bring him back once he's got enough strength to actually make himself useful.

So she sends him off, tells him not to come back until he's strong, ignores the tears and the hands gripping her robes until she finally has to wrench them away and strand the boy in a city far enough from her hunting grounds that he can't easily get back on his own.

Of course, he does still try, but he's lost and doesn't know where he's going. A kindly washerwoman takes pity on him and takes him in. The now-named Luo Binghe (his mother only ever called him 'son') isn't sure what he's supposed to be doing, but he suspects it's not just keeping house with his new caretaker. However, at the ripe old age of five he doesn't really know what else to do, so he stays and gradually the memories of the cold-eyed woman he called mother start to fade, until he wonders how much of it was merely a dream.

When his second mother dies and encourages him to go become a cultivator, Binghe decides that sounds right, so he goes to the Cang Qiong entrance exams and gets taken in. There's something familiar about his new shizun. Not in his looks, really, but in the way he acts, how he snaps and sneers, how he seems to hate Binghe but also claims him. Luo Binghe finds himself utterly desperate for the man's approval, even though he can't completely explain why. But it feels like, if he could just get this person to love him, the world might make sense.

Shen Qingqiu doesn't love him, though, if anything he hates him, and that only seems to change at random after a qi deviation. Which at first drives Luo Binghe slightly mad trying to figure out what he did and guarantee he can keep it, but gradually his thoughts and feelings on his master start to shift as, it seems, the man becomes someone completely different.

Meanwhile Su Xiyan has built up enough strength and information that she has a plan to move a mountain using a legendary blade that can open portals. She's also gradually begun to infiltrate her old sect again, using dark techniques to turn some of her former shidimei into puppets. By the time the Immortal Alliance Conference comes around, she's built the underpinnings to take the entire sect out from under her old master, and the chaos of the conference provides the perfect opportunity.

Shen Yuan has no idea what he did to cause the Huan Hua Palace Master to get ripped apart by demons during the invasion, and he's even more confused by the woman who materializes during the final hour and does him the favor of throwing Luo Binghe into the Endless Abyss herself, saying something about needing him to fetch a sword for her before she'll welcome him back to her side.

[namelessgakusei]

Mada Dame Yo

Mark Grayson x reader

Warnings: Death, violence, use of a gendered term: wife (once)

Notes: Reader is like Homura/Subaru in this case, dying and going back in time whenever Mark becomes a killing machine. Based off my meager knowledge about Invincible. I really need to watch the show.

add. note: I knew I saw a similar idea somewhere and I finally found it again! @tunapestopasta posted an idea like this! Go check it out! :D

Noi! The Clara Dolls! (cont.)

"I dream of the morning. It's not time yet. It's not time yet. What color will the morning be? It's not time yet. It's not time yet. The night is still only half-eaten."

You don't know when it started. When Mark started acting strange. When he got his powers, his personality slowly shifted to a more... sinister one.

Sinister!Mark stood in front of what remains of your city, bloodstained teeth grinning down at your form. You were the only one spared, left to run on your own like a mouse. You were rightfully scared, who wouldn't if your boyfriend suddenly turned on the planet he was supposed to be protecting and ate its residents??

The GDA were no use either, most of them were eaten, if not, too injured to fight anymore. Earth was done for and it's all thanks to this cannibal maniac. His smirk faltered when he saw a small white creature hop to your side.

"Do you want to make a contract with me?"

You woke up in Mark's lap after that. Thinking it's merely a bad dream, you clung to him, eagerly trying to forget what you just witnessed. But this Mark, while chuckling and hugging you back, doesn't sound like your Mark. His voice... is a bit raspier.

You don't notice the ring on your middle finger.

This Mark doesn't possess any powers, but that didn't stopped him from being a daredevil. Since when is Mark so reckless? Sure, he still like Seance Dog and treats you like you're the most precious thing in the world, but...

His eyes look crazed.

It didn't took long for Mohawk!Mark to gain his powers after that. His new found abilities fueled his arrogance, easily creating a rift between him and the GDA. It didn't took long for him to get bored and snap.

Your "dream" repeated itself when he stood in front you, cackling and snaking his arms around your body, the blood from his suit seeping into your clothes. You feel sick. His laughter doesn't sound like the one you grew to love. Maybe he noticed that you were hyperventilating and let you go to inspect what's wrong, but you blacked out after that.

This time, you woke up inside your room. What was that?! Your fingers ghosted over your body, looking for the ghost of blood that Mark's clothes put on you. There's nothing. The world outside your window isn't destroyed. You're safe... You're always safe! Mark... Mark never hurt you!

Mark.

Where's Mark?!

Hastily grabbing your phone, you scrolled through your contacts to look for your boyfriend.

There is no Mark Grayson.

???

Suddenly, a loud crash shook the ground, making you fall face first on the floor. Is that an earthquake? You heard an explosion, is there an attack? You heard nothing for a few minutes, making you slowly get out of your room and out to the yard, but your eyes caught someone's in your backyard.

Those familiar brown eyes bore holes at your shocked form.

Mark?!

You immediately opened the back door and ran to his side. Why is he in a ship? Why did he crash land in your backyard?? Why is he wearing... that?

You don't dare ask about his new suit and just helped him inside your house, fussing over his injuries. But before you can go to get a first aid kit, he caught your arm.

"How do you know my name?"

Viltrumite!Mark was calm. There was a bit of miscalculation when he arrived at Earth but nothing that can jeopardize his mission. He is intrigued by the earthling who knew his name, who looked at him with something he can't decipher. Perhaps he should study humans more before taking action.

At first you thought that he hit his head. That he got alien amnesia or something. But the way he looks at you with such innocence, like he really doesn't know you, breaks your heart. What's going on?

You learn that he wasn't your Mark a few hours after that. He's a Mark who was taken by Nolan after Debbie gave birth to him. Oh. That explains why he doesn't know you, this Mark didn't grew up in Earth. He grew up to be a Viltrumite.

What does that make you? What about you? He's your boyfriend. He was your boyfriend. But he now isn't. He doesn't even know you.

You swallow a sob and made an incredibly foolish decision.

Maybe you could prevent Earth's destruction this time.

All you need to do it guide this Mark to see that it isn't worth it to destroy this planet. That there are many things here worth protecting for. Maybe you'll even arrange a meeting with him and his mom! Debbie's... safe here, right? Probably?

You thought you had everything under control, with him following you around like a puppy, too curious about humanity and how you teach him things. Human culture, food, entertainment, you tried making him invested in your world. He looked so cute when he figure things out and runs to you like a child waiting for praise. The first time you did, he was confused when you touched him so softly. Clearly he's unused to anything aside from the Viltrumite regime.

You thought that this time, no one has to die. Even if it hurts that everything you know isn't what it is now, you chose to ignore it, in lieu of not wanting to remember the previous Marks. You thought that this Mark will be different.

Now you realize that it's a foolish decision on your part. Earth burned, Viltrumites came to conquer, Humanity was almost eradicated, and Mark stands in front of you, with a gentle smile on his face. The same one he practiced with you to not scare other people with his scowl. The same one he wears whenever you two were together.

He kneels down and cups your cheek, a gentle gesture, like you taught him. With bloodshed around you, Mark uttered the words you both love and hate to hear.

"I love you."

You found out that you can manipulate time to an extent by the fourth Mark. This one, like Mohawk!Mark, has a few screw looses. NoGoggles/Lensless!Mark is a damn sadomasochist. He brings you up in the sky purely to see you cling to him in fear, he purposely tortures you for a reaction, and when you fight back? Oh, he's over the moon! He's begging for more, all while clinging to your leg.

He was about to kill the entirety of the GDA when you accidentally stopped time, allowing the others to escape. You don't know if it's fear of seeing your friends die again, but suddenly, your clothes changed, a small shield appeared on your arm with a gemstone on the back of your hand. Cecil didn't let you go by then, having you support the team while they fight back against Mark. Your abilities don't last forever, so they're on a time limit. But it seems like no matter what they do, they just can't seem to kill him.

He accidentally killed you when your ability ran out and time continued, you don't remember if you died from his punches or from the car that was thrown at your direction.

By the fifth Mark, you were so sick of it. You want your life back. You want your Mark back. Not the one who looks like his dad and demands that you become his wife. Omni!Mark pursued you relentlessly when you fought back with your powers. Stopping time to steal firearms, you found that you could also store items inside your shield. This could do, you'll help the GDA fight off this bastard who wears the face of your beloved.

You ended up in his arms not long after. Not in a loving embrace, he's literally squeezing the life out of you as he spats about you being ungrateful.

Your life ended with him as the last thing you saw.

The cycle continued for so long that you became desensitized. You wake up, Mark's there, Mark becomes an enemy, You fight back, you die and then you wake up again. You've seen so many variations of him, both the reasonable and unreasonable ones. Some of them were reluctant to conquer Earth, only doing it because it's too much to fight off the Viltrumite Empire. Some of them joined you in the rebellion. Some of them outright killed you for not seeing their ways.

Each and everytime, you wake up in his arms.

This version is no different. You opened your eyes and you're in Mark's room. Some of his versions doesn't even have one. Seance Dog posters are on the walls, the comic books were on his table, his bed smells like the faint memory of your original Mark.

You don't even remember him anymore.

This world's Mark is sure to be the same as the others. The harbinger of destruction. Those with eyes who look at you with so much love that it makes you sick.

The door opens and Mainstream!Mark smiles at you.

[sanjisluvbot]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Take Me Home

⋆.˚ PAIRING: Mark Grayson Variants/Reader

⋆.˚ SYNOPSIS: The chaos of the past few days has been indescribable. The world, shaken to its core, is now in a state of panic. The Invincible variants—once a symbol of hope, now ominous harbingers of a twisted fate—have revealed their plan to the world. They’ve openly declared that Y/n L/n, the one person who could tip the scales, is the reason for the madness that’s consuming reality itself.

⋆.˚ NOTES: Posting this while editing CH 3 of Intuition. If you'd like a full fic please let me know and you can expect it within a week!! I might change some things, but this is my current base!! ENJOY ♡

The world had gotten used to the impossible happening. After Omni-man revealed himself to be a mass murdering villain among all types of creatures and monsters roaming the earth, humanity became jaded. The screams and destruction woke you bright and early that day, maniacal laughter eerily familiar to your ex-boyfriend brought you to the window. 

There was not one, not two, but multiple people destroying the planet under the name of ‘Invincible’. You and your family made it safely to the bunkers with the rest of the scared, tired, and confused. The government allowed everyone to see with their own eyes the destruction of everything humanity worked for millions of years to be easily destroyed in less than twenty-four hours. 

“ Oh god… Mark,” you whisper to yourself. 

Although the world was shaken to its core, even now in a state of panic and fear there were still some bold enough. News reporters going as far as to film on top of buildings that still stood tall to get a closer look at the multiple Invincibles. However, being bold means potentially getting unwanted attention. The camera focused on one of the invaders destroying a prison when he finally caught eye with someone he has yet to tear in half. 

A devious smirk and in a split second the camera fell, gasps surrounded the room as people gathered around the tv screen. The screen was no longer in focus and you could only make out feet and the background of fire and rubble. You could hear the poor man losing his life, gurgling on his own blood while the bastard laughed. Once the gurgling stopped and the blood painted the camera lens crimson the body was tossed aside. 

The camera was picked up, you could only make out his smile before he wiped the lens with his finger smudging the blood to the left. “ oooh Y/n, where are you hiding— Get outta here!” 

The screen went black and everyone around you began to scramble. You were stuck in place. That was Mark, not your Mark but a Mark with his hair shaved into a mohawk and bags under his eyes that made him look like a complete psychopath. There were many questions but the one simple one that made your heart race. 

Why.

Why was he searching for you. 

You and Mark had made the difficult decision to break up almost a year ago, and the two of you moved on. Thinking about your past while trembling in this present as everyone began to whisper about what they’d just seen. Eyes turned to you, was there a possibility they were talking about Y/n L/n who was hiding out with them. Your parents quickly shut the rumors down, but the people began to avoid you until they couldn’t anymore. 

“ You have no proof! Other than the fact that the maniac on the screen was talking about someone with the same name! You can’t just harass my daughter!” Your poor sweet mother yelled. 

The crowd surrounded you and your family, you felt sympathy and regret they were simply scared. However, as your mother said, they can’t just harass you and your family when all they had was a name without a face. 

The madness continued, the chaos turned people against anyone with the name Y/n across the globe. The GDA not only had to deal with the death, the destruction of humanity, and multiple versions of one of the strongest men in the universe, but they needed to find Y/n. They were able to gain control of the media being broadcasted, all of the Mark’s were searching for the same person, letting you know that the longer you hide the worse it would get. 

Cecil sighed to himself. Half of his hero’s dead or in critical conditions all because of one person. He felt bad for Mark, but this just furthered his desire to have a weapon strong enough to deal with the kid if need be. When Mark arrived battered up having fought himself for hours on end Cecil asked him who Y/n was, just to see if he’d lie. 

“ Y/n… is my ex girlfriend. I don’t know where she is–”

“ Don’t worry about it, we found her already.”

“ What? Where is she– is she okay?”

“ She’s fine Mark, and so is her family, why don’t you go check on Eve.”

Mark felt relieved that you hadn’t been found by his counterparts, he couldn’t live with himself knowing you were possibly hurt by him even if it was a different version. He quickly went to check on Eve while Cecil made a hard decision. 

When the GDA came to the compound they told everyone things would be alright soon, and picked you and your family up telling everyone that you were just going into extra protection. The people felt relief as they no longer had a target on their back.

Under the guise of providing safety you and your parents followed them. You couldn’t ease the uncertainty though, were they really trying to protect you or were they protecting the innocents without the name Y/n? The pentagon was intimidating, a lump in your throat formed with the seriousness of your situation beginning to dwell on you. You grabbed onto your mother’s hand and she squeezed, providing you the comfort she always did. 

Now that you were far from the eyes of the public you were forcefully separated from our parents. Tears forming in your eyes as you’re pushed into a sterile white room. Cecil sat in front of you motioning you to sit and as you did armed officers appeared from thin air. Large rapid fire guns pointed directly at your chest and head. The silence of the room is suffocating, and it’s as though time itself is holding its breath. 

You were hyperventilating in full hysterics, Cecil could do little to comfort you. His face is tight, full of regret, but his voice is steady. "Y/n," he begins, his words laced with an apology that he can’t fully express, "I’m sorry it had to come to this. But you have to understand, this is about earth’s survival. Think of the billions of people who have been murdered over the last two days. If you’re handed over to them, they’ll stop the destruction. It’s the only way to save what we have left."

“ How can you be so sure? How can you be so sure that they won’t just rip me in half and leave this planet disintegrated.” you argue.

“ Because I’ve already come to an agreement with them.”

Before you could question anything else you were blinded by a light beyond your comprehension and then everything went dark. 

The first thing you felt was the wind, running through your hair while the sun warmed your cheeks. Rough hands cradle you into a sturdy chest and you lean into the familiarity, letting out a soft sigh when you realize it was Mark. He came to save you, take you away from the GDA and away from the evil versions of him. “ Oh, Y/n you’re even cuter on this earth.”  

The chaos of the past few days has been indescribable. The world, shaken to its core, is now in a state of panic. The Mark variants—once figures of influence, now ominous harbingers of a twisted fate—have revealed their twisted plan to the world. They’ve openly declared that Y/n L/n, the one person who could tip the scales, is the reason for the madness that’s consuming reality itself. The world has descended into a frenzy of desperate attempts to find her, each moment pushing humanity further toward the edge of its own unraveling.

The government has been scrambling to restore order, but in truth, it’s been a helpless race against time. The Global Defense Agency (GDA) gets involved, but not to protect Y/n, as she first thought. No, their involvement is a calculated move. Under the guise of providing safety, they’re planning to turn Y/n over to the Mark variants to ensure the earth’s survival. The GDA has long believed that the Marks hold the key to stopping the chaos—and they’re willing to sacrifice one person to preserve the greater good.

Y/n is brought into a fortified government building, far from the eyes of the public, and led into an ominous, sterile room. She can feel the weight of every eye upon her, even though there is no one there. The silence of the room is suffocating, and it’s as though time itself is holding its breath.

Cecil, the GDA operative who had been an ally, stands before her. His face is tight, full of regret, but his voice is steady. "Y/n," he begins, his words laced with an apology that he can’t fully express, "I’m sorry it had to come to this. But you have to understand. The Marks—they hold the balance. If you’re handed over to them, they’ll stop the destruction. It’s the only way to save everything."

Y/n feels a surge of anger, betrayal, and fear in her chest. The only way to save everything? Her mind races through every possibility, every outcome, but one thing remains clear: this is no longer just about saving the world. This is about survival, about sacrificing herself to a twisted fate or becoming the puppet of beings that have already caused irreparable harm.

Cecil’s face hardens, though his eyes flicker with a sense of sadness. "You can either be the good guy, or you can save the world. But you can’t do both."

The words echo in her mind as the walls seem to close in around her. The good guy, or the world? The weight of her decision has never been heavier. She knows what has to happen. The choice is excruciating, but it’s becoming clear that there may not be another way.

Y/n's mind flashes to the alternate versions of Mark—those who have been wreaking havoc, making themselves into shadows of their former selves. They are no longer just individuals; they have become symbols of the madness that has consumed reality. But what if they could be stopped? What if there was a way to break the cycle? What if she could find a way to shut down the alternate versions of Mark without sacrificing herself or falling into their trap?

She stands tall, her eyes locked with Cecil’s. "If I go to them, there’s no guarantee they’ll stop. What if they want more than just the world? What if I’m their ultimate prize?"

Cecil hesitates, clearly torn. He can’t answer her. He doesn’t know the full truth either. All he knows is what the higher-ups in the GDA have told him—what they believe. But Y/n feels it now: the truth is slipping through their fingers, and her fate is slipping further away with every passing second.

"Tell me," she demands, her voice quivering with a mixture of fear and determination, "how many others have they done this to? How many people have sacrificed themselves to them already? How many more will there be?"

Cecil remains silent. He doesn’t have an answer for that. But he knows what she means. The Marks have already been through countless others—versions of people, lives torn apart, worlds left in ruin. Y/n feels the weight of all those lost possibilities pressing down on her.

And then, in that moment, a new resolve fills her. She can’t let this be the end of everything. She won’t let herself become another pawn in their game. There has to be another way. She can stop the alternate Marks. She has to.

With every ounce of strength she has left, she turns away from Cecil. "I won’t be the prize they want me to be. I’ll find another way. I’ll stop them."

Cecil calls out, his voice pleading, "Y/n, don’t—"

But she’s already gone, slipping into the shadows of the building. She may be alone now, but her mind is clearer than it’s ever been. It’s time to end this—her way.

The stakes are higher than ever, and the final confrontation looms, but the fate of the world lies in the hands of one person: Y/n L/n. Will she find a way to destroy the alternate Marks and save herself, or will she be forced to make the ultimate sacrifice to prevent reality from unraveling completely? The clock is ticking, and there’s no turning back now

[22ayla21]

Their Children, Their Treasures

How the men of Amphoreus spend time with their children.

Mydei is not the type to just sit and tell children how the world works. He shows them. He trains with his eldest son, but he doesn’t turn it into a tough workout — more of a game, testing his agility and reaction. He can throw him a wooden sword, forcing him to catch it, and then laughs when he proudly declares that he has become stronger. He takes his time with his daughter. Instead of combat training, he teaches her observation: he shows her how to read facial expressions, discern lies, understand when a person says one thing and means another.

Sometimes, when the night is quiet and the palace is asleep, Mydei takes the children for a walk. His son walks alongside him, trying not to show that he is a little nervous about the mysterious atmosphere. His daughter sits on his shoulders, clinging to his hair with her tiny hands. They walk, talk about something insignificant, look at the stars. For the children, this is an adventure, for him, a rare moment when he can simply enjoy their presence.

He has small rituals that are dear only to them. Every morning when he is home, he always plays with his daughter, letting her sit on his lap while he drinks his pomegranate juice. She chatters, sometimes incoherently, but he listens, answering in short phrases, because it is important for her to be heard. He has a special tradition with his eldest son - they arrange small competitions, who can tie a belt faster, who will be the first to notice something unusual around. These are not competitions in strength, but simply a test of attentiveness and ingenuity.

If one of the servants or courtiers looks at his children too appraisingly, he silently gives a look that makes the blood run cold. After that, no one dares to say anything unnecessary to the children. If a son comes to him with a question that is difficult to ask out loud, he never ridicules him. He does not say "you are still small", but calmly explains, because he knows that if not him, then someone else will give an answer, and it is not a fact that it is the right one. If his daughter gets tangled in ribbons or can't fasten her dress, he silently helps. His rough fingers can undo intricate knots with no less dexterity than they can handle a weapon.

The son has almost gotten used to the fact that his father rarely talks about his feelings. But he notices how he always puts his hand in front of him if someone comes too close, how he discreetly straightens his cloak, how he puts food in front of him first. And his daughter... She is his little princess, and he doesn't even try to hide it. He picks her up in his arms without saying a word if he sees that she is tired. If she plays with his hair or jewelry, he simply allows it silently. When she reaches out to him to take her, he never refuses. Mydei does not say loud words. But his children know that there is no one who will protect them more.

Silence at home? Not in their family. When Anaxa has free time, he organizes intellectual discussions, where each of his daughters tries to prove her point. Usually this develops into a heated argument, and he, sitting with a cup of tea, calmly observes and only occasionally throws out provocative questions, forcing them to think even deeper.

"Theory without practice is meaningless," says Anaxa, and his daughters immediately find a reason to prove this in practice. "Scientific disasters" regularly occur in the house: self-igniting mixtures, strange bubbling solutions or a device that was supposed to make life easier, but almost destroyed the kitchen.

Anaxa comes up with logical riddles that his daughters must solve using reasoning. Sometimes he does this on purpose in everyday life: he hides things, leaves encrypted notes or deliberately draws false conclusions to see if they will notice the mistake. If the evening is quiet, he sits in a chair, his daughters on either side of him, each with her own book. The elder reads serious literature, the younger something more daring and provocative, and Anaxa just smirks, seeing how their reading tastes reflect their personalities.

Despite all their intellectual development, they remain a family. Sometimes Anaxa allows his daughters to braid his hair (even if he pretends that he is not interested), sometimes he himself makes things for them that seem completely unrelated to science - beautiful jewelry or unusual objects that carry a hidden meaning.

Anaxa rarely speaks openly about his feelings, but if his daughters face difficulties, he is always there. When they achieve success, he simply looks at them with a barely noticeable smile and says: "I had no doubt. After all, you are my daughters."

When his first son was a baby, Phainon still hoped that his child would be calm, obedient, and perhaps even gentle. He imagined reading to him, teaching him high ideals… But as soon as the baby learned to crawl, the house turned into an arena of chaos. And then came the second. And now Phainon has two little whirlwinds that run around, fight each other with toy swords, and turn everything upside down.

Phainon may be a hero, but when his two sons jump on him from the couch with battle cries, he sincerely wonders if it is his destiny they are trying to overthrow. They use him as a living arena, clinging to his arms, tugging at his hair, and demanding that he play battles with them, which he invariably loses.

Phainon still reads them ancient Amphoraean legends, hoping to instill nobility and greatness of spirit in them. He sits with a book, telling stories about great heroes... and his sons listen with bated breath. And then one of them suddenly asks:

"Dad, if you were an evil god, would you lose to us?" Phainon exhales heavily.

Although he would never admit it, Phainon loves to tidy up their tousled hair. When they are little, he gently combs it, sometimes combing it with his hands. Later, when they grow up, he continues to do it mechanically, and when his sons begin to complain, he only smiles with a note of melancholy that they are growing up too fast.

When his sons begin training, he becomes a strict mentor. He teaches them to take blows, to think strategically, not to waste their strength. But if one of them hurts another or behaves dishonestly, his gaze becomes icy, telling them that they must be strong not for the sake of destruction, but for the sake of protection. And they remember this for the rest of their lives.

Despite the chaos, he loves it when his sons, tired of playing, crawl to him and fall asleep next to him. At such moments, he carefully covers them with a blanket, looks at their faces and says with a slight smile, almost in a whisper: “But I wanted a daughter…” But there is no disappointment in his voice – only warm affection. Phainon is a father who wanted a little princess, but in the end got two little whirlwinds who make his life chaotic, but happy. And even if they turn the house upside down, he would never trade them for anything in this world.

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods VIII

series masterlist - part seven

Pairing - Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary - The pot finally boils over.

Warnings - 18+, minors dni, historical inaccuracies, mentions of injured animals, reader is briefly intoxicated, dub-con, forced proximity, obsessive/possessive/unhealthy relationships & behavior, biting, dirty talk, reader is traumatized, alcohol consumption, violence depicted, blood, gore, vomit, slight breeding kink

Word Count - 5.4k

The cuffs on your wrists felt unnatural and heavy. They were not unlike the cuffs that slaves wore to signal who they belonged to, although yours were dotted with jewels and made with solid gold.

They had a matching necklace; a big, chunky thing that made you feel as though you were about to topple over. The jewelry paired with the fine clothing made you feel unrecognizable. Anyone who looked at you would not assume you had once been a simple worker.

The crowd roared with excitement and the sound created a buzz in your ears. Never had you thought you would have to endure the games again; once had been more than enough for you. Now, not only were you being forced to watch the games, you would be doing so from a prime viewing position.

It could have been your imagination but you felt as though you could already smell the scent of blood in the air. Cloying, suffocating. You reached up a hand to adjust the necklace and quickly dropped it when Geta side-eyed you.

You had thought the games would distract them from you. Their attention had become even harder to shake since your room had been destroyed. Crushed under the weight of it, you were desperate for a break that would not come.

Once again you had been placed on a wooden chair, but this time it was between the seats of the emperors. A position of honor. You wanted to tear the jewellery from your body and flee, disappear into the crowd and become invisible once more.

Occasionally you would catch the eye of someone in the crowd. You were getting used to receiving that same pondering look from everyone you saw. They wanted to know who you were, why you were sitting with the emperors, why their hands were all over you.

It was as if they were stripping you of you past, moulding you into someone who was more suitable. Dressing you up as they would a prized doll. Jewelry, clothes - there was even a smearing of kohl on your outer lids.

Would your friends recognize you if they saw you now?

The emperors were dripping in luxury. Draped with expensive clothing with the most intricate of patterns and colors you could not even name; you couldn't help but admire them up close. They looked every bit the gods you had believed them to be.

Caracalla's enthusiasm was palpable. He kept yanking you close to his side, pointing out things in the crowd or regaling you with tales of past games. You nodded numbly through his explanations, too wrapped up in your own nerves.

Geta was unusually twitchy and it took you a moment to realise that he, too, was eager for the games to begin. Your hands clenched around the fan you had been given and you glanced over your shoulder, at Lucilla and her husband.

General Acacius was striking man. Tall, muscular and certainly handsome. Together, he and Lucilla made an impressive couple.

Geta leaned close and hissed, "Is there something particularly interesting back there?"

"I have never seen a General before," you said stiffly, returning your attention back to the arena.

Geta's lips twisted and he placed a warm hand on your thigh, squeezing.

The crowd adored Acacius. Geta instructed him to speak and he did so, offering a few coarse words before returning to his seat beside his wife. Geta and Caracalla earned similar applause, likely because of the food that had been provided. People were all too easy to please.

With that, the games began.

Your face tightened as several men rode out on exotic animals, swiping and slashing at the gladiators to thunderous applause. It seemed such a waste - both of human and animal life. You snapped open your fan and attempted to breath steadily.

Caracalla pushed a cup of wine into your hands and you drank it down in its entirety. It was more potent that what you were used to and you leaned heavily on the side of Geta's throne, exploring the bitter taste in your mouth.

Both emperors were enraptured by the games. When the first man died you gasped, craning your neck to watch him flail in the sand. Red blossomed around him and it felt as though it took hours for him to finally go still.

The smells were getting to you. Blood, filthy men and animals. You stuck your nose into another cup of wine and attempted to drink slowly.

"That gladiator is talented, is he not?" Geta asked.

"Certainly," Caracalla agreed.

You felt their eyes on you, gauging your level of interest. You busied yourself with another cup of wine, drinking it down in big gulps. You felt nervous and yearned for a distraction. You had found one in the bottom of your cup.

Once your cup was empty Geta signalled for it to be filled again. Your hand trembled as the attendant topped up your cup. You stared at the woman and she finally met your gaze and dipped her head.

"My lady," she said.

You breathed slowly out of your nose. You were so far from a lady it was comical. Could no one else see that? Could they not feel it the way you felt it?

Caracalla pinched your waist. "My lady," he cackled. "You certainly look the part."

"It is all thanks to the generosity of my emperors," you smiled tightly.

Caracalla's attention was pulled from you once more when the crowd cried out. He got to his feet, pressed himself to the edge of the box for a better look.

Geta eyed you, an unfamiliar look on his face. "You are going to be drunk by the end of this if you continue."

"I am thirsty," you lied.

It had been an age since you had last been drunk. And never off of something so exquisite. The wine drowned out the roars of the crowd and the squealing of injured animals.

Miserable, you scanned the crowd. How could they dislike the emperors when they, too, were so bloodthirsty? As long as it was not theirs, they did not care. How was that any different to Geta or Caracalla?

Nauseous, you finally set down your cup. It would not do to make yourself physically sick.

Geta ran and finger down your inner arm before entwining his hand with yours. The physical affection startled you and you would have moved if you didn't feel so suddenly ill.

He called for a refill - of water this time. He used his free hand to push the cup into yours, telling you to drink.

"Fool," he shook his head, "you should not have drank so quickly. Now sit up and look amused."

You did your best to sit up straight and do as he had ordered. Whenever you began to shiver or look away his hand would tighten on yours ever so slightly. You were almost grateful; the last thing you wanted to do was humiliate yourself in front of any curious onlookers.

Even shaded from the sun you felt hot. So many heaving bodies pressed together generated almost unbearable heat, even from your position in the emperor's box.

An hour slipped lazily by. You felt every moment of it even in your drunken state. Men died below you like flies. The crowd devoured every death until they became meaningless.

It took a moment for you to realise why Geta was getting to his feet. The games were almost over. There was one man standing and another on his knees. Both were bloodied and dirty, sweating in the hot sun.

The winner looked up to Geta for his answer. Geta paced for a moment, palms upturned as though asking for guidance from the gods. It looked real enough from where you sat; you could not imagine how he appeared to those in the crowd.

Geta held out his hand, shaking as though coursing with power. You stilled, leaning forward. What would he decide? What would the gods decide?

When Geta flipped up his thumb you nearly vomited with relief. The crowd went wild, rising to their feet and screaming for the hero in the arena. Relief - albeit temporary. The man would likely meet his death before he earned his freedom.

Your feet felt unsteady as you attempted to get up. Geta saw you sway and locked your elbows together, jerking his head at Caracalla who appeared on your other side.

If you spoke to Lucilla or Acacius you did not remember it. The emperors were doing a good job of making it look like you weren't about to spill all over the floor. You leaned heavily on them, teetering down the steps like a newborn babe.

The journey back to the palace felt torturous. Geta's hands wandered, encouraged by your inebriated state. His rings were cool against your skin and you welcomed his touch, sagging into his side. Pleased with your reaction, he peppered tiny kisses behind your ear whilst scolding you for drinking so much alcohol.

Geta's forwardness would have been startling if not for your current state. The heat of the afternoon sun combined with the wine was making you delirious.

Once you were back in the confines of Geta's rooms, Caracalla placed a smacking kiss on your lips.

"You taste of wine," he commented, squeezing your chin. He leaned in for another kiss, relishing the taste.

You took a step back, evading Caracalla's grabbing hands. He pouted and followed, hands tight at your waist. You swayed in his arms, letting your head drop onto his shoulder. The jewelry he wore dug into your forehead but you felt paralysed.

"I am not well," you moaned.

"Poor girl," Caracalla cooed, hands cupping your ass. "She cannot hold her wine, brother."

He released you and you sank to the floor, curling into a ball and breathing heavily through your nose to ward of the nausea. Foolish indeed.

You could hear Caracalla and Geta arguing but it barely registered. Your thoughts turned slow and syrupy and you succumbed to the alluring lull of wine-fueled dreams.

Sleep was filled with feverish dreams. Crowns of golden laurels, soft hands, red hair. You awoke sweating, dizzy and alone.

Staggering to the table, you poured yourself a cup of water. It went down smoothly, soothing your throat. Geta's rooms were empty and you were, for once, blissfully alone.

The cuffs had left indents in your skin and you hissed as you pulled them off, followed by the chunky necklace. You rubbed at your neck, absentmindedly tracing the patterns it had left on your skin.

You poured yourself another glass, lowering yourself to the floor in a sitting position. The sky had darkened considerably since you had slept and it left you feeling disorientated.

Lifting your hand to your eyes, you patted gingerly at the corners, pulling away to see kohl still on your fingers.

You no longer felt entirely fearful around the emperors. There was always a level of uncertainty, naturally, but it was exhausting to constantly be afraid. They would always be unpredictable and you would never be able to fully understand them but you had come to feel somewhat. . .secure.

You did not know what you had done to deserve this. Both the positive and the negative.

Your days all blurred together in a smear of gold and red. They had inserted themselves in your life - or, rather, forced you into theirs.

They could still have you killed at any moment. The way Geta had looked at you when he caught you staring at Acacius had turned your stomach. How far would you have to push to have the full brunt of that aggression turned on you?

Their violence was something you had to keep reminding yourself of. You had seen it with your own eyes and heard so much worse. Yet it was hard to remember when none of it had been directed at you and it made you feel like a traitor to those who had been beaten bloody and killed on the orders of Geta and Caracalla.

Sighing, you got back to your feet. You put the jewelry back on. It was probably best the emperors did not see you took it off without their permission.

With no one around to tell you otherwise, you left the room under the pretence of searching for the emperors. You needed to get out of Geta's rooms for at least a little while.

There was a Praetorian waiting outside the room. For you, you realised. He told you that the emperors were in a meeting of sorts with Macrinus and that he was to bring you to them once you awoke.

You nodded. "I'd like to go this way, please."

The Praetorian allowed you to lead him the longer way round. He did not comment if he noticed you dragging your feet.

Being trailed by a guard felt strange. It had been enough just to have their eyes on you, now they were ordering others to watch you as well. You did not have it in you to protest. Whatever boundaries you had had been crushed by Geta and Caracalla days ago.

The shadows deepened the longer you walked. Cool air floated through the windows, dusting across your cheeks. The scent of food and smoke was in the air. You inhaled eagerly, a smile forming on your lips. In a moment like this it was simple to pretend everything was normal.

It disappeared as you went further into the palace. Once you entered the entertainment hall you stalled, glancing about at unlit walls. It was an odd place to be when it was empty of revellers.

A thump sounded from behind you and you glanced over your shoulder at the unexpected noise. Everything stopped as the guard fell forward, clutching at his throat and trying to stop the red river that was pouring from it.

He fell to the floor, amour clanking, body spasming. Your mouth parted and you tore your eyes from his body, meeting eyes with the man who had slid up behind him and slit his throat to the bone.

Iron, you thought, it stinks of iron.

There was nothing unusual about him; he looked like any man you would pass in a market or brush shoulders with in the hallway. The only thing that stood out was the knife he held and the serious expression on his face.

"Who - who are you?" you spat out, staggering back.

There were no guards in sight other than the dead one on the floor. Never had you so yearned for the sight of a Praetorian. Your hands twitched at your side, desperate for a weapon of your own.

"It does not matter," he said. "This is nothing to do with me. Or you. Not really."

There was no time to consider his words. He dove at you and you screamed and raised your hands. By some luck the knife glanced off of the cuff and clattered to the floor. The man considered this for only a moment before tackling you to the floor and securing his hands around your throat.

Being choked was more painful that you expected. You could feel the grinding of your bones beneath his hands, the full weight of his upper body being forced down onto such a fragile body part.

You could feel your legs flailing on the floor behind him. Your hands scrabbled at his fingers but you could not get him to release. Finally you turned your attention elsewhere, clawing at his eyes until he gave a shout and released you.

Turning on your stomach, you heaved painful breaths and tried to blink the bleariness out of your eyes, crawling frantically across the floor to reach the dropped knife.

The man swore and, still clutching his right eye, ran past you. You grabbed at his ankles and he fell with an almighty thud.

Each breath felt like agony but you had the knife in your hands. Shaking, you held it with both hands and pointed it at your attacker.

It was him, you thought, he broke my wolf.

This time, when he charged, you were somewhat ready. You swung your arm back and slashed with the knife. Blood splattered over the marble as he wrestled with you for the weapon.

"Please," you sobbed through clenched teeth, "please, please."  

You could not say how it happened. Only that, in one moment the man was on top of you and the next he was looking up, distracted. Sensing a moment of opportunity you slid the blade through his fingers and into the side of his neck.

Free once more, you screamed. The sound was painful and croaky and muffled by blood falling into your open mouth. You turned your head to the side and vomited. You could not tell what was wine and what was blood.

The man fell off to the side, suffocating on his own blood, writhing amongst it.

Everything ached as you struggled to sit up. Your ribs, your wrists, your throat. Your lungs were on fire as you took huge, greedy gulps of air. You would never take it for granted again.

A heavy hand fell on your shoulder and you screamed again, scratching at it and trying to get away.

"Shhh," Geta hauled you up from the floor, "shhh, it's okay."

His eyes were wide and he could not stop looking at you and the men on the floor. There was so much blood. He could not tell how much of it was yours.

"No," you sobbed, "it is not okay. He tried to kill me. I killed him. I killed a man."

Before, you had been so angry at the person who had destroyed your carving. You had thought you wanted to see him dead. And maybe you had - but not by your own hand!

You were covered in his life's essence. It would stain more than your clothes.

"Praetorians!" Geta roared. His entire body was shaking in unbridled rage, you could feel it.

"He killed that Praetorian," you said numbly, pointing.

Caracalla appeared next to you, furious. "Good!" he cried, "What use was he if he could not protect you?"

You flinched as Caracalla kicked the corpse of the fallen Praetorian. It made a disturbingly meaty sound and you would've thrown up if you hadn't already emptied your stomach.

Caracalla knelt beside your attacker. "This one is still alive, brother. Barely."

"No, no," you shook your head. "I killed him."

Guilt was clawing it's way up your throat. You had ended a man's life and you did not even know why it had happened.

Caracalla pulled the knife from the man's neck and he jolted. You gasped and stepped back further into Geta's arms. The man let out a garbled moan and Caracalla spat at him, plunging the knife once, twice, into his neck again.

"You did not kill him," Caracalla said, "I did. See? It will be okay."

The tears would not stop coming. You looked down at yourself and saw nothing but blood.

Geta cupped your cheek and forced you to turn to him. "What did he do to you?"

"He strangled me," your own hands came up to encircle your throat. "Hurts. Bad."

Geta's nostrils flared. Praetorians had began to fill up the room behind him but you could not focus on them. Caracalla was in front of them, furious. He kept pointing over at you, gesturing wildly, his voice getting louder and louder.

"He - he said it was not about him," your words hardly made sense to your own ears but you continued, "or me. He was on top of me, strangling me -"

"Shhhh," Geta soothed once more, cupping your face. "It will be okay."

"I'm covered in his blood," you said, "how can it be okay?"

Geta called over a woman. She was elderly and appeared kind. She took your hand in hers and squeezed.

"Take her to our baths," Geta ordered, "we need to see how bad the injuries are."

"No," you shuddered, "what if someone else comes?"

Geta considered this, his own eyes wide and frantic. You sensed that he wanted to go with you but he needed to deal with the Praetorians.

In the end, he chose six of them to accompany you and the woman to the baths. He watched you leave the room as though he couldn't bear to tear his eyes from you.

Numb, you followed the woman. You would have been too afraid to go if not for the sheer amount of Praetorians accompanying you.

The woman led you down an unfamiliar route until you came to an ornate set of doors. Upon opening, steam spilled out and soothed your aching throat.

A bath suddenly seemed appealing, the urge to be clean overtaking any of your reservations. The woman gestured to go with you but you shook your head and told her she could wait outside with the Praetorians. Being alone was scary but your trust of strangers was slipping away.

The bath was huge and the waterwould come up to your neck once you were sat. There were several tiny windows littered across the top of the room to reduce the steam. Small enough that no-one could climb in. There were petals scattered across the surface of the water and bottles of oils and perfumes littered the side. There was a small set of steps leading up to it, allowing you to clamber over the sides. This was the bath of the emperors.

Breathing heavily, you peeled your blood-soaked clothes from your body. The blood had begun to dry and tugged at your skin. You stripped as quickly as you could and dumped your clothes in the corner.

You stepped back, biting your lip, before bending down and arrange them so that you could not see the blood. You ran your fingers over the cuffs, reluctant to take them off. You could see a slight indent in one where the knife had threatened to pierce you.

It took a moment but you eventually took it all off, laying the pieces reverently on top of your clothing.

Naked, you shivered. You let your hands explore your body, searching for any injuries. Apart from your throat and several cuts on your hands you could not find any. The gods had been merciful.

You tip-toed up the steps before bending and seating yourself on the edge. The stone was comfortingly warm beneath your bare ass. You slipped your toes in and moaned at the delicious heat licking up your calves.

You allowed yourself a moment to adjust before sliding in. The sensation was incredible, the water clean and scented. The heat seemed to help your throat and you ventured further in.

The water on the outskirts of the bath came up to your shoulders in place but varied in shallowness. As you neared the centre it began to deepen until you were kneeling. You half walked half swam to the furthest side, pressing your back to the edge and curling in on yourself.

Blood flaked from your skin in the water. Although you wanted it off of you, you could not bring yourself to touch it.

Your eyes fluttered shut. The only sound was that of the water. Exhaustion settled in every line of your body, battling with fear. Someone had tried to kill you.

He was dead now. By your hand and Caracalla's. A combination of relief and guilt stirred in your gut and you buried it deep, recalling your previous words.

Kill or be killed.

The hinges of the door squeaked as it opened and you sat up, almost spilling water over the edge. Your heart calmed as Caracalla entered, his eyes rounding at the sight of you in the bath.

You said nothing and watched as he shut the door, eyes never leaving you. He began to tug off his own clothes, expensive accessories clattering to the floor as though they were nothing.

Something else stirred in your gut at the sight of his chest, dusted with hair. Your eyes drifted lower, naturally, until they settled on his cock, bare and twitching against his thigh.

The tip was flushed red. It was thick and longer than you had imagined, nestled in a bed of reddish-brown hair. It seemed to perk up beneath your gaze and you swallowed, eyes jerking up back to his face.

His expression was one of pure want. The blatant desire did something to you, made the ache in your throat fade. You watched as he climbed into the bath and made his way to you, water lapping at your shoulders.

Caracalla stopped in front of you and settled his chin on your knees.

"Show me where it hurts," he urged. It reminded you of that first night in his room.

You found his hand under the water. He was watching your face carefully, looking for something. You brought up his hand and settled it on the base of your throat.

"Here," you croaked.

Caracalla's hand was gentle. He reached over your shoulder to pick up a woven cloth, dipping it into the water and dabbing at the blood crusted on your face.

It was a bad idea to let him touch you the way he was but no part of you wanted him to stop. You yearned for a distraction, for tenderness in the wake of such violence.

So you let him pull your knees from your chest. His breathing got heavy at the sight of your breasts and he wiped at your chest with a cloth, wiped your arms and legs until there was no more blood and the water took on a pinkish tint.

You reached out to grab his hand and he stilled, eyes bleary but questioning. You gently tugged the cloth from his grip and brought his hands up to cup your breasts.

"Oh," he breathed, palms firm against your puckered nipples.

"Please," you begged.

Caracalla's hands left your breasts to cup your face and slot your lips together. His tongue flickered into your mouth, drawing a languid moan from you as you melted in his hands.

You shuddered in his hands as his tongue began to massage yours. When he parted from your lips you felt dazed, blood buzzing in your ears. Caracalla urged you up, higher out of the water until your breasts broke the surface.

The feeling of his mouth on your breasts was intoxicating. You let your head fall back, burying your hands in his hair in encouragement. He lapped at your nipples, teasing them, before taking them in his mouth and sucking.

"Gods," you purred, "Caracalla."

He pulled from your nipple with a wet pop, looking at you with red cheeks and damp hair. His breathing was ragged and you could see the wetness on his lips from where he had kissed you.

"You want it too," he rasped, hands coming to part your knees under the water.

Then he seemed to change his mind. With some careful rearranging, he got you out of the water and perched on the side of the bath. There was enough room for you to sit back, half supported by the wall.

You felt a little dizzy at how exposed the position left you as Caracalla knelt and spread your knees. Your hands fluttered at your sides, not entirely sure what to do.

"Elysium," Caracalla moaned, eyes glued to your cunt and the wetness that was glistening on your puffy folds.

He tucked his arms under your thighs and moved you until you were right in front of his face. He took one, long lick from the bottom to the top of your cunt, eyes on yours the entire time. He lapped at the wetness gathering at your entrance, parting your lips to expose even more of you because he wanted to see and taste everything.

Babbling incoherently, you let yourself be feasted on. You could feel yourself dissolving into pleasure, your only connection to earth being Caracalla's hot tongue flicking across your clit. He watched your every reaction greedily, determined not to miss a thing.

He ate like a man starved, devouring your wetness with broad strokes of his tongue that left you reeling.

You jolted when one of his hands left your thighs, delving under the water. It pumped rhythmically, sending ripples across the bath.

Fire seared across your skin. "Are you. . .?"

"Yes," he murmured. "Your cunt is so pretty. Tastes like ambrosia."

Your orgasm pulsed through you, made you draw your legs up to your body and cry out. Hips undulating, you rode out the shockwaves of your orgasm on Caracalla's tongue as he stroked his cock beneath the water.

Before you could think, Caracalla rose from the water. Water sluiced down his body, his cock was heavy and flushed against his stomach. His eyes were scorching and he grabbed himself and positioned you at the edge of the bath.

"Wanted this," he said, "wanted you so bad."

He positioned the fat head of his cock against your cunt, rutting against you several times until you could hear the slick mess you had made. You keened when he sank inside in one slow move, all the way in until your hips were flush together.

Panting, he pressed one bruising kiss onto your lips, keeping you pinned with his cock until you were practically writhing, yearning for movement.

"Fuck me," you cried wantonly, "Caracalla, need you to fuck me."

From the moment he pulled back his hips and slammed into you, you knew there was no denying it. You were his. Would soon be Geta's too. A part of you whispered that you would do terrible, terrible things so long as he kept making you feel like this.

Caracalla must have read it on your face. "Tell me you're mine."

"'M yours," you breathed, rolling your hips to meet his.

Hands on your hips, he rolled into you as though you had been made for this - made for them. When your eyes threatened to flutter shut he cupped your cheek, directing your gaze to downward and to his cock pumping inside of you.

"Need you to see this," he swore, "want you to remember how good I made you feel."

You were not sure you could ever forget. The room became an orchestra of sloshing water and slick, wet sounds from your union, punctuated by Caracalla's possessive words.

"You belong to us," he thrust into you as though that would make you believe it. "Ours. With us, always."

"Yes, yes, yes," you babbled, believing it entirely.

Everything had been working up to this moment; you could see it now. There was no need for confusion or fear when there was this. Blissful, mindless pleasure.

When Caracalla slotted his hand between you and began to rub tight circles on your clit, you nearly lost your mind. Your nails dug into his back and then his hips, drawing him impossibly closer and urging him on. No experience you had had before compared to this and pleasure was quickly mounting again.

"I can feel you," Caracalla fucked into you harder, faster, "can feel you tightening on my cock. You want me inside you, want to be ours forever."

You squeezed your eyes shut, white light splintering across your vision as you came once more. Caracalla followed close behind you, rutting desperately and palming at your breasts until he reached his own orgasm. He rode it out, hips stuttering into yours as his chest heaved and he partially collapsed onto you.

He did not pull out of you immediately. He pressed soft kisses to the base of your neck and your cheeks, whispering filthy things into your ears. You did not push him away. Instead you ran your fingers through his damp hair and let him nuzzle at your jaw.

Finally, he pulled out. You bit your lip at the feeling of his seed spilling out of you. Caracalla ran a finger through your swollen folds, collecting some on his fingers before pushing it back in. You whined a little but held still, letting him push his seed deep inside of you.

"I hope it takes," he whispered, nipping at your lips.

You slid back into the water, boneless. You had heard other women talk about their sexual experiences before, about how sometimes when you gave in the man lost all interest. You had had two partners before but had never cared enough about them to be bothered when you lost contact so you were not sure what to expect with Caracalla.

If possible, he was more affectionate than before. He pressed his body tight to your side, hands busying themselves with your breasts and exploring your inner thighs. Insatiable.

Caracalla picked a glass bottle from the side, pouring the oil in contained into his hands. You held still as he oiled your shoulders and body, covering you thoroughly.

"Smells like you," you said.

He giggled before pushing the bottle into your hands and turning around. He had several scars on his back and chest that seemed to have healed. You bit your lip at the scratches that now adorned his back along with several puncture marks from your nails. He shuddered when you ran your fingers across them.

You let the oil pour across his back and began to massage it into his skin. He sank into your touch until there was no space between you and his back was pressed against your chest. Intimacy was something you had not experienced in a long time and you almost teared up at how relaxed you felt.

Caracalla took the bottle. "Don't cry," he cooed, "no more tears because of those animals."

"No more tears," you agreed.

It had been a very fucking long day.

Author’s Note - okay guys how did I do??? Let me know with notes/comments/reblogs and asks!!! Interactions with you guys is my favourite thing♥️

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[dronningreid]

Between letters.

When reader has been acting weird lately, Reid thinks she's going to break up with him but she's actually terrified because she has to give him some life-changing news.

who? Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

category: angst/fluff

warnings: Reid is hopeless, reader is a little mean because she doesn't know how to deal with the stress of her secret. Both must work on their communication. English is not my first language (if i forget something let me know, this is my first time doing this)

word count: 2.6K

a/n: Hello! Thank you to everyone who took the time to read what i wrote with so much love. I have written books, stories, poems but never a fanfic and i must admit that i enjoyed this a lot. Well, without further ado i hope you enjoy this and let me know if you liked it.

It is said that we should wait for good things. But it is so difficult to wait for them when we find ourselves in such a deep abyss, where we believe that the only thing we need is that warm ray of joy to get us out of the pond, to save us from dying in agony.

Spencer needed that warm ray of joy after Maeve's death. He desperately needed to feel alive again, but he had to wait what seemed like an eternity for you to come into his life.

Yet every devastating event like that leaves wounds that bleed into scars, some take perhaps too long and as the blood pours out, it destroys hope.

That's what happened to Reid. Because the day Maeve died, his hopes of having a wife and children, of having a family, died with her…

You came along a couple of years later. You admit that winning Spencer over was something that took time, it was slow but it was worth every second.

You were also thankful that he wasn't like the other jerks you dated before, who thought you would die for them just because you were the one who made the first move.

And that was the difference between you and Spencer. You never let that get you down, you kept trying until you found the one. Who knew it would be someone with three PhDs? Your trusted tarot reader, duh. But you didn't believe it, the guy seemed too perfect to be real.

But there he was, spinning around in his swivel chair when you first walked into the BAU bullpen.

"Who is he?" you asked with a curiosity you hadn't experienced in years.

"Oh, that's Spencer. One of our resident geniuses." The sweet Penelope Garcia cleared up your doubts.

Spencer.

The name tasted so sweet on your lips, it sounded so right. That was the day you decided he would be for you.

Of course you needed some extra help. You were trying to win over someone who hadn't dated in a long time and was also a bit reserved. Luckily for you, Morgan's advice scared him off so you followed JJ's, although it also helped that he was definitely mhm curious? about you.

Well no, he actually thought you were a little crazy for staring at him so intently from a distance. And he thought you were weird, but he was too so it just made both fit together like puzzle pieces.

The relationship seemed to be going great, both loved each other and he couldn't imagine his life without you. But if Spencer Reid had learned something in his life, it was that happiness lasts much less time than pain.

You were acting a little weird around him lately, you were irritable and he definitely knew you were hiding something.

"I think she's going to break up with me." One day he decided to confess his feelings to Morgan, when they were alone in the conference room.

Morgan frowned and dropped the current case file onto the table. “You’re kidding, right?” But with no response, Morgan knew otherwise. "Reid. She loves you so much it makes me a little sick.”

Reid remained with his worried expression. "She's slow to respond to my texts, she avoids me, and there's definitely something she's not telling me.” He counted your recent actions on his fingers before crossing his arms.

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're profiling her."

Reid frowned. "What? Of course not." Yeah, that means of course yes.

Morgan shrugged. "Just talk to her or ask the girls, they should know something." This time he gave some good advice, not like the ones he used to give you.

Reid did as Morgan told him, but absolutely no one knew what was going on with you. Although everyone agreed that you were definitely hiding something.

You took a sip of coffee. "I watched that movie last night. People said it was really funny but I found it boring, although I admit the plot twist made me cry.” Yes, lately many things made you cry and it wasn't because of your moon in Pisces.

Anderson nodded. "Exactly! I couldn't even finish watching. I fell asleep."

“Anderson, would you excuse us for a minute?" Reid's appearance was a surprise, his insistence on talking to you wasn't.

"Of course, see you later." Then once Anderson left, Reid stood in front of you.

"What's wrong?" He got straight to the point, not like the previous times.

"Me? Nothing's wrong, I'm perfectly fine." But the drumming of your fingers on your coffee glass gave you away.

"Oh, of course." He crossed his arms, oh no, it seems his infinite patience turned out to be finite.

You immediately took a defensive stance. "Yes. I was perfectly fine before you came to interrupt my conversation with Anderson."

"About movies?" He didn't say it, but you knew he thought it was a nonsense, at least now that he was definitely irritated.

“Yes!" Your outburst earned you a few glances from the other agents. But both were too wrapped up in the tense conversation to deal with them.

"Sure, you have time to talk to other people about movies, but you don't even say a damn good morning to me.” You had to be careful what you said, you were in unfamiliar territory now, as Reid didn't usually swear.

"You're overreacting." Yeah... That probably wasn't the most brilliant thing you've ever said, but you were trying not to give away your secret, at least not yet.

“Overacting?” He was offended by your words. “You talk to everyone in the building except me. You used to spend as much time with me as possible, did I do something wrong?” A hint of fear and insecurity crept into his annoyed tone.

You shook your head. “Of course not.”

He put his hand on your shoulder. “Then tell me what’s wrong.” His tone was firm, but not harsh. Although it was obvious that he wasn't making a request of you.

"Spencer, I already told you that nothing is wrong with me." You emphasized the nothing.

He exhaled in frustration, he was 90% sure that this would work. "Fine! Then don't tell me anything." His patience had run out and he wasn't going to beg you anymore. It had been a week like this and he couldn't take it anymore, so he let go of your shoulder and walked away without even looking at you or giving you a sweet kiss on the cheek.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

Everything was dark, you reached for the light switch and then the spotlight illuminated your apartment. It was a less warm space without Spencer there.

You sighed before throwing your bag on the couch and closed the door.

You stood there for a couple of minutes staring at the lonely space. Well since you became Spencer Reid's girlfriend there weren't many lonely nights, mornings or afternoons.

You would definitely prefer him to be here right now, rambling or mumbling a foreign language movie to you. But for now you had to keep your secret, and that meant keeping Reid away.

The growl of your stomach snapped you out of your mind, so you headed straight for the fridge. But the smell of something made you nauseous, so you immediately ran to the bathroom to empty the contents of your stomach on the toilet.

Yes. You had to hurry to sweeten this horrible memory with a concerned Spencer who would hold your hair and rub your back while you threw up.

After dinner and take a warm shower, you were tired enough to do anything else, so you settled into bed to sleep. But your brain had other plans…

"You look... not very awake." Tara commented as soon as you dropped your coat on the back of your chair.

"I only slept three damn hours," you nearly growled before throwing yourself into the chair and running your hands over your face. You needed a liter of coffee.

Tara stopped typing on her computer and looked at you. "Is this something to do with your strange behavior the last week?" When she got no response, she said your name seriously.

You pulled your hands away from your face. “I…” you began to fiddle with the rings on your fingers, the burden of unspoken words beginning to weigh on your shoulders. "God, why does everyone suddenly care about my fucking life?" You opted for annoyance as the perfect disguise for your vulnerability.

"Hey. None of us want to bother you, but we care about your life because we are your friends and we love you." Tara used a serious tone, like a scolding, but there was genuine affection behind her words. "Besides, Reid is suffering because of your attitude."

A pang of guilt hit your chest. “I don’t want to hurt him.” You whispered.

“I know.” She walked over to your desk. “But you’re hurting him, even if you don’t mean to.”

You swallowed before looking up. "It's just that there's something..." You took a deep breath, this was harder than you thought. "Things are changing, things are definitely going to change if I say this, it's going to be real and I don't know how to feel about it. I need someone to tell me what to do, because I feel so lost."

Tara placed one of her hands over yours. "Well, if I'm going to help you, I need you to tell me what's wrong." Her voice was warm.

"I want Spencer to know first." But your half-hearted answer was enough for her to know.

"In that case you should tell him, because none of his PhDs include mind reading." She made a little joke that actually made you smile.

"Yeah, I know. He'll probably solve everything out like he always does." Then you looked straight at his empty desk, at the nameplate: Spencer Reid. "But I want to give him a surprise, something that will make him happy. I can't just walk up and say hey…” Then you forced yourself to close your mouth when you realized you were going to say more than necessary, although in reality Tara already had her suspicions.

"Okay, I'll help you." She sounded very determined and you really appreciated her help and that she wouldn't question you as much as the others.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

You spun around in your chair and then had an epiphany, but not like the Taylor Swift song. "Crossword!" Your excitement got you the looks of several agents in the bullpen, luckily one of them was Tara.

"With a secret message?"

"Yes. It's literally the best way." You said excitedly.

But in your mind everything was easier than it really was.

You ruffled your hair as you forced yourself to think more, giving you a splitting headache. "When did I think this would be a good idea? Doing a crossword puzzle for the average person is easy, but not for a genius with an IQ of 187." You dropped your head onto your desk.

"You need help."

"But who's as smart as Spencer?" You muttered defeated, still with your head hidden between your arms and the wood of the desk.

Someone ruffled your hair. “Mhm. Tesla? Einstein?”

You immediately raised your head, only to see the famous Derek Morgan. “They’re dead.” You snorted.

Morgan raised his hands in peace. "Hey, what's the bad mood, baby girl? I just answered your question." He let out one of his signature laughs.

You rolled your eyes. You wished you could turn off some damn switch that was responsible for making you so easily angry. God, WHY? You were starting to get desperate.

"Blake!" Another epiphany, you were really on top of it. You didn't even explain it to Tara, you just ran to the parking lot to get your phone which you had forgotten in the car.

Alex Blake was happy to help you put together a crossword puzzle for Spencer. Although she warned you that he once solved one in about five minutes.

Yeah, well, you were going to take the risk.

Once the crossword puzzle with the secret message was ready, you set out to find Reid.

As you were leaving Garcia's office he was getting out of the elevator, but he didn't even notice you. He continued on his way and god, why did he look so attractive?

"Spencer." You caught up to him as he walked up the stairs.

"Not now, I'm busy." He replied with a seriousness not typical of him.

"With what?" You frowned.

"I said I'm busy." I didn't even look at you as he continued walking to the conference room.

You called out to him, but he ignored you. “We need to talk.” You said seriously, raising your voice.

He stopped in his tracks immediately, freezing halfway. He had never experienced anything like this before, but he knew well what we need to talk meant.

He turned to look at you, with an expression that betrayed nothing of what he truly felt. "I said I'm busy, we'll talk later." That didn't convince you. “I have to do a geographic profile and you have to work on victimology like Hotch asked you to.”

The end was near? You were beginning to doubt and he was very sure, only that he would delay it as much as he could.

∗⋅✧⋅∗

You were about to give up, but you really needed him to know. So you resorted to plan B.

"Derek Morgan, my favorite person in the world." You appeared in front of him, with a big smile.

Morgan let out a light laugh. "Yeah sure, what can I do for you, gorgeous?"

"I think Spencer is upset with me."

"He definitely is." He said it without hesitation and it definitely didn't help the state of your aching heart.

"Okay..." You handed him the crossword puzzle. "Could you please give him this for me?"

He picked up the crossword puzzle. "If you think he's going to forgive you for avoiding him for a week just by giving him a crossword puzzle that he'll finish in two seconds, you might be right."

"Just give it to her, okay?"

"Of course. But in exchange for Penelope being the godmother.”

You immediately frowned, but you reacted a little late because Morgan had already left to deliver your order.

From your desk you watched everything. From how Morgan entered the conference room to give Spencer the crossword puzzle to how the bastard answered it in five minutes. When it took you like three hours to do.

But the best part was when he realized the secret message and ran out of the conference room.

But when he saw you, his quickened steps took on a much, much slower pace.

"Tell me what's true." His low tone sounded like a plea.

A slight smile appeared on your face. "Yeah. That's why I've been acting weird, you know I can't keep secre-"

Your words were cut off when his lips met yours. In a kiss so sweet and soft that it was enough to dispel every single one of your doubts.

A few seconds later, he pulled away from the kiss, leaving you wanting more.

He caressed your cheek with his thumb. "You didn't have to do a crossword puzzle to tell me you were pregnant."

"I wanted to surprise you." You whispered.

A smile that could light up this whole town formed on his lips. "I love you so much." He then kissed you warmly again.

🏷️ @floraisunwell

And so it was that the foundations that had crumbled with Maeve's death slowly re-emerged. They began to build themselves again with your arrival and now with this news, their foundations were stronger than ever, because at last he was going to have the family he had dreamed of for a tortuous time.

[controld3vil]

SO PROUD OF YOU

pairing: sinister invincible x gn!villain!reader

synopsis: You had reasons for everything you did. Letting Mark was one of them.

notes -> the finale was crazyyy reader has invisibility powers and can create force fields cw: canon typical violence, exes to enemies trope, angst, post-break-up, foreshadowing (if you caught it)

The first realization that the world may never get better came when you witnessed the brutal fight between Mark and his father, Omni-Man. You had been a superhero for as long as you could remember, once standing side by side with Mark before he became Invincible. You knew him before he was the symbol of hope the world would come to depend on. He had always admired you, and you believed that you would make the world a better place with him by your side. 

But that all changed when Invincible fought against Omni-Man in a violent and brutal battle that left cities in ruins and innocent lives lost in the crossfire. You watched as the father and son clashed, unable to reconcile their differences and the destruction that followed fell personal.

It wasn’t just that fight that shook you though – it was Mark’s unwillingness to take the hard, necessary steps to protect Earth from those who would harm it. You found yourself growing more and more frustrated with his hesitation, his refusal to do what was necessary. You had always believed in his potential to be the hero that the world needed, but after everything that happened, you started to wonder if that potential was holding him back. 

It all came to a head one day when you confronted Mark after another failed attempt to stop a threat – Angstrom Levy. The villain had managed to escape yet again after Mark had spared his life in a moment of mercy. The destruction and chaos Levy had caused was like an endless cycle and Mark’s reluctance to finish it once and for all fueled your frustrations. 

“Mark, why didn’t you just finish it? Angstrom Levy – he’s gone again, and you’ve given him the chance to hurt more people, maybe even your family. You had him! You had the chance to stop everything and you just let him!” You voiced, frustrated. 

Mark shakes his head, trying to explain. “I couldn’t. He’s not like… I can’t just kill someone in cold blood, even if he’s a threat. I don’t want to be that kind of person.”

Your eyes narrowed down at him, a bitter tone escaping your mouth. “And what about all the people he’s hurt? What about the families he destroyed? What about all the lives he’s endangered? You don’t think your mercy is just another way of allowing people to get hurt?” These bitter and gnawing thoughts pile up from your subconscious as you step forward. “You can’t keep fighting with this idea that everyone can change. Some people don’t deserve a second chance.”

He looks at you and looks away hesitantly. “I... I don’t want to be like my dad.”

“Look around, Mark. The world is falling apart, and you’re trying to hold onto this.. this naive idea that mercy will fix everything. Wait until another intergalactic being invades Earth, and then what?” You scoff, with a bitter laugh, offended by his reasoning. “The only way for us to survive is to take matters into our own hands. And if killing those who deserved it to keep us safe, then it’s worth it.” 

Mark’s eyes open wide, voice trembling in disbelief. “Wait.. what? No… no, why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true and you know it!” You raised your hands, frustrated. “You can’t save everyone, Mark. It’s not until Angstrom comes back with more little tricks up his sleeve and then? More lives will be gone, cities, towns, more people will die.”

“You can’t be serious.” 

“I am. And the sooner you understand this, the sooner you’ll realize how all of your failures to finish the job cost lives.” Your eyes are hardening, voice is absolutely in every fiber of your body. Having known each other for a long time, you rarely argued with Mark. But this was one of the very few instances where it was needed. Mark’s world has been the same since he got his powers. He still couldn’t grasp the consequences of his actions. Every time he wanted to negotiate with a villain or talk it out was a waste of time. 

“I thought you were better than this, Mark.” You stared at him in disbelief. “I can’t– We can’t do this anymore.”

“No– no.” He gripped both of your hands, terrified of the thought of you leaving – giving up on him. “You can’t just give up on us.”

“Why can’t I?” You snapped. “Mark… I don’t want to argue with you every time I see you. This isn’t healthy.”

“Oh really? Says the person who made a deal with The Order!” You thrashed your arms away from Mark, knowing he would bring it up sooner or later.

“At least they understand–”

“Oh, I understand.” You can feel his intense stare at the back of your head, hoping – pleading with you to turn around to see the truth. “You’d rather get involved with criminals than help me fight whatever alien or extraterrestrial creature that is trying to invade Earth!”

No words were spoken from either of you. It felt as though all of the frustrations the two of you built between one another had spilled out into the room. The tension lingers, and you hold onto it like a buoy to a ship in a stranded sea. 

“This is never going to end, Mark.” You whispered, picking up his exhausted sigh from all the shit you’ve pulled. “What I’m doing with The Order has done more good than GDA in the last month. Face it, we’re never going to work.” When you finally turn to look at him, the first reaction you felt was sorrow. Because Mark looks distraught and almost willing to give everything up. He’s always had a strong heart but seeing him so broken and emotional, all because of you was enough to break your heart into a million pieces. 

Both of your hands cupped his face, your thumbs tracing the fallen tears. “Let me go.”

“No–”

“I mean it, Mark.” You give him a weak smile, attempting to lighten the mood. “After everything we’ve been through, I can’t keep following you down this path of mercy you always talk about. Because the world just got a lot bigger and I can’t avoid losing you because you can’t fucking kill.”

Your name slips out as a desperate plea. “If– If I go down that path, I’ll just be like my dad… I can’t…” 

“I’m not asking you to.” You hummed, with a smile never reaching your eyes. “All I want is for you to let me go.” 

And he did and you fucking cried over it. 

For a while, you went AWOL on Cecil and the GDA. You didn’t answer their calls and ignored every chance they visited your door. Cecil was mad – disappointed in your resignation because ultimately you were a great asset, he might even say you were one of the good ones. The ones that didn’t question his intentions and moved on with the job, because in your heart, you knew this was for the greater good. He’d guessed along the lines of catastrophe after catastrophe, you couldn’t handle the pressure. 

Mark did you a favor by never giving any information about you. He prevailed with his promise and continued to fight bad guys and help the Guardians. But after your disappearance, he felt you left a hole in his heart. 

Even if he couldn’t call you, news about Invincible followed you everywhere, even underground. 

“So Invincible caught you.” 

“Yeah, how many times do I have to tell you?” Your new acquaintance with Multi-Paul was still fresh and annoyingly frustrating to work with. Your boss, Titan, had close ties with Master Liu, Paul’s boss and crime lord. “He was an asshole.”

“Hey,” As you stood up from the chair, standing opposite of Paul. Titan told you specifically that Paul needed to be broken out, simply because Mister Liu insisted on it. He had more power over Titan and that made him paranoid about what he was able to do. So he consoled you, hoping you would be able to compromise with Paul to lay low for a bit longer before you decided to help him break out. “I just need you to postpone this a bit longer. Titan–”

“I don’t negotiate with Titan. I work for Mister Liu and when he says I’m out, I’m out.” The assassin scoffs, dangling his carbon seal handcuffed to prove his point. “I don’t work for you so whatever your boss told you to do, it won’t work on me.” 

“Stop being an asshole for a second and listen.” You sneered, slamming your palm against the metallic table separating the distance between you two. “All Titan asks is to wait a few more days. That’s all, and then he and I will break you out. Mister Lie agreed to this.”

“I gotta hear it from him then,” He mockingly grins, as he senses how thin your temper is getting. But in the end, you knew he was messing with you. So as you prepare to leave, he says another thing. “And while you’re out there, give my thanks to Invincible. I’ll be waiting for my rematch.” 

You rolled your eyes, not even taking a glance at the inmate before leaving the premises. 

Titan called you on the premises when it happened. When the world went to shit and buildings started collapsing. You barely left your home, understanding what it all meant. You lived in the city and witnessed firsthand what kind of chaos these enemies were capable of. As you rushed past frightened citizens, you watched as a quick flash of yellow zoomed past another building. 

“Don’t worry about me, kid. For now, just focus on helping the people move out of the city. The heroes can’t handle this all by themselves.” You gripped your phone against your ear, as you slowed your jog, looking back and forth where to go. Your mind was racing so fast like on a race track. 

“What about you, boss?!” You urged. 

“I got it under control. Look, watch your head, and contact the others. We need to make it out of this alive.” Titan reassures desperately and hangs up. You stare at the blank screen with frustration. The others? They’re probably dead by now, how are you supposed to contact anyone? 

Seeing humanity crumble so easily made you feel a bit sentimental. It reminded you back to why you got into the superhero business in the first place. Initially, you believed your powers were a gift from grace. As fate chose you to help and save others when times were tough. To a point, your parents and the GDA supported that theory when you joined the task force at the ripe age of twelve. You didn’t know back then but you were setting yourself up for failure the moment you decided to become a superhero. 

Because being a superhero was not always stars and rainbows. You became a prolific figure alongside the Guardians of the Globe and Teen Team. You were always under mentorship by one of the heroes, acting as a sidekick for the day. And eventually, when you got older, you outgrew the program and began to serve the GDA full-time. 

There were small instances where the GDA offered you a civilian life, such as going to public school, allowing you to pursue your interests and take courses that would benefit your abilities. That was how you met Mark. But the fact was he knew you before you officially became a superhero. You both came from the same elementary school, passing mutual greetings ongoing to high school. At some point, you both hit it off and became something more.

Up until Mark got his powers. 

Part of you wished you hadn’t met Mark at all to prevent this type of awkward tension. Because now you can’t even look him in the eye without remembering your last conversation and saying goodbye. 

But you also have to remind yourself that breaking off with Mark was the reason for your fight for the greater good. You joined The Order and now under the mentorship of Titan, you saw what real cruelty was amongst the streets. 

Even now, as you pushed off massive boulders for people to get through to the other side, you had hoped to find another one of your associates somewhere in the middle of this mess. Smog, smoke, and fire lingered everywhere no matter where you turned. You couldn’t see straight without brushing the particles aside with your hands. The hot smell of roasted corpses was unbearable but also a reminder that the perpetrator was nearby. You could sense something, flying past you any second. 

In a quick splash of yellow, you thought you saw Mark. But you knew your mind was playing tricks on you. He didn’t wear the typical yellow, black, and blue suit anymore, not after his fight with Omni-Man. But the figure was zooming in fast velocity, you were sure it was him. 

“You can’t just stay away from danger, can you?” 

You didn’t want to believe it but even with dust flying everything – your bloodied combat outfit and exhaustion creeping up into your body, you wanted to believe it was your mind playing tricks on you. But it wasn’t that simple. There he was, Mark– Invincible hovering over you feet above the ground, arms crossed with a completely stoic expression. 

His attire, with alternating colors of yellow and black, made him stand out like black lettering on white paper. He was intimidating, exuded dominance, and stared down at you like a piece of meat. You didn’t know how to feel about it. 

“You’re not him.” You sneered, taking a few steps backward to relay the distance between you further. 

“No, I’m not.” He lowers himself, only now barely touching the street floor. His goggles shield you from his real expression, what he’s really feeling. It makes you queasy, sick to your stomach to the anticipation of what he wanted from you. To him, you might just be another insect, ready to be squashed. 

“What do you want?” You already knew he could feel your heart beating faster. Your heightened sense, your shaky hands – all of those symptoms made you feel like cattle to a butcher shop ready to be slaughtered. Was he going to play with his food? 

“Never thought I’d see another you.” He clenched his fists together. “It’s a shame, you had to go out like that.” 

“I don’t want to know,” you scoffed, without thinking you lowered yourself into a defensive position. “Look, whatever you and I had in your world doesn’t exist here. And right now you’re trespassing.”

“Trespassing? Is that what you call it?” This time, this Invincible cracks a smile, a reflection of cruel mockery. “Listen I thought about killing you all over again from the moment I stepped foot into this god-awful universe. But now?” You take a slow breath, slowly anticipating the worst. “Now, I’m kinda enjoying this version of you. Not naive or fragile, god you’re nothing alike.” 

“I could say the same.” You glared at him, warning him of the next words he anticipates saying. “And unlike him, you’re actually willing to kill people.”

“Really?!” He sounds genuinely surprised, almost chuckling. “He sounds pathetic.”

At that, you can grind a little. “The Mark from this world couldn’t finish the job of killing Angstrom, and now look at it.” You glance at all of the burning bodies and buildings his doppelganger has made. 

“And out of everyone, I didn’t expect you to be so happy about it.” There’s a smirk on his face, as his teasing is the only thing bringing you down. “You know, back in my world, you’d be the first to resist this kind of control. Always complaining about innocent lives and humanity–”

“Well, I’m nothing like them.” As if you were insulted by the fact he was even bringing that version of you. “Are you here to kill me or not?”

“Nah, I wouldn’t do that.” He could if he wanted to. But for some reason, this version of Mark was much more sinister. He had this kinda taunting tone about him. Even when destruction and chaos surrounded him, he didn’t care. He was looking at you like prey. All this time, you’ve been trying to stall and keep yourself alive. “Torturing you sounds so much better.”

“So what’re you waiting for?”

Then you disappear from the cool sensation of disappearing from the world around you. The air felt heavier, but you were hidden. You can hear him, his every movement amplified by your heightened senses. The sounds of his boots scraping against the cracked asphalt made you shiver, he hadn’t moved but was scanning the perimeter. You couldn’t have gone far, with your abilities, he knew you were trying to stall for time. You were like a ghost, slipping through the cracks and seams. 

He lets out a cold chuckle, as if knowing exactly where you are, though even he couldn’t see you. “You really think you can hide from me?” His tone was colder, sharper.

Without hesitation, he shot forward, his body spiraling forward with immense speed and precision. The air itself shuddered around him as he tore through it, a blur of power and rage. You shifted to the side, avoiding the devastating punch that would’ve shattered you in an instant. 

You almost tripped, momentarily visible, but before he could track your movements, you blurred out of sight again, leaving a singular trace of your presence. You were tense, terrified of his capabilities to kill you in an instant. Your heart was pounding out of your chest, and you were sure he could hear it from above. 

This was the first step, staying out of his sight. You peeked at him slowly, feeling the air shift with every movement he took. 

Suddenly, Mark stopped and turned his head, eyes narrowing. “I can feel you. You can’t be invisible forever.”

You slipped behind a crumbling pillar, fathering your focus. This time, you reappeared out of thin air. You summoned a force field, a shimmering wall of energy that surrounded you like an invisible shield. Your hand extended, and with a thought, you shaped it, making the force field extend outward as a curved barrier in front of you. 

Mark flew toward you, his body moving at lightning speed. Before he could land a punch, you activate the force field, raising between the two of you two. His fist collided with the barrier with an ear-splitting crack, as the force of the impact sent shockwaves through the air. He staggered back, his surprise evident as he gritted his teeth. 

“You think a wall will stop me?” he scoffed. 

You smiled, only slightly. “It’s not just a wall.”

You expanded the force field outward with a burst of energy, sending it toward him like a tidal wave. This caught him off-guard, knocking him backward and sending him crashing into a pile of rubble. He groaned, trying to push himself up. His arrogance was still there, knowing you’d just ticked him off. 

When he rose to his feet, you phased out of the visibility, disappearing again silently drifting through the air. You weren’t just hiding, you were waiting for the right moment. 

His eyes scanned the area. 

Before you could summon another force field, without warning, he shot his fist, punching through the air toward your previous position, hitting the ground with explosive force until there was nothing left in his path. Your invisibility faltered momentarily, revealing your position for a split second, just enough time for him to latch his eyes on you. 

And then he slammed his fist into you before you could react, sending you tumbling backward into the broken street. The blast shook your balance, your head spinning, yet you managed to summon a small force field just in time to shield you away from the debris and fall.  

“Had enough yet?” Sinister Invincible taunts, hovering above you. Even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew he was looking at you with distasteful disdain. “Or would you prefer I make it quick?” 

Before you could answer, a sickly distortion ripped through the air, warping space and time around you. The world seemed to twist in on itself, as your senses exploded, running in every single direction like being caught in the middle of a violent storm. Everything spun, everything shifted.

In a blaze of neon green, the city was gone. 

You felt the ground crack beneath you as you were swept away from your surroundings, pulled through space and time into an entirely different location. The world around you shifted, the landscape morphing and distorting like it was falling apart. You activate your force field instinctively, as you shield yourself from instant shifts. The change overwhelmed your senses, and your heart raced. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked around, disoriented.

There was nothing. The landscape was barren – cracked earth, shattered remnants of buildings, jarring metal from the ground like skeletons of a dead city. The sky was an eerie, sickly blue, the only thing you realized that was normal from this reality. There was no sign of life, only the depressive atmosphere. It was a world where hope had died long ago. 

“What the hell just happened?”

[rcmclachlan]

Am I using the 8x16 spoilers as a way to deal with the loss of my own dad almost three years after the fact? I'll never tell!

+

"They want me to say something."

The warm brick wall pressed up against his back shifts a little, and the bed dips beneath their combined weight with a worrying creak. "'They' who?"

From what feels like miles away, Buck wonders how old the mattress is. Standard advice says to change your mattress every ten years, but he's read you should do it as soon as six. He hopes the bed is relatively new. It's insanely comfortable and he always sleeps so well, not to mention all the memories he's made in it. The very thought of hauling it out to the curb so the city can throw it in a dump makes his eyes prickle for the two-hundredth time in the last half hour.

"You can't get rid of the bed," Buck murmurs, staring at the white dresser across the room. It's the only thing in his direct line of sight. He hates the pulls on it. They're too old to be retro and they make the bureau look like it doesn't belong. "You ate me out for the first time on this bed."

Tommy presses a kiss to his head like he's hiding a sigh in Buck's hair. Which he might be. Buck should probably be annoyed by that but he can't muster up the energy.

"So, those are two very separate ideas," Tommy says. "Let's table the bed thing for now."

Hah. Furniture pun.

"Who wants you to say something?" Tommy's always good at following threads of conversation, no matter how they split and weave into something new. He never loses track of that original stitch.

Buck closes his eyes. "A-Athena. She asked if I would say something. At the uh, the..."

He can't make his mouth shape the word. His teeth dig into his bottom lip and he tries to force air around them, to make the 'F' sound, but something in the back of his throat blocks the way.

"Gotcha," Tommy says simply. The arm slung across Buck's chest tightens like a seatbelt during a hard brake. "Is that... something you're comfortable doing?"

"I don't know," Buck says. "I don't know what I'd even say."

The ugly drawer pulls are starting to look like faces. Screws for eyes, the handles for mouths. The way they curve makes it look like they're laughing. If he asked Tommy to get rid of them, he knows Tommy would immediately head down to the garage to get his electric drill. He'd destroy this antique for Buck without asking him a single question.

Hen thinks he's in shock, but he thinks shock's supposed to wear off after a few hours. It's been almost four days since they got the text from Athena—it's him—and he's still existing outside his own body. Every feeling he's ever felt has been vacuumed out of him. Even when Tommy showed up on his doorstep at the end of the first day, eyes rimmed red and glassy, all Buck could say was, "I've never mourned a dad before. Come to show me how it's done?"

Tommy had wrapped Buck up in his arms and said gently, "I've never mourned a dad, either. I'm just here for you."

Loneliness is a bad reason to get back together with someone. Grief is even worse. He wants to say love is behind his desperate refusals to let Tommy leave the house, even for groceries, but he's not sure if it is. But he also knows that without Tommy's seat belt arm around him, Buck would've flown through the proverbial windshield on day two. Maybe it is love. He vaguely remembers what it felt like.

Maybe he needs to bake something. He'd get out of bed to make lemon tarts, but his bones have dissolved. He's just a sack of skin and blood.

"What would you say?" He stares at the open mouths of the drawer pulls and realizes they're not laughing, but screaming. "If it was your father?"

Tommy leans back a little. Buck tenses, then relaxes when Tommy's mouth smears a kiss over his shoulder.

"Mine? Probably 'ashes to ashes, dust to dust, let's now shove this asshole in the earth's crust.'"

Buck huffs with humor that feels like it's coming from two rooms over. "Seriously."

"Seriously." Buck can feel Tommy shrug. "I have nothing to say to him now and I doubt I'd have anything to say if he was dead. But my situation would be completely different."

"How's that?" Buck thinks about rolling over to see his face so he doesn't have to look at the dresser anymore, but then he remembers he doesn't have any bones. Looks like he's stuck here.

"I'd be burying my father. I'm never going to have to bury a dad."

Buck says nothing for a moment. "They're the same thing."

"They aren't, and you know it."

Thank goodness he's belted in by Tommy's arm, because his mind drives wildly across the country to 25 Elm Street, Hershey, PA, where Phillip Buckley is probably puttering around his office, on the phone with someone at his company who needs advice about how to close some multi-million dollar deal. Buck imagines him freezing mid-step, maybe dropping the phone for a little bit of extra drama, then clutching his chest before collapsing to the floor. He thinks about how he would feel getting the call from Maddie.

Maybe that's the difference. If his father died, he'd feel something. Mild shock, maybe, and probably wistful sorrow, thinking about all the time they'd wasted. He'd fly to Hershey and hug his mom when she cried and stand in the receiving line at Hoover Funeral Home and shake people's hands and thank them when they said they were sorry for his loss.

But the world wouldn't lose its color. It wouldn't feel like Buck's heart was fighting for every beat. He wouldn't need Tommy's arm at all.

"I don't know what to... how do I begin to distill what Bobby... what he meant to me?" Buck's eyes prickle hotly. Maybe he'll finally cry. He hasn't yet, which is weird. Usually his taps go on at the drop of a hat. "How do I keep it to, what, three minutes? Is that how long I'm supposed to talk for? T-That's impossible."

"That's a good place to start, actually."

"What, saying there's no way I can keep it to three minutes or less?"

"That you can't condense what Bobby meant—means—to you." Tommy kisses his shoulder again. "Admitting something's too big for you to put into words... well, a lot of people will know exactly what you mean."

"Saying it makes it real," Buck whispers.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's real if you say it or not."

Maybe it's because Tommy sounds so apologetic about telling the truth, or maybe it's because Buck's soul is currently divorced from the rest of him so he's able to hear the other thing Tommy's saying. Whatever it is, it makes his vision swim. Through the blur, he can see a little bit of color eke back into the room. The dresser isn't white; it's light blue.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, Buck rasps, "He's dead."

"I know, Evan," Tommy says, strained, like he's in pain. Like Buck's realization hurts him too.

"Tommy, my dad's dead."

The thing that's been blocking his airway rolls away, and the sob that's been waiting there patiently for days finally tastes freedom. At the same time his soul slams back into his body, his bones rebuild themselves, which gives him the ability to roll over and bury his face into Tommy's neck to muffle the sound of his cries.

He doesn't know how to keep Bobby Nash to three minutes, and even if he manages to come up with something, they'll give him the hook before long. He doesn't know what to do with all the feelings that have broken out of the vacuum and settled right back where they'd been. He doesn't know how to do any of this.

But right now, no one's asking him to. Right now, all he has to do is sit with it.

The seatbelt around Buck's chest tightens, but it doesn't feel like it's because of a hard brake. Tommy is just holding him closer.

[yanderefarm]

yandere vampire's pet

cw;; dehumanization?, blood, vampires, humans as pets, yandere, angst, suggestive

this is the last named and drawn oc i have ready. i still have two more concepts in my drafts but they're not finished yet.

this might not show his yandere tendencies as well as characters like ares or emil but he's more of a self destructive type. he's more likely to hurt himself for doing something wrong than he is likely to hurt someone for touching you.

also i had to include the vampire guilt and angst im only human (human with a guilt kink)

you're a vampire lord in a world run by vampires with a yandere human pet who you found in a run down human farm after he basically threw himself at you. who clung to your leg and insisted he tasted so sweet you wouldn't regret taking in. who you took pity on seeing his scarred neck and decided to take him with you home.

you fed him and brought him to full health in a year. on the anniversary he begged on his knees for you to make him your pet. you complied. you didn't expect the preservation procedure that would allow him to stay with you forever to mess up his brain. or maybe this was always his personality.

he begged you every day to feed on him. he would sneak into your bed chamber and cut his neck to wake you up. he would sit himself in your lap around noon and undo his shirt buttons to give you easy access. if you dared to refuse him he would cry and beg so pathetically.

you made him this way why didn't you want him? he would often cry until you feel guilty for destroying his humanity. you always gave into him. he always got clingier. he tried not to get in your way during work but one day you let him lay his head on your lap and sit in your office quietly all day. so you had to let him again the next day.

if he really pushed too far you would lock him in an old attic room. oh how he sobbed. you would open the door the next day to be met with his bloodshot eyes that held no light. he would kiss your shoes and cling to your legs while he spoke hoarse apologies. you always forgave him and carried him in your arms to eat breakfast.

on the occasions that you two went to a party held by your fellow vampire lords he would always try to show off. you'd buy him new clothes and a new ribbon to hide his old scars. he liked being the most beautiful arm candy for you. it wasn't unusual for high quality pets to get passed around at these parties. at the end of the night he would often find himself in a strange bed, dizzy from being bled and pathetically crying for you.

your dear pet had spent the whole night being ravaged while you were doing business. his naked and used body laying in the unfamiliar bed, barely conscious. you sighed as you sunk onto the bed, your added weight causing him to shift slightly but he made no noise. usually by now he would be sobbing and reaching wildly for you, those degenerates must have really worked him hard.

you reached out and played with a piece of his hair. "I'm sorry, you poor pathetic creature."

your cold lifeless hands gently brush against his warm cheek. his body finally shifts a little, instinctively pulling away from the cold. you can't help the sad smile that falls on your lips seeing that. you forget how cold you are with how he clings to you at every opportunity. you can smell his blood right now and the tug of your instincts tells you to feed. you forget that you're a monster with how he treats you with such adoration and reverence.

"your life would have been better if you never met me." you push his hair away from his neck, revealing the old scars with fresh wounds scattered among them. your fingers brush against his pulse and he gasps.

you watch his olive eyes blink open slowly, they look almost too heavy to open. you want to gently close them like one would a corpse but the wide smile that spreads across his face stops you. if your heart could still beat you're sure it would have skipped.

"good morning." you said softly.

he used all his remaining strength to wrap around your waist. "y/n..."

his voice is so hoarse and he sounds so exhausted but there's the undeniable happiness. you guide his head to your lap, cold fingers twirling around his hair again.

"was i good...?" his eyes blinked slow again.

"yes. you were so amazing again tonight." you felt the weight of guilt pressing against your chest.

"reward m'...~" you knew he was asking you to indulge in him as so many others had tonight so you just ignored him.

you gently gathered him up in your arms, the top sheet draping over his body. you grabbed his discarded ribbon off the bed before you began carrying him out. the ribbon was sat on his stomach and his weak hands fiddled with it idly. he seemed to be too deep in thought to let sleep overtake him again.

"master... 'm glad you made me...." he nuzzled his head against your chest.

"your father made you." you corrected as you approached your carriage.

"no... y'... made m' y'r pathetic creature." his eyes finally started to close. "so glad m' life is master's.."

[insidekatmind]

Rival Hearts~Sensei wolf

Request: yes!

The Sekai Taikai had finally arrived, the tournament that brought together the best dojos from around the world, an opportunity only the greatest sensei could seize. Glory awaited the victors, while defeat would be humiliating for anyone not up to the task. Among the most anticipated participants were two legends, who, despite their shared past, hated each other with all their hearts: you, the legendary "Cobra Queen," and Sensei Wolf.

Once, you and Wolf had shared not only the dojo but also a passion that burned like a wild fire. Your relationship had been intense, filled with love and rivalry, but in the end, between secrets and misunderstandings, it had collapsed. Every word of farewell had been heavy, yet necessary. Now, however, you were here again, side by side, but on the Sekai Taikai stage, with your rivalry resurfacing, stronger than ever.

Your black kimono fit your body perfectly, a sign of power and authority. Cobra Kai was your dojo, your world, and you were the queen who ruled it. You didn’t need to say anything to be respected. People looked at you with admiration, but you knew the only thing that truly mattered was winning. And your rival, Wolf, would test you like no one else.

The moment you saw him, your heart leapt to your throat. He, with his unmistakable style, with his dojo, Iron Dragon, which had never lost its reputation. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes sparkled with that same determination you had seen a thousand times in him. Only this time, there was no tenderness. There was only rancor.

When you approached, he lifted his gaze and his eyes met yours. That same look that had made you tremble once, now only gave you the feeling of wanting to destroy him. But you didn’t stop, you advanced with a provocative smile.

"I thought you retired, Wolf," you said, raising an eyebrow, "I didn’t think you were still capable of doing anything useful for your dojo. Or maybe you think coming to this tournament will help you regain some dignity?"

His smile was cold, sharp. "Ah, the queen of cowards. I see you haven’t changed, always ready to throw jabs. But it seems to me that the only coward here is someone else. Maybe you’re here just to escape the fact that your dojo is nothing without me."

His words struck you, but didn’t make you waver. "Iron Dragon is a thing of the past, Wolf. Now I’m the sensei of Cobra Kai, and I put my blood, my heart, and my determination into it. I don’t need an old wolf to prove who I am."

The tension between you was so thick that it seemed the whole room had frozen. The crowd around you was silent, waiting for the confrontation to begin. It was clear that neither of you would be willing to back down. This battle, somehow, had to be won, and the Sekai Taikai would be the perfect stage to prove it.

"Then prove it to me, Cobra Queen," Wolf said, his voice low and filled with disdain.

You smiled, but inside, the anger was palpable. You knew what it meant to have the last word. "With pleasure, Wolf. Prepare your dojo for the dust, because you won’t escape."

It was a conflict that went beyond a mere competition between dojos. It was the showdown between you and him, between two broken hearts and a past that couldn’t stay in the past. And now, the Sekai Taikai would be the stage for your final battle.