#this was getting too long i had to cut it half way

[isaisliterallyhim]

hi omg i love ur writings You are literally one of my fav writers 😭😭 can you write sae with a reader who has their nipples pierced??

AAAA THANK YEW ANON BBY FOR UR KIND WORDS! yikess, nipple piercings sound like they hurt but they seem super hot! yr wish is my command anon >:3

"baby you're the baddest - baby you're the baddest girl"

ft. itoshi sae . ooc! sae ? . fem! reader . established relationships . boobs . boobs . boobs . have i mentioned boobs yet? . smut..? . piercings . unreliable narrator :^ . open ending.?

wc: 0.4k

imagine itoshi sae finding out his beloved partner got nipple piercingss!

we all know sae itoshi was not only a butt person but he was also the number one GOAT when it came to patience LMFAO. that certainly contradicted his actions today.

the both of you came back from a day out, sae came back from training, you came back from getting piercings. :3 you never specified where to the itoshi.

he was baffled when he came into your shared bedroom to see you in one of his shirts! >.< well not really baffled, his ass was too tired to notice, except for how the oversized shirt softly framed your perky tits.

his teal eyes sparked some light. "[name]-" he gulped as you shot a look at him. "oouh, hi sae!" you greeted. your smile was absolutely gorgeous, lighting up the darn room. your smile complimented everything ohhh fuck.

the prodigy felt his pants tighten. you smirked a lil, you knew the toll you had on him. the man couldn't help but jus literally POUNCE on you like..

he was swift to get you pinned on the bed and slip his shirt on you up. he shifted the shirt above to your chest. he felt his mouth literally water at the sight of your boobs..

"you got your nipples pierced.?" he asked, his hand moved to your nipple, playing a little with the bud. they were still some what sensitive, you let out a small whine.

his cool calloused fingers had a contrast to your soft warm flesh. he paid some attention to the piercing. he tapped it ever so slightly, having you jolt back.

"you still sensitive?" he asked. you nodded. nah he didnt fucking care he dived straight into your boobs weheejje. you glared at him. it's been a few hours. "you're sucking my boobs like youre a baby, aren't you bored?"

he looked up at your through those looong long lashes... peeling himself off, "nah." and dived back in. "you talk such big game about being patience look at yourself right now, also go shower you stink." you giggled. (ok the man is sweaty but he was training give him a break.)

he peeled himself of your boob again. nodding and understanding what you wanted him to do. he muttered something, "voy a violarte, hermosa."

when he came out the shower (sHIRTLESS AND EVERYTHIGN? oh yesss god.) jus a towel around his waist. "i want my shirt back." sae demanded as he towered over you, the soft mattress sinking due to the weight.

"huh-" you were cut off as you got flipped onto your stomach. your ass and boobs are going to be so sore tomorrow.. hey, your sensitive nipples are going to GET it the moment you wake up, piercings and him abusing the fuck out of the buds :((

— ©isaisliterallyhim, 2025

tags: @twijaxx ♡, @kyvkc

a/n: woohoo i finally posted!sorry this took so long to get out everythings j lyign in my drafts my bad anon this was a lazy ahh post... not proofread btw so the english is fried GAHAHA i gave up half ways o im sorry for not being able to serve but shhh, i tried... sae's hot you're hot nipple piercings oh gawd

[d-z20]

For Your Own Good (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You're on your third all-nighter in a row and your girlfriend is not having it. She tries to ask nicely but you are a stubborn so-and-so who's stressing about deadlines so she resorts to other methods

- OR -

Agatha helps you unwind in the best way she knows: by fucking you until you're too exhausted to move

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, top Agatha, bottom masc reader, 'good boy' used for reader, praise, established dynamic, fingering (R recv), oral (R recv), mattress grinding/humping, subtle sub/dom themes

Words: 2.9k

A/N: Finally written a fic with an explicitly masc reader getting called a good boy :D I had imagined a masc Agatha too but it can be interpreted in anyway requested fic

AO3 | Masterlist

The glow of the laptop screen casts sharp shadows across your cluttered desk, highlighting the deep furrow between your brows. Your fingers fly across the keyboard, the rhythmic tapping the only sound in the dimly lit apartment. Scattered notes, half-drunk cups of coffee, and a plate with an untouched sandwich bear witness to the relentless battle you're waging against your coursework. You barely blink, eyes scanning over dense paragraphs, lips pressing into a thin line of determination.

Agatha stands in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, weight shifted lazily to one side. Her jaw tenses as she watches you, concern etched into the hard lines of her face. She’s let this go on long enough—one all-nighter was bad enough, but three in a row? That’s a disaster waiting to happen. She exhales sharply through her nose before pushing off the frame and stepping forward, boots scuffing against the hardwood.

“Sweetheart,” her voice cuts through the thick silence, warm but edged with authority. “What the hell are you still doing up?”

You don’t so much as glance up. “Just finishing one last section,” you mutter, tapping a few more keys. “I’m almost done, I swear.”

Agatha rolls her eyes, knowing damn well you’ve said the same thing yesterday. With slow, deliberate steps, she comes up behind you, hands settling on your tense shoulders. You flinch at first, as if you’d forgotten she was even there, before sighing under the pressure of her firm grip.

“You said that last night,” she reminds you, kneading at the knots in your muscles. “And the night before that. Baby, you’re running on fumes.”

Your posture stiffens. “I can handle it.”

“Come on, darling,” she coaxes, dipping her head slightly, her voice warm but insistent. “You’re not going to learn anything if your brain’s fried.”

“I said I can handle it. I’m fine.” The words come out clipped, your fingers still moving over the keyboard with stubborn determination.

“That so?” Her thumbs press in deeper, a calculated move that has you biting back a groan. “Because it looks to me like you’re about to pass out face-first into that damn keyboard.”

Your jaw tightens, fingers still moving, unwilling to relent. Agatha lets out a slow breath through her nose, reeling in her patience. The soft approach isn’t cutting it.

She bends down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Come to bed,” she coaxes, voice dropping lower, smooth and persuasive. “You can use me as a pillow. I’ll even let you steal the covers.”

You swallow, hesitating just for a second before shaking your head. “Can’t. The deadline’s too close.”

A muscle in Agatha’s jaw ticks. Alright. You want to be difficult? She can handle that.

Straightening, she moves in front of you, planting her hands on the desk and leaning forward just enough that you have no choice but to meet her gaze. “I don’t like repeating myself.” Her voice drops an octave, that commanding edge slipping in. “You need sleep.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, tipping your head back. “What are you gonna do, carry me off to bed?”

“If I have to.” A slow smirk creeps onto her lips, and something dark flickers in her eyes, something that sends a sharp jolt through your already exhausted body.

Your scoff holds no real weight. “You wouldn’t.”

Agatha arches a brow. “Try me.”

Before you can form a retort, she swoops in, one arm hooking under your knees while the other slides around your back, lifting you clean off the chair in one swift motion. Your body is cradled effortlessly against her chest, your legs bent over the crook of her arm. A startled noise tears from your throat, hands instinctively gripping her shoulders.

“Agatha! Put me down—”

“Nope.” She adjusts her hold with practiced ease, shifting your weight so that one arm slides fully beneath your thighs while the other moves up to support the middle of your back, pressing you snug against her torso. Your head naturally rests near the curve of her shoulder, her grip firm and unyielding. “You had your chance to walk, gorgeous.”

Your pulse jumps as she carries you down the hall, her strength effortless, her scent wrapping around you—oud, cedar, and something undeniably Agatha. You squirm, trying to protest, but the tightening of her grip warns you that resistance is pointless. Then, just as you think about trying again, her lips graze your ear, her voice dipping into something low and honeyed.

“Be a good boy for me, sweetheart.”

A shiver runs down your spine, and whatever fight was left in you fizzles out instantly.

The bedroom door nudges open with a soft creak; she deposits you onto the bed, pressing you down with the weight of her body before you can even think about running.

“You think I’m gonna let you run yourself into the ground over some assignment?” Her hand slides up your chest, fingers tracing the sharp lines of your collarbone, down to where your heartbeat thrums wildly beneath her palm. “Nuhuh, darling. That’s not happening.”

You gulp, suddenly very aware of how effortlessly Agatha is pinning you down. “I—”

“Shh.” She leans in, her lips ghosting over yours. “I’m gonna have to tire you out myself since you clearly don’t know when to stop.”

The sharp hitch in your breath doesn’t go unnoticed. Agatha smirks against your skin, her knee pressing between your thighs, pinning you down with effortless strength. Her weight is solid, grounding, leaving you nowhere to escape—not that you would, even if you could. She knows it too, sees it in the way your fingers twitch against her shoulders, your body tensing, fighting a battle between resistance and surrender. She leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear as her voice drops, dark and knowing.

“Be a good boy for me,” she purrs, letting the heat of her words settle over your skin. “And let me take care of you.”

Agatha’s presence looms over you, her lips ghosting over your neck, a slow, tantalising trail of heat that sends shivers down your spine. Teeth graze your skin, the pressure sharp enough to make you gasp, but she only smiles against your throat, clearly enjoying the effect she has on you. 

A shudder rolls through you, sharp and betraying. You hate how easily she reads you, how easily she knows exactly what buttons to press and exactly how to unravel you, no matter how stubborn you try to be. Her hands slide down your sides with slow deliberation, fingertips teasing over the fabric of your shirt before slipping beneath, warm against your skin. Her touch is confident, making it clear that in this moment, you belong entirely to her.

You shift beneath her, but Agatha doesn’t budge. If anything, her grip tightens. “You have to fight me on everything, don’t you?” She muses, dragging her lips along your jaw, nipping at the delicate skin just below it.

The words hit you like a challenge, a dare that ignites something dark inside you. You try to squirm, to break free, but her grip tightens again, one hand now pinning your wrists above your head, the other trailing down your torso with deliberate slowness. Every inch of you is her playground, and she knows it. 

She tilts her head, watching the way your breath stutters, the way your pupils dilate under the weight of her stare. Her fingers trace over your stomach, dipping lower, teasing—not giving you what you need just yet, just showing you she could if she wanted to. She takes her time, revelling in the way your resolve starts to crack, in the way your body slowly starts to melt into her.

“Always so damn stubborn,” she teases, dragging her lips lower to your collarbone. “But you’re mine tonight, aren’t you? Just putty in my hands.”

Your lips part, a protest forming, but before you can get a word out, she presses forward, stealing the breath from your lungs with a kiss that leaves no room for argument. It’s deep, slow, utterly consuming. Her teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging at it, before she soothes it with her tongue. You feel yourself sinking, your fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt, desperate for something to hold onto as she takes you apart piece by piece.

She pulls back to lock eyes with you before whispering, “Just relax for me, sweetheart.”

Her voice is thick with satisfaction, her hands mapping out every inch of you like she’s memorising the way you react. Her touch is firm and possessive, and the praise spills effortlessly from her lips between heated kisses.

“Such a pretty boy for me.” 

A slow drag of her nails down your stomach.

“So good for me when you finally stop fighting.” 

A kiss against your collarbone, followed by the sharp bite of her teeth.

“You’re driving me insane,” you mutter, your voice hoarse with frustration and need. 

You try to move your hips, but her grip only tightens, her body pressing against yours with unyielding strength. She can feel the tension in your muscles, your desperation, and she smirks, knowing she has you exactly where she wants you.

“Look at you,” she taunts, her voice a smooth drawl full of wicked amusement. “So desperate to finally unwind.”

Her fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants, a teasing brush of knuckles against sensitive skin. She doesn’t rush. She savours, lets the anticipation build, enjoys the way your breath stutters, the way your hips twitch ever so slightly as if trying to chase the contact you need her to give.

“Patience,” she chides, her lips ghosting over your jaw, the heat of her breath sending a delicious shiver down your spine. “I’ll take good care of you, baby.”

She slides her hand further down, fingers curling between your thighs, stroking slow, measured circles over your clit that make your entire body tense with aching need. Your hips jerk involuntarily, and she chuckles, low and knowing.

“Yes,” she murmurs, her voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s it. Let me hear you.”

You can’t help but gasp; your body already thrumming with anticipation, but Agatha still isn’t in a hurry. She takes her time, working you over with practiced precision, each touch calculated to make you melt further beneath her. 

Her fingers trail lower, teasing at your entrance, her gaze fixed intently on every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face. The moment your eyes flutter shut, a frustrated moan slipping past your lips, she finally pushes in, finding that perfect spot that has you unraveling beneath her, your sounds spilling freely for her to drink in.

Your hands claw at her shoulders, your nails biting into muscle as your breath stutters into something helpless, something raw. But she just smiles wickedly against your throat, dragging her teeth along your pulse before sucking a bruise into your skin, marking you as hers.

As she guides you closer to the edge, her lips find yours in a kiss that’s both soft and demanding, a tantalising mix of tenderness and raw hunger. She swallows your moan, her tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming you completely, and you can feel the vibration of her growl against your lips.

The moment you think you can’t take it anymore, she pulls back to admire her handiwork. Your chest rises and falls in ragged breaths, skin flushed, pupils blown wide with desire. Agatha’s gaze darkens, drinking in the sight of you unravelled beneath her.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she breathes, voice husky, laced with hunger.

Agatha toys with the hem of your shirt before slipping beneath the fabric. Her touch is slow, feeling every inch of newly exposed skin as she inches it upward. Her nails scratch lightly over your stomach, making you shudder. The grin tugging at her lips is unmistakable—she’s enjoying this, watching you squirm beneath her, utterly at her mercy.

“I want to see you,” she coaxes, voice thick with authority and something that makes your breath catch. When you don’t resist, she peels your shirt over your head, tossing it aside before making quick work of your pants. Every inch of bare skin is met with the heat of her gaze, the weight of her presence pressing heavier onto your body.

“So, so beautiful.” It’s almost like she’s talking to herself, fingers skimming over your thigh before tracing back up, ghosting over your ribs. You shiver, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach as her lips follow, leaving a searing path along your shoulder and down your chest, lingering over every spot that makes you gasp.

She takes her time, lips and teeth teasing, coaxing you further under her control before her mouth moves lower, settling between your thighs. With you now bare beneath her, she’s on you in a matter of seconds, her breath fanning against sensitive skin. Agatha’s grip tightens on your hips as she presses you down, pinning you beneath her as she drags her tongue over your clit, her pace torturously slow. As she does, you feel the subtle press of her own hips against the mattress, a slow grind of her own need that sends a wave of heat through you, intensifying the sensation of her every movement.

Your hands tangle in her hair, fingers tightening instinctively as a filthy moan rips from your throat. Your hips jerk, seeking more, but Agatha keeps you firmly in place, her grip on your thighs unyielding. She chuckles against your skin, the vibration sending another sharp jolt of pleasure through you, making your breath stutter. As she continues to rock her hips against the bed, her own rhythm starting to match the teasing pace she’s setting on you, the heat between you both begins to build, a tension that fills the room.

Then, just as the tension coils impossibly tight inside you, her fingers join the fray—slipping into you with a slow, calculated precision that leaves you trembling. She moves in sync with her mouth, a dizzying rhythm that pulls you under, drowning you in sensation. The contrast has you whimpering, your body caught between the edge of bliss and the unbearable ache of wanting more. As she grinds herself deeper into the mattress, the added pressure of her movement pushes her closer to the edge, and you can feel it in the urgency of her touch.

“Fuck you taste so good,” she groans, the heat of her breath making you shudder. “I want to feel you cum on my tongue.”

Her words are both a command and a promise, and you can do nothing but obey. She doesn’t let up, doesn’t falter, working you with a patience that borders on cruel, unravelling you inch by inch. Every stroke, every flick of her tongue is purposeful, drawing you closer, coaxing you to the brink until the pressure inside you turns unbearable. Your body tightens, muscles clenching around her as your breath turns ragged, the pleasure cresting into something all-consuming. With every motion of her hips against the bed, she pulls herself closer to her own release, her movements becoming more urgent and intense.

And then she pushes you over.

Your orgasm slams into you, overwhelming and unrelenting, pleasure rippling through every nerve like a live wire. A choked cry tumbles from your lips as your back arches, your entire body shuddering beneath her hold. Agatha doesn’t stop—she rides out every wave with you, her hands firm on your hips, her tongue still teasing, still claiming, as she continues to grind into the mattress, using the friction to chase her own climax. The intensity of her rhythm keeps you spiralling, dragging out every second of pleasure until you’re boneless beneath her, pleasure spilling over in thick, breathless aftershocks.

She finally eases, her pace slowing, her touch turning soft as she presses one last, lingering kiss to your trembling skin. She doesn’t move right away; instead, staying close, her palm smoothing over your thigh in slow, lazy circles, grounding you in the aftermath.

“Tired now?” She teases, pressing a gentle kiss to your jaw.

You try to mumble a retort, something snarky, but the words barely form before she hushes you with another kiss, softer this time, slower.

“That’s what I thought.”

She shifts, manoeuvring you effortlessly until you’re curled against her, her arm slung over your waist, keeping you close. You don’t fight it. Instead, you relax into her warmth, your fingers lazily gripping at her shirt, keeping her exactly where she is.

Agatha smooths a hand over your hair, thumb tracing lazy circles against your temple. “I better not catch you pulling another all-nighter,” she hums, voice low and firm.

Half asleep, you mumble. “I mean, if this is the punishment for it...”

Agatha chuckles, shaking her head. “Brat.” But she pulls you closer anyway, making sure you don’t slip away to start working again.

She lets out a quiet sigh, content, pressing a kiss to your forehead as her fingers card gently through your hair. “That’s better,” she surrates, her voice softer now, threaded with something fond. “You’re not allowed to work yourself sick, y’hear me?”

A sleepy hum is your only answer, your body pliant and spent against hers. A satisfied smirk tugs at her lips as she holds you tighter, her grip firm and possessive.

“There we go; that’s my good boy,” she whispers, a note of pride slipping into her voice.

You sigh, half-asleep but content, and Agatha lets her own eyes drift shut, knowing damn well she won’t be letting you pull another all-nighter anytime soon.

-----

taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6stolenangel9 @jujuu23 @juls-stark

[suzukiblu]

Day one of February’s second weekly WIP behind the cut; “mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kon sighs, then dusts his hands off and eyes Croc’s unconscious body, debating how the fuck he’s supposed to handle this situation. Fuck knows where the cops are, and there’s already a bunch of civilians taking pics and shit of him, so he really doesn’t wanna wait for ‘em. Also, like, explaining why he committed aggravated assault on a giant crocodile dude to the cops does not sound like his favorite time anyway, especially Gotham cops. He technically does have an emergency comm on him, but it’s obviously not tuned into any of the local Bat-channels and he doesn’t really know if he’d be able to sync it up to ‘em. 

Admittedly, Alfred is like, half a block down the street with a cell phone and probably already told his boss literally everything that just happened, but still. 

Actually, speaking of Alfred . . .

Kon refocuses his hearing back towards the limo, and hears–

“Wowwwww,” Jon says from the backseat, sounding awed about . . . something–who knows what, given he’s like ten and Kon doesn’t even know the grown-ass version of him well enough to know what kind of shit the dude thinks is impressive–and Alfred makes a little “hm” sound. 

“Mr. Kent, I do hope you’ve got an ear out,” he says, which even if Kon didn’t would’ve caught his attention pretty quick. “The police have an estimated time of arrival at two and a half minutes, and they were informed to come equipped for Killer Croc. Please do retreat out of the public eye for now, though I’m sure Master Bruce would appreciate the consideration if you wouldn’t mind keeping a bit of an eye on the situation until they have Mr. Jones secured. We’ll rendezvous with you on Pearl Street in seven minutes.” 

There is literally no version of Bruce Wayne that has ever “appreciated” a single thing Kon has ever considered in his life, except maybe for that one weirdo in Hypertime who’d definitely just wanted a Robin that was bombproof this time, but whatever. Kon nods once, short and sharp, and then takes off with superspeed in the opposite direction from Croc and the fucked-up street, if not Super-speed. That he saves ‘til he ducks into a conveniently out-of-sight alley, shoves the security camera over the emergency exit in the back of it askew with his TTK, and then takes off straight up into the air too fast for human eyes to follow. 

He should’ve avoided tearing up the street like that, probably, even if Croc and his boys had already fucked it up pretty bad. Didn’t mean he needed to go making shit worse. He’s maybe a little stressed, but he fucking knows better. 

Ugh. 

Kon hangs out above the heavy gray smog and cloud cover, wishing there were some sun up here instead of just moonless night, and keeps one ear focused on Croc and the other half-paying attention to the limo, just in case. The cops do in fact show up in two and a half minutes, and by then Alfred’s already taken Jon and the limo most of the way to Pearl Street. Kon can hear Jon chattering excitedly about something and Alfred at least making some more little “hm” sounds in response, though he doesn’t focus in enough to eavesdrop. Rude, for one thing, and also a distraction he should be avoiding anyway. 

He waits around to make sure they get Croc locked up nice and secure in the heavy-duty restraints and armored truck they brought without him waking up and taking anyone’s head off or anything like that, and it goes surprisingly smoothly for Gotham, though the cops have a fuckin’ time of it getting Croc’s K.O.’ed ass into the back of the truck. Kon would be more concerned about the possibility of a head injury with the guy staying out for so long, but a quick X-ray glance already cleared him for at least the first-aid level basics, so like, it’s probably that weird “toxic mobility” thing Tim was talking about that time he was explaining Croc’s whole thing to him. Or–no, “tonic”, and “immobility”. Whatever, he just knows Croc usually stays out longer than a baseline human would and it’s not a concern. Just some weird side effect of his whole . . . everything, basically. 

This is not in any way his circus or even his monkeys, but hey, why not be the interdimensional version of neighborly? Like, just while he’s in the reality and all. Lend the local Bats a cup of sugar, metaphorically-speaking. Batman’s gonna bitch about him doing it and how he handled it the first second he sees him, obviously–even after Alfred asked him to do it, he’ll definitely bitch–but whatever. He wasn’t gonna let anybody get hurt just because Batman gets pissy when vigilantes without any Bat-branding exist in his territory. 

So yeah, he waits around.

[wooyoungbf]

[img id:

screenshot of a tumblr text post, in response to an ask. it reads:

saxifraga-x-urbium said "You can't just casually mention garlic cock man and not tell the story that's against the law"

the reply from stammsternenstaub reads

Are you sure you know what you're asking of me? Are you sure? Well, okay. But don't say I didn't warn you.

This post is long and contains description of genital injury.

So as you'll know, worked three and: a half long, hilarious years at an NHS sexual health and contraception clinic. I loved that job, and packed it in because the Tory cuts to the service meant running it became hideously untenably stressful, but that's a story for another time.

One of my duties at the clinic was to take phone calls. Patients liked me on the phone because I have a nice voice and I'm basically completely unflappable, and they felt happy to tell me things. A vital skill in the wang biz.

One day, a man called. This was not unusual, "Hello," he said. "I need to see one of your nurses about my, er, my chap."

"Righty-oh sir," I said, "are you experiencing any symptoms that you're concerned about? It's just a yes or no kind of question."

"Well," he said, and I instantly felt a dark and terrible energy pulsate down the phone. "Well... sort of. But, uh, it's not symptoms of anything, it's just..."

I would come to regret what I said next. "Is everything all right, sir?"

"Well." There was a pause heard fidgeting. "I got a yeast infection."

Phew, easy peasy. Yeasties are easy to fix. I sounded reassuring and buoyant. "Well that's nothing to worry about, sir - if you don't want to get anything over the counter from the chemist, we can-"

"No, no that's not the problem. Listen -" he sounded serious. "Listen, I'll just tell you what's the matter, and you'll see what I mean."

This is where, whenever I tell this story, I like to ask the listener to play a little game with me. The game is "Where Would You Tap Out?" I'd have already tapped out by going to the chemist and getting some Canestan.

"I didn't want any chemicals on my chap, so I decided to go for a home remedy. Internet said garlic was good for yeast infections, and I've got a lot of garlic, so I figured that'd be all right."

I made sympathetic noises. Home remedies for yeast infections are normal, and garlic is actually quite effective. "Oh good," I said.

"I wasn't sure how much to use, but I figured, I have lot of garlic usually, so I minced a whole bulb."

The dark energy wafting down the phone intensified.

"I packed it all over my, you know, knob, made a poultice. Packed it all over the head, like a hat But, uh, Iwasn't sure how to keep it on.."

I couldn't say anything. I didn't want to scare him off by sounding judgemental.

"..so I just duct taped it all on. Wrapped duct tape all round it."

Still with us? Tapped out yet?

"So er, that worked, kept it on nice and tight, and I left it on over night."

Over night. All night with your cock mummified in garlic paste like some sort of fiendish chicken kiev.

"Caustic,"' I said, before I could stop myself. "Garlic is caustic."

"Yeah! Yeah, it is!" he said, sounding cheerful that l, too, understood the Way of Garlic. "So I unwrapped my dick and, well, it looked kind of like... melted."

I sat, silent, on the phone. Already I'd missed 6 other calls, watching them sail by on the other line while this saga unfolded.

"So I figured," he continued, the terrible juggernaut barrelling unstoppably through this phallic disaster, "I should probably exfoliate it."

"Exfoliate," I echoed weakly.

"Yeah," said this abject human disaster, misinterpreting my echolalic expression of horror as hearty encouragement. "So I had a look around the kitchen -" he was in the kitchen for all this "- for anything I could use and got my brillo pad-"

For anyone not in the UK, that's what we call one of these:

(a picture of a stack of green scouring pads)

I must have betrayed myself and given a gasp of horror at that point, because he quickly reassured me - "No, no, no, it's okay - it was a new one!" before going on to describe scrubbing the affected area to

remove the alkaline chemical burn that he'd inflicted on his poor, blameless cock.

"So you want to come in because of. this?" I said, assuming he would want a new dick by this point.

"Oh no, no " he said, jovial again. "No, it's all fine - it just, my knob's gone all... well, it kind of looks camo print now. I was wondering if you could do anything about it looking camo print."

No, sir. No, neither we nor anyone else can do anything about your camo print garlic cock mistake.

/end id]

okay so I don't know how to look it up but there was this reddit story about a guy who heard you could use garlic as a home remedy for an std and /wrapped his dick/ in garlic cloves and duck taped them on. when he took it off his dick looked all "melted" (because of the fucking CHEMICAL BURNS from that). so he tried to scrub the melted parts off with a brillo pad. he called a doctor's line not because of all that, but because the brillo pad made his dick "camo print".

Well he wasn’t worrying about STDs anymore

OK seriously though I’ve never heard of that guy and I am sad that he didn’t have access to better information.

[witherby]

Heyyy

Soo this is a random / weird question, so feel free to not answer it.

I was thinking about how kids need to be taught proper hygiene / how not to be stinky and traumatized kids sometimes aren't taught. How do you think the bats would talk to Punchline about hygiene while making her feel comfortable and not being mean? Or would've the Joker taught her?

Sorry this is long

I think the Joker, despite winning World's Worst Dad by a fuckin mile, would at least teach her basic hygiene. Man rocks around in color-coordinated suits and has a theme/image to maintain. A stinky little girl isn't gonna help him with that, and I don't think he'd want to smell her all the time either.

But let's play in the space a minute. Let's pretend he taught her the absolute barest minimum. Punchline will brush her teeth, but not longer than 20 seconds. Punchline will shower, but doesn't use soap, just rinses off and scrubs her body in a half-assed manner. She can kind of style her hair, but any severely tangled/matted sections just get cut away and the remaining hair styled to hide it; she doesn't know about detangling or conditioner or cutting off the split and dead ends. Dirty clothes get dunked in some water and the stains a minimal scrub, then dried and re-worn. So on and so forth.

Alfred notices this first. When he comes by to read to her some more, he watches her take the provided toothbrush, wet it with just water, lightly brush it against her teeth, and then put it down again. He restructures his visits to include little lessons as well as reading. Luckily, she is very receptive to following orders.

Alfred got her teeth situation handled — with no cavities in sight, because she simply doesn't eat enough for it to be a huge risk.

Dick, as the one with the best looks, gets her hair under control. She gets introduced to the magic of clarifying shampoo and hydrating conditioner. He also introduces her to deodorant and perfumes.

Damian, red-faced, is the closest to her in age, so he teaches her what body wash is for and the best application practices for it while he's in a pair of swim trunks.

Bruce reaches her how to do laundry, trim her nails, and how to change the sheets on the bed she doesn't use.

At this point, Jason doesn't see her as worth the effort, and she isn't receptive to Tim being around, so they don't contribute to this stage in her rehabilitation.

It takes a little bit of trial and error — her gums bleed every time she brushes for a few weeks until her mouth acclimates to routine care, and a washing machine had to be replaced entirely because she used way too much laundry soap — but soon Punchline can be found carefully brushing through her emerald hair and changing into a new set of clothes every single day.

[sapphossparenoterbook]

Reader has antler tattoos on their lower stomach… they remind Lottie of other times…

Post!Crash, no Switzerland AU

It’s the last few weeks of college before the summer break kicks off properly, but it’s still incredibly hot, especially in the lecture halls.

Most guys are wearing tank tops and jorts, and most girls are wearing crop tops and skirts-really, just anything to try and keep the sweltering heat at bay and stop the heatstroke from getting so bad that people pass out half way through lectures about the development of common law or something. It was the first day you’d really succumb to the heat and let yourself wear that crop top you’ve been putting off wearing forever now, but a heatwave has come in, and even thin t-shirts was unbearable now.

You’d recently started talking to a photography major, she’d wanted to do something else, but didn’t get the qualifications in high school because of some big life-changing event that she doesn’t share any details on. Except a quick google search would find out exactly what it was… anyway, Lottie “I wanted to study law, too!” Matthews had told you to meet her under an oak tree in the centre of the courtyard, so that’s where you caught her snapping pictures of people passing by that she liked the look of. You’d been talking to her for a few weeks now, been on a few dates… it was fun, she was hot and easy to talk to.

“Are those for your course, or your wank bank?” You ask mockingly from behind her, making her jump mid *snap!* of her camera. “Hey! You ruined my photo—“

Lottie cuts herself off at the sight of your tattoos. You’d told her you had them when you started talking, but she didn’t realise how beautiful they’d be.

Antlers.

Just like her old crown, back in the Wilderness, tattooed onto your lower stomach. Lottie used to wear antlers so similar when the other girls would kill in front of her, would dig their teeth into the flesh of their dead murdered friends for the chance to see another desolate day. You’d said something about the metaphorical regeneration that you admired in deer, about their antlers growth cycle, and how you got the tattoo because of it being meaningful to you.

“Hey? You okay?” You ask her, and she snaps out of her daze like state to give you a grin and grip at your hips, running her thumbs in a soothing caress over the tattooed antlers. “I’m perfect” she says. And, yeah, technically she is. She’s medicated, and attending therapy, and coping. She’s perfect in the sense she’s doing so much better… but she felt like something was missing. Her crown, her leadership. That’s what was missing, that’s what her heart and soul screamed for in the quiet of the sleepless nights, bed too soft to sleep in after so long on the cold, hard floor of the dirt.

Lottie understands now that she had no power other than being respected by her teammates. She’s perfectly sane. Her crown now, was etched into your skin with ink, perfectly aligned with the top of her head when she’s between your legs. She used to dig her teeth into flesh, and bite. But now, she digs her teeth into your flesh, and sucks.

—————

Sorry if this is a bit shit, haven’t written in a while!!

[myboybreakscoffins]

Two Tickets Far From Here 

maniac (february 9) @black-brothers-microfic — regulus & sirius black microfic — mentions of child abuse, side effects of the cruciatus curse, hurt/confort, regulus's pov  — word count: 770

"Two tickets to..." Sirius paused, glancing nervously at the route chart before looking at the half-asleep girl behind the glass. "Actually, I have no idea. We need to get to Godric's Hollow—what train should we take?"

“Is that in the West Country?” the girl asked, barely stifling a yawn.

“I... guess so?”

Regulus stood in stunned silence, watching his brother make a fool of himself without an ounce of shame. Even worse, he was starting to doubt his own sanity.

Sirius was a total maniac—Regulus had known that for a long time. But maybe he had underestimated the reach of his own bloodline, because surely, he had to be losing his mind too. How else could he explain the fact that they had just sprinted through London in the dead of night, covered in half-healed wounds, with nothing but the clothes they were wearing, heading toward a destination they didn’t even know how to reach?

It was a well-known fact that prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse could cause lasting damage to the mind. So, yes, that had to be it. Brain damage. Because there was absolutely no way Regulus Black would ever willingly engage in something this reckless, foolish, and downright suicidal.

"Look, Reggie." Sirius limped toward him, holding up two tickets between his fingers. He was clearly in pain, his exhaustion evident in the way he moved. "She said there's a train leaving in a few minutes that we can take..."

"And then what?"

"Then we board another train to—"

“No.” Regulus cut him off. “I mean... the potions will stop working in less than an hour. We won’t even be able to move.” It was only a matter of time before the pain overtook them again. The fact that Regulus had even managed to scrounge up a few potions back at Grimmauld Place was a miracle—just enough to momentarily dull the pain, poorly patch up Sirius’s broken body, and, against all odds, get them out of there alive. “Neither of us will be in any condition to drag the other one along.”

"James will come pick us up," Sirius assured him, lowering himself onto the bench beside his younger brother.

“But how will he know where to find us?” Regulus asked, confused. Potter had no idea where they were. If he did, he would’ve already been here, dragging Sirius off to safety.

With a mischievous grin, Sirius pulled a small mirror from his pocket and handed it to Regulus. “We’ll tell him,” he said simply. “As soon as he wakes up, we’ll use this to let him know where we are, and he’ll come get us.”

Regulus stared at his own dumbfounded expression reflected in the mirror. His brother had lost his last remaining brain cell. They were about to board a train to Merlin-knows-where, half their bones still broken, unable to use magic without alerting their parents to their location, and this—this—was his brother’s grand plan?

Sirius burst out laughing. It was obvious he was in pain, but not enough to stop him from being entertained by whatever expression was on Regulus’s face.

Regulus felt a cold sweat break out across his skin. Doubt clawed at the edges of his mind. Maybe this had been a mistake. “Maybe we shouldn’t have—”

Sirius’s laughter died in an instant. He grabbed Regulus by the shoulders and turned him to face him. The sudden movement sent sharp pain tearing through both their bodies, but neither of them flinched.

“Don’t,” Sirius said, voice deadly serious. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”

For a second, Regulus swore he was looking at a reflection of himself. His throat tightened. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, overwhelmed by the terror, the uncertainty, the adrenaline still surging through his veins.

“We did what we had to do,” Sirius continued. “If we’d stayed, one of us would’ve bled out on the carpet sooner or later. And you know it.”

Regulus swallowed hard. Sirius’s fingers brushed gently against his cheek, a silent reassurance. They both knew they were on the verge of breaking down. They had survived their home once again, but they weren’t far enough. Not yet. Not safe.

“We’ll figure this out together, Reggie,” Sirius whispered. “I promise.”

And somehow, despite the fear, despite the doubt, Regulus believed him.

Sirius exhaled heavily and stood, heading toward the platform. “C'mon, the train’s already here.”

Regulus didn’t move. “Sirius?”

“What, baby brother?” Sirius called back.

“That train is going in the opposite direction.”

Sirius paused, then shrugged. “Fuck it. That sounds like a Prongs problem. We just need a private car to sleep in.”

[nameless-jamie]

Hi, I absolutely love your writing! PA series is my absolute favourite! Would you consider writing about Y/N who's struggled with anxiety her entire life? Maybe Jamie comforts her during a stresfull situation or she helps him deal with his own anxiety?

Steady Hands

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, angst, anxiety

A/N: Thank you for the request! Let's explore a different side of Y/N! Btw this is just an in-between chapter not relevant to the timeline!

The most challenging things for Y/N to do as Jamie Tartt's assistant were his ever-changing schedule, his tendency to forget important appointments, and his occasional moments of existential dread when he thought too hard about his legacy. Y/N was usually Jamie's rock, there to comfort him and care for him...

So it was rather unusual when Jamie had to comfort her.

But life had a funny way of flipping things on their head.

Y/N had always been good at keeping things together. She had to be. Anxiety wasn’t something she could just turn off, but she’d gotten good at managing it—breathing exercises, staying organized, making lists. Keeping herself busy helped.

And working for Jamie? That definitely kept her busy.

But today, no amount of planning or deep breathing could stop the weight pressing on her chest, the way her hands trembled at her sides.

It had started with a simple mistake. One email. A scheduling error. A time slot mix-up that meant Jamie had been double-booked for an interview and a sponsorship meeting.

She’d caught it too late. The PR team was annoyed. The sponsors were furious at her. And even though Jamie himself had just shrugged and said, “S’alright, babe. We’ll just move one of ‘em, yeah?” she couldn’t stop the overwhelming guilt flooding her.

She should have caught it earlier. She should have double-checked. She should have—

“Oi.”

A voice pulled her from her spiral, and suddenly Jamie was in front of her, brow furrowed in concern.

She must have zoned out, standing frozen in the hallway outside Rebecca’s office.

His voice was softer this time. “You alright, love?”

Y/N swallowed, forcing a nod. “Yeah. Just—long day.”

Jamie didn’t look convinced. His gaze flickered to her hands—still trembling slightly, even as she tried to hide them in her pockets.

And Jamie—who was normally all charm and banter, all teasing remarks and cheeky grins—just watched her for a moment, quiet and assessing.

Then, without a word, he reached out and took her hand.

Not in the usual Jamie way, either. Not the casual, half-distracted way he sometimes grabbed her wrist to pull her toward a meeting, or the playful handshake they always did after a good game.

This was different.

His fingers curled around hers, steady and warm, grounding her.

“C’mere,” he murmured, tugging her toward the empty boot room just off the hallway.

The door shut behind them, muffling the noise of the club.

Jamie didn’t let go.

“You’re freakin’ out, love,” he said simply. Not a question—just a fact.

Y/N let out a short, humorless laugh. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it.”

Jamie tilted his head, watching her. “Ain’t sugarcoatin’ it. Just sayin’—you’re freakin’ out. And you don’t need to.”

Her breath hitched slightly. “Jamie, I fucking messed up. That’s—”

“So?” Jamie cut in, voice easy. “People mess up all the time.”

She shook her head, looking away. “Not me. I can’t mess up.”

Jamie frowned. “Why not?”

“Because.” Her voice was too sharp, too fast. She took a shaky breath. “Because if I mess up, it means I’m not good enough. And if I’m not good enough, then—”

She stopped herself.

Jamie was still holding her hand, standing right in front of her. Still watching her, his expression unreadable.

Then, quietly he says:

“That’s bollocks, you know.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

He huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. “All that shit you just said. Bollocks. You do get to mess up, Y/N. Doesn’t mean you ain’t good enough. Just means you’re human.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Jamie—”

“Look.” He squeezed her hand, firm and steady. “I forget shit all the time. I mess up interviews, I miss appointments—you’re literally paid to fix my fuck-ups. And you do. Every time.”

She let out a small, reluctant laugh.

Jamie grinned and softly caressed her smiling cheeks. “There she is. There's my girl.”

The weight in her chest eased just a little.

Jamie’s grin softened. “You’re fuckin’ brilliant, alright? One little mistake don’t change that.”

She exhaled, shoulders loosening. “You’re… actually kind of good at this.”

Jamie smirked. “Course I am. Y’think I don’t know what it’s like?”

She frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

Jamie hesitated. Just for a second.

Then, with a small shrug.

“I get in my head sometimes too, yeah? Before big matches. When I’m knackered and feel like I ain’t doin’ enough. I start thinkin’—what if I fuck up? What if I lose? What if I ain’t good enough?”

Y/N stared at him. She’d never heard him say anything like that before.

Jamie scratched the back of his neck. “Dunno. Just—sometimes it helps when someone reminds me it’s all in my head.”

Y/N’s chest ached.

She squeezed his hand. “Jamie.”

He met her eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you this,” she said softly, “but you’re one of the strongest people I know.”

Jamie blinked, looking genuinely taken aback. “Oh.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Well. You ain’t so bad yourself.”

Y/N huffed a laugh.

Jamie squeezed her hand one last time before letting go.

“Right,” he said, stretching his arms over his head. “Now, d’you wanna get outta here? Go get some food or summat? Reckon you need a break.”

Y/N hesitated. “Jamie, I still have work to—”

“Oi. Shut up.” Jamie poked her cheek. “S’not a request. We’re goin’.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Oh my god, I hate you.”

Jamie grinned. “Yeah, yeah. Liar, you fucking love me.”

She might really fucking do...

[lostsyren]

I have a request where rafe gets into a fight because someone said something about sofia, and later in the bathroom sofia is cleaning the cuts on his hands. (Btw I LOVE ur writing 💗💗)

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 watcher

{summary: after hooking up a couple times, rafe and sofia are no contact, but neither one is happy with the arrangement…}

{a/n: ok so i decided to do something a little different– it still fits what you wanted but i kinda went a different direction. essentially it’s them after 3x09! and thank you for ur kind words lovely, sorry this took so long}

{warnings: graphic violence, mentions of sex, stalking?}

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

After staying over at Tannyhill a couple times, Sofia and Rafe didn’t talk again. She tried to shy away from the pang of hurt that it caused– when he left her on read, when he waited until she was on the other side of the bar to order his drink, when he stopped looking her way with a smile and kind eyes. What made it worse was the fact she had to see him…everyday single day.

Sofia mentally made a note never to sleep with a customer ever again. The prickling shame that coated her skin, the sticky regret that settled in the lot of her stomach– it was all too much. The prospect that Rafe used her, as simply just a warm body he could fuck, a temporary distraction– it made her sick. She knew it was silly of her; they barely knew each other after all. But he was so surprisingly sweet to her. And now it’s like he’d flipped a switch, doused in a sudden and biting apathy.

It shouldn’t have been a shock to her– she knew that, she wasn’t dumb. He was a kook at the end of the day and she was the club bartender (no matter how much she hated that fact, it still remained true). But she liked him. God– she liked him a lot. She thought he was different.

Sofia shook her head vehemently. Stop thinking about him when he doesn’t even give you the time of day.

The Kildare night was dark and balmy, the late-summer humidity stifling. The moon was out tonight, shining like a pearlescent marble on a bed of black tar.

Sofia’s shift had ended, so she was packing up her things. A couple stragglers were left dotted around the outdoor bar and restaurant. One of them was Rafe. He always lingered at the bar, nursing a fleet of never ending drinks. Initially Sofia was worried. She’d seen this before in her father, a drink always in hand, his eyes slung low in a drunker stupor. But eventually she reflected the same frigid apathy back on to Rafe. He wasn’t her problem to worry about.

But it was hard to deny instinct. Sofia had been infatuated with Rafe for a while now, even before he’d noticed her presence. It was like her eyes were magnets and he was metal. So before she left, her gaze brushed over his figure, taking in the broad shoulders, the faint lines of veins skeining down his tanned arms, before trailing up to his face. And that’s when she realised he was already staring straight at her. Fuck.

He looked distraught, but like he was trying to hide it. The lines of his face were deep and the strain of his jaw was tight, blue eyes red rimmed. She quickly looked away, gripping the strap of her purse tighter and scampering out towards the exit.

Sofia got on the bus. Her car was in the repair shop (for the third time this year). So she had to walk half-way home since the bus routes in the cut were all situated a good distance from her house. Her work shoes clicked against the uneven asphalt, her pace brisk and nimble. She didn’t think anything of the footsteps behind her at first, but when she realised how close they were, as if shadowing her movements, Sofia’s heart sank.

She’d heard stories of muggings around and about these streets. So her footsteps quickened, her heart rate a sputtering mess.

Fragments of prayers escaped her lips. Prayers for protection, for refuge and everything in between. But the shadow that stretched like pitch across the pavement just seemed to elongate the closer it got to her.

Sofia swallowed a shuddering breath and chanced a look behind her. She hated that she was right– a group of maybe three or four men were tailing her.

She wanted to run but they were tall– they’d easily outperform her. Sofia reached into her purse slipping out her phone, the white glare form the screen opening on to her contacts. But before she could even call anyone, the looming presence behind her suddenly jolted forward, Sofia jerking up in surprise.

A hand yanked her phone away from her, the device smashing on the concrete. Sofia gasped, the sound shaky and convulsing as she felt two hands grip her wrists.

“Who you tryna call huh?” One guy goaded, as the other three encircled Sofia.

Shit. Shit. Shit. The panic that fringed her nervous system completely inundated her– blood rushing, heart pounding, skin sweating.

“Please, just take whatever you want and let me go,” she pleaded, her eyes wide and watering.

The man let go of one of her wrists, gripping the pliable flesh of her cheeks, squishing them together with sharp nails.

“How about we just take you then?” His words were low and pointed, like a knife being pressed against her jugular. Chitters of laughter emanated from the other guys walling her in. Fear gave way to anger as Sofia spat at him then used her leg to swing a knee in his groin. He grunted in pain, allowing for Sofia to slip from his grip.

“You fucking bitch!” He growled, yanking her back by the hair before she could sprint away. Sofia hissed in pain, her scalp burning from his relentless grip.

She thought she was done for, denigrated to putty in these men’s hands. But suddenly, out of the encroaching darkness of the streetlight, came a figure who threw a punch directly square in her assailant’s face.

Sofia flew back on to the pavement, scraping her knee on the concrete. Grabbing her phone, she scrambled backwards to witness the scene before her. Her vision was slightly blurred so it took her a second to piece together what was happening.

In amidst the guttural yells and sickening sound of fists hitting flesh, Sofia saw Rafe mercilessly grapple with her attackers.

Her brain was so frazzled she didn’t even consider the oddity of his presence in this situation– all she felt was a sudden rush of relief and an overwhelming gratefulness that she didn’t have to find out what these men were planning to do with her.

But worry quickly eclipsed her repose.

They were decimating him.

“Help!” Sofia yelled, her voice cracking and shrill.

One of the men had Rafe in a headlock, his beefy arm clasped around his windpipe. Sofia scrambled on to her feet and grabbed her keys from her purse. With a quiet stealth, she snuck up behind the towering guy before lodging the key in between his shoulder blades. The man shrieked out a string of curse words, dropping Rafe and swinging round to strike her instead. Sofia cowered from his touch, but Rafe didn’t let the guy’s wrath reach her.

“You fucking touch her again and I’ll kill you,” he growled, Sofia’s heart lurching at the sight of his black beady eyes and bloody lip. He looked feral.

Rafe’s swinging punches began to look rhythmic as he hit his knuckles repeatedly against the guys jaw. Sofia’s stomach roiled in sickness at hearing the crunch of bone. The repetitive thwack of skin hitting skin.

Before Rafe could knock the guy in unconscious, the wail of police cars sliced through the violence, distant glows of red and blue dancing around the darkness.

“Fuck let’s bounce,” said one hooded man before all four of them dispersed, leaving Rafe breathless and bloody, barely able to stand.

Sofia rushed towards him, quickly hoisting his swaying body on top of hers.

“Come on, my house is a couple minutes away.”

Rafe didn’t say anything. He just nodded, letting Sofia lead the way.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

Rafe sat on the toilet of Sofia’s bathroom, waiting as she rifled through the cabinet for some cotton wool.

Neither said anything, the tension in the small space feeling like thick fog that clogged their throats.

“You’re different…I like that. You’ll do the right thing– I’m sure you will.”

Those were the last words Sofia had said to him– the last time they’d spoken. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to talk with her. He did. Desperately. But for once Rafe Cameron decided to do the decent thing, the right thing, as Sofia put it, and leave her out of his bloodsoaked life. Because that’s what happened whenever he cared about someone. They got hurt. Like his father leaving on a plane all bloody and maimed, cut by the blade of his son’s betrayal. The reminder of Ward sent a ripple of regret through him.

It has been hard to leave Sofia behind fully. She was addictive. Sweet like candy and soft like silk. He missed the air of her laughter– that easy, wispy sound which draped over him. He missed the warmth of her body– her small frame slotting against his larger one in the massive bed. Though she’d been in his life for an embarrassingly short amount of time, her absence left a hefty lacuna in the sepulchral hallways of Tannyhill. She became just another person who was no longer there.

And Rafe hated it.

So he resigned himself to stolen glances whilst she was working, watching as she danced freely at parties that she didn’t know he was attending, also following her home from work to make sure she got home ok.

And it’s a good thing he did– when he saw those men grope and paw at her, sullying her with their filthy hands, rage burst through his capillaries.

He could see the result of his violent outburst now in the dull yellow glow of the bathroom lights, his knuckles split and hemic, rivulets of blood flowing through the grooves of his skin.

Sofia ran the cotton wool under the hot water of the tap, gently lifting his hands up so she could clean the blood.

Her eyes fixated on the task at hand, as Rafe revelled in the gentleness of her touch. He usually had to patch himself up after fights, struggling alone behind a closed bathroom door, whimpering as he licked his cuts clean like a bad dog.

As she worked to clean him him, Rafe’s eyes dipped downward and saw the graze on her knee, a sizeable red scrape against her golden skin.

With his free hand, his fingers instinctively brushed against it, causing Sofia to jump up in surprise.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, retracting his hand away. Sofia just shook her head gently as if to say ‘it’s ok’.

She was close enough so that he could smell her strawberry shampoo– remembering the sensations of her tresses tickling his chest as his face nuzzled up against the crook of her neck. He honed in on the way her fingers skimmed his hands with the cotton wool– mirroring the touch of her fingertips gripping on to his shoulders as he pressed into her warmth. Rafe stirred with a heady desire from this inundation of memories that made him lightheaded, suddenly standing up in the tiny bathroom.

“Is everything ok?” Sofia asked, looking up at him with a furrowed brow.

He nodded quickly.

“Let me clean you up too.” His hands floated over the curve of her hip, directing her to the bathroom counter, lifting her slightly to place her on the flat surface. Sofia let out a little gasp as he suspended her in the air, her eye contact unwavering.

The image of fucking her in her own bathroom passed through his mind, her soft body pressed up against the basin, the mirror fogged up from their combined breaths. Rafe shook away his thoughts but it was hard to do when she was so damn close. Rafe wetted some cotton wool, hooking his hand under the meat of her thigh, before cleaning the cut gently. He tried to control the tremors of his fingers, but it was near impossible.

Sofia’s soft breath fanned his nape, hitting his sensitive skin as he looked down at her leg. He shuddered slightly imagining her lips hitting that spot, her tongue supping away at his neck. The memory of her kisses hit him like a truck, the skilled manoeuvring of her mouth, leaving him trailing after her with inexperience.

Fuck he missed her.

Rafe plastered her knee up, rubbing his thumb up and down the plush of her thigh, before regrettably letting go.

Sofia starred up at him with her big, hazel eyes– they were almost imploring. But imploring him for what he didn’t know.

Their faces were inches a part. Rafe could see her scattering of freckles, each individual eyelash.

As if by instinct, his face hovered closer, the slope of his nose brushing against her cheek. Sofia’s breath hitched, the swell of her breast rising and falling with each uneven pant. Her lips opened, pink and wet and shiny. They looked so inviting. He could slip his tongue so easily between her mouth right now. She was right there.

Rafe could see her hands gripping the counter edge, her knuckles contrastingly white to his reddened ones.

“I should go,” Rafe murmured, eyes flickering over her face. Sofia did the same, her gaze alternating between his lips and eyes.

Sofia’s hands reached over to hold his, wrapping her fingers around his raw skin, “thank you Rafe.”

“No problem.” His voice was a raspy husk.

Rafe moved away from her and his heart clenched at the sudden distance. He left her sitting alone on her bathroom counter, her hair tousled around her pretty face and legs pressed deliciously together.

But despite how badly he wanted to destroy the space between them, pressing her up against the tiles, hooking her leg around the curve of his waist, Rafe still turned and faced the door.

“Wait.” Her voice was small and soft and hopeful.

He stood still, turning to face her slowly.

She jumped down from the countertop. “Why don’t you stay the night?”

Rafe’s heart faltered. Say yes, you idiot.

But he couldn’t do this. The past couple weeks watching Sofia, inhaling her like she was his new drug, he learnt just how different the two of them were. She criss-crossed around Kildare like a saint– dropping her siblings off to school in that scrap metal car of hers, volunteering at her local church, slaving away at her job and plastering a smile on for asshole customers. Even at the parties, she never was selfish or hedonistic. She minded her friends with care, she oftentimes was the designated driver and she smiled at everyone no matter kook or pogue.

Sofia was kind. Sofia was good.

Who was he to use her for his own personal gain? Even now, when he was lauding her saintliness, he couldn’t help but envision her at his mercy, inside of her, her name on his lips, his hands in her hair.

“It’s ok Sofia, I need to be heading home anyway.” He mumbled stupidly, palming the back of his neck.

Her face flashed with hurt– eyebrows stitching together, lips frowning in a pout. But she quickly recomposed herself.

“Ok.”

Rafe turned to leave, opening the bathroom door.

“What were you even doing here in The Cut?” Sofia suddenly asked.

Rafe froze. Fuck. He turned to face her slowly.

“Meeting a friend.”

“Oh,” Sofia intoned, “a friend? I thought you wouldn’t have any pogue friends.”

Rafe smiled, amused at her pointedness. “Then what are you then?”

“I don’t know…what am I?” Her tone took on a meanness that was uncharacteristic.

Rafe swallowed thickly, embarrassment tinging his cheeks, “Sofia–“

“You ghost all your friends? Or just all your fuck buddies?”

“Sof–“

“A text would’ve been nice. You don’t have to pretend like I don’t exist.”

“I’m sorry.” That was all he could come up with. One measly apology.

Sofia sighed, running a hand through her hair, “I’m sorry too– you don’t owe me anything. I– I just thought that you…I just thought that we…” she trailed off, a meekness settling over her body.

“You just thought that we– what?” Rafe probed, stepping closer. He wanted her to say more. Wanted her to give him a reason to stay.

“Nothing, nothing. You can go, it’s fine.”

“Sofia–“

“Please leave Rafe.”

His shoulders sagged with that all too familiar weight. And with a brief nod of the head, he left her there, finding his way back to his car parked a couple blocks down, the one he used to follow her down the street in, watching her with an obsessiveness he didn’t know what to do with, monomania seeping uncontrollably from his pores.

Rafe was about to drive the car back home, when he circled back, parking outside the house he was just in. Turning the engine off, the headlights flashed away into nothingness, leaving the car undetected from the street.

His eyes crawled up to Sofia’s bedroom window. She never closed the blinds. She was so naïve. So trusting. He was doing the right thing leaving her out of his instability, his fractured, messed up self. He’d hurt her like everyone else. And he didn’t want that.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t watch.

Watch her slip out of her work clothes, imagining it was her was undressing her. Watch her examine the band-aid he put on her knee, recalling how her supple legs felt under his fingertips.

Watch her unhook her bra, slipping into her pyjamas then into bed, savouring the memory of how it felt to fuck her.

Rafe drove away quickly, shunning away the perverted thoughts that whirled around his mind.

He wondered if Sofia still thought that about him. She said he’d do the right thing– but Rafe didn’t know what the fuck that meant. He told himself he’d stop it. Cut all contact from her. Even the obsessive surveillance.

But the next morning, he made sure to arrive early at the country club, so he could watch her at the bar, like always.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

[anystalker707]

I <3 making pretty boys cry

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x [gender-neutral] Reader Summary: Anakin cries when you blow him Tags: drabble / Anakin's pretty whimpers / teasing him / edging / dacryphilia

MASTER LIST

          The Jedi code was extensive, descriptive, and strict, but it never stopped exceptions, and Anakin himself was a great one, ever since the beginning. He was supposed to be many things, but none mattered the moment he was with you, away from prying eyes. Sometimes, when you were lucky enough, you would manage to slip away because spending nights in the Temple was too risky, within the sense of so many powerful Jedi that could sense your connection as easily as one could notice a sudden breeze.

It was a cheap motel in the lower levels of Coruscant, but it was more than enough if it meant the two of you could be together without worrying about anything beyond the closed walls of the bedroom. Not even ten minutes had passed since you two entered the room, and Anakin’s pants already echoed through it, punctuated by soft whimpers.

A pretty pink dusted Anakin’s cheeks as he looked down at you through half-lidded eyes and blown pupils, hands pressed to the wall, each by a side of his hips. Fuck it if the floor would stain your pants and leave marks on the knees, you just couldn’t waste any second by moving to the bed or the couch, much busier with continuing to mouth the outline of the bulge that strained his pants, keeping your eyes on his face as much as you could.

“You’re so hard for me, baby,” you mumbled, easily earning yourself an adorable whine. Anakin’s cock visibly twitched when your fingers grazed the waistband of his pants, so you took a few more seconds than you planned to start tugging it down, letting it grind along his length, and when you did the same with his boxers, he let out another breathy moan. “So pretty. Look at you.”

Pearls of cum glazed the flushed tip, enough to ease your hand’s motions as you wrapped it around his cock and pumped him slowly, feeling every vein, every pulsation. Your eyes followed attentively as another bead escaped his tip, rolling down your thumb’s knuckle.

“Please,” Anakin’s breathy plea cut through your thoughts, and you glanced up at him again, wishing you could swallow the moans straight from those soft plush lips, but you focused on busying your mouth with something else right now.

Anakin was sensitive, and you never had the opportunity to have him often enough to cure that sensitivity away, which was far from bad. He was responsive to every little touch, craving everything and anything from you, and who were you to deny?

The tangy, salty taste was more than familiar, spreading on your tongue as you licked a stripe from the base to the tip before going back down, tracing the vein. Up again, your tongue reached the underside of his tip, snatching a higher-pitched moan from Anakin as his hips bucked forward. You could only imagine how painfully needy he was after only being palmed and mouthed through his pants for so long, only now getting the friction and contact he ached so much for.

Your tongue swirled around the tip before closing around it, and Anakin’s breath fell completely out of pace when you finally took him in your mouth. First, deep throating, then bobbing shallowly. Even if he tangled his fingers in your hair, it was mostly for leverage than to fuck into your mouth, because he obediently kept his hips in place when you held them against the wall.

“G’nna cum,” Anakin whined, cock twitching, leaking more, thighs quivering. How adorable. A sound of frustration followed after you pulled away, and cold air replaced the warmth of your mouth; he almost folded over. He looked down, eyes glazed, as he observed you nuzzle into his crotch, in a way you mouthed at his balls lightly. It felt so good, but he didn’t want to cum like that, he needed you, he needed you to have every drop.

“Mmph, please,” Anakin repeated. He hoped he could hold back.

“What’s it, baby?” You raised your eyebrows lightly, heart fluttering when you caught the sight of a tear finally escaping his eye and trailing down his cheek. Your thumbs rubbed circles into his hips, soothing and demanding all at the same time.

“Need your mouth ‘round me,” Anakin babbled. The words ran one into another, his small voice breathy and whiny. He exhaled shakily, another tear escaping his eyes as his cock twitched painfully.

“Oh, poor little thing,” you whispered, kissing his tip while wrapping a hand around the base of his cock. “‘M gonna take care of you.” You took him into his mouth again, cock heavy on your tongue, throbbing even more when you hollowed your cheeks. Something similar to a sob escaped his lips, and it didn’t even take long before he came, salty bitter cum coating your tongue as you kept working your mouth around him, despite the soft sobs that still escaped his lips, muffled by his palm.

[saoirsezz]

ᯓ STRANGERS TO A LOST SOUL | 리키

PAIRINGS. stranger!riki x stranger!reader

GENRE. fluff, sprinkle of angst

WARNINGS. none

SYNOPSIS. after a very terrible day, you found yourself wanting to dissocialize from the world, what happens when coincidentally, someone did too?

THE RAIN WAS POURING HEAVILY, so was your tears. it had been a day like all others, tiring, draining, and clearly pained you the most. the clouds were grey, the noisy sound of raindrops concealing your pathetic sniffles.

why must your day simply be terrible out of all days? it was your special day— your birthday, it was suppose to be happy, nostalgic, but clearly something jinxed you for it to be the exact opposite.

your `friends' forgot to greet you a happy birthday, maybe even forgot your whole birthday. you got detention for being late becuase your bike tire got flat on the way to school, so you had to walk.

then some junior bumped into you, making you spill the milk on your uniform, the disgusting sticky liquid seeping through your clothes.

normally, these would simply annoy you, but not enough to ruin your day, but they all just had to happen at the same day, especially the day you were most looking forward to all year. how unlucky.

now you just found yourself crying over frustration on how bad things went. it won't undo what happened, it won't rewind time, but maybe it'll simply ease the little flare in your chest.

there was a small playground inside your village. the heavy rain caused children to stay inside their houses, bored. you were wet with sticky milk anyway, so the rain didn't cause you harm. you sat on the wet swing, little by little pushing yourself. the anger from earlier slowly subsiding, but it's still there.

to your surprises, another, probably also-got-a-bad-day person sat on the other swing. he was also just sitting in the rain with no umbrella. you wondered why he's here, but you came to a conclusion he most likely had a day like yours, if not worse.

“bad day?” he broke the silence. his voice was raspy, tired even. “could've definitely been better.” you sighed, letting your feet dig into sand to stop you from swinging.

he scoffed. “same. i lost at my game and my mom scolded at me saying it was a bad idea to start baseball in the first place— that I should've just focused on my studies. I tried to tell her that being a baseball player was my dream since I was a kid but-” he paused, his voice fading, as if he was weak and wanted to cry. “—she just doesn't get it.. what about you?” he questioned, he hoped you understood, even if you were just someone who he coincidentally met at this time.

“I, it's my birthday, and my friends didn't greet me, no one did. my bike's tire got flat, I'm drenched in milk, and I got my first ever detention. it sounds shallow I know-” he cut you off, shaking his head.

“it's not. I promise,” he paused for a few moments. his gaze lingered on yours, “happy birthday,”

you smiled. for the first time today.

“and go for your dream, I don't know you.. but, I know you deserve to be in the league of baseball. I hope I get to see you in TV someday,” you grinned, there was a spark in his eyes you didn't see when he sat down.

“maybe my day's not half bad.” he smiled as he stood up, “mine too.” you retorted.

you both got up and exchanged smiles, each going in their own ways, you looked back at him, seeing his figure slowly dissappear, you smiled on the way back home. the thoughts of today's earlier dismays were long gone. you had hoped to somehow see him again, and what you didn't know was, he did too.

© work of saoirsezz | sho 🂱

SHO'S NOTE ; i love this so much, i genuinely love this kinda dynamic. i hope u guys like it (╥﹏╥)

[bennyboyfics]

hello! hope ur having a great day🫶

i was wondering if you could write something where reader surprises ben at one of his matches and maybe it's a bad day? so like comforting him after or something like that😊

thank uu🤍

p.s ur writing is spectacular🍀🍀

Every breath you take (I’ll be watching you) || Ben Shelton x gf!reader

A/n: Ty for the request!

Wc: 785

Warnings: slight angst if u squint

MASTELRIST

-

The sun hung high over the court, casting sharp shadows as Ben wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He was down in the third set, his serves not landing with their usual fire, his shots just a fraction off. Every point lost only tightened the frustration in his chest.

He could hear the crowd murmuring, feel their shifting energy as the match slipped further from his grasp. He could barely focus on his coach’s voice in the box—his mind too tangled in frustration—until his eyes flicked to a familiar face sitting among them. You. You weren’t supposed to be here.

You had told him you couldn’t make it, that your schedule wouldn’t allow it, and though he’d been disappointed, he understood. But here you were, perched in his player box, wearing one of his hoodies over your outfit, your eyes locked on him with nothing but unwavering support.

His chest squeezed at the sight of you. For a brief second, something inside him softened. But then, reality hit. His opponent was serving for the match. He tried to shake it off, to push past the tension weighing on his shoulders. He was Ben Shelton. He had clawed his way out of worse situations. But today, his game just wasn’t there.

He lost the match point on an unforced error, his forehand sailing past the baseline. Game, set, match. Ben clenched his jaw, forcing himself through the motions—the handshake at the net, a half-hearted nod to the umpire. The crowd offered polite applause, but it didn’t soften the sting of disappointment that settled in his chest like a heavy weight.

Then, as he turned, his gaze found you again. You were already standing, leaning forward against the rail, waiting for him. Ben barely hesitated. His long strides carried him toward you, his frustration still simmering beneath the surface, but right now, you were the only thing grounding him. As he reached the rail, you didn’t wait for him to say anything.

You leaned down, arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him in close. “It’s okay,” you whispered against his temple, one hand cradling the back of his head. “I know it sucks, but you’ll get ‘em next time, baby.” Ben let out a heavy breath, his fingers gripping your waist as he buried his face in the crook of your neck for a moment.

The warmth of you, the steadiness in your voice, cut through the frustration just enough to stop it from swallowing him whole. His hands slid up to your back, holding you tighter, before he pulled back just enough to look at you. Your eyes were soft, filled with nothing but love for him, and it made his chest ache in a different way.

You cupped his face, brushing your thumbs over his cheekbones. “I’m so proud of you, no matter what.” His throat tightened, the words hitting deeper than he expected. Then, before he could even think to respond, you leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t just a peck—it was soft, lingering, a silent reassurance that none of this changed anything.

That you were still right here. The frustration wasn’t gone, not entirely. He was still pissed about the match, about the way he had played. But in this moment, with you holding onto him, pressing your forehead against his, he could breathe a little easier. He let out a quiet sigh, nuzzling against you for just a second before whispering, “You weren’t supposed to be here.”

You smiled. “Surprise.” Despite everything, the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He shook his head, exhaling through his nose. “Best surprise ever.” You kissed him again, quick and firm. “Damn right.” And just like that, the loss didn’t feel quite as heavy anymore.

[witchygagirlwrites]

Sam Carver x Reader

Sam works with you daily. He sees you as you really are so when he sees Connor dragging your heart around he decides to do something about it.

Companion piece to That Ain't His Truck

Sam knew you from the moment he came to work at firehouse fifty one. It was kind of impossible to not. His first day you’d told him to shut up and fall in line with his lieutenant, yeah there was a chance he’d fallen a little bit for you then and there.  You were best friends with Stella and Violet but if you asked anyone in the firehouse everyone loved you. 

The problem was you had a boyfriend. Connor Rhodes, one of the doctors at Chicago Med. It didn’t bother him at first. Yeah, ok he had a thing for you but if you were happy that’s all that mattered right? That was until he started noticing a change in your behaviour.

You were walking through the bays arm in arm with Violet as Sam walked out the two of you were headed in so he held the door. “Thank you Carver” you told him with a smile. Just something about the way you said his name made his heart flip. Christ he was pathetic when it came to you. He nodded “You’re welcome darlin”

The two of you headed inside so he continued out. He sat down at the table with Kelly and Ritter, both men cutting their eyes at him then at the door where you disappeared. Yeah the two of them had long since clocked him but swore not to say anything to you. He wouldn’t get in the way of you being happy but if Rhodes slipped, just an inch he would be there to pick up the pieces if you’d give him just half a chance.

“We could always make it look like an accident” Kelly offered and he shook his head “Naw, if I get her I want it to be because she wants me” “I respect that”

That was the day he saw a change in you. When you and Violet left on a call you were joking with her and Stella, had a small smile on your face. When you came back you were withdrawn, wouldn’t join everyone and barely spoke to even the two of them. What happened on that call to change your attitude so fast?

________________

The following night he was half asleep on his bunk and heard your phone chime. A moment later he heard Violet whisper “Maybe because she saw you with another woman at med yesterday” and you shushed her. Was that what happened? Did you catch Rhodes with someone else? He’d kill him. That bastard actually had a chance with you, you loved him and you caught him with another woman?

After a moment Violet asked if you wanted to go to the roof and the two of you walked out the bunk room leaving him with half a mind to go get in his truck and drive across town to med and see if he could knock Connor Rhodes’ teeth down his throat.

How the hell could any man have a woman like you and not see what he had? He laid there staring at the roof, knowing he wouldn’t be going back to sleep any time soon. He was too pissed off.

Another week or two passed. He tried to just avoid being around you and Violet no matter if it bothered him or not seeing you look towards him with a smile and not going to your side. He couldn’t risk hearing what else Rhodes had done and reacting badly because of it.

______________________

He was cleaning his gear when you came storming outside, right through the bays then went across the street to the clump of trees. He put his gear away then walked over, noticing you were crying. “Fucking Rhodes strikes again” he muttered to himself, trying to resist the urge to go comfort you over whatever had happened. He wanted nothing more than to just tell you it would all be ok but he wouldn’t make false promises. You needed to leave Connor. The man didn’t appreciate you. He heard what Violet had told you, she’d mentioned to Stella that Connor was bouncing between you and Dr Bekker.

“You’ve had a thing for her for a while” he heard Violet’s voice behind him and nearly jumped because he hadn’t even heard her footsteps. He turned to face her “You are a creepy little thing, sneaking up on people like that” 

She laughed “Says the man harboring a crush on my best friend and watching her cry over her cheating boyfriend” ok, the woman had a point. He looked over his shoulder at you, feeling his heart ache to see you were running a hand down your face, trying to compose yourself. “She deserves so much better than that asshole. His heart’s split but if that woman gave me half a chance mine would be hers fully” he didn’t know why he admitted that to Violet but instead of laughing like he half expected she nodded slowly, a smile slipping onto her face “She wants to go dancing. I’ll get her to that bar on fifth street Friday night. You just be there”

He raised an eyebrow “What’s that?” She shrugged “You heard me. I love that woman like a sister. I’m sick of seeing her hurt. If you mean that, truly mean it then I’ll get her there” hell yes he meant it. All he’d wanted for a long time was a chance with you. He smiled “I mean it” she nodded “I’ll text you when we’re on the way. Wear that black shirt you wore to that last fundraiser CFD had. She kept looking at you even being on Connor’s arm” he grinned “Ok”

Sam was nervous. Violet had texted him that you and her were in the parking lot. He heard your voice the moment you walked in the door and got the pleasure of seeing you before you saw him. You were laughing at something Violet had said. He found you gorgeous in your work uniform so now? You took his breath away. You had your hair and makeup done, had a dress that hugged your curves in all the right places and he was dumbfounded for a moment. 

When the two of you got to the bar you looked around and when your eyes landed on him you smiled “My oh my Carver. You sure do clean up pretty” he was thinking of the fact that while you cleaned up pretty there was never a moment you weren’t pretty. Violet leaned up over your shoulder and told you “You wanted to go dancing. I found you a partner that may appreciate you a little better”

You looked from her back to him so he stood up and offered you his hand “I know Rhodes dragged your heart through the mud darlin. I ain’t trying to romance ya, well not tonight anyways” he gave you a smile before adding “I just want to dance with you and see if I can put a smile on your face because it’s been a little too while since I’ve seen a genuine one out of you” you hesitated for just a moment before you slowly placed your hand in his “Ok”

He led you out onto the dance floor and caught Violet giving him a thumbs up out the corner of his eyes. It was a slow song so he put his hands on your hips and yours went to his shoulders as he moved you around to the music. “You look beautiful by the way” he told you and you smiled “Vi’s handy work really” he shook his head “No,you look beautiful when you’re filthy on a call so you can’t say that” you dipped your head a bit and he could tell you were flustered. “Honey, that was barely a compliment. Has that asshole really been treating you that bad?” 

You cut your eyes up at him and the look in them broke his heart and made him kind of want to knock Rhodes flat “I don’t want to talk about him Sam, please. I just want to dance with you. I’m in the arms of a good man for once. I want to enjoy it” the way your words made him feel was indescribable. He smiled “Yes ma’am” as he spun you in a small circle then pulled you back into his arms.

The first time you and Sam kissed was when he got out of a building after a close call. He hadn’t been expecting it. He took his helmet off and the moment it hit the ground you dove into his arms fast enough both of you nearly hit the dirt “Sam! Are you ok?” you asked, pulling back to look over him and he smiled “I’m fine darlin”

You shook your head “Come to the ambulance let me check you out” he thought it was ridiculous but didn’t want you to worry so he followed you to your rig. He sat there while you took all his vitals and smiled when they were all normal. “See? Told you” you shook your head then gripped his chin with your hand and the next thing he knew your lips were crashing against his. His hand went to your belt, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss, rolling his tongue into your mouth as you sighed lightly against his lips.

The only thing that made the two of you break away from each other was Violet clearing her throat. You cut your eyes at her then buried your face in his chest, never minding the dirt on his gear “That was embarrassing” he laughed, running a hand down your back “Oh honey, don’t get embarrassed over a kiss like that” when you looked up Violet grinned at you both “For the first time, I agree with Carver” then walked off.

Only a couple weeks had passed when Sam knew he was already falling for you. You ended up wearing his gear jacket on a call because you’d given yours to a vic. Something about seeing you clear a scene, wearing his jacket with his last name on it cemented what he already knew. You owned his heart fully. You didn’t have to worry about him breaking yours because that would crush his own.

When the scene was cleared you walked back to his side and smiled “Want your jacket back?” he shook his head “No, would love a photo of you in it for my wallpaper” and he saw you dip your face down which now was the cutest sign of you being flustered because he knew for a fact he made a point to let you know daily how amazing you are. “Maybe let me clean up a little first. Catch me on my day off and let me look good under it” 

“You always look good” he told you before brushing a gentle kiss to your lips. You smiled “You’re amazing Sam” he grinned “No,I’m just honest and I know how to treat a woman”

You and Sam were watching a movie at your place, curled up on the couch with the blinds in the living room pulled up. A song you liked came on your playlist so he stood, pulling you with him “Come on darlin” you laughed as he pulled you into his arms, spinning you around the living room. You were both barefoot, but the way you looked at him meant everything. When you spun back into his chest you smiled up at him “I’m falling in love with you Sam” he felt his heart skip a beat at your words. “What honey?” you ducked your head “You’re not a rebound baby, I swear. I know it’s not been long barely a couple months but you’re such a good man, you taught me how someone that cares about you should actually treat you and honestly I’ve never been happier” he smiled “Good, because I’m falling for you”

“You are?” you asked and he nodded “How would I not?” you pulled him down into a kiss “I’m so glad I danced with you that first time Sam” 

@desimarie12

[arach-tinilith]

Okay despite me putting naady through the wringer im very defensive about her and her wretchedness so please be niceys because im she's very vulnerable here okay tyyy 🫶

Karlach confrontation under the cut

A sharp cackle pierced the air over the campfire. Naadja had made some crude joke about the ironhand gnomes having more use as footstools than vigilantes after their bout at Moonrise. Astarion chuckled along to her rantings, paying little mind to the tiefling who was seething in her rage. That is, until she spoke up.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Karlach's confronting tone cut through the air like a knife. When she was met with silence, she continued. 

“Seriously, Naadja. What is your fucking problem? You clearly have one, but you don't tell us anything about yourself when we've told you everything.”

“Well, I had better head to bed. Beauty sleep and all that.” Astarion dismissed himself, earning a harsh glower from Naadja. 

Once he had gotten out of earshot, Naadja turned her attention to Karlach. “What exactly are you hoping to hear?”

“Something! Anything that'll make you make sense. You're so cruel and vile but I know you have to have something worth giving a fuck about because everyone here seems to care. I thought I cared about you too but I don't see it anymore.”

Naadja's fists balled her robes. She swallowed the burning bile that had risen in her throat at Karlach's words. “And what is that supposed to accomplish? If you don't care then fine. But it's pointless to try and pull some sob story from me if you've made up your mind.”

Karlach's voice lowered. “I want to hope that you're wrong. I want to see the good in you. Gods know I do. When I see you, I think of how you selflessly saved those tieflings twice over. I think about the good you've done and it's all a wash when you open your mouth.”

“Okay, okay I get it.” Naadja's eyes shifted away. She turned inward to avoid the scrutinizing, fiery gaze of Karlach. 

“Do you? Or are you just telling me what I want to hear so I leave you alone? Because the more you push me away, that's exactly how you'll end up. Alone.”

“Don't say that.” Her ears dropped at the thought. Karlach was pushing buttons she'd left untouched for a long, long time.

“Why not? You need to hear it.”

“Because I can't be good! I've tried! And it got me nothing!”

“That's not enough, Naadja.”

“What do you want then? I'm too good for the drow and too vile for you. Where does that leave me? I'm sorry I didn't live up to your impossible standards, Karlach but this is who I am.” Naadja's hands pointed to her chest before wrapping around herself. 

“I need to see change,” Karlach said, exasperated. “I can't just listen to empty promises and bullshit excuses.”

“You wanted an excuse! You want me to defend myself when I never asked your opinion. If you lived the way I had, you'd understand.”

“I lived in the actual fucking hells and I still don't understand you. Because you never tell me. Because you don't want to be understood! You put up this big wall between yourself and anything real and live in some fantasy where as long as it's you doing it, it's okay. But it isn't. You're a nightmare.”

“No one taught me to be good, Karlach. I still tried. The only reason I'm here is because I tried so hard to be a good person. But it just doesn't work for me.”

“Don't feed me that bullshit. You do know. And you're like this anyway, which is what makes you so fucking infuriating.”

Naadja's eyes remained firmly on the ground. “... okay. I'm sorry.”

“I don't want your sorries. I want you to stop fucking up and apologizing like that fixes anything.”

“Then you're never going to get what you want.”

“Naadja, listen to me. If you give half a fuck about being the kind of person you think deserves love, you'll try and try again to be better. Until I see something, don't look at me, don't speak to me. I am not going to play your twisted games anymore.”

Naadja didn't speak after that.

[slenbee]

Putting my reply under a read more as it's very long and contains information about:

Pixel AI images and how to identify them.

2. Signs to look for in other AI generated images.

Let's get started shall we? :)

With AI Pixel images in particular (not calling it art because lets face it, AI images aren't art), there are some easy ways to tell if an image is AI generated right off the bat if you take the time to analyze it.

I know that singling out every picture someone makes and finger pointing "That's AI!" isn't a good ideology to have (and it's not), but let's just focus on one of the images that @ai-art-thieves provided above as an example as we know that it is AI.

First thing to note, is that it is a .jpg.

All images made by AI generators are saved as a jpg format. No matter the website or program used, that's just what it's saved as.

Second, the size. It's 1024 x 1024 pixels. Which, if it had been actual pixel art, this image would have been rather clean in its detail when it comes to pixelation. Even compressed as a jpg.

Here is an example of what I'm talking about. This is the image at its full size, just cropped in the photoshop window as it didn't fit:

Here are some arrows just to point out a few telling signs. (I will blow up/enhance them as we go)

Here's an even closer zoom:

Notice how the lines start tilting? How they start rounding out in areas? How one color bleed into other colors? Or there's just a straight up line (middle) for no reason?

Then there's the lower half of the tree.

Notice the random branch cropping up out of thin air on the right?

Notice how the shadow/dark area green towards the trunk of the tree starts getting fuzzy?

Here is an image from the right side of the image with some of the sky.

Take note of these things:

The way that- upon close inspection- you can see an obvious border/smear of color making up the edges.

The way that pixels don't line up, have gaps between them, are soft/rounded around the edges, or 'blob' together.

It's all because the AI, having been trained on likely stolen pixelated artwork from bing/google, is trying to mimic how Pixel art -should- look, but it doesn't understand how colors or things like blending works. (Aka things humans know to do/not to do.)

Here are some AI generated reference images for OC character concepts / items I've generated in the past for personal use (I have not used AI in a long time, mind you.) and I'll point out the big 'flaws' in each one.

"Small, round, wooden boxes filled with loose leaf tea."

First thing to note with this image, is that the smaller, more intricate designs on the boxes that start going out of focus, don't make sense. They have too many petals for being a 'flower', for example, or the way the wood is carved just doesn't logically make sense. In some cases they start having a hint of a pattern or design -in- focus, but then become nonsensical or blurry and start losing meaning as the image gets blurry.

A lot of AI images of book stores and interior settings with warm lighting like this image has will also be like this. There will be a focal point of the image, but if you pay attention to the smaller details, like say the frills or lace of a skirt, dress, or the text on the spines of books or signs, it will usually end up being scribbles or nonsensical lines. Or, conveniently blurry enough that you can't make it out.

2. "An anthro dachshund dressed like a treasure hunter digging for treasure in the sand. He has a shovel."

This is one of the images I had generated when coming up with a visual concept for my OC, Nux, who is based off of my IRL dog Tony.

I can't remember if I asked it to do a pixelated style or not, I think I did, but I don't think that matters.

Anyways! There are some very big and very obvious things that make this image AI. First of all, the sand not being complete there. It's weirdly cut off with a white border for some reason, and there's no sky.

You may also notice that the buckles on both his belt, and chest area, are all warped in some shape or form. One of which connects to literally nothing, and the gold trinket dangling off his leg is just a 'blob' of an object. Same with the ones on his bag.

The foot on (our) left side, is also very widely spaced out, likely due to the AI not knowing how to deal with object interference.

This can result in things being stretched or misplaced in other AI images because it doesn't know when the object behind another object should stop or end.

Or (in the case of that aforementioned plant picture), the pot being above the leaves in a way it very clearly shouldn't.

3. "An angelic hare wearing a white sarong with wings. Digital Art."

This one may be harder to pick out as being AI just from first glance, but when it comes to any kind of humanoid or animal, always remember the following:

Look at the fingers. Do they have 5 on each hand?

Look at the toes. Same as above.

Lastly, look at the eyes.

They have no pupils. Bet you wouldn't have thought about that, huh?

Another big give away for AI images, along with the 1024 x 1024 size, jpg file format, is to remember this:

A lot of AI generated 'character images' will crop around the edges.

Wings will coincidentally be cut off/clipped:

Hands/feet will be cut off/missing:

There are AI 'reference sheets' or 'front and back' images you can generate with your desired prompts, and a very good way to notice these is if one of the pictures are cut off for no reason on one side. (No real artist would ever do that to/with their art.)

Notice the clipping on the left and right in the first, and her hair just getting eaten on the right image completely.

Note both the clipping, added objects floating for no reason, missing fingers, limbs, lack of pupils... ect

Also a lot of realistic AI images have a glossy, 'airy' sheen to it that I noticed too. Like it's got a 'fantasy glow' to it or something. From what I've noticed, at least.

But, that's all I've got for now! I hope this helps people identify what may or may not be AI. I know I've provided a.. lot, of AI images. But again, I'm doing that willingly. They were for personal/private use, I don't use it anymore, and I openly admit as such.

Take care and have a great day!

Two questions:

One,It's it okay to report rjacker. I genuinely think that what they might be doing could be labeled under harassment,and maybe falsehood aswell (which I'm pretty sure is against tumblr guidelines) and if enough people block and report them,they'll probably run off tumblr

And two,unrelated to the last point, what do you think are some general tips for spotting ai (I know some are based on scrambled words,unrealistic body proportions,one body type,etc.),and ways of proving your art ISN'T ai. I glaze my art,digital and traditional and I heard that if glazed art done by actual people is put in a ai "art" spotter (I forgot what it was called),the spotter will say that it's ai,which is untrue.

The first one isn't really a question, but it is certainly some good advice that I might try later.

And two....

If we're talking stuff that came out of the newer models, a sense of genericness is a first good indicator. The other tips you handed out art also good.

AI Pixel art is slightly easier to detect. There are some engines that are getting better at it... but not by much.

Here, I'll generate some trees as examples of what you can look out for:

Having various various pixel lengths and sizes, round shapes where they shouldn't be, smooth gradients where they shouldn't be, warped pixels, and blending colors are signs that you are dealing with ai generated pixel art.

[starry-bi-sky]

finally giving fem danyal her own au and fulfilling my 'danny is an animal whisperer' agenda at the same time: mother of monsters danyal 2.0

i say "2.0" because TECHNICALLY 'mother of monsters danyal' is an au I made back in June for Dark fem!Danyal (who I promptly named Layal). However, I haven't posted much for her yet, and I like the "mother of monsters" premise too much to leave it only to Layal. Plus Danyal in that au was going to become the mother of monsters anyway, just with significantly less world domination and mass extinction.

'Animal whisperer' Danny has been something I've been thinking about since my latest DP 'wolfpack au' post and it's! So fun to think about, and who no better to assign the idea to than Danyal Al Ghul? Who comes from a family infamously known for their love of animals and nature?

Fem Danyal is just purely self-indulgent. *gestures wildly at her* i just lomvb,,, her,,,, I've only really mentioned her in context of the 'Things in Threes' au/my first Danyal al Ghul au with the facial scar, but she's!!! I love her. She deserves her own au <33

So kill three birds with one stone! Make a post about it.

Anyways, Danny has a large lair. Similar to cult leader danyal, her lair is a giant mountain region resembling nanda parbat with a big temple/palace-like area built into the mountain. It's large, it's overflowing with natural flora, with its own mini-floating islands hovering over some areas, and it's also completely empty.

Danny takes one look at her lair upon first meeting, -- noting that it looked relatively smaller from the outside -- and promptly, with the elegance of an Al Ghul, goes "What the hell??" Because yes, while she does enjoy her own solitude and privacy, this is a bit ridiculous.

For heaven's sake, there's even a massive lake in there! What's she going to do with all this space? Can she make it any smaller? Why is it so big in the first place? This looks borderline like one of the mega-islands!

She finds out later that apparently, the amount of ectoplasm a ghost has can have an effect on the size of their lair. And since she has such a large core, her lair reflects that. Wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff, it's bigger on the inside so it doesn't take up "too much space" on the outside. Don't worry about it too much.

Danyal isn't totally opposed to having such a large lair, she's just... a bit baffled by it. It feels like so much wasted space is all. All this flora and no fauna to enjoy it with. It's practically eerie.

She decorates her temple-palace area, transforming rooms to match her needs as she sees fit. In the center of the inner gardens is a massive tree that she likes to climb, with twisting, winding branches. Sam and Tucker have honorary rooms, even if they can't safely leave the specter speeder for long periods of time, even with proper safety equipment. So does Jazz. Ali (Dani) has one too, but he can actually use that one, and Danny brought him to her lair so he could decorate it himself.

She has a personal garden, but for the most part she lets the flora exist as it is. Too much space to cultivate it en masse anyways.

Skip to a few weeks later, on her next visit to Clockwork. She developed a habit of going to see him semi-regularly just because. She enjoys his wisdom, and he has a lot of stories to tell, and when he's not being the cryptic and esoteric timekeeper, he's a bit goofy.

(pushing my dadwork agenda here,,, i think Danny deserves to go 'hey, Lord Clockwork, do you want me to buy you something' while she's at walmart, only to receive a singular glowing sticky note that says 'cucumber gatorade'.)

(She insists on referring to him with his proper titles even for the most mundane of things because it's proper, but Clockwork sees a future where she eventually calls him "Cee" and by all things in existence is he determined to get there. Anyways,,,)

On her next visit to Clockwork, just as she is about to leave, Clockwork stops her and goes; "Ah, I have something for you. Hold out your hands."

Danny does as such, and Clockwork doesn't give out things often, so her curiosity has spiked to the highest levels. He turns away from her for a moment, using his staff to summon whatever it is he needs, and when he turns around.

He drops a fish into her hands. Granted, a fish in a small glass tank. But a fish nonetheless. A small one, roughly about the size of her finger, with a blue-black, eel-shaped body and four sets of glowing eyes. She can see thin, almost translucent, but spiny fins down its back and the start of bioluminescent markings. It's swimming around in circles in its small container.

"Lord Clockwork." Danyal says all too calmly.

"Yes, Danyal?"

"What is this?"

"That is an adolescent leviathan, Danyal." She’s transfixed onto the tank, but she doesn’t need to see Clockwork’s face to hear the smile he’s stifling.

The myriad of emotions that runs through her all at once threatens to overwhelm her, and she can’t tell if the feelings are negative or positive. So she carefully closes her eyes to breathe in through her nose.

“Clockwork.”

“Ah, I see you’ve dropped formalities.”

She ignores that.

“Why have you given me an adolescent leviathan?”

She's expecting the trickster to look amused when she opens her eyes. Instead, he just looks endeared. "I know you're fond of animals," he says, "and you always look amazed when you come across an animal of the realms. So I thought you might enjoy taking care of the young beast, it's mother is dead so it has no one to care for it."

Oh.

"But, if you don't like it," Clockwork's hands reach out for the tank, "I can simply take it back--"

Danyal shifts the tank out from his reach and hugs it possessively. "I never said that. How do I care for it?"

And so clockwork gives her a list, and when Danyal returns to her lair, she sets up a large tank in her room for the leviathan to swim in -- it's much too small for the lake right now, she thinks. She'll feel better if it's somewhere she can find it. She names him Suhā.

Suhā grows quickly, and by the end of the mortal month she transforms one of the rooms into a large pond for him to swim around in. He's a very loyal beast, recognizing her as it's mother of some kind. Danyal takes great care ensuring that her beastie gets quality care, and Suhā swims to the surface to see her when he senses her in the room.

It spirals from there. Somehow, Pandora catches wind that Clockwork gave her a leviathan, and so the next time Danyal visits the Greater Athens, she gives her a baby chimera. It's eyes are still sealed shut, Danyal can't bring herself to say no. She names the little beastie Firas.

Frostbite hears about it too, and not to be outdone, gives her an animal she's never even heard of. Infinite-realms born, apparently. A fox-like creature with two small horns like an impala, four eyes, and tall legs. The name isn't something she's quite sure how to write down, and she's positive that her friends won't be able to comprehend it. She names her Eira.

Getting the three of them used to each other was... interesting. Suhā tried to eat Firas when Danyal first introduced the two, and they've hated each other ever since. Firas and Eira are seemingly getting along. Her island already feels full enough with the three of them on it.

Of course, that's not the end of it. With her luck, she begins stumbling across other monsters. Realms-borne or otherwise. An injured hydra in the Grecian islands that, through lots of trial and error, Danyal is able to rehabilitate and heal. It routinely comes to visit her afterwards.

A griffin with a broken wing that she moves permanently to the island that likes to keep to itself, but tends to come down when she's near. It gets along best with Firas.

A panther-like monster from the Shades Woods that had six legs and three tails, with ends that reminded her of a venus flytrap. It stuck around the heavy foliage and she can only make out where it was when she saw its golden eyes reflect.

She befriends a young indrik with its leg injured, and much like the hydra it follows her back to her island, and stays there in the mountains. It comes out when she's alone, much like her other beasts.

She receives two more leviathan -- one from clockwork, and one she finds herself while exploring the deeper and darker recesses of the Ghost Zone. It was huddled against the carcass of its mother, and she managed to befriend and get close enough to it to bring it back to her island. Suhā is fully grown by then, with a head bigger than Danyal herself and he still likes to stick her head out of the water for nuzzles when she's near.

He's not very happy with his new siblings, but he's not trying to eat them when she's not looking. So she calls it a win in her book.

And it's not just large beasts either; smaller animals begin popping up when she's not looking. Bird-like creatures and small mammals, and she swears she saw a doe (or something resembling a doe) grazing in the forest while she was walking by.

She takes back with her a lone snake egg once, and it grows so big it wraps around her island and sleeps with its massive head on the mountain beside the temple, like some smaller breed of Jörmungandr.

And on and on it goes. Some of the beasts she comes across never step foot onto her island, some of them follow her back, while others she has to carry back. Not all of the ones that follow her stay, and Danny rehabilitates the injured and releases them when they're fully healed.

It's hectic, and busy, and frankly she loves it. Some of her rehabilitated beasts return to visit her, or to have their children somewhere on the island, or whatever it is they need to do.

She becomes a bit infamous for it. She goes to visit Dorathea once, and as she's walking through the streets she can hear some of the denizens whispering while she walks past.

"Is that her?"

"Her highness' friend? Yes--"

"--that's the one--"

"--Mother of monsters--"

Danny's not sure how to feel about that.

Although, she can't say she's opposed.

Danyal Al Ghul, Mother of monsters, raiser of beasts. It has a nice ring to it.