Superpowers story - The Nutcracker
The fluorescent light in Mia’s cramped studio apartment buzzed. She stood in front of the closet mirror, hands on her hips, glaring at the shiny red spandex clinging to her frame. The hem pinched her waist, the neckline dug into her shoulders, and the material strained across her chest. “Did they get bigger again?” she muttered, prodding the swell of her left tit with two fingers. It jiggled faintly. “Seriously?”
Twisting sideways, she sucked in a breath. At 5’11” with broad shoulders, Mia had never been subtle. But her boobs? They were their own supervillain. Even the reinforced stitching on her homemade costume couldn’t tame them. It was hard to be taken seriously when your boobs were the size of basketballs. But her biggest problem was her weak telekinesis. Fourteen rejections from hero guilds this year. Fourteen. “Should’ve been an inflatable raft,” she grumbled. “At least then these things’d be useful.”
She dropped onto her bed, mattress springs squealing. Her telekinesis flickered weakly at her fingertips—enough to levitate a 20 kg dumbbell, but not much else. Guild recruiters called it “underwhelming” compared to her physique. “You’re built like Valkyrie Prime,” one had said, scrolling through her application, “but your TK is too weak to be useful. Stick to weightlifting, kid.”
Mia flopped backward, fists clenching. Screw them. But her throat tightened anyway.
---
The alley behind Rudy’s Pawn Shop smelled like rotting Thai food and desperation. Mia shuffled past dumpsters, clutching her gym bag. Third job interview today—another security gig for washed-up sidekicks. A high-pitched yelp cut through the stale air.
“C’mon, Rach,” slurred a voice. “Just a lil’ kiss. For old times—”
Mia froze. Under the flickering streetlight, a hulking man in a stained tank top loomed over a woman half his size. The woman—tiny, barely five feet—leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Dark curls, ripped jeans, a smirk showing despite her annoyed face.
“You’re drunk, Carl,” she said. “Go home.”
Carl grabbed her wrist. “Don’t play hard to get, you bi—”
The woman moved.
One second, her hand dangled limp. The next, it darted between Carl’s legs like a viper. Mia blinked. She couldn’t see the grip, but Carl’s reaction painted the picture. His face drained to corpse-gray. Knees buckled. A wet, guttural moan leaked from his lips.
“H-holy shit—” Mia breathed.
The woman stood on tiptoe, whispering sweetly as her fist clenched. Carl’s scream shattered the alley. “MY BALLS MY BALLS MY FUCKIN’ BALLS—PLEASE—”
“Uh-uh.” The woman tilted her head. “You called me a bitch, right? Say it again. Louder.”
Her fingers twitched. Carl’s nuts squished audibly under her palm, twin lumps flattening. He retched, bile splattering the asphalt. Tears streamed down his stubble. “I’M SORRY I’M SORRY PLEASE THEY’RE GONNA POP—”
“Nah.” She leaned closer, serene. “They’re tougher than that. Wanna know how I know?” A twist of her wrist. Carl’s legs shot straight, heels drumming the ground. “Because I’ve done this before.”
Mia’s heart hammered. Carl’s wails crescendoed—raw, animal, delicious. The woman just laughed, adjusting her grip. “Look at you. Big man. Big stupid man. All that muscle… and your weak spot’s right here.” She gave a final squeeze. Carl howled, curling fetal as she stepped back.
“Pathetic,” she spat, wiping her hand on his shirt.
---
Mia didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until spots danced in her vision. Her telekinesis prickled, synapses firing. Target the nuts. The idea burned through her skull like wildfire. A twitch of her mind… and even weak TK could crush…
She grinned.
---
Mia’s apartment became a lab. Watermelons from the bodega sat on her kitchen table, their green rinds gleaming under a battered desk lamp. She hovered a hand over one, brow furrowed. Telekinesis prickled at her temples. “Focus,” she muttered. “Small. Precise.”
The melon twitched. A faint dent appeared near the stem—then exploded in a wet crack, pink pulp spraying the ceiling. “Shit!” Mia yelped, ducking. Chunks slid down the fridge. “Too much spread. Think needle, not hammer…”
By week’s end, she could pop cherry tomatoes without bruising the plate beneath.
---
The suit felt tighter tonight. Mia tugged at the neckline as she scaled the fire escape, her tits threatening to spill over the reinforced elastic. Definitely need a better tailor. Moonlight glinted off the red spandex stretched taut across her chest. Below, Grant City’s docks pulsed with danger—shouts, breaking glass, the occasional scream.
Her first mark appeared at 11:47 PM.
“Gimme the purse, grandma!”
A lanky guy in a ski mask waved a switchblade at an old woman clutching her handbag. Mia dropped silently behind him, breasts heaving from the sprint over. No stealth with these milk tanks, she thought ruefully.
“Hey, Jorts.”
The mugger spun. Mia struck a pose—hands on hips, chest thrust forward—and watched his eyes bug. “The fuck…?”
“Let’s play a game.” Her telekinesis coiled like a spring. “You guess where I’m gonna grab you… and if you’re right, I stop.”
He lunged.
Mia’s mind twisted.
An invisible vise clamped the man’s crotch. His scream rattled dumpsters. “AAAAAGH! MY NUTS MY NUTS MY—”
“Bingo!” Mia sauntered closer, spandex thighs swishing. She rotated her wrist like turning a dial. His balls flattened under telekinetic pressure, twin orbs mashed against his pelvic bone. Crunch. The man folded like origami, vomit geysering onto his sneakers.
“Funny, huh?” Mia crouched, cleavage threatening to spill onto his shuddering back. “All that big bad energy… undone by two little marbles.” She tapped his temple. “Maybe invest in a cup next time. Well, not that it would work but...”
---
Word spread fast.
By month’s end, Grant City’s underworld buzzed with warnings:
“Don’t mess with The Nutcracker—she’ll squeeze your balls flat.”
Mia leaned into the rep.
“You boys really need to man up,” she’d laugh, telekinetic claws raking a carjacker’s groin until his testicles looked like stomped plums. “What’s wrong?” she teased a bank robber curled fetal around his swollen sack, cheeks slick with snot. “Don’t like it when women… take charge?”
The cops hated her. The Hero Guild raged about “unlicensed brutality.”
Mia didn’t care.
Watching grown men weep over their bruised nuts…
Best. Superpower. Ever.
---
Mia’s pulse quickened as she recognized the figures materializing under the parking structure’s flickering lights. Vanguard Prime. She’d plastered their posters on her dorm walls as a teen.
Spectra, their leader, hovered with effortless grace, her silver-and-indigo bodysuit rippling like liquid mercury. Gravitational waves distorted the air around her—a living black hole wrapped in the physique of a ballet dancer.
Beside her stood Titan Protocols, his hulking exo-armor whirring softly. The helmet’s visor hid his eyes, but his stiff posture screamed military rigor. Mia knew his specs: reactive plating, shoulder-mounted nanite launchers, and a voice like gravel in a blender.
To his left crackled Voltling—18 now, not a kid anymore—her neon-yellow bodysuit glowing with stored current. Pink streaks shot through her braided hair, matching the arcs dancing between her fingertips.
“Holy shit,” Mia breathed. “You’re… you’re them.”
Spectra landed, her smirk widening. “And you’re the girl who crushes crime stats—and testicles.”
Titan shifted, armor joints creaking. “Unorthodox methods.”
“Effective methods,” Spectra countered. Her gaze drifted to the groaning thug still cradling his swollen nuts. “Reminds me of The Mauler incident.” A soft laugh escaped her. “Ten-ton heel drop right on his ‘invulnerable’ sac. He retired to a monastery.”
Voltling snorted. “Dude screamed like a little girl!”
Mia’s grin threatened to split her face. They’re fans.
Titan’s visor retracted, revealing a scarred face and ice-blue eyes. “You bypass armor. How?”
“I don't need to see my targets, I can feel them,” Mia said, tapping her temple. “Cups, codpieces, whatever—I feel the squish underneath.”
A muscle twitched in Titan’s jaw. Mia didn’t miss how his armored hand drifted toward his groin.
**Flashback:**
A locker room. Titan—younger, unarmored—laughing with his college football team. His girlfriend’s voice cuts through the steam: “You forgot our anniversary AGAIN?!” A cleated foot pistons between his legs. The sound—a wet walnut crack—haunts his nightmares. He vomits on the tiles, teammates howling with laughter as she stalks out. “Enjoy your tasting your nuts!”
Voltling bounced forward. “We’re voting on your probationary spot! I say yes, Spectra says ‘if she stops dressing like a rejected stripper’—”
“—and I say it’s reckless,” Titan growled. “One trick. Limited range. No defensive utility.”
Spectra spoke, ignoring him. “You’d report daily. No excessive force.”
“Define ‘excessive.’”
“No ruptured testicles.”
Mia fake-pouted. “Spoilsport.”
Voltling thrust a tablet at her. The screen showed schematics for a black-and-crimson battle suit with kinetic padding. “Boob armor! See? Shock-absorbent gel compartments!”
Titan turned away, shoulders tense. Mia’s telekinesis brushed his armor’s groin plate. He jerked like electrocuted.
“Relax, Tin Man.” She winked. “Guild rules mean I can’t pop your precious pods.”
“This is a mistake,” he growled.
Spectra extended a hand. Gravitational energy hummed in her palm. “Well?”
Mia stared at the offered hand. Vanguard Prime. The dream. But…
A whimper drew her gaze. The last conscious thug had crawled behind a pillar, hands cupping his battered nuts.
“Conditional acceptance,” Mia said, telekinetically yanking the thug’s ankles. He slid toward her, shrieking. “But tonight’s patrol’s not done.”
Spectra laughed—a rich, dangerous sound. “One last squeeze?”
“Tradition.” Mia clenched her fist. The thug’s balls flattened to bruised pancakes as he wailed. Titan looked away, jaw clenched.
Voltling whooped. Spectra’s smile said welcome to the team.
The offer letter arrived at dawn. Mia’s finger traced the embossed Vanguard logo.
PROVISIONAL MEMBERSHIP GRANTED.
ARMOR FITTING: 0800 TOMORROW.
P.S. scrawled in Voltling’s loopy script:
Gel compartments feel like marshmallows!!! —V
Mia set the letter beside her nightstand photo—a faded Vanguard poster, Spectra mid-flight. She glanced at her reflection, hefting her chest with a smirk.
“Time to upgrade the suit.”
---
Brutalizer’s roar shook the abandoned warehouse. Eight feet tall, muscles like knotted steel cables, and fists that could crater concrete—but Mia’s eyes locked onto the sagging gym shorts straining over his other assets. Each testicle hung like a grapefruit, unprotected, swinging with every thunderous step.
“Focus fire!” Spectra barked, gravity waves rippling from her palms. Brutalizer staggered as the floor beneath him warped, but he flexed his tree-trunk thighs and charged.
Voltling’s bioelectric whips snapped at his legs. “Slow down, big boy!”
Mia’s telekinesis clawed at the brute’s groin. Normally, she’d flatten nuts to pancakes in seconds. Now? It felt like squeezing a truck tire. “Why won’t they crush?!”
Brutalizer grinned, teeth yellowed. “You’ll hafta try harder, titty bitch—”
A gravity blast from Spectra slammed him sideways.
---
**Titan vs. Velocity**
“You drew the short straw, tin can,” Velocity sneered, a blur of neon spandex.
Titan’s armor whirred, targeting scanners struggling to track her. “I insisted to take you on alone. I’ve handled speedsters before.”
“Bet you didn’t handle this.”
A sonic crack—and Titan’s groin plate clattered to the floor. His guts lurched. Fuck! Not my balls again!
Velocity reappeared, twirling his armored codpiece. “Aw, look at these widdle vulnerable nuts!”
**FLASH PUNCHES.**
Her fists became a piston storm, each strike landing exactly to the center of his testicles. His nuts flattened against his pelvis, then rebounded, over and over.
“GAH—STOP—STOP!” Titan gagged, collapsing. His nuts swelled to plum-sized horrors, skin mottling purple.
“Begging already? Heroes these days…”
---
**Team Fight**
“Trip him!” Mia yelled.
Voltling’s whips coiled around Brutalizer’s ankles. Spectra reversed gravity beneath his left foot. The giant toppled backward, falling on the floor like a felled tree.
“Fry him!” Spectra ordered.
Voltling unleashed a million volts. Brutalizer convulsed, muscles locking.
“My turn.” Spectra levitated, heel-first, above him. “Weight multiplier: ×10.”
Her drop shattered windows. Brutalizer’s scream hit dog-whistle pitch as his nuts compressed into bruised patties.
“He’s done,” Spectra panted.
Mia stomped forward, steel-toe boots glinting. “Not quite.”
**CRUNCH.**
Her kick spiked his left nut upward. “That’s for ‘titty bitch.’”
**CRACK.**
The right nut ricocheted off her boot. “And that’s for… being ugly!”
Brutalizer’s eyes rolled back. Vomit pooled beneath his cheek. His testicles pulsed, swollen to twice their size—lumpy, purple, but intact.
Voltling whistled. “Overkill much?”
“He deserved it,” Mia replied, grinning.
---
**Titan’s Agony**
Velocity’s fist blurred—a final uppercut to Titan’s ravaged nuts. He dry-heaved, curling fetal.
“Weak,” she said, giggling. Then froze, spotting Brutalizer’s twitching form. “Shit. Better bounce.”
A sonic boom—and she was gone.
Spectra floated over, grimacing at Titan’s pulverized groin. “Need a medic?”
His voice was shattered glass. “J-just… kill me…”
Mia crouched, wincing at the damage. “Yikes. Looks like a stomped Halloween pumpkin.”
“S-said… tactical liability…” Titan wheezed.
Voltling snapped a photo. “Blackmail secured!”
---
**Aftermath**
Medics stretchered Brutalizer away, ice packs tented over his grotesque swelling.
Spectra eyed Mia. “Brutal. But efficient.”
“Told you my methods work.”
“They do.” The leader’s smile turned sharp. “Still… That poor Titan's nuts, maybe try to give him a break.”
“Deal.” Mia paused. “Unless he really pisses me off.”
Voltling cackled. Titan, hopped on painkillers, muttered, “God help us all…”