#he's twice as feral as his leader

[whumpbby]

Anyone who argues that JC didn't have to "play nice" with other sects because Yunmeng Jiang "didn't have it that bad"...

Yunmeng Jinag was decimated to the degree Wei Wuxian HAD TO start raising dead bodies to fight for them. And it wasn't something done lightly in that universe - it was the opposite of what a cultivator should be okay with.

If they had the numbers, that would never be needed. He still might have done it - to add to the effort in the only way he could now - but if they didn't need it, JC would have made it clear to him.

Lotus Pier was Jiang's seat of power that was slaughtered in a surprise attack. A seat of power isn't just staffed by disciples - that's where people lived who ran things for the sect, kept track of money, laws, taxes, infrastructure, education, artisans, servants, everything. I'd bet that's where the rest of the extended Jiang family also lived - aunts and uncles and cousins and elders, and so on. The lord's house is not just a nice mansion - it's the capital.

People who knew how to run things - who were meant to help Jiang Cheng once he stepped up to the role of the Leader - were gone. And all their knowledge with them.

He not only had to replace the disciples who fought for the sects - he had to replace the whole infrastructure of the sect and rebuild their capital to house them all. Any disciple that joined during the war needed to be fed and clothed, and trained and given a place to sleep - and the same for their family. How many of the people who joined Yunmeng Jiang had their families to feed and clothe? Who was going to pay for that?

Wars are expensive to run when you have the infrastructure for them - without that? It's insane what JC did at the ripe old age of late teens. He had to kiss so many asses.

And the fact that a little more than a decade later Yunmeng Jiang is the one sect you don't want to mess with isn't only down to Jiang Cheng being an angry grape who takes offence.

I imagine these people who have joined the sect under the kid leader and stuck by his side through thick and thin, and saw him rebuild the Jiang into one that is rich and safe and plentiful.

The veterans of Sunshot worked hard after the war - to get the infrastructure back in track, to go out and protect the civilians from the problems that the resentment brought in by the war brought, to get people and materials (in a post-war economy!) to rebuild their capital, and somehow still find the time to mourn their own dead... I can only imagine they have closed ranks tight! Especially seeing the other three great sects forming a pact they were suspiciously excluded from (and it wasn't concerning at all, was it?). Gusu, Jin and Nie had someone at their back at all times - Jiang had only themselves. So, closing ranks it is.

I can absolutely see the Jiang sect as a close-knit community that came together in the middle of a tragedy and pulled through, and didn't feel they owed anyone. They are not ones to cross, because they're all taking offence. Jiang Cheng doesn't even need to hear about shit going down and react to it - people in purple will break knees with minimal reason, because they will take absolutely no shit from anyone.

That sort of fame - whatever you do, don't mess with them - doesn't come from the people who were sorrounded by support and kindness when they needed help.

I remember seeing a post that said something along the lines of 'Jiang Cheng is the hero of someone else's story' and I have never seen truer words. Something I've always found odd is the way the wen remnants dilemma (wwx telling jc to kick him out of the sect, the staged fight, etc...) is often (uncharitably) framed (by you know who) from a single pov (wwx's) and almost never from one of the other big players; the yunmeng jiang disciples.

And tbh, if I were a ymj disciple who joined the sect after losing my home, family, friends, etc... to the wens, just fought in what was likely my first war, and was aware of the fact that despite our success in, and the end of, the Sunshot Campaign, we were still in deep shit because of our political, economical, structural, numerical, etc ... vulnerabilities, and I found out that the sect leader I followed into war was making decisions that had the potential to lead us into ANOTHER war, this time with us fighting for people we don't know, who never helped us directly during the Sunshot Campaign, through an act that painted a target on our backs by going against the very structure of our society, then I would start to question whether I made the right choice in joining ymj in the first place. Even JC just, idk, separating himself from ymj so his personal actions didn't reflect on his disciples (i.e. so he could support his shixiong) would have still been bad because then he would have been leaving his disciples without a leader (with no one in the position to be declared his heir), and leaving them vulnerable to be overcome by other sects. Wasn't the whole reason A-Yao killed Mingjue because Mingjue was causing problems for Jin Guangshan politically? And even if you argue 'well, jc should have asked his disciples if they wanted to help', what leader would want to ask the people under him, who have already lost soo much, to potentially give up their lives for someone else's cause, no matter how just?

Being a single person's ride or die is only cool when it's not detrimental to others and jc being wwx's ride or die definitely had the potential to be detrimental, and wwx himself understood that. They had different priorities, and were trying to protect different people.

In the same way that your identity shifts from being an individual to being someone else's parent when you have a child, becoming a leader has that same effect. I wouldn't be surprised if during the Sunshot Campaign, JC stopped seeing himself as Jiang Cheng, and rather as Sect Leader Jiang. Call me crazy, but I'd appreciate having a leader that would be willing to make hard choices, no matter how much the choice would hurt them personally, in order to shield the people under their protection, and that's basically what Jiang Cheng did🤷🏾‍♀️

[winterzsurprise]

Ride me? || Miguel O'hara

Pairing: Miguel O'hara (Spider-Man 2099) x F!reader

Tags: Overstimulation, rough sex, choking, squirting, vaginal fingering, big dick Miguel, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), fang kink if you squint.

Words: 1.8k

Summary: Just when you thought he's exhausted enough from chasing Miles Morales and had given you the chance to actually ride him, Miguel has other plans.

This man evokes something so feral in me that I forgot I was suffering through the worst writer's block. He got me giggling and twirling my hair yesterday at the cinema wtf. I used my very limited Mexican Spanish knowledge from watching streamers flirting in a block game for this.

cariño - honey || mi vida - my life || mi amor - my love || guapito - handsome

Miguel isn't the type to let someone control the pace, even if he did, his hands grounded on your waist would soon guide your hips into a rhythm he prefers, hard and fast.

You've been hearing the ruckus down the spider webs, something about another version rebelling against the usual stories of every Spider-Man in the multiverse to save his dad. Knowing that your husband sits at the top as their leader, you expected him to disappear for a long period of time.

Not that you mind of course, he's had plenty of times he charges in to handle an anomaly himself.

You do have to give some kudos to the kid for trying to change reality though. After Miguel's story, nobody in the headquarters, even you, dared to defy the fates laid upon every Spider-Man.

It's been three days since he left and honestly, you didn't expect him to arrive yet. A person deterring from the fates of every Spider-Man would be hard to handle, you couldn't even imagine how difficult it'd be.

So when the doors to your apartment flew open and came to him, practically drooping from exhaustion, you were surprised.

He came earlier than expected.

"How'd the chase go?"

"I don't want to talk about it. Come here." 

Drying your hands off on the towel hanging from the wall counter, you made your way to the man laid spread and heaving on the couch. His head tipped back with his usually neatly gelled hair now haggard and messy, he looked up when he sensed your presence and immediately pulled you onto his lap.

You laughed. "Don't fall asleep here, I don't want to carry your heavy ass."

His lips tugged into a weak smile, his pointy canines briefly appearing.

"Spider-Man is supposed to help the weak, are you really ignoring a civilian in need?"

You didn't get what he meant until he pulled your hips closer, dragging your core over the tent on his pants.

You hit his arm. "Go to sleep, you must've been really tired after chasing that kid around."

"Then ride me."

You paused before narrowing your eyes at him. He's baiting you with the very thing you've wanted to do since the beginning. But the dark cloud of lust in his eyes somehow convinced you of his genuineness.

His talons dug onto your flesh, hard enough to take control of your hips to grind on top of his dick sensually while keeping eye contact with yours. You couldn't ignore the pleasure and jolts of heat electrifying and burning your nerve endings alight at every drag of your heat over his.

"I want to feel you baby, I miss you so much."

Miguel pushes you down on his hardness and you moan, the feeling of his girth finding home between your legs shot electric pleasure down your spine.

"You are a convincing man."

"And you love it."

You lunged for a kiss and instantly, one of his hands threaded itself onto the back of your head, locking you in place as your lips danced against each other in a fierce battle. The raw hunger after being starved for a week now surfacing and consuming you both, mind and body. 

His other hand guided your hips up and down his clothed dick, his deep groans and growl lit fireworks in you, igniting your determination to coax more of them out of his lips.

"Get rid of the pants or I'll rip it off of you."

"Rip it then."

He didn't need to hear you twice. 

In one quick motion, he tore your sweatpants into two before doing the same thing to your panties and throwing them somewhere in the room. He groaned as his head fell onto the crook of your neck, hands crawling up to cup your breasts before your top and bra suffered the same fate as your other clothing.

"The pants, only the pants! I loved that bra!"

"I'll buy you something better, from another universe even." He responded, almost breathless as your scent invaded every speck of his senses. Miguel groaned. "Fuck, I miss this scent of yours baby."

"I don't care, get rid of the suit."

His attire dissolved into thin air and retracted back to god-knows-where, revealing his ruffled shirt and grey sweatpants that did nothing but proclaim his clear desire for you.

"Let me prep you real good, huh?"

Retracting his talons, two of his fingers delved into your heat, immediately drenching itself with your arousal and he groaned.

"So wet for me, mi amor."

"Only for you, guapito."

Two of his digits rolled your clit sensually and with the dexterity of an experienced man, urging more of your arousal to coat his fingers further. Once he was satisfied with the amount of fluid now dripping into his pants, he wandered lower and lower until he plunged his index in, curling it up so deliciously you moaned and grinded your hips onto the slow plunge of his hand.

His eyes watched your heat like a ravenous man holding back, the feral look on his face only pulled you closer to the edge.

And it's only a finger in.

"So tight, mi vida. You treat me so well."

He added two fingers in and you screamed, his pace now rapidly gaining speed. Your eyes rolled back as your hips thrashed and clumsily followed his thrusts, there was nothing else that mattered more than coming for your darling in that moment.

Miguel groaned, watching your face twist into the most sinful display of pleasure he has ever seen. The pride and smugness from knowing it was all because of him made him smile.

Only he could see you in such a state and no one else.

You clenched around his digits, tempting him to finally take the dive. Although his fingers coaxed pleasure out of you with no problem, you missed the feeling of his dick carving your insides, stretching you thin and reminding your cunt who it belongs to.

But Miguel ignored the bait and instead hastened up while curling up to push on your g-spot. You almost blacked out from the euphoria he feeds you, a coil in your stomach tightened and you moaned.

"I'm cl-close… Fuck!"

"Give it to me baby, I want it all."

It didn't last long until the coil exploded and your arousal squirts out of your cunt to drench Miguel's shirt, whose gaze turned a shade darker at the scene when you peered down to meet his gaze.

A tense atmosphere rose from his mere gaze and goosebumps prickled your skin. Your heartbeat jumped through the roofs as you stared back at his dark eyes, he triggered your spidey sense.

And for some sick reason, it only ignited the simmering arousal in the pits of your abdomen.

"Fuck the ride, you're not getting up until I say so, cariño."

You barely sensed him flipping you both, with you now seated and spread on the sofa while he stood in front of you, hastily removing his remaining clothing as if it angered him.

It didn't take long until his hand cautiously wrapped around your neck and his other, pinning your hips as he plunged himself deep into your cunt. You screamed as he pushed more of him, inch by inch. He stretched you out to the point of no return, the burn of his cock carving you open once more made you light-headed.

And he loves nothing more but seeing the cock-drunk look on your face.

Miguel grinned, his fangs protruding so attractively. "God, I love how fucked you look for me, cariño. Give me more."

He pulls and plunged himself back in, shooting hot white pleasure in your body. Miguel didn't wait long before his usual hard and rough pace started. The hand around your throat tightened and your mind turned woozy from the lack of oxygen, his thrust taking your breath away only evoking the feeling of nirvana within you.

He drove in you hard and quick enough you can distantly hear the couch legs wincing as it gets pushed back with every plunge of his dick.

"Fuck…!"

"That's right darling, I'm fucking my sweet cariño open and wide for me."

The electric shocks the head of his cock briefly grazing the head of your uterus sent your legs flailing on his sides. Growing bothered by them, he halts to rest them on his wide shoulders and wraps his arm around your thigh before entering somehow deeper into you.

Your hands found his meaty thigh and dug itself onto it and it encouraged him to go even faster, pushing you closer to the edge and you swore you could see the pearly gates of the heavens.

"I'm co-coming…! Miguel!"

"Give it to me baby, you know how much I love seeing you convulse so helplessly around me."

The hand on your throat left to find purchase on your clit, rubbing you as fast his cock plunges into you.

With a scream, you came. 

Your legs trembled violently on his shoulder as more of your arousal spurts out of your heat, white hot pleasure burned and stirred every nerve ending awake as your eyes rolled back.

But this doesn't seem to be enough for Miguel who only took a break to see your thighs convulse before continuing his thrusts.

You hit his thighs as he kickstarted another orgasm now bubbling in the pit of your stomach but he paid no heed. 

Not that you minded of course, if anything, it only pleases the sick bastard in your head, wishing to be used and fucked so well by your husband like it's your sole purpose.

"I'm so close, baby. Can you give me another one? Surely you can, right?"

His fingers rubbed your clit to the point of pain yet it somehow enhanced the pleasure growing larger in your chest and you screamed. Miguel bent down to rest his sweaty forehead on your shoulder, in the clouded state you were in, you could make out the sharp points of his canines pushing down your skin.

The threat of his bite shot jolts down to your heavily beaten cunt, once again tightening its coil. The frequent groans and low growls escaping his lips alone told you he's near to climax.

And with that, he's dragging you down with him.

"Please please please, give it to me…!"

"Yes, cariño. Anything, Anything for you."

With a couple of thrust, scorching hot explodes inside of you and Miguel slows down, almost into a halt as he rides down his high. The face of pure unadulterated ecstasy painting his face, along with his fingers, you came with another shout.

When he's calmer, he lets his sweaty body fall into your arms before reaching around to do the same. 

As your breathing returns to normal and the fog in your head clears, Miguel places a gentle kiss on your temple and cheeks.

"I love you so much, cariño."

"I love you more, guapito."

[sayafics]

No More Chances

Rick Grimes x reader

Oneshot

It's probably the dirtiest thing I've ever written, but I have no clue if it's actually good😭 but it is my first actual xreader fic, so hopefully, i did okay.

Warnings: smut, spanking, daddy kink, slight dub-con

Masterlist

Abraham had spotted you first - a small and timid little thing hidden in the darkness of the container at Terminus. You had whimpered and shied away from them as he called to you, asked you your name, and how you had gotten here.

The truth was you didn't know. Not really.

All you had known were the four walls they had kept you confined in, and even then you hadn't known how long it had been.

Days. Weeks. Months?

It all felt like a blur, drifting in and out of sleep, terrified they would come and take you to the place they had taken countless other poor souls who had never returned.

It seemed it didn't matter how long you had been there or how scared you were, Abraham wasn't someone who gave up so easily. He poked and prodded and questioned until you opened up hesitantly, introducing yourself with a dry and cracking voice, strained from disuse.

There was something familiar in your quietness, in the way you spoke softly and asked questions with such bold curiosity, the way you settled in so easily despite just meeting him and the people he travelled with. It reminded him of a life long gone, children long passed, and it was then he decided he would take you in and care for you as his own.

When they had escaped from Terminus, Abraham had been the one to drag you along with a tight grip on your forearm, never letting go and repeating the same three-worded instructions at every step - "stay close, kid."

If the others had noticed his peculiar behaviour, they hadn't said much. Nor did they think to look twice.

You had been trapped with them, suffered perhaps more than they had at the hands of Terminus, and lost more than they could imagine. It bound you to them in a way they couldn't deny.

Well, all but one man.

Rick Grimes.

Stubborn and angry and feral. A wolf disguised as a man, a predator prowling around your form like he was waiting for a moment of weakness before he striked.

But you never gave him the chance.

You barely spoke to the man, sticking to Abraham, who you slowly saw an older brother in, and Rosita, a dear friend.

You picked up where you had left off with ease, holding your weapons with comfort as though they had never left your grip and swinging them in raw instinct, taking out everything that stood in your path.

You could hold your own, a fact Abraham praised you for. Still, it didn't stop Rick from treating you like a child - not letting you join Daryl on hunts despite him promising to keep an eye on you, denying your requests to walk ahead of the group in case they ran into walkers or trail behind in case someone snuck up on them. It was as though he saw you as a child, and the thought grated upon you.

It continued, for all the long days and cold nights you spent on the road to the harrowing days you spent adjusting to Alexandria.

Even when Rick had taken charge of the community, a fierce and powerful leader, he made sure to use his voice to do nothing but deny you your freedom.

It frustrated you to no end.

Perhaps that's why you were doing something as stupid as this.

Rick had said you couldn't join them on the run, said if you stepped a toe out of line and disobeyed him as you had many times before he would teach you a lesson so you never did so again.

He always made threats like this, it was simply another empty threat.

Or at least you had hoped it was.

You walked through the woods near Alexandria - if Rick wouldn't let you scavenge with him and Daryl, then you would have your own little adventure.

All had been going well until you burst through some shrubbery to be met with the groans of dozens of walkers.

A hoarde.

It wasn't as big as the ones you had seen before, but it was too large to handle alone.

You could do nothing but stumble away, running in the direction you prayed was back to Alexandria. But it seemed fate was not on your side, as everywhere you turned, there was nothing but more walkers.

Your breath caught in your throat, heart sinking with dread as your eyes burned. This couldn't be how you went out.

No.

You wouldn't let it be.

You looked around you, searching with eager eyes for a tall and strong tree. You sprinted towards it, grateful for being a natural climber as you clambered your way as high as you could get.

You would wait them out, hope they disappeared and left you be.

And they did.

But it had taken hours. Night had fallen, and your eyes had slipped shut as you leaned back against the tree trunk, knowing you would regret choosing to sleep here when you woke in the morning.

When you had woken the next morning, it had taken you the space of a breath to realise the walkers had finally let you be. And it took the space of a heartbeat to realise you had been missing the entire night, and though Rick may not have noticed your absence at first, Abraham and Rosita would have.

Shit.

You chambered down the trees hastily, almost losing your footing multiple times before jumping down the rest of the distance. Small scratches littered your arms, and you were lucky your cargos protected the soft flesh of your calves and thighs.

It was fine, you told yourself.

Rick had never followed through on his threats before. It would have to be a cold day in Hell before he started today.

If anything, the man did everything in his power to avoid you. This would simply be another one of those times.

If she was lucky, it would only have to be Abaraham's admonishing she'd have to endure - perhaps Rosita, too. But Rick? He would give her that stare he always did, like he was disappointed at her rebellion. Frustrated at her disobedience.

Something else darker always laid beneath his gaze, something she had never been able to make out.

When she drew closer towards the gates of Alexandria, she debated sneaking over the gates and pretending as though she had never left.

But it seemed fate had beat her to it once more.

Carol stood on the watchtower, fixing her with an exasperated stare as she turned back slightly to yell - "found her!"

There was a quiet commotion as bodies clambered up the platform, and up rose the figures of a disappointed Abraham. And a furious Rick grimes.

Huh.

Well, double shit.

Rick was heaving with anger, nearly jumping down the platform as he ordered the gates to be opened.

Abraham stayed standing next to Carol, and her heart sank with guilt as she found herself unable to meet his gaze.

She sped up towards the gate, hoping to ask for his forgiveness and pretend none of this had ever happened. It wasn't as though she had gotten hurt.

She was safe. Perfectly fine without a scratch.

Rick's voice boomed, echoing violently in the space between them as he blocked her hurried path to Abraham.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Her lips parted in shock as he made his way forward, his hand took a hold of her face, his fingers pressing into her cheeks forcing her lips out in a pout as his brows furrowed in concern, despite the bubbling anger in his gaze.

"'m fine. Just in the woods, no big deal."

You wouldn't be.

Your words were whispered, like you were terrified to set him off.

He clenched his jaw at your words, but you could see how his shoulders relaxed minutely.

"The hell were you doing outside the gates, sweetheart?"

His voice was tinged with anger, and still, he used that stupid petname he could never put away.

You were sure he hated you. He confirmed it with every glare, with every denial to your requests. But he wouldn't stop calling you that.

You didn't reply, cheeks flushing with embarassment as you pulled your face away from his grip and looked over his shoulder to see your friends armed to the teeth, very likely having gotten ready to search for you as they presumed you were in danger.

You met his eyes, taken aback by the rage that was pouring from them. You couldn't help the way your eyes burned as you shifted on your feet, "'m sorry, Rick. Didn't mean to stay-"

"No. No apologies this time. What on earth were you thinking? Leaving Alexandria without telling anyone? We thought something happened to you!"

You swallowed roughly, unsure of what you could say to make it all better.

It seemed you didn't have to.

"I've had it with giving you warnings only for you to ignore it like the little brat you are," his words were strained and hushed as he tried to hold back from raising his voice and alerting others of his intentions.

"I promised you you'd get punished if you didn't listen to me and stay inside of Alexandria. Not only did you leave the gates, you stayed out the whole night!"

"I didn't mean to! I swe-"

He didn't give you time to finish, hand wrapping tight around your wrist as he began dragging you into Alexandria.

He paused next to Daryl. You gave him a pleading stare, but he only shook his head minutely.

You had messed up this time. Bad.

It was one thing to leave the gates. Another to be missing the whole night and not tell anyone where you had gone.

"Keep everyone out."

Your stomach rolled with anxiety at Rick's words, and Daryl only nodded in ascent. You tried to look back for Abaraham, ready to cry out to him so he could spare you of Rick's wrath.

Rick only tugged you after him once more, "sorry, sweetheart, but Abaraham can't help you this time."

She knew it had been Abaraham who had stopped him from disciplining her all those other times. It seems this time had been too much for him to accept as well.

She couldn't help the tears that pooled in her eyes at the realisation she truly disappointed Abraham. Rick only scoffed as he dragged her to his house, empty aside from his seething form and her worried one.

He closed the door behind them, walking past her as he paced up and down the small living room space. She could only watch him anxiously, shifting on her feet as she watched his shoulders tense and his lips twitch into a familiar snarl. He was so angry.

"I knew you were wreckless," he started, his voice pitched with incredulity, "but you have to be a whole 'nother crazy to go and spend the night in the woods. What if something happened, huh? Did you even think before you left? 'Course you didn't, brat like you thinks of no one but herself."

You ground your teeth at his words, anger fizzling up and replacing the guilt you previously felt.

"Oh, please. You would've loved it if I never came back. Hell, it's your fault I was out there in the first place!"

He stood still from his pacing, his back to her as he looked over his shoulder with narrowed eyes - "my fault?"

"Yes! You never let me do anything. You act as though I'm stupid and incompetent."

"Well, clearly, I was right."

"Oh, fuck you, you son of a bitch. You're always so arrogant," you couldn't help the words that spiilled past your lips, as though months of frustration had finally found an opportunity to make itself known and unburden your conscious.

"You always tell me what to do, like I can't think for myself," your voice gradually grew louder as you drew closer to him, "but I can! I'm so much more than what you think of me. You're not my dad, Rick. So stop acting like it."

He had turned to you fully by the end of your rant, head twisted with a dark smirk upon his face that promised exactly what he had been threatening you with the moment you had joined the group - discipline.

"You done with the speech, sweetheart? The things I tell you to do are for your own good, I'm protecting you."

"Then why does everyone else get to do stuff? You take Rosita and Tara on runs with you, but you make me stay in these stupid walls. Hell, even Enid's left Alexandria more than me!"

"I told you. I'm protecting you."

"That's so dumb, and if you think I'm going to stand here and accept that, you are too."

He clenched his jaw, running a hand over his face before a scoff left him, "wanna know why I don't let you out?"

She didn't say anything, just watched as his eyes grew so dark she could no longer make out the blue hues of them.

"Because you're nothing but a stupid little girl who doesn't know when something is too much for her. 'nd I ain't going to watch you get yourself killed."

Stupid little girl?

Your hands trembled in anger as your eyes darted to the nearest thing. You reached for the throw pillows on the couch, throwing it at Rick's head as he stepped back to avoid everything you threw his way.

"Fuck you, Rick. Fuck you and your stupid saviour complex!"

When you ran out of things to throw, you drew closer to him with fury burning in your eyes. "I have more than proved myself in this group."

You poked at his chest, meeting his eyes with vicious challenge - "I deserve to be here," you pushed at his chest as rage ate you up, "and I don't need you protecting me. You're not my father. You're not anything to me. You're just some lowlife sheriff from a small, forgettable town that gets off on controlling people."

You paused, your face falling at your words.

No.

No, you hadn't meant that. Not really.

You wanted to hurt him, but not like this.

Rick was tough, yes. And so stubborn. But he was a loyal man who would do anything to protect his people, and you knew that included you.

Shit.

You were scared to look him in the eyes, worried you would see nothing but disappoint in his eyes. A more selfish part of you worried that he would walk away, let you be without talking to you again. As much as you hated the way he controlled your every move, a small and guilty piece of your soul craved his overprotectiveness, playing into the fantasy that he only acted like this because he cares.

"Get upstairs."

His voice was devoid of emotions, more of a barking order than anything else.

You finally looked up at him, confusion flooding your face as you took in the fire that burned in his eyes - "what?"

"Upstairs. Second door on the right."

You scoffed, "I'm not some dog for y-"

His hand clamped over your throat, tugging you closer until your noses brushed together and his warm breath fanned over your lips. You could feel yourself grow warm under his intense stare.

"Go upstairs, now. I'll give you thirty seconds before I drag you up there myself, understood?"

When you didn't answer, he squeezed your throat lightly in warning, and you couldn't help but hold back a whimper.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

If you wanted to disobey him, mock him and ridicule him then he would do what he had to, to show you your place. You would learn by the end of today, he'd make sure.

"Yes, sir?"

Your voice trailed off as a question, one that Rick replied to with an amused hum - "we'll work on that."

He took his hand off your throat, stepping back to cross his arms over his chest. You tried to ignore how broad they made his shoulders seem, how large and intimidating he was when he stood over you.

You swallowed harshly before he nodded his head towards the steps and you couldn't help but run up into the room he told you to meet him in.

You didn't have the nerve to look around and see how the man lived. No, your heart was racing with fear as you wondered what exactly he planned to do.

Downstairs Rick locked all the doors, his way of making sure no one could get in. He wouldn't want anyone disturbing the both of you.

You could hear his footsteps growing closer, like a ticking time-bomb. You didn't know what to do with yourself. You stumbled backwards until you reached the window and a glance outside showed how everyone went back to their daily lives now that you'd come back safe and sound.

You tried to look for Abraham, but before you could spot the red-headed man, Rick made his way through the door.

He shut it behind him, hand reaching back to click the lock shut before placing his hands on his hips and scanning for form.

His gaze paused on your arms, tutting slightly at the light scratches left from your frantic climbing of the tree - "arms hurt?"

His voice was quieter, much more passive than it had been downstairs. Still, it did nothing to calm your trembling heart.

You shook her head minutely, to which he narrowed his eyes, "use your big girl words."

You bit your lip in an attempt to hold back any retort but still couldn't stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you spoke, "no, sir."

He shook his head, disappointed in your attitude - "gotta teach you a lesson. That kind of attitude isn't gonna work with me."

You couldn't help but snort light, wondering what exactly he planned to do, "what? You planning on grounding me?"

He didn't say anything, only drew closer to the bed before his hands went to his duty belt. Your heart began to sink in your chest as you watched him throw the duty belt onto the bed, quickly reaching for his actual belt and slipping it out from the loops of his jeans. He folded it in half, slapping it lightly against the palm of his hand.

He pointed towards his dresser with it, the top of it bare, but there was a mirror placed at such an angle that the whole room was reflected in it.

"Bend over on the dresser, trousers down."

You swallowed harshly, eyes widening with incredulity.

"You can't be serious?"

He clenched his teeth, "does it look like I'm joking, sweetheart? Dresser. Now."

"No."

He took a few steps closer to you, "either you willing walk to that dresser and take your punishment like the big girl you say you are, or I'm gonna throw you over my lap and not stop until your ass is too sore for you to even walk straight."

You could tell he wasn't joking, could tell from the way his knuckles whitened as he gripped the belt.

You couldn't help the way your voice quietened as you twisted your hands and shifted on your feet, "how many?"

"Why? Are you scared?"

You couldn't help it when your eyes narrowed in defence, huffing your way to the dresser, kicking off your shoes and not stopping in a show of bravery. It wasn't until you actually stood in front of it that you slowed down, hands trembling as you fiddled with the button of your cargos.

Your trembling hands were noticeable and only worsened when two hands creeped around your waist, and Rick spoke into your ear, his voice almost soft.

He unbuttoned your cargos, your breath catching in your throat as he slipped his hands into the waistband to help push it down your legs and reveal soft, baby-pink panties, "just twenty, yeah? Think that'll teach you your lesson?"

Twenty?

God, you wanted to high-tail it and run.

But he had locked the door. And even if you did manage to leave, you knew Rick would find another way to punish you.

Maybe this was the easiest option. He just needed to calm down, to get over his ego and think he taught you a lesson. He didn't need to know you thought you were right.

You leaned over the dressor, leaning on your elbows as a shaky breath escaped you, "yes, sir."

"Good girl."

You couldn't help the shiver that ran down your spine at his praise.

"Need you to count after every one, hm? You miss a number and I start again."

"What? That's not fair."

"Then you better not miss a number."

You tried to push yourself up straight, not believing he actually meant what he said, "this is so stu-"

Thwack.

A gasp escaped your throat, and you were sure the belt had left its mark on you.

"Get back down and start counting."

You did as he said reluctantly, unwilling to test him when he striked you once already.

"One."

You couldn't help but whimper as he struck the belt again, this time two in a quick succession on the soft underside of your cheeks.

"Two- three."

"Look at you, counting like a big girl. What was it you said to me?"

Rick ended his question with a lash directly on your plump cheeks, relishing how the skin turned red and raised under his strength.

You wanted to retort, but you didn't think you could do more than count without your voice breaking. Your eyes stung with tears, but you held them back, hands clenched into tight fists as you tried to stop yourself from reaching back to cover your abused bottom.

Fuck Rick and fuck his rules.

You wouldn't let him win.

"Four."

You would take every lash and count without breaking.

You could do this.

Right?

"Ah, yeah. That I meant nothing to you, right?"

Three were thrown in quick succession, tears pooling in your eyes as your voice finally broke whilst you counted to seven.

"That I ain't your father?"

Thwack.

This one had been over your upper thigh, the pain radiating towards your pussy and you couldn't help the whine that escaped you as you counted eight, praying he couldn't see how your traiterous cunt twitched and moistened at the strike.

"I'll be the best damn daddy you ever had, sweetheart."

Another three strikes over the same senstive area across your cheeks, the skin already turning a mottled red as you moaned slightly as the sound of him calling himself your daddy.

Fuck.

Another strike hit your cheeks, this one softer as he tutted into your ear.

"My poor baby," your eyes met his through the mirror as you held back a whimper at his words. Tears were falling down your face as you held back a cry. "Looks like my little girl forgot to keep counting."

Your eyes widened as you realised it meant he would start all over again.

Rick couldn't help the laugh that escaped him, a dark cadence that had you shivering as you shook your head at him in the reflection.

He came closer to you, pressing up against your tender backside, the harsh material of his jeans rubbing against your bruised bottom to make a horrible, aching burn. Through the haziness of your tears and hesitant arousal, you could feel something press against your cunt, something big and hard and you knew exactly what it was.

Your hands moved to tighten on the edge of the dressing table, trying so hard not to rub back against him.

"Seems like I'm going to have to start again, huh?"

You couldn't help but break into a sob, "no, no, no. Please, I'm sorry. I don't want more."

He petted your hair, using it to start pulling you to him so your back was flush against his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you in place.

You whimpered as his jeans rubbed harshly against your sore bottom, Rick placed his chin in the crook of your neck, cooing at you through the reflection, "maybe if you ask me really nicely, I'll listen."

You held onto his forearms, your fingers gripping his arm with trembling strength as you whimpered and cried, "please, I'm so sorry. Please don't start again."

"Please don't start again, who?"

"Please don't spank me again, sir."

"Hm, don't think I like that one, sweetheart."

You just stared at him through the reflection, confusion painting your face until-

Oh.

"Daddy," your voice shook as you whined the word, unable to stop yourself from rocking back on him in instinct, "daddy, please. Don't want n'more," your voice broke as you cried softly, "hurts s' bad."

One of his hands drifted to splay over your lower abdomen, using the pressure to push you back against his cock, hissing quietly in your ear.

"See, daddy would believe you baby. But I think you're lying."

Your fingers come to pull at his as they drift lower and lower, knowing he would find your panties damp, "no 'm not. Please-"

You would whine and beg and cry if it meant he wouldn't spank you with the belt.

He clicked his tongue, dropping his hands to stand back and run his eyes over you. He reached forward to drop the belt on the dresser, "I have a better idea, hm?"

He moved away from you, making his way to the bed to sit comfortably on top. He leaned back on his hand, his pupils still blown with anger, but now there was something more.

You watched as he jerked his head at his lap in the reflection, "c'mon baby. Come lie down on daddy's lap and take your punishment like a big girl."

Turning to him, you couldn't help the petulant whine depsite knowing you would get nowhere, "don't wanna."

He scoffed, leaning forward to rest on his elbows, "either you come yourself or I'll bend you back over that dresser and give you fifty."

You fisted the sheets in your hands, burying your face in your arms as he ghosted his fingers over the curve of your back, drifting down slowly over the bruising flesh.

You knew you could barely endure another twenty, so his threat was enough to make you stumble to him, your bottom already much too sore from the incomplete lashings he gave. You stood close to him, and he barely gave you a second to breathe before manoeuvring you over his lap.

There was something different about it this time. Something that felt more intimate, more gentle as he pet your head and murmured for you to count.

The first slap came too quickly - a sharp intake of breath of the pain burned on top of your sensitive skin.

"O-one."

You whimpered into the sheets. These felt worse than the belt, and some part of you wished he would grab it again so it could be less painful.

He slapped another three in a quick succession, all in the same place making you whine and push into him, barely able to hold back a gasp as the rough seam of his jeans brushed over your clothed clit.

Your hand reached back over your sore bottom, but he only tutted as he shifted his legs and used his spare hand to pull your hands away - "try that again, baby and I'm gonna start all over again. Now count."

"Two, three, f-four."

You could hear the sobs you held back as they weighed heavy in your throat.

"Told y' so many times this would happen," there was a quiet fury in his voice, "but did y'ever listen? No."

He slapped you twice, once over each of your upper thighs and despite the way you pushed away from him you couldn't help but slip your legs open a little wider, trying to feel the drag of his jeans against your cunt as something foreign burned low in your gut.

You shouldn't be feeling like this.

What was wrong with you?

You were sure there was a damp patch forming on your panties, and it wouldn't be long until Rick could see it. Still, his voice, the pain, the feeling of his muscled thigh under your twitching cunt. You couldn't help it.

A large smack sounded against your bottom, a cry escaping you.

"Even now, y' ain't paying attention. Do you even realise how dangerous it was that you left? That you never told anyone? What you did was stupid!"

He continued to throw slaps across your bottom, each one bringing you into a fit of sobs and cries as you hid your face in your arms whilst counting. Still, the burn began to grow into something more, and you couldn't help but push down against his lap to try and find some relief.

You had finally reached twenty, and it was as though the final slap across your tender flesh had broken a dam.

You sobbed and cried into your arms, apologies spilling from your lips as a flood of arousal and guilt and anger came over you once more. Anger at yourself. For leaving Alexandria after Rick told you not to. For shouting at him and telling him he meant nothing to you.

For liking the punishment.

Rick pulled up your body, pulling you into his chest. You whimpered as your tender bottom ached when you placed pressure on it. You wouldn't be able to sit down for days. Maybe weeks.

He held you against his chest, hushing you and murmuring praises into your ear as you hiccuped against him -"such a good girl. Took your punishment so good, didn't you? Did so good, baby."

You couldn't look him in the eye, unsure of what you would find. You sniffled quietly, tears calming at his petting and praises.

"You know what good girls like you deserve?"

The cadence of his voice lowered, but there was no hesitation in his words. The hand that brushed your hair drifted to your bare thighs, pushing apart your knees to rub circles into the soft flesh. His other arm tightened around your waist, reluctant to let you go.

"Rick..."

Your voice was shaky, unsure. You had a feeling you knew where this was going, but was it right? You hadn't even known Rick could have felt this way for you, but then again - sex was sex. And this must have riled him up as much as it did you.

He just wanted to burn off energy, and you were here - pliant and submissive to his wills.

His fingers traced their way closer to your panties, slipping under the waistband to stretch it out before letting it slap back against your skin.

"From the look of your panties, I'd say you enjoyed that a little too much," there was a hint of amusement in his voice, "but I think my girl deserves a reward for taking her punishment so well."

My girl.

His girl.

He doesn't give you a chance to reply, fingers slipping into your underwear to trace around the lips of your cunt, dipping in to carefully trace around the hole Rick had been dreaming of from the moment he saw you in that Terminus container - you looked like a quiet and timid girl, but he could see the wildfire that blazed through your eyes. The one that shone through whenever you were too close to death.

He had come to enjoy it and fear it. Afraid to see it because it meant you had brushed death once more, but the sight of it overtaking you burned him in a way he couldn't help but crave.

Your hands came to wrap tightly against his wrist as his fingers finally met your clit, quiet whimpers escaping you. They intensified into reluctant moans as he moved his fingers despite your hold, your hips rocking back into his lap as you whined at the ache of your bruised bottom.

He shushed you, bucking his hips up against the sore flesh as he held you tighter and sped up his fingers. He circled your clit, fingers dipping down to your hole and back up as he leaned down to press his lips against your ear.

"Does that feel good, baby? You like how daddy's touching you?"

You couldn't help but let your head fall against his shoulder, tears burning your eyes as you edged closer and closer.

How long had it been since you had been touched like this?

The only hands that had ever touched you had been your own, and you were sure they never made you feel like this.

Keeping his hands in your panties, he used his other arm to twist you so your back was against his chest. You could feel the subtle movements of his hips as he pushed up against you, and with the pain of your sore bottom, the pleasure of his hand between your thighs and the pleasurable groans of the handsome man behind you, you couldn't help but cant up your hips, encouraging him to move faster.

"Need more, please."

"Please, who?"

"Daddy," you couldn't help it when you moaned out the name, couldn't help when your hands reached back to twist in the strands of his hair and tug him forward as you twisted your neck to place pretty kisses against his jaw. Your head fell back against his shoulders as one of your hands slipped down to join his. He only tutted, biting your ear playfully before pulling his fingers out.

You couldn't help the tears that spilt as you whined for him to not stop.

He didn't listen to a word you said, standing up to throw you higher upon the bed. You watched as he grew frenzied, chest moving frantically with every breath as he clambered upon the bed. His lips reached for your neck, sucking and biting the flesh and leaving deep marks on your skin that you were sure everyone would see tomorrow. Still, you couldn't help but whimper and whine, hips tilting up in search of his heat to press against your own.

He littered kisses down your neck, the fingers that had just been inside of you tracing your soft lips before pushing inside to press against your tongue. You couldn't help but roll your eyes back as you tasted yourself on his fingers, whining as you sucked him clean.

His hand left your mouth, trailing down your throat to leave a wet streak as both his hands reached for your top, only to tear it in half so your breasts could spill from the material. He licked them, laving at them and sucking heavy marks.

His hands went to his pants, undoing the button and zipper to pull out his stiffened cock. You were barely able to take a glance before he filled your vision - him and his blue eyes, so dark and full of lust as he whispered against your lips.

"Gonna fill you so good baby, you want that, huh? Yes, you do. Gonna make you feel so good."

Before you could even whimper in reply, he pressed his tip against your hole. His breath caught in his throat, and your hands came to sit on his shoulders, only just realising he remained dressed whilst you were bare beneath him.

He shushed you, lips coming to press fluttering kisses against the dip of your throat as he pushed in further.

"So tight, baby. Doin' so good- almost there."

Almost felt like forever, your back arching as you ached to pull more of him in with a broken moan. His nose came to brush against yours as he gave shallow thrusts, pushing in deeper with every one. His tongue came to lick the plump flesh of your lips, and you couldn't help the broken whimper that escaped you as your lips parted and your tongue escaped to meet his own.

You moaned when he bit you tongue, feeling the way his lips twisted into a smirk as he pushed himself closer to press his lips against yours.

The kiss grew heated, a clash of teeth and a tangle of tongues and spit and moans as Rick's movements grew uncontrolled. He rocked deeper and further into your pretty cunt until he bottomed out, groaning against your lips as he enjoyed the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him. You couldn't help but tilt your hips down, grinding against him as you searched for friction against your clit.

Rick hiked one of your legs over his hip, lifting the other over his shoulder as he dragged you even closer.

He pulled back from your lips, a string of saliva attaching his reddened lips to your pouting ones as you looked up, seeking his gaze - his pupils were blown, drowning in lust as he pulled back his hips before thrusting back in. The motion jolted your body up the bed, a long whine escaping at the feel of his cock dragging in and out of your cunt with a delicious burn.

Fuck, was this what you had been missing out on for so long?

You suddenly wished Rick has spanked you sooner, especially if it was always going to end like this.

His thrusts were slow, each drag hot and delicious as he pulled back slowly only to thrust in with barley retrained lust. Your hands went to the base of his neck, twisting in his curls, and you tugged his closer to press your lips against his once more. He muttered praises against your lips, slipping his tongue in to meld against your own.

Your hands dipped lower, fingers brushing against the base of his cock causing his to jolt at the sensation, your head tipping back as the tip of his cock brushed against something that had you seeing stars.

Your hands slipped under his shirt, holding back a moan at the feeling of his skin against your palms - wanting to feel more, needing more.

"Rick- please."

His began trailing kisses down your jaw, biting the skin teasingly as he whispered against your flushed skin - "what do you need, baby? Hm? Tell me what you want."

"Fuck- need to feel you. Wanna touch you, Rick."

His thrusts slowed down to a stop, causing your eyes to burn with tears at the lack of stimulation as you reached for his shoulders when he pulled back. He tutted when you whined at him, pushing roughly into your hips, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

He pulled off his shirt, throwing it over his head as he readjusted your legs around his waist and gripped your hips tight. His hands went behind your back, pulling you up so you sat seated upon his lap with your chest pressed against his own.

He started slow once again, hips softly pushing into your own as the shallow thrusts causing your hardened nipples to brush against his chest, already sensitive from his abuse.

Your bottom burned at the new position, but you couldn't help the way it curled into a pleasurable heat as you rested your weight on your knees and took it upon yourself to fuck yourself on his heavy cock.

You pressed yourself further against Rick, panting in the crook of his neck as you hid your flushed face, a hand sneaking between your heated bodies to touch your aching clit.

"Shit. You makin' yourself feel good, sweetheart? Touchin' yourself like that."

"Feels s'good."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes back, pushing down harsher on his lap, desperate for his thick cock to hit that perfect spot again.

Rick bit your ear, a hand coming to wrap softly around your throat - "well, we can't have that now. Can we? That's my job, princess - makin' you cum."

His voice had dropped to a dangerous whisper, squeezing your throat in warning as you grew more desperate against him. His hand dropped to your hip, tightening against the flesh as he pulled you off his cock and positioned you onto all four's.

"Just can't let me have m' fun, can you? Gotta take care of y'rself, like I can't do it for you. Fuckin' brat, you are."

You placed your head in your arms, back arching as you pushed back in search of friction, voice laden with tears are you apologised.

"Sorry, Rick. Please, need you so bad."

"Oh, now you need me, baby?"

His hands came to rest on your bottom, squeezing the sore flesh of your cheeks as you groaned into your arms. He saw how your hole clenched at the sensation, holding back a groan of his own at the sight.

He leaned forward, pressing his hard cock against your cunt and grinding against it softly, ignoring the way you pushed back against him in a silent plea.

"What do you want, little girl?"

"You. Please, need you so bad."

"Need me to do what, hm? C'mon, use your words for daddy."

"Fuck- need you to fuck me, daddy. Wanna feel you inside me, wanna feel good. Plea-"

You couldn't finish your words, voice breaking out into a cry as he thrusted into you in one swoop. A long moan, broken and whining, echoed throughout the room, and you flushed at the idea your desperate voice could be heard from outside the window.

You held onto his wirst as his fingers finally met your clit, leaning back into his embrace as he traced vigorous circles onto your throbbing pussy.

Rick's hand twisted into your hair, tugging you back against him so he could grope your breasts with one hand and touch your desperate, wet cunt with the other. His fingers ghosted over your cunt, his head tilting back with a groan as he rammed into you relentlessly, endless whines escaping you as he brushed over that special place again and again and again.

Fuck.

"Atta girl, this what you wanted?"

You could only nod as you ground your hips against his hand, head tilting back to rest against his shoulder as you placed a hand on top of each of his own, pushing him to touch you harder. To leave his mark. To make it so that even when he had let you go, all you could feel was his touch.

"Yeah, didn't even need a spanking, did you? Just daddy's fat cock in your desperate little cunt, right?"

"Yes-yes, yes. Fuck, yes. Just needed you, Rick. Just daddy, please."

"What is it, baby? You close?"

You could tell from the way his voice wobbled, the way his muscles tensed behind you, the way his arms pulled you closer and his thrusts grew sloppy that he was too.

"Need to cum so bad-"

"Not until I say so, baby. I'm gonna cum so deep inside of you, gonna feel me for days. You want that?"

You couldn't help the tears that escaped you now, using every muscle in your body to try and stave off your orgasm as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His words only turned you on further, breaths shuddered as you twisted your face to hide in the crook of his neck with tears leaking.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Look at me, yeah?"

You met his gaze, only to have him press his lips against yours. You moaned desperately against him, hissing as he bit your lip before running his lip over it to soothe it.

He twisted you around on his cock so your tender breasts were pressed against his chest once more, moving to press you against the bed as his hands held onto your hips for dear life. He leaned over your body, lips hovering over your own as your nails scratched along his back, so deep you were sure they'd leave marks.

Good, you thought. You were sure your own body would experience a similar fate.

He leaned down to your ear, just as your pretty hole fluttered desperately around his fat cock - "cum."

He had whispered it, but you heard it for what it was. An order your body was aching to give into.

You broke out into a delectable whine, body seizing as your cunt clenched around him and milked him for all he was worth. He groaned against your ear, fingers pressing so deep into your flesh that you were sure his handprints would be bruised and buried into your skin.

You found you didn't mind.

He rocked gently into your hips as you overcame your collective high, sighing softly into the space between your lips as his tongue dipped in searching for your own.

You pressed your lips against his with a quiet sigh as your tongue brushed against his tentatively, and Rick couldn't help but twitch inside your warm and sopping cunt.

Shit, maybe he should've spanked you sooner. Especially if it meant he'd end up with his cock in that warm place between your thighs.

And it was also safe to say Rick didn't leave you on your own again. No, instead you were attached to his hip - and his cock. And it didn't take long until the others had caught on, with one too many of them catching an eyeful of the sinful acts.

It was safe to say that you never really did ignore the man's orders again. Not unless you were feeling particularly desperate for his attention.

Rick couldn't help it, though. With your bratty attitude and pretty cunt he couldn't get enough. And you had to admit, there was something addictive about that dominating power he held being placed upon you with his undivided attention. Who wouldn't crave such a thing?

[rewrittenwrongs]

Having thoughts about the League of Assassins. It’s pretty common among them to form hierchy/ranking around who’s a better fighter and who beat/killed who. I can’t remember if it’s canon but I like the idea that to prove your teacher has taught you all they have to teach you must kill them (not sure how that applies to history/math/whatever but. Moving on.) Working off of that idea, a lot of assassins in the organisation would already respect Tim for causing the death/defeat of the Council of Spiders; assassins that are so skilled they kill other assassins for fun. Him then TRICKING RA’S AL GHUL AND BLOWING UP (almost??) ALL OF HIS BASES, AND THEN OUTSMARTING HIM AGAIN WHEN HE TRIES TO DESTROY EVERYTHING BATMAN HAS BUILT, I feel like it’s reasonable to assume a lot of them would’ve decided Tim is the bigger threat or at least proved himself very formidable and a large threat. I imagine a lot of them would’ve sought him out in Gotham and pledged loyalty to him (kind of like Minions seeking out the evilest leader thanks for that thought brain), maybe doing full on traditional rituals to prove the transferring of their loyalty, like blood oaths or ritual spars idk, maybe giving him gifts or displaying their skills so he accepts them as allies rather than being disrespected and killing or maiming them since that’s the standard they expect in the League.

And Tim is uh. Very confused. Very surprised. And also trying hard not to show it. He accepts all the gifts and pledges and shit, because he sure as fuck ain’t gonna turn them back to Ra’s, but after that he doesn’t really know what to do with them. He hires a bunch of them at Wayne Enterprise and Drake Industries, tasks a bunch of them with working for Red Hood on the down low, maybe sends a couple on undercover missions to Arkham Asylum so they start treating inmates as actual human beings and stop using shock therapy or something, and makes sure to write them all up fair contracts and great pay with good work bonuses and plenty of leave, and makes sure most or all of them start going to therapy. The assassins love their new leader and would do practically anything for him.

But anyway, all that aside. I’ve had those thoughts in my head for more than a month. Something that just recently occurred to me is Mara al Ghul. Damian’s cousin. Another child raised by the League of Assassins, only this one never left.

Until, that is, she watches this freshly-immunocompromised vigilante arguably outsmart her grandfather twice, and decides he is the bigger threat, actually, I want to be on his good side when he takes over the world.

So now Tim is being forced into basically adopting this feral child, who’s only experience in American society was undercover missions to kill people, who thinks decapitated heads are reasonable gifts, who’s introduction to Tim was something batshit insane like dumping the Joker’s head in his lap because the Joker is Gotham’s most dangerous rogue and of course Tim will appreciate having him gone. But even with a well crafted facade she can tell Tim is unnerved and horrified, so she must be doing something wrong. Maybe it was because the Joker is Batman’s enemy and not Tim’s specifically? But Tim doesn’t have any arch nemesis aside from maybe Ra’s who she obviously can’t kill, so she does more research into Tim’s life and background and finds out Captain Boomerang killed his father so next she brings Tim HIS head and she can already tell he’s much more pleased this time. But there’s still that edge of unsettlement and wariness, and he’s acting so strange around her, so she digs deeper and finds out about the Titans Tower incident but Tim sent all these other assassins to work for red hood so they must be on good terms, and then she finds out about all the bad blood between him and Damian and Dick so she starts trying to kill them next, starting with Damian obviously (a mix of jealousy over him leaving the league and a good amount of cousin rivalry/cain instinct), but Tim stops the fight and tells her to stand down and now she’s scared that he’s going to punish her and Ra’s’ punishments were always so harsh and perhaps this time she can’t quite fight down the urge to hide.

Meanwhile, Tim is being dragged through a parent arc kicking and screaming, the bats are wondering why the hell there are suddenly so many assassins only after they scare off Ra’s, Jason is more or less vibing because he thinks the assassins are from Talia and the Joker’s dead so of course he’s ecstatic (even tho he wishes he knew who did it so he can thank them), Dick and Damian are still reeling from learning Bruce is alive/getting him back from the time stream when all of a sudden this masked child comes out of nowhere mid patrol and attacks Damian, and isn’t backing down even though Dick arrived quickly but when Red Robin arrives and yells stop she’s already three rooftops away by the time he’s done speaking. Everyone is tired and doesn’t know what the hell is going on except mayybe Oracle.

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

I fantasize with being part of a group that worships some entity. Like a forest sprite or a feral looking nature god.

Being one of the volunteers to participate in a ritual where the cult pleases said god in exchange for his blessings. Being all prettied up in a light gown and having simple but beautiful decorations as part of the ceremonial attire. Being led to the beast's chambers where he awaits, laying down luxuriously on bedding that accomodates his huge figure, with an array of other magical smaller creatures that serve him and wait for the ritual to begin. Having all other humans leave and approaching, nervous but excited, when he beckons me.

The only instructions for most of the ritual are just to keep still and enjoy their guidance, so when the servants approach eagerly, I would extend my arms to let them disrobe me, feeling the appreciative stare of the god as they do so. Hands suddenly all over me, preparing me for the nature god, different creatures caressing my chest, between my legs, getting me wet and heated and needy, until I'm led to lie down on the comfortable bedding too.

My legs pulled apart by two of the assistants for the nature god to direct his lustful gaze at. Hovering between then and it's hard not to tremble in anticipation. Another assistant takes a cue from the god and spreads my folds wide open, tasked to present my core to him. And he accepts it with delight, tasting me at last. My arms want to fly to my mouth to muffle my sounds but the servants hold them down to prevent just that so that the nature god can hear me. And when his tongue dips inside me, thick and wet, I'm already pushed over the edge, coming hard, but the god is greedy and I feel more hands touching my chest, rubbing against my clit, and my cries go higher in pitch, overstimulated but loving every second of it.

With a pleased rumble the beast then would roll on his back, and the only moments to breathe would be those it takes to reposition me on top him, my entrance just aligned with his throbbing cock. I can see him looking at me content and fond but nowhere near satisfied. Hands from the magical servants still hold me tight, no control on my part on when I get to lower myself and have him enter me. And I'm good and obey the rules of the ritual but my legs tremble as the moment his tongue left me, I feel needy and empty, and fuck perhaps his saliva is an aphrodisiac because despite the overestim from before my insides are on fire and I need more. And finally the hands that hold me lower me slooowly, so that I can feel every inch of the god as it stretches me to my limits and it feels like I can't breath from how good it feels. And I know the pace that follows it's one he controls, the look on his face tells me this, as he smirks at the sight of me losing my mind in pleasure as I'm bounced continually on him. And we're both lost in ecstasy without any of us moving a muscle for it.

But as his panting becomes ragged and his eyes darken into something feral and hungry, the servants know playtime is over, and swiftly move me once more. Face down and hips in the air, where they hold me as their leader takes me from behind. Thoroughly stretched his thrusts send any thoughts flying out of my mind, my whole body shaking, feeling him slam into me, deep, hard, demanding, making me orgasm, multiple hands once again touching where they can, extending my pleasure and sending me right into another orgasm. I come twice more until he suddenly stills, hitting the deepest part of me and reaches his own peak. Searing hot seed fills me, overflows, drips down my legs, makes me come with a scream, as the vibration of his growl shoots through me. I'm left panting, breathless. The servants retire and I'm left alone with him. The beast turns me over, and sets to clean me himself, dragging his tongue between my legs with utmost care, even if it provokes little aftershocks from how sensitive I am. He tells me I did a good job and that I should rest.

After all, it's just day one of the ritual.

.

[fishfooddude]

Fatherhood: Billy Hargrove

Directory

Stranger Things MasterList

Billy met you when he moved back to California after graduating high school and turning 18. He got a job working at an autobody shop. He watched you pull up in a baby blue 1969 Bronco; he was the first one to come up to ask you what kind of help you needed. You thought he was cute and hoped to run into him again.

While driving home after work, he noticed that same Bronco in the parking lot of the local grocery store. He didn’t want to seem like a stalker, but seeing you twice in one day felt like a sign.

He was right to ‘run into you’ at the grocery store- you asked him if he wanted to hang out that weekend, and the rest was history. 

Your relationship moved ‘quickly,’ saying ‘I love you’ after a couple of months, moving in together at six months, and engaged within a year of knowing one another. Your friends thought you were insane, and so did your parents- until they saw just how happy Billy made you.

After a small wedding on the beach, the two of you enjoyed a few years of married bliss before deciding to start your family. You wanted ‘like a million’ kids. Billy wanted to make you happy but couldn’t suppress his fears of being like his father. ‘Billy, you’re nothing like him- you’re different, love.’ as much as you tried to reassure him, it could only do so much.

You wanted to tell Billy you were pregnant in some cute way, but he beat you to it when he was emptying the bathroom trash, ‘Holy shit.’ he muttered under his breath before going back inside the house to ask you if it was true. When you nodded, he hugged you tightly and promised to be the man you saw him as.

Watching your body change throughout your pregnancy made Billy feral. Knowing you were having his baby- it just did something to him. He’d rub your feet and hands at the end of the day to help alleviate swelling pains. He’d help you rub cocoa butter on your bump to help with stretch marks. He went to every appointment and listened as you summarized parenting books to him. 

When the two of you found out you were having a boy- Billy tried not to think about the pain Neil had put him through; he would be the father he’d wished for as a kid.

Joseph Anothy Hargrove, 8lbs 14 oz, 19 inches, was born August 15, 1991. Billy was in love the second he laid his eyes on the infant; he had your eyes- how could he not fall in love with those eyes all over again?

In the early months of Joseph’s life, Billy felt useless. He tried his best to help and became inactive as Joseph got older and slightly less dependent on you. His favorite time of day was the early mornings he’d spend with Joseph; you’d be asleep in your shared bedroom. Billy would sit in the rocking chair in the corner and hold Joseph against his bare chest, ‘I got you, baby. Daddy’s always gonna be there.’ 

Billy kept that promise. Whenever his son needed him, he was there. He coached Little League basketball and even took a turn being the leader of his Boy Scout group. 

Both of you taught him how cars worked- although you’d sneak away after a few minutes to give the boys their bonding time, you loved how Billy relaxed when he was with Joseph.

Billy had broken the cycle.

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

The Feral Princess - Part 4

Marvel AU

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Theme: Soulmate AU / Medieval / Fantasy / Soulmate Marks

Summary: Bucky and Steve have known they were soulmates since they were children. Fate bringing a then sickly Steve and the future King together. War takes them apart and throws them back together over and over, in and out of each other lives, arms and beds. But something is missing and throughout, they know they are missing their third and final piece. The kingdom is now Bucky's and Steve's, the latter now a leader and no longer a sickly child. Both are war heroes, with the respect of their country and those that surround it. They are a force to be reconned with, admired and respected within the other royal houses. They could have any maiden or princess they wanted, but they don't want just anyone. They want their soulmate. They want their princess. Even if she is known as The Feral Princess.

Chapter Summary: Bucky starts his journey to fetch the reader.

By the time Bucky arrives at Lionheart you are long gone. Word has spread as to why he’s there and the villagers are in the know.

“She’s long gone!”

“Good luck taming our Tulip.”

“You won’t find your princess here your majesty.”

Bucky wonders if it’s a ploy. If they’re simply saying that and you’re hidden somewhere in the castle. He knows in his heart though that you aren’t. Thinking back to the day he met Steve, he had felt his mark get warmer and warmer until he had found him, squaring up to a bully twice his size, Bucky’s mark burning on his ankle. He wonders then if you’ll have the same temperament. From what he’s heard, you’re probably even more of a handful than Steve. He sighs at the thought. Steve would fight a bully. You would apparently stab them without a second thought.

When he arrives at the first set of gates he finds them heavily armoured, much more so than when he had visited as a child. His horse, usually obedient and sturdy rears up and becomes unsettled. As do those of his travelling companions. Natasha rides forward from their group and stands to his right. She goes to speak but Bucky is quick to stop her.

“Do not ask me again if I am sure Natalia.”

Natasha’s mouth snapped closed. Bucky moved his horse to allow him to knock on the heavy gates, glancing up at the guards of the tower who is clearly ignoring their presence. Before he has chance to knock both the gates begin to open, startling them all.

Bucky leads them through into the Barbican. He discovers it now has another set of gates at the end. Again they are heavily armoured and closed. The gates behind slam shut when the last of Bucky’s knights enters, causing the horses to startle and for them to be plunged into darkness.

The group were experienced, hardy fighters, and it doesn’t take them long to get their horses under control. Each held their reins tightly with one hand, with the other gripping their weapon of choice.

A fizzling sound is heard as the fire torches alight one by one. When the room is lit Bucky notices a hunched over and hooded figure in the corner. Their head is dipped, the hood and shadows making it hard to see their face. The voice that comes from it is deep but well spoken, and a little familiar.

“Purpose of your visit.”

“I come to fetch my soulmate, future wife and queen.”

He can’t be certain but he’s sure the figure is smirking.

“This way," The figure replies, a hint of amusement in its voice.

The second gates begin to open and daylight streams through. Bucky blinks to help his eyes adjust. He hears Natasha muttering something in their old tongue and he quickly sees why. In the courtyard are lines and lines of soldiers and knights in Lionheart colours. Every single one is almost the same build as Bucky, they are all battle ready and armed to the teeth. There’s a least a couple of hundred and Bucky knows from battle and rumour there are more somewhere.

It’s eerily quiet as the hooded figure leads them through the courtyard. None of the soldiers or knights move or glance at them. Bucky wonders if some are holding their breath due to the lack of movement.

“You wait here.” The figure says gesturing at Natasha and the others knights, leaving them standing between the lines of Lionheart’s finest. “You, your majesty, this way.”

Bucky unmounts his horse and passes the reins to Natasha. He glances up the castle walls and sees the lines of archers along the top, each pointing arrows towards them.

He knows he’s never going to hear the last of this from Natasha.

Bucky follows the figure through the stables, past one of its many armouries and through what seems to be the royal boot room. There are riding boots, cloaks and swords of all sizes and he quickly spots a cloak in Loxley green. A spare of yours perhaps?

The figure comes to a stop at a door and pushes it open as it steps inside. Bucky follows.

The first thing he notices is how warm it is, the large open fire roaring and filling the room. In front of it is an ornately carved wooden chair and desk. The banner of Lionheart hanging above the fire indicating the room is Richard’s.

“Take off your cloak James and make yourself at home.”

The voice was deep and firm. Richard. Bucky turned abruptly expecting to see that the other king had entered the room behind him but finding only the figure from before. Bucky went to speak but stopped as the figure rose from its hunched over stance and grew in size. It turned away as it untied the cloak, pulling it off and hanging it on a hook on the wall. Bucky recognised the figure, now man, instantly.

Easily over six feet, broad shoulders and a strawberry blonde beard scattered face, hair that met his shoulders but lighter than his beard. Hair that gave likening to a lion.

Richard of Lionheart.

“So, I hear you want our Tulip.”

Meanwhile deep in the forest 100 miles from Loxley.......

"How many times will we be moving? Lionheart, Loxley, now here. Should I unpack or not bother? " Lady Dawn asked, sarcasm filling her tone.

"We have to be one step ahead and I did say you didn't need to come." You quipped back.

"And miss you in a white dress and a veil? Never."

You and Lady Darcy snorted with laughter. Little John approached, having recently joined your travels at your Uncle Robin's request. He cleared his throat to announce himself.

"The traps are set Tulip."

"Thank you John."

"Out of interest, and for plans sake Princess, should I send the men on to scout another location?" John asked enquiringly.

"No John, this will be our last spot. Let him come. Let him find me."

Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

TAGLIST

@animegirlgeeky @sebastians-love @mrsevans90 @salvatoremeanssaviour @forgotmenotsexy @thriving-n-jiving @abaker74 @otterlycanadian

[rowanberrypop]

my next-gen lupgang, i call them fourgang! 💛 introduction bios under cut :3

☀️ LUPIN IV, call her four! she’s the daughter of lupin III and fujiko mine, the leader of her gang. she’s very silly and likes to brag with pizazz — after heists, she’ll set off fireworks! she is always setting out on her hearts’ desires; to have fun!☀️

🍂 PIERRE D’ANDRÉSY, four’s cousin! she’s the daughter of albert d’andrésy and tickey pasco. as an ex-ICPO agent, her skills with technology serve greatly within four’s gang! though, she’s a bit too smug and snide for her own good. 🍂

🌊 MIYAMOTO MUSASHI XVI, four’s best friend and goemon’s apprentice! he was found as a feral child, but now he lives up to his ancestors with his skills in niten ichi-ryū. musashi’s always found relaxing on the beach after a heist! 🌊

🚨TOSHIKO ZENIGATA, four’s rival! she’s the daughter of inspector koichi zenigata, with twice his temper! when she’s not hitting up bars to flirt with women, she always seems to be scowling. well… ever since pierre left the ICPO, that is. 🚨

[whumpninja]

It’s the New Year, so I’m shamelessly self-promoting my whump stories in case there’s New People that might enjoy them! (Please feel free to reblog this and add on your own stories! I need more stories to read, and what better time to promote your own stuff?)

The Angel of Death is a vampire whump story. Half-vampire veterinarian Keola is coerced into being the personal vet for the Colosseum Club’s underground fighting-ring champion- a feral vampire known as the Angel of Death in the ring, and just Angel outside it. The “fights” held by the club are really just vampires being forced to fight each other- and Angel is always the final act, drugged into a rage and sent in to tear his victims apart. Keola has to balance caring for a dangerous patient with hiding her own vampire identity, all while under the employ of Mr. Moody, the club’s- and Angel’s- unscrupulous human owner.

W.M.D. is a living weapon story. Dr. Algernon Fowler prides himself on making the most successful living weapons ever created. His magnum opus? Kestrel, a heavily brainwashed bird-man hybrid, with the DNA of a black vulture and wings surgically implanted to match. But when Dr. Fowler loses track of Kestrel, he’s rescued by a group of young people being trained for a shadowy purpose by steely ex-military guy Jones. One of them- surfer bro Shane- takes a special interest in Kestrel, determined to help him recover as much as possible. But Dr. Fowler hasn’t given up on getting his weapon back…whatever it takes.

The Coven is a historical vampire whump story. For two years, young Will has been the servant and main source of blood for a coven of five vampire women- Lilah, Lucy, Selene, Annabel, and their fearsome leader Morgana. When Will tries and fails to make a desperate escape, Morgana retaliates brutally, and Will’s life becomes even more unbearable. But the vampires haven’t stayed as hidden as they thought, and soon the entire coven is in grave danger. And Will is right in the thick of it.

Hollyoak is a fantasy whump story being written for the Twelve Days of Whumpmas event. Twice a year, the Summer Elves and Winter Elves exchange power. Six months of the year, the Winter Elves have the crown and the magic under the reign of their Holly King; the other six, the power belongs to the Summer Elves and the Oak King. To prevent either side from hoarding the magic, the prince of each realm must spend six months as a hostage in the rival court every year. The Winter Solstice has just arrived, and young Holly Prince Kelyn is struggling to navigate the Summer Realm- as well as his complicated relationship with the Oak Prince, Adaire. When the Oak King is struck down by what appears to be Winter magic, Kelyn is blamed, and the Summer Realm suddenly becomes a much more dangerous place.

I also have several one-shots and short stories posted/planned, but this is already too long, so I’ll just drop my entire writing masterpost directly in your path. WHOOP. There it is.

[soapiemomorphine]

My Rottmnt Separated Au!// Masterpost

(*Dj Khalid voice *: Another one ) (scroll to bottom for links to other posts)

This one’s called:

How I Met Our Brothers

And it’s an au of my own inspired by all the greats, like @daedelweiss @dianagj-art @trubblegumm @red-rover-au and more! (Seriously go follow their blogs)

Mainly by @trubblegumm and by the feral Leo from @cupcakeslushie , and you’ll soon why

With out further ado;

DRUMROLL PLEASE DUN DUNNUNUUUUHHHHH

(Also dont worry ab my chicken scratch I have it all written down lol)

(Click for better quality lol)

Since my writing’s shit (lol) here’s the transcript for what I wrote: the character descriptions first, then the pluses from top to bottom

Donatello Hamato:

Raised by Splinter/Hamato Yoshi/Lou Jitsu in the sewers under Brooklyn

Started looking for his bros after his dad told him about them

Met April when he was 9 (she was 11)

He met Leo when they were both 11

Baron Michelangelo:

(I hc that Baron is a title, not a name; like Lord or Lady, so Mikey inherited Draxum’s title)

He’s been training to be a mystic warrior since he was born

Muninn (the one with a larger body and the underbite) wanted him to be named Angel, Huginn (the one with a larger head and overbite) wanted him to be Michael, so they compromised with the perfect name (don’t tell Draxum they saw it in a human pamphlet )

Raised by Draxum alone until he was seven

At 7 y/o he met Raph and ever since both Big Mama and Baron Draxum have joint custody over them

BM and BD raise them like a divorced couple, they alternate houses weekly and they celebrate each holiday twice, (Big Mama and Draxum only come together for their b-days)

Besties with Raph and Cass, (met Cass when he was 10, she was 13)

Rapheal Jitsu :

Training to be a mystic warrior since he was 9

Big Mama named him what she and Splinter would have named their first son; (he proposed to her, you can’t tell me that they didn’t talk ab baby names)

Big Mama was not the only secretive one in the relationship, she didn’t know what Splinter’s real last name was, (and as a gang leader she doesn’t use her name anymore) so yes, Jitsu is Raph’s legal last name

Met Mikey when he was 9 y/o

BM and BD raise them like a divorced couple, they alternate houses weekly and they celebrate each holiday twice, (Big Mama and Draxum only come together for their b-days)

Besties with Mike and Cass, (met Cass when he was 12, she was 13)

??????? —> Leonardo Hamato:

He grew up in the sewers in Staten Island, the one who brought him there was *REDACTED*

Staten Island is full on awful people, so nobody took him in, and he learned to fear people

Donnie found him, and named him Leonardo and gave him his birthday, making him 11

Other Info:

+ because Leonardo was hella malnourished as a growing young lad, Donnie ended up being the 2nd tallest by the time of the movie

+Splinter became more proactive in Donnie’s life ever since he lost sight of the other three brothers and became more proactive in his training when he met April because he’s more paranoid than he is in the show

+Don didn’t really care for Leo (he was comfortable as an only child and Leo changed his routine), until Leo got deathly sick and nearly died

+Big Mama and Draxum (somewhat) reformed only b/c Mikey and Raph would cry and throw tantrums (they won the moral argument slay) when they would talk ab their plans and beliefs (Draxum loves his children more that he hates humanity, and Big Mama finally learned how to love with Raph)

+Mama truly loved Splinter, but was insecure about him loving her as a Yokai (she had trust issues) and b/c her morals are hella skewed, it seemed like a great idea to keep him the only way she knew how, by putting him in Battle Nexus (and she makes bank with him there! In her mind it seemed like a win-win)

(Note: Big Mama’s and Splinter’s relationship will solely be as exes, because it would be hella unhealthy for Splints to trust her after she betrayed it like it. (They both lied to eachother during their relationship in this au) Their relationship in my comics and fanfics in this au will solely be as estranged exes, they will not be getting back together)

If this post gets like, at least 30 notes then ill post a comic on how Leo and Donnie met! (Edit: oh wow. U guys did it)

Lists of HIMOB Posts:

Disaster twins post

Sunset duo post

HIMOB Donnie meets the Canon Mad Dogs // Bonus Comic

Donnie and the Stranger: Part 1 // Part 2

The name Rapheal: Part 1 // Part 2

The Caretaker: Part 1 // TBC . . .

[chibikyo]

Day 8 - Breeding Kink

Baraka x M!Reader

Tarkat has some strange effects, including sending it's victims into a heat/rut cycle every six months. Baraka, no longer contagious, spends his upcoming rut with his new partner, filling him up to bursting. Reader is AMAB and male pronouns/anatomy used Warnings: breeding kink, slight mention of mpreg (not actual mpreg tho), cum inflation, belly bulge, not ABO but Baraka is experiencing a rut, slight cock warming, rough sex, biting and blood play (very slight, Baraka is a sharp boy), enthusiastic consent

*************************************

The feeling of Baraka’s arms around his waist, tugging him flush against the Edenian’s fevered skin made Y/n squirm with anticipation. Since Empress Mileena’s court mages had discovered a way to prevent people already infected with Tarkat from spreading the disease, he had finally entered into a tentative relationship with the Tarkatan leader. It had taken much convincing on his part for Baraka to give him a chance, but he’d been awed by the man’s perseverance and fortitude and Baraka was equally as charmed by Y/n’s admiration.

            It wasn’t long after Baraka had entered courtship with him that they‘d fallen into bed together. Baraka had been so gentle, aware just how many ways he could hurt his lover, but Y/n was always quick to reassure him and slowly, Baraka had become more open with his affections. He still treated his partner delicately, sometimes infuriatingly so, so it came as a surprise when Baraka, looking quite embarrassed, had requested Y/n to assist him with his rut. Male Tarkatan experienced a sort of pseudo heat/rut cycle, once or twice a year, likely as a side effect of the infection. They would be hit with a strong fever and the strong urge to breed that, if left to fester, could be extremely painful.

            Y/n had been quick to agree, reassuring Baraka again that he trusted him, that it would be okay if Baraka couldn’t be as gentle as he usually was. He understood Baraka might become a little feral once the rut was in full swing, and they had discussed a few precautions and safety measures, but there had been no need for those. Since Baraka had first stripped the clothes from his own fevered skin the day before, he had made it his single-minded focus to shower Y/n with pleasure and they were well into full rut now.

            He felt Baraka thrust his cock forward, rutting shallowly against Y/n’s hole, still wet from the cum Baraka had already pumped into him. Baraka had been insatiable before this, able to cum several times before he was satisfied, but now it dialed up to eleven. No matter how long he went or how much he came, Baraka always seemed ready to go within a few minutes. Y/n was too weak and tired to protest, body sore in the best of ways as he felt the tip of Baraka’s cock catch on his fluttering rim, pushing into him with a slick squelch.

            “Are you sure you don’t need a break,” Baraka growled, teeth pressed against Y/n’s shoulder even as he bottomed out in the smaller man. Y/n gasped as Baraka pressed against his prostate and trembled in his arms. Y/n twisted, pressed his lips against Baraka’s nose as he rocked his hips back encouragingly.

            “Take what you need, sweetheart.” Y/n murmured. “Want you inside me, always, feels so good.” Baraka hissed, teeth scraping against Y/n’s delicate flesh as he began to thrust, slow but powerful thrusts, each one punching into Y/n’s sweet spot.

            Y/n felt his cock stirring. He hadn’t managed to get more than half-hard for the last few hours, his cock utterly spent and oversensitive, but it seemed his body was finally ready to participate again. One of their safety measures meant Y/n had to have a very awkward conversation with his sister who would be lingering within the Tarkatan colony to pull him out should things go south. She’d hugged him, told him that he was lucky she loved him enough not to vomit while discussing his sex life, before she’d gone to a few Outworld healers to see what they could whip up to assist him. Apparently those infected with Tarkat were not the only Outworld race to experience heat/rut cycles and he’d been supplied with protein shakes laced with low grade aphrodisiacs to help him keep up.

            Baraka had just finished helping him drink one of them an hour ago, holding the straw his sister had been smart enough to procure to his lips and had stroked his stomach as Y/n drank. He was grateful they seemed to be working as his cock began to leak pre-cum from Baraka’s assault on his likely swollen prostate. Baraka fought to keep things slow, languid, for as long as possible, but the heat burning under his flesh always won. He started to rut harder, faster, clawed hands that were surprisingly beautiful grasping Y/n’s hips so he could pull him down to meet each thrust and Y/n couldn’t help letting out gasping, breathy moans with each drag of Baraka’s cock.

            “Gods you’re still so tight.” Baraka hissed. He rolled Y/n onto all fours, pulling his hips up so he could thrust into him even harder. Y/n spread his legs wider, rocked back to match Baraka’s rhythm. He felt Baraka’s hand sneak under him, pressing a hand to his belly, and the Tarkat shuddered to a halt. Y/n whimpered as the orgasm that had been steadily building fizzled out, watching Baraka’s hand stroke the hard lines of his stomach. The tiniest hint of a bulge could be seen as Baraka pressed into him deeper and Y/n moaned, realizing that Baraka was so big he could feel his own cock buried inside him. “Feel that? How perfectly you were made for me.”

            “Baraka, please.” Y/n whined. “Please, need you to fill me up with your cum; want to be full of you.” Baraka began to thrust again, hard enough that Y/n could see the tip of his cock poking his skin every time he buried himself in his tight heat. Baraka had already cum in him so many times that it sloshed around inside him, but he didn’t care. He had to have more. The sensation when Baraka came was addicting; his whole body was burning from the rut, his cock a molten heat against his sensitive walls, and his cum just as hot and thick and Y/n moaned with need as Baraka growled into his ear.

            “Not full yet?” Baraka hissed. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you. Still so tight even after I’ve fucked you nonstop for a whole day.” He pressed harder against Y/n’s belly, relishing the sweet noises it evoked from his lover. His other hand squeezed at the supple flesh of Y/n’s ass, claws digging gently into the skin. Y/n’s back was a mess of tiny abrasions and cuts from where he’d rubbed against the protrusions on Baraka’s chest. Baraka leaned down, lapped at the raw skin with his tongue, cleaning up the tiny specks of blood that stained each one.

            “Going to fill you up so well with this one.” Baraka groaned. “The last times were just warm up, preparing you to be bred.” Y/n moaned at that and he heard Baraka laugh. “Do you want that, darling? Want me to breed you, fill you up with my seed? Wish I could breed you for real, you’d look so beautiful carrying my child.” Y/n let out another gasp, picturing it in his mind as Baraka reached down to stroke his cock in time with his thrusts.

            “You’ll look the part when I’m done.” Baraka continued, savoring the symphony of moans and gasps that Y/n could no longer control. “I should plug this whole between rounds, ensure none of my seed is wasted, and just fuck more into you over and over.”

            Y/n felt something snap inside him as Baraka hit his prostate with a final thrust, his hand furiously stroking Y/n’s aching cock, and he came with a scream, painting the sheets below him with cum as Baraka unleashed a torrent of his own inside him. His whole body felt on fire, burning up from the inside as he was hit by wave after wave of aftershocks, the longest orgasm he’d ever experienced. His cock didn’t even soften as Baraka continued to shoot rope after rope of cum into him, until his stomach cramped and stretched to accommodate. His arms shook with the effort not to just collapse under him.

            “Gods you’re perfect.” Baraka breathed, his hand stroking softly over Y/n’s swollen belly. As gently as he could manage, he rolled Y/n onto his back, sliding a pillow under his hips to keep them tipped upward, before sliding back into Y/n’s drooling hole. Y/n keened, feeling his own cock jerk, still hard and weeping.

Baraka wasted no time building their rhythm back up, looping his arms under Y/n’s knees to sling his legs up around his neck. Y/n barely registered the pain of his calf scraping against Baraka’s protruding bones as he was folded up into a mating press, allowing Baraka to thrust even deeper. He rutted into him rough, shallow, barely pulling back before punching his prostate again and again, a constant drag across the abused organ. All Y/n could do was hang on as Baraka drove into him over and over.

He had barely recovered from the last orgasm and already that liquid heat was pooling in his core, his cock slapping against the tiny swell of his stomach wetly. His balls were tight, aching, and ready to spill over the edge and Y/n squirmed, wanting to escape the torturous assault yet hoping Baraka would never stop; would use him like this for the rest of his rut. He reached for his cock, desperate for any sort of friction to help tip him over into oblivion but with a growl Baraka snatched his hands away, pinned them above his head. Y/n made a distressed noise, struggling against Baraka’s restraining grip but he was too tired and Baraka too strong. He let out another anguished moan as Baraka dropped his head, tongue snaking out from his teeth to tease his nipples, alternating between them with a wet slurp.

“You’ll come on my cock and nothing else,” Baraka snarled. Y/n felt tears spring into his eyes as he felt his cock twitch and jerk, the softest brush of Baraka’s abs against it the only friction he received. Baraka pulled up, taking even that away as he let out a feral growl before rutting into Y/n harder still. “Do it, darling, let me watch you fall apart. Come for me.”

Y/n felt his muscles clench, balls drawn so tight it hurt as he crashed over the edge, vision going white as the orgasm surged through him. Baraka fucked him through it, chasing his own release and howling in victory as he came again, watching in awe as Y/n’s belly stretched around the hot, gush of seed. He stilled inside him, keeping him plugged up as he pumped more and more cum into his lover, watching him writhe under him as he was forced to accept every drop. Baraka leaned down, pressed his teeth against Y/n’s parted lips and slipped his tongue inside the warm, inviting cavern of his mouth. They tangled together, the closest Baraka could come to kissing, but Y/n loved it when he indulged. 

They stayed that way for several seconds until Baraka finally unhooked the smaller man's legs from his shoulders, carefully helping him settle around him before grasping Y/n’s waist with both hands, thumbs stroking the slight bulge of his stomach. His face twisted up in what Y/n knew from experience was a devious smirk, eyes filled with equal parts awe and hunger as he watched Y/n’s breathing even out, eyes half lidded and wet with unshed tears.

“Oh fuck.” Y/n moaned as he propped himself up to look at where Baraka’s thumbs were worrying his sensitive skin. HIs stomach was no longer flat, skin stretched up into a slight bump that made him look like he was a few months pregnant. He reached down to feel for himself, gasping as the lightest press sent a bolt of pleasure straight to his cock. He collapsed back onto the pillows with a moan as he felt Baraka shift and turn, manipulating him back to their former position with Y/n as the little spoon. He did so gently, careful to keep himself sheathed inside Y/n’s tender hole so that nothing would spill out. Y/n choked as Baraka’s fingers trailed down to press at where his cock met the swollen rim, pressing a few drops of cum that had leaked out back inside him, his body stretching to accommodate the additional intrusion. 

“So full, sweetheart, Baraka, please.” Y/n whimpered, not quite sure what he was asking for. Baraka’s finger slipped out as he tugged Y/n flush to him, buried as far as he could go into Y/n’s wet heat. It was only the second day. Baraka’s rut normally would not break until the third day, sometimes going into four. If he kept this up, forced Y/n to hold it all inside? Y/n shuddered at the thought, but he knew Baraka wouldn’t force him to take more than he could handle, and Y/n was starting to enjoy the feeling of being so full

“Can’t believe how much you took. So beautiful.” Baraka bit gently into Y/n’s shoulder, the need to mark his claim on him too strong to ignore. Y/n hissed, but didn’t complain, the pain grounding him back to reality as he felt Baraka’s hips start twitching again. Y/n shuddered, not sure his body could take more right now. “It’s alright, you take a break, love. I’ll make sure nothing leaks out while you sleep.” Y/n nodded, eyes already beginning to sag as he felt Baraka’s hand move down to cup his aching stomach. “I’ll have more for you when you wake.”

[fir-fireweed]

I discovered this gem today thanks to a reblog about the update that I'll forever be grateful for, and I had such a blast reading it! So much so that I actually read it twice. Though to be fair, I'm glad I didn't discover this earlier? Would have been sad to stop at chapter 10, so this is perfect!

I love everything about it! And I'm just going a bit feral over Heron, honestly. And damn his romance gives such strong soulmates vibes considering the past and all.

Also, I want to thank you so much for allowing the name Wolf for the MC! As soon as I saw the ROs' names in the intro post, I knew I'd want that name for my MC, and the feeling only became stronger when playing. My MC has the "leader" personality type, but he's also sweet and accepting and will fight to protect everyone. So he's basically caring and protective like a wolf would be of his pack, and I love it.

I'm very excited now to see how the story ends, though I will probably re-read it a bunch of time while you write the last chapter!

Aww, I love this! ❤️ Your Wolf sounds amazing! I’m so glad you related to that name and made him your own.

I love hearing love for Heron! His character really expanded and matured over the course of writing this, and I may be a bit feral for him, too. The decision to make him the childhood friend trope felt like fate. I was mad texting my sister like, I HAVE THE BEST IDEA EVER! 😆

You were definitely spared the trauma I inflicted on everyone else by dropping chapter 10 on them, lol. I’m giddy over the fact that you found this in a reblog. Thank you for taking the time to read and comment!

[jaune-submissive-and-breedable]

Glynda teaches a secret class about pegging. She's using Jaune for a live demonstration.

Goodwitch grunted softly as she pushed the tip of the purple dildo against the puckering asshole of her demonstration assistant, Jaune Arc. The boy in question was strapped tight to a desk in the center of the classroom, naked as a newborn exposing his entire body for all to see. Mainly his fully erect 9in cock. His vision and vocal capabilities were impaired by the blindfold and gag he was made to wear.

"As you can see class, it is important that you're using a toy that fits inside, and causes very minimal pain for your partner" Goodwitch said.

"Umm, Miss Goodwitch....Isn't that toy a bit too big for him?" One Ruby Rose questioned, concern for her male friend spread across her face.

Goodwitch smirked, a hand wrapping around the massive 10in dildo, and the other on Jaune's chest.

"Ms. Rose, I can assure you"

Center the toy against his hole once more, she gave one firm push sending the toy inside the Arc in one fell swoop. His cock pulsed twice before launching large ropes of pearl-white cum onto his own body.

"Did he just.?!"

"He did! Holy Shit, He Did!"

"Do you see that bulge?! How is he taking that?!"

Goodwitch chuckled at their reactions, scooping up some of his discharge with two fingers and tasting it, "Not all males will ejaculate from insertion, but as you can see, Mr. Arc is quite special~"

She slowly starts thrusting her hips, her movements precise and delicate. The purple toy found some resistance from Jaune's tight hole as she pulled out, his anus greedily sucking it back in causing Goodwitch to smile as her detention with him clearly paid off. His moans were perfect, his demeanor wonderfully submissive, and eager to please.

"After insertion, you don't want to immediately start thrusting like an ape. You need to work into it slowly and get them acclimated to the new sensation. Taking time to explore their body and find their weak points."

Upon hearing a sharp moan from Jaune after her last thrust, Goodwitch began increasing the speed and power behind her movements. One hand planted on his chest, the other wrapping around his cock, her iron-like grip causing another moan from the blond.

"Once you find their "sweet spot", target there for the most optimal results~." She started stroking his sensitive cock, getting more moans from the boy. "I personally recommend stimulating other body parts for more lovely sounds~"

She grunted as she pumped her hips into Jaune's, slowly increasing her speed and power behind each thrust. Her movements slowly got more erratic and feral, her strapon pushing further and further til their skin collided causing loud claps to echo throughout the classroom. She hand-pumped his cock hard making him moan in a combination of pain and pleasure, promptly ignored by his teacher. The woman continued her demonstration unaware that her students no longer paying attention and took to pleasing themself at the degradation of their friend/leader/crush, and quite frankly not caring if they did.

"Take you slut" She hissed, her breathing rigid and erratic from consecutively impaling herself in her student. Only a loud cry from the audience brought her back to her senses. Quickly composed herself and removed her strapon from Jaune's ass, much to his dismay.

"Ahem, And that's the basics on pegging. Now, will each of you come down, single fill, I'll rate your form and technique."

____________________________________________________________

Sorry for the ending. I'll admit that was weak

[daddy-dins-girl]

Pedro Boys - "Zombie Apocalypse Team"

this might be my favourite one yet... keep reading for headcanons!

related posts: Pedro Boys "During a Fire Emergency" Pedro Boys "Nice Argument. Unfortunately," Pedro Boys "Don't Fuck This Up" Pedro Boys "Dad(dy) Matrix" Pedro Boys & Stabbing Pedro Boys "Lawful/Neutral/Chaotic" Pedro Boys "Feral/Sad/Angelic" Pedro Boys Respond to "I love you." Pedro Boys "Character Tropes" Pedro Boys "Gay/Depressed/Horny on Main" Pedro Boys "Dad/THOT/Bastard" Pedro Boys "bring some Coke to the party" Pedro Boys "I Want a Baby" Pedro Boys "As Babysitters" Pedro Boys "As McDonald's Dads" Pedro Boys "in a horror movie" Pedro Boys "Cinnamon Rolls" Pedro Boys "5 Kids, 3 Chairs" Pedro Boys "Playing Monopoly"

Headcanons under the cut!

Leader - Dave York. Simply put, Dave wouldn’t allow anyone else to be in charge of him, regardless if they’d be better suited for it. Some of the others follow him out of fear, others simply because they'd just prefer not to be in charge.

Brawler - Joel Miller. The muscle. Not so great with his words, much better with his fists.

Weapons Expert - Din Djarin. A bonafide space cowboy, this man has it all. Blasters, rifles, flamethrower, jet pack. Evaporating infected before they even see him coming.

Brains - Marcus Moreno. Truly the Team Leader, but he lets Dave hold the title. He has the mutual respect of everyone, is level headed and the glue that holds the whole group together. He advises Dave, but in a way that makes Dave think they’re his own ideas. Marcus doesn't need to take any credit, he just wants everyone to be safe.

Medic - Frankie "Catfish" Morales. He’s no doctor, but he's had enough basic field medical training in his military days to at least be able to patch everyone up better than anyone else on the team. He’d prefer to be the Vehicle Expert but sadly, modes of transportation in the apocalypse are hard to come by.

Moral Support - Marcus Pike. Always looking at the bright side of the apocalypse. He likes to joke “when life hands you cordyceps, make mushroom tetrazzini”.

Scientist - Ezra. Not exactly Einstein, but he knows what berries and plants are safe and which to avoid during long treks through the wilderness. He’s proven himself useful more so than not. Mostly he keeps Dieter from accidentally un-aliving himself.

Risk taker - Max Phillips. Loud and outspoken, Max's mouth is always getting the group into trouble. Good luck to any infected that tries to turn him though, his ego is so big its like a thick candy shell around the vulnerable parts of his brain.

Stealthy - Oberyn Martell. Forget sniping infected from 100 yards away, this man simply sneaks up behind them and with some flourishing footwork they're on the ground with any sharp object he could get his hands on slicing through the flesh of their throat. He's also stealthy in the way he manages to slip into the others' sleeping bags without them evening realizing at the time that they want him to, but that's a headcanon for another post...

Dumbass - Dieter Bravo. It's not that he wants to die, it's just that he seems to occasionally forget that he can't just eat the fungus as if it came in a Ziplock bag that he use to pay 40 bucks a pop for.

Badass - Javier Peña. This man just continuously takes down infected as if they might actually come to an end. He knows that as quickly as he takes down one colony, four more spring up, but he's stubborn and refuses to stop trying, regardless of how tired he is of it all.

Mascot - Javi Gutierrez. He is babygirl. To be protected at all costs.

Distraction - Jack "Whiskey" Daniels. A real root-tootin, gun-blazin cowboy. Jack never needs to be asked twice to go put on a spectacle in the middle of an open field, gathering all the attention so the rest of the group can flank all sides under brush cover. He seems to have nine lives too, narrowly escaping death more times than any other. And he can handle his own. He argued for the spot of Weapons Expert but ultimately was swayed when he realized being the distraction actually meant being the center of attention.

Stereotype - Pero Tovar. One look at this man screams "if anyone was going to survive a zombie apocalypse, it's him"

Sacrifice - Dio. Look, it was his idea. The weird part was that nobody even asked him to.

First Dead - Eddie. It's just facts. In a long line of Pedro Boys deaths, someone had to be first.

Reply or reblog with your own headcanons, I'd love to hear them :)

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Hold Still - Part 3

A little more of this fic for you

Later that morning, as I stood at attention before we broke for formal drills and duties, I did everything I could to avoid Azriel’s gaze. He, Cassian, and a few other leaders stood on the podium before the sea of soldiers, who all blended together in their uniformed ranks. As I approached for roll call, I saw Azriel scanning the crowd, his hazel eyes searching for me. I bit down hard on my lips, hoping the pain might ward off the tears threatening to resurface as his gaze landed on me. When attention was finished and we were dismissed to our duties, I wasted no time slipping through the crowd, heading straight for the sparring ring where I was scheduled to run evasion drills. I couldn’t face him — not when the look in his eyes held an apology I wasn’t ready to hear.

I slipped through the throng of soldiers as I made my way to my duties before Azriel could corner me. I hurried towards the training ring, already thick with anticipation and charged energy. I took my place at the side of the ring, leaning against the small wooden fence that surrounded it. It was a flimsy barrier, barely able to withstand the force of a soldier crashing into it, but it served as a visual reminder that this was not a real battle, just a practice session. With my leg propped up on the lower rung and my chin resting on my folded arms, I watched two skilled warriors engage in an intense sparring match. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure I knew all too well emerge from the crowd. My heart clenched painfully as Azriel's gaze fell upon me. Desperately trying to maintain a facade of indifference, I kept my head low, feigning deep contemplation.

But as he drew closer, and my heart pounded harder in my chest, I made a quick, bold move. Just as one warrior pinned the other to the ground, I jumped into the ring, timing my entry perfectly. I scurried to the far end, grabbing a practice sword — still metal but dulled to prevent lasting damage, though I knew from experience it could still leave a brutal bruise.

The victorious warrior looked over his shoulder at me, the thrill of the fight still burning in his eyes as he rose. His defeated opponent, beaten and bruised, crawled out of the ring under the fence. The soldier I was to face wasn’t from my war camp, but he was a comrade in battle all the same. Though he had just taken down his opponent, he bore his own share of injuries. Blood smeared across his lip as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, his grip on the sword firm with determination.

I readied myself, swinging the sword in a few circles to get a feel for its balance before raising it in defense. The warrior, still riding the high of adrenaline, lunged at me with a wild, brutish swing that was easy to dodge. I skirted to the side, letting him barrel past me. From the sidelines, his friends shouted encouragements, egging him on to hit faster, take me down, not to let a female best him. He turned on his heel, growling as he lowered his stance, centering himself closer to the ground. I swung the sword a few more times, testing my grip before settling into a comfortable rhythm. When I felt the momentum, I lunged forward, and our swords met with a resounding clang as we came face to face.

He was taller by a good foot, and at least twice as broad. As he pressed down, his sword against mine, I felt my back arch under the pressure. He let out a low, sadistic chuckle as my arms quivered, but I seized the moment and bolted my knee up, striking him square in the groin. He let out a feral whine, his grip loosening as the pain registered. I slid out from under him, circling behind and delivering a swift kick to his rear. He groaned, collapsing to his knees, clutching at his groin and stomach where I’d knocked the wind out of him. His friends erupted in laughter behind me as I swung the sword idlily in circles awaiting the next move.

Two of the soldier’s friends jumped the fence to his aid, chiding him through raucous laughter as they dragged him to the side. I did a slow circle, waiting for the next opponent to step into the ring. But as I heard the sound of boots hitting the ground behind me, the laughter around us fell silent. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Azriel removing his siphons, tossing them aside as he began inspecting the swords laid out. I scoffed lightly at the awe the other soldiers seemed to be in, continuing to circle my own sword, trying to get a handle on its weight.

Finally, the sound of steel scraping against steel echoed as Azriel picked his weapon from the pile. I turned to face him, watching as he inspected the blade with a practiced eye, sliding a scarred finger down its length. “Just fight me,” I snapped, venom lacing my words.

Azriel flicked his eyes to me, his expression unreadable as he assumed a ready stance. I mirrored him, and we began a slow, prowling circle around the ring, each of us searching for an opening, for a weakness to exploit. Azriel picked up his pace slightly, his sword held low and to the side, the tip almost grazing the ground as he approached from the right. I tightened my grip on my own sword, holding it with both hands in front of me, the point aimed squarely at him.

He moved with an almost casual ease, closing the gap between us with short, measured steps. As he tossed the sword lightly in his hand, adjusting his grip, I watched him take two small steps back, signaling his intent for the first strike. I raised my sword just in time to meet his powerful two-handed swing, our blades clashing with a sharp, metallic ring. We passed each other in a blur, my sword cutting to his left, his to my right, before we both lowered into a crouch, circling each other again with swords pointed low.

I launched a quick jab his way, which he deftly retreated from, and we exchanged a rapid series of blows—left, right, above, and below—until Azriel swung low, aiming for my belly. I lunged back, panting slightly, my eyes widening at the force behind his attack. If it had landed, it would have surely knocked me off my feet.

Azriel’s eyes darkened with intense focus as he shifted his weight to his back leg, holding his sword steady before him. The anger I’d been trying to suppress bubbled to the surface, and I lunged at him again, aiming for the center. Azriel countered my attack, his movements fluid and precise. He swung his body over his shoulder, bringing his sword down hard and fast, a blow I narrowly avoided.

I bared my teeth, frustration fueling the fire inside me, and struck back with renewed fury. Our swords clashed harder and faster, each strike driven by the burning rage I could no longer contain. Azriel continued to step back, retreating closer to the edge of the ring. Victory felt tantalizingly close, and I pressed the attack, raining down blows with all the force I could muster.

As he pulled his hand back to deliver a strike, I seized his wrist, trying to hold him in place. But with a swift, unexpected move, he kicked out, landing a solid blow to the soft center of my stomach and forcing the air from my lungs. Wild, unhinged anger surged through me, and I swung my sword with reckless abandon, aiming to leave him with a lasting reminder of this fight. But as I did, Azriel spun over his shoulder and thrust his sword backward, the blade skimming my stomach with just enough force to draw blood—a small trickle that ran down my skin. I had made a mistake, I had lost control. And if it had happened in battle, I would have been killed.

I staggered backward, my hand instinctively flying to my side. When I looked down, my palm was already slick with red. My heart pounded as I snapped my gaze back to him, anger flaring hot and fast. “What the fuck is your problem?” I demanded, my voice sharp and my stare searing with heated intensity.

Azriel swung his sword casually, completing the motion as if he hadn’t just crossed a line. His chest rose and fell rapidly, but his expression remained flat. “You lost,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

I scoffed, pressing my hand harder against my side, feeling the warm blood seeping through my fingers. The metallic scent filled my nose, and anger surged through me again. I shot a furious glare at him, snarling as I threw my sword to the ground. The blade slapped into the mud, the soldiers around us murmuring and laughing at the outburst. It was childish, sure, but I couldn’t care less in that moment.

Without a second glance at Azriel, I slunk out of the ring, squeezing through the lowest rungs of the fence, still clutching my throbbing side. He didn’t follow, and that was just as well. I didn’t want anything to do with him.

I wove through the other training rings, making my way to the healers’ tent while trying to push down the tears that threatened to spill over again. When I arrived, the tent was mostly empty—most of the soldiers who’d needed medical attention after the battle had either been patched up or sent back to their tents or were transported elsewhere for more intensive care. A few healers were still busy, tending to those who had been wounded during their morning duties. One of them, a female with bright blonde hair and a warm smile approached me. Despite her friendly demeanor, dark circles under her eyes suggested she hadn’t slept much, if at all.

“What happened here?” she asked, her gaze dropping to where my hand was pressed against my bleeding side.

“Accident in the training ring,” I replied curtly.

She stepped closer, and I reluctantly lifted my hand, revealing the gash. She kneeled down, carefully pulling the leather of my training uniform away from the wound to inspect it. After a moment, she stood, offering a tired but kind smile. “Come with me, let’s get that patched up.”

I sat in silence as the healer applied a cool, glistening salve to the wound. The bleeding slowed, the medicinal balm soothing the raw edges of the gash. She worked efficiently, packing gauze into the wound and covering it with bandages, securing them with an adhesive. The quiet was a welcome reprieve, and though it stemmed from being wounded, the touch of someone else felt unexpectedly comforting.

As she tended to me, I had more time to mull over everything that had happened. Azriel’s demeanor had been off-putting, to say the least, but why was it affecting me so much? Why did it matter if he was stand-offish? And why did I feel so personally affronted when he snapped at me? I tried to shake the thoughts from my head, telling myself I was overthinking it. Maybe I was in the wrong, expecting too much from him. After all, his duties were far greater than mine, more complex than I could fully understand.

But even as I tried to reason with myself, a nagging itch lingered in the back of my mind and throat, urging me to stay angry at him. It wasn’t just his harsh words or the coldness in his eyes; it was something deeper, something that made me feel as though I had lost something important, something that had once belonged to us both.

The healer stepped back, a calm smile on her face. “There we go!” she said with finality, wrapping the leftover bandages back up. “All patched up.”

I glanced down at the wound, now neatly covered, and gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks for that.”

Her smile lingered, but her eyes seemed to search for something deeper. “Is that all?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, as if sensing there was more beneath the surface.

I nodded, hopping off the examination table and adjusting my leathers into place. “That’s all,” I said, forcing a casual tone. “Just the scratch.”

She didn’t seem entirely convinced, her gaze lingering on me for a moment longer, but she didn’t press. Instead, she turned and walked away, moving on to tend to her next patient, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I sighed, looking down at the torn leathers I’d now have to repair, and made my way to the entrance of the healer’s tent. When I pulled back the flap, and my eyes adjusted to the sunlight at now flooding in, I looked down the platform steps where Azriel was standing. His eyes flashed to mine for a second, hardened and cold before he was shrouded in smoke and shadows and disappeared.

[bonefall]

mmm would it be possible for Mistystar and Leopardstar to fight/met during the BOTTE? or was Leopard already fed up with Tigerstar, his batshit insane plans and her status reduced to 'Tiger's another lackey' (like Darkstripe and many others) to really care about revenge? if she ever thought about it, that is.. im assuming she would be pretty pissed about being killed (there was a post about Mistyfoot first trying to poison her and Leopard realized it and instead decided to take her on a solo patrol to.. deal with a rogue i think? and then Misty gave her a rock appointment) and might had thought about making Mistystar pay, but it's been soooo long before BOTTE that she might had.. moved on? or just decided she had better things to do, not sure.

I have a BIG rule for the BOTTE, an unmoveable object, which I will abide by like a solemn vow;

NO spirit will be killed by the same cat twice.

I already changed it so Yellowfang doesn't get Brokenstar (he's not even present) and Brambleclaw doesn't get Hawkfrost, so I certainly wouldn't have Mistystar do it to Leopardstar!

I have some ideas but first; context.

The Killing of Leopardstar

Mistyfoot was sloppy.

Leopardstar recognized the way that Mistyfoot had poisoned her food, because she'd done the same thing to Crookedstar before her. Not enough to make it quick, just enough to weaken.

The emotion that licks at her is frustration.

Is this what her life has come to? Dramatic irony? Is this some kind of cosmic joke? To die just like her predecessor, wasting away for a few seasons in the darkness of this musty den, before solemn mourning and empty platitudes from her underhanded murderer.

What should she even do about this? Reveal Mistyfoot in front of everyone, exile her, she plots against her from the safety of another Clan, some kind of rebellion, rah rah rah we just dealt with this.

It's boring. It's so boring it's offensive. This will be the state of RiverClan forever, deputies poisoning leaders and taking power quietly until the end of days. No honor, no nobility, just treachery until the sky dries up and its rich blue becomes a crackled pale-brown.

If she is to die, she will not go out in the slow and painful way she killed crookedstar without a fight.

So she smacks the limp fish aside and brushes past Mistyfoot with a snarl, not even caring enough to drink in the way her traitorous deputy's ears flushed pale, knowing she'd been caught.

Leopardstar calls for a rushed meeting, telling them all that there's actually 40 - 50 feral rogues on the border right now and she saw them all last night or something, so she's taking Mistyfoot to go confront them right now. Don't follow us.

(Something that the more astute members of the Clan immediately recognize as Leopardstar setting up cover for a death match, including Misty's brother Swansong. She snaps at him when he runs to stop her, Don't Follow.)

Once they're a fair distance away, at the southern delta that divides WindClan and RiverClan, where the cliffs will hide them and the wet stones will not catch the scent (and where Reedwhisker will die, someday), Leopardstar lays it out.

No more tricks. No more schemes. If one of them is to die, it will be with honor.

"You want my lives?"

(Boss music fades in. Misty sees the health bar appear lmao)

"Come and take them."

After she came and took them

Leopardstar is kind of obsessed with the final battle of her life. That fight was everything she hoped for, except that she didn't win.

She wants it again, and she will triumph this time.

Hawkfrost is easily able to twist it into, "You lost only because StarClan shone upon her with that stone. It wasn't real skill. Join our cause and we can get you that rematch, we will defeat Mistystar, win back RiverClan, and dethrone the Stars!" But at the end of the day, it's an excuse.

Same sort of excuse Leopardstar came up with when she believed she wanted an honorable battle, rejecting the guilt and fear that clawed at her to think about dying the way Crookedstar did.

She does this a lot. Dodging feelings of remorse or regret by substituting power fantasies, avoiding any hard lessons. She says she wants revenge, but what she's actually doing is avoiding taking an L. Shame is a vagrant in Leopardstar's heart; she will never let it stay for long.

But...

That's really hard to do when Tigerstar is actively using her and speaking over her in every interaction. Being here, in the Dark Forest, taking the SAME advice she once groomed into Hawkfrost to only look at the positives of Tigerstar's legacy and ignore atrocities, is embarassing.

It's HUMILIATING.

She had her starshine BASHED out of her with a rock and went to the hell she'd been downplaying since she "regrettably" tore down the Bonehill. Being Tigerstar's stooge. Reducing the proud, ferocious leader of RiverClan into a goon.

Towards the end, she will have a scene with Hawkfrost, proud warriors that they are as mentor and apprentice, and vaguely address this. As far as Leopardstar's ego will allow, of course... the shame of it.

It's an important moment, because it's as much about Leopardstar and Hawkfrost as it is about Hawkfrost and Ivypool.

Leopard is too set in her ways to change, even if she is capable of brief glimpses of self-reflection, of which this is one. Hawkfrost, however, is seeing his mentor and himself in a different light. How she'll let herself be humiliated over and over as long as she can cling to her ego... and how by doing Tigerstar's diplomacy work, Hawkfrost is doing the same.

And he's dragged his OWN apprentice into it, too. She accidentally double-killed her friend, Antpelt, but he killed him more by bringing all of these trainees here to begin with. How Ivypool gets pitted against Tigerheart because TigerSTAR is playing mind games, how it's destroying her bond with her sister, how much fun and joy in the Dark Forest he's missing out on by not giving the afterLIFE a chance...

How much he's thrown away for this, before and after his death.

I'm not sure yet if it's the LAST stop before the BOTTE, but it's close to the end of Hawkfrost's redemption arc. Recognition of self through the other. He is part of a cycle he has a choice to break.

But anyway... back to Leopardstar.

She wants to fight Mistystar, but I don't think I'll let her have that satisfaction. She has already gotten nearly everything she ever asked for and can't even acknowledge that she did.

I think it's most fitting for SWANSONG to finally get what he craves; a chance to take a burden off his sister.

Leopardstar allowed TigerClan to STRIP his brotherhood from her because they don't share blood. Forced him to pretend like Rippleclaw meant anything to him, as if Oakheart hadn't been his proud baba as long as he could remember. Stonefur, Mistyfoot, and Swansong are the kits of Graypool; and he's not gonna let this golden FART ignore that ever again.

So my idea is that when Leopardstar meets Mistyfoot in the Second Wave of the BOTTE, she pounces onto her for her rematch, but Swansong BURSTS out of the crowd in response and rips her off, allowing Mistystar to go back to defending their Clanmates

"I don't want YOU," Leopardstar spits, "My battle is with Mistystar!"

"Tough titfeathers! It's MY turn to get a hit in for Stonefur!" He bristles with equal parts fury and excitement, lunging towards a fight he's dreamed of for years.

Still subject to change, though! And I'm not sure if Swansong dies here, or in the 3rd Wave, or if maybe he succumbs to injuries after the BOTTE is over.

It would also be fitting if he got a whack on Mapleshade though... since Maple doesn't even consider him Applekin and won't curse him. It would be neat for him to get angry about that lmao. "What do you MEAN my siblings are haunted by a demon? But NOT ME?? What ELSE am I getting left out of???"

EDIT: I'm currently planning to kill him in the 2nd Wave