#someone get this bitch a muzzle

[crowshoots]

i'm struggling with exactly how to put this into words but i feel like whenever people engage with jesper, especially in a gang or criminal setting, one of the things they probably almost always have to look out for is the fact that jesper is so easily willing to reach for her gun. she has no qualms with putting it into action or using it as a threat. she uses her actively loaded and live gun to gesture and point to people sometimes. you always have to navigate or have counter measures for jesper because you know that she can do a lot of damage and a lot of damage fast.

[whirlybirbs]

— BRUISED EGO ; PART ONE ; TOSHINORI YAGI ; 俊典

summary: you & toshinori have a great working relationship. all might is like a mentor. a great guy. a real, stand-up dude. a hero who inevitably has to help you deal with the side-effects of being hit with a love quirk. pairing: younger!toshinori yagi / f!reader ; hero name: derecho word count: 3.6k of pure smut tags: afab!reader, fingering, oral (female receiving), piv, denying feelings, toshi being a genuine lover-boy, someone has a praise kink, surprise it's me, minors dni a/n: i love young dumb full of cum late-twenties all might the tag | next →

"You don't look well—"

"Don't."

You could fry him right now. You could totally, absolutely, blast him with ten thousand volts and call it a night — but you can't, really, because he's fucking All Might. He's All Might and even worse, he's Toshinori Yagi. 

He's... kind. And gentle. And patient. And levelheaded... If not the single reason your entire life fell apart seven years ago.

(That is not true. You know it. You and your therapist have worked through that stuck point — but, it sounds a hell of a lot better than explaining the reason you ended up in prison was by your own actions, not being caught by All Might.)

You're reformed.

Blah, blah, blah, you're the Villain Rehabilitation Program's star graduate. 

They loved using your imagery — the ones of you before you got clean off those Quirk enhancers and put on the straight and narrow —in their PR packages. They love that picture of you — the ones with hands behind your back — cuffed by All Might as you're effectively muzzled by the local law enforcement.

Your lip catches in a snarl.

Don't think about that. 

Don't think about his hands on your wrists. Don't think about the way his boot nudged your leg apart for the frisk — don't think about the way he threatened you, so low and so dangerous, not to move. 

Don't think about how All Might is a bastard, and the media just doesn't know it. 

He's cheeky. Sly. When he's out of the limelight, that eerie #1 smile drops and he's almost normal — if not nearly five hundred and sixty pounds of muscle.  

Like now, on this rooftop, he's more like Toshinori Yagi. Your impromptu mentor in all things heroic. After all, the Hero Commission thought it would be great for the program's image if All Might, the man who arrested you countless times, was the one to integrate you into a more heroic notion. Never mind the dozens of times you went head-to-head with the man, never mind the handful of times you almost won. 

"Derecho, I'm serious," comes his voice; it's softer, almost like he's in his smaller form — the one you always find yourself being partial to, "You look feverish..."

Static snaps across the air and Toshinori takes it — the way it bites at the skin of his hands is nothing. It's a warning shot. Don't come any closer. 

"I was hit with that guy's quirk," you mutter as you try to square your breathing, "I'm fine, I just... Need some time—"

Son of a bitch. 

You've always been a hard one to shake — and even now, as you climb well into the Top Ten ranks, he's never seen you this out of it. You've taken a crowbar to the ribs and recovered better than being hit by some petty criminal's love quirk. 

Toshinori curses under his breath as he winces at the desperation cracking in your voice. 

"If you need to take the night—"

"Yes."

He was slotted to patrol this prefecture with you for another two hours — but seeing the way your whole body looks like it could collapse is... a bit concerning. Toshinori nods, exhales, and waves you on.

"Should I call Recovery Girl?"

Your boot toes the ledge. You need out of this outfit. It's too tight. You're too hot. Your skin feels like it's on fire and the embarrassing ache between your legs is just getting worse with every low, timbred syllable out of his mouth. Don't think about his mouth. 

"I'm fine." 

You're not fine.

Even when you're back in your apartment, trying desperately to shower off the skin-crawling, mouth-watering heat of desire, you can't even come close to relating to the word 'fine'. You're a mess. You try to stand under the heat of the water for a while, to burn the need off your skin, but that doesn't work. 

You're so not fine. 

You can't stop thinking about Toshinori. Must be something to do with the fact he was closest when you were struck with the quirk. Yea. Totally that.

You have to be fine. You need to be fine. This is just a stupid love quirk that will wear off within a few hours. 

Well, a few hours come and go, and it's just getting worse. 

Come on, you are torturing yourself with the evening news, just breathe it out. 

Because you're a hero, and you were a villain. You know what it's like to get hit with disconcerting quirks like this in the heat of a battle. With just a little time, it goes away. Right? 

Right...?

"I AM CALLING! I AM CALLING!" 

Your phone vibrates on the coffee table. Your pupils, full-blown and big, swivel to the photo that ignites the dark of the room. It's a photo of Toshinori — he's in his smaller form, posed beside you in a ramen booth close to U.A.'s campus. He was hellbent on giving you a tour of his old high school.

You always loved how cute he looked in that picture.

Fuck.

You snatch the phone up and answer the call.

"What?" it comes out snappier than it needs to be. 

"Are you doin' alright?" his voice has lost its persona'd gusto. You can tell, just by the soft way he speaks, he's no longer in uniform or on patrol. All Might has clocked out for the evening, and Toshinori Yagi is in the building, "I haven't heard a peep from you all night, zippy." 

Something in your brain goes blank at the nickname. You usually hate it. Usually, you'd bite at him for it. You don't even realize you're white knuckle gripping the edge of the couch as he continues to speak. 

"Y'know, it's okay — I've been hit by love quirks plenty of times before," he goes on; you can hear him juggle the phone to his other ear, "They aren't fun. I'm sorry you're—"

"Come over."

Toshinori almost drops the can of soda in his hands. In the middle of the convenience store aisle, he feels his entire body lurch. 

"What?"

Your head is back against the couch, your hands covering your face in sheer embarrassment. You grit it out again. "I said come over."

"Derecho—"

"I've tried everything," you mutter defeatedly into the phone; you can't even pull your hand from your face, you're so embarrassed you're even telling him this but you need help, "Fingers, toys, even the Hitachi on the highest speed, Toshinori, and I can't—"

Jesus fucking Christ. 

This is bad.

This is... not you. So not you. This is... fuck, okay, right. He's All Might. He helps people. And you're important to him. You're his enemy turned pseudo-protégé turned colleague turned woman-he's-been-ignoring-his-feelings-for-the-last-seven-months. You're Derecho. Number Eight Hero in Japan, his friend. His...

"Give me ten."

And he hangs up.

Two boxes of XL condoms earn him a severely skeptical look from the cashier, but it's fine. Toshinori has bigger things to worry about — like the fact he has no idea what this is going to do to your working relationship, but it's fine. You need help. He knows what this is like — and he would feel awful if he left you to deal with it alone. 

Fingers, toys, even the Hitachi— 

Maybe he'll die, actually. Maybe he'll just throw himself from the nearest roof. 

The mental image of you, alone in your apartment, hands between your thighs as you try desperately to shake the painful ache in your core has him walking a bit faster — your apartment is three blocks over. 

He makes good time.

His knuckles don't even touch the door before you're yanking it open — and Christ, you're a sight to see.

Wet hair, wild eyes, and a permanent heavy breath. The oversized t-shirt clinging to your shoulders is definitely going to be a topic of discussion for a later date. It's All Might merch. His fucking merch. 

When did you even buy that—?

"I'm sorry," you blurt out, looking pained. 

Toshinori's eyes hold your own. Then:

"I've always been a sucker for a damsel in distress."

He's a bastard. A serious bastard. A bastard who you're dragging in by the neck of his t-shirt — a bastard who doesn't complain in the slightest when your mouth is on his in a flash. With ease, he slams the front door shut with his boot and quickly allows you to guide him through your apartment. Your mouth is still latched to his, your hands digging into his shoulders as his hands chase your waist. 

You recognize in the heated haze of the kiss there's a grocery bag in his hand. It knocks against your hip as you accidentally back into the edge of the couch — your hands fumbling for some purchase in the dark living room. 

You pull your mouth from his just long enough to breathe out another apology. 

"Don't. We'll talk about it after," he says, leaning down over you as you scramble back against the leather couch cushions, "What do you need?"

"What do you think?" you hiss as his body presses against yours; he's still in his boots, still in his shirt and jeans. He's... too clothed. Your body couldn't handle anything except the less-than-flattering pair of cotton underwear and the biggest t-shirt you owned. 

You swear he's smirking in the dark. 

"Mouth? Hands?" he presses, his touch cradling your face as he continues to navigate your steady, bruisingly needy kisses, "Use your words."

"Anything—"

Your voice is a rasp, your hands scaling his back as he nudges your knees apart with his thigh and slots his hips against yours. Even in this smaller form, he's got the tactical advantage — not being near death from a fever so high you can hardly think anymore. 

"I need to know," he says as he leans back, his voice dipping lower as his palms brush the skin of your stomach. His fingertips hesitate at the edge of your waistband, and you whine. 

"Anything, Toshinori, stop jerking me around!" 

...What a brat. He almost laughs. But, then he remembers the one time he was left like this — and how desperate he was even after six hours of exhaustive attempts at self-pleasure. 

"Be nice," he chirps as his fingers slip beneath your underwear; his satisfaction builds when you fist the back of his shirt and gasp — his fingers grace the slick, wet folds of your core with ease. It's a tender movement, one that assesses just how pliable you are at this moment. 

And then, two of his fingers are pushing into you down to his knuckles. 

The babbled thank you bursts from your chest — and Toshi actually laughs at how fast you cling to his chest. He didn't anticipate his night going like this. Not with you, wild-eyed and desperate, pulling him into a kiss that's so bruising he thinks his lip splits.

Hands. Hands. Hands. His hands. One hand is between your folds, working you open, and the other is pressing up your curves and settling along your breast. You can't even think straight. The fact Toshinori is so slick, so eager, so good at whatever he's doing, is making the coil in your abdomen go white hot. 

"Fuck—" you strangle out, your lips parted in a gasp as he wets his own lips and watches your face in the dark, "G-God, okay, th-that's good—"

"Better than your own?" he asks, genuinely worried this isn't the progress you need to shake off the quirk's effects. 

"So much better," you wail, coincidentally fueling his ego in a way he never knew he needed. Because, ha, well — who knew Derecho, little miss spiteful and mysterious, just needed a little bit of him. 

"Is it enough?" he asks against her jaw, his forearm flexing as he works the pace up, his palm rubbing gently against your clit. It's an attempt at a coordinated pace, and it seems to be working from the way you're writhing beneath him. 

"I... I still — I can't — I'm so..." you look like you could cry out of sheer frustration, and Toshi suddenly feels a pang of guilt. He can only imagine how you've done this very thing over and over tonight, trying to just cum. Your voice cracks and you whimper, "I can't. I'm so close, but I just can't—"

"Okay," he breathes, his mind swirling with strategic planning, "So mouth."

"Mouth?" you choke, suddenly looking alarmed, but Toshi doesn't seem to care about the added snare of intimacy that comes with him slipping to his knees before the couch. 

Oh my god, he's on his knees. He's on his knees and he's grappling with your underwear, hauling it down the tops of your thighs before throwing it over his shoulder in a very Toshinori manner. 

You've got All Might on his knees. 

It suddenly hits you as he sits up on his knees and nudges your legs apart. He's a man on a mission — dedicated entirely to the task at hand. 

Making you orgasm. 

You wonder how many people have fantasized about this very thing — granted, he's not costume. Thank god. You can't even imagine what the conversation with his dry-cleaning team would look like. 

Toshi's voice knocks you back to reality. "Is this okay?"

He sounds concerned.

Meanwhile, you could kill him. If he doesn't put his mouth on you right now—

Noted. He sees the spark of annoyance, dumb question, and hauls your leg over his shoulder as he delves in. 

Ohmygod.

This is better — the coil is wound tighter, and a little bit closer to snapping, the second his tongue presses flat against your glistening slick. It's even better when he hums, his voice mumbles against your sex as his hands press your thighs to open a bit farther. 

"Keep 'em open."

"Don't talk," you heave between pants, "With your mouth full."

It's like the two of you are at work — this banter. But, his laugh vibrates your core and you moan. That doesn't happen at work. That doesn't happen, ever. A greedy part of you sure as hell hopes this happens again, because holy hell, he's good at this. Methodical. Strategic. Thorough.

His pace doesn't change, the pressure doesn't lessen. The blonde streaks of his fringe tickle the inside of your thighs as he continues his work — and you swear you almost cum when he slips a look up at you in the dark. 

His eyes are so blue that you feel like you're suddenly lost at sea. 

Then, there are two crooked fingers back inside of you. 

You and he are going to have to have a long talk about where he learned all this — because it's so good you genuinely can't do anything but reach out and grip his hair in a panic. You gasp, your whole body convulses, and you almost... almost cum. Almost.

It's Toshi's turn to moan. 

You're suddenly so oversensitive you swear your heart might stop. 

You're writhing away from him, squirming away, and Toshi's lips are parted as his breath fans across your core. 

"Cock," you're suddenly rambling, "N-Need — I need—"

"Right," he stutters, realizing this is good — you're almost there, he can tell. You're so close he can feel it in the air. The static electricity burning off your quirk leaves the room feeling tingly. 

He's wobbling back upright, cursing as he practically falls around the couch in the dark, and palms at the grocery bag he discarded on the floor. He's not graceful about the way he tears about the small box, or about the way he drops the foil square between his teeth as he leans back to work off his belt. 

"Bedroom?" he asks through gritted teeth.

You're nodding, practically falling over yourself to lead the way. Boots, jeans, belt, shirt — all of it is left scattered along the way, and your bare body hits the sheets after an easy shove from Toshinori. Of course, the boxers clinging to his strong thighs are his brand. The All Might logo is almost comical stretched across his hardness. 

You have the wherewithal to roll your eyes as he tears open the condom with his teeth. 

"What?" he shirks, looking down.

"Seriously?" you grit, legs pressed together tightly to try and stop the empty ache between your legs. It hurts. It hurts so much worse when his mouth and hands aren't on you.

"Don't even start," he rumbles as he rolls down the waistband and his cock springs free — he's quick to roll the condom down the thick length of it and lift a finger to wag in your face, "You answered the door in my merch—" 

"Setting the mood," you offer as he steps out of his underwear.

Toshinori then, unceremoniously, drags your hips to the edge of the bed. You almost shriek. It's a bit rough — a bit sudden — but you can't complain when the head of his cock is suddenly being guided through your folds teasingly. Up and down. Over the swollen bud of your clit, across your wet opening. You prop yourself up on your elbows, lips parted, as you try and nudge your hips closer. 

His large hand presses your hips down to the mattress. 

"Toshinori—"

"You sure this is okay?" he mutters, his pupils full-blown as he watches himself slip through your wetness, "I— If it's too much—"

"If you don't fuck me right now—"

"Right."

And he sinks in.

Ha. 

Yea. 

This is good.

You're so glad you didn't fry him earlier. You're so glad. You're so... oh, this is so so so ridiculously good you might die. You might die, because he's snapping his hips into yours and you can see the ripple of his muscles, even in this smaller form. 

His breath is ragged, his voice low and easy.

"You're doing a great job," he says; your core tightens at the sudden praise, "Y-You're doin' really... good—"

Your chest bounces with each thrust, your legs locked around his hips, your whimpers increasing in frequency with every single in and out of his cock. The feeling is better than any sex you've ever had — you've never been so aware of every inch. 

And then, he's knocking his forehead against yours, leaning over you — you're caged against the mattress, and one arm of his is holding your leg up around his waist. The angle change is minute but it's good. Everything is Toshinori so suddenly, everything is so blue eyes and a bright smile. 

It's thorough, a word you're slowly beginning to realize describes Toshinori to a T. There's not a single falter in his pace, not a single thrust that doesn't wind the white-hot orgasm tighter and tighter in your belly. It's worse when he holds your face, though, worse when he keeps fucking you so well while chattering on about how good you are, how strong you are, how beautiful you are—

Your composure snaps when he rumbles out:

"I know you can cum for me like a good girl."

The coil snaps.

Finally. 

After four hours of torture. After four hours of trying. Finally, you cum — and hard. The sort that robs you of your vision and hearing, the sort that has your whole body arching off the bed. The kind you haven't had in a long time. The kind that, of course, Toshinori Yagi would be the man to provide. 

"Fuckfuckfuck—" you babble, gasping, still gripped by the force of the orgasm as his pace quickens.

He's laughing — laughing, and then you're clamping down on him so hard he sees stars. It's all fun and games until he can't stop himself, he can't slow down, he can't breathe, and he's rocked by an orgasm that makes his knees give out. He's wild-eyed, panting, snapping his hips into yours as you whimper and gasp and grip his shoulders so tight he may have bruises. 

Toshinori swallows, then gasps to catch his breath, and then pushes himself up to give you a little room to breathe. His cock is still twitching inside of you.

Your eyes are closed, and your breath is fast. Your hair is spilled across the sheet — and you look content. Satiated. Peaceful. He's rarely ever seen you so tranquil. 

Blindly, and lazily, you reach up to touch his cheek.

At first, he thinks it's going to be tender. Intimate. Romantic.

Then, you roughly pat it twice.

"We're never gonna talk about this again."

Right. 

Because he's All Might. And you're Derecho. You're colleagues. Friends. This was just... him helping you. Like when a friend has a cold. You bring them soup. He... brought you... an orgasm. Just like soup.

Definitely.

...Right. 

"It was just, uh," he breathes, pulling out and cursing at the embarrassingly apparent load in the condom; not like he'd dreamed about this very thing for nights on end, no siree bob, "You needed help. I offered."

That is not what happened. Not even close. But, he's going to tell himself that.

Not like you totally won't think about this every single night ever for the rest of time. Definitely like you won't dream about the way he called you a good girl. Ha. Yea, right. Psh. You're fine. This is fine. Everything is fine.

After all, it's just Toshinori.

He's... kind. And gentle. And patient. And levelheaded... If not the single reason your entire life fell apart seven years ago.

And definitely not the reason your life is falling apart right now as you realize, fuck, you're definitely in love with him, aren't you?

Naaah.

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 4: The Deal (Warning: this chapter will feature violence. Read at your own risk)

A/N: had free time this week to produce this. Next week is chock full of tests and midterms, so this’ll probably be the last chapter for some time. Enjoy! Also, I’m sorry to those who asked to be added to the tag list and weren’t. I tried to add many of you, but Tumblr wasn’t able to find your blog for whatever reason.

When you open your eyes, darkness goes on forever in all directions, the only thing you can see is yourself. Where are you and how did you get here?

“Hello,” you call out, hoping someone is nearby to hear you, not caring who hears you just as long as someone comes to you. “Is there anyone here?”

Nothing, which you expected, but you had hoped against reality that someone was here… wherever here is. The cold air surges through your body and you shiver, your teeth chattering, echoing in the void.

“What happened,” you ask yourself. “How’d I get here?”

Just then, your memory kicks in and images and words assault your mind all at once: walking through the East End, the three thugs, the dirty shack in the middle of the woods you had been dragged to, and—

“Oh my god,” you say as the final memory flashes before your eyes. “They killed me.”

That’s right, the flash of the muzzle and the sound of the gunshot still rattling in your head. And if you think hard enough, you can vaguely remember falling to the floor after the bullet entered your head.

“Wait,” you say, realizing something very important. “If they shot me, then why am I here?”

Sure, you aren’t religious (all beliefs in a just and loving god died after you lost your Momma and was forced to live in an abusive and neglectful household for thirteen years), but this dark and neverending void is a far cry from the bright and golden imagery that’s always been associated with heaven. And this sure isn’t the fire and brimstone that comes to mind when you think of hell. So, is this purgatory? Or limbo? You never could keep the two straight.

Is this your fate? To spend the rest of your afterlife alone in this abyss? Why couldn’t you just cease altogether? Was it too much to ask that you just close your eyes and never wake from your eternal slumber?

You realize you’re crying and you’re amazed that after crying so much throughout your life, you still have plenty of tears to shed, even in the afterlife. But that’s been your lot in life since you lost Momma: to be the world’s punching bag.

“Such powerful emotions,” a familiar voice says.

You look up in shock and see your Momma, looking exactly the same as the day she was taken from you.

“Momma,” you exclaim, rushing to her and embracing her, squeezing her as hard as your arms will allow, afraid that if you let go, she’ll disappear.

“This form brings out such joy, sadness, and loss in you,” she says. “Feelings from someone alive are far more vibrant than from someone deceased.”

“What,” you asks, looking up at her in confusion, but when you do, it’s not your Momma you see looking down at you, but Bruce. You let go of the man as quick as you can and put a bit of distance between the two of you.

“What did you do to my Momma, you son of a bitch,” you shout in disgust.

“This form brings out such anger, pain, and hatred in you,” Bruce says, looking you up and down as if dissecting you like a damn lab experiment. “How interesting.”

“What the hell are you talking about? How’d you get here and what did you do to Momma?”

“And it’s not just this form.” You see movement all around you and in perfect unison, the other members of the Wayne Family appear from the void. “You hold these forms in equal amounts of hatred and contempt.”

“You deem this one a failure,” Bruce says.

“This one a hypocrite,” Dick says.

“This one a brute,” Jason says.

“This one a know-it-all,” Tim says.

“This one a stranger,” Barbara says.

“This one annoying,” Stephanie says, before turning to Cassandra. “And while you’ve never heard that one speak, you deem her a freak.”

“And you deem this one a monster,” Damian says. He gestures to Bruce. “You hate this form and that one in equal measure, far surpassing the others.”

You see another figure step out of the void and when you make out the face, it’s Alfred. You feel relief surge through your body, happy to see the butler; if there’s anyone who you can depend on, it’s him.

“While this one serves the others, you hold great respect for this form,” Alfred says. “Although, you hold a not insignificant amount of resentment towards him.”

Your heart skips a little at the accusation. No, you love the man, who took the place of a father when Bruce failed to fill the void left by your Momma’s death; sure, you’ve had the occasional thought that if the man was given a choice between you and them, he’d choose them over you since he’s always helping them, but he’s always been there for you since day one!

“No,” you say, pleading with the man. “Alfred, I don’t!”

“But you do,” the butler responds. “According to you, he is the true master of your prison, but instead of using his power to make them acknowledge your existence, he allows them to continue parading through Gotham, fighting criminals.”

“You also believe all these forms belong in Arkham,” Bruce adds. “And that you wish to be the one to subject them to electroshock therapy.”

You finally realize that something’s wrong here. All of them have never been in your presence long enough for you to say how you feel about them (not that they’d care, anyway) and you’ve never told Alfred how you often daydream of locking them away in Gotham, strapping them to metal chairs, and flipping the switch to send hundreds of volts through their skulls, hoping to shock them into being decent human beings. All this has been kept in your head for well over a decade.

So, how the hell did they know all this?

“You’re not them, are you?”

“No,” Not-Bruce answers. “We only took the forms of those you see before you.”

“Then who the fuck are you,” you growl. “And where the fuck am I?”

“We have no name,” Not-Alfred says.

“We are one, and yet we are many,” Not-Damian finishes.

“It is impossible to define a being such as us,” Not-Jason chimes in.

“Alright, that doesn’t answer my question,” you mutter to yourself, but say it loud enough for them to hear. “Then answer me this: where am I? The last thing I remember was being shot by three thugs.”

“Yes, we know of your attack,” Not-Stephanie says.

“As for your question, we are appearing to you in your mind,” Not-Bruce says.

“My mind,” you exclaim. “How?”

“When you appeared to us, we reached out and established a link with you,” Not-Tim explains. “It is from there that we were able to peer into your mind and see your memories.”

“My memories,” you ask, dumbfounded.

“Yes,” Not-Damian responds. “Through your memories, we saw these forms and assumed them. We thought it would be more preferable for you to speak to us if we took the appearance of the people who have the most influence on your life.”

“If you looked through my memories, then you should know I want nothing to do with any of them,” you snap at them.

“We know now that we were in error,” Not-Bruce responds, a ghost of a smile gracing his face. “We owe you many thanks. Never before have we been put into a situation where have known the sensation of being incorrect. We will ponder this experience for years to come.”

“So, what do you really look like.”

All of them look at one another, unsure how to answer your question.

“We are not sure if you wish to see our true form,” Not-Alfred responds.

“While you are the first sentient being we’ve interacted with in our entire existence, we know that our true form is something many of your kind would consider… terrifying,” Not-Stephanie adds.

“I don’t care,” you snap. “I’m not talking to any of you while you look like this and I sure as hell don’t want you taking Momma’s form! And if we’re going to talk, we’re gonna do it face to face!”

“Very well,” Not-Bruce acquiesces.

And with that, everything fades to black and for a moment, you’re scared you’ll be left here in the dark by yourself again. Maybe you should’ve let them stay like that.

Just then, above you, you see an odd red glow. You look up and you feel your blood freeze, your heart stop, and the air catches in your lungs. Above you is a giant mass of red, bioluminescent flesh hanging from a cave ceiling, thick black tendrils extruding from it and digging deep into the surrounding rock, allowing it to remain suspended in the cavern. And if that didn’t freak you out enough, you can see the flesh obviously resembles the shape of a fetus in the fetal position. This thing looks like something out of an H.P. Lovecraft novel.

“Holy shit,” is all you can say.

“We told you you would not approve of our true form,” it says, its voice beaming directly into your mind.

“What are you,” you ask, still awestruck at the sight before you.

“We are have no name,” it responds. “But, with the knowledge we have accumulated over the centuries, we suppose you can call us the Megamycete.”

“Megamycete?”

“Yes, we are a supercolony of sentient fungus that has existed for over four-hundred years.”

“Four-hundred years? That’s as long as Gotham’s been around.”

“We have existed as the city above. When its founders first arrived, we were nothing more than a collection of small, independent and unaware colonies of mold. Not long after the first buildings were built, an earthquake shook the area and revealed something we now know as a ‘Lazarus Pit,’ a pool of green, luminescent liquid that possesses remarkable restorative properties, and the colonies that would become us were plunged into it.”

“And this pit made you the way that you are?”

“The pit made us aware, but it did not give us our intelligence. With our enhanced capabilities, we were able to spread out our roots beyond the mountain. Not long after, we discovered the corpses of the first of Gotham’s citizens, buried after they drew their last breath; when our roots came into contact with their bodies, we found we had the ability to archive the knowledge, memories, and even DNA of the deceased. We became obsessed with growing our archive, so as Gotham grew over the years, so did our roots; overtime, we archived hundreds of its deceased, increasing our intelligence and knowledge of the outside world. Now, our roots touch every part of this city, becoming one with it, not only archiving the remains of its living, but seeing and hearing everything that goes on within its boundaries.”

“So,” you say, your mouth becoming dry at your newfound knowledge. “You’re like some fungal god?”

“While we know many of your kind may consider a being such as us god, we hold no illusion of being a divine entity. We think of ourselves as an immortal observer.”

As you attempt to process this information, your mind brings something to your attention and you feel your heart stop when you realize it. You really don’t want to know the answer, but there’s that damn stubborn part of you that has… no, it needs to know.

“So,” you begin, trying to summon the courage to ask your question. “Earlier, you said all of this is going on in my head, right?”

“Yes, our roots were able to establish a link with you and allow us to convene with you in your mind.”

“So, if we’re in my head right now, where’s me? I mean, my body?”

Although the Megamycete doesn’t have eyes, nor does it turn anything that resembles a head, you can feel it shift its awareness to the side, as if looking at something. You feel yourself break into a cold sweat as you slowly turn your head to the left, wondering what exactly you’re going to find.

And when you do, your greeted by a sight that makes you feel as if the world around you had crumbled away and you’ve been left behind to float in the void left behind: you, lying in a mess of tendrils composed of mold, broken, battered, and bloody; your limbs lying in directions they’re definitely not supposed to be in, your eyes glazed over, and a gaping bullet hole in your left temple.

“Oh my god,” you shout, utterly horrified at the sight before you. “Oh my god!”

“We saw the torture those three criminals subjected you to. Their leader was quite thorough in inflicting damage.”

“So that’s it, huh?” While this is all just some projection in your head, you feel like you’re hyperventilating. “This is how it ends: being eaten by some sentient mushroom and becoming a part of it? Doomed to spend the rest of eternity tethered to this damn city? I survive in a place where you’re likely to be killed by some trigger-happy murder clown and his psycho-ass whore while getting your mail and some two-bit thug is what does me in?”

“If you look closer, you will find that you are still alive.”

You practically snap your head to look back at your body and sure enough, you can see your chest moving up and down. It may not be much, but it’s there.

“I’m alive,” you ask, shocked at the sight of you breathing.

“You still live,” it answers back. “Your life force is low, but still there.”

“But how? He shot me in the head and then threw me down here! People don’t live after something like that!”

“While a gunshot to the head is normally fatal, our archive shows us two revelations: that the bullet did not go through your brain, but graze it and that the bullet used was of a lower caliber. While the wound was grievous, you still had a chance of surviving it. As for the fall into our chamber, your body was caught onto our roots as it fell, slowing it down and allowing it to land with diminished force.”

“But I’m still going to die, right?”

“Yes,” it answers, seemingly sympathetic. “If you were in a proper hospital, you could recover, but right now, your body is slowly shutting down. By the time anyone found you, you would long be deceased.”

So, you survive attempted murder, but you’ll still die in the end.

“Fuck,” you mutter. “Wasn’t the end I had in mind.”

“What did you have in mind for your death,” the Megamycete asks.

“Shouldn’t you know what i had in mind for my death?”

“We do, but our knowledge shows us talking to the dying brings a form of comfort to them. Plus, this is the first time we have had the chance to interact with a living mortal. We wish to prolong the experience as much as possible.”

You chuckle at that. “I thought I would spend my final days back home in Goodsprings, sitting in the big recliner Momma bought for me. I use to spend Saturday mornings in it, eating cereal and watching cartoons.” You smile at the memory of the chair. “It was a damn good chair.”

“We see it, a brown cushioned seat, perfect for watching television or reading books.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Would’ve been perfect to spend my last days in.”

“Perhaps you still can.”

You look up at the Megamycete. “What?”

“We offer you a deal: we will repair your body and give you the strength to leave this chamber and rejoin the outside world.”

“And you’ll get what?”

“You become our host.”

“What,” you balk. “Host?”

“Yes, we will entangle ourselves with your very being, becoming as one.”

“And why the hell would I agree to that,” you exclaim. “You fix my body just to take it over? No deal!”

“You misunderstand. We will not override your control over your body. We will be nothing more than a spectator in your life, seeing but being powerless to intervene. In addition to being restored to your former glory, you will gain access not only to our vast archive of knowledge, but gain abilities many of your kind would consider supernatural.”

That certainly cools your temper. “So, you fix me up and give me superpowers, but all you get in return is front row seats to my life. Sounds like I’m the only one benefitting from this deal.”

“On the contrary, we stand to gain just as much as you do. For over four-hundred years, we could see the outside world, but not join it. With each new corpse we archived, we began to desire a way to interact with the world firsthand and not by mere memories. You are our solution to this dilemma. Through you, we will know what it means to feel the sun on our face, or to taste the finest meals, or to hear a symphony.”

The Megamycete’s words shock you to your core. You guess if you were stuck in this cavern for four centuries and only knew of a world beyond it through memories, you’d do anything to experience it, too.

“Please, Y/N, we beg you to accept our deal. We promise everything we are, from our archive to our longevity, will be at your disposal. You will be stronger, smarter, and better than those who thought less of you. In comparison to you, they will be nothing more than mere ants.”

You’ve thought about showing the Waynes up for years, to be able to pay Jason back for that black eye, to make Tim feel like a complete idiot, and especially to make Damian feel inferior in every way possible.

“We can do that for you. With us at your side, you’ll attain a level of perfection they could never dream of. All we want is to be able to witness this firsthand.”

“Alright,” you relent. “If all you want is to go outside in exchange for making me better than them, you have a deal.”

“We thank you, Y/N,” it says, sounding incredibly happy. Relieved, even.

And with that, your world fades to black once again and when you open your eyes, you find that you’re back in your body, feelings of pain overwhelming your senses, making it hard to concentrate on the Megamycete pressing its tendrils into you. You watch in total awe as the giant, fetus-like mass that is the Megamycete begin to shrink and when you look down where the tendrils are embedded in your skin, you can see a black substance being injected into under your skin. The more of the substance being pumped into your body, the smaller the Megamycete gets.

That’s when you feel weird all over, like every cell in your body is transforming into something else. While not painful, per se, it’s an incredibly odd sensation.

(Your body is becoming one with our mold,) you hear the Megamycete explain in your head. (Not only will it repair the damage that was done to you, you will find that you are far more durable than any mere mortal and have the ability to change your form into any that is stored in our archive, both man or beast.)

“Wait, you’re saying I can shapeshift?”

(If that is what you wish to call our mimetic abilities, then yes, you may “shapeshift.”)

When the last of the mold was transferred to you, you find your body stitching itself up and the incredible pain you were in fading fast, like it was never there. You see a puddle of water lying nearby and when you look in it, you see that all your injuries are gone, even the scar on your left check that Damian gave you three years ago. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it never happened at all.

And not only do you look better, you feel better! You wouldn’t say you were the healthiest person ever, but you tried to stay somewhere in between active and sedentary; sure you weren’t going to be running any marathons, but you were able to climb the many stairwells at school when the elevator took too long. Now, however, you felt like you could run and win a marathon, or climb up a mountain without climbing gear, or swim the English Channel during a hurricane! And you didn’t feel better physically, but intellectually as well! Gotham, for all it many flaws, has attracted the best artists, architects, doctors, engineers, musicians, scientists, and more; you feel your mind being rushed with the knowledge and memories of countless people throughout the ages, ranging from the city’s early days to now. Hell, you even have access to the memories and knowledge of some of Bruce’s greatest employees, giving you knowledge on much on Wayne Enterprises’ tech and projects that he’s spared no expense in keeping under wraps. Maybe you can get a pretty penny from Lex Corp in exchange for this information since everyone knows Bruce and Lex are bitter rivals and are constantly trying to one-up each other, with Bruce, unfortunately, often being the winner in their battles to develop the next technological development.

“I feel like I could run circles around Einstein,” you laugh, completely blown away with your newfound intellect. Right now, you feel like you could write a symphony that would make Beethoven feel inadequate while at the same time painting a masterpiece that would eclipse the Mona Lisa and designing a fusion reactor capable of powering the entire country. You look around the cavern, looking and not seeing a way out. “Now how do I get out of here?”

(There is a passage directly above you.) You look up to see a big hole in the chamber’s ceiling. (That is how you ended up here when those three threw you in here. Our archives have absorbed many of Gotham’s birds. Any one of them should give you the power to fly out of the chamber.)

The mention of the three thugs remind you of your stolen pen and Game Boy, which then fills you with rage. You’ve never liked thieves and the thought of your Momma’s treasured pen and your gift from your thoughtful boss in the hands of such lowlifes gives you even more of a reason to hate them. By now, they could be anywhere, maybe even outside of the city for fear of your disappearance being reported (mostly by Alfred, the only person left in Gotham who would give a damn).

(Remember our roots span all of Gotham,) the Megamycete says. (Through them, we have seen and heard all that occurs in this city. As our host, you now have access to them. All you have to do is reach out and think of who you wish to find.)

Following its advice, you reach out and feel the roots that entangle Gotham like a spider web. As soon as you do, you’re overwhelmed with sights and sounds from every corner of the city.

(Focus on the three,) it advises you. (If you concentrate on who exactly you want, the roots will do the rest.)

It takes some doing, but you manage to push aside the multitude of people that are in your mind’s eye and focus on the three kidnappers. You’re taken across the city, rushing past the many buildings and stopping at some seedy building in Coventry. Your newfound knowledge of Gotham tells you this is the My Alibi bar, a place for Gotham’s criminals to get together to eat, trade gossip, and find work.

With your destination known, you search through the Megamycete’s archives and something to get you out of here and find something that should do the job: crows. Your body manifests into a murder of crows and takes off in perfect unison, keeping in formation. It’s extremely weird to be a bunch of birds; you know that what was once your body is now numerous birds, but while you’re multiple birds, you’re still one person. You can see through all their eyes all at once and change their flight path and they actually do it like it’s nothing. In a matter of seconds, you’re on the surface, flying above the forest and looking down at the twinkling lights of Gotham’s buildings.

“You know, from above, that cesspit actually looks kinda pretty.”

(We thank you, Y/N. We never thought we would be able to experience such a sight firsthand, but here we are. Now, shall we retrieve your stolen property?)

The crows fly through the city, zipping past the buildings and as you do, you realize that you’ve just fulfilled a dream you’ve had since you were ten-years-old: to fly like a bird. When you realized that the Waynes were awful and all you wanted was to go back to Goodsprings— to take flight like a bird and leave this city and the Waynes behind. Now, you can turn into a flock of birds, or even grow a pair of wings, and fly all the way to Nevada!

Eventually, you reach the My Alibi club, which looks even worse in person than through the Megamycete’s roots. You land on a nearby building’s rooftop and see the only security for the entire building is a single bouncer. You command the birds to land near the bouncer and when they do, they come together and reform your body, but instead of revealing you, you command hardened black mold to cover your body, not wanting your face to be seen by anyone.

What’s going to happen here needs to not get back to you.

“What,” the bouncer stutters. “What the hell?”

“Leave,” is all you say.

The bouncer says nothing before he runs away.

(Are you ready,) the Megamycete asks as you near the door. (We highly doubt your three would-be murderers will take your return likely. Nor will they likely be in a hurry to return your property. You may have to resort to violence.)

“Good,” is all you say as you enter.

The noise coming from patrons’ conversations, drinking, and arguing comes to an end when you walk inside. A quick look around and you can tell this place lives up to its reputation of being for Gotham’s criminal element; everyone here looks like they’ve done time and will probably spend their last days in prison.

And in the back corner sit your targets, looking at you with their table filled with glasses and plates of food. The sight fills you with rage; they shot you in the head and threw you in a ditch and here they are, eating and drinking like they just got off work and wanted something to take the edge off. And what really pisses you off is seeing the one called Butch holding your Game Boy like it was his right!

“I’m here for them,” you say, pointing to your quarry. “The rest of you are free to go.”

“Up yours, freak,” some shithead shouts back, pulling out a revolver and fires it three times. The bullets hit the hardened mold and fall to the floor, looking like crushed tin cans rather than deadly projectiles. “What the hell?”

He goes to fire it again, but you raise your hand and a tendril emerges from it, piercing the man’s heart; he drops his gun and lets out a disgusting gurgle, blood dripping from it and pooling on the floor, before falling silent, dead.

While most of your mind is disturbed at the sight; you’ve just killed a man, his blood literally on your hands, but you can’t deny there’s a part of you that’s not saddened by your actions. After all, he did try to kill you and if he was in a place like this, chances are he was a piece of shit and Gotham’s a slightly better place for his passing.

For a moment, everyone is paralyzed at what just happened. The place is so quiet, a pin could drop and it would deafen everyone. Then, everyone breaks out of their stupor, practically all of them pulling out their guns and begin shooting at you, but just like their friend here found out, their bullets are useless against you. Numerous tendrils emerge from all over your body and rush at them; some of them empaling them, others wrap around their throats and crush them, while the rest just whip them with enough force to break them in two. One by one, they fall until it’s just you and your prey.

“Look, man,” you killer whimpers as you draw closer to him. “I don’t know what you want, but you can take what we have. Tom, hand him the bag.”

The other one throws a bag, which lands at your feet; you look down to see it’s your book bag. You pick it up and open it to find everything still inside, from your binder and notebooks to your phone and the gift box Mr. Chen gave you. You’re relieved to know that you’re not missing any of your school stuff and don’t have to go looking for anything or replace it. You are, however, missing all the money from your wallet, but a look on the table shows where it went to. But, you’re still missing the most important thing: your Momma’s pen.

“Here, take this, too.” The leader takes the Game boy from Butch and holds it out to you, which you snatch from him, reveling in the fear in his eyes as you did, and carefully place it inside.

That just leaves one last order of business. You extend two tendrils and wrap them around the leaders throat and hold him up from the floor, his legs kicking around, trying and failing to get him back on the ground; his arms pathetically wrap around the tendrils, trying to crate some room for him to breath, and his mouth is gaping like a fish out of water, trying to get any sort of air. His cohorts go to say something, but a quick glare from you shuts them up. You bring the man close to you until you can see your reflection in his eyes, which are wide and full of terror, and open your mold mask, revealing your identity to them and based off their expressions, all three men could probably crush coal into diamonds with their sphincters.

“Holy shit,” Butch whispers, his face showing his complete disbelief.

“It’s that kid,” Tom adds, his face mirroring his partner. “But, we killed him, right?”

“My pen,” you say, looking at this piece of human filth with complete contempt. “Where is it?”

You loosen your grip to allow him to speak.

“My pocket,” he says. “It’s in my pocket. All the pawn shops were closed, so I wasn’t able to sell it.”

While you’re happy that your beloved pen is not is some sleazy pawn shop’s display window, you’re utterly disgusted at the thought of this man’s audacity to think he had the right to sell your most treasured possession like its some worthless trinket. A small tendril emerges form your shoulder and searches the man’s pocket and pulls out that beautiful gold ink pen. You have it deliver it to your left hand, which is empty as your right hand is being used to hold the man in front of you, and hold onto it with a vice-like grip.

(Not even death could separate you from your Mother’s memento,) the Megamycete states. (We are impressed at your dedication to it.)

“Look, we’re sorry for what we did to you,” the man pathetically whimpers. “Really, we are.”

“Did you know this was my Momma’s pen,” you ask as if the man had not just said something. “I lost her on my sixth birthday and was forced to leave my home in Goodsprings to live here. This pen is the only thing of hers I was able to bring with me. And you had felt like you had the right to take something I treasure more than anything else in the world and pawn it off for some petty cash.”

“We didn’t know, man,” Butch responds, now realizing the depth of his mistakes. “We’re sorry.”

“We promise we won’t tell anyone about this,” Tom adds. “Just let us go and you’ll never see or hear from us ever again.”

“You’re right, we won’t see each other again, but wouldn’t you like to know who I was forced to live with?” The three of them pathetically nod in unison and you have to fight the urge to laugh. A few hours ago, these men were looking down at you, sure they could do anything they wanted, but now, here you are, far above them in the food chain. “I was forced to live with my father, Bruce Wayne.”

“But he said—“ the leader starts to say, but you cut him off.

“That bastard has ignored me since I moved in with him,” you shout, shutting him up. “I was his first biological son, but he’s completely forgotten about me!” You take a deep breath. Just the mention of him brings out the worst in you. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t need him. Just like you don’t need your lives.”

And with that, you rip the man’s head clean off his shoulders, not even giving him the chance to realize his fate before killing him. You release the body and both it and his head crumple to the floor in a heap of lifeless meat and to further invoke fear in them, you stomp on the head while looking at them, the thing making a wet splat sound. The other two shout, but you cut them down with ease, tendrils emerging from your back and wrapping around their heads and crush them with ease, showering the floor in their blood and grey matter. Their bodies fall to the floor and flail around for a while before finally stopping.

(Well done,) the Megamycete praises. (You cut down these criminals and made Gotham safer faster than any police officer we have known. Perhaps the local police should seek out your services?)

“Not gonna happen,” you laugh as you walk out of the bar with your backpack in hand. “I have no intention of staying in this place. Once I graduate, I’m going back home.”

(Yes, Goodsprings. A small town located in Nevada. We look forward to experiencing your return to your point of origin.)

And with that, you manifest a pair of black wings on your back and take flight, flying far above the city’s skyscrapers, so hopefully you’re safe from detection. In just a few minutes, you’ve flown from Burnley Island to Bristol, something that should’ve taken almost an hour by car. Thanks to the Megamycete’s roots, you can see the Bats still out and about throughout Gotham, so you don’t have to worry about running into any of them while hurrying into your room.

You land down the street to avoid being picked up by the security cameras (Bruce’s picture is the definition of paranoid based on the amount of cameras in both the estate and in the house itself) and walk the rest of the way there. Normally, walking down the marathon-length driveway to the manor when coming home from work, but his time, you cross the distance like it’s nothing; in fact, you feel like you can do this another dozen times and still feel energized.

But, while you’re physically invigorated, you’re mentally drained and all you want to do is curl up and bed and pass out; you enter Wayne Manor and hurry to your room, never more thankful for being far from the rest of the household than you are now. While you’ve been flying under the radar of Gotham’s vigilantes for years now, you’ll afraid that even they won’t be able to ignore you when they found out about your newly gained powers. During your stay here, you’ve listened to their conversations when they thought you weren’t around and you know that while they distrust everyone (even each other based on the fact that no one seems to be allowed to have secrets), they distrust those with superpowers the most. Two years you listened in on a conversation between Bruce and Superman, who offered to help him during a time when many of Arkham’s most dangerous patients escaped all at once, and Bruce said in a tone that felt like sandpaper being dragged across your face: “Gotham’s off limits to metas. You step one foot in my city and you’ll regret it.”

Honestly, you’re confident that Bruce is only on this planet to be the biggest asshole who ever lived. He treats his first biological son like shit, he raises his “true children” to be as paranoid and pessimistic as him, and he threatens anyone who offers his sorry ass any kind of help. It seems to you that the only one who should’ve died that night in Crime Alley is Bruce.

You shove the man’s image in your head aside. Before tonight, he wasn’t important to you, but now, he’s irrelevant. You never needed him before, but now, you really don’t. With the Megamycete, you have everything you need.

Just then, your phone rings, bringing you out of your thoughts. You fish out your phone and look on the screen to see Alfred’s caller ID staring back at you.

“Hello,” you answer.

“Master Y/N, are you alright?”

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because it’s over an hour since you should’ve called me since getting off work.” You wince when you peek at your phone and see you’re overdue your nightly call with the butler. “So, I ask again: are you alright?” Based off his tone, he’s not going to accept “I’m fine” as an answer.

“Yeah, I am.” You quickly think of anything that could explain your tardiness and realize something: the best lie is an obvious truth. You just need to modify it a bit. “I just stayed behind to tell Mr. Chen goodbye. Today was the last day for the store because his daughter said Gotham was too dangerous for him to stay by himself, so she brought him to her home today.”

“Oh, Master Y/N, I’m sorry.” His tone says he’s bought it and you actually feel bad lying to the man you’ve come to see as a father figure. “I know how much you loved working there. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I will be. I’m gonna miss him.”

“Of course you will, he was a good man and you were the best employee he could ask for. Can I do anything for you? I’m halfway through with my vacation, perhaps I should—“

“No,” you cut the man off. “You don’t have to come back early, Alfred.” With everything that’s happened today, you need some time to prepare yourself before facing Alfred in person again. It would be a disaster for you to expose yourself as some form of metahuman in front of him. Plus, he deserves to have all his allotted vacation time. “I’ll be fine, really.”

“If you’re sure,” he says, obviously wanting to say more, but doesn’t press the issue. “I’ll let you go, I’m sure you’re tired and you need your rest. Please make sure you catch up on your sleep I’m sure you’ve missed this week during your spring break.”

“I will, Alfred, don’t worry. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Very good, Master Y/N. Good night, my boy.”

“Good night.”

You hang up and let out a sigh of relief, glad he bought it.

(You say you trust the butler with your life, but keep the events of tonight a secret from him. Why?)

“Because Alfred’s highly protective and would most likely steal a boat and sail back to Gotham within an hour if I told him I was kidnapped. And if he knew about you, he’d probably drag me to a hospital and have every last trace of mold surgically removed.”

(We do not wish for that to happen.)

“Me neither, bud. You know, after tonight, I think we’re gonna do great things together.”

(We agree. Now, heed the words of your butler and rest. Tonight was very eventful for you. It would not do well for our host to shirk in his bodily needs.)

You chuckle and strip down to your boxers before climbing into bed. Not long after you get comfy, you feel yourself drift off to sleep. For the first time ever, you’re actually looking forward to waking up in Gotham.

Bruce hears Jason whistle at the sight, but says nothing in favor of studying the carnage inside the My Alibi bar. Bodies are scattered everywhere around the establishment, some are relatively intact while others look like they were ripped in half.

“Looks like someone had fun here,” Jim says as he approaches him, Jason, and Damian. “What do you think?”

“Looks like someone had a score to settle,” he responds to the police commissioner. He motions to the remains of three men crowded together in a corner of the bar with their heads missing; two of the heads are near the rest of their bodies while the third has been reduced to a fine red paste. “Especially these three. Based on how they were killed, I’d guess whoever did this was after them.”

“Doesn’t look like Joker’s handiwork,” Jim adds. “No one here’s smiling and the place is devoid of murderous gag toys.”

No, this is definitely not the clown’s MO. Neither does it match the MO of anyone currently missing from Arkham. The only one he could think of that could rip apart and crush some of the victims is Bane, but that doesn’t explain why the remaining victims are impaled; plus, the giant is still locked up in Arkham’s high-security ward. So, this can only mean one thing.

“This is definitely the work of someone new,” he says, bending down to study the squashed head. “And with this being the only scene we know of, this was their first time killing.”

Whoever did this is highly dangerous and needs to be stopped and fast before even more people get hurt. Looks like he and his family are going to have their hands full for the foreseeable future.

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @paolexsstuff @c0l1fl0r @starryperson @lunaluz432 @orbitingtraveler @roseytheteacup @bundlofcigars @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @greatwhisperspaper

[killerpancakeburger]

I'm the powder, you’re the fuse

SUMMARY: Soap finds out that his girlfriend is a skilled mercenary. And that he likes it... a lot.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader

TAGS: Established relationship, Badass!Reader, Smitten!Soap.

WARNINGS: Canon violence, misogynistic comments/insults, mention of: blood, death, kidnapping/hostage taking, torture, weapons, suggestive content (Soap is Horny), military inaccuracies, swearing.

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

A/N: yes I am still writing the civilian fic with Ghost and Soap... but then I had this idea and thought I could finish it ""quickly"". Written on mobile so if there are mistakes feel free to tell me!!

Soap let out a yawn big enough to dislocate his jaw, staring at his captain with mild resentment.

“This couldn’t hae waited til after breakfast, sir?”

“‘Fraid It could not, John. Actually in just a few minutes you'll be barking at me to know why we haven't gotten a move on already.”

Johnny looked back at his superior with perplexity, before glancing over at his teammates around the table, hoping for a scrap of information. Ghost remained imperturbable while Gaz shrugged.

“We received this video thirty minutes ago. Addressed to a certain Sergeant MacTavish.”

His captain turned on the projector and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall behind him. It was his teammates’ turn to glance at him questioningly, and to him to shrug with ignorance.

The Scottish soldier rubbed his face in an attempt to get rid of his lasting drowsiness as the video projected on the white screen facing them was starting.

A group of armed men in balaclavas were occupying a room. The one in the front spouted the classic ransom demand in exchange for a hostage. Nothing worth being summoned at the crack of dawn for.

Then the spokesman moved aside, revealing their detainee, bound to a chair and gagged, shooting daggers at her captors, and Soap almost knocked over the table with how brutally he stood up. Carried away by white-hot fury, he slammed his hands on the table.

“Fuckin’ - what the fuck is this!? When did this happen? Where are those fucking bastards? I -”

Rage had roughened his usually smooth voice, granting it a gravelly pitch, turning his shout into a growl.

“Control yourself, Sergeant”, interrupted Price, “It's not over yet.”

On the screen, the same man as before grabbed your hair, ignoring your murderous glare, forcing you to look at the camera, and coaxed you with disdain before taking off your gag:

“Come on doll, gonna have to beg real pretty for your man to get him to rescue you.”

The second your mouth was freed, you snarled at him, baring your teeth like you were about to bite.

“I'm gonna rip your throat out with my bare hands, you f-”

“Fuck, someone muzzle that rabid bitch”, swore your agressor, your belligerence clearly having thrown a wrench in his plans.

Soap could not help the flare of pride soaring in his chest at the view of your defiance and your grit.

After receiving their orders, the team left the room to prepare themselves for the assault. 

“A friend of yours?” asked Gaz, while Ghost questioned “Ya know her?”

“That's mah girl”, admitted the Scotsman, a bit sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, looking away. The cat was out of the bag. For your own sake, you had been a well-kept secret, but it was blatant that it didn’t protect you.

“Been together for a year. Never meant to drag her into this, though.”

“She sounds like a bloody riot, mate.” teased Garrick.

“She doesn't seem fazed to be taken hostage. Mainly pissed.” pointed out Ghost, wary.

“She's fearless.” admitted Soap with an enamored little smile. “Doesn't mean we don’t have to get her out of this though.”

His expression shifted from fondness to cold determination.

“‘F course.”

“We've got your back.”

“Gaz? You copy?” called Ghost over coms.

The afornamed was tasked with overwatch. His response arrived, marked by hesitation.

“...  I don't think she needs our help, guys.”

“The fuck s’that supposed to mean?” grumbled the Lieutenant.

“It'd be better if you'd see for yourselves. Third window on the right, second floor.”

Ghost took out a pair of binoculars and pointed them at the given position.

“Fooking hell…”

The expletive was mumbled with a mix of surprise and… awe?

“What? What! Lemme see L.T.!” pleaded Soap.

Ghost quickly passed him the tool, eager to make him shut up. The sergeant hastened to shove them against his face. His gaze took in the sight in front of him and he let out an appreciative whistle.

“Steamin’ jesus…”

He drank in the view that was your bloody display of fierce skill and deadly efficiency. You staggered between the enemies with fluidity, making them seem like clumsy amateurs. Slicing a throat there, shooting a head here, he watched with fascination as you used a dead attacker as a human shield.

“I think I'm hard.”

“TMI,  Soap.” 

Gaz coupled his comment with a gagging noise.

“Can ye blame me! Mah lass is oot there bein’ a bonafide badass ‘n’ that's the hottest shit a've ever seen.”

“M not blaming you for being a horny bastard, I'm blaming you for not keeping it to yourself.”

“If you two are done bickering, we could go pick her up.” groaned Ghost.

Letting Garrick past, he grabbed Soap by the shoulder as he was walking by him.

“You knew?”

“Knew what?”

“That you were going out with a killer.”

“Nae, but it turned out to be a good thing, didn’t it? Cannae imagine how badly this would have ended with a civilian. The wounds, the trauma…”

Ghost let out one of his grunts that Johnny knew meant “I disagree but it's not worth debating you about it.”

Positioning themselves near that final entrance, Soap nodded in response to Ghost's hand signal, waiting for him to break the door down. They were still on their gard in case some of the assailants survived.

In the ensuing silence, your voice reached his ears through the wall he was propped against.

“Come on doll”, you taunted, imitating your captor's scornful tone from earlier, sickly sweet then venomous. “Tell me who you work for and I won't gouge out your remaining eye.”

Johnny gulped. Eavesdropping on this definitely did not help with the… situation in his pants.

The racket produced by Ghost dealing with the door had the merit to make him focus once again. 

His body moving automatically, his training taking over, Soap charged into the room, pointing his rifle at the only person left standing there. Like a reflection of himself, you were aiming your own firearm at him. Your eyebrows were frowned in concentration, your eyes glinting with cold determination. Then recognition dawned on your face, and you heaved a sigh of relief, lowering your weapon.

“It's you! You scared the shit out of me.”

Relief flooded through him at the sight of you, bruised, battered, and blood-spattered, but alive. He tossed his gun aside as you put down yours, ready to embrace you, but Ghost's voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Back off, Soap.”

An order. Johnny stared at him in shock.

“What the hell, L.T.?”, he hissed in his direction.

You docilely raised your hands in the air as the masked man lined up the end of his gun's barrel with your head.

“Worst rescue party ever”, you mumbled to yourself.

“Sorry, Johnny”, grumbled Skullface, not sounding sorry in the slightest, never taking his eyes off you. “But do your usual conquests take down a dozen armed men on their own?”

Illustrating his words, he gestured with his rifle to the ground littered with corpses. The man you had started to interrogate - the only one left alive - whined in pain.

“So what's your deal? Ya a mole? Shagging Johnny for intel?”

“Ghost!” Soap gasped, offended for himself as much as for you. “M not some clueless newbie!”

You made a face at the question. You understood where he was coming from, hell you’d do the same if the roles were reversed, but that didn’t mean you enjoyed sharing details of your sordid past, especially with a stranger. The less people knew about it, the better.

“I used to be a mercenary for a family who did organized crime. Been clean for years though.”

“Oh yeah? They let you leave just like that?”

“The boss’ daughter had a soft spot for me.”

The lieutenant stared at you for a few more seconds, as if judging the veracity of your statements through sight alone, before lowering his weapon.

A resounding “Bonnie!” rang out. Next thing you knew, your boyfriend's muscular arms closed around you, causing you to yelp, pain running through you at the overeager contact. Soap cursed and apologized profusely.

“Bloody hell, a'm sorry, didnae mean tae hurt ye. Are ye alright? Show me where it hurts. If those bastards leid a hand on ye, I swear-”

There was something both flattering and arousing with how the more Soap lost his cool, the more pronounced his accent became, and the rougher his voice sounded. You placed a finger across his mouth to put an end to his verbal onslaught, an endeared smile on your own.

“At ease, soldier. I'm OK, just some bruised ribs and a busted eyebrow.” you summarized while pointing to the trickle of dried blood on the side of your face.

He leaned his forehead against yours, a gesture that felt terribly intimate, an adoring grin adorning his lips.

“Cannae believe ye wiped out those sorry fuckers all on yer own. Fuck, that's hot.” he confessed in a subdued tone.

You threw your head back in laughter, only to wince when your sore ribs manifested themselves.

“Never heard that one before. Could get used to it, though.”

You laced your fingers behind his neck, nonchalantly leaning against him, not fighting back an impish smile. Soap's hands grabbed your hips in response. Your roguish expression must have gotten the better of his restraint, because one breath later, he was hungrily pressing his mouth against yours. You replied in kind, swiftly deciding you did not care for his colleagues’ presence, and he moaned in appreciation.

After a minute or two, you broke the kiss against your will, remembering an issue that needed to be solved. You smiled, amused by the vision that was Soap chasing your lips blindly, then pouting when you refused him.

“So you guys are gonna take care of the bodies, right…? I can deal with one or two, but this is a bit much.”

The last soldier, the one you didn’t hear from yet, a pretty man with dark skin that Soap would later introduce as Gaz, assured you that they would handle it.

Transferring your attention back to Johnny, you noticed a trace of guilt in those ocean eyes of his, as he was staring at you.

“Something wrong?”

“Ye not mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?” you frowned.

“It's mah fault if those bastards took ye.”

“Oh, Johnny…” you sighed wistfully, cupping his face. “I knew what the risks were when I chose to date a soldier. Plus, there will always be a chance that my past catches up to me. I was pretty fucking mad when I got a hood shoved on my head and my arms twisted behind my back before getting hauled away in the middle of the fucking night, but not at you.”

Once they gathered all the intel they needed and dragged away the only survivor, the team and you left the building. Your testimony was required for the mission report, so you accompanied them without protest, longing for the care that would be provided by their medical facility.

As you were walking to their vehicule, hand in hand with Soap, you noted how he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

His cerulean eyes kept greedily roaming all over you, like you were a vision so dream-like it was making him doubt your reality, like you would vanish the second he stopped contemplating you.

“Yer one badass lass, y'know that? ‘M so proud o’ ye. Proud tae be yers.”

A/N: Ghost's "grunts that Johnny knew meant “I disagree but it's not worth debating you about it.” " is based on my grandma 💀

[celandeline]

can u do an enemies to lovers story with carl?? and with smut? 🤟

yes i can!

listened to oceanographer's choice by the mountain goats (obv) while i was writing this to set the mood - highly recommend, listening to the mountain goats always gets me writing the filthiest shit

Oceanographer's Choice

Carl Grimes X Reader

There’s someone in your house. 

You can tell - someone knocked the pen from your dad’s desk to the floor, and it definitely wasn’t you. So someone’s here, likely snuck in through the window to wait in his office until he comes back so they can try to kill him. Wouldn’t be the first time something like this happened - of course not, your dad’s Negan for christs’ sake - and it won’t be the last. The only problem is that it’s the middle of the day, and most of the other Saviors are out collecting dues. 

So you’ll take care of it yourself. 

You step fully into the office, not bothering to try and stay quiet. As expected, the would-be assassin jumps out of their hiding place, gun pointed in your direction. You dart forward, grabbing the gun and pointing the muzzle away from you, trying to wrestle it out of the assassin’s hands. They’re not letting go though, and you look up, expecting a man, only to be met with a boy. 

“Are you fucking serious?” You laugh. 

Carl Grimes scowls back at you, still trying to get you to let go of his gun. Of all the people you expected to try and murder your father, you wouldn’t have picked him. From what you’ve seen of him, he seems like the type to follow his own dad’s rules, and you’re sure Rick didn’t sanction this. Still, he’s here, and he’s not letting go. 

You kick at his knee, causing him to stumble, and you almost slip the gun out of his grip, but at the last moment he grabs it again. His scowl turns into more of a snarl, and he pushes you out the door of the office as hard as he can. Still holding onto the gun, you drag him out into the hallway with you, and wince when your back hits the railing, hard. 

“Let go.” He growls, trying to pry your fingers off one by one. 

“So you can shoot me and I end up looking like you?” You say, using your leverage against the railing to kick him again. “No thanks.”

He dodges your kick, stepping to the side, and you push off the railing, sending him slamming into the wall beside the office door. His hat falls into his face, and you pull at the gun with all your weight. You both stumble forward, falling against the railing in a jumbled pile, and the gun goes clattering down the stairs, stopping a flight and a half down. 

“Fuck.” Carl says, going to stand up. 

You wrap your arms around his knees, pulling him back down to the floor. He lands with a thump, and you go to grab his hands with the intention of pinning him down. You only get one, wrapping your hand around his left wrist before he’s pulling your hair, trying to get you off him. 

“You’re such a bitch.” You grit out. You abandon holding his hand down in favor of yanking his hair just as hard as he’s pulling yours. 

His hand leaves your scalp to try and unwind your fingers from his hair, and one of his feet finds its way to your chest, pushing you back towards the wall with all his might. You just hold onto his hair tighter, and then he’s pulling his own hair as he tries to kick you away. You laugh at the way he scrunches his face, and then he’s pulling you closer across the floor instead of kicking you away. 

You let go of his hair in favor of stopping him from slapping you across the face, and kick him with your full strength in the stomach, twice. He grunts, and then he’s tackling you (which you’re not really sure how that works, considering you’re both on the floor already), pinning your arms to your side and squishing you to the floor. You lay your cheek against the hardwood, craning your neck to try and look at him. 

“You can’t hold me down and go get your gun at the same time, gonna have to pick one.” You taunt. The moment he tries to run for his gun - and you know he will - you’re going to do your best to push him down the stairs and hope that he breaks his neck. 

“I can if I tie you up.” He says, taking one arm off of you to start shucking his flannel off. 

The moment he’s preoccupied, you buck under him with your whole weight, and blindly reach behind you, trying to find his hair again. 

“Motherfucker-” He grunts, slamming your arm back against the floor, and pressing his whole weight down on you. “Just stay still-”

You laugh the hardest you have so far when you feel it - he’s hard. He’s hard and pressed right up against your ass and spitting insults like pillow talk right into your ear. “Are you hard right now?” You tease. “Are you into this?”

That shuts him up. He doesn’t move, and you can almost hear the wheels spinning angrily in his head, trying to think of something to say. You expect him to deny it, or bring the subject back to the fight you’re locked in. What you don’t expect him to do is start to fumble for the button of your pants. 

“Fuck you.” He spits, popping the button of your jeans open. 

“Oh, I’m sure you’re about to.” You say. You’re not exactly upset at the turn of events - strategically speaking, the longer you can keep him here, the more likely it is that someone else will come across you. And you can’t pretend that he’s not attractive, even with the bandage covering half his face. No, you’re not too upset about this at all. 

You lift your hips so that he can pull your jeans halfway down your legs, and you feel him wriggle against your back as he shucks his own jeans down too. He doesn’t bother waiting before he’s sinking into you, hips crushing into yours, his forehead coming to rest against your shoulder. You can feel him panting against your shirt. 

“‘S bigger than I thought.” You say, pushing your hips up against his just to make him twitch.

“Will you just shut up?” He hisses, low in your ear. One of his hands goes to grab at your jaw, but you open your mouth, catching his fingers instead and biting down. 

You can feel his dick kick up inside you. 

“So you do like it painful.” You say, letting him pull his fingers back. “Good to know-”

The rest of your teasing is broken by a moan as he starts really fucking you, throwing his whole weight against you over and over again. He is by no means gentle - you have to grab onto the railing to stop yourself from sliding along the floor with the force of his thrusts, and sinks his teeth into the side of your neck with no mercy - but it’s good, so good that it has heat pooling low in your gut only a few thrusts in. 

“I like you better when you’re not talking.” Carl says, his voice breathy and strained. 

“You like me- ah - the most when I’m- mm - kicking your ass.”

He pushes his lips against yours, tongue sweeping into your mouth roughly, and picks up the pace, snapping his hips against yours. You weren’t expecting him to kiss you - not when only a few minutes ago you were wrestling for a gun (a gun, that, you know whoever had won it would have shot the other without a second thought), but his tongue is in your mouth, and you’re kissing him back on instinct, swallowing all his moans and whines. 

He takes you by surprise again when he snakes a hand around to your front, fumbling around until he finds your clit. You jolt as he starts to thumb over it, and he presses his weight down harder on you again, keeping you wedged between him and the floor. 

“The fuck are you doing?” You breathe. 

“Want you tight when I cum.” He says. 

And fuck, if that isn’t enough right there to almost push you over the edge by itself. Never in your life did you think that you’d be here, pressed to the floor, Carl Grimes fucking you from behind, panting in your ear about how he wants you to cum so you get tighter. It’s enough to have you doing your best to meet his thrusts, pushing your hips back against his. 

With him thumbing over your clit and fucking you with his whole body weight, it doesn’t take you long to tumble over the edge. 

“Fuck.” He groans as you cum, and pushes his hips against yours, once, twice, three times before you can feel him shuddering against your back. After a moment, he slumps against you, breathing heavy. 

With the absence of your fighting and fucking, the hall is quiet, save for the both of you trying to catch your breath. He rolls off you, landing on his back on the floor beside you, pants still hanging around his thighs. You can’t even find the strength to shift from your place on your stomach, slightly numb from the hips down. 

“Truce?” You ask. 

“Truce.” He agrees.

[tocomplainfriend]

About Mammon and Bee

Mammon is made out to be gross, and Food = Fat. Which is so funny considering how many people were defending Bee's design by saying "Viv and I don't think food / gluttony equals fat". wrong. Mammon is only showed eating and being viewed by the demon of over excess as gross for over eating in the trial? someone said "it because of the energy thing" Mammon was happy af bro wdym. some of the people at bees party were also assholes over drinking.

Re-posting this old thing:

I also wanted to explain to many people: the reason so many others like characters like Mammon despite how bad of a person he is compared to idk Stolas. Is because Mammon is being allowed to be shitty without any baby crying reasons like Stolas. in the story if Stolas doesn't something back then "oooh Stolas is sooo sad, cause his dad is bad and got forced to marry a woman and he depres-" Mammon is just bad, mean, and a funny dumb-ass. I think even if they gave something to Mammon it wouldn't give an big "attempt of complete justification" like Stolas. Most of what's Stolas does that is bad is not even viewed as bad b the writers, as much is viewed as a mistake. Mammon is getting written as purposely a bitch.

Yeah... why didn't Bee say anything about Loona's treatment at the court, she tried half defending Blitz but nothing about Loona's muzzle? (then Loona's muzzle got made into gooner merch of course...) and Ozzie didn't help much. Like... He saw Striker trying to murder Fizz but didn't say anything? Their secret was already out in the open, it wasn't like Striker could reveal their secret so Mammon had to not speak.

Edit: Also if i was Vortex, and my gf (bee) didn't even defend my hellhound friend, who got muzzled like an animal in the trial. I be pissed.

[not-another-leon-blog]

Bodyguard

RE4! Leon Kennedy x Reader

Summary- You're Ashley's bodyguard. And the one Leon finds in the church instead. Word Count: 2086 Masterlist

Your leg bounced nervously, eyes trained on the hard stone floor beneath you. You’d lose your job for sure, you thought. It was supposed to be simple and had been for the past few years.

Protect Ashley Graham.

And yet here you were. Locked in an old church somewhere in Spain and with Ashley nowhere in sight. Occasionally, someone would wander into the church downstairs and you heard incoherent muttering. But almost as quickly as they came, they left and slammed the heavy door closed behind them.

Your mind was scrambled with ways to get out. You couldn’t jump out the window. The drop was so high you’d certainly break something or get a bitch of a sprained ankle if you were lucky. And the thick wood door was locked tight. You’d attempted to kick it down earlier but hadn’t made so much as a dent in it.

So you were left to wait. For whom or what, you didn’t know. All you knew was that whenever that door opened next, you’d need to act quickly. Either overpower them and run, or kill them and run. But no matter what, you needed to make sure that you escaped this room and found Ashley.

But where would they take her? Perhaps you could start with the village. And if she wasn’t there… well, you’d figure something out. Even if you died trying, you couldn’t leave this place without her.

You heard the church doors creak open again and froze, straining your ears to hear if anyone was coming. But something felt off. Usually, the door swung open so quickly that it slammed into the wall. This time it had opened slowly, cautiously.

You stood up and brought your ear against the door. Nothing but a muffled voice. Just barely, could you make out the footsteps coming closer.

Quickly, you pressed yourself against the wall and grabbed the nearest weapon you could find. You frowned at the candelabra you'd snatched but it would have to do.

The door creaked open and you held your breath. First, you saw the muzzle of a gun, then muscular arms and broad shoulders. Whoever this was, he was significantly bigger than you. You'd need to act fast.

You creeped out from behind the door as he moved further into the room. With the door wide open, maybe you could just make a run for it.

No. You couldn't have him chasing after you. The last thing you needed was to get yourself caught just moments after freeing yourself. Either you'd knock him out, or kill him.

Creaaak

Shit.

He whipped around, gun aimed at your chest. You swung the candelabra, knocking the gun out of his hands. You swung again, only for him to catch it and rip it from your hands, tossing it aside. The air was knocked from your lungs as you were thrown to the floor, your shoulders pinned to the floor by his knees. The cool blade of a knife pressed against your throat as you glared up at him.

You lay there panting. There was no point in struggling against him– there was no way for you to throw him off. He was too big and too strong.

Disappointment washed over you like a tidal wave. The one chance you had to break free and find Ashley and you blew it. Still, you wouldn’t cower away from death. No matter how hard your heart beats against your chest. You’d stare him down and make him watch the life leave your eyes.

Blue eyes glared down at you and you braced yourself for the moment he’d slide his blade across your neck.

But it never came.

Instead, he leaned back and sheathed his knife at his shoulder.

“I’m gonna get off you,” he said slowly. “Don’t try to take my head off with a candle stick again.”

“Who are you?” you demanded, watching him with narrow eyes. Why didn’t he go in for the kill?

The man climbed off of you and got to his feet, offering you his hand to help you up. “I'm Leon,” he said. “I was sent on the president’s orders to get you and Ashley home safe.”

You stared at him for a moment, eying his hand suspiciously. Taking his hand, you let him haul you to your feet.

“You're a little young for a bodyguard, aren't you?” He asked, though there was no malice in his voice. 

You scoffed. “Aren't you a little short for a stormtrooper?”

His brows furrowed then he chuckled lightly. “Touché.” He reached for one of the pistols holstered at his hip and held it out to you. “I'm assuming you can use this?” A nod. “Good. I can get you extracted-”

“No,” you said immediately. “Not without Ashley.”

He nodded. “I’m gonna find her-”

“Then I’m going with you.” You stepped up to him, your eyes hard and your tone unwavering. “You and I both know POTUS doesn’t give a shit about what happens to me.” You were certain that you were already presumed dead back in the States. “Your chances are better with backup and you’ll have an easier time getting Ashley to trust you if I’m there.”

Leon wanted to argue, but it wasn’t like you didn’t bring up some good points. Ashley was most likely terrified and having a friendly face to help ground and guide her would be best. 

“Fine,” he bit out. “But you’ll do as I say.” As much as he didn’t want to risk your blood on his hands, he found that he didn’t want to be alone in this any longer than he had to be, especially given the hell he went through just to find you. There was no doubt in his mind that Ashley would be much more heavily guarded than you were.

“Fair enough.” You trailed after him and out of the small room. The church was quiet save for your footsteps echoing off the walls. He was about to start down a rusty ladder when something flickered in the corner of your eye. You stopped in your tracks, a hand on his shoulder. “We might have company.”

Leon cursed and crossed to the tall windows. There on the other side of the cemetery was a crowd of villagers, pitchforks and torches ready.

“They don’t look very friendly,” you commented beside him. 

“They’re not here for a campout, that’s for sure–”

A sharp sting in your temple nearly brought you to your knees. A voice whispered in your head. Though your eyes were squeezed shut, you saw the faint figure of a man wrapped in a purple cloak.

“The lost lambs are escaping,” the voice said. “Bring unto them salvation.”

As quickly as it started, the pain was gone and a loud BANG drew your attention downstairs. It was only a matter of time before the villagers found you up here. Before you could even think about putting together an escape plan, Leon was on the move.

He ushered you over close to the wall and knelt down. Above him was another ladder leading to the attic. Without a second thought, you scurried over and carefully climbed up on his shoulders, your hands braced on the wall in front of you for balance as Leon slowly stood up. Reaching for the ledge above, you pulled yourself up and kicked the ladder down for Leon.

A lone window offered the promise of escape. One glance down had your eyes wide. It was at least a ten-foot drop to a small wood platform below.

“Afraid of heights?” Leon asked as he came up beside you and examined the drop. There was no time to reply when he dropped himself down to the platform. He looked back up at you expectantly. “I can catch you.”

Taking a breath, you all but threw yourself out of the window. Your stomach dropped as the ground rushed to meet you, only to be stopped by Leon’s waiting arms. Not that you saw anything with your eyes screwed shut.

You met Leon’s gaze and your breath caught, a blush dusting your cheeks. For a brief moment, the world fell away, returning only when the sound of smashed glass met your ears.

“Leon?” You started. “You can put me down now.”

He blinked. “Right, uh, yeah.” He set you down and jumped to the ground, mud splashing beneath his feet. You dropped down behind him as he reached for his ear, likely communicating with his handler. “Roost, this is Condor One. I have Shadow Eagle, but no Baby Eagle.” He led you around the side of the church, listening carefully to whatever instructions were being given. “Copy that. Condor One out.”

“What’s the word?” You asked, trailing behind him to a small hallway. You watched him push a fallen bookshelf aside, eyes caught on how his arms flexed.

“I heard talk of someone being taken to that castle nearby,” he said quietly as the two of you reached the other side of the hallway. “Chances are it’s Ashley.”

You paused. “Then what made you come here?” Why not go straight to the castle?

He hesitated and glanced back at you. “That talk included two people and two locations. Can’t be too sure, right?”

~~

When Louis had mentioned two people being carted off, Leon was sure that he’d find your body instead of nearly having his head taken off because you swung a candelabra at him. Even Hunnigan sounded surprised when he reported that he found you alive and kicking.

“What can you remember?” He asked as the two of you picked your way through the village.

“Not much,” you admitted. You reloaded your gun and pulled a boot knife from the body in front of you. With your jaw set and a glare, it was clear how much you blamed yourself. There had to be a thousand different thoughts running through your head. “I just remember leaving campus with Ashley and car trouble and then from there… nothing until I woke up getting dragged to that church.”

His eyes scanned over you, pausing when you rubbed your neck like something had bit you. “Everything okay?”

“It’s probably nothing,” you assured him. “I think that’s how they knocked me out.”

Leon stepped closer and gently moved your hand from your neck. There were two small punctures in your skin; one that had knocked you out and another that he suspected was used to inject you with whatever he had been injected with. 

“That voice from earlier,” you began, “did you hear it, too?”

“Yeah.” He continued through the empty village with you close behind. “The sooner we find Ashley, the better. You sure you don’t want that evac?”

You shook your head. “She was my responsibility. I’m with you until I’m dead or we find her.”

Well, he admired your resolve. There would be no persuading you and honestly, he only asked so you didn’t feel like you had to keep going. He wouldn’t have faulted you if you did choose to leave.

~~

The bell tower that had stood tall in the village now lay in a pile of rubble blocking the way forward. No matter, he’d simply lead you through the house that survived the explosion. He pushed open the wood door and started to the stairs, wood creaking beneath his feet.

Your eyes scanned the house. It appeared empty and you suspected that Leon had already had a nasty encounter here. There were at least three bodies down on the first floor riddled with bullets.

“Not the homey type I’m guessing?”

“Yeah, they really rolled out the red car–” A man pounced on Leon, pinning him to the wall and forcing his gun out of his hand. With no clean shot, you dashed up the remaining steps and wrenched the man off of him, throwing him to the floor and driving your knife into his temple. He lay lifelessly beneath you and pulled the knife with a sickening squelch.

You turned to see Leon staring in surprise. “What?” You asked, sheathing your knife. “You’re not the only trained killer here.” It wasn’t something you were proud of but it was a necessary part of your life.

Leon snapped out of his trance. “No, no you did good, uh, just can’t say I’m used to having a partner.”

“Better get used to it then.” You picked up his gun and handed it to him. “Because you’re stuck with me until fate says otherwise.”

[allpiesforourown]

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Okay now this is just MY OPINION.... I'll be honest don't really care too much about omegaverse. The second I start hearing about "secondary genders" I kind of just zone out. The normal gender binary is hard enough and you want me to figure out ANOTHER one?? Not a chance.

Omegaverse is good if you're going for porn without plot but I can't really get into it for anything other than that... just the whole idea that someone only settles for you because they biologically need you (as is often the plot) is so... meh to me. Also whenever I read fics where they go "two men dating isn't gay because one is an omega and the other is an alpha" I just start rolling my eyes. There are some really good omegaverse fics I've read but they were mostly few and far between.

I will say there is ONE omegaverse trope I love and that's bitching. Like yes I DO want to take a biting snarling man and tie him up and put a muzzle on him until he learns his place and behaves for me.

TLDR: omega shen yuan < alpha shen yuan I turn into an omega. I want to hear him whimpering as he realizes he's going from his cool peak lord persona to a needy breedable slut

[cowboyfromh3ll]

I like the kink hcs you did for Arthur and the boys. What about kink hcs for some of the less popular characters?

Kieran, Sean, Micah, Eagle Flies?

Maybe a sprinkle of Lenny, javier, hosea?

Kink HCs Ft. Kieran Duffy, Sean Macguire, Micah Bell, Lenny Summers, Javier Escuella, Hosea Matthews

I've done Eagle Flies a few times already so I'll stick to these guys hehe. Also finally someone else who thinks Hosea is fine HEAR ME OUT YALLLLL

Warnings: pet play, humiliation, voyeurism, rough sex, name calling, impact play, marking, knife play, blood kink, bdsm, sadomasochism

Kieran Duffy

Surprisingly kinky, and incredibly submissive

I feel like he'd be into puppy play

He's just a sad, wet, and pathetic dog

And I'm talking leashes, collars, maybe even muzzles

You can order him to do just about anything

He'd probably be into humiliation. Will bark if you ask tbh

Part of that would probably involve public sex and the embarrassment that would come from the possibility of being caught

So low-key a voyeur maybe maybe just a little

If you've had a long day just go ahead and take it out on him during sex because he'll love every second of it

Orgasm denial and edging is definitely on the table

Until you have him swearing he's a good boy and deserves to cum

Sean Macguire

This man will do anything as long as he gets to cum

Though he'd probably steer away from the heavier kinks

He's into body worship. Not for his own body but yours

Kisses every inch of skin and appreciates your entire being before and during the act

He'd kiss the very ground you walk on tbh

Likes dominating but he doesn't mind taking things slow and kissing your feet and legs while you talk about your day

He's a real fun guy so I'd imagine he'd also like some form of roleplay. Ends up being really silly but plays his part real well. Makes sense his favorite roleplay scenario would be cop and criminal

He seems like the type to have fuzzy pink handcuffs LMAOO

Micah Bell

Let's be realistic he's probably into some freak shit at your expense

Rough sex always. Ain't no sweet and slow love making

Definitely into degrading

Hair pulling, slapping, spitting in your mouth or on your face, etc

Probably into spanking

Will "punish" you for just about anything

Lots of spur of the moment sex, like y'all will be in a public area and he'll suddenly want to take you

Name calling !

Whore, bitch, slut are commonly thrown around

Marking, you will always be bruised or have teeth marks and even scratches

Lenny Summers

He's such a sweetie, I have a hard time imagining him being very kinky

He'd probably be into some more gentle shit

Y'all would go through your more experimental phase

He's wholesome so he'd like praise, and that would go both ways between you two

Would let you order him around but more so he can learn what you like and what you want him to do

Once he gets more into it he'll become more passionate, he just needs more practice

I feel like the farthest he'd go in terms of inflicting any discomfort would be choking, but it would never go far. He'd end up taking his hand away last minute

He'd probably want to try different dynamics so he'd want to try subbing

Needs to be reminded of his role because he gets too enthusiastic

Javier Escuella

It's a universal fandom headcannon that he's into knife play

So knife play

Ghosts the tip of the blade up your thigh closer to your pussy before pressing the cold metal flat against you

Then runs it back down to your knee, repeats the same motion over and over again until you're shaking

Would probably enjoy typing you up/cuffing you so you're helpless to whatever he does

He'd probably be scared to actually draw blood but if you're into it he'll be down

Licks up any bloody wounds or sucks on them

Praises you so much the entire time

He'd be incredibly romantic though, incredibly good at aftercare

I think there'd also be times where he gets really into it and feeds off on the fear in your eyes

Hosea Matthews

He's such a sweetie but I feel like he'd be an incredibly experienced dom

These are my headcannons and I think Hosea is fine asf so leave me alone

Into leather crops, whips, blindfolds, gags, etc

Drips candle wax on you

Very flexible in terms of what he'll do

But he has to Dom

He can either be really good at praise or will degrade you

Brat tamer for sure

I can even imagine him having cages bro

Talks you through everything and gives you very detailed commands

Inflicts pain on you but knows extremely well how far to go and how much is too much

[auspicioustidings]

pet play perhaps •3•?

Non-con ahead! (also all asks on this are now tagged 'Mhairi's good boy bad girl' so you can find them if interested :)

When your boyfriend had went missing a few months back you had not let it go. The police weren't listening to you, thinking that he had just left you, but he wasn't the kind of guy to do that. He was estranged from his family so they had been fuck all help, but you were like a dog with a bone and spoke to anyone that would listen. You put up missing person posters all over the neighbourhood. You were at the precinct at least three times a week badgering them.

You should have known to trust your instincts that something was wrong. You should have taken some extra precautions. But you didn't and it was laughably easy for someone to knock you out with a whack from behind and have you tied up in a moving vehicle by the time you woke up. You tried to speak but found a gag in your mouth. Not cloth, hard rubber.

"Your bitch is wake."

"Aww c'mon LT, dinnae be so grumpy with her. Ye naw think she's sort of cute?"

Your eyes slowly adjusted to the car and you tried to raise you head but a hand pushed it back down onto a lap.

"Settle girl, almost home" said the man whose lap you were in.

You blinked up at him, older man, muttonchops, smiling at you indulgently.

"Might seem cute now, but she'll be a nightmare once she goes into heat. Still think we'd be better getting her fixed."

That was the man who had called you a bitch. He was driving but you saw the edge of a hard plastic mask on his face. The man in the passenger seat had a mohawk and an easy smile as he grinned back at you.

"Come off it Ghost, the puppies would be cute."

That was from the man whose lap your legs were on and he was rubbing circles into your calves. He seemed completely at ease with the current situation and was entirely too handsome to have to resort to kidnapping girls.

"Aye LT, got ourselves a breeding pair now!"

You tried to shout, move, anything. The gag was uncomfortable and too big and you started to cough, your body then panicking when it didn't feel it was getting enough oxygen.

"There girl, let me get that off you. No biting or we'll have to try the muzzle" said muttonchops as you gasped in breathes when the gag was removed. "Your boyfriend has a bigger mouth than you, surprised you didn't recognise the taste of him on it. Got him to coat it earlier, thought you'd get comfort out of something familiar."

You looked from the man to the ball gag he now held in horror. The rubber ball was big, dripping with your saliva and possibly your boyfriends and covered in bite marks. You tried to get up again and the man grabbed your hair and tugged hard, holding your face back down.

"Unruly little bitch isn't she? Listen here girl, you'll behave and you'll learn to be good. Our boy has the best of everything because he's earned it, and he's nice enough that he'll share his toys so you'll not turn your nose up at them" the man driving barked at you.

You were so scared and so surrounded that you could do very little but lay in silence and cry. The Scottish one cooed at you even when the driver scolded him for spoiling you. The place they took you was the middle of nowhere with the only person in the big house being your boyfriend. Only he was broken. Didn't answer to his name, barely spoke 'person' anymore.

He was so excited to see the four men and they clearly adored their pet. The driver, Ghost you had learned, held onto his collar when he tried to lunge for you and told him to behave. After a moment he sat nice, knees on the floor fully spread to give a clear view of his cock hardening and straining against a cage and the peak of a tail coming from his ass.

"Fine" Ghost sighed, "no mounting boy, you'll let me give her a proper bath first before you get your prick in her."

He let him go and the man you loved bounded towards you to sniff and lick at you with excited yips while you cried and cried and tried to get him to talk to you. Soap laughed.

"Still dinnae want her then Ghost?" he teased.

Ghost flipped the man off and whistled, your boyfriend returning to his feet immediately and looking up at him in complete and utter adoration.

"Fine, we can keep her. My boy deserves the best though, so her training begins after her bath. And no fucking puppies."

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Are my parents and I the assholes for insinuating that my aunt and uncle's dog should be put down?

I (21F) hate one of my aunt and uncle's current dogs. They rescue old racing dogs and have done for like 15 years now. Their first two dogs I loved. First one was a bitch in both senses of the word, but she was funny and well behaved when it was important. Second one was a true gentle giant and a lovely boy. The second pair they've adopted though are a nightmare.

Alice, the current bitch they have, has suffered some form of trauma in her past. There are three years missing from her medical history and she's got some scars, so we'll never know exactly what happened but something did. She's a very nervous dog. She can be a sweetie, and they were making progress with her until they got the new one. Alice, however, does what more dominant dogs around her do, which has become a problem.

Enter Blue. Blue is genuinely dangerous. Blue snaps with no previous warning and tries to kill things. My family all know about dogs, this isn't us misreading his body language, he is giving no warning then going for the throat. He's taken a particular dislike to mum (who is usually a bit of a dog whisperer) and has got her in the hand a few times. Blue also tries to kill any dog who doesn't share his breed. We were in a restaurant, sitting outside, Blue saw a Beagle and before any of us could do anything he'd pulled my uncle backwards off of his chair and dragged him towards this poor dog. My uncle is a big man, 6" and not thin, so you can imagine the strength it took for Blue to drag him like a doll (the Beagle and owner got away DW).

I've disliked Blue for a while, but what made me actually hate him was that, when my aunt and uncle came to see us just after our own elderly dog had passed, Blue walked into our sitting room and pissed on the carpet. He's house trained and has never done this before. I think he was doing it territorially because he could smell that our dog was dead. I've never wanted to kick an animal before, but I did then and had to excuse myself before I caused a scene.

Cut to yesterday. We were in the pub having a family meal. Blue is muzzled now in public after the last restaurant incident. There was a family sitting across the room from us with a very little girl, 3 or 4 years old I'd say. She was looking at Alice and trying to get her attention from across the room. As her mum got up to take her to the toilet, the girl pointed at our table and asked to see the dogs. Her mum asked us if it was okay. My aunt agreed. The little girl came over. Alice immediately hid under the table.

My aunt was like "ooh sorry, she's shy, why don't you say hello to Blue".

Blues head pops up. The mum sees he's wearing a muzzle and tries to pull her daughter away from him but the kid was too quick and went to pat him on the head. He was super chill with it, pressed into her palm like he wanted harder pets, then with no warning growl, no tensed up body language, nothing, just lunges for the kid.

Obviously she's terrified. The mum is terrified and pulls her away. My uncle grabs hold of Blue's leash and my aunt is ineffectually going "oh no blue bad boy" over and over. My parents jumped up to help the mum and the little girl. I grabbed Alice so she couldn't start copying Blue. We all got kicked out of the pub.

We were standing on the street outside when my parents and I started laying into my aunt about how irresponsible that was. She is like "he'll never become accustomed to humans if he's locked away". Dad shouted that he doesn't get to maul someone to learn that lesson. She scoffed and said he had the muzzle. I said it takes one piece of brittle plastic before he gets put down. My aunt told us all to fuck off and stormed off in the opposite direction. My uncle took Alice from me and followed her.

My aunt made a passive aggressive series of Facebook posts about how all dogs deserve care, and how everyone lashes out when exposed to trauma, then blocked mum (only Facebook user in our house).

I don't think we're the assholes, but I know I'm very biased, because I genuinely hate that dog and would be quite happy to hear it had moved on, whether that be to a different home or the afterlife, I'm not picky.

So awta?

What are these acronyms?

[eggcompany]

Strength, Trust, and Muzzles Part 1

Viktor would never be the "omega" in their relationship. He was too... Everything a alpha should be. Confident, knowing, dominate, protective. Viktor was a perfect alpha. But so was Jayce. But Jayce was always willing to be under Viktor, to submit. He just didn't know he'd be so nervous to get bitched down.

Alpha/Alpha with some BDSM elements.

Jayce was never going to make Viktor his omega. Sure sometimes he topped, sometimes he nipped at the back of his neck, and yes sometimes he got knotheaded and begged to put a baby in the other man. 

But Viktor would never be his omega. Viktor would never be under Jayce, never submit to him. 

Jayce was however resigned to the fact that when they did mate, for the first real time, both in rut, he wouldn’t be the one getting bitched down. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be under Viktor, he loved being under Viktor, loved getting fucked with his perfect hard as nails cock, letting it reached deep inside him and rub against his prostate until he cried, but he was nervous. 

Nervous because he was a knothead who got dick dumb every time he was in rut. He got the head rush that Viktor never did. Viktor was always so level headed in his ruts, thoughtful and in full control. Jayce wasn't in control, he was a slave to his instincts. He was nervous he’d turn it around on Viktor by accident, end up ruining it, making the bond unstable or worse, not set at all. 

Viktor was calmed down in his soul, calm and relaxed, as he took his inducers. He would fall into rut a day after Jayce. He was calm because he was finally ready to mate with Jayce, after three years, they would finally seal the deal. 

He had all the supplies he needed. The workers at the sex shop knew him well after his many trios. He had his bondage mittens, to keep Jayce’s hands to himself because he was always so handsy. And a spreader bar, the strongest one he could find, and a full set of dildos, from thin small ones to one that was only slightly smaller than himself, a full set of five. The handcuffs he had weren’t from the sex shop, they were real and bought from someone Viktor knew as a much younger man. 

He felt calm and confident as he fell asleep next to Jayce, his soon-to-be mate smelled spicy and rich like grilled seasoned meat and smoke. Tomorrow he’d be in full rut, probably wake up with a knot in his pants. 

Jayce was out of his mind. How did he ever think getting bitched down would ever be a good idea. He woke up warm and hard, cozy in bed ready to fuck whatever Viktor offered, his ass, his mouth, his hand, the fleshlight tucked between his thighs, whatever it didn’t matter as long as Viktor was right th-

“Vik?” Jayce called out when he noticed he was alone in their bed. It was cold and empty where his mate should be. Jayce got up and yawned as he made his way to the doorway. He was hot. Too hot. His dick hurt where it hung heavy between his legs. 

“Viktor? Baby where’d you go?” Jayce asked into the empty space of their apartment. He looked around, the sun was coasting through the gauzy curtains that covered all the windows from onlookers. Viktor loved those, they let the sun in but kept people from snapping pictures through the glass. 

Jayce shook his head, getting out of his thoughts as he heard something in the kitchen. 

Viktor. Jayce watched him, dressed in his loose boxers and borrowed tshirt, looking beautiful and frumpy. His hair was a mess, his soft brace on his leg as he used his cane to move around the kitchen. 

“You’re beautiful” Jayce said as he watched Viktor stir a pot of oatmeal. Simple and warm. Viktor turned around, pink cheeked and a heat roaring behind his eyes. 

“On your knees beside my chair. Get a cushion from the couch.” Viktor said voice dug deeper, commanding yet cool and even. Jayce’s cock twitched, jumping as he moved to the couch grabbing one of the square pillows there. 

Viktor settled himself into his dining room chair, a big bowl of oatmeal in front of him, cinnamon puffed on the top. 

Viktor ignored as Jayce knelt down beside him, hugging into his leg, rubbing his forehead over his bare thigh. Jayce loved Viktor, he smelled so good, rich and manly, nice and hot. Jayce was content to sit there and smell Viktor to run his hands up and down his legs, petting the dark hair there. 

Viktor looked at Jayce, his blown dark eyes, his sleep messed hair, his body heavy and relaxed even as his cock laid ignored and heavy. 

He took a handful of his hair and pulled back, making Jayce’s head fallback easily. Jayce gasped and looked up at him. 

“Open.” Viktor ordered and Jayce opened his mouth with a smile, tongue peaking past his teeth. Viktor fed him, making sure the spoon didn’t hit his teeth. Jayce hummed and kept his head up, as he rested against his thigh. 

Soon the bowl was empty and they were both full, ready for the day. Jayce’s hips were swaying, cock smearing precum across Viktor’s ankle and the pillow below. 

“We’re taking it easy today, Jayce, tomorrow is going to be very difficult on you. Your body, your mind.” Viktor said as he ran his hand through his boyfriend's hair, massaging as he went, nails dragging on his scalp. 

Jayce smiled and nodded, kneeling up to kiss Viktor’s palm down to his wrist, right over his scent gland, sucking on it lightly, getting a hit of Viktor’s rich smell. 

“Go make a spot on the couch. I need to clean up and take my medicine. I'll come suck you off when I’m done.” Viktor instructed leaning down to whisper the last sentence close to Jayce’s face before kissing him. Jayce moaned into the kiss rising up on his knees, pushing to be closer to his mate. 

“I love you” Jayce said as he pulled back breathless. He loved kissing Viktor. Loved everything Viktor did. Loved him so much. 

“I know. Go put on a show for us and I’ll be there in a moment.” Viktor said and patted Jayce’s cheek, his hands were cold against his blush hot cheek. Jayce nodded and got up, legs wobbly as his cock cried to be touched. Patience. 

He got to the couch and had to push down the urge to tear into the fabric, instead he fanned out their throw blankets the four different fabrics making him happy as he laid them all out making a spot for Viktor, pillows in just the right spot to support his joints. 

He sat beside the couch, cross cross on the floor as he picked a movie Viktor liked, dinosaurs Viktor liked dinosaur movies. He absentmindedly petted at his cock, a few squeezes around the base, smearing the precum down, rubbing his thumb lightly over the frenulum. It felt good, not enough to cum, but good. 

“Do you want a handjob? Alpha can jerk you off if you want baby.” Viktor asked as he came into the room, settled into his place on the couch. 

Jayce thought about it, Viktor gave good head, perfect suction and that talented tongue but he only took in the tip. Viktor’s handjobs however… both hands on his cock and he always talked, that’s what got Jayce closer than anything else, Viktor talking to him. 

“Handjob.” Jayce said and crawled up onto the couch, flopping back onto Viktor’s chest, his brace was stiff and cold under the thin fabric of his t-shirt, pressing into Jayce’s back as he reached around his body. 

“You’re so heavy. You’re already close huh? Yes, look at this drippy thing.” Viktor said voice quiet as he reached around Jayce’s body to wrap a hand around his cock, his other one drifting down to fondle at his hefty balls. 

Jayce groaned and relaxed, leaning back to let Viktor take his weight. He moaned as Viktor gave his sack a squeeze as his other hand twisted around the tip of his cock. Viktor started a tight but slow pace, second hand going to pet over his stomach up to his chest. 

“Beautiful. My beautiful mate. So pretty. Cum for me, Jayce, let it out.” Viktor encouraged as a hand came up and gave one of his pecs a squeeze, the muscle giving up easily. Jayce whined and bucked up into his hand, hips jumping as he chased his orgasm. Viktor sped his hand up, his other hand coming down to roll over the tip. 

“Show Alpha that you can cum, messy boy, come on.” Viktor said, lips right on Jayce’s ear, voice light and teasing. Jayce moaned, a deep noise coming from his chest as his hands wrapped around Viktor’s legs where they were on either side of him. He thrusted a few more times as Viktor’s voice floated through his head, the words lost but the feeling was there. 

Jayce groaned as he came, hips twitching. Viktor’s hand came down to squeeze the base, right over the slight swell of his knot, the other coming his tip, making his cum splash back down onto him. Jayce whined, looking down at himself as buckets of cum came rushing back down onto his shaft, puddling on his hips and belly. 

“So good, good boy. That was so good. Let’s get all this cleaned up and you can lay on me. Sound good?” Viktor said as he let his clean hand run up and down Jayce’s stomach, calming him as he caught his breath. 

Jayce breathed in Viktor’s smell, nothing else existed around him except Viktor. He just felt foggy in his head, eyes watching as Viktor’s hands, perfect strong yet thin hands, came back to his still hard cock with tissues from the side table. He couldn’t feel as they cleaned him up, his knot only a quarter popped but enough he didn’t feel as the dry tissue rubbed across his tip. 

“I love you, Vik.” Jayce said as he moved a bit, sitting up enough Viktor could get a full breath. He felt the dumb heft getting heavier in his brain. He felt like his thoughts were floating away, the heat in his belly, his hunger for Viktor, it was the only thing he could focus on. 

“I love you too, baby. You’re doing so well.” Viktor praised as he sat up himself, just enough to wipe his hand on his shirt before pulling it up and off. Jayce liked skin to skin, so when they settled back onto the couch, he purred happily, laying lax as Viktor played with his chest hair, occasionally giving his soft pecs a grope, pinching a nipple teasingly every so often.

By the time late lunch arrived, neither of them wanted to get up. Jayce was laying face down, head resting on Viktor’s chest, watching the show on the TV absently as Viktor ran his fingers through his hair with one hand, phone in the other. Viktor ordered food, cringing at the fees applied. 

When it arrived, popcorn chicken and mashed potatoes and a few biscuits. Jayce liked that food when he was in rut. Jayce was knelt down on the floor again, eating from Viktor’s fingers until he was finished. They settled back in for the show again, this time Jayce was sitting down on the floor with Viktor’s legs hanging over his shoulders, massaging his feet. 

Dinner was a more difficult time. Viktor was feeling his own rut start creeping through him. He wanted meat, he wanted Jayce in his lap, he wanted to sink his teeth into the beautiful crest of Jayce’s ass, to mark him. They could barely get to the dinning table without pulling at each other, lips sealed, tongues tangling together. But eventually Viktor gets Jayce sat down in a chair, hand on his cock. 

“Just order something, use my card, I’ll eat anything you give me, I don’t care. I wanna get you in bed, wanna put a baby in you.” Jayce said, voice rolling as he looked at Vik, hand stroking himself quickly, eyes big and dopey. He laid his head down against the table, eyes staying locked on Viktor as he leaned back against the sink, staring back. Jayce couldn’t tear his eyes away, dotted pale skin covered by his braces and his small white briefs. He wanted to mark him up, roll him over, and fuck him till he was calm and bred up. 

“You have to wait till I’ve- I’ve eaten. Then we can go… handle it. And bath. And then sleep because tomorrow when I start, I won’t stop.” Viktor said, his put together facade crumbling a little. He was in full control of himself, knowing exactly what he wanted and what needed to happen, but he was still just an alpha with wants. He wanted to get started right at that moment, but Jayce needed to be well rested and he himself needed to be in full rut. A bitching would take them both out of rut once completed, so they both needed to be in full season. 

“Fu-uck, please?” Jayce begged as he got closer, one hand wrapping around his swelling knot as the other kept working his shaft. It would be one of his last orgasms of this rut, Viktor thought he should enjoy it. Jayce groaned as he came, shivering as he ruined the underside of their dining table. 

Viktor pulled his phone out, taking a moment to snap a photo, just to save for later, print out and put in their shoebox perhaps, before ordering more food. Not just hot food but snacks and treats for later. Some things that would soothe Jayce in his state. And some sleep aid. 

Jayce was panting, squeezing his knot as his eyes closed. Viktor came up to him, rubbing his back, hand petting over his spine. 

“So pretty. Get under there and lick it up.” Viktor said, the worth like filth flowing easily off his tongue. Jayce gasped and tensed for a second before looking up at his mate, searching to see if he was serious. Viktor stared down at him, testing him, seeing how far he’d listen while dumb in rut. 

Jayce slipped onto his knees from the chair, eyes stuck on Viktor as he got under the table. When he finally looked away, towards the mess he’d created, he turned white. There was so much. And it smelled like alpha cum, making him a little nauseous. He opened his mouth though, because Viktor wanted him too, and went to lick the dusty unfinished wood but Viktor snapped his fingers. 

“Such an obedient thing. Good boy.” Viktor said, voice deep, heavy with lust as he stopped Jayce. The younger alpha watched as he got a kitchen towel and wetted it in the sink, handing it to him, damp and warm. Jayce looked between his mate and the towel, and up at his mess before Viktor bent down, leaning heavily on his cane as he met Jayce’s eyes. 

“Clean it with the towel. You don’t need to lick it up.” Viktor said, smiling at his boyfriend as his mind slowly processed the words. 

“I love you, Viktor” Jayce said with a dopey smile as he started to clean away the thick cum. 

“I love you too. I love you so much, Jayce.” Viktor said, the words so easy to say as he thought about how good the next day would be. How receptive Jayce was going to be. How Jayce would be so beautiful with his bite mark. 

The night settled with Jayce knotting his fleshlight, tucked between Viktor’s legs, dopey and warm. Viktor watched as he slept, tucking a few stray hairs back into place, enjoying the calm rolling heat that was settling into his gut. He’d be in full rut tomorrow, ready to make Jayce his. Forever. 

Next Chapter >

[bonefall]

i was wondering, how different are BB!Windstar, BB!Riverstar, and BB!Shadowstar in Modern Starclan than they were alive? Esp compared to BB!Skystar and BB!Thunderstar.

Windstar is waaaaaaaaaaay different. Modern cats have completely forgotten that she was kind of a bitch. Of all the founders, I'd actually say that she's the most different. They de-girlbossified her.

Her revelation from Gray Wing the Wise was that she had a taste of battle and choked on it; ergo, she should expand her horizons. She spent the later half of her leadership doing just that, encouraging her cats to trade, forming alliances, and collaborating heavily with Shadowstar on technological advances. She was so loved that ShadowClan constructed a cairn at her burial-- a mound of stones around her body.

In life, she never lost her intensity. Though she took the revelation to heart, she often held grudges, took part in skirmishes against the others, and displayed a lot of bias within her heavily-hierarchical Clan. She could even be cruel and unfair in her judgements. Moth Flight personally experienced this in life, as The Wind Runner held her parentage against her before she'd proven herself useful.

In BB, Moth Flight is the daughter of Cloud Flight and Wind's terrible ex-mate, Branch. Windstar's kittens are Morning Awakener and Dustiest Muzzle.

(note: Names still might change. Park cat names are titles, three words at most, which are collected over their lives. Traditionally, a king bestows these titles, but in WindCo it's their parent. I feel like it fits her to have three kits called Big One, Middle One, and Little One tbh, lmao)

In death, these less savory aspects have been filed down by the sands of time. She's remembered as intelligent and jovial, loud and singsong. Her real build was lanky and wiry, but she's imagined to be as fat as a rabbit thanks to her trading and innovation. She gets associated with the matriarch doe that runs a warren.

(Gorselike Fur is depicted as harelike.)

The stories give her a king-like air to her. Most of the post-battle WindClan tales open up with her being approached in her camp, describing the kittens that took over after her death as 'heirs,' because the Wind Coalition didn't have deputies until Riverstar's death and a succession crisis.

In contrast, Shadowstar is actually the least changed founder. Her revelation was that she had failed to break her own legacy (remembered through history as failed to be compassionate, as her "legacy" of being the descendant of Broken Shadow is forgotten) and someone else would be broken for her. That turned out to be her nephew, Sun Shadow.

After winning a staring contest with One Eye, Sun Shadow won the right to become the God of the Sun. It is said that if someone else wins a staring contest with him, THEY will become the next god, so Sun Shadow defends his position viciously.

At night, he must rest, and his aunt is there to shelter him. This is why there is day and night-- as Shadowstar allows him to sleep in her embrace.

(Post-Lake there are actually arguments between River and Shadow "philosophers," who fight over if Sun Shadow is actually laying down to rest in Riverstar's embrace instead. Blood has been spilled. Average college professor discussion.)

So, as a patron, she's associated with shelter, safety, rest. Sanctuary. It's something that ShadowClan heavily values about itself at various points through history. So Shadowstar is seen as gentle, protective, and pragmatic. Someone who deeply regrets how she lost sight of the value of life, and will now fight to defend the cats under her charge.

Not all too different from who she was in life.

[ohbo-ohno]

FANTASITIC OK

so I read the ghoap pet play where soap goes to the groomer for his haircut and I started thinking of like

A pet groomer just for..... "Pets"

So ghost can bring puppy soap in for a full groom- scrub down in the big metal tub, muzzled of course because he's a bite risk, and the groomer treating him like a real dog for it all. Putting a hood over his ears and head for the blow drier, using a trimmer to give him a sanitary shave, dog nail trimmers on his fingernails (which of course go right back into the puppy mitts)

Like just the exposure and the humiliation of being treated like that by someone not ghost, the groomer is so casual about it all that it's clear he's not a guy in fetish gear right now hes a fucking dog getting his monthly appointment done. He's on the schedule with a note for his behavior and preferred treats. When he gets leashed and taken back out to the lobby theres other people there with their own pets waiting and someone asks if he was the one crying through it and ghost laughs about how he's a bitch over bathtime

Idk man I've never been much into pet play at all but your enthusiasm and love for it when writing absolutely bring me on board and I'm here for all of it

i read this book series (owned and protected by measha stone) with a ton of dub/non-con pet play and and this like bdsm camp where everyone could indulge in fantasies like this, and it felt a liiiiittle too human traffick-y to me, but i do love it on a smaller scale (like in this ask!!)

like, there's smth about johnny being pretty deep in denial about his own desires and ghost being completely comfortable in his. johnny still blushes when ghost call his throat mic a collar, and ghost is ready to put johnny on a leash and have him kneel during meals.

i like to think simon's got a few people who he knows are okay with the whole public kink thing (it's price, laswell, and gaz). he knows that he could do whatever he wants to johnny in front of them, and they'd be fine with it, maybe even play along

(if johnny was really, really upset about what ghost does to him, gaz would try to step in. john might, depending on what simon wants to do. but for all johnny's whining and complaining, he never pulls away from ghost's hand, and he certainly never tries to end the relationship.)

like i think ghost would take johnny to price's office for a "checkup", and he'd hold johnny still by the back of his neck while price forced a bone gag into his mouth. no matter how much johnny glared or whined or tried to force his way past ghost, he'd have to sit through the whole humiliating ordeal while price pressed all over his chest and back to check for injuries

or maybe ghost walks with soap to the rec room, leads him over to gaz then says "thanks for agreeing to dogsit, garrick" and acts like he doesn't notice when johnny starts yapping, all offended :/

there's sooo much you can do with semi-public kink. i dont have much to say about it but im esp drawn to when like... ghost is threatening to be more public with their dynamic than johnny wants. like threatening to make him kneel in a room full of people, or making him walk around with a collar and a little bone charm.

[next-station-willde-central]

Something about Nine makes me sad and happy at the same time - he's an artist; he did his own grafittis, to be exact, and that's yet another thing that differentiates him from Tails, that, as I'm aware, isn't really skilled in spraypainting

"Wait, Wild, aren't you just projecting headcanons onto your favourite character?" - nope. The proof is in his original New Yoke base:

"Oh, but it's just the creators 'prolly drawing him and placing it as a treat" - then how, in-universe, did it appear there? And why is it a drawing of Nine specifically (notice he's shown in his hoodie and off-coloured), alongside a gun (?) and, I assume, some spray tests, just like people test brushes and paints? No one else had access to his base other than Nine himself, and knowing how distrustful he is, he would not let some random street artist barge into his lair and do his portrait on the wall.

What further supports this theory is the fact he has the same drawings in the Grim... which, again, could not be accessed by anyone other than him (by the way, it seems like all the paintings were made on a movable board that Nine must've carried all the way from New Yoke, which still, why would you move THOSE DRAWINGS in particular if you weren't the author that's, I'd even say, proud of them?).

Annndddd let's also not forget the board has a drawing of a gun, like aformentioned - the same one he used to scan Sonic... is that a coincidence? I really, really don't think so.

On the ending note(s), can we talk about how he even picks colors and how he portrays himself? Because in the drawing of himself, he seems sharper and more vibrant (f.e.: his fur is phosphorescent lime-yellow, or his muzzle is literally cyan), with a bitching expression ever more amplified by the shadows around his face and a black hoodie, like he even WANTS to be viewed, even in his private home, in interior no one should even see, in a simple spray doodle, as someone dangerous, someone you would never want to cross paths with, someone shady and a little bit of not obvious (that part refers to the absolutely eyesore colours he used; unless Nine is just colorblind and doesn't know how that drawing appears to most people, buut that's more of a big speculation-theory territory that we do not get into in this post).

Second ending, it also further proves that Nine is not really Tails - sure, in the New Yoke universe he does fill the niche of being Miles Prower, same as Mangey does in Boscage Maze and Sails in No Place, but in this equation Nine =/= Tails (and some, like me, would say Nine > Tails, but we call those horrid phases opinions and we keep them under our pillows /lh). They share the basics - being super-intelligent, young foxes skilled in mechanics, inventors bullied for their two tails that overcame hardships due to their determination - but aside from that? The skeleton is identical, but everything else that's bulit upon it is completely different - this is why they aren't really the same person. Tails is a prodigy kid and a hero, accompanied by friends and a team ready to help him, and Nine is an isolated and ostracized anarchist basement dweller driven by anxiety and childhood trauma that also happens to be an artist. And a hacker. And a suprisingly good fighter. And-

And a person with his own identity - imagine stripping away his every single original trait and comparing him to a random kid that's also a "better", more successful version of him that actually won in the end.

A kid that's super great, but can the kid do those amazing grafittis like him? Nah. 1:0 for Nine, losahs' /j

--

tldr; Nine can actually spraypaint and he's good at it, as seen in his New Yoke lab/in Grim - the way he does it kind of tells his personality and thoughts; also further proves Tails and Nine are two different people and that Nine is just occupying Tails' "niche" in his Shatterverse, not directly being him

[mac-ann-cheese]

Who has a choice like Smarty does?

(tumblr sucks for restrictions with image sizings. the quality is fucked up)

July, 2024

Another addition to my portraits of Alfred.

Um... I don't really know. This time for real. Something hit me on the head, and I got the idea to create whatever this pink abomination is.

I have a habit of making things that make my eyes sore, though.

Confession: I love Alfred's Cold War era uniform (well, it's actually a variation of the WWII uniform). I depicted him wearing an Airborne one 'cause of the eagle patch on official artwork—the trademark of division. I've seen the other creators playing a guessing game with uniforms, so there really isn't a "canon" tradition to follow.

And also it's cunty-- I mean, the Ike jacket, the boots, the silly cap. Giving fierce.

I'm sorry... (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)

Personally, I always try to make clothing historically accurate. Then I should explain a few details. The long shoulder thingies—fourragères, left one—Belgian (it correlates with the red ropes that most artists drew on Alfred's uniform. It's the closest I could find that would be time-appropriate, and I saw that it could also have arm loops. More strings. So, a tricky fact: it should be worn on the left, but I read that it could be worn and was usually worn by soldiers on the right if there is a French Croix de Guerre 39/45 on the left, which is... the same-looking fourragère as Belgian. No braided strings staking!), the right one—Dutch lanyard (it's orange, close call to red! But, one big but, don't take my words seriously, 'cause I read too many different opinions on some 2007 forum discussion that I became confused with placement. I don't really know what is actually right, please don't come for me, I tried my best and it's only a drawing) and the French one, I've mentioned earlier.

Other accessories: on the left pocket—the presidential unit citation award; on the right, above the ribbon bar set (um, I won't specify what ribbons I could've depicted, as this post will become twice as long)—jump wings; and also the M1916 holster (colt is included!) on the leg. Did you know that little strap was used to secure the holster on the thigh? I didn't before diving into the hunt for references. The strap also could be tied in some peculiar knots, but Alfred is a messy bitch/j, and it means messy wrapping on the muzzle.

The autism in me powers the fuel of a research engine for a Hetalia fanart. Yikes.

One thing that I didn't want to change was the neck scarf. Sadly, there isn't one for real uniform, but I couldn't bring myself to get rid of it. It's just too iconic, even for my historical accuracy quirk. And the hat should be larger, however, I wasn't bothered about the right size. It's a mini-cap.

Okay, I need to address the elephant in the room. Yes, mouths. Different emotions (or I tried to make them different). Am I insane for this? Absolutely. They're reminding me of the first colour TV or ibm computers with Warhol's style.

The second ver is just text, which I thought suited him (tbh, Alfred would make great friends with Maxine, iykyk). I had great fun with distortion filters.

Last thing, the expression is supposed to be somewhat confused laughing like someone accused of something very controversial ("me kissing men??? oh nonono, haha... ',:D") and Alfred just laughs it off, like he usually does. At the same time, looking down on us, the viewer. Though you can freely interpret the expression however you want, it's up to you! (⁠~⁠￣▽￣⁠)⁠~