snitches naughty girls get stitches (coming SOON) ~ PREVIEW ~
part 1: damned if you do, damned if you donāt
pairing: dark!jason todd x new gf!reader
warnings: 18+ EYES ONLY, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, noncon/dubcon, smut, bdsm dynamics/punishment, manipulation, degradation, breeding kink, forced pregnancy, vaginal fingering, forced deepthroating, slight daddy kink, orgasm denial, panic attack, violence, choking, mentions of blood, mentions of murdering criminals, mentions of drugs/drug use, knife kink, gun kink, drowning kink, bondage, spanking, biting and marking
plot: You love your boyfriend with all your heart and soul, but things go wrong when you discover he isnāt the man you think he is. When you come across evidence that heās the ruthless outlaw vigilante: Red Hood, it doesnāt take him long to realize you know the truth. And in this case, the truth doesnāt set you free.
iāve been wanting to write a VERY dark red hood/jason todd for a long time and the new gotham knights game kicked my ass in gear. please reblog and comment if you can!!
āJay, babe, pleaseā¦ā The vice around your throat tightens as the blood and last bits of your last meal fight for dominance against your tears. You choke out, snot and blood dripping along your cracked lips and into your mouth. āPlease let me go.ā
The silence is deafening. Your bones shakes. The chain around your swollen ankle and the buckles on the leather cuffs wrists rattle. The pounding in the back of your head blossoms as does the knot in your now empty stomach.
With a move that's second nature, Jason un-cocks his gun, shifts the safety back on, holsters it in a quick fluid motion. The outlaw's gloved hand brushes under your nose, wiping away the crimson stream and a few drops of your fear with it. He slowly cocks his head to the side, his eyes piercing you through his red helmet as he reaches behind his back. Through blurry vision you almost miss the contraption he's holding up until you hear the clink. You instinctively freeze at the sound and you almost vomit at his cold command. "Open.
Title is pending--but for fun I wanted to share a sneak-peek of a fantasy novella I'm working on. I miss writing websites like Figment, so I was going to release this serially.
Chapter 1
If you were to ask Thala what the happiest day of her life was, it would not have been her thirtieth birthday. Sheād started the day off alright: finishing a letter to her parents. Three months ago, her parents left on a year-long expedition to find the elusive electric spotted whale. (Thala wasnāt sure if it was an actual whale or just a very large fish.)Ā Ā
Before their departure, they had arrived at her home for dinner, brought her favorite wine to ply her with, and had said Oh, please look after everything, itāll be so easy, youāre going to take it over anyway. Thala had made up as many excuses as she could, which were not many, you could only insist that you had to stare at the ceiling and feed your cat so many times, and given in.Ā
And then things had gone so horribly wrong.Ā
Thala stood behind the counter, staring into the face of a red-faced woman, and listened for the hundredth time about the tiny cerulean filaments growing in a line across her forehead. In the back, the shopās assistant, Amarella, had taken about twenty minutes to sweep one window.Ā
āThis is unacceptable,ā the woman said.Ā
Thala opened her mouth to say, āWell, youāre going to have to accept it. Theyāre already there.ā But instead she bit the inside of her cheek and said, āI understand.ā
āYou āunderstand,ā you understand what? You can see that I haveāI haveāhornsāā The dead peacock on the womanās maroon hat bobbed dangerously. Thala wished it would come to life and peck her eyes out.Ā
āFilaments,ā Thala said, gently.Ā
āHorns growing out of myāgrowing out ofāI demand you fix it at once!āĀ
Thala, once again, held out the piece of paper. It was becoming quite damp now with her sweat. Despite being near the ocean, the apothecary was hot and humid from the sun shining through the large windows. āAs we discussed, Iāve given you a full refund. This is a note to Dr. Jenkins, he should be able to fixāā
The woman spluttered. āYouāre telling me I have to walk?āĀ
āEr, yes?ā
āHe canāt come here himself?āĀ
Thala reminded herself that a quill would break if you tried to stab someone through the skull. (And eyes would be very messy to clean up.) Behind the woman, the door opened, and the bell tinkled cheerfully. āHe is attending to his own patients, Iām sure. But if you give that to him, he should be able to help.āĀ
āIāll escort you,ā said a calm voice. Thala looked up to see a young man standing in the doorway. He had sharp features and a nose that reminded her of a ravenās beak, but the severity of his face was softened by his round, almost innocent brown eyes. He was dressed in the most ridiculous clothes she had ever seen: a white ruffled shirt with billowing sleeves, tapered at the end by the dark blue and silver-star-studded overcoat he wore, paired with fitted black trousers and tall, gold-tipped black boots. His ears glittered with long earrings, and when he moved, the seven long necklaces layered on his chest chimed just like the apothecary door.āTrying too hardā was an understatement.Ā
The woman spluttered, āI donāt need to be escorted, I needāā
āDr. Jenkins is an old friend of mine. Iām sure that heāll be able to take care of you,ā the man said, flashing her a smile. He offered her his elbow.Ā
āWell, I supposeā¦ā The woman took it without a second glance at Thala.Ā
Thala could still hear her half-hearted protests all the way down the street, and Thala didnāt dare move until she couldnāt hear them any longer. Amarella finally finished with the window, and came up to the front to clean the others. With nothing else to do, she turned back to her other potions.
āThat was exciting!ā Amarella said. She was seventeen, and always excited about everything, good or bad.
āMhmm,ā Thala said, picking up an empty potion bottle.Ā
Luckily, none of the potions she had to make were to be consumed and/or applied to the human body, nor were they high stakesāthere was a potion for growing plants at twice their speed and one for mending sails. Thala did what she always didāshe picked out each ingredient and followed the instructions exactly.Ā
Somehow, something always went wrong. It went wrong even if her mother or father guided her through the potions herself, it went wrong if she studied it on her ownā¦ Somehow, it always ended with Thala standing in front of a useless potion.Ā
Just like at the academy, she thought. Thala sighed as she measured powdered abalone, no more than a limpetās worth, onto the scale. She thought of the womanās dangerously wobbling hat, of her yelling, of her not listening at allāuntil, of course, a man stepped in. Thala wished sheād been a little more forceful. Or maybe a little smarter and not sold her the potion anyway. She shouldāve refused to make it, said they were out of ingredientsāThala accidentally spilled some powder off the scale and onto the ground. She swore just as the front door opened. āJust a moment!āĀ
She quickly swept up the powder and turned. The man from before was back. Despite his ostentatious clothes, he looked sheepish. āDr. Jenkins told me to bring you this,ā he said, holding out a note.Ā
As Amarella and the man greeted each other, Thala read the note. She could barely read Dr. Jenkinsās awful handwriting: Nice work on the filaments. She smiled. Dr. Jenkins may usually be dramatic (sheād once messed up one of his hair potions and heād acted like he was dying), but heād never been cruel to her. Thala said, āThank you. And thank you for escorting her.ā
āAh, well,ā he said, fiddling with one of the many earrings in his ear. āTurns out I had other motives besides charity.ā
Thalaās stomach churned. Every time she made a potion, something went wrong. What if this man was someone with actual power? What if she ruined her familyās reputation? āOh?āĀ
āI need some assistance,ā he said. āBut not from a potion maker.ā
Thala tilted her head to the side. āThen Iām sorry, but maybe youāve come to the wrong place?āĀ
He shook his head. āUnless you are not Miss Thala Dolomena? Of the Upper-Crust Solarius Academy for Fledgling Evocats? UCSAFE?āĀ
Thala stiffened. I used to be, she thought. Even now she still remembered the sinking pit in her stomach as they announced, Thala Dolomena: Failure. You are expelled. Thala gripped the edge of the counter. āI am. But I donāt understandāhow did you hear of me?āĀ
The man pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper and spread it in front of them. It was a flyer from the end of the year showcaseāthe first and last one she attended. The man said, āI was there. I saw your art.āĀ
Thala pressed her lips together and passed it back. āThenā¦ā She started to say you must know I was expelled, but couldnāt bring herself to.Ā
The man carefully refolded the flyer and tucked it into his coat pocket. āThere is no one else I would trust.āĀ
Thala bit her lip and looked down. āWhat do you need assistance with?āĀ
snitches naughty girls get stitches (coming SOON) ~ PREVIEW ~
part 1: damned if you do, damned if you donāt
pairing: dark!jason todd x new gf!reader
warnings: 18+ EYES ONLY, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, noncon/dubcon, smut, bdsm dynamics/punishment, manipulation, degradation, breeding kink, forced pregnancy, vaginal fingering, forced deepthroating, slight daddy kink, orgasm denial, panic attack, violence, choking, mentions of blood, mentions of murdering criminals, mentions of drugs/drug use, knife kink, gun kink, drowning kink, bondage, spanking, biting and marking
plot: You love your boyfriend with all your heart and soul, but things go wrong when you discover he isnāt the man you think he is. When you come across evidence that heās the ruthless outlaw vigilante: Red Hood, it doesnāt take him long to realize you know the truth. And in this case, the truth doesnāt set you free.
iāve been wanting to write a VERY dark red hood/jason todd for a long time and the new gotham knights game kicked my ass in gear. please reblog and comment if you can!!
āJay, babe, pleaseā¦ā The vice around your throat tightens as the blood and last bits of your last meal fight for dominance against your tears. You choke out, snot and blood dripping along your cracked lips and into your mouth. āPlease let me go.ā
The silence is deafening. Your bones shakes. The chain around your swollen ankle and the buckles on the leather cuffs wrists rattle. The pounding in the back of your head blossoms as does the knot in your now empty stomach.
With a move that's second nature, Jason un-cocks his gun, shifts the safety back on, holsters it in a quick fluid motion. The outlaw's gloved hand brushes under your nose, wiping away the crimson stream and a few drops of your fear with it. He slowly cocks his head to the side, his eyes piercing you through his red helmet as he reaches behind his back. Through blurry vision you almost miss the contraption he's holding up until you hear the clink. You instinctively freeze at the sound and you almost vomit at his cold command. "Open.
cw: mentions of blood, bondage, teeth marks/biting (if iām forgetting anything please let me know)
Lustās passion will be served; it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes. -Marquis de Sade
his warm grip around your neck, the soft ribbons tying your wrists to the bed frame, fresh teeth marks on your freshly washed skin stained with blood (both yours and his), the silk sheets under your writhing, helpless, quivering body. how else did you expect to find yourself once you wholeheartedly summoned a demon, a lust one to be exact, out of boredom on a friday night? āidle hands are the devilās playthingsā was one of the first teachings your holier than thou mother injected into your brain before you could walk. fuck! you canāt help the laugh that comes out of your mouth when you think about how that bitter old woman would climb out of her grave if she saw you and Kemp in all his demonic gloryāhis black eyes filled with the need to worship you by bringing you pain, a sultry smile full of sharp teeth he wants to dig harder into the meat of your skin, and a honeyed voice that promises to always take care of youā¦as long you donāt act up.
āØpics and gifs from pinterestāØ
PLEASE REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU CAN!!!! THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT!!!!!! <3
cw: mentions of blood, bondage, teeth marks/biting (if iām forgetting anything please let me know)
Lustās passion will be served; it demands, it militates, it tyrannizes. -Marquis de Sade
his warm grip around your neck, the soft ribbons tying your wrists to the bed frame, fresh teeth marks on your freshly washed skin stained with blood (both yours and his), the silk sheets under your writhing, helpless, quivering body. how else did you expect to find yourself once you wholeheartedly summoned a demon, a lust one to be exact, out of boredom on a friday night? āidle hands are the devilās playthingsā was one of the first teachings your holier than thou mother injected into your brain before you could walk. fuck! you canāt help the laugh that comes out of your mouth when you think about how that bitter old woman would climb out of her grave if she saw you and Kemp in all his demonic gloryāhis black eyes filled with the need to worship you by bringing you pain, a sultry smile full of sharp teeth he wants to dig harder into the meat of your skin, and a honeyed voice that promises to always take care of youā¦as long you donāt act up.
āØpics and gifs from pinterestāØ
PLEASE REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU CAN!!!! THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT!!!!!! <3
Being inclusive with your reader insert fic is a kindness. It tells people of color (poc) that you are considering someone who does not look like you in your fic. It shows love and dedication to our craft. It tells poc that they belong here too and they can see themselves in your story.
Poc arenāt look for activism in fic, we know fandom isnāt that serious, but we should be able to have that same level of escapism when we turn to fic and fandom. We belong here too. This space is for everyone, not just one group of people.
Just to give a few examples of how simple it can be: say āskin warmedā instead of blushed, say ācradled your headā instead of running fingers through hair, say āangles yourself to kissā instead of standing on tiptoes, use italics to indicate Spanish to take out a throwaway line of āyou didnāt understand Spanishā things like that. Small changes that do not impact the fic at all but make a world of difference in inclusivity!
And for anything you canāt/donāt want to change, simply add warning in the beginning. Things like hair descriptors, anything reader might wear, some backstory for reader (especially involving family or where the story is set), readers job, things like that. A lot of times just having that heads up before the fic makes a world of difference!
And one example of kindness we as writers always worked to change: until recently (just a couple years ago) it wasnāt common to label the gender of the reader. But those who arenāt female asked writers to label it so they know which to read and which to avoid, and now itās common to label the gender/pronouns of the reader. So it is possible! It just takes effort! And Iām a writer myself so I know it can be done!
We can pretend to be a bartender or a bounty hunter or an actress or anything else. But we shouldnāt have to imagine weāre a white one.
simon riley has moved to a new city and tries to blend in with the rest of humanity, but it isnāt long after his arrival before the missing person fliers and newspaper headlines of a killer at large only known as āGhostā begin to appear.
he has his sights on two new playthingsā retired sergeant turned detective john āsoapā mactavish who wants the killer in cuffs and behind bars and you, the intriguing psychiatrist on television whoās known for digging into the minds of psychotic criminals.
sitting behind the two-way mirror and camera monitors listening to his current victim scream and beg for anyone to save his wretched life and soul, ghost wonders if either you and soap are ready to play the game he has set in stone or will you both succumb to a madmanās wrath and find yourselves as prey caught in his trap.
āØpics and gifs from PinterestāØ
moodboards for psychiatrist!reader and detective!soap coming soon!!
PLEASE REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU CAN!!!! THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT!!!!!! <3
ghost despises going to the grocery store. heās always left that task up to soap because honestly the skull faced special forces operator couldnāt be bothered. he couldnāt tell you the difference between a granny smith apple and honey crisp apple if you asked him on a good day, but now that his sergeant is gone, he doesnāt know what to do.
grief stricken and numb, standing in the middle of their, no his, empty apartment kitchen, barren cabinets and a flickering bulb overhead keeping him company, ghost can't help but wonder: how will he pick out the right cereal that'll most likely be left in the cabinet for weeks on end before it goes stale? how will he be able to tell how ripe a stupid avocado is? will he be capable of buying the right amount of rice to go with that leftover roast thatās been sitting in the fridge sinceā¦
ghost would rather starve than thinking about even attempting to go into a bloody grocery store.
heās tempted to sit at the small kitchen table that barely fits him, let alone two grown adult militant lethal men, when something catches his attention. out the corner of his eye, ghost spies the one thing that makes his heart race and hands shake in his gloves. soapās jeans. the same ones he wore constantly every day of every week even on missions. the slight tears and holes. the white streaks in the denim where heās worn them out. ha, even the slice from ghostās knife he received while combat trainingā¦in private.
ghost doesnāt know what do with them. his grip tightens as more memories are dredged up when he hears a crinkle. patting down the pants, reaching into pockets, he searches each one until he finds it.
staring up at himāa grocery list. soapās last grocery list.
oat milk. eggs. cheese (vegan because of ghostās dairy intolerance). wheat bread. peppers (green for the salad and yellow for soapās grandmotherās recipe for haggis stuffed peppers with couscous). even in the afterlife, soap is taking care of him.
āBloody hell , Sergeantā¦ā under his mask, ghost smirks as he reads the words and notes in soapās scribble excuse for handwriting through blurry vision.
thatās exactly what the lieutenant needs. a reminder that soap, his johnny, no matter what is always with him.
āØpics from Pinterest and ghost gif from @daniel-bruehl āØ
the sluttiest thing a man can do is stand at 6ā4, have a British accent, wear a skull mask, and have crippling trust issues. oh and letās not forget the thighs weād all love to take a ride on.
ghost despises going to the grocery store. heās always left that task up to soap because honestly the skull faced special forces operator couldnāt be bothered. he couldnāt tell you the difference between a granny smith apple and honey crisp apple if you asked him on a good day, but now that his sergeant is gone, he doesnāt know what to do.
grief stricken and numb, standing in the middle of their, no his, empty apartment kitchen, barren cabinets and a flickering bulb overhead keeping him company, ghost can't help but wonder: how will he pick out the right cereal that'll most likely be left in the cabinet for weeks on end before it goes stale? how will he be able to tell how ripe a stupid avocado is? will he be capable of buying the right amount of rice to go with that leftover roast thatās been sitting in the fridge sinceā¦
ghost would rather starve than thinking about even attempting to go into a bloody grocery store.
heās tempted to sit at the small kitchen table that barely fits him, let alone two grown adult militant lethal men, when something catches his attention. out the corner of his eye, ghost spies the one thing that makes his heart race and hands shake in his gloves. soapās jeans. the same ones he wore constantly every day of every week even on missions. the slight tears and holes. the white streaks in the denim where heās worn them out. ha, even the slice from ghostās knife he received while combat trainingā¦in private.
ghost doesnāt know what do with them. his grip tightens as more memories are dredged up when he hears a crinkle. patting down the pants, reaching into pockets, he searches each one until he finds it.
staring up at himāa grocery list. soapās last grocery list.
oat milk. eggs. cheese (vegan because of ghostās dairy intolerance). wheat bread. peppers (green for the salad and yellow for soapās grandmotherās recipe for haggis stuffed peppers with couscous). even in the afterlife, soap is taking care of him.
āBloody hell , Sergeantā¦ā under his mask, ghost smirks as he reads the words and notes in soapās scribble excuse for handwriting through blurry vision.
thatās exactly what the lieutenant needs. a reminder that soap, his johnny, no matter what is always with him.
āØpics from Pinterest and ghost gif from @daniel-bruehl āØ
PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU CAN!!!!!!!!! THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT!!!!!!
