Dude Ur Interrupting On The Floor Time With Ur Beautiful Face STOP

This advertisement is for The Dead Cat Tail Assassins, a new novella from Nebula and Alex Award winner P. Djèlí Clark featuring HIGH body count with LOW page count. 

WHAT’S IT ABOUT

Undead hired killers, soul-binding contracts, sharp knives, hidden identities, and sweet, sweet vengeance. This is just a snippet of what’s in store for readers in this action-packed fantasy novella. 

Eveen the Eviscerator is a skilled, powerful assassin who is sarcastic, flippant, full of quips, and with a penchant for dark humor. What’s not to love? She’s also nice with a blade, and one of the best at what she’s contracted to do. 

Ready for magic, monsters, and fantastic beasts? Then The Dead Cat Tail Assassins is your jam. 

me when stan calls mabel pumpkin 🥹

Wilson Pussy Indulgence

BILLY MAXIMOFF | AGATHA ALL ALONG ↪ clues

BONUS:

Jason’s Biceps, an appreciation post:

MDNI 18+

jason todd x reader

older bf! jason todd is the biggest munch idc. this man hasn’t had pussy in so long, so the moment he gets a taste of yours he gets drunk. his eyes roll back from your taste, as he grips onto your inner thighs, pulling you even closer as he drenched your pussy, watching your arousal mix with his saliva. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t matter how many times you came, or pulled his hair he doesn’t want to stop. he inhales the scent, taking in the moment as if he was a caveman. he would give your pussy the upmost attention, his fingers knuckles deep as he lazily rubbed your clit, licking a fat stripe along your glistening cunt. it gets addicted to the point where you would wake up in the middle of the night with his head in between your thighs, devouring you. sometimes when your stressed he begs you to let him eat it out, “please baby? i’ll make you feel so good.” sometimes he would eat you out through your panties, the thin material turning transparent within a few seconds, giving him a clear outline of your pussy. when he’s done he would stay in that position, admiring your glossy cunt as your arousal coats his lips and chin with a sheer sheen of shine.

man, i bet some big, beefy woman knuckle-deep in me this holiday would finally fix that faulty wiring in my brain

Jason Todd is a smoker .⠀.⠀.⠀.⠀⠀💭

Jason who keeps a pack of cigarettes in the inside pocket of his jacket, right next to a picture of you he swiped from your desk. Not that you’d ever know, because he’s carefully folded it so only he can see your smile.

Jason who refuses to share his lighter with anyone else. It’s not just because it’s his—it’s because your initials are carved into the side, along with a heart he scratched there himself. He says it’s “dumb” and “just a thing he did while bored,” but you know he’d gut anyone who tried to touch it.

Jason who keeps a special pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket, only for you to see. Each one has a faint, lingering trace of your perfume. He doesn’t even smoke them half the time; he just holds them between his fingers and breathes them in when he misses you too much.

Jason who pulls out a cigarette and pauses, twirling it between his fingers, staring at it with a crooked grin before muttering, “Doll wouldn’t like me smoking this.” He lights it anyway, because he knows you’ll scold him later, and he loves the way your hands curl into fists when you pretend to be mad.

Jason who has a habit of resting the cigarette between his lips while he leans against his bike, waiting for you to finish work, but doesn’t light it until you’re there to steal it from his mouth for yourself. He doesn’t even complain when you do; he just watches, smirking as your lipstick stains the filter. “You’re ruining my tough guy image, doll,” he’ll tease, but his grin says he loves it.

Jason who asks you to hand him a cigarette, just so he can watch your fingers curl around the box. He doesn’t even need one half the time. “C’mon, princess, humor me,” he drawls, leaning back like the cocky bastard he is.

Jason who presses the cigarette to his lips, then stops halfway. “Wait—kiss me first,” he says. “You know it doesn’t taste right if I don’t get one from you.”

Jason who only smokes half a cigarette before flicking it away, mumbling something about how it’s not worth finishing if it doesn’t taste like you.

Jason who hoards all the lipstick stains left behind on the filters, collecting them in a small tin in his room like a damn psychopath. When you find it, he just shrugs. “Don’t judge me. It’s art.”

Jason who lights up only after brushing his lips over yours first, muttering, “You’re the only good thing I wanna taste tonight.”

Jason who keeps your perfume on the nightstand and spritzes it on the collar of his jacket before stepping outside for a smoke. He breathes it in between drags, imagining you’re standing there, rolling your eyes at his bad habits but still staying close.

Jason who buys the most obnoxiously expensive cigars whenever he’s on a mission far from Gotham, not because he likes them, but because he knows they’ll get your attention. “Go on, princess, try it. I know you’re curious,” he’ll say, holding the cigar to your lips like it’s a dare.

Jason who never lets the ash hit the ground when you’re nearby. He stubs it out before you can complain about the smell or give him that look. God, that look—you’re worse than Alfred, but he can’t help loving it.

Jason who swears he doesn’t have an oral fixation, even though he constantly brushes his thumb over his lower lip while watching you. He murmurs, “You’re more addictive than nicotine, you know that?” right before he presses the cigarette back to his mouth, eyes never leaving yours.

Jason who grins every time you scold him for the habit, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Don’t worry, princess. I’m addicted to something much worse than nicotine.” And he doesn’t have to say it, because the way his eyes lock on you, like you’re the only thing that matters, tells you exactly what he means.

Jason who will smoke less if it makes you happy, even though it drives him insane when you ask him to. Says something like, “I’m already a dead man walking, doll. What’s the harm?” But he’ll throw the pack away when you glare at him because he knows you’re right, even if he won’t admit it.

Jason who once tried to quit because you asked him to, and lasted three days before he came back to you, shaking and desperate. "I’ll quit, baby, I swear. Just... just give me time, yeah?" You held him, kissed his temple, and told him you didn’t care as long as he was okay. He’s never loved you more than he did in that moment.

Jason who tastes like smoke and leather when he kisses you—rough and familiar, like coming home after a long day. Who always holds your face a little too long after, like he’s trying to burn the memory of you into his mind.

Jason who, in a rare moment of vulnerability, tells you he only started smoking again after he came back from the dead. "It reminds me I’m alive," he says, exhaling smoke into the moonlight. You lean in, press a kiss to his jaw, and tell him he doesn’t need the cigarettes to prove that.

Jason who tells himself he’ll quit someday. For you. But tonight isn’t that day. So he lights another cigarette and mutters your name like a prayer, the smoke curling around him like a ghost.

Jason who keeps one cigarette in his bedside drawer, untouched and pristine, because it’s the first one you ever kissed for him. He doesn’t smoke it. He never will. It’s a reminder that you’re his, just like every other damn thing in his life.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

Primera publicación (first publication) ¡yupi~!

Por favor, gente. Díganme que no soy la única que hizo una cuenta aquí porque le gustó leerlo desde Pinterest. Me siento estúpida.

(Please, people. Tell me I'm not the only one who made an account here because liked to read it from Pinterest. I feel like an idiot)