#either bad or just callously ignorant

[felidaefatigue]

men really gotta stop writing fictional excuses to put "worldy" "older" feminine minds/psyches into childrens bodies just so an old man can fuck them

[pineapple-downside-up-cake]

I am historically quite bad at longfic. But for the one person who requested this: we're giving it a go! Expansion of this

Ghostxfem reader. No warnings this chapter.

PROLOGUE:

Ella the Enchantress had nails like ambergris and a cunt like a steel trap, with a personality to match.

Feared for her tempestuous nature and reviled for a demonstrable lack of empathy, enlisting the assistance of this witch-cum-altruist was an exercise in self-flagellation.

Ella enjoyed attention.

Her preferences varied with the weather, but speculation had it that her skills as a seductress far outstripped her talent with magic. A modern medusa, the wrong look could chain a petitioner to her, life and limb, for as long as she so pleased.

The right look was frequently difficult to come by - Ella wasn't always naked, but she was never far away.

Not that they'd regret looking, necessarily. She was certainly skilled. But she left marks, had a way of destroying livelihoods and relationships.

Her real name was Sally, and she was technically a sorceress.

A relationship with her would be akin to juggling a live grenade, and that would be stupid.

Ghost isn't stupid.

He just likes living on the edge. And sex.

For all her failings as a member of civilized society, Ella was hot. The aforementioned cunt didn't hurt, either.

Bit of a vindictive bitch, though.

"Y'know where the door is. Y'can let yourself out."

Ghost is brave for a man with all his softest bits hanging out.

Then again, the soft bits were always her favorite part of him - it certainly wasn't his personality or emotional fluency.

At least he knows what to do with his dick.

Sally storms through the apartment in a manner more literal than metaphorical, fuming with hot embarassment and anger, as she stomps her legs into the suggestion of a dress she was wearing when she'd seduced him.

Ghost doesn't notice. He's already dismissed her, rolled back over to her side of the bed and buried his face in the pillow instead of her lap.

That rat bastard. How dare he!

She's Sally Le Fucking Fay, great-great-great-great-great...great step-granddaughter of Morgen le Fay, and she cannot believe she made the mistake of handing her self-worth to a man.

No - that she can believe.

What she can't believe is that Ghost of all people would so callously reject her charm. He was an unlovable bastard, with no family and no prospects, and she had lowered herself to take him into her willing bosom.

And he had still turned her away.

She seethes the whole way home, ignoring the way her anger makes her magic flare around her. The scum of the night scramble out of her way, keen to avoid a gale that rips lids from trash cans and sends them careening into the nearest stationary object.

Sally has care to spare for one thing and one thing only. Usually it's herself. But tonight, it's going to be retribution.

Big hard man. Ha.

She'll show him.

Ghost peeks out from under his arm when he finally feels the front door shake the foundation - he's not entirely convinced she won't come back, and he's not as fearless as he'd like to pretend.

His room is a mess. Even more-so than after a normal night of athletics. Ella had imposed herself upon him for a week, and he'd tried every trick in the book to get her to leave.

He'd even turned down sex. Twice.

He'd seen it on the horizon, but he'd really thought the sorceress would take it better. It was part of the agreement - no feelings, blah blah blah, not ready for anything else.

She didn't want a man to cramp her witchy vibes, and he didn't want someone asking more of him than he was ready to give.

And then she'd decided they were "the perfect match" and they were "fated for each other", like characters in some cutesy Disney tale, and not who they really were -

A morally grey sorceress with reality debt, and an emotionally constipated weapon of destruction.

He'd had to pull out the big guns: alas, "it's over" didn't go over too well.

She'd nearly destroyed his room - it had rained, and if she wasn't so mad he'd have been worried about her flooding the basement. As it was, she'd steamed him like a shellfish.

He slips out of bed and sneaks over to the door, an intruder in his own home, afraid to summon her by accident. He'd kill for a good night's sleep, without hands crawling down his pants, but the climate in his room is unbearable.

The couch is good enough.

If he makes it through the week without hellfire raining down on him - literally - he's going to take a break from women.

He should have listened to Soap.

[cinnxmxngxrl]

Hello Beautiful 🤩 how are you doing? I currently have a massive headache just teetering on the side of Migraine. I also heard that sex whether oral or intercourse can help with headaches so I am wondering if you write a fic with either Alfie or Harry about their partner having a headache and they ask what they can do to help and you just casually mention in your pain “I heard sex is good for dealing with headaches”

Please and thank you. I love your writing so much.

“Doctor Solomons”

Alfie Solomons x Wife!Reader

Summary: A sudden migraine leaves you desperate for relief, and when you tell Alfie an orgasm might help, your ever-devoted husband is all too eager to step in and help.

WC: 3.5k

Warning/Tags: smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, creampie, oral (f!receiving), cum eating, migraines.

You were curled up in bed, the heavy curtains pulled shut, draping the room in pitch black silence, because pitch black was the only way your head wouldn’t feel like it was being set on fire, even the faintest sliver of gaslight felt like it cut through your skull. One forearm was thrown over your eyes, your fingers pressing into your temples as if you could will the pain away. Your nightdress clung damp to your skin, sticky from the feverish warmth that came with the ache that had taken up residence behind your eyes.

Every pulse was a thunderous drumbeat of pain, echoing through your temples and crashing behind your eyes. The pressure built with every breath, a dull roar in your ears, each throb feeling like it might split you open. It was all too much.

And yet, even through the haze, you heard your husband approaching the room, the door opening, slow and gentle, the hinges groaning just slightly. Then you heard his voice, soft and cautious.

“Alright, my treacle?” Alfie’s voice was lower than usual, but still loud as thunder, still enough to send another spike of pain right through your skull.

“Migraine,” you murmured, barely lifting your arm. “Bad one. Please… keep your voice down.”

He crossed the room in measured, heavy steps, each foot fall like a distant tremor, as if the floor might collapse under his weight. He crouched beside the bed, towering you but trying to make himself small, his bulk figure casting a shadow even in the dark. Too large. Too solid.

He was trying hard not to make you feel worse, but Alfie wasn’t known for his graciousness. Even when he lowered his voice, he was still loud, even if he tried to make himself seem smaller, more careful, his presence was still huge, impossible to ignore.

His hand brushed gently across your forehead, his calloused knuckles grazing your cheek, fingertips barely there but grounding. You leaned slightly into the touch, exhausted by hours of insufferable pain.

“I hate this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Hate seein’ you like this. My fragile little bird, wings all twitchin’ in pain. Breaks me heart, it does.”

You gave a tired little laugh, dry and cracked. “You know... You could help… if you want.”

He blinked. “What, you need a cold cloth or—?”

You cut him off, your voice a breathy whisper, laced with a hint of mischief. “I read somewhere… orgasms can help with headaches.”

You remembered reading that a few months ago in a medical journal, not that you were particularly interested in medicine, but most days felt boring with Alfie gone to handle the business, so you picked up whatever new articles you could find. And those words stuck with you.

He paused, a wicked smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to ease your pain, and here you were, telling him the cure was exactly what he loved doing most in the world? That was a great deal,

“Did you now?” he said finally, voice low, but with the distinct edge of something filthy sparking underneath.

You peeled your arm back, squinting up at him, managing a crooked, sleep-drunk smile. “It's supposed to help blood flow… release endorphins… Natural relief.”

Alfie tilted his head, his eyes glinting with amusement, disbelief, and a rush of darkness all swirling together. It was like you'd said the magical word: orgasms. He loved orgasms. Loved having them, loved giving them to you even more, and now you were here, telling him that eating your cunt (his favorite fucking meal) was the key for easing your pain? Time to get to work.

“Well then,” he murmured, tone gone velvet, slow and low. “Far be it from me to ignore a woman in pain… much less my beautiful fuckin’ wife. Especially when there’s a—what did you call it? A natural remedy available, right?”

He grinned as he leaned in a little closer, you could already feel the change in the air. He stood and unbuttoned his waistcoat with precision, his fingers working each button loose like he was undressing for war. The fabric slipped from his shoulders and he tossed it carelessly over a chair, then his shirt followed, until he was bare from the waist up, chest rising slow and heavy, muscles flexing under old scars, heavy ink, and contained tension.

“I’ll sort you out, love,” he said, voice gravel-dark, low enough to rumble in your chest. “Right here. Right now. With God as my witness, I’m gonna fuck that headache right out of you.”

You rolled your head on the pillow, heavy and aching, turning toward him with a wry expression. It was almost amusing to watch him so eager to give you an orgasm, like your suggestion had instantly turned into a top mission. But truth be told, that pounding headache wasn’t going anywhere, you needed to stop it before it drove you insane, so if your handsome husband giving you pleasure was the cure… then let it be that.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m devoted,” he corrected, eyes fixed on you like a man on a mission. “Ridiculous comes later.”

You could barely lift your head, your skull was still pounding, but the sight of him like this, bare, solid, radiating heat and purpose, it stirred something low in your belly, it always did, you still got just as wet for him as you did the very first day.

He didn’t climb on top of you right away. No, Alfie Solomons was a man who took his time when it counted. Instead, he crouched beside the bed and gently eased the covers down, moving with unexpected tenderness for someone built like a butcher. His fingertips ghosted along your thighs, tugging the hem of your nightdress up inch by slow inch, until your bare skin was exposed to the cool air and his hot gaze.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something soft, “like you always do for me, yeah? Let me be good for you now, my treacle.”

Then, he dropped to his knees, ready to worship the only thing that ever made him feel good, the only person he’d ever loved. When he leaned between your thighs, your breath caught in your chest, his thumbs spread your folds open to admire his favorite sight in the world.

Before you could register it, you felt Alfie's warm and wet mouth. The first stroke of his tongue was slow and full, dragging all the way up your slit with deliberate pressure, making your whole body jerk at the contact. His beard scratched your inner thighs, rough and coarse, but instead of pulling away, the burn of it only heightened the ache, making you feel every movement, every flick, every hum against your pussy.

He didn’t tease you tonight, he just ate. Tongue flat and firm, licking repeatedly from your entrance to your clit, then circling the sensitive bud like it was the center of his universe. He knew exactly how to eat you out, he had known since that first night together, but with time, it only got better. You knew he could make you cum with just a few right flicks of his tongue, but neither of you liked to rush it, you both enjoyed dragging out the pleasure as long as you could.

He moaned into you, low and rough, as if the taste of your pussy alone had undone him, as if he needed it… needed you more than air. You let out a shaky breath, your hips twitching under his touch.

“Shhh,” he whispered against your folds, his lips brushing sensitive skin. “Just let go, yeah? Let me give you somethin’ better to feel than that bloody thumpin’ in your skull.”

He slid his arms under your thighs, pulling you flush against his face, anchoring you, keeping you still while he devoured you like a starving man. He didn’t slow down for a second, if anything, he only went deeper, his tongue plunging with a slick, greedy noise, then back up to your clit again, building a delicious rhythm, messy but focused. Wet slurps and obscene licks were filling the room, every filthy sound echoing louder now than the pulse in your head.

He moved one big hand to press it against your lower belly, holding you down, as the tension inside you coiled and snapped tighter with every stroke. You could feel the pressure of his palm along with the way his tongue was working harder, trapping the pleasure in you, forcing it to build, to break.

Your hips kept squirming, but he only grunted and buried himself deeper, beard soaked, lips slick with you. Your hand fisted the sheets, the other one sliding up into his hair, grabbing a fistful, tugging it but not to pull him away, to keep him there, with his tongue buried in your cunt.

He grunted when you pulled his hair, growled into your skin like a man grateful for the pain. He loved when you got needy like that, when your body moved on instinct, chasing every movement of his tongue, grinding your hips down agaisnt his mouth, smearing your slick all over his face to mark him. He loved the way your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer like his mouth was the best thing you'd ever felt.

Just like magic, the pulsing in your skull began to dull, you felt the ache softening, like it was being pulled out through your cunt, sucked out with every obscene slurp and low groan from him. He was treating your pain like something edible, like something he could suck out of you and lick from your cunt. All that remained now was the hot, sticky tension building deep in your body, overtaking every other sense, that same feeling that you had everytime you got closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Alfie…” you moaned, voice barely audible over your breath. “Don’t stop… please…”

“That’s it,” he muttered, mouth slick, beard matted and glistening with your juices, lips dragging across your clit as he spoke. “That’s my good treacle. Let me take it. Let me take the pain. Let me fuckin’ eat it out of you.”

He hummed, a deep, filthy hum that vibrated through your entire body, shooting straight up your spine, right through your cunt, and that was what broke you. You came with a choked cry, back arching, thighs shaking, your whole body clenching around nothing, completely unraveling on his tongue. Your slick flooded his mouth and he groaned like it was the best meal he’d ever had, like he could taste the moment you tipped over the edge.

The room went black around the edges, your pain completely gone, forgotten, replaced now by raw pleasure and the wet sound of Alfie still kissing you down there, slow and greedy, like he couldn’t bear to stop.

He didn’t just stay there, he worshiped the mess you'd made. Kept his tongue lazily stroking through your folds, collecting every drop of your release, breathing heavy through his nose like a man high on your pleasure. The scrape of his beard still stung, still burned, but it made you throb, made your oversensitive cunt twitch against his mouth like you could cum again if he pushed just right.

“Holy hell.” You could barely breathe.

“Feeling better yet, love?” he rasped, voice rough with hunger. “Because I ain’t even started.”

He grinned wickedly and then leaned down to press slow kisses on your inner thigh with his sticky lips, his beard dragging wet trails across your skin, before crawling up your body, planting more kisses along your stomach, your ribs, your chest, like your body was fully his to worship.

He braced a hand beside your head, and kissed your mouth deep and messy, his tongue curling against yours, sliding wet and hot between your lips. You could taste yourself on him, the salt, the slick, the raw want. He kissed you like a man possessed, like he needed to feel your breath in his lungs.

His hand fumbled with his belt, then the fastenings of his trousers, his eyes never leaving your face. He shoved them down just far enough to free himself, and when his cock sprang free it slapped against his belly with all the weight and urgency of it, already leaking, flushed an angry red at the tip.

“Medical marvel, me,” he muttered against your skin, voice smug but trembling with restraint.

You could feel his need, his tension, the way his whole body thrummed like a wire pulled too tight. You glanced down and he was so hard, so painfully and proudly erect. It looked obscene, all his thick veiny length throbbing with hunger. And oh, right now, there was nothing you wanted more than to feel that wonderful cock that had made you see stars more times than you could count. Just that tought made your cunt ache again, desperate for the stretch, the perfect rhythm only he could give you.

His face was flushed too, his cheeks pink, neck red, his hair damp with sweat. And those eyes were so bright, so full, like he’d been holding back with everything in him, focusing on taking your pain away first, but now he needed his release too. The way you'd moaned for him, writhed under his tongue, came for him... it was driving him insane.

“Let me finish the job, yeah?” he said, brushing your hair back with fingers so gentle, so soft it made your throat close. Those now sweet fingers were the ones that had held your thighs open just minutes ago, that mouth was the same mouth that had wrecked you.

You nodded, feeling dizzy from the heat in your belly and the sudden wave of tenderness crashing through the filth, dizzy with how badly you wanted to feel every inch of him, every stretch, every thrust, every filthy groan that was proof of just how deep inside you he was.

He lined himself up, breathing heavy through his nose, and then he pushed in with a low, broken groan, the stretch was so big, so deep, even after years of taking him every single day, even after he'd just spend endless minutes getting you open first with his mouth. It almost burned, but it was perfect anyway, it was the kind of ache that your body always craved.

You felt yourself adjusting as every inch of his perfect cock slid inside you, forcing you open, so thick, so full and hot, that had you gasping for air. Your muscles were fluttering around him as he filled you slow and deep. It was devastating, it filled your lungs, your chest, your mind. There was nothing but the feeling of him in you now.

He held still, barely breathing, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes shut in pure restraint, waiting for you to adjust, giving your body time to catch up with the invasion his cock supposed. That was something he didn't do every time, sometimes he'd just take you fast and rough, with no patience, just raw and hungry need, and you loved that too, loved him brutal and angry. But tonight was about making you feel better, about taking your pain away, and so he waited with calm until your body grew accustumed to him.

And when it did, he began to move slow and precise, dragging his cock through your walls like he was trying to leave a mark in them, like he was trying to rewrite the very shape of your body from the inside out. Tonight it was long and deep thrusts that punched the air from your lungs. Every slide out made your cunt ache, letting you feel every inch leaving, and every push back in felt like coming home, filling you all over again.

The sound of skin on skin, wet and rhythmic, was purely pornographic, it filled the room like a second heartbeat. The slap of his hips, the wet suction of your cunt clenching around him, it was all filth, and he fucking loved every second of it.

He liked it dirty, just like him, filthy and unapologetically nasty. He liked when the sheets were soaked through and the room reeked with the smell of body fluids by the time sex was over. He liked to make a mess, liked when his beard was matted with your slick, when your thighs were trembling and covered in his cum, when his stomach and your tits were streaked with sweat. Sweat that he would lick off of you, because he loved the salty taste of it. That was his idea of a good time, of how a proper fuck was meant to be. What other people might find disgusting, Alfie considered it proof he’d done his job right, so if you weren’t both ruined by the end of it, it wasn’t worth it.

Every stroke was intimate and raw, as if his cock was talking to you, like it knew your body better than you did, and your body answered, trembling, throbbing, fluttering around him with every slow drag. Your migraine? No trace of it, like it had never been there in the first place.

He leaned close, and between thrusts, he whispered filth in your ear, voice rough, worshipful:

“Best fuckin’ cure you could find…”

“You need this, yeah? Your body knows it…”

“You feel so fuckin’ good wrapped ‘round me, squeezin’ me like that…”

“Gonna give you every drop, treacle… Gonna fill you ‘til you forget your own name…”

He groaned when you clenched around him involuntarily, making him slam deeper, like he couldn’t help it, like you’d pulled it out of him. You moaned and clung to him, nails raking down his back, scratching red into his skin. He arched into it, hissing with pleasure, like your pain marked him.

He growled in pure satisfaction, in pride, in the filthy joy of making you lose yourself under him, in knowing he was the only one who'd ever made you feel this way. Your body began to flutter around him, heat cresting too fast, pleasure blooming in your core, legs trembling as you pulled him closer, tighter, like you could keep him inside forever.

You came again. It was sharp and sudden, gasps breaking on his name and your whole body jerking beneath him, clenching down around him so tight he nearly collapsed. You screamed his name, sobbed it, said it like it was something holy, like it was carved into your cunt.

Alfie followed you seconds later, groaning into your neck, his face buried in your shoulder as his cock throbbed hard, spilling thick ropes of his cum into you. You felt it hot and endless as it flood you, filling you so deep it felt like his cum was going exactly where it belonged.

“That’s it, love,” he murmured against your ear, “take all of it. That’s where it’s meant to be, yeah?”

His hips kept slowly rocking with need, like he didn’t want it to end, like he needed to give you every last drop of his seed. He grunted through his teeth, muttering into your neck “take it, fuckin’ take it all, that’s it, my good wife” while his cock twitched again and again inside your spent cunt.

He collapsed on top of you with a grunt, making you feel his heavy and warm body, his chest slick against yours, his breath hitching. You both reeked of sweat and sex. A proper fuck, Alfie thought.

He looked down and noticed how his thick, white cum was slowly spilling out of your cunt, even with him still buried deep inside you, thrusting slow and shallow, each movement coating his shaft, and sending a wet, sticky trail between your thighs.

“Do they say anythin’ ’bout eatin’ it in those books you read, eh? Husband’s seed’s good for migraines too, yeah?” He teased, dipping two fingers back through your folds, he made you whimper from the hypersensitivity, then scooped up some of his dripping cum with a slow, deliberate curl.

“I’m not sure,” you purred, eyes half-lidded, “but I don’t like letting it go to waste anyway.”

He pushed those fingers to your lips and you licked them slow and deliberate, savoring the salty sweetness of him as your tongue swirled around them, tasting every drop. He chuckled softly, eyes darkening as if the sight of you eagerly eating his cum never failed to amaze him. With deliberate slow strokes, he pushed his fingers in and out of your mouth, rejoicing in the way you got them clean until not a drop was left.

He didn’t let you go, just shifted enough to roll to the side, but still keeping you tangled with him, one arm draped over your waist, his spent cock still nestled inside you, still leaking, still twitching, keeping you plugged full as his release kept making a mess on your thighs. It was thick, slow, hot, you could feel it everywhere, slick on your folds, sliding down to your ass, and soaking the sheets. You were so stuffed full of him. Marked and owned by him.

“So,” he muttered, lips pressed to your shoulder, “How’s that head o’yours, love?”

You grinned, eyes closed, body limp and finally at peace. “It’s gone, Alf. Completely.”

He smirked against your skin. “Knew I had it in me.”

You snorted softly. “You have something in you, alright.”

He laughed with satisfaction and kissed your neck like a promise. “Next time you feel one of those migraines comin’ on, you just say the word, yeah? Doctor Solomons’ll see to it personally.”

You chuckled and curled into him. The warmth of his body, the scent of sweat, your cum still coating his beard, and that subtle sweetness beneath it all wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

Together, you drifted off, peaceful, painless, and so, so loved.

A/N: Thank you so much for your request🩷🫶🏻 I hope you’re feeling better from your migraines, and if you’re still struggling, I hope this helps even a little.

I hope everyone enjoyed this fic, your support is very appreciated and makes me soooo happy🥹

On another note, this was the last request!!! omg I can’t believe it, there’s so much to come (I’ll probably put up a poll later to find out what you guys want to see).

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[messenger-of-babel]

Could you write about the sweetheart grips? Soldiers in ww2 used to put photos of their lovers on the grips of their guns and I think that would be cute with Jason.

Eye for An Eye

Summary: Jason keeps a photo of you in his gun to keep you close to him, even in his hardest moments. (Jason Todd x reader)

Word Count: 2.7K

Notes: dear anon I really, really wanted to make this sweet. But then I got an angst idea and- I tried to do it justice without too many tears. Forehead kisses for you because as soon as you sent this in I legit thought about this idea for like three days straight I fell in love with the concept. I might use it again for other Jason fics you got me hooked (I was a MASSIVE military history nerd). Warnings for description of violence and injury, character death, some choppy writing. Back onto my angst train, I'm so sorry y'all (I'll write this concept sweeter sometime, I SWEAR).

ALSO HAPPY 100 POSTS. It's crazy when I remember I'm still a baby blog. <3

Enjoy~! RiRi xoxo <3

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Bruce had never been one for guns, and while Jason was Robin, he hadn't either.

He didn't consider himself a particularly violent child or had any real craving to use weapons. After all, he never really hit anyone who didn't deserve it, and he got great satisfaction of getting back at people who thought they could hurt innocent civilians just because they were bigger and older than him.

That was until he was taken by Joker and showed just how much hurt someone older and bigger than could inflict.

April 27th, the date that the Joker killed Jason Todd.

Now, he couldn’t imagine his hands without the comforting grip of his pistol. The grips were designed just for him, slotting into the contours of his fingers and worn away in the areas he instinctually rubbed. They were wide so they sat snug in his large palms, with a coarse texture in the areas he habitually flexed. The grip allowed it to stick to his gloves for a steadier shot while it would simply irritate anyone else who tried to hold them.

Everyone knew that those guns were Jasons, but nothing said it quite like the new addition of the faded photo tucked into the grips. The colt's had originally come with wooden handgrips, which were quickly removed while he made his modifications.

"You know the Bat isn't gonna be happy with you getting another set of guns." Dick calls out, approaching his worktable in the cave. Jason just grunts at him over his shoulder, making sure he keeps the screws where he can see them.

"Bruce can honestly suck it up." he huffs, the mention of the Bat souring his demeanour immediately. Jason had wanted to do this in his apartment for this exact same reason. He knew Stephanie would annoy him with questions if she caught sight of him, and that Tim would interject constantly with 'improvements' he deemed necessary. Duke he could deal with, and Cass would leave him well enough alone.

Dick and Damian just managed to piss him off simply existing sometimes.

Mostly when he was already in a bad mood.

His older brother trots down the stairs, a frown forming on his face as he puts his hands on his hips to observe.

"Quiet." Jason mumbles flatly, knowing the older vigilante was giving him a disapproving stare. Dick ignores him, eyeing the photo tucked up near his water bottle.

"Jason," he says, voice a warning tone.

"I said quiet." he cuts off, wiping the area down with a damp cloth. Dick just sighs behind him as Jason gingerly picks up the photo, rubbing his calloused thumbs over it. Dick wants to say something as he eyes the photo but can't bring himself to speak above the block in his chest. He watches the tension ease from his brother’s shoulders, the muscles that had been stiffly held by his ears for weeks. The scowl he wore softened slightly, and he could actually hear him exhale for once instead of wondering if his chest actually was moving or not. Instead, Dick sighs in reluctance, giving in. Dick watches him with sad eyes, clapping a hand on his shoulder with a slight squeeze. "Don't forget to, you know," he leans forward slightly and draws a circle with his finger on a certain point of the photo. Jason's face ripples with a flash of pain, but he watches his younger brother grit his teeth and nod.

"Look after yourself, Jay." he murmurs, pulling back. "Don't do anything stupid."

Jason waits a little bit before turning back the photo, ensuring that Dick had left the cave. A still silence settled over the dim space once more. It didn't help the hum in his head, making his fingers and muscles shake, the white noise refusing to settle in his conscious. He gently drew on the photo of you with pencil, tracing the shape that he needed for the grip and ensuring that you weren't cut out by accident.

It was a favourite photo of his, taken at one of Bruce's galas. He hadn't wanted to go, hardly showing to the events in the first place. "Full of rich idiots trying to get even richer." he had told you, tossing a look over his shoulder to you. You were standing at the door, holding the invite that had been slipped through the mail slot. You waved the thick cardstock, a small smile on your face. "Aw, but I was kinda looking forward to going." you say, looking over the details. "I think it'll be fun."

"The only one who thinks those things are fun are Dick and Steph if she's around. Tim will get bored and probably turn into a loan shark if left unattended too long. So yeah, fun." he grumbled.

"What about Dami?"

Her turns around, eyebrows raised.

"I’m sorry?" he asks. "When did we start calling the demon child, Dami? We're on nickname level now?"

He hates how his heart flutters in his chest when he hears you laugh, melting away his annoyance.

"He's sweet, just a little prickly. like you." you grin, coming to wrap your arms around his neck, pecking him on the lips.

"Yeah, he's sweet to you, he's a little shit to everyone else." he grumbles.

"Sounds like someone else I know." you tease.

He can't help but grin, sighing out through his nose softly. "Fine. we can go." he grumbles, knowing he won’t be able to stay mad at you for long.

The photo he traces was from that night, you tucked into his side. You're staring at the camera with a sparkle in your eye, lips pulled back into a wide grin. You're wearing black to fit the theme of the ball, with red accents, matching him. He’s got his arm around your shoulder, taking the photo with you pressed up against him. He thinks you look stunning, eyes twinkling at him from the page.

He takes the exacto knife and gently runs it over the image, cutting himself out so that he can focus on you. The piece pops free, and he trims the edges. His heart thrums as he slides you onto the handle, fluttering with a tame delight.

"Don't forget to, you know..."

Dick’s voice floats back into his mind, and the corners of his lips twitch downwards once more. Reluctantly he pulls your photo from the handle and reaches for a screwdriver to his left, bringing it above the paper. He feels like he's about to stab you, the way the metal tip hovers above the image smiling back at him.

But he does it, heart clenching with each scrape across your eyes, slowly erasing the twinkle he loved so much. There's something sickening about the feeling of scratching your face out, the gritty sound of the photo tearing and leaving white streaks in its wake making his stomach flip. Finally, it's done, stark white lines blotting out your gaze. All that's left is the upturn of your lips, and the soft smile you wore.

With a heavy sigh Jason slots it back onto the handle, placing the clear protector over you. At least nothing could damage you more than he already had. He told himself it was for the better, as he cleaned his hands on a nearby rag and bit the inside of his cheek. You weren't the most supportive of his guns, but you liked that they kept him safe. You had had a few conversations with him about it but never an argument. He wanted to keep you close, but he knew he wasn't going to be an idiot about it. He wanted to protect you, hide your identity from any eagle-eyed thugs.

"Besides," he thought to himself. "Don't want em seeing what I'm about to do."

Maybe it was for the best that he covered your face for this.

His body hums with adrenaline, still alone in the Batcave. With scarred fingers he screws the cover onto the grip, clear cover sitting flush and keeping your photo secure. Jasons tosses it a few times in his hand, getting used to the feeling of the new colt pistols and making sure you weren't going to shake loose. When he was content, he looked over his shoulder, scanning the shadows for movement.

He knew that Bruce would condemn his actions, he didn’t even need to ask on that front. Dick would be understanding but try to hold him back, and Tim would try to talk him out of it. The only person he felt that silently agreed with him was Damian, the pair of them fostering an unlikely bond in the last few weeks.

Everyone in the manor knew what Jason was thinking.

What Jason was doing spending his nights in the Batcave, the one place he had grown to hate ever since coming back.

What he contemplated as he haunted the halls of the manor, the place he often traded in for the comfort of his downtown apartment.

Everyone knew what Jason was going to do tonight, yet none of them were game enough to say it out loud or stop him.

Therefore, Jason took their silence as compliance because he knew somewhere deep down, they wanted him to do it.

Or was he deluding himself?

He shook the thought from his head, holstering the newly decorated pistol. He was already dressed and strapped for this mission, no turning back now. With heavy hands he donned his helmet, taking a deep breath as he pushed Jason aside to become Red Hood. The air was still, as if the Batcave was filled with spirits watching him in silence as he mounted the bike and pressed the key for the garage door, speeding out.

He was already haunted by too many ghosts.

The streets of Gotham were relatively quiet, the usual alleys he stalked devoid of the thugs he would have expected. It seemed that even the city was holding its breath, civilians tucked safely inside. He knew where he was going.

He had been receiving mocking invites in the mail for the last week, notes attached to crime scenes in a gory fashion just to mock him. So really, it was no surprise when he arrived at Gotham cemetery, parking outside and not even bothering to kill the engine. He wasn’t going to be long anyways.

Just past the cemetery was the crumbling shell of Arkham, ivy covering the brickwork and roof caving in. His boots crushed broken panes of glass as he entered the decaying mental hospital, leaves scattered through the building from wrinkled trees that had cracked through the floors. He slowly made his way to the upper floor, where he had seen the lights.

Instinctually he reached for his gun, and he felt his heart calm sliding his hand over your picture secured into his sweetheart grip. He hadn't felt this anxious fighting in a while, unused to the way that his pulse thudded against his neck or the dryness that crept into his mouth. The corridor felt like it stretched on forever, making his vision swim trying to reach the light at the end.

Candlelight flickered weakly at the end of the hall, luring him in like a moth. As he stepped in he took note of it, hand tightening. Jason knew he was going to play with him, taunt and torture him. The images of you taped up on the peeling walls were enough. Photos that spanned back months, photos of you on dates, at work, in his car, in your apartment, blurry photos of you and him in his bed. His thumb instinctually placed itself over your eyes, despite them already being scratched out.

He didn't need you seeing the messy patchwork of your life.

Jason didn't even mind the photos, knowing the sadist would be doing something like that. What he did mind though were the images of you from three weeks ago, the same images that Dick had refused to let him see, that Tim wiped off the Batcomputer hard drive and Babs had removed from the GCPD database. The ones displaying the blood, the bone, the bruising.

Your eyes, unseeing.

Everything that was so familiar to him, but so foreign on you.

Everything that that one curved piece of metal had caused way back when, stained a dark brown. The same piece of metal that was sitting in the middle of the desk at the centre of the crude shrine, drying with a fresher coat of oxidised red.

He felt his heart rise to his throat, but he wasn’t sure if it was bile in his throat or the taste of blood from his bitten lip. His grip turned white, muscles flexing under the skin and pressing unnaturally hard. He felt the green tinged mania inside him rear its head, threatening to take over his mind and act purely on instinct. The Lazarus pit clawed and pulled at his soul harder that it had in years, gasping at him like a beggar, screaming for a shred of violence to feed it.

He knew the game. He knew all of this was to provoke him, try to get Jason to release the rage inside him. The monster wanted to see him squirm, see him struggle to keep himself in check. He wanted to watch Jason Todd fight against the Red Hood, watch the Bats moral code play out on his face.

Well, Jason wasn't Batman. He wasn't Bruce.

As soon as a skinny figure moved from the shadows to his right, his pistol was out in a flash. His free hand ripped the mask from his face, jaw tight and eyebrows furrowed, but he felt more relaxed than he had been in ages.

He was no Batman. He was Jason Todd.

And Jason was going to do the one thing Bruce had always been too much of a coward to do.

With one crisp bang the clown couldn’t get a single word out before he was splayed on the floor. As Jason stepped over the body he regarded it apathetically, barely biting down the urge to step on it. The bastards’ lips were pulled back in a wide smile, even in death. Maybe he had expected Jason to do this, maybe it was his last hurrah as an asshole, but Jason didn't care.

He didn’t even feel scared at the idea of the aftermath as a retraced his steps out of the abandoned building, mounting his still-running bike.

There hadn't been a single gloat before the gun cracked through the night, not a single joke or pun or taunt to leave the devil’s mouth. Bruce might have entertained it, let him play it out, but not Jason.

For Jason, everything that needed to be said had been said in actions.

The air was strangely cool, devoid of the humidity that nomrally hung in the streets. The city itself seemed to be sighing, taking a breath like the chord holding the city on a leash had been cut. He relished the feeling of it on his skin, the cracks in his suit letting the breeze run across his knuckles and where his mask met his neck. He imagined the cool fingers were you, cradling his face and whispering for him to take a rest, and he let his eyes flutter closed briefly.

 As he hit a red light he took a pause, reaching his hand down to pat where you were, tucked tightly under his hip. He didn't care what the reaction was going to be when he reached the manor, or the screaming match that was likely going to destroy what was left of his relationship with his pseudo father. All that matters is that he had done right by you, that he had done what he wished someone had done for him.

April 17th, the night Jason Todd killed the Joker.

[dazzlingsab]

Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby

summary: cg!rafe rocking little!reader to sleep after a rough day. simple but sweet <3

Rafe knew you like the back of his hand; he could easily tell when something was wrong. It's not like you really hid it either. Like right now, you were sulking on your side of the bed.

If he didn't love you so much, he'd find this frustratingly annoying. Despite your little mumbly "I'm fine," he didn't buy it. You weren't being your normal, giggly, sweet self.

"Shortcake, I can't make you feel better if you don't tell me what's wrong." He pointed out, as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

You huffed quietly, ignoring his words, as you hid your face deeper into your soft, plush pillow. It was hard to communicate as you slipped into your headspace.

He exhaled under his breath, his calloused hand gently resting on your back. "Bad day, hm?" His tone was soft-spoken and gentle.

You didn't bother lifting your head up from your pillow, just giving a small nod against it as an answer. Rafe's hand softly rubbed up and down your back in a soothing motion.

"Not up for talking? Do you just want Daddy to hold you?" You finally lifted your head up, nodding as you reached your arms out.

He chuckled lightly as he pulled you into his lap. You instantly hid your face against his shoulder, getting hints of the expensive cologne that lingered on his clothes.

He pressed a soft kiss against your temple. "It's alright; I've got you, baby." He mumbled against your skin; he held you tight against him as he rocked you back and forth. Hoping to soothe you.

After a few yawns and quiet, tired groans, you were out like a light in his arms. His heart melted at the sight of you asleep in his arms. You were his soft spot. He smiled softly as he laid you down in bed, pressing a loving kiss against your forehead.

"Goodnight, sweet girl."

[saphiccarma]

- Sweet Thing Pt.5

pt.4

Relationships - Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary - Nightmares plague you in the nights the follow your capture, but luckily, Agatha and Rio are there for you. In more ways than one.

Warnings: Some heated kissing, mention of sex

A/N: HIIII I'm semi-past my writers block because well, here's part five of Sweet Thing, but also it's short and took me a while to write.

The air in the cabin was heavy as you sat upright in your bed, eyes wide and teeth bared instinctively as you flapped your legs, almost as if they were a tail. The bed sheets, a thick cloth designed to keep you warm in the chilly space, suddenly felt too heavy, too hot. Skin tingling with nerves and unspoken tension, you glance around the room frantically. Your heart pounds beneath your chest, a fast, racing rhythm that drums in your ears.

An arm drapes around your waist and you bite down on your lip hard, stifling a scream that threatened to rip from your throat. The sudden contact makes your pulse jump beneath our skin, heart doing a leap in your chest.

"Shh," Rio's voice is familiar, soft, and ladled with sleep. It was hoarse, still dripping with exhaustion. "Lay down."

Every inch of you screams to not obey her, the command sending a spark of mixed fear and anticipation straight to your core. Her head lands in your lap, the light pressure somewhat grounding you back to the present. You couldn't ignore the slight flashes of other pirates, the ones that kidnapped you, and their rough, calloused hands all over you. But Rio's touch is different, her fingers are slenderer and thinner as she splays them across your stomach, under your shirt. Rio was always cold, but not in personality, more like body temperature.

Every time you made contact with her, she was colder, sometimes just as cold as the depths of the ocean you lived in. Rio plopped her head into your lap, brown hair splaying around her like an angel. While most of the time it was kept somewhat nice, at night Rio’s hair was a complete mess.

Agatha stirs next to you, turning over to face you, but her eyes are still closed. Her body presses up against yours beneath the sheets in way that should be confining, should make you feel more stifled, but it doesn't. Instead, like Rio, she helps you stay in the present moment.

"What's going on?" she murmurs, eyelashes fluttering against her sharp cheekbones as her blue eyes open. They're a striking blue that reminds you of the ocean and even though you can't drown, you could in her eyes. The blue irises lure you in, pulling you closer and closer until she hooks you. You were already hooked. You have been for a while now.

Twisting in your lap, Rio presses her face into your stomach, her lips finding your skin as she softly presses a kiss there. Her lips linger and she sucks lightly before murmuring, "Our little siren had a bad dream."

The other woman hums lightly, and she scooches closer. Rio's lips, plush and dark plum-colored lips trailing along the soft skin of your stomach, sending welcome shivers down your spine and heat straight to your core that coiled there tightly and rested low in your body. Ears flicking under their touch, you lean back against the wall of the ship. The soft rocking of the waves echo through the wood, eyes fluttering shut, as you listen to the light crashing of water on wood.

Rio trails up your stomach, sitting up as she climbs higher and higher, pushing your shirt up in the process. You can hear Agatha exhale slowly and can practically see her eye roll. Eventually, your shirt is tugged off your head and tossed to the floor. Rio's weight settles in your lap, her thighs resting on either side of your hips. Her hands find your shoulders and she pushed you further back as she leans down to press her lips to your neck.

You can’t deny the arousal the pools between your thighs, a warm and slightly sticky reminder.  You can feel some of the worries of the day disappearing, and it helps.

At first, the touch is reverent, almost a silent worship, as if she is scared to harm you in your fragile state of mind. But Rio never did care for your mental state, and her kisses became more insistent, firmer. Her teeth graze your skin before she nips at it, tugging it between the canines and sucking. You go limp beneath her, surrendering to her touch. This type of thing has become familiar over the past...you're not sure how long. However long it's been since you were taken from them.

Night terrors would leave you writhing in bed as you screamed, and the sheets tangled into your frantically kicking legs. It only took a couple nights of that before Agatha and Rio dragged you into their bed, squishing you between them. It was stifling for the first few moments, too much, and you struggled, but then it quickly became a comfort.

Some nights, if you're lucky, Agatha will sit up, pulling your head into her lap. Her fingers would card through your hair, nails lightly scratching as the other hand would trace delicate patterns on your arms in smooth, calming movements. Then Rio would curl up behind you, her arm wrapped your waist and fingers splayed over your stomach possessively.

But tonight was not one of those nights. It was a night where Rio thought the best way to help was through distraction. It did help, but her touch also seared and burned and left you a writhing, gasping mess. Her lips found your pulse point, pressing down before she bit, hard.

You gasp, arching into her touch and hips bucking beneath her. The brunette chuckles into your neck, the sound vibrating along your skin as her hands tickle your sides, fingers lightly dancing along the sensitive skin. Her lips leave a trail of wet, lip shaped marks, soft purple bruises already blossoming. Rio loved to stake her claim on you, as did Agatha, but Rio found it enjoyable to watch you squirm as the crew stared at your marks.

You had grown used to the staring, but your cheeks would still flush what Agatha called a pretty pink and the two of them relished in the sight. Licking a long stripe up the column of your throat, Rio paused near your ear, "Let me make you feel good," she murmured, "You're such a sweet little thing." Despite her words, you didn't really have a choice. Agatha did though and she wasn't in the mood for Rio's shenanigans. The blue-eyed woman grabs the back of Rio's shirt, yanking her away.

Moonlight shines softly through the window, a sign that the night is at it's peak. Clearly, Agatha wasn't willing to be kept awake because Rio wanted to have some fun. Rio yelped, a pout coming to cover her lips as she was pulled back and thrown to the foot of the bed.

"Aggie," she whined, kicking her feet petulantly. Her arms crossed over her chest, "I just wanna have some fun." Her brown eyes were wide and pleading, desperate for attention. Agatha had the final say though, and her answer was no. That much was clear based on the scathing look she gave Rio.

Agatha tugged you down next to her, strong muscular arms wrapping around your still trembling and shirtless frame. She held you close, her body a warm, firm presence. Chin resting atop yours she hummed a soft tune, evidence of her good mood, even though she was snappy with Rio. She doesn’t dignify the other woman with a response.

"Rest, my sweet." Her hands stroked your hair, "It will be better when you wake up."

Curling into her you let your arms wrap around her form and dig into her shirt before your eyes start to flutter shut and your breathing evens out. Rio waits for a few, stubborn moments before shimming into the space between you and the wall, wrapping her body around you protectively.

^_____________^

An excited buzz ran through you, igniting your veins on fire as you stood in front of Agatha. Your entire body was bare aside from a pair of panties and a bra. Both items of the clothing faintly smelled of Rio, her flowery scent lingering in the air and easily detected through your sharp nose. It wasn't as pungent as when you first met her, but whether it was muted, or you were just used to it was unknow to you. Agatha circled you like a shark, her steps slow and graceful, sharp and musky scent filling your nostrils.

She pauses in front of you, blue eyes calculating and taking in your entire form. You felt so small under her stare - like a bug pinned down by its wings and forced to be in place as it was studied. Humming softly in approval, a sound that made warmth spread through your cold, bare form, Agatha tilts her head.

"What are the rules?" Her tone is calm, but firm, demanding a clear answer immediately.

Inhaling slowly for a moment, you reply in a slightly shaky voice, "Stay by your side at all times, don't run off, don't talk to people I don't know." Licking your lips, you furrow your brows, thinking that's all, but you know something was missing.

"And?" Agatha's tone holds a note of impatience, also a gentle guidance as she presses you for the final rule. It clicks in your head.

"Listen. If I fail to follow any of the rules I will be punished." Your voice lost its tremble as you repeated the final stipulation to her.

Agatha reached out a finger, tracing your cheek with her pointed nail, "Good girl," she praised, the words sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Her fingers lingered along your cheek, trailing down to your jawline before curling underneath your chin. Tilting your chin up, Agatha pressed a soft kiss on your lips, "Get dressed," she murmured against your tender lips, swollen from last night.

You hurry to do as she says, slipping on a pretty sundress that was picked out by Agatha. It fits your frame perfectly, revealing some, but not to much. Lately the two of them had taken to choosing your clothing for the day, and once they had you walk around in nothing but your undergarments. Although, the crew was on shore that day, leaving just you with the two women.

But today, if you were able to follow the rules, you would be allowed on land again. It both frightened and exhilarated you at the same time. You longed to be on soldi ground again, not just the ship that was constantly swaying back and forth.

Rio enters in the moment, her grin sharp and catlike as her brown eyes twinkle with amusement. She saunters up to you, her steps light, almost skipping and she stops right in front of you. Tilting her head, Rio's smile widens, eyes scanning over your new outfit.

"You look pretty, pececito," she purred. A single, slender finger trailed down your bare arm, the touch feathery light and Rio giggled a little, at your flushed face, "Are you ready for our little-" she paused, licking her lips and meeting your eyes, finger curling under the strap of your dress, "adventure?"

A few months ago, you never would've smiled at her words and close proximity, but now you did. Returning with her look with a soft smile of your own. You nodded eagerly, bouncing on your toes slightly.

"Where are we going?" Your voice is soft as you ask the question, tilting your own head to match Rio's gesture.

Her eyes twinkle and she taps your nose, "That's a surprise."

She wastes no time in grabbing your hand, ignoring Agatha's exasperated sigh. Rio drags you up to the deck, exposing you to the sun that shone brightly. Blinking at the sudden harsh light, you stumble over your own two feet as Rio guides you off the ship. Per usual, her hands were unusually cold, but you found yourself to desire the cold touch. It reminded you of home.

Seagulls cawed above you, circling for any spare food that humans would give them, and feasting off the small fish and crabs. Laughter caught your ear, craning your head, you saw children running along the beach. Their arms flailed as they sprinted away from each other, screeching and giggling from pure enjoyment. The sight of them sent a sharp pain to your heart and you were reminded of your younger sister, who could be thriving. You wondered if she missed you, if she wondered where you were.

Agatha didn't let you dwell on your thoughts because she caught up to you and Rio, her arms wrapping securely around your waist. Rio huffed, annoyed that Agatha was forcing her to slow down, but she grinned when the other woman nipped on your earlobe.

"Do you recognize this place, hun?" She whispered against the shell of your ear, her words husky and low. They sent a fresh shiver down your spine and you shuddered beneath her grip. For a long moment, you didn't say anything, merely melting into her touch, but then she nipped at your skin sharply - a warning.

Breath catching in your throat, you forced yourself to glance around. Tall buildings, built with ceramic bricks and towering over you lined the shores. Small little alleyways sat between them, but despite the size, they bustled with activity. People flooded in and out, shopping at the popup stalls that were set up there. Your eyes narrowed as the scene began to look familiar. Your gaze drifted towards the sea once again, wind blowing some sand onto your feet and ruffling your dress.

Eventually, you murmur a soft, "No."

Agatha chuckles, vibrations running through you, "This is where you first tried to run away." She reminded, her fingers curling round your waist tighter, "Do you remember? You ran so fast for being so new to your legs and the pure desperation on your face."

She laughs lightly, making eye contact with Rio who watches with a silent smirk. "You actually thought you could run," Agatha taunted, "But aren't you glad you didn't?"

A few months  ago, you would've minded. But Agatha's arms were wrapped firmly around your waist, keeping you there, even though her nails dug into your skin. Her chin rested on your shoulder, warm breath fanning your skin as she inhaled your scent. Rio stood across from the two of you, one hand on her hip as a coy smile played on her lips. And instead of saying some sharp retort back, some spark of defiance, you only respond with compliance.

"Yes," you agree, hands coming up to land on hers. Agatha's lips tickled your neck once again.

"That's my sweet girl," she praised, her tone heavy with appreciation.

Taglist: @vigilante24ish @xanthreee

[oceanreveuse]

CIRCE !!!! look at ur megamind omgomgomg i got so excited looking through the prompts eeeeeeeks . . . . if your event is still open , wld u perhaps be so kind to do an wriothesley x reader . . with hybrid dom wolf!wrio + sub puppy!reader ? (⊃‿⊂) (⊃‿⊂) (⊃‿⊂) eheheeeee crawls out of ur inbox silently but not without giving u a goodbye forehead kissie ily i hope october is kind :< ♡ !!!!

𝗡𝗢𝗪 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚: 𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗽𝗮𝘄𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳, 𝗳𝗲𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘀𝗹𝗲𝘆.

◟dom!wrio, sub!reader, fem!reader, hybrids au, slight brat taming, wolf!wrio, puppy!reader, a little dumbification hinted, deepthroating & face fucking, petnames (pup, darling), dacryphilia?, reader is in a skirt, not proofread rn, messy canine lovin' ! ◟anastasia's footnote : miss yingie !! ueueue thank u for this req omg hims.. hims !! wrio girlies always think alike huh >3< this ended up waaaaaay longer than intended eek !! | graveyard of the siren event

the fortress is always filled with some sort of chill and heating is sparse, leaving residents of the fortress of meropide to get by on their own body heat. WRIOTHESLEY is well aware as a puppy that this is easier said than done with your little wagging tail and floppy ears that can't hold themselves up so he sees it upon himself to assist during the harsh fontaine winters. as the big, bad, 'scary' (he could almost laugh humourlessly) wolf of the fortress, wriothesley sees you as his responsibility.

mechanical clinks of cogs turning and machinery turning echo throughout the metal walls of the fortress, all the way to the administrative zone where wriothesley's thick walled office sits. the soundproofing drowns out the industrial sounds just a little but more importantly, it drowns out your pathetic cries and whimpers when the duke doesn't drop everything to give you attention.

"wriooo~" you whine, tucked nicely under his desk with a woven blanket over your body - your favourite spot to curl up, a flustered cheek pushed up against his calf. occasionally wriothesley would run a large calloused hand over your hair, soothing the strands or curls on your head to the rhymic beat of that little puppy tail thumping against the cold metal floor you'd long forgot about when the duke had brought you a plush cushion for you to sit on - something about your knees? you weren't really too sure, you were just glad that the wolf was okay with you being so clingy.

sometimes.

sometimes the wolf was okay with you being clingy.

wriothesley understood that the dumb little head on your shoulders couldn't comprehend the idea of personal space, he'd long came to terms with that when he'd taken you under his tail, sharp teeth bared at the predator hybrids circling you like you were weak prey but archons... oh archons... he wished you understood sometimes. your small hands paw at his legs, almost wanting to dig those claw-like nails into the fabric of his pants as you let out yet another whine.

he could take the time to play with your soft floppy ears and the hair on your head so why couldn't he spare you even a glance? what was so interesting on all that paperwork that he'd growl when you got too handsy? puffing out your cheeks, you nuzzle against his thick thigh once again, brushing your nose against the musky scent on the fabric. his heavy boot taps the floor once in warning - you're getting too bold, too desperate for a fraction of attention.

it only serves to fuel your needs, your tail thumping against his desk as you shift on your knees, closer to a spot between his boots, wriothesley all too aware of you. in fact the wolf is hyperaware, icy eyes flitting down to your spot under his desk periodically when you're not catching his warnings; you're not catching them or you're blatantly ignoring them, either way he's already settling with the idea of teaching you to heed these warnings in his head.

"pup, i'm working," he states firmly, his voice a little raspy from the way you're pawing your way ever higher to the growing bulge in his pants. he's certain you're aware of it and he can't stop the burning feeling in his abdomen when your pretty eyes blink up at him so innocently, "later, okay?"

"now," you whimper, jutting out your lower lip as wriothesley's tail straightens, freezing in place from its idle swaying. it's like that one word set off a blaze in him, just how untamed was you? perhaps it was his influence as a wolf on you, he'd truly been treating you like a wolf pup and not some pampered domesticated dog.

the rough pads of wriothesley's fingers dig into your hair, the handful he grabs gentle despite the feral urge in him tearing at his skin. he tilts your head back, icy blue eyes fighting to not soften in light of those puppy dog eyes, staring at him so needily with that pout. he can't keep letting you get away with this behaviour, you're too spoiled and wriothesley's jaw tightens as he debates whether to scold you now or later.

the warm palm of your hand falls flat against wriothesley's now prominent bulge and a sharp intake of breath comes from the high and mighty duke of the fortress, tugging on your hair as his other large hand comes to grip your chin, "you want some attention that much? too bad, you've gotta learn your lesson. i've been way too soft with you, pup."

with the confused look on your sweet face, the tense air of the office is cut open by the clinking of wriothesley's belt unbuckling, a little incoherently when he attempts it one handed to keep his hand in your hair. he shoots a wary glance at the stairs of his office but any semblance of a doubtful thought is shattered when you press a kiss to his hard length through the cloth of his boxers.

your fingertips are cold, almost as icy as the cryo vision hanging on the shoulder of the duke's cape when they tuck into the waistband of his boxers, easing the fabric down those beefy thighs and for a moment he has to process, the cogs turning his head as his cock springs free and there's a delightful, excited look about your eyes. he's letting you do what you want again, easing you into the idea that you're getting exactly what you want until he can flip the coin. you'll learn, he'll make sure you'll learn.

wriothesley watches intently as the wet warmth of your tongue drags up the vein on the underside of his cock, a surprisingly sharp intake of breath slipping through his cracked lips. he can't take his eyes off the sight even if he knows he should, his fingers gripping the paperwork in his hold just a little tighter but it's enticing to see such a sweet puppy eager to please, for one chance to wrap her lips around him and god, does he know it.

puppy dog eyes stare straight up at him as you take inch by inch of his cock into your mouth, down that tight throat of yours that almost teases him for what you have hidden away under that pleated skirt he brought you on your last trip to the surface. just when you think you're the boss, the top dog of the office for just a moment, wriothesley's hand in your hair tugs hard, pushing your nose in the dark curls of hair at the base of his length.

you let out a muffled whimper, whining as your hands paw at his legs, trying to push your head back for any chance to breathe in air that isn't his signature scent you adore so bad. wriothesley has to take a moment, his broad back slightly arched off his chair as he groans and his head falls back, dark grey wolf ears standing at attention when the duke resists the urge to roll his pelvis against your mouth until his cock hits the back of your throat.

"you wanted this, didn't you, pup?" he mutters, cocking his head to the side as he observes how the corners of your eyes are glassy, your ears pressed to your head so much it's almost pitiful, "you have to learn to keep your paws to yourself."

a few painful - for him - moments go by before he caves in, rocking his hips to press any more of his length into your mouth. he's almost waited for you to tap out, the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks but you don't despite everything - in fact, your tail may not be wagging as much as it was but wriothesley's pointed ears still pick up the slightest thud against the floor that most definitely isn't a recurrent noise of the fortress he'd adjusted to.

you're enjoying this, the power shift that wriothesley looms over your head when he knows you won't fight back. he cannot deny that you've taken everything he's given you without a complaint - minus your brattiest moments - with everything being locked under a safe word. this was supposed to be a lesson, to silence the brat in you but the wolf can already see the sparks in your half-lidded eyes, planning another way to get on his nerves and end up in this precarious situation again.

"archons, you're insatiable," wriothesley growls, sharp canines poking at his lower lip when your tongue laps at his cock sat happily in your wide mouth, your jaw unclenched and open for him, "just look at you, darling. you don't know when to quit."

his grip on you is that of a puppeteer, controlling your movement as he pulls your head off slightly, leaving you to suck on his tip and withdrawing a sharp hiss from the wolf. he's keening, falling victim to those little puppy whimpers and the way your eyes are so round and full of glittering tears. it's so hard to tame you when you're so irresistible compared to the workers of the fortress, those roughed up species paying for their crimes deep beneath the water's surface.

drool begins to bubble at the corners of your mouth with every thrust forward into your throat the wolf gives, his hips stuttering because he's struggling to last longer than five minutes when your sloppy gags and moans are echoing in the otherwise silent of atmosphere of his office. he's close to scrunching that damn paperwork up, archons he really is because the longer this goes on for, teetering on the edge of spilling his worth into your waiting mouth, he's starting to question why he wasn't doing this in the first place. how dare that paperwork even get into his head the way it had when there's such a willing pup at his feet, at his beck and call?

it happens every time, rinse and repeat. you'll never learn your lesson and frankly, neither will he.

© oceanreveuse 2024 | reblogs appreciated | do not repost, steal, translate, etc. on any social media platform & do not feed to ai.

◟ the waves call for . . . @kokonoiis, @tetsuskei, @ryuryuryuyurboat

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[jar0fhoney]

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 (NSFW) / PART 4 /

PART 5 (NSFW) - PART 6 - PART 7 (NSFW) - PART 8 (NSFW)

“What was he talking about? With you and your mother? And the Farm?”

You didn't like talking about it. You had been perfectly content with avoiding that reality until either your mind or your body gave out. Unfortunately, you had a primal will to live like all humans do. Despite how bad you wanted to, giving up was never going to be an option.

"Dad left us two years ago. There was something wrong with him. Now it's just me and mom and it's getting harder for her to work the fields and if we aren't prepared for winter Milo is gonna let us starve or freeze which ever gets us first and I'm having that dream about dad again and- and- URGH!"

You couldn't stop the word vomit flowing from your mouth. Your rant stumbled into an animalistic growl. You just wanted to run and never stop. Run until your feet wore down to the bone.

He kept glancing down at the red marks on your neck, and then back up at you with his big brown doe eyes. Gods, he was so pretty. “May I?” He walked over to you slowly, and you tilted your neck to give him a view. You felt your heart skip a beat when he brought his hand up to gently thumb over your skin.

“I know you don't need my pity. And I know you don't need my help.” He motioned for you to tilt your head to the other side. He didn’t smile or laugh the situation off, just continued running a very delicate thumb over the marks, “But can I ask a favor, y/n?” He looked down at you through your pretty lashes. You gave a little nod.

“From now on. Do not hesitate to ask anything of me. I want to court you… formally. If you will accept me.”

You looked into his eyes, slightly stunned.

“I’ve done a horrible job at courting you. You’re going to teach me to read. You made the eggs. And this whole time you've been... suffering. There's so much that you deserve-”

“You saw an opportunity where I could be making more money, and you helped me get there. I feel like you... respect me. Milo never respected me.”

It took you standing on your toes to connect your lips with his. He was so much taller. You used his shoulders to steady yourself, lowering back onto your feet. Both of your faces were flushed at such an innocent kiss. He leaned down and nudged his face into your neck, you sighed at the feeling of his tusks nudging against your jaw.

“Y/n…” He chuckled your name into the crook of your neck, “I’m gonna hafta’ teach you how to have higher standards, if that bastard is your only experience with courtship.” He peppered soft kisses over the marks on your neck. You accidentally let out a breathy moan at the sensation. He pulled you closer to him. You started to let your fingers wander over his torso. “No…” He stopped your hands as they grazed his lower stomach. Your face grew scarlet red with embarrassment “I- I’m sorry-”

He pulled you into a deep kiss before pulling away. “Not here. Not now. I want to meet your mother first.”

“Quite traditional, are we?” You smirked. He gave a bemused expression, "I'm going to court you the same way orcs have courted since the beginning of time. I’m serious about this." Your heart fluttered.

“Come to our home on Sunday, Khargaad. We can start our lessons, and you can meet my mother.” You took his huge hand into yours, running a thumb over his calloused knuckles. He still couldn’t believe his luck, that this was happening. This lovely little human was giving him a chance… even after completely embarrassing himself at his first courting attempts. You were so smart, so generous, so capable. A mate that he could depend on to have his back, and him yours.

He had been trying to ignore that word that had been floating through his thoughts. “Mate.” He would have to be careful with that one. He would never want you to feel like you were being claimed without your expressed agreement.

-

He offered to walk you home, lending his arm for support on the dark cobbled road. When you made it inside, you watched him walk away until he completely disappeared into the darkness.

“Who was that, y/n?”

You swore your soul levitated right out of your body. The sound of a match striking came from the little dining table on the other end of the room. The cheeky face of your mother became illuminated in the warm glow of a candle. “Ugh- Ma, you scared the shit outta me.”

“When were you going to tell me about your new friend, y/n?”

You stared at her with a stupid look on your face. “What do- What do you mean?”

She settled back into her chair, the corner of her mouth lifting into a little smirk.

“Who’s the orc?”

Your mother spent a lot of time praying. She prayed for your sisters, and she prayed for the vegetables to grow big and juicy. She prayed for her knees to stop aching and the leak in the roof to fix itself.

But when you weren’t home, she whispered a prayer for you with fervor. She wanted you to find someone. She wanted you to find someone that would treat you right. But most of all she prayed that she wasn’t the reason you were sticking around this place. This god-awful place and that god-awful town. She saw your father’s poison everywhere, seeped into every crevice.

“I’m teaching him how to read.”

“Oh?”

“And so he’s coming here on Sunday. And… he wanted to meet you.”

“Oh!”

She probably would've started weeping with happiness if she wasn’t already plotting out your future together in her head. “Stop doing that, Ma…” You jolted her from her thoughts. 

“Stop doing what?”

“Getting ahead of yourself.” You smirked at her, slinking into your bedroom. Sleep came quick for you that night.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn't have that dream about your father.

Once again, I cannot believe so many of y'all are enjoying my silly little story <3 It means so much to me. I ended up restarting this chapter several times cause I was just so stumped, but I'm pretty happy with what I ended up with.

(Note: Do not fear, the slow burn will pay off next chapter iykwim >:3)

@reads-stuff-quietly @loo-looland @sluttygirl123 @beaniebaneenie @blushycadaver @sunndust @whyiamadegenerate @the-attic-of-porcelain @freakyotaku059-blog @youknowits-derea @thoughts-of-bear-undercovers @allthecraftandthings @gruffle1 @kennedyabraxas123 @queenies1x1 @jellyslimesofficial @jasminedragoon @rangoismyname @the-queen-of-sorrows @the-dumber-scaramouche @heddaloddafun @swimmingrascalbatdragon @hellodollstuff @wingedghostpepper @pistachioinfernal

[pentrologram]

fratboy dickie grayson save me... ouhhh fratbay dickie grayson i need to be saved....

okay i haven't been to college... dammit... but it's not like dick's stupid right?? like he (and all of the batfamily for that matter) could get into an ivy league, i think.

but! what if bruce never felt inclined to become batman and instead of emulating brucie, he became brucie?? and then he adopted kids because he was getting tired of so many one night stands and being left alone and boom wham pam's your mam the (bat)family is born??

so dick’s a bit of a nepo baby. whatever. who cares. he had a 4.3 gpa and was captain of the cheer team since sophomore year.

he gets into a college with a big football footprint- jason soon following after him- and and competes with the cheer team. it makes him one of the most desirable guys on campus, an honorary member of the campus frat, and it doesn’t seem to help that he literally never missed a party.

all of that to say he knows the usual crowd. you’re usually one of the loners, dragged in by boisterous friends, retreated back to a corner; the chronic ride home. he’s seen you at four parties now and with this being the fifth, well, it’d be a little rude of him to ignore you more. right?

he sidles up to you with a honey-sweet smile, nursing a solo cup of whatever the hell steve had made for the night.

“hey,” he says.

you look up, startle, do a double take, and your eyes narrow. cute, he thinks.

“um,” you say. “hi.” you look suspicious and he puts his hands up with a little chuckle.

“sorry, not going to hurt you or anything. i’ve just seen you around a lot. you don’t really… party.” he says, a naturally polished gotham accent- so unlike the other gothamites you’ve met, with their big ‘a’’s and unnecessarily long ‘h’’s- is all you focus on.

“uh, right. i’m on babysitting duty,” you say, pointing a jerky finger towards your obviously drunk friends on the dance floor, wincing at yourself. too self-pitying, too woe-is-me. you quickly backpedal with: “but i’m having enough fun. here.”

“alone?” star-boy-dickie asks, and you nearly groan. it’s as if you only made it worse.

“u-um, yeah?” he perks up.

“i can give you some company,” he says with a toothy smile. “i’m not as bad as the other guys,” he promises. despite yourself, you choose to believe him and his cute dimples.

“okay,” you mutter, standing erectly as he scoots closer to you, nearly boxing you into your corner. he takes a sip of his drink, keeping eye contact with you.

“so,” he says, sweet smile two tones darker, “are you not much of a drinker?”

“uh, no. not really.” he nods.

“so you’re really just here for your friends? you’re so sweet,” he says.

“i guess.”

“and not much of a talker, either,” he observes. and- god, were his eyes always so piercing? jesus on a stick.

“not really. it’s- it’s really loud in here,” you say, and you’re not wrong. the frat bro playing macklemore (really?) on his iphone hooked up to the 68” flat screen had accidentally pressed the volume button while getting a girl’s number- wait, was that your friend?- and now some obscure beat was thrumming through the whole house. you’re sure even the drywall will have noise complaints.

“do you want to go outside?” he asks, and you’re definitely not imagining how hard he’s looking at you. unless you’re like, contact drunk, or something.

“um,” you whisper, staring at him. he looks like he’s plotting, but as your friends like to constantly remind you of- you’ve gotta live sometime. so you nod, jerky again, and let his hand- big, not too warm, calloused from cheer and gymnastics- pull on your own, dragging you to cool, march air. he smiles toothily at you when the moon shifts a little, spraying down on you from in between a dead tree some feet away;

“you’re really pretty,” he observes, gently ushering you to a corner of the patio.

“you are too.” you gulp, wishing for something to bolden your nerves with-

“you know, they say that herd- hey!” he bursts into laughter when you take his solo cup from him to take a big swallow of whatever he’s got in his cup, aiming for sexy and instead reaching embarrassing when you choke on the burn and cough. thank god you don’t vomit and that all liquid stays inside of your mouth, because you don’t know how you’d survive if you sprayed backwash liquor all over dickie grayson.

“what the hell is in there?!” you squawk, making him giggle; a sort of uncontrollable thing that makes it a little worth it.

“i don’t ask questions, pretty,” he says, a laugh still in his voice as he puts his hands on your waist, the solo cup trapped between your chests as he leans down to kiss you.

—

a/n; i am a starving artist. send in asks!! query about something you’d like me to write! request more of a piece!!! i’m procrastinating wnpd so hard, i might as well be a little productive while i do it </3

[meadowfics]

Can you write about Readers perspective on our relationship with Daeho being influenced by how our mother and older sister treated us? You have mentioned it a few times but I would like more background on the rough childhood reader/we had in this series (To be honest i'm scared since you know how to break hearts with ur writing)

I cried while writing this btw! maybe that is a warning.

another trigger warning is s*icide and cancer, however its not a major character one I swear

reader's childhood (some vague details since it has to fit you, the reader, of course <3)

dae-ho always tells you that you have the softest hands.

he says it so often, almost everyday, and you find it funny sometimes. it is the way that his rough, calloused fingers will brush against yours, and he’ll look down at them like they’re the most delicate thing in the world.

the marine has never failed to look at you like you’re something fragile, you are something to be handled with care.

however, you never used to believe that about yourself.

while growing up, nobody told you that you were soft. nobody ever treated you gently.

you were never precious, never someone worth protecting.

every touch that was felt from you hurt.

your mother made sure you felt that.

you had fought for survival in every sense of the word. from the moment your mother took you and your sister away from your home country, you were forced to grow up.

at six years old, you didn’t understand why everything had changed, why your father wasn’t around anymore, why you were in a place where nobody spoke the same language as you.

you understood one thing though:

it was your fault.

your mother never hesitated to remind you.

she blamed you for everything. she blamed you for the move, for the life she left behind, for the struggles she faced as a single mother in a country that never truly welcomed her.

"if it weren’t for you, i wouldn’t have had to leave with you and your sister."

"you ruined everything, y/n!"

"why can’t you be more like your older sister?"

your sister.

she wasn’t cruel, not in the way your mother was. your sister was just as guilty since she never did anything to stop it either. the girl three years your senior never comforted you from the pain.

your sister was three years older than you. she was the favorite, the golden child. you don’t think she ever meant to hurt you, but her ignorance did. every time she told you that "mom was just having a bad day," every time she looked away when your mother hit you, every time she pretended that you weren’t suffering.

it was at the age of seventeen when they were both gone.

your sister took her own life. your mother followed a year later, cancer eating her from the inside out.

people told you they were sorry for your loss but what did you lose?

you never had a mother. you never had a sister. all they ever gave you was pain, and when they were gone, they left you with something else... debt. hundreds of millions of won in debt.

they didn’t just take from you in life. they made sure to take from you in death, too.

so you didn’t grieve.

how could you?

you spent years believing that hell was all there was. that you were meant to suffer, that love wasn’t real, that kindness didn’t exist, that you would die alone because you had never known anything different.

until him.

dae-ho, who saw past the walls you had built around yourself. who held your hands and told you they were soft, even when all they had ever known was survival.

you didn’t make it easy for him.

for the first seven months of your relationship, you kept him at arm’s length, too scared to be vulnerable, too afraid to believe in something good. dae-ho was patient, gosh that military patience.

he never pushed, never forced you to talk, never made you feel like you had to prove anything to him.

when you finally told him everything...about your mother, your sister, the debt, the way you had grown up never knowing what it felt like to be loved...he didn’t look at you with pity.

he just held you like you were something worth holding.

you spent your whole life believing that love was supposed to hurt. that it came with conditions, with pain, with fear.

with dae-ho, you learned something new:

love is kind.

love is waking up to his arms wrapped around you, keeping you safe.

love is hearing him call your name with so much warmth that it makes your chest ache.

love is the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching, like he still can’t believe you’re real, like he still can’t believe he gets to love you.

love is when he stayed by your side during those twelve hours of labor during your first pregnancy... and five hours for your second.

also, love is the two little girls sleeping down the hall.

those two girls are the proof that you did not inherit your mother’s cruelty.

you promised yourself that your daughters would never know what it felt like to grow up afraid. they would never question if they were loved and that they would never feel unwanted in their own home since love is also breaking the cycle.

on your worst days, even when you still hear your mother’s voice in the back of your head, telling you that you’re not enough, telling you that you ruined everything...dae-ho is there.

dae-ho's hands are rough, but his love is gentle.

"you have the softest hands," he whispers, tracing your fingers with his own.

you smile, pressing your palm against his.

you believe it, too.

a next part that I want to link direct to this, since it is connected to this <3

[creedslove]

HIS ✨

Post outbreak QZ era!Joel Miller x f!reader

DRABBLE ✨

Warnings: mentions of sex, kind of explicit really, idk I am horny tbh

A/N: idk besties, not my best but not my worst either 🤷‍♀️

619 words

That apartment in the QZ was disgusting, just like the rest of the world was; everything was dark, filthy and hopeless, but none of that seemed to matter when you were being pounded by Joel in that thin, old, uncomfortable mattress. Nothing mattered, as long as he had his arms holding you by your sides, moving them up from your hips until they got to your neck, he never squeezed it, but he held you in place, while his free calloused rough hand traveled from your back to your hair, tangling itself between your strands, a caress almost sweet amongst the explicit and obscene private show you two had going on there. The way he thrusted hard against your hips, his cock reaching even further into your slippery muscles, how you welcomed his size, squeezing him in a way that would earn you some of his grunts and quiet moans.

You were able to ignore all the ugliness around the two of you, it didn't matter if you caught the flash of FEDRA’s light reflector through the window, or if you heard someone screaming in horror or begging for help, at that moment, there were only two people in the world: you and Joel.

And during those moments, the world wasn't such a bad place, it was quite good because of you had him, that beastly of a man, that untamed and bitter guy who wouldn't open up to you, who would always keep himself a mystery, threatening and kicking and punching his way through life, or whatever was left of it. You would probably never admit it out loud how much you like Joel, and how many times you'd close your eyes and pretend you two were meant to be. How many times you'd wish relationships were still something that could work, that being attached to someone wasn't the stupidest idea one could possibly have. But at that moment he was yours, his body belonged to yours and whenever you felt his hot load inside, you felt complete. Smiling at him, all you could do was reach for a kiss, and Joel knew damn well how dangerous that was. Your affair had lasted far too long, he always went after you, meaning to break things up, with the intention to remind you that the world was meant for survival and only that, he always wanted to make you see you were way too young for him, too pretty, too good. There was still something good inside of you, there was still hope. Not for Joel, he was a bad man, he didn't understand why you were so fixated on him, and yet, whenever he saw you, your lips, your body, he couldn't resist you. He ended up night after night with you all over his bed, your scent being the only good thing around that horrible place he lived in but refused to call home.

“Mm Joel… that was amazing” your voice was a sweet purr as he felt your curling up into his chest, the way your lips gently placed themselves over his heart made him feel shivers down his spine. It was wrong, he didn't want that, he didn't agree with it, he knew the right thing would be over it as soon as possible, but he just couldn't resist you. You belonged to him, you were the only pretty thing he had in his life, maybe, and just maybe you were worthy all of it.

“Sleep baby girl, just sleep” he kissed your forehead and wrapped his arm around your body, pulling you closer and enjoying the calmness he found in you. You were the only thing that actually resembled happiness in that shitty apartment.

____

[samazing0831]

A Letter Never Sent - Dean Winchester x Reader

Dean finds a letter you never meant for him to read - not yet, maybe not ever. But once your secret is out, there's no putting it back. Years of longing, fear, and love unravel in the quiet of a motel room, where emotions boil over and the truth refuses to stay buried. You thought you'd protected yourself by staying silent. Dean thought he protected you by doing the same. Turns out, all you were doing was hurting each other.

Dean Winchester x Reader

1.2k words

The battered envelope sat in Dean’s calloused hands, edges worn from months of being shoved into a duffel bag, tucked away in a journal, and hidden under motel pillows. It had survived hunts, close calls, and long, sleepless nights. But it had never been read. Not until now.

Dean swallowed hard, his thumb tracing over your handwriting on the front. He found it by accident - your bag knocked over in the rush of packing, spilling out loose papers and shotgun shells. He hadn’t meant to snoop. But the way his name was scrawled across the front? He couldn’t ignore it.

He wasn’t even sure if you meant for him to find it.

With a deep breath, he unfolded the letter, his heart pounding as his eyes scanned the words.

Dean,

If you’re reading this, either I’ve left, or I’m dead. I’m sorry that this never got to you while I was still here, but I don’t think I could have stayed after giving this to you…

I’ve been in love with you for years, Dean. And I can’t tell you exactly when or how I knew, but it’s been this way for a long, long time. I can’t tell you how many times I watched you bring some girl back to your hotel room, wishing it was me. Or how many times I watched you flirt with some girl at the bars, wishing I got a taste of what you wanted to give them.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but you have to know that I was doing what I thought was best. You wouldn’t have felt the same way, and Sammy would have tried to get in the middle, and it would have been a trainwreck. So, I sat in silence, torturing myself for years, just wanting you to notice me.

Please, move on from me. Whether it’s my absence or my death, I don’t want you hung up on me, or how I felt…

I love you.

Dean’s breath hitched as he read the last line. His fingers clenched around the paper, knuckles going white as the words sank in.

You loved him.

For years.

And you never said a damn thing.

A broken laugh escaped him, bitter and hollow. Of course, you thought he wouldn’t feel the same. Of course, you convinced yourself that leaving was the best choice. Because that’s what hunters did, right? They pushed away the people who mattered most before they had the chance to get hurt.

But you didn’t get it. You were already everything to him. You had been for years.

“Dammit,” he whispered, his voice raw.

A noise in the doorway snapped him out of his thoughts.

You stood there, holding a greasy burger bag and a six-pack of beer. You froze mid-step when you saw the letter in his hand.

“How did you get that?” you asked, a hint of panic in your voice.

Dean’s head snapped up, eyes wide with something he couldn’t quite name - anger, maybe heartbreak, certainly confusion.

“You left it,” he said, his voice rough. He held up the letter between two fingers, the paper now crinkled with tension. “Tucked in your duffel, like you wanted me to find it, but not soon enough to stop you.”

Your stomach dropped as you froze in place.

“I -” You didn’t know what to say. Your chest tightened as you saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his grip on the paper tightened like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“You were just gonna leave, huh?” he asked, his voice low but steady, though there was an edge to it. “Or worse - this was some kind of goodbye before I even knew I lost you?”

“I wasn’t planning on leaving,” you admitted, guilt flooding you. “I just… had a feeling that one of our next hunts was going to go bad. I needed to get it off my chest. But we don’t have to talk about it.”

Dean let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Yeah, well, kinda too late for that now, don’t you think?”

He crossed his arms, clearly trying to hold it together, though the tension was palpable.

“You really thought I wouldn’t have noticed?” he asked. “That I wouldn’t have seen the way you looked at me? The way you pulled away every time I got too close? Hell, Sam probably knew before I did.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Sammy knew?” you whispered.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “So what now? You tell me to forget it? Like this - like you - don’t mean a damn thing to me?”

Your throat went dry. “I get it, Dean,” you said, voice trembling. “I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought it was better for the both of us.”

Dean’s eyes darkened, his expression hardening. “You really think you were protecting me by running away? By keeping me in the dark?”

“I thought I was protecting myself too,” you whispered. “I’m not the girl you deserve, Dean. I’m not the pretty one, the feminine one. You deserve someone better than me.”

Dean’s eyes flared with frustration, and he stood up from the chair. “You really think I give a damn about pretty?” he said, voice rough. “I’ve been through hell and back, and you’re the one person who’s been right by my side, through everything.”

He closed the distance between you two, his voice softening as he stood close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from him. “You think I don’t feel the same way?” His voice cracked. “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid. I didn’t think I’d get to have this. But here you are, and you’re telling me it’s too late. You’re telling me you want to walk away.”

Your heart ached. “Dean, please don’t do this. I’m not enough for you.” Dean stepped in front of you, blocking your way. “No,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “You’re not going anywhere, (Y/N). Not if I have anything to say about it.”

You stood there, torn. The words were on the tip of your tongue, but the fight had drained out of you. “I can’t do this,” you whispered, eyes brimming with tears.

Dean looked at you, his hands running through his hair in frustration. “You really think I’m pretending? After everything we’ve been through? You think I don’t want this, want you?”

His hands gripped your arms gently, but it was enough to make you stop.

“Don’t walk away from me, (Y/N),” he whispered. “Don’t make me lose you.”

You met his gaze, taking in the desperation in his eyes. He wasn’t going to let you walk away again. He wanted this - wanted you.

“Dean, I didn’t leave,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I just needed to get it out… but I didn’t want to lose you. Not like this.”

Dean sighed, relief washing over his face as he took a step toward you. He reached for your hand, pulling you close. “So what do we do now?”

You bit your lip, but the answer was clear.

You took his hand, trusting him completely. “Just us.”

Dean’s face softened as he held you close, his arms wrapping around you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there were no more walls between you.

No more regrets.

Just you and him.

And whatever came next.

[tumblerlove]

Simon coming home after deployment all pent up after mistake after mistake on the field, needing some kind of release and it turning rough ROUGH.

also hiii

Oooo yes, thank you. This hits the spot in my brain 👌🏻 and hi babe 😘 hopefully this lives up to whatever you were picturing. Let me know if you like it...

Simons finally going home from a deployment that couldn't have gone fucking worse. The entire mission went to shit. The plane ride home and even the car ride he kept replaying it all

He missed you the entire time, which is nothing new, but this time it was so bad. The team didn't help either. Everyone was pressing eachothers buttons and made a critical mistake during the mission. Then, to make matters worse, the location they were at had no service to make calls to you

He hadn't even taken his gear off when getting off the plane when they landed on base. He just went straight to his car, ignoring everyone. Not giving two shits about it. Just needing to get home to you

He doesn't want to bring home his anger and frustration to you and bring work home. He tries to always separate the two. He doesn't like you seeing him as Ghost...only Simon

He gets home and unlocks the door and notices the house is quiet and dark. He walks to the bedroom, assuming you're asleep, but when he walks in you're awake in bed reading

"Oh my god, Simon...I didn't hear you," you yell, startled and jump off the bed running towards him. "I thought you were asleep," he replies, his tone different than it would usually be when he came home. "Is everything alright Si...did something happen?" You ask him while he steps out of your hug far too quickly, not even kissing you yet

"Fuck" he grunts while removing his heavy gear finally just down to his boxers "Everything went to fuckin hell...all of it" he's pretty upset which he never is once he's home with you. It was just this mission was bad. He didn't mean to bring it home to you

"I'm sorry, Simon," you walk up to him while he sits on the edge of bed standing in between his legs. You start combing his hair with your fingers, thinking of how to help him

"It's not your fault, lovie. I'm sorry for bringing it back home." he looks up at you, his hands at your waist. "I have an idea for your frustration to go away if you want, Si." You look at him as you crawl into his lap and straddle him

"I'm listening." he smiles at you finally while kissing up and down his neck. You tell him simply "Use me," and he's flipping you both over. "You want me to use you, love?" he looks at you all of sudden like your prey he caught

"Take your frustrations out on me...I don't care," you say to him, a little shaky, losing your confidence staring at him above you

"I'm not going to be gentle like I usually am when I come home" he tells you, "I'm telling you now if you dont want too" His cock is already hard pressing into your stomach eager for you

You know he needs this release, and honestly, you want him to be rough with you. You want to see him unhinged a little bit. Your finger starts toying with the band of his boxers as you say, "I don't want you to be gentle." He crashes his lips into yours, finally kissing you. "Remember that you asked for it, love," Simon smiles while moving down your neck, leaving hickies behind

He's pawing at you with his rough calloused hands going underneath your shirt taking it off of you. His mouth latches onto your nipple licking at it. "Uh fuck" you gasp out at the sudden sensation. He's going back and forth between your breasts giving them equal attention. He bites your nipple making you squeal out from the painful sensation. While his hand pinches the other one

His movements are quick and rough a big contrast to how he usually is with you...it feels so different and so good

He rocks his cock against your clothed cunt creating just a little bit of friction. "Take my cock out" he grunts out to you. You reach down and start helping him get out of his boxers. His cock is already hard and leaking pre-cum from his red tip

He slides your panties to the side while he rubs up and down your slit his tip hitting your clit as he went up "Next time I'm gone...I'm taking these exact panties to remember this" Simon says his breath getting heavier after having a feel of your wet pussy

You gasp out when he yanks down your panties, finally leaving you both bare. "Shit, Si," you say, looking at his eyes that are filled with lust. His hands grab your waist flipping you onto your hands and knees bearing yourself fully to him "I've missed this pussy... my pussy" he murmurs into your back kissing down your spine

His tip is teasing your entrance "Simon...please just fuck me" you plead with him just wanting to feel him fill you up. "I'll fuck you when I feel like it" his tone rough before he smacks your ass making you moan and clench around nothing

"Ohhh you like that huh honey...I can see your cunt dripping for me" Simon's voice and actions are rough, teasing and playful. "Please Si please" you're almost at tears

"Oh, just cause you asked so nicely lovie," he says before he pushes into you finally. "Fuck I've missed you" Simon blurts out once he's buried fully into your cunt. "I've mis...missed you, Simon." Your breath hitching with every deep thrust he makes

Your ass is jiggling against his thighs with each stroke he takes, inching you both up the bed with his speed and force. His hands perfectly molded into your hips, guiding you back to fuck you forward

Your face ends up in the mattress, muting your moans. Simon's hand goes to the nape of your neck, pulling your face up, kissing your neck, saying, "It's been too long since I've heard your moans... let me hear them."

His words alone make you moan, his voice is grity and hoarse. His thrusts are getting sloppier, too. He's holding onto your body like his life depends on it. You can feel the heat and sweat sticking to you, too

The sounds of you of moaning, with Simon's grunting and curses and the wet sounds your cunt and his dick are making...it's all so much and so good

He pulls out of you causing you to whine. "Why, why did you stop?" You ask him, trying to scoot back towards his cock. He slaps your ass making your gasp from the sting. "As much as I love seeing your ass..." Simon says while he massages the sting. "Id rather see your face now" his voice sounding desperate like yours with the need to cum

He's moving you onto you back, hovering over you again. Simon's kissing you and groaning into your mouth as he slides his cock back into your cunt. Moans are coming out of both of you as Simon moves your legs on his shoulders, reaching a new angle making your eyes cross behind closed eyes

"Look at me when you cum" Simon's hand moves from holding your leg up to cupping your face. "I wanna see you drip on my cock" his tone serious as if he has to see you cum or else. He sneaks his hand down your body rubbing firm circles around your clit. "Don't stop... don't stop," you plead to him, feeling your orgasm approaching clenching around his cock

"Fuck I won't I won't" Simon's grunts out as his cock starts throbbing ready to cum inside you after such a long time away. "Come on love cum" he locks eyes with you, watching as you come apart underneath him

Simon's cumming almost immediately feeling your walls clench down on him and how much wetter you got. He's groaning into the side of your neck his body weight like a blanket on you. He's rubbing your clit until your both completely done cumming and your squirming from the overstimulation

You're both panting, looking at each other, trying to come back down from earth. "Thank you," he kisses you gently. You look at him and can see he's more relaxed than when he first got home

"It worked then?" You smile at him as he pulls out of you, causing you both to groan. He wraps his arms around you like a cocoon as he says, "I'm not sure maybe a little bit...we're just gonna have to go again," he smirks as you laugh and say "Oh I think someone's fine now" as he starts tickling your sides laughing at your squeals...yeah he's fine now

[k-n0-x]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷Sandy dunesˏˋ°•*⁀➷

A/N: HI GUYS SORRY FOR BEING SOOOO INACTIVE. @lucifers-personal-cum-dump GAVE ME A REQUEST A VERY LONG WHILE AGO AND NOW IT’S FINISHED RAAAAAH

ˏˋ°•⁀➷ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“Are you ready to go now sweet pea?” Lucifer knocks on the bathroom door, and you open it.

“Yeah, just give me a second!” You reply as you apply hellcream on your front, arms and face.

“Can you help me put some on my back?” 

Today was the hottest day in Hell, so Lucifer and yourself decided to spend the day on Hell’s “best” beaches.

“Of course,” You ignored his smug tone as he spread the sun blocker with his palms. 

Him being the King of Hell, he is very much inured to the death  rays of the hellish sun that burned the sinners.

“You know~” His delicate hands trace towards the scars just below your lower chest.

“We can have our own fun day inside,” 

You ponder for a few moments, not understanding  his innuendo.

“Nah, we should go out. You have not gone outside in a while. Besides-” you put your hands on either side of his face.

“It’s a good opportunity for bonding time,” 

He sighs into the warmth of your hands.

“Alright, if you insist”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥໒꒱🌱⠈⠂⠄ ‹𝟹 🚞〃 ˝˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

“See Lulu, ain’t too bad, right?” You gaze on the sultry red sand beneath your feet, and then to the lapping teal waves.

“You got that right,” he replies, but he wasn’t looking at the scenery.

“Come onn, knock it out!” You bump into his side, grinning all the same. 

Something catches your interest from the corner of your eye.

“Ooooh, Surf boards! I’m going to get one, okay babe?” 

“Alright. Don’t take too long, okay?” Lucifer stands on his tiptoes and pecks the nape of your neck, a comical sight, you towering over the King of Hell.

“Don’t worry, I won’t!” You tredge to the stall which is selling surfboards.

The dinky booth was unoccupied, with a vandalised sign, and one of the surf boards were snapped in half.

You lean over the countertop and scrummage around for one that is in decent edition, when a calloused hand snaps to your shoulder.

“‘Ey,” 

You turn around and quickly produce an apology.

“Oh! Sorry I didn’t realise that this was your stall- I was planning to put it back when I’m done I promise!” You wince. This was gonna be roug-

“Nono, it’s nothing, really. You can keep the board,” The voice rumbles from the thuggish broad demon.

“Woah really? Thank you!” Score!

“It’s no problem. You’re quite the smokeshow,” 

“Aw thanks! You don’t look too bad yourself,” You smile at the big fella leering at you.

“Say, how about we blow this joint and go somewhere else?” 

“I think not buddy!” Lucifer’s voice rings in your ears.

“Huh? Oh, hi LuLu. This guy wants to hang out with us! I hope you don’t mind?” 

The Demon King’s nostrils flare.

“I’m pretty sure this guy wants more than ‘to hang’ out with us. So, yes, I do mind quite a bit,” 

“Oh uhh, on second thought, I have somewhere to be,” your heart drips in embarrassment as the sinner turns and dead runs the other way in fear of being in the presence of Lucifer Morningstar. 

Lucifer starts to ramble after seeing your sullen expression.

“Hey don’t look so down. I- I actually have something planned for us, which is uhhh-” he looks at his wrist, like there was a watch telling him the time.

“In about five minutes!” 

You squint your eyes at his sheepish grin.

“And how come you didn’t tell me this? I would’ve brought more suitable attire,” You retort, earning yourself at the sight of him flushing an embarrassing shade of red. 

“Well, uh…. I wanted it to be a surprise?” His display of improv is impressive.

Nonetheless, you kick the sand beneath you both.

“I wanted to go surfing though,” you sigh dejectedly.

Your sullen face was too much for your darling Luci to bear.

“Oh- don’t worry, you can! We can basically go anytime we want! Besides, I’m great at squeezing things in~”

“Okay buddy,” you nudge him, rolling your eyes.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥໒꒱🌱⠈⠂⠄ ‹𝟹 🚞〃 ˝˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Ahh. The way the dry air whistles in your ears as you swerve across the ripples of water is just- otherworldly.

Not to mention the frequent wave that you absolutely shred. The adrenaline that pumps through your veins is almost addictive.

Who knows? You could probably compete in surfboarding competitions and come out on top each and every time.

Lucifer, on the other hand-

Well, he’s trying his hardest, and that’s all that matters. Right?

You giggle when the most recent wave of water submerged your devilish partner. 

He emerges from the water, with sunken eyes, and a not-very-amused expression.

“Ugh, this is so embarrassing. Oh look, even you’re laughing at me,” he folds his arms.

“Don’t take it personally, love,” you reply, hugging him from the back.

“Darling, I’m the King of Hell! I’m not taking anything personally,” he grumbles earnestly.

“Oh? Is that so? Well, if I kissed you now, you wouldn’t take it personally? Especially me, your partner?” You feign sorrow, when the King’s eyes dilate.

“What? No, it’s not like that-” His voice cracks.

“Oh, who am I kidding? Of course, a lowly sinner like me isn’t even worthy of being graced in the presence of the King of Hell,” your voice drawls, taking on a dramatic tone.

“What?” The pain in his voice and his eyes dilating with sadness fills you with guilt immediately.

“Wait no, baby I’m sorry I didn’t mean that, I was just joking like I always do-” You squeeze your arms around Lucifer.

He sighs into your touch. “It’s alright, but please don’t do that again?”

“I promise, I truly, truly, don’t mean it,” You rub his rosy cheeks either side of his face with your thumbs.

Lucifer takes your hands and kisses into them. “God, I love you so much. I will never let anyone take you from me,”

Your lips break into a great grin.

“You don’t know how much power you have with that smile,” 

Your face contorts into a question mark.

“What, do you mean?”

“Darling, those toothy grins could break so many hearts. The guy on the beach-” He hesitates. Maybe he was just over-reacting. Maybe that specific sinner wasn’t trying to do anything…

Lucifer continues, “Well, I’ve just noticed that when we ever go out, you get hit on a LOT, and I’m sorry if I might be making a big deal out of nothing, but the thought of you leaving scares me so much, and, and-” Thoughts whirl around in his brain that couldn’t be properly computed into words.

You, however, stay beside him and listen until he’s finished before putting out your own.

“Lulu, first, thank you for telling me this. I truly, truly didn’t realise how forward some people have been with me. I thought they were just being polite, but I realise the place we live in is quite devoid of that behaviour, though that’s not really an excuse. What I can say for a fact is that I’ll never trade you for the world. The acceptance and love you give me is something priceless that I never want to be taken from me,”

“How did you ever not go up to Heaven?” He sniffs, a happy tear rolling down his cheek.

You wipe it away. “I don’t know, but I’m glad I didn’t,”

“I’m glad you didn’t too,”

ˏˋ°•⁀➷ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

~1,236 words

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

so for a decent chunk of time now i have been thinking to myself that i need to like really enter the phase of my life where i read seriously for artistic purposes ie read as a writer, which i have kept putting off for various reasons including what taking that goal seriously requires admitting to myself, but this year is the year, i have decided, and am doing ok at this so far. one of the strands of this process is that i am trying to catch up on some of the holes in my reading by reading for example authors considered major that i have thus far totally ignored. the mental list of shoulds has been percolating for longer than i’ve been back into reading. all of this is a long way of saying that not without feeling weird about it i am currently for the first time reading a book by alice munro, who was revealed last year to have treated her daughter with monstrous callousness after being informed of her daughter’s sexual abuse at the hands of munro’s husband. this post is not about that or about my weird feelings (mostly not about those), i just think that with this information still so new and munro’s reputation still so huge it would be off to talk about her without mentioning it. for what it’s worth i’d avoided her since well before then because as i have expressed before i tend not to love short stories and nothing about the way people talked about her fiction made it seem like she would be the exception, except maybe for the fact that everyone in the world is crazy about her stuff.

anyway. so i went with hateship friendship courtship loveship marriage bc that seemed to be the famousest one. the first story i liked a lot and really really admired from a craft perspective. it’s structured like a perfect little music box and the plot is wacky but somehow step by step feels totally believable, so that by the end you feel like someone has played a trick on you but in a good way. i was like ah fuck i do get it. and also i was like, ah see but the thing about her quiet sparing prose style is that this story is actually incredibly plotty and intricately designed and full of action - quiet character based action but action nonetheless. this is a story where things actually happen, which is what a lot of stories lack. ok i have cracked the code! i am ready to read the rest of these stories and probably then not read her anymore because while she’s undeniably very good i simply do tend to prefer writers with different styles and preoccupations and that coupled with the situation makes me feel like i don’t need to prioritize diving in any deeper but perhaps my mind would change. either way ok. i get it. i get the munro thing.

however! then the next several stories were exactly the kind of boring “well observed” nothingburgers i usually harbor such distaste for. and i could still see that she was in many ways better at doing this kind of thing than a lot of people. (her characters feel distinct from one another, which, you know? they don’t always. and her ear is not bad. i would not say i enjoy the way she uses language but her ear is not bad.) and there was the occasional detail i appreciated. but overall it just did not add up to enough for me to give a shit. i didn’t get to the end and think “ah, a magic trick” or “wow, real life.” i didn’t have any feelings at all and was also pretty bored. and actually i have started to kind of suspect that maybe i have more strongly negative feelings about certain traits in her writing than “don’t get it, not for me,” but i have to think about that a little more and maybe finish the collection before i can articulate that grievance. i mean she did win a nobel prize. for reasons of my own intellectual integrity i should read a whole book before i decide i think maybe she’s [redacted].

anyway. mostly i made this post because i decided to read or at least start her next story while treadmill strolling and i got as far as the bottom of the first page and read “in the countryside where i lived as a child, wells would go dry in the summer” and was like “fuck you.” and i wanna be clear that i know this is not a meaningful criticism and in fact possibly reflects poorly on my incurable city bitch blinders. i’m just sharing that i had such a strong aversion to you want me to read about fucking wells??????? that for the time being i simply could not bring myself to keep going although at some point i will because i am building readerly discipline. but. my god. 30 pages ahead of me of quiet spare unobtrusive (read: uninteresting) prose and you want to talk about fucking wells.

[nqmonarch]

Afraid of Falling in Love

Short drabble before class

You cared about Jing Yuan more than you liked to admit. The two of you had known each other for a while, you getting to meet the esteemed figure after the fall out of the High Cloud Quintet. You'd been friends for hundreds of years, and for the last hundred or so you've been struggling to keep the relationship together.

You never would've expected it to be so difficult so be friends with someone you loved romantically.

You'd always been afraid of getting close to people, even now Jing Yuan was one of your two friends. You'd been alive hundreds of years and experienced countless betrayals that came with some problems. It wasn't anything big but all of the small things piled up.

You looked at Jing Yuan warily but he remained calm, his catlike smile ever present on his face, laying there lazily. You couldn't understand why he would trust outsiders with such an important task. He should've sent someone like you to go capture Kafka, what if these people were secretly working with Kafka? What if someone on the Xianzhou was working with Kafka?

What if... Jing Yuan himself was working with Kafka? Your heart dropped, quivering fearfully in its cage. He'd sent the outsiders knowing they would fail-- no, no that didn't make any sense.

"Something wrong?" His deep voice pulled you out your thoughts, easing your nerves. It was a wonderful voice, one you could listen to all day, you had to wonder what other noises it could make. How would his-- no, bad thoughts.

You trusted Jing Yuan sure, but... he was a native resident of the Xianzhou he'd eventually succumb to mara, and so would you. How could either of you trust the other?

One day one of you would be replaced by a monstrous creature, one that may threaten to kill not only citizens but the person you hold dearest. One day it would all be over. To love someone is to allow them to hold your vulnerable heart in threatening hands and trust that they won't do anything. It is to know neither of you will ever hurt the other.

It hurts most to be hurt by those you love, even if they're no longer themselves.

"Y/N?" The voice chimed again, and you blinked looking over to Jing Yuan across the chess board, "Are you upset with me?" His eyes looked at you with so much love you wanted to run away.

You moved the chariot piece in an attempt to corner him, "No, I trust in your judgement." He ignored your move, continuing to gaze into your eyes, causing you to shift a bit of anxiety welling up in your heart.

Jing Yuan reached across the board, resting his hand on yours, "But are you upset with me?"

You frowned, looking down at his warm hand feeling the callouses on it, "How could I ever be upset with you?"

"You're upset with yourself then," He concluded, removing his hand, and standing up with ease, walking over to you, his feet hitting the wooden floor.

You looked up at him quizzically, eyes drifting down to the hand he offered you. "Not really," You took his hand, feeling your heart speed up. You felt nauseated at being so close to him. It wasn't a particularly bad feeling though. But you felt sick.

Jing Yuan helped you up and then smiled at you, moving too fast for you to react and placing his lips on your cheek. "Be kind to yourself. Be happy for what we have now."

Sure, the two of you weren't in a relationship. You were pretty sure he was just waiting for you but... one day he won't be him, and you'll be forced to see him become what you've been taught to despise the most. But wouldn't it be best to enjoy his company while you still can?

You can't stop yourself from being in love, no matter how afraid of it you are.

Love is love, that's all.

am slightly sick so missed class today, which included a quiz, emailed teacher about it

teacher is like sorry we don't do makeup work

i'll keep that in mind if ur ever late on a grade i don't accept late grades and if you're ever too sick to teach class i'm not doing the work for that day unless if we do it another day in class.

it's very tilting considering in the past when i was in highschool we had a perfect attendance award (key word had) until some kid threw up 5x in one day while in school. bro refused to go home bcus he wanted the award.

don't incentivize students to come to class sick.