#source: midnight run

[cobalt-knave]

Incorrect TAZ Steeplechase #4

Gravel: You are the most incompetent bounty hunters I've ever seen! You couldn't even deliver a bottle of milk!

[incorrectlooneytunesquotes]

Daffy: You and that other dummy better sthtart getting more perthsonally involved in your work, or I'm beat the heck outa ya! Do you underthstand me? Curt Martin: You got it, Daffy. Pumpkinhead Martin: Hey, Curt... he ain't mad at me, is he?

[kitramune]

Random fic rant but while Inuyasha's definitely a softboi and surprisingly devoid of sexism, I feel like a lot of fic authors show their western perspective when it comes to the subject of old timey families. Japan didn't really shut down women until way after Inuyasha's time, ironically due to western influence. In his time it was only fashionable to be demure and ladylike amongst the noblewomen but even then they were praised for being witty or fun at social events and especially towards their husband's superiors and family to make good connections. Lower class women were way more in charge of the household since being in charge of the family and finances was seen as super important and the husband's job was just to work or be away at war. Wives of warriors in particular were expected to be able to defend the household from enemies and got training in wielding Naginata to make up for how they wouldn't be able to overpower a man with brute strength. They often had hidden weapons too, kinda like Sango's, in case of ambush or even as a suicide tool for attempted SA against them.

So while Kaede's village is still considered maybe abnormally matriarchal since there's no head priest, peasant families were less gender divided, if that makes sense. And it's hard to find info on peasants from so far back but I don't think there were any traditional rules on like men being banned from births or anything (cuz I also see that a lot) Even many noblewomen had priests in there to abide by the taboos properly, cuz they were obsessed with that shit like "your vagina must be pointing north and have X amount of feng shui blah blah blah". XD I can't even really blame people though, cuz like I said peasants weren't really documented closely until later when higher ups decided they deserve to be part of history too. I just thought I'd leave some food for thought here.

[jinusajas]

06/05/25; 07:22pm

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ how you help them when they are feeling stressed ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

you could feel the way sylus tenses up in response to your mere presence upon entering his office. his hands were outstretched, fingertips barely grazing the surface of the record player. the syllables that make up his name become locked within the confines of your throat. yet his posture was just too taut-

seemingly ready to spring into action at the slightest movement. you knew that if you couldn’t decipher his body language, then it was sure to end badly for you.

instead of confronting him (asking meaningless questions like what was wrong and how can i help) you give him the space he needed to calm down and work through any demons that he has.

even as you shut the door, you could see the way his shoulders visibly relaxes, knowing you made the right choice as the door became a physical barrier between you and him. you left him alone for several hours while in the company of mephisto, with you doing some chores around the base while making a simple meal for dinner.

with the mechanical crow’s eyes on you, you carry sylus’s portion toward his office, giving the door gentle taps before leaving the tray on the marble floors. despite how empty you felt without speaking to sylus, you knew it was best to give him all the space he needed.

opting to stay in one of the many guest rooms, you take your nightly shower and dress in one of your favorite robes, turning yourself in for the night.

the sheets felt too cold against your bare legs, almost foreign as the place was void of the lingering scent of his cologne. fighting back tears, you fluffed up your pillow and fell against it with an audible huff, clenching your eyes shut as you prayed that sleep would take you.

the moment you woke up, you were dimly aware of how the time read 3:43am and the sensation of powerful arms wrapped around your waist. the subtle sweetness of his cologne makes you visibly relax, your eyelids growing heavier as you felt the way sylus’s hands were intertwined with yours.

the sounds of his gentle snores was more than enough proof that sylus had gotten over whatever had upset him earlier, with him following you to the spare bedroom as he held you tightly within his embrace.

and there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

the clock was ready to strike at midnight when the sounds of the door unlocking makes your ears perk up. ready to greet zayne, you stand off to the side, only to be met with the disheveled version of your lover.

his ebony locks appeared to he a mess of tangles, as if he had spent the entire day running his hands through them. zayne barely looks at you, choosing instead to slam the door shut before disappearing into your shared bedroom.

zayne’s lack of acknowledgment admittedly left a bitter taste in your mouth, and you felt your heart breaking in response. never before had he given you the cold shoulder-

as if looking at you was the main source of his misery.

your throat clenches up in response, with you silently reheating his dinner that you had made for him hours ago. while you worked on warming up his food, you heard the sounds of the shower running as you visibly relaxed in response.

once his dinner was neatly placed on the table, you grab some extra sheets and blankets from the closet, quietly making your way to the guest bedroom. the room felt colder than usual, becoming all too evident as to how it was rarely used as you spread the comforter and sheets across the queen sized mattress. climbing onto the stiff mattress, you swallow back your tears and prayed that sleep would find you.

minutes seemed to morph into hours as you continue to lay stiffly on your side, unable to find the comfort of sleep without zayne holding you so gently against his chest. as you were close to wallowing in your misery, you stiffen at the sound of the door opening.

your name tinged with guilt falls from zayne’s lips as he shuts the door behind him. his every footstep was heard echoing throughout the room before you felt his added weight against the bed. you don’t resist him when he pulls you into his embrace, placing a kiss against your hair while muttering soft apologies to you.

soon, you began to feel drowsy, feeling his warmth seep into your bones as you cling to him as your sole source of comfort.

tensions were high within yours and xavier’s apartment, and you weren’t sure how to respond as you could feel the heat of his fury wafting off of him in waves.

you desperately wanted to do something-

to do anything to help with soothing his anger.

yet when you reached out to him, all you got was a slap against your hand in response. darkness was seen within his gaze, hiding the once true blue quality of his eyes as you took a step back in response.

he mutters something beneath his breath before leaving you alone within the apartment. as you were left alone, you felt your heart reeling from the aftermath of his expression-

like you were someone he despised.

the memory of his burning gaze kept replaying within your mind, yet deep down, you knew that something must have happened at the hunter’s association that made him lash out at you.

sensing that you needed to give him some space, you chose to get a spare blanket from the closet, making the couch your bed for the night until xavier worked through his anger. tears ran down your cheek, dampening your skin until you fell into a restless slumber.

you were uncertain how much time had passed, becoming roused from your sleep when you felt a warm hand gently framing at your face. “hey, scoot over. if you’re sleeping here, then i am, too.”

blearily opening your eyes, you saw xavier’s guilt ridden face in front of you. he rests his head against yours, making you swallow thickly before telling him, “you take the bed, i’ll stay out here until you feel better.”

“i already feel better, and i was stupid for taking it out on you.” not even giving you a chance to protest, xavier manages to pick up your form before settling himself on the couch. he places you directly above him, hands traveling down your sides while drawing comforting circles on your back.

hushed apologies were whispered throughout the night along with some shared kisses and promises to never let anyone’s emotions get the best of them.

rafayel seldom gets stressed-

but when he does, the young lemurian can and will do everything in his power to keep you within his embrace. he’ll turn up his charm and whine and beg at you to stay-

never once letting you out of his sights as he keeps you with your limbs locked together in an embrace. it was during these rare moments that rafayel will allow you to be the big spoon. he’ll bask in your warmth and the lingering scent of your shampoo, using your chest as a pillow as he vented to you about his day.

seeing his pouty expression while giving his full lips a plethora of kisses was the highlight of your day (and when he wasn’t busy being your second shadow) you would try to make him his favorite meals.

even during moments where you would attempt to give him his space, he would simply track you down and tackle you into giving him cuddles for the whole day.

and tonight was no different.

rafayel had spent several days finishing up an art piece, which in turn got in the way of his sleep schedule. he was put in a bad mood when a pounding migraine began to hit in response to the days spent without sleep. with all of the lights shut off, rafayel clings to you, hiding his face within your chest while softly whining about how painful everything felt.

yet you remain by his side all the same, kissing away his whimpers while threading your fingers through his hair, lulling him to sleep while allowing the migraine to melt away into the land of dreams.

much like rafayel, when caleb was ever stressed, instead of pushing you away-

caleb would try to keep you by his side for as long as possible. to him, you were the sole source of sunlight within his monochrome life-

what tied him to this world instead of gravity itself.

so during such trying times, it was difficult for the colonel not to find solace within your embrace.

just seeing your gentle smile and basking in the way you said his name was enough to make all the trials and tribulations of his day disappear into thin air.

there were times where caleb wanted nothing more than to keep you tied to him, wishing on numerous occasions to manifest the red string of fate itself to intertwine between both of your fingertips-

forever tying you to him.

during moments where he’s unable to voice his words aloud, he’ll simply crawl into your embrace. the rough tinge of yearning in his voice as he calls out your name would be your cue to delve your fingers into his hair, massaging his scalp while pulling him closer to your chest.

with his head turned, he’ll listen to the steady sounds of your beating heart, finding peace that you existed in the same world-

in the same timeline as him.

end notes: not my best work, but i wanted to write some more fluff and comfort and take a break from all the nsfw stuff for now ｡ﾟ(TヮT)ﾟ｡ currently unedited bc im too lazy hhhhhhhhh i’ll make any necessary changes later

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[gtgbabie0]

Sevika x Reader

Synopsis: {Sevika has some trouble with her mechanical arm, you offer her help} For my other works my Masterlist is here <3

softSevika,softSevika,softSevika! Enjoy my lovelies <3 💕

The pale light of the moon was drowned out by the neon signs that flicker soft colours of pink and blue which bleed through your small apartment, it was the only source of light guiding Sevika through the room before she finds the light switch, clumsily flicking it on.

It had all gone so horribly wrong so quickly, what was meant to be a simple drop off and pick up turned into a violent mess— fucking useless, she thought bitterly. It’d be the last time she would work with some newbies who couldn’t tell their left from their right.

Her frustrations were bubbling over, that much was clear when she slams the front door shut, immediately wincing at the loud noise and once again she silently curses, this time at herself.

It was well past midnight and you were definitely knocked out like a light, it was endearing how quickly you fell asleep, one moment the pair of you would be talking then the very next you were snoring your head off. The thought of you curled up in your shared bed with your face smushed against the soft pillows makes her smile— the type that softens her hardened features.

It almost made her forget about the dull ache that seized her muscles, almost. She needed a drink.

So with a bottle of whiskey and her toolbox, you had so kindly brought for her spread out on the coffee table she sat down on the couch trying to fix the mess that had become of her mechanical arm— which was so much more harder to do by herself, without you there to unscrew the screws she couldn’t reach or to hand her the right tools… or to caress her cheek with those soft hands of yours, fuck, she had missed you more then she’d like to admit.

Sevika had been at it for hours, fumbling with one stubborn screw that had been lodged stuck. It refused to come loose for love nor money and it was driving her up the damn wall that she throws the stupid screwdriver across the room, watching it bounce across the wooden floorboards with a loud clang and a thud.

She stares down at it with a small scowl, scoffing before reaching for the bottle of whiskey.

“Sev?— what’re you doing?” Your soft voice, heavy with sleep ripples through the silence, breaking down the spell of anger that seemed ever present.

“Nothing, go back to bed, I’ll be there in a minute.” She mumbles the reply, ducking her head down to look at the floor beneath her, it was almost ridiculous how fast the guilt hit her. She’d woken you up at god knows what time with her banging around.

You shake your head at her dismissal, padding your way over to her with a small frown— your hands tightening the silk robe you had wrapped around your body. Without a word she moves her legs so you can perch yourself on the edge of the coffee table, sitting in front of her.

“You won’t be able to fix it if you’re drunk.” You tell her, a small smirk ghosting over your lips as you watch her put the bottle of whiskey down on the table with a small huff.

“It’s not the alcohol—” Sevika replies gruffly, her heart skipping a few beats at the feeling of your hand against her knee as you rummage through her toolbox. “It needs a specific part.” Gods, you made her feel like a lovesick fool sometimes but damn if she didn’t absolutely adore the feeling.

With a soft hum, you let your fingertips graze along the metal fixings of her prosthetic arm, the joints were all broken and a couple of cogs were missing— it’d be easier to fix if it was detached and by the look on Sevika’s face she knew this… but it was a pain to do.

“I could-” you go to offer her an alternative, eyes skimming across the mechanical arm as your tired mind runs a mile a minute.

“Just help me take it off,” She concedes with a weary sigh, nodding over to the screwdriver which you’re quick to pick up.

She didn’t like having it off, to feel so vulnerable and defenceless. In a strange way, it scared her. Sure she could probably knock a guy or two out with one hand but it was still daunting to feel so stripped in such a way.

You stand up from the coffee table, situating yourself in between her legs as you begin to gently unscrew the bolts, handing them over to her one after another as she puts them safely into a bag. Then with a soft hiss of air, the arm comes loose, the weight falling from Sevika’s shoulder and down on the sofa beside her.

“We’ll fix it tomorrow… get that specific piece.” You promise her with a tender smile, looking down at her from where you stand with her rough hand resting over the curve of your hips from between the opening of your silken robe— caressing up to your waist slowly.

“Mmhm.” She hums in agreement, leaning forwards to bury her face into your soft tummy with a heavy sigh that borders on a groan as you skim your fingertips along her cheek and through her hair ever so slowly that it has her nuzzling into you like a damn cat.

Gods, you knew just how to dismantle her… you were a dangerous woman— her kryptonite.

“C’mere.” She mutters, pulling you down onto her lap without a single second thought. Her strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you against her as you melt into her body— her fingers brushing along your hip.

“Come to bed Sev— you look like you’re about to pass out.” You whisper, turning your head to get a good look at her with those soft eyes of yours… so tired and sweet.

“I will just let me hold you like this for a minute.” She replies back, bumping her forehead against your own— pressing a kiss to your cheek then burying her face into the crook of your shoulder, a muffled ‘I love you’ spoken into your skin.

[ahqkas]

“HEAVENLY — jason todd.

PAIRING! jason todd x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS! every moment with your boyfriend felt heavenly — even when he forgot to close the window

WARNINGS / TAGS! pure fluff

WORD COUNT! 1.9k

NOTES! it started snowing recently in my town soo i rewrote one of my older stuff . header below by @/v6que

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

HAVING JASON TODD AS A BOYFRIEND WAS LIKE INVITING A STORM TO STAY, both exhilarating and daunting. Some days, he was a menace—a tease with a roguish smile that made you want to throw a pillow at him even as you melted under his gaze. He'd linger in doorways with that devilish gleam, challenging you with his sarcasm, pushing just enough to light your fuse and revel in the spark. But he was also the blessing you'd never quite expected, with moments of gentleness, like finding a patch of blue sky amid dark clouds. He'd wrap his arms around you on nights when silence grew heavy, his warmth chasing away shadows you didn't realize were creeping in.

Waking up to the unsettling prickle of a shiver running down your body was hardly the best way to greet the morning. With a groggy sigh, you turned your head to the left, squinting at the vintage clock on your nightstand—the one Alfred had gifted you under the guise of "decor." In reality, it was less an adornment and more a tool of accountability, meant to ward off excuses like the last one you'd made: "I stayed up late because I lost track of time." It had been Alfred's gentle yet firm way of reminding you to take care of yourself. And while you had to admit it worked most of the time, today you were reluctant. The clock read 8 a.m., a perfectly reasonable time to wake, yet all you wanted was to sink back into the warmth of your blankets, to slip back into dreams.

Of course, that weariness was Jason's doing. Last night, he'd coaxed you into staying up late—well past the witching hour, maybe until 2 or 3 a.m. You'd lost track as the hours slipped away in the quiet comfort of each other's voices, filling in the gaps that too often felt like chasms in your time together. With his double life, Jason was like a ghost haunting the city's shadows, fighting to make Gotham safer, a noble but lonely battle. So when he could carve out time just for you, you treasured it, sleeplessness and all. He'd made you laugh, drawn you into those moments of closeness only the midnight hour allowed, where the world faded, leaving just the two of you. It was worth every yawn, every reluctant rise from your pillow this morning. Moments like that, with him, were a rarity you'd gladly lose sleep for.

You shifted slightly under the covers, your gaze drifting to Jason, who lay beside you. The sight of him, with his dark lashes resting softly against his cheek and his lips slightly parted, made a smile tug at the corner of your mouth. He looked so much like the term innocence in those rare moments of stillness, his usual sharp edges softened in sleep. His strong arm was draped across your waist, holding you close in that possessive yet tender way he always did, even in his sleep. The weight of it was comforting, grounding—like a reminder that no matter how chaotic his world was, you were his anchor, just as he was yours. His breathing was slow and steady, the rise and fall of his chest the only movement in the room, save for the faint sway of the curtains from the morning breeze. You could tell he was still exhausted, his body betraying the fatigue that even sleep couldn't fully chase away.

As you lay there, your attention shifted from Jason's peaceful, sleepy form to the source of the chill that had pulled you from your slumber—the open window. The faint light of dawn filtered in, casting a soft glow over the room, but it did little to combat the cool draft creeping through the crack in the glass.

Shivering again, you curled closer into Jason's side, the cold air clashing against the heat his body radiated. His arm tightened slightly around your waist, almost as if sensing your discomfort, but he remained blissfully unaware, lost in the kind of peaceful sleep you rarely saw from him. His body was always so tightly wound, even in his rest, like a coil ready to spring at any moment. But now, his relaxed form and steady breathing made you feel safe, even with the chill around you.

A quiet realization settled over you as your eyes lingered on the open window. It hadn't been you who left it open. Jason, of course. He must've forgotten to close it after stumbling in last night, exhausted from his patrol. You could picture it—him half-dazed, muscles aching, eyes clouded with the weight of the night's work, and then . . . the window left ajar, as if his mind couldn't juggle the simple task with everything else on his plate.

You couldn't help the smile that crept onto your face as you watched him, still wrapped in the softness of sleep, completely oblivious to the cold creeping into the room. You reached out, your fingers brushing gently through his hair, tucking the messy strands away from his forehead. The motion was so familiar, so gentle, that it almost felt like a silent promise, a reassurance that you were there, even in these small moments.

Jason stirred slightly, the warmth of your touch pulling him from his dreams. His face twitched, and his eyelashes fluttered against the pillow as he tried to shake off the fog of sleep. Still, he didn't open his eyes, his lips parting in a soft sigh.

You continued, fingers grazing the soft waves of his hair, brushing them back with a tenderness that made your heart skip. The movement was slow, gentle, just enough to stir him without fully pulling him into wakefulness.

"Jay," you whispered, your voice playful but still soft. "Did you forget something last night?"

He groaned softly, his body shifting as if to pull you closer, but you pulled back just enough to keep him from falling back into slumber. His forehead creased as his eyes barely fluttered open, still trying to hang onto the warmth of sleep. The half-conscious look he gave you was adorable, though tinged with confusion.

"Hmm? What?" His voice was rough from sleep, a soft rasp that only made your heart ache in the best way.

You gave him a teasing smile, brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "The window," you said, your tone laced with mischievous scolding. "It's freezing in here."

Jason blinked, clearly processing the words, before his eyes finally focused enough to glance toward the open window. Realization dawned on him slowly, and he groaned again, his face half-buried in the pillow as if wishing to escape the responsibility. But the corner of his mouth twitched upward into that familiar, apologetic grin he often sported.

"Guess I forgot," he muttered, though his voice was still full of sleep. "Sorry."

"You're lucky I'm comfortable here," you teased, brushing your fingers through his hair again, this time a little more deliberately, letting the soft texture soothe both of you.

"Yeah, I'm really lucky," he murmured, pulling you back against him, his arm tightening around your waist. "I'll close it in a minute."

You couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped your lips. "Nope, I'm not letting you off that easy."

Jason groaned, clearly not thrilled about leaving the warmth of the bed, but the glint in your eyes was enough to get him moving. Slowly, he pushed himself up, his bare chest exposed to the chill in the room. His dark sweatpants hung low on his hips, the fabric clinging to his frame in a way that left little to the imagination.

For a moment, you just lay there, frozen in the softness of the morning light, admiring him as he moved to close the window. His muscles rippled with each movement—his broad shoulders, the defined lines of his chest and abs, all sculpted from the life he led, one of endless challenges and unspoken battles. There were scars, of course—some faint, others more pronounced—etched into his skin like a map of his past, each one a testament to the strength he carried, the price he paid for the man he was now.

You didn't need to ask about them; they were part of him. And though they were reminders of the violence and pain he'd endured, they didn't repulse you. If anything, they made him more real, more human. More Jason.

You felt your heart swell as your gaze lingered on him, his broad back flexing as he pulled the window shut with a soft click, his body turning toward you. The air felt warmer now, the room no longer biting with the chill it had moments ago. But the warmth you felt wasn't just from the room—it was him. It always had been.

Jason caught your gaze as he turned, his lips curving into that signature, lazy grin, completely unaware of the way you were drinking him in. "See? All fixed," he said, voice thick with sleep but still holding that certain edge.

You smiled back, but it was softer, more sincere than you realized. "Yeah, thanks." Your voice caught in your throat for just a moment as your eyes wandered over him again, and you had to blink a couple of times to keep the heat from rushing to your cheeks.

Jason's smile faltered as he noticed the way you were looking at him, that quiet admiration on your face. He took a slow step forward, his posture casual but with a subtle vulnerability underneath, something that always seemed to surface when he felt the weight of your gaze on him. "What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, but there was a touch of humor in his voice. "Something on my face?"

You shook your head, trying to snap out of your daze. "No," you said, voice a little quieter now, "just—just you."

He stepped closer, his expression softening like it always did in your presence. "What about me?"

You smiled again, but this time, it was all warmth and affection. "I love you," you said simply, your voice barely a whisper, but it was the truth. Every scar, every muscle, every part of him. It was all Jason.

Jason stood there for a moment, eyes locking with yours, as if reading the quiet sincerity in your gaze.

"Yeah?" he murmured, his voice a little raspier than usual, thick with emotion. He reached up, his hand brushing gently against your cheek, a soft gesture that seemed to speak volumes more than words could.

You nodded, your smile still there, but now tinged with a softness that only Jason could bring out of you. "Yeah," you whispered again, a little breathless, "just you, Jason."

For a long moment, he didn't say anything. He just looked at you, his gaze deep and knowing, like he was searching for something in your eyes. And then, with a slight curve of his lips, he whispered it back, his voice so raw, so full of everything he usually kept hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and nonchalance.

"I love you."

It was simple, but the way he said it—the way his hand lingered on the apple of your cheek, the way his eyes softened, like the weight of the world didn't matter as long as you were  there—made the words feel more real than anything.

You felt your heart skip a beat, warmth blooming inside you at the truth in his words. This was Jason, in every imperfect, beautiful way. And you loved him just as much, maybe even more, for all of it.

[thetrasha]

One Piece: Kaleidoscope Kisses

feat. ZORO, USOPP, SHANKS, BUGGY, MIHAWK

ZORO

Mood: FAMILIAR

Type: KISS ON THE LIPS

Zoro is a man who keeps most matters private. People don’t need to be all up in his business; he can decide for himself, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. He isn’t used to truly committed relationships since he’s intensely concentrated on becoming the world’s greatest swordsman – that’s his dream and he does everything in his power to chase that title. Naturally, since his training is so taxing and all-encompassing, he hasn’t had the time to focus on what he wants. He knows the in and outs of serious relationships solely due to social conditioning, but hasn’t reached past the age-old traditions yet. Zoro would never be embarrassed of you, anyone associated with him is a great source of pride for him – you’re certainly not an exception. He’s proud to call himself your partner. Still, he’s rather reserved. The Zoro you know to be intimate and open is a thing between you two. Deeply private, thoroughly perceptive and confident in his abilities – that is the Zoro you know.

A kiss on the lips shared between lovers – what a classic! He finds great comfort in emulating what generations of people have done long before you two were born. If their love has been persistent enough for him to worship its sacred nature, then he wishes that your relationship, by sealing every promise muttered to you in-between kisses with love, will, too, be remembered by generations to come.

USOPP

Mood: SHEEPISH

Type: KISS ON THE CHEEK

Usopp doesn’t mind showing that you and him belong to one another, in fact, he prefers it. It makes it so real and… palpable. Whenever others acknowledge that you and him are a couple, he puffs out his chest; it doesn’t make him feel small at all, if anything, it’s quite the opposite. You like him because of who he already is, not who he projects to be. You are interested in what he will be, instead of who he could be. That makes him feel very secure in your shared connection. Usopp just cannot help but blush whenever you kiss him – his skin is scorching hot all of the sudden and laughs weakly, absolutely smitten. He finds it hard to reciprocate, but doesn’t ever want to think that he doesn’t want your daily confirmations of your love for him, so he started kissing your cheek whenever you’re near.

It’s gentle, sweet and fleeting. He never lingers and often just does it to surprise you, to see a firework dancing in your eyes. It quickly turns playful and the adoration burning in his soul softly dimmers down into domestic bliss, grateful to have found you. He’s happy to express himself in ways that make him feel powerful, after all… you belong to him, just like how he belongs to you.

SHANKS

Mood: SENSUAL

Type: FRENCH KISS

Shanks has developed some unhealthy habits throughout the years… and they run deep. Incredibly, his drinking isn’t the main problem; no, instead, he has acquired the nasty habit to push the people he loves the most away from him. Shanks is someone who firmly believes that he has to shoulder the pain of the world, that he alone can help the helpless and the weak by internalising every bit of evil and piling it onto his peace-loving personality. He is by no means a bad man, but behind the image of the strongest, the most reckless, perhaps the happiest pirate on the planet lies a flower bed of missed opportunities and mistakes. Sometimes, he tries to pull his little stunt with you, trying to cope with a sudden bursts of regret due to melancholy. The only thing that helps is a firm kiss that you are his endgame.

And then, the Shanks who regrets mostly everything joins the Shanks who doesn’t regret anything – both are him, he is early sunshine and he is midnight… all by himself. And just like the tides of time, he consumes you whole. You get dizzy when this rare mood strikes him, because he is all-engulfing, and he wants to remind himself, every time, without fail, that pushing you away wouldn’t do anything but break him further.

Shanks, someone who appears to be larger than life, loves you for reminding him that he is only human after all.

BUGGY

Mood: VULNERABLE

Type: KISS ON THE NOSE

A man like him couldn’t ever be loved, he takes that assumption his self-loathing made up just for him as fact. Less so, now that he actually has a partner who loves him, but he cannot help but look in the mirror after a particularly difficult day. He’s taken his make-up off, his stubble is slowly growing into a beard, and the hair he cares for has become greasy from sweat and grime. When Buggy was a mere boy, you were someone he could only dream of being with; your kind and his kind usually don’t mingle. Meanwhile… he finds it hard to believe that you dreamt of someone like him when you were still little. Someone like him? Really? What… is there to love? Aside from being a liar on a grand scale, Buggy has accomplished nothing that would justify your interest. You were… everything. And he was nothing.

You see the change in his eyes and demeanour as soon as he leaves the bathroom again. He looks… so sad. Frighteningly sad. It breaks your heart to see him like that, but he’s slowly getting better at dealing with his own insecurities, bit by bit. It may never go away completely, but you want to make him see just how little you care for his everything, for he is your everything. A chaste kiss on his swollen nose stops him in his tracks, and genuine wonder replaces the sorrow in his gaze. And then, for the rest of time, you tell him you are proud to call him yours.

MIHAWK

Mood: INTIMATE

Type: KISS ON THE BACK OF THE HAND

Mihawk is accomplished, classy and has an acquired taste for the unconventional. A hardened life, marked by rigorous training, thrilling adventure and an unprecedented amount of power, makes quite lonely by nature. Solitude hasn’t evaded him just because he’s the best – quite the opposite, actually. It went after him directly, because he never noticed his own strength and the strange persona he managed to craft didn't help him in the realisation department. He's come to one conclusion, though… you don’t just believe that you’re the best all of the sudden, you notice it as soon as adversaries cannot keep up with your progress anymore. A lone wolf by nature, Mihawk’s immense pride couldn’t let him believe that it might become a problem. He’d rather feel thousands of years worth of pain than to admit defeat once.

You… always managed to disarm him, though. You aren’t as good as him, you’ll never be – both of you know that. Doesn’t mean that you aren’t allowed to try. Whenever you engage in the dance of battle with him, he can’t help but notice deadly amounts of admiration for you. Distractions like these are what get people killed out there.

He swiftly cuts you down with the back of his sword, handle digging into the back of your shoulder. He applied enough pressure to dominate the fight, but not enough to hurt you once. Dryly, he commented that he won. 281:0.

The two… he affectionately calls them “nit-wits” he housed and mentored watched in amusement, because they didn’t know who you were, but they certainly almost doubled over when Lord Dracule Mihawk helped you up before kneeling down and lowering his head, kissing your hand like it was normal.

[elixirfromthestars]

Kiss It All Better

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (established relationship)

Summary: Your boyfriend Peter hasn't contacted you in days, but one stormy night in a dark alley would change that.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warning(s): none really / fluff / sprinkles of angst / if you squint you could maybe see some hurt + comfort

requested by anonymous

a/n: Another bingo request down!! I promise I am doing my best to get through these. As always I appreciate everyone's patience and support!! ❤️ Thank you for reading!! Feedback is always appreciated!! ❤️❤️

birthday bingo masterlist ♡ // main masterlist ♡

A flash of white light illuminates the narrow alleyway you are walking through. A loud rumble follows, practically shaking the concrete beneath your feet. The storm would start any second now and you would most likely get caught in it if you didn’t make it home soon. Your pace quickens as you begin to make haste. 

Getting caught in the rain would only worsen your mood. 

Your footsteps echo and bounce off the alley walls. The wet concrete smell mingles with something sour making your nose scrunch up. You hold the strap of your bag tight against your chest, a small comfort in the night. The dark clouds in the sky hide the moon from your view, causing only a few street lights to vaguely cascade their glow onto your path. The shadows cling to the brick walls around you making your surroundings more ominous than they really were. 

This was a bad idea. You know this—anyone would know this—it was common sense. You shouldn’t be walking down a New York alleyway alone at midnight. However, you had little to no choice with no cabs in sight and no rideshare vehicles available. You’d have to make the journey on foot if you wanted to make it home before the storm worsened. 

Your apartment was only a few blocks away from your job, and you already had an established route you took back and forth. It was a longer route—more scenic—and on nicer days you enjoyed strolling along it accompanied by your favorite tunes. However, on nights like this when the sky decides to descend a tempest upon the earth—you prefer to take a risk with this shortcut.

A few droplets falling on your head turn into streaks and then a pour—catching you off guard. You didn’t think the ferocity of the water would pick up so quickly. You hurried over to take refuge underneath the slight coverage of the fire escapes lining the brick wall to your right. The cold metal frame above did little to shield you as droplets fell from it onto your head. Nevertheless, this would have to do until you could determine your next move. 

You could run the rest of the way home and hope you didn’t slip in the rain—or you could give the rain a few minutes to die down and then run—the idea of waiting brought an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You dreaded having to be out here longer than you needed to be. 

Would it really be safer to run though?

As much as you didn’t want to wait you decided it would be better than falling face-first into a grimy puddle. You shifted on your feet, the soles of your shoes squeaking against the pavement, your body shivering as the water soaked through your thin jacket. Each second seemingly stretches out endlessly as you watch the rain crash and splatter against the ground. 

You took out your phone to check the weather app. Your hand resting perpendicular to your forehead as a makeshift shield to protect your phone from the rain. Droplets still fell on your phone anyway and with the way the water clung to your hair and eyelashes—your vision was more than obstructed. 

So much so that you didn’t notice when a shadow loomed over you. 

“Hey beautiful,” a voice directly next to your left spoke, startling you. A gasp left your lips as fast as your heart sped up. You jump back from the source of the voice, creating as much distance as you can without slipping into the full force of the storm. You turn to see who it belongs to, your phone tightly gripped in your hand. 

When your eyes met the white ones on the red mask, your body immediately relaxed from its frozen state. A breath of relief escaping you that sounded more like a choked laugh. 

“Baby, I swear I didn’t mean to scare you!” Peter sounded apologetic while laughing all the same at your reaction. He was hanging upside down by a thick string of web when he lowered down to be at eye level with you. Small streams of water cascade down his superhero suit, pooling at your feet. 

You scoff still a little shaken, “You thought sneaking up on me wasn’t going to scare me?” You put your phone back in the pocket of your jacket, hand on your hip as you try to follow your boyfriend’s logic.

You can’t see Peter’s face, but you know him well enough to know the awkward boyish grin he must be dawning under that mask. “Well…I didn’t think it would scare you that much…” his tone was sheepish and yet just as you assumed, you could see the outline of his smile through the mask.

You look at him shaking your head, playfully rolling your eyes. Whatever annoyance you felt melted away at his presence. Your heart now beating at its normal rhythm. However, his presence also reminded you of his absence this week. Peter hadn’t contacted you in days, and while you were doing your best to be understanding, it still hurt. 

“Nice of you to drop by. Haven’t spoken to you in like,” you count the days on your hand to emphasize the number,“five days. Seems you forgot all about me,” you cross your arms, a resentful look overtaking your features.  

Peter scratches the back of his neck, stumbling over his words. He almost loses balance, his left hand quickly returning to where it was before, holding onto the web with both hands. You frown, unsure as to why he needs both hands to keep steady. Worry overcomes you when the thought of him being in a fight before he caught you here crosses your mind. 

“About that. . . I’m really sorry, Y/n. I promise I didn’t mean to disappear like that without warning. The city’s been hectic all week! Criminals are popping up left and right and I’ve been tracking down this mobster ring—it’s been too much to handle. I couldn’t keep up. And I–” he stops himself to get a good look at you, “I’ve missed you so much,” Peter finishes off his remorseful rambling with a sincere statement. 

He has missed you. More than you’ll ever know. He’s barely eaten, slept, or cared for himself. Neglecting his own needs to make sure the city was safe. Because to him as long as the city was safe so were you—and that meant the world to him. Yet, in keeping his attention on the city he lost sight of where he wanted to be the most—with you. 

The sentiment was mutual. While the city needed Spiderman, you needed Peter. 

Even though he does his best to hide it, you pick up the tiredness in his voice. The way even upside down you can see how his shoulders sag, his overall posture droopy. You notice the way he slowly sways where he hangs, not making much effort to stay in place. You assume he’s done little to take care of himself these past few days. That combined with potentially getting into some sort of tussle moments before arriving—it’s no wonder he struggled earlier to keep his balance with one arm. 

Your gaze softens, stepping closer to him, the rain long forgotten. “ I get it, Peter. I do. I’ve missed you too. You know I’ll never hold being Spiderman against you, but you need to talk to me. Keep me in the loop. Let me know you're okay. I was upset you hadn’t contacted me, but more than anything I was worried. I was afraid something had happened to you,” you say your voice laced with concern. In his absence, you constantly checked news channels to make sure no one had reported Spiderman getting severely injured or worse. 

You avoided all week thinking about the worst-case scenarios.  

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I promise never to do it again. I know I have to get better at communicating. I just don’t like worrying you. All week I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I was on my way to your place when I saw you here in the rain. You really shouldn’t be walking alone at this hour,” Peter’s tone goes from repentant to firm by the end. Hating the thought of you putting yourself in a risky situation. 

You gave him a look as if to say now is not the time to be scolding me. He sighs, reluctantly conceding in hopes of bringing this conversation up at a later time. Right now he wants to do anything to make it up to you. Anything that could sweeten up his apology. 

“I know I messed up, but I think I know something that could make this all better,” he says an idea popping into his head. 

“What?”

“How about a kiss?”

You laugh softly at his suggestion, not being able to stay mad at him for long.“I think that could help. Although, I’ve never kissed someone while they were upside down before,” you mention with amusement. Tilting your head to look at him sideways. You wonder how he’s able to stay like that for so long without getting dizzy.

“Well now’s your chance, baby. I’ll need a little help with the mask though,” he says as you close the distance between you. You happily oblige his request, lowering the mask off of his face. A fond smile appears on your face when your eyes meet his brown ones. The warmth and color inviting you in like a hot cup of coffee—a solace you sought in the cold rain. They pull you in until your lips meet his, your hands holding his face gently.

You both melt into the kiss. Rain droplets joining in, but neither of you mind. In this moment it's solely you two and the feelings for one another catching up after days of longing. How either of you could have gone so long without this—without each other—neither of you knew. 

Maybe five days isn’t long for others, but because Peter risks his life on a daily basis, every moment spent with him means the world to you. 

You pull away to catch your breath, “I think that definitely helped,” you say softly. Peter beams at you, swinging his body so that in a swift motion he’s gone from his upside-down position to upright—standing before you. He reaches out and pulls you into a tight embrace. Holding you close and planting a tender kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. I love you so much. I promise to fully make it up to you,” he says in a loving tone. You shake your head lightly, “Peter, having you here is enough. You really don’t have to–” he doesn’t let you finish. “Maybe I don’t have to, but I want to. Let’s get you home and into some dry clothes. I’m staying with you tonight. I want to hold you all night and in the morning I’ll make you breakfast in bed,” he proposes in soft whispers as his forehead rests against yours. 

“You know I can’t say no to that.”

“Good. I wasn’t going to take no for an answer anyway.” 

Your laughter mixes with his own at his playful tone. He holds you more securely against him as he prepares to take you both back to your apartment. You weren’t keen on swinging across the sky like he was—especially in this weather—but knowing you would soon be cuddled under warm covers with him would make it all worth it. 

You would weather any storm for him, as he would for you—always.

[honeyncherry]

when all else fails - joe burrow

summary some men send flowers after they mess up. others buy jewelry. joe? he prefers to taste your forgiveness directly from the source

content 18+, smut, angst, fluff

Somewhere between the last coat of mascara and checking your dress in the mirror, you felt it—that small, dread-filled certainty that tonight wasn't going to unfold as planned. Not because of anything obvious.

His voice sounded normal on the phone. "I'm trying, baby, I swear. Everything is running late, but I'm pushing to leave early." And you accepted his words, because that's what you always do. You've made a habit of hope.

The rain set the mood, persistent and melancholy—lazy droplets crawling down windows, blurring the world outside like your expectations for the evening.

It seemed almost cruel now. He was the one who'd brought it up three weeks ago, sprawled across your bed, his phone in hand and your feet in his lap. "I made reservations for the 26th—same place as last year. Figured we'd keep the tradition going." You'd looked up, surprised, and he'd smiled at your expression. "You think I'd forget our anniversary?"

He hadn't forgotten. The calendar on the fridge was marked. His phone reminder had gone off yesterday. You'd even set a second one, just to be annoying. He'd laughed, kissed your shoulder, and promised, "I'm not missing it."

Even this morning he seemed certain, backpack slung over one shoulder, lips pressed against the top of your head. "I'll be home by seven," he'd said, squeezing your hand.

And you trusted him completely.

By six, you were dressed in that black dress he loved, the one he once said you shouldn't wear in public. You'd left your hair half-down, clipped just enough to show the necklace he gave you last Christmas. Dabbed on the perfume he never remembers the name of but always notices—the one from your first night together, sitting on the floor eating takeout in the dark, too nervous to touch each other until midnight.

You dropped your heels by the couch, leaving them untouched.

Joe always said the clasps were easier if he did them, but you knew better. He liked being close, kneeling before you with your leg draped over his thigh, fingers brushing your ankle as he pretended to fumble with the strap. Sometimes he'd lean in and kiss just above the bone like it meant nothing. Sometimes his hand would slide higher. Always slow, always with that look in his eyes.

So you waited.

You poured wine you didn't touch. Lit the candle by the door just to occupy your hands. The ticking clock over the fridge sounded louder than usual, so you tapped fingers against the table edge to drown it out. Your phone sat untouched for the first hour, then became an obsession as the minutes crawled by—every glance at the screen a small wound.

He said he'd be home by seven. Said he wouldn't let the meeting run over. That he was pushing to leave early. There's still some stubborn part of you that thinks wanting to be there should count for something.

But seven turned to eight.

At 8:14, your phone lit up. I'm so sorry. Still going. Not gonna make it in time.

You stared at the message with a hollow resignation. It would have been easier if anger came. If you could throw something. Scream. Say I knew it just to feel vindicated. But there was nothing left to say. Your reflection in the screen hit harder—lips pressed tight, eyes already glassy, posture curled in as if you'd been anticipating this moment.

Because perhaps you were. You wondered if he tried—truly tried—or if he just hoped you'd understand. If he counted on your forgiveness the way he counts on your presence. Always there.

It's not the first time. That's what cuts deepest: how familiar disappointment feels now.

You flipped your phone over, screen down on the counter, and went to the bedroom. The dress slipped off and pooled at your feet. You stepped out of it and folded the fabric carefully, placing it over the back of the chair. Not because the night could still be salvaged, but because leaving it crumpled would feel like admitting it never mattered.

You skipped his LSU crewneck, didn't touch the hoodie he'd left draped over the laundry basket. You grabbed one of your own instead, one that smelled like fresh detergent with no trace of him on it. It felt right tonight.

With the sleeves rolled at the wrist, you pulled on cotton shorts that sat low on your hips and asked for no attention you didn't want.

Back in the kitchen, the kettle hummed low as it warmed. You went to make the tea he always made for you—just a dash of sugar, half a spoonful of honey. But at the last second, you left them both out, letting it steep bitter and plain. Something about doing it differently tonight felt like control. Like maybe if you changed one thing, something else would change too.

The mug warmed your hands as steam curled into your face. You crossed to the chair by the window, half-lit by the porch light, outlined by the storm. One leg tucked beneath you, the other draped along the cushion as you settled in. The tea rested on the windowsill, untouched. You didn't like it this way. You hated it.

Rain streaked the glass in steady lines. The backyard vanished behind the storm. Everything felt quieter now, like the world was backing away, giving you space to feel however you needed to.

And you did. Emotions churned for however long it took the sky to blacken, until lightning became the only true light flashing across the walls. Under-cabinet bulbs in the kitchen still glowed softly, but here in the corner, it all felt distant. Your head leaned back against the cushion as you watched the rain blur streetlights into smears of gold. You didn't even hear the door at first.

Not until it closed with a muted click, careful, like whoever stood behind it didn't want to be heard. A shuffle followed. Keys into the tray. The soft thud of a bag hitting the floor. No voice. Just footsteps. Slow. Uncertain. Like even he wasn't sure he should be there.

The air shifted, and you knew he was there. Somewhere behind you, just inside the living room. Close enough to see you, too far to reach. He probably had his hands in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. Nervous in a way you'd seen before.

"…Honey?"

Quiet steps cross the floor. You stay facing forward, but the faint rustle of fabric against the back of the couch tells you he's closer. Then silence.

In the reflection of the window, you catch a glimpse. Clothes damp, hair wet and falling in loose strands across his forehead. He stands motionless for a moment, hands shifting from his sides to his pockets, then back out again.

Eventually, he edges closer. His fingers brush the arm of your chair, a silent test. When you don't pull away, he bends and presses a kiss to the top of your head. Warm breath stirs your hair and then he draws back, sinking to his knees.

Crouched before you, one hand steadies on your thigh, the other reaches up and grazes your arm before falling away. His gaze meets yours, but his expression gives nothing away.

"I tried to leave early," he says, thumb tapping gently against your knee. "Swear I did."

You remain still.

"They pushed it," he adds after a pause. "Wasn't supposed to go past six."

His forehead lowers to your legs, lips brushing your skin in apology.

"I'm sorry, baby." The words are muffled. "I'll make it up to you."

He lingers there longer than he should. Long enough for your fingers to twitch. Long enough for you to wonder if reaching for him would make this hurt any less. Before you find out, he lifts his head. His attention shifts to the windowsill, where your mug sits. He picks it up, takes a sip—and immediately winces.

"…Jesus." You almost smile. Almost. The expression flickers at your mouth before you stop it.

"Let me make you a new one," he offers, already half-rising.

Your hand snaps out, claiming the mug and setting it firmly back on the sill.

"No."

Brows draw together. "No, what?"

"I don't want a new one," you say. "I like it that way."

He stares for a second, elbow balanced on his knee. "Hm… Well, you look really pretty right now," he says quietly. "Like… really pretty."

Rather than answer, you give a small shake of your head, as if the words don't feel right now.

Joe sighs, chin tipping upward. "I'll book the flight tonight."

There's a faint crease between your brows, though you don't look over.

"To Milan," he clarifies, his voice chasing the silence. "That place you liked—the one with the garlic butter scallops and the owner who gave you that little spoon you tried to steal."

Your lips press together, but you don't speak.

"No schedule, no work calls," he says quickly. "Just us. Boats, museums, room service. That flower market where you bought an entire bundle and forgot to water them—done."

At last, your gaze lifts to his. He leans forward slightly. "I'll get the spoon engraved if you want. Swear to God."

There's the faintest twitch in your cheek. "Joe—"

"I'm serious." His voice tightens with urgency. "I'll do better. I'll plan things you actually like. Not just dinners to patch things up. Not just big gestures that don't fix anything."

You sit there, eyes on the rain, heart beating somewhere too deep to reach, letting his words press down into the silence. The promises. The guilt. The hope threaded between them. It crosses your mind how badly you want that version of him to be the one who shows up. The one who stays.

And just as your thoughts start to drift, something warm grazes the inside of your knee.

You flinch from surprise. Joe kisses again, a little higher. Then again, slower this time, wetter. Open-mouthed, the heat of his tongue just barely grazes across your skin. Your pulse stutters. When your eyes drop to him, he's already looking up at you from beneath his lashes, hunger darkening his eyes to something almost dangerous.

His hands are warm and steady on your thighs, thumbs brushing idle circles as he coaxes your legs open. His lips drag higher. You feel the scratch of his stubble catch on sensitive skin, feel his breath between each kiss growing hotter, more charged. The earthy scent of his cologne mixed with sweat rises between you, familiar and intoxicating.

"This okay, baby?" he asks, voice low and raw. There's something vulnerable flickering behind his eyes—a glimpse of fear that he's truly fucked up, that you might not forgive him this time.

The answer to his question isn't spoken out loud. Your lips part, eyes dazed, a stunned kind of arousal flickering behind your lashes as your legs begin to uncross. One knee bumps gently into his chest as you shift, and he leans back a bit to make room. But his hands never leave you. If anything, they tighten, fingers curling firm into the meat of your thighs, grounding you with a focused intent.

Without breaking contact, his hands begin to slide higher. He catches your waistband and starts peeling your shorts down with the care of someone handling something fragile, something sacred. And when he sees there's nothing underneath—just bare skin and flushed heat—his breath catches like a punch to the gut. A sharp, involuntary grunt breaks from his chest.

"Jesus... fuck."

The tension ropes through his jaw, knuckles flexing where they grip your legs. His eyes drag down, dark and locked in like he's trying not to lose it. Every muscle in your body tightens with anticipation, the delicious torture of knowing exactly what's coming but being forced to wait for it.

"You know how they get," you murmur, voice thinner than you expect. "You act like you didn't see it coming."

"I know." His response is instant. No protest, no excuse. His gaze never lifts. "That's on me."

And then his hands drift in, up the insides of your thighs. Barely there at first. Just the whisper of skin to skin, fingertips ghosting in slow, lazy arcs that never quite give you what you need—only make you feel every second he's choosing not to.

"I should've put my foot down," he says, and his voice drops further, like it's carved straight from guilt and want. "Should've walked out at six like I said I would."

You shift again. Your hips tilt forward without thought, chasing his hands, the pressure, anything—but he doesn't budge. Joe smirks, soaking in the way you tremble under the weight of waiting.

"Tell me you need this," he murmurs against your inner thigh, the vibration of his voice sending shivers through you. "Tell me you need me."

Your breath catches in your throat. The words feel too vulnerable, too revealing, but your body betrays you completely—arching toward him, seeking his touch.

"Because that's what matters," he says, and this time his fingers brush closer—so close you feel the stroke of air shift between you. Just a ghost of contact across the edge of you. It makes your whole body jolt.

He holds you steady with one palm, wide and possessive against your thigh. "You," he says again, quieter this time. "Not them. Not the meeting. Not whatever bullshit I told myself so I could sit in that room feeling sorry and still do nothing."

And then, finally, he leans in.

There's no buildup or teasing cruelty. Just that moment: his mouth, hot and unrelenting, sealing over you like he's starved for it.

You gasp as the heat of his tongue drags up through your center. His arms hook tight under your thighs, locking you down with a low grunt, and then he's gone completely silent. Like he's concentrating. Worshipping. Devouring.

The first full stroke of his tongue is slow but purposeful. The kind that maps you out. That relearns every inch of you like it's the only thing he's good at. He pulls back just long enough to press a kiss against your clit—soft, obscene—and then does it again, firmer this time. Open-mouthed. Messy. The sounds echo in the quiet, wet and slick and unashamed.

He groans into you when you twitch. You feel it reverberate through your whole body.

"Yeah," he mutters, more to himself than to you, dragging his mouth across you again with a low, stunned sound. "Could never let this pussy go."

One of your hands fly up, trembling as it slips beneath the hem of your sweatshirt—seeking something, anything to ground yourself. Your palm finds your breast and you squeeze, letting out a breathless gasp at the new sensation.

Joe sees it, he feels the way you react.

His hand jerks up and slips beneath your sweatshirt, finding yours already there. He covers it completely, fingers wrapping over the back of your hand with purpose. He squeezes hard, guiding your grip tighter around yourself, and holds it there—his thumb pressing into the soft underside of your breast, adding more pressure whenever he deems necessary. Like he's deciding how much you get to feel. Like you touching yourself isn't allowed unless he's in control of that too.

The contact makes your spine arch, your thighs clamp tighter around his head, and his tongue only presses even deeper.

You think he's going to keep going on like that, all tongue and heat and slow torment, but then his hand adjusts, fingers sliding between your legs, two of them pressing in deep with a firm, practiced curl that makes your hips jerk up.

"Oh my God—" You gasp, nails clawing for purchase, catching his hair instead. He grunts again when you do, like the sting of it only spurs him on.

His fingers fuck up into you with rhythm, curling just right, just relentless enough to make your vision start to haze. All the while, his mouth never leaves you—tongue flicking and dragging and rolling with that desperate kind of hunger, like this is the only way he knows how to apologize. Like he's trying to leave the memory of everything else behind in the way he makes you fall apart.

He pulls back just when you're at the edge, making you whimper with frustration, your body arching desperately toward his mouth. You can feel him smile against your inner thigh, the bastard, before he dives back in with renewed intensity.

"You're shaking," he breathes against you, voice low and fucked-out and proud. "Look at you. All worked up already. How long were you waiting for me to get my shit together, huh?"

You can't answer. Can't breathe properly. Your thighs are trembling around his shoulders, back arched, fingers knotted tight in his hair. He smiles—so fucking smug, and sucks hard around your clit until your whole body clamps down on his hand and you swear you black out for a second.

Joe doesn't let up, he holds you through it. Works you through every wave until you're whining, twitching, trying to squirm away. Each time, his grip tightens and he keeps going like he's savoring the aftermath.

His mouth eventually stills, he presses one last kiss to your clit before easing his fingers out—wet, glistening, dragging slow between your folds. You shudder when they leave you. You watch closely as he lifts his hand to his mouth and drags his tongue up the length of them with one slow, filthy lick. Then another. Then his mouth closes around both, sucking them clean like he's chasing the last drop of something holy.

"Fuckin' perfect," he rasps as he pushes off the floor. His chest is heaving, mouth flushed, the same hand still wet when it curls under your jaw. His other hand wraps around the back of your neck as he leans in, thumb pressing into the hollow of your throat, just enough pressure to make your pulse jump against his skin.

The sound that slips out isn't intentional, it just slips out the second his mouth finds yours. The kiss hits like a punch to the chest, knocks the breath right out of you. You grip his biceps without thinking, fingers digging into muscle like it's the only thing keeping you from floating up and out of your own body. He's still holding your jaw, thumb tight along your cheek, guiding the angle, kissing you deeper, slower, like he's pulling every last sound from your throat on purpose.

And he tastes like you.

You feel it every time his tongue drags over yours, the echo of your own release coating his mouth. It makes your spine arch. Your knees fall open wider without thought like your body's still begging for more.

Joe groans into your mouth, his hand sliding back under your sweatshirt—skimming up your ribs, settling firm to hold you there. You're panting by the time he pulls back. He kisses you again—once. Twice. Quick little pecks that make your lips chase after his before you even realize you're doing it.

"All night," his lips brush yours like the words aren't finished yet. "Not stopping 'til you forget where I even fucked up in the first place."

Your hands drift up his chest, fingers splayed wide as they press into the front of his shirt. The cotton shifts beneath your touch, stretching over the heat of him—solid muscle and steady breath rising to meet you.

He huffs a quiet laugh to himself, eyes on your mouth. "And after," he grins, "I'll make you some tea you'll actually like."

[wolfiesmoon]

The greatest gift

it's the most wonderful time of the year as they like to say so how about you recieve the best gift from santa on top of that 😈

this is suggestive perhaps??

Characters featured: mikey, hanma, baji, mitsuya

₊˚⊹♡ Mikey

You were joking when you asked for "Mikey" for christmas. You thought Hina and Emma knew you were joking.

So why the hell was Mikey currently tied up with a christmas ribbon and sitting under the christmas tree in your house, staring back at you with a slight smile?

"Merry christmas."

"I- HUH?!" you quickly covered your mouth, not wanting to be too loud at midnight. "Mikey, why are you in my house?" you whisper yelled.

"Emma and Hina jumped me." was his comically simple response. Well, it would be comically simple if Mikey didn't scare the living crap out of you just a few moments ago.

"That- That doesn't explain anything!" at this point, you've given up with trying to be quiet.

"I can't tell you anything more. I have no idea what's happening either."

"How are you so calm about this anyways?" you walked closer to him, inspecting the tag on the ribbon that said "Merry christmas from Emma and Hina".

"Now that I think of it, it is pretty weird to be kidnapped by your sister."

You're not even going to ask how they managed to get him in here without the keys.

"Well, uhhh... how about I unwrap you...?" you offered awkwardly after a small silence.

"Are you sure you want to do that? You'll unleash the true present by doing that." something... strange flashed behind his dark eyes.

"...What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing. ♡"

₊˚⊹♡ Hanma

"Merry christmas. ♡" you froze at the sound of his voice.

You were woken up by some weird noise downstairs, quietly walking down to investigate the source. You even took a knife from the kitchen just in case.

But instead of a robber or kidnapper, what you found was Hanma Shuji tied up in a big red ribbon. Smiling at you.

"Don't you merry christmas me." you didn't know what to say or do. You were scared out of your mind just now and that combined with the strange sight in front of you made you at a loss of... anything, really.

"Woah, that's a big knife... What were you going to do with that?˜" he sounded more amused than anything.

"You little... I don't... What is even happening?" you dropped the knife on the ground.

"Someone told me that you want 'Hanma Shuji' for christmas."

"Well, you know what I thought I was going to get for christmas? Kidnapped, that's what!" you yelled, not even caring about how loud you are right now.

"Hahahah, how amusing!" he laughed, seeming very satisfied.

"You won't be saying that after the things I will do to you. You know you can't escape when you're tied up, right?" a smirk crossed your face suddenly. A sense of boldness overtook you.

"Oooh, aren't you bold. ♡" his smile only widened.

₊˚⊹♡ Baji

"No way." you had to do a double take when you saw what you thought you saw.

Turns out this christmas is more interesting than you thought it would be. A present from Toman ended up being Baji Keisuke in the flesh.

"Mmmf!" he's probably telling you to free him right now, which admittedly, is hard to do when your mouth is gagged.

"Wow, this is like, the best present I ever got. I gotta thank the boys later." you walked closer to him, kneeling down and inspecting him in all his tied up glory.

Baji looked half angry half embarrased, and honestly that just made you want to tease him more. You kissed his cheek, smiling cheekily.

"Hmmf..." you laughed a little at his face.

"Mmmf! Hmmm!"

"Okay, okay, I get it, I'll let you out. But that doesn't mean that I'm done with you just yet." you smiled, taking the bow of the ribbon into your hands to untie it.

"Mmm..?!"

₊˚⊹♡ Mitsuya

"Me and Mana have a surprise for you." Luna ran up to you all of a sudden.

"What is it?" you placed your hands on your knees to get closer to Luna's height.

"Wait till christmas." that was Luna's only response before running off to continue playing with Mana.

"Hmmm..." you hummed, a bit confused.

.

"Was this... Luna and Mana's gift?" you looked at the comically large christmas present under the tree. What in the world did those two give you?

You carefully removed the lid of the box, worried about the contents. Only to find Mitsuya inside.

"I- What the hell?" Luna and Mana sure are some evil children.

"I don't know either. Hakkai approached me just now and said "sorry" before wrapping me up and putting me in this box with no further explanation." his eyes never left yours.

"I think I know who's idea this was..." you stepped inside the box, sitting directly across from him. He raised an eyebrow.

"Your little sisters told me something about a surprise for christmas..."

"Oh my god. That explains... a lot." he looked as if he just made a big realisation. You couldn't help but laugh a little at the sight.

You pecked his lips all of a sudden, making him jump slightly. "Tell them thank you later."

"Shouldn't you be thanking them?" he smiled.

"No, I'm sure you'll be the one thanking them tommorow." His eyes widened at your mischevious smirk.

an early christmas present for my mikey, hanma, baji and mitsuya babes 💕

i want to make sure yall are well fed with that christmas dinner this year

[puppybei]

Unsaid Dreams

Chapter 6 (Series Masterlist)

Pairing: Modernau!Sukuna x Mother!Reader

Genre: Hidden Baby Trope

Summary: Reader opens up a bakery after running away from her three year relationship with Sukuna, effectively ghosting him and hiding away in the middle of the countryside. Unknown to Sukuna, reader also had a baby, and now is living peacefully until an unfateful meeting starts to pull her back into the life she so desperately escaped from.

Tw: Misunderstandings!! So many of them!! Sukuna curses like twice. Sukuna slams a door in your face. Hana calls you mumma. Domestic life!!!

Wc: 2.7k

The room was enveloped in silence as you finally stopped talking, Hana fast asleep in your arms by the time it was an hour to midnight. Sukuna was quiet throughout the entire ordeal, sometimes he looked like he wanted to interject and would open his mouth, only for you to shake your head and he would sit back down.

He had run his fingers through his gelled hair, a few strands falling out of place and you were itching to fix it up for him, old habits die hard. Some way through the recollection Sukuna had shrugged off his suit jacket and the two fist shaped sugar marks stared at you mockingly. 

“Why didn’t- fuck I don’t even-,”

You jerked your head towards Sukuna who was opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, guilt enveloping you as you watched him avert his gaze to the child snuggled against you.

“Do… Do you want to hold her?”

The words came out of your mouth before you realized it, shocking yourself as you watched Sukuna’s reaction. 

His huge arms reached out, hand almost trembling as he placed his hand on top of Hana’s head, the child shifting in her sleep as she tried to move closer to the source of warmth. 

The man jerked his hand back, shoving it in his pocket as he stood up from the chair, looking over your figure,

“You’re exhausted. You should get some sleep. Where’s your husband,”

For a minute there you thought the great Ryoumen Sukuna had a slip of tongue, confusion painting your features,

“My… what?”

Sukuna looked like you had personally insulted him, cocking a brow up as he stared down at you,

“Don’t act stupid with me. Where the fuck is he?,”

You could feel the incoming headache staring at the six foot man who was now looking around, like he’d suddenly find your aforementioned husband hidden in the bakery. His gazed a bit longer at the pictures decorating the pastel walls, lingering on a picture of when you had just opened the bakery up with a one year old Hana sleeping in your arms, a carefree look on your face,

Hana stirred in her sleep, restless and almost waking up from the ruckus her parents were creating. You shushed her, smoothing a hand over her hair, cooing at her as you hummed a lullaby.

Sukuna stood still, affection blooming in his chest, the feeling so foreign he thought he was sick.

“We’ll talk in the morning, I need to put Hana to sleep. See you later Sukuna.”

You stood up from the chair and Sukuna took a step forward, wrapping a hand around your upper arm,

“No the fuck not. I’m not letting you get away from me again,”

Your skin burned under his touch, turning your head around to glare at him,

“What’s that supposed to mean,”

Sukuna let go of your arm, invading your personal bubble as he moved closer, an inch away from touching you,

“I’m staying over.”

Your mouth opened in shock, whole body going stiff as you tried to process the man’s words,

“You’re going to… what?”

You asked exasperated, taking a step back though Sukuna just followed you, cutting the distance in another step,

“I’m sure your husband will understand,”

Sukuna smirks, shrugging as if this was a daily occurrence. You paused for a second, running through your choices. It was a little past midnight now, the small town barely had any hotels and you don't know if you had it in you to shun Sukuna away

You bit your lip in thought, turning your body around as you grabbed the purse off the table, casting one last backward glance at the smug man who knew he had won. 

“Just follow me,” 

Balancing Hana on one hip you started to fiddle with the purse, using the hand not supporting Hana to pry open the clasp, eyebrows furrowed as you struggled to get the purse open. Suddenly your arm didn't feel so heavy anymore, a weight lifted off your hip as you looked at Sukuna cradling Hana.

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. When you had first moved to the small town, still a fresh student out of college and struggling both with Hana and the bakery, your mind often conjured up what life would be like if Sukuna was with you. The photo album dedicated to Sukuna was one you visited frequently after putting Hana to sleep, imagining him holding his baby, or laying next to you on those gruelling nights comforting you.

When Hana turned two, you had given up hope of him finding you. Sukuna was rich and powerful, you knew he just had to snap his fingers and he could’ve found you in less than a day. So the mere fact he didn’t try to after almost a full three years- well that was enough to stop your silly fantasies and delete the photo album that once used to comfort you.

Sukuna had one arm wrapped securely around Hana, the other patting her back as she got used to the change in position, her small body curled up against his broad chest. The size difference was comical- almost even sweet to look at. It made you wonder how married life with Sukuna could have been- a notion you gave up long ago. You shook your head, cringing internally at how quick your mind went to those fantasies, willing yourself back to reality as you finally got the backroom keys out of your bag. 

The door opened to a short lawn, a pebbled pathway leading to the steps of the small two story house. Sukuna followed behind you, dress shirt stained with Hana’s drool, a wet patch forming just below his collarbones. 

After you entered the house you took Hana from his arms, wordlessly changing her into her pajamas as she blearily sat down on her bed, letting you pull the Hello Kitty patterned shirt over her head while Sukuna stood leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed as his gaze burned holes in your back. 

You kneeled on Hana’s nursery room floor, tucking her in as you kissed her forehead, pushing back some of the stray pink hairs that stuck to her forehead, placing her beloved soft tiger plush into her arms as she drifted off.

On the other hand Sukuna was going absolutely crazy, what kind of fuck ass husband doesn’t even look after his wife? Let alone allow her to invite another man into their house in the dead of the night. If Sukuna was your husband he knew he’d cut the arm off of any man who dared to so much as look in your general direction. 

He clenched his jaw, shaking himself out of the thoughts that muddled his head. He hadn't seen any photos when he passed through the corridors of the house, drinking in every small decoration and photo with greedy eyes. He couldn’t find a photo of the man he saw five years ago yet, were you hiding him? Sukuna felt smug, you never hid him when you were together. 

In fact if he dug up the old box that contained the things you left behind he would find the thousands of framed photos where you stood so sweetly next to him, body flush against him with his favorite smile on your face- fuck he really had to stop thinking about the past. You’re not his, well not anymore. 

“The guest room is downstairs,”

Your voice shook Sukuna out of his thoughts, he stared down at you standing in front of the doorway, eyes trailing down to the expanse of your unmarked neck, then down to the dip in your shirt before he snapped his gaze back upwards.

He finally moved from the doorway, ears tinged red as he turned his head away from you. Still watching you as you descended down the stairs, opening the door to your guest room. You were patting down the pillows, trying to make the room look a bit more presentable when you felt Sukuna behind you, hand on your hip as he pulled you back upright, glaring at you again, 

“Just go sleep, it’s not like I haven’t seen worse” 

You opened your mouth to argue back but Sukuna merely pushed you out of the room, slamming the door in your face as you heard him fall into the bed with a grunt. 

“Good to know you haven't changed jerk,”

You mumbled under your breath, going to the master bedroom, changing out of your clothes and doing your nightly routine before falling asleep a little before one in the morning. 

The blaring alarm woke you up from your deep sleep, forcing you to pull the covers off your body and make your way to the nursery. Hana was still fast asleep by the time you opened her room, gently coaxing her awake so she wouldn’t be in a foul mood first thing in the morning. She followed you into the washroom, brushing her teeth while still half asleep. You left her there after finishing your own morning routine, letting her take her time through everything  

Sukuna was surprisingly awake, manspreading on the way too small dining table as his knees hit the underside every time he shifted in an effort to get more comfortable. A computer sat in front of him, blue light dancing on his face as he typed away in the dark living room. 

“Unusual for you to be up so early,”

He almost snapped his head from moving so fast to glare at you, stopping the incessant typing that was quite frankly starting to get on your nerves if you were being honest, 

“Your husband didn’t come home all night, he cheating on you?” 

You stopped yourself from mixing in the pancake batter, turning around to look at Sukuna who had completely leaned back on the chair, legs spread in front of him like he owned the house you were paying for. 

“Listen I think we should clear something up-”

Hana chose that exact moment to come barging into the living room, her outfit making her red eyes stand out. You smiled at her, turning to face her as she ran up into your arms, 

“Hi baby, did you sleep well?” 

She nodded enthusiastically, her pink hair ticking your face as she wrapped her arms around your neck and glared at Sukuna,

“Mumma, why's the mean man still here?”

She tried to whisper into your ear, holding a hand next to her mouth as if that would make her voice any lower, 

‘The fuck you call me kid?”

Sukuna cursed and you glared at him while Hana stuck her tongue out. You set her down on the counter, mixing the batter with a whisk as Hana took a piece of toast, kicking her legs back and forth as she chewed on it quietly, Oh she could be such an angel when she wanted.

‘Mumma you’re getting dirty,” 

Hana scowled at the patches of white flour on the fabric of your clothes, pointing it out with her index finger, 

“Hana! Don’t point at people, that's very rude baby,” 

You scolded, moving closer to her and taking the piece of bread from her hands. Your back was turned to Sukuna so you didn't notice when he had moved behind you, grabbing an apron and looping it over your head. His fingers brushed past your back as he tied the bow securely, 

“Still as clumsy as ever woman.” 

His warm breath tickled the skin of your neck, heat rising up your cheeks as you stared at Hana who was pulling you closer, still glaring at Sukuna. He took a step back once he was done, the loss of heat almost made you whine. You hadn’t felt another man’s touch in a long while and Sukuna’s presence was doing much more damage than it should be doing.

“You should stay- for breakfast I mean,”

You turned around to look at Sukuna who was leaning against the kitchen marble, gazing at you fondly. That look only spurred your mind to rush back to how you felt when you were his, butterflies swarming in your stomach at the mere thought. 

“I have to drop Hana off and I’ll get your jacket cleaned too, we haven’t finished talking have we?’

Sukuna looked confused, looking at the jacket that was folded over one of the dining table chairs, finally noticing the fist shaped marks of powdered sugar, scowling at the sight. You were sure if you took a picture of Sukuna and Hana scowling side by side they could be mistakened for siblings,

The pancakes were finished and placed in front of Hana who sat on her tiny table, you pulled a chair next to her as she babbled on, gently combing through her hair, doing two twin ponytails while Sukuna went back to his work, sneaking glances at you every now and then. 

A sick, twisted part of you secretly enjoyed this, the familiarity of it all, the comfortable silence that you missed with Sukuna. The domesticity that you craved for so long ago was finally being granted to you. 

As Hana put her bag on, Sukuna interjected, shutting his computer off as he got up from the dining table for a second time, suit jacket folded over his arm and hands tucked into his pocket. His hair had fallen into his forehead, the lack of gel was driving him crazy as he constantly pushed the hair backwards, 

“I’ll come with you and the kid, don’t want you to run away while I’m not there,” 

He mumbled, pressing close to you as he grabbed the kid in his arms. Hana made a noise of protest but after she looked at you she kept quiet. You wondered how you looked to her right now, so many mornings you wished for a bit more time to yourself, for someone else to carry Hana on the twenty minute walk to the kindergarten. She was always so perceptive it made you feel guilty,

“Okay,”

You replied before changing into more appropriate clothes, meeting Sukuna at the doorstep where he held Hana up with one arm, biceps bulging around the fabric of his dress shirt as he folded his sleeves up to his elbow. The other hand held Hana’s bag, the pink bag standing out against the black suit Sukuna had on. 

Hana was babbling to Sukuna, a mischievous glint in her eye as she pulled at the strands of his pink hair, pointing to her own and giggling, Sukuna was grunting in response, amusing her even when he didn’t have to. 

The sight brought a warm feeling to your chest, wondering if hiding your child from him all those years ago was really the correct choice when they got along so well.

“Let’s go,”

You patted Hana’s back and Sukuna nodded at you, leaving the house and the bakery, letting you lead the way to the kindergarten. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over him every now and then- it wasn't a crime to enjoy good eye candy.

Hana was finally put down five minutes away from the kindergarten, she insisted on holding Sukunas hand who looked at you smugly as if he won some secret kind of competition that you were unaware you were even participating in. 

You had made a few friends with the other parents, waving to the mothers as their expressions morphed to disbelief at the six foot man who was saying his goodbyes to Hana. The five year old pressed a kiss to your cheek before running to Ren. Aoi’s son. 

Sukuna was standing right behind you, breathing into you neck as Aoi walked up to you with a suspicious expression,

“This is?” 

She started, giving one look over to Sukuna who had crossed his arms, stepping closer to you till his chest was flush against your back, giving a lazy look over to Aoi. You wanted to bury yourself in a ditch- truly why was the universe so against you trying to live your life, 

“This is Sukuna he’s-” 

Aoi clapped her hands in front of her face, a grin over taking her features as she put the pieces together, you had never bothered telling other people about your situation. You gave the same generative answer to anyone who asked about Hanai’s father- 

“Ah! He must be your husband! Hana looks just like him!” 

And there it was. 

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Taglist: @lady-of-blossoms @shokosbunny @after-laughter-come-tears @glads-stuff @acidrefiux @linny-bloggs @dahliadaenerys @gojotech @emi311 @poopooindamouf @sadrna @domainofmarie @sukubusss @nousija @pjofics @katsukiseyebrows @the-reas0n-is-y0u @krispywhisperswhispers @pillkits @rier @needsleep3000 @tangsakura @raquel12 @not-aya @melancholycries @desprrssooo-espresssooooo @tojisbabymommasblog @thebumbqueen

A/n: posting without my usual proof reader reading it because I need to get this chapter out of my system heh I feel so evil for doing this my apologies in advance!

[incorrectlooneytunesquotes]

Make yourself a sandwich, drink a glass o' milk...Do some razzafrackin' thing!

Yosemite Sam to Wentworth

[furiouszealot]

UPDATE: As of 25/04/2025, 4chan is back up and running again. This post and its addendum will be kept as is, and will no longer be updated unless it goes back down again. If you were on /ghost/, it was a pleasure shitposting with you.

All right, I know no one gives a shit, but let me give you a recounting of the fall of 4chan from the perspective of someone who was there and has been lurking both 4chan and tumblr for a few years now.

I'll try to provide as much context as I can, but a lot of images were either lost or im too lazy to look for them in the +5000 reply thread in soyjak party.

Anyways, info below:

So, necessary context: a few years back, 4chan had a board called /qa/, which if you know little about the page, you may think every board is like /b/ or /pol/, which means a containment cess pool of grifters, (you) baiters, incels, and other deranged individuals. The thing is, /qa/ was somehow worse. The entire board was plagued and infested with soyjack edits, board culture was a nuclear disaster, anons were incredibly hostile in there, you know the drill, the big bad 4chan, but this time its actually true.

One day, moderation deleted /qa/, anons that posted there got mad, tried to raid other boards, failed, and then moved on to an altchan called soyjack party, which entire purpose you can guess from its name alone.

Apparently, the boards that allow pdf uploads (paper and origami, for example) didn't check if the uploaded file was actually a pdf file, so postscript files could be used to get access. This is as far as my understanding of web backend goes, sorry.

The hacker claims to have been working on this since 2021, and that he had access since about a year ago, but was recopilating data.

Now, what actually happened when the hack ocurred? Well, a banner of miku dancing with a song that played automatically was placed on top of every board, with the text "/QA/ IS BACK", this was possible because apparently no board was ever deleted, they were just hidden from the public.

A thread was then made on soyjack party, claiming authorship over the hack, and shit went south from there. Anons went en masse to talk there, a lot of weird discussion happened, the thread got the bump limit removed and got pinned, more than 5k posts were amassed on the first night alone. Keep in mind this happened at about 8 pm and most of the stuff went on through midnight.

So, the hacker leaked some things, first of all, the html files for the entirety of /j/ and the email address for every moderation member (important note: the pressence of .gov mails was disproven by the hacker themselves, so i guess there were never any feds), what is /j/? the board exclusive for jannies and moderators to discuss actions taken on the website regarding spam, ban evaders, threads spiraling out of control, etc. Among other things, some of the inner workings of 4chan got revealed, such as the web extension for jannies that allows them to do their job easily, how reports are handled, and other stuff. (Anecdotically, some guy got permabanned for calling anons jews or n-words over a 100 times in the same few threads)

Then, the source code got leaked. Important to say, the hacker removed the part of the source code related to the captcha, as to not facilitate bot attacks on the future, and all information related to email verification or 4chan pass users information also got removed, so all in all users are safe.

What was found on the sourcecode? That it was old, mostly. Most boards used code that hasn't been updated since about 2016, and /flash/ used the exact same code from when it was created back on 2011.

From there, desuarchive, a site that archives threads that die from bump limit, opened a dragon ball general on ghost mode, and thus began what later got called /ghost/, a solely text based thread with well over 20k replies as of right now, where a fraction of the 4chan population took refuge and is currently discussing random things with no particular topic. Kinda hard to read, but its comfy.

What does this mean for other sites? Not a lot, really. A lot of anons already crossposted in 4chan and tumblr already, and the ones that din't most likely wont come here. Some of the bigger/most dedicated groups, like /vt/, migrated to other boards. Various altchans are trying/tried to catch some of the flock of users that got lost, but i doubt it will get anywhere, since soyjak party for example was struggling with just the influx of users that came for the hack thread given its poor infrastructure. Kiwifarms saw a surge of new accounts apparently, but a lot of anons kinda loathe the idea of having to register, so theres that.

Smaller communities, such as generals that didn't get a lot of traffic, or boards on the slower end (say, /ic/, /lit/, etc) will probably vanish or disseminate until (or if) 4chan comes back up. I'd say give it a month, don't get your hopes up whether you want it to stay dead or want it to come back.

Given how many anons are staying on places like /ghost/ or other similar archives with the same ghost posting feature, i doubt it will be as bad as people are making it sound. Besides, the communities that are most likely to migrate to places like tumblr are either /co/, /vg/ or /lgbt/ refugees, which aren't THAT bad. Not every board was like the main cesspools (/b/, /r9k/, /pol/).

From now on, either 4chan comes back up in a few weeks (somewhere between 2 weeks to a month is expected), altchans capture the migrating anons, or a brand new imageboard rises from the ashes to become the new go-to site for old 4chan posters.

In conclusion, nothing ever happens, but also don't worry, chances are this won't affect tumblr in the slightest. If it does, you can cash in your "you were wrong" ticket whenever you want, i'll take the L.

As a footnote, keep in mind: NO users were compromised, if you ever posted there and are worried for your safety, physical or digital, you are safe.

Edit: Forgot to add, if you are a 4chan refugee, im BEGGING you to dm me and tell what board you were from and where are you migrating, if at all.

[millermouth]

Joel Miller x Reader Lips of an Angel

Summary: You left for school, chasing a better life. Long distance wouldn’t work. You both knew it. So you ended things, moved on. Or at least, that’s what Joel thought… until the phone rang just before midnight on his birthday, and there you were—sounding just as sweet, just as lovely as he remembered. And just like that, everything he’d buried came rushing back—to his mind, his chest… every part of him that still ached for you.

tags: porn with plot, smut MDNI, masturbation, adultery, phone sex, dirty talk, legal but big ol' age gap (reader in her mid 20s? Joel late 40s), daddy kink. voice kink, size kink, unresolved feelings, jealous!Joel, sexting, dual pov, no outbreak, inspired by Lips of an Angel by Hinder word count: 10k a/n: I won’t lie, this has been on my mind for weeks. I'm literally obsessed sorry I went a little crazy here

Joel hated his birthday.

Always had, always would.

There was nothing special about getting older—just meant more gray in his beard, more aches in his back, and another year closer to being one of those old men who grunted every time they stood up. But this one? This one really cemented the fact that he was damn old.

Forty-nine.

And what did he get to celebrate it? A stiff peck on the lips from his girlfriend this morning, followed by a Happy birthday, babe! as she slid a gift card across the table.

Fifty bucks to Home Depot.

Like he was some suburban dad who got his rocks off walking through the lumber aisle. 

Not a nice dinner. Not a thoughtful gift. And sure as hell not a blowjob.

Not that he was expecting much on that front. It had been months since the woman put her mouth anywhere near his cock, and even when she did, it was with the enthusiasm of someone doing court-ordered community service. He’d long since stopped asking. Joel wasn’t about to beg for something that felt more like an obligation than want.

So instead, he spent the night on the couch, working through a couple of beers, half-watching highlights of last week's football game on TV while she went to bed early, leaving him alone on his own goddamn birthday.

Sarah was out of the house—he’d told her to go have fun with her friends after dinner, not wanting her to feel obligated to sit around with him all night. She’d given him a sweet hug before she left, gifting him his old watch—the one he’d completely forgotten about, buried somewhere in his collection of things he’d sworn to get to someday. A thoughtful gift, something that actually meant something. His heart had tugged somethin’ awful when he’d opened it, and he put it on right away.

But now, standing in the dim light of the bathroom, Joel looked at himself in the mirror, scowling at the tired man staring back at him. He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand over the scruff of his jaw.

God, he was getting old.

A muscle in his jaw twitched as he shifted, adjusting himself in his jeans. The rough denim chafed against his briefs, which dragged against his cock, and for the first time tonight, something other than irritation stirred in his chest.

What he wouldn’t do for a fucking blowjob.

But his only source was long asleep now, curled up under the covers, completely oblivious to the fact that he was standing in the bathroom, half hard, frustrated, and more than a little bitter.

Joel sighed and turned, leaning back against the porcelain counter, his fingers pulling at the leather of his belt and shifting down the waistband of his jeans, wrapping his hand around himself with a quiet hiss. His head tipped back as he gave himself a slow, steady pull, trying to work up something, anything to get fully hard.

He tried picturing her mouth around him, but the image wouldn’t stick—not when all he could think about was the dry, dismissive kiss she’d given him this morning, like they were some elderly couple celebrating their fiftieth anniversary.

His grip tightened.

He could still hear her voice, all saccharine and uninterested. Happy birthday, babe.

Didn’t even try to make it special. Hell, he’d always gone down on her. Would spend ages between her thighs, dragging her over the edge until she was too sensitive to take any more, and he hadn’t even minded—he liked making her come. Liked hearing the sounds a woman made.

But when it was his turn? She always had some excuse. Too tired. Too late. Too much work.

His jaw clenched, frustration buzzing under his skin as he stroked himself, but it wasn’t enough.

His mind started reaching for anything else—porn, maybe. That might do the trick. He fished his phone from his back pocket, but with his jeans bunched down around his knees, it was awkward, fingers too big for the small screen as he finally pulled it out and tried to type with one hand.

The damn thing slipped.

“Shit,” he muttered as his hand reached for it haphazardly until it hit the floor with a loud crack.

Joel bent down, his hand still wrapped loosely around himself as he grabbed the phone, turning it over to inspect the screen. Still intact.

He exhaled a small sigh of relief, only to freeze a second later.

The app open on his screen wasn’t the one he’d meant to pull up. In his scramble to catch the phone, his fingers must’ve swiped across the screen, opening Facebook instead.

Joel never used the damn site. Sarah had made him a profile years ago, mostly to keep up with her school events and soccer team updates. He never posted anything. Sometimes Sarah would tag him in photos, like the one from her soccer match today, and they’d show up on his profile. Hell, most of the time, he didn’t even remember he had the app at all.

Except for when he did. Because every now and then, he’d find himself searching for someone he wasn’t supposed to be looking for. 

Someone he hadn’t seen in two years.

And when he glanced at his screen now, his stomach dropped.

Right there, at the top of his feed, was a photo of you. Bright-eyed, beaming, holding a diploma in hand.

So, you’d done it. You’d gotten your degree.

That was why you left. Why you’d sat on his couch that night, knees curled up under you, eyes red-rimmed and wet as you told him it wouldn’t work. That long distance was impossible. That you had to go, that he had to let you. And maybe he didn’t say much—maybe he just sat there, jaw tight, arms crossed, nodding along like he’d expected it all along—but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

Because deep down, he had known.

Knew he couldn’t keep you. Knew you had bigger things ahead of you, a future you’d worked too damn hard for to throw away on a man like him. You were young, and he—well, he wasn’t. He was set in his ways, tied down to Austin with a business, a daughter, a life you were never meant to fit into long-term.

What he didn’t know was how the hell he ever got you in the first place.

Maybe that was the cruelest part of it all—because it wasn’t him who begged. Wasn’t him who chased.

It was you.

You were the one who looked at him like there was no one else. Like no other man could ever come close, no matter his age, no matter how stuck in place he was. And for a while, he let himself believe it. Let himself have you. Let himself feel what it was like to be wanted, truly wanted, by someone like you. Someone who was sweet and charming and funny and beautiful. Someone good.

The one that got away. That’s what all the songs and movies called it.

So Joel did something very stupid, and he tapped your name at the top of your photo, taking himself straight to your profile. He swiped through the pictures. Just to see, he told himself. Were you happy? Were you content? Did you have someone? He scrolled past a photo of you and a boy. Stupid floppy hair and polo. Did he treat you well? Did he touch you like he—

His breath hitched.

Joel blinked down at himself, realizing his palm was still wrapped around his cock, his grip tight, squeezing without even thinking. He was suddenly rock hard. 

Jesus Christ.

Joel slammed his phone down onto the counter, the sharp sound cutting through the silence. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tension out of his body, the thought of you from his mind. As hard as he tried to picture anything else– those porn stars he liked, an actress, hell, his own damn girlfriend– they kept getting shunted by memories of you that suddenly crashed over him in waves like some cursed memory reel. His mind played you back to him in perfect clarity: your body beneath him, your big, pleading eyes, the way you used to beg to have your mouth on him, the way you’d ride his face, his cock, head thrown back and pussy clenching around him like a goddamn vice.

He let out a sharp breath, his hand still curled around himself, hips twitching forward into his fist before he forced himself to stop. He needed to stop this.

And then, a sudden buzzing had his mind finally quieting as his breath hissed, looking down onto the sink where he’d thrown his phone. 

Bzz bzz.

Oh god.

Bzz bzz.

His stomach dropped. His heart fucking lurched.

This had to be some kind of sick joke.

Had he butt-dialed? Had he fumbled so badly—opened Facebook, scrolled through your pictures, and somehow hit 'call' in his stupid desire befuddled haze?

Because why the fuck was your name popping up on his screen at this time of night?

You hadn’t spoken to him once in the two years since you left.

It had been too hard, too much, too tender of a wound to press against. You told yourself it was for the best, that letting go meant really letting go—but tonight, in your bed, with your phone in your hand, staring at a photo Sarah had posted after a soccer match, that resolve started to crack.

It was just a picture. Just her and her dad, both smiling– her sweaty from the game, his arm slung around her shoulders.

But your eyes weren’t on Sarah.

They were on him.

Joel.

Your stomach clenched, something deep and familiar twisting inside you as you traced his face on the screen. His hair was grayer, beard a little thicker. But it was his eyes that held you captive. Something about them, something in the way he smiled—it was dimmer than before. Like something was missing.

And then something clanged into place as you looked at the date above the photo.

It was his birthday.

He’d told you once—if you ever needed anything, no matter how much time had passed, to call. Emergency, bad date, ride home after a night out—didn’t matter.

But you never had. Never dared.

Because you knew—one moment of hearing his voice, and you’d be packing your bags, catching the next flight home to Texas.

Still, the longer you stared at the photo as you laid in your bed, the harder it was to talk yourself out of reaching out. You wondered if he’d had a good day. You knew he had a girlfriend now, and you wondered if she had treated him to anything special. If they’d gone out to a nice dinner, if she’d…

Your breath caught in your throat, fingers tightening around the phone.

Your pulse was already picking up as you squeezed your eyes shut.

Before you could stop yourself, your eyes flew open and you were tapping his profile. Scrolling. Searching.

God, you shouldn’t be doing this. But each photo only made it worse—the memories slamming into you like a tidal wave. Sweet, simple moments sprawled out on a blanket by the soccer field, screaming your lungs out for Sarah’s team, laughing when Joel grumbled about the refs. Late nights at the diner, splitting a milkshake, your knees brushing under the table, his eyes warm when he watched you sip from the straw. Wandering the dusty aisles of the old record store, flipping through stacks of vinyls, sneaking glances at the way his hands—so big, so rough—handled them with care. Then the memories, damn them, the clearest ones, swarmed your mind like a thousand bees. The weight of him pressing you into his mattress, his body heavy, warm, covering you completely. Those same hands, no longer careful but gripping, claiming, leaving bruises in their wake. His mouth dragging over your throat, your shoulders, your thighs, teeth scraping, tongue soothing. And that voice. Low, gravelly, rich with something dark, something sweet, something only you ever got to hear, whispering filth into your ear until you were shaking.

A slow heat started to pool between your legs, your thighs pressing together as you kept scrolling, the ache building, your breath coming a little faster.

You shouldn’t call.

You shouldn’t.

But your thumb was already hovering over his name as you opened up your contacts app.

And before you could stop yourself, you tapped it.

The line rang once.

Twice.

Then, “...Hello?”

Your breath caught in your lungs, fingers tightening around your phone, suddenly too warm, hands clammy, pulse racing against your chest.

“J-Joel?”

There was a beat of silence. Then he exhaled—a low, quiet sigh, almost like relief. Like he was just as surprised to hear your voice as you were to hear his.

“Honey, why you callin’ me so late?” His voice was quieter now, lower, like he was speaking into the phone from somewhere dark. Like maybe he didn’t want someone else to hear him. Then, softer, “Is everything okay?”

God. The pet name.

Already, he was undoing you, his voice so hushed and soft. It settled low in your belly, turning you to molten heat, just like you knew it would.

You swallowed, pulse hammering, suddenly too warm and you weren't even under the blankets.

“Yeah,” you rushed out, voice thinner than you wanted it to be. “Yeah, everything is fine.”

Your fingers twitched at the hem of your pajama shorts, rubbing the fabric between them, grounding yourself in the sensation. Your mind was completely blank, you wish you’d thought of what the hell you were going to say to him once he actually answered.

You squeezed your thighs together, heart hammering, breath shallow.

“I… I wanted…” you trailed off, exhaling a shaky breath. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday.”

It sounded stupid now. No contact for two whole years and that’s all you could come up with?

You waited, heart in your throat, listening for his response.

He let out another sigh, like he was trying to keep himself together through the phone. You wondered for a moment if your voice affected him just as much. 

“It’s kinda hard to talk right now,” he murmured, voice hushed.

That wasn’t what you were expecting.

Hell, you weren’t even sure what you were expecting. Some kind of revelation? A confession? That he missed you just as much as you did him, that he shared your thoughts that no matter how much time had passed, no matter who you tried to date to fill the hole he left, no one compared to him? 

But he was quiet. Almost distant. You should’ve known better, known better than to call after all this time. It was your fault, after all. 

Your stomach twisted. Your throat burned. Tears pricked at your eyes before you even realized they were coming.

“Honey, why are you cryin’?” he asked suddenly, voice sharper now, more alert. He must’ve heard it, the way your breath hitched, the way the silence stretched just a second too long. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

You sniffled, trying to hold it together. He was always like this—always knew when something was wrong, always saw right through you even before you understood it yourself.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, voice shaky. “I just… I missed you. Your voice.”

There was a long pause, and then, “I miss you too.”

Not just your voice. Not just whatever this had turned into.

He missed you.

Your breath caught, fingers gripping your phone even tighter.

“Why are you whispering?” you asked quietly. “Where are you?”

He breathed in deep, something rustling in the background. You could almost picture him shifting, running a hand over his face, maybe rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when he was tense.

“My girl’s—” A slight pause. “My girlfriend is in the other room.”

Oh. Right. Girlfriend.

Just like you very well had a boyfriend. One who wouldn’t like knowing you were talking to your ex in the middle of the night. Your much older, and, in your opinion, much hotter ex.

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting, reality settling in cold and sharp.

“Oh. Of course.” Your voice barely made it past your lips. “I can let you go. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Why’d you call?” His voice cut through yours, low and firm.

You froze. That… wasn’t what you were expecting. You thought he’d let you go. Let this slip away like he probably should have. But instead, he was asking.

“Why now?”

The question nearly knocked the breath from your lungs. You weren’t sure you had an answer. At least, not one you were ready to say out loud. So, instead, you told the truth.

“I saw that picture of you and Sarah at her soccer match.”

Joel made a noncommittal Mhm, waiting for you to say more.

Your fingers twisted in the hem of your shorts, your throat tight. “You look… you look happy.” A lie, but you didn’t want to say what you truly felt. That the twinkle in his eye looked like it had been blown out like a candle. 

Another pause. He didn’t say anything at first, just breathed slow and steady on the other end of the line.

“Are you happy, Joel?”

A long, thick silence that stretched between you, the weight of it pressing down hard. You barely even realized you were holding your breath, waiting, anticipating, heart still hammering, a low thud in your ears.

Then his voice came through the speaker, lower now. Rougher.

“…You askin’ ‘cause you care or ‘cause you wanna hear somethin’ else?”

Your lips parted, stomach twisting, heat curling low in your belly. His tone had shifted—just slightly—but you felt it. Like a spark igniting something dangerous between you.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, warmth spreading through you, and your fingers toyed with the fabric of your shorts again, this time for a very different reason.

“'Course I care. Why would I want to hear anything else?” you whispered, but the words didn’t sound innocent.

Joel let out a slow exhale through his nose, “Dunno,” he murmured, voice dropping even lower. “You tell me, honey.”

And just like that, the air between you changed. It was still thick, still charged, but now there was something else. You swallowed hard. His voice, so low, steady, dipping into something dangerous, sent heat curling through your stomach, settling deep in your core.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you murmured, but the words came out soft, breathy, full of something he was smart enough to catch.

Joel let out a quiet chuckle, low and rough, the sound vibrating through the speaker.

“Honey,” he drawled, like he didn’t believe you for a second.

You felt it now, the shift between you. The slow unraveling. The way your body reacted to him like muscle memory, like instinct, like no time had passed at all.

“I saw you in that picture,” you admitted, voice quieter now, fingers ghosting along the inside of your thigh. “And I just…”

You were breathing too heavy now. Your skin felt too warm, your heartbeat thrumming heavy in your chest, your hand trembling slightly where it gripped the phone.

“I just started thinking about you,” you confessed.

Joel went quiet. Not the kind of quiet where he was trying to figure out what to say. The kind of quiet like he knew exactly what kind of thoughts you were having.

“Yeah?” he said finally, voice softer now, but rougher somehow, like gravel dragged over silk. “What exactly were you thinkin’ ‘bout, baby?”

Your whole body tensed, the pet name sending a jolt through your spine. It was unfair how easily he still did this to you, how effortless it was.

You exhaled slowly, shifting against the pillows, the hem of your shorts riding up your thighs.

“…You,” you whispered.

Joel hummed, like he wanted more, like he was just waiting for you to say it.

You swallowed, fingers trailing over the curve of your stomach, your muscles tightening at the thought of him on the other end of the line—shirt rumpled, sprawled back against something, his fingers dragging through his hair, trying to decide if he should stop this before it went too far.

But he wasn’t stopping.

“Tell me,” he growled under his breath, “Does that frat boy of a boyfriend take care of you?”

Your fingers tensed against your skin, crimson blush flooding your face, but your mouth was faster than your shame, “Does your girlfriend take care of you?”

There was a beat of silence, then a chuckle, “Can’t say it’s the same.”

You bit your lip unconsciously, what the hell did he mean by that?

Your chest tightened, heart pounding as warmth licked up your spine, making your skin feel too tight, too aware. It was familiar—he was familiar. That rush Joel Miller always gave you, even now, even after all this time. Your legs squeezed together, desperate for friction, for something.

“Not even on your birthday?” you pouted playfully, voice dipping into something teasing, something that felt too easy despite how wrong this was.

Joel hummed, voice quieter now, like he was thinking about it, “Not even for my birthday.”

Your fingers curled against the sheets before moving back to your shorts again, lips parting. Your body was betraying you, already giving in, the heat pooling low, making your head swim.

“I would’ve—”

You stopped.

Your breath hiccuped, your body going still as your fingers rested against the soft fabric of your pajama shorts, right there, hovering, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

You needed to stop.

This was wrong. So, so wrong.

Joel must’ve sensed it, must’ve heard it in your silence, because his voice softened, still low but gentler now, sweeter.

“Easy, honey,” he murmured. “Once you cross that line…”

Like a warning. Like he was trying to keep you from falling over the edge—like he was trying to keep himself from doing the same. It already felt too late.

You sighed, exasperated, on fire, like you’d been running from this feeling for too long and now it was catching up to you, wrapping around your throat, dragging you under. “I just think of you all the time, Joel,” you admitted, voice unsteady, heavy with something deeper than just need.

There was a pause. You could hear his breath—slow, steady, but not controlled.

“Nothing ever…” you trailed off, eyes squeezing shut, chest rising and falling unevenly. “It’s not the same for me either, Joel.”

Another sharp inhale on his end, like your words hit him, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear them or if he’d been waiting for them.

“It’s really good to hear your voice,” he said, and you recognized what he was doing. Steering you both away, trying to veer off that edge before it was too late. “Just as sweet as I remember, baby.”

Your stomach flipped. Your fingers clenched the fabric of your shorts, crumpled now from your grip..

“Do you think of me, Joel?”

Another long silence.

Joel Miller was going to hell.

That was for certain.

Your voice—soft, sweet, and yet goddamn sultry—wrapped around him like a noose. And the worst part? You weren’t even trying.

Didn’t even realize how you sounded, how your voice had dipped just a little lower, quieter, breathier. That sugary lilt that went straight to his cock, made his pulse throb behind his teeth.

His jaw clenched, his grip flexing around himself, fingers tightening as his stomach tensed. Hard to soft to rock fucking hard again, like his body had been waiting, hoping for an excuse, for just the smallest reason to give in.

And now you were giving it to him. Unknowingly handing him the rope to hang himself with.

He sucked in a slow breath, trying to get his shit together, but it was a losing battle. he tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder, using his now free hand to run it over his face, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose like it might somehow stop the inevitable.

It didn’t.

Because your voice was still there. In his ear. In his head. Under his skin.

Do you think of me, Joel?

He squeezed his eyes shut, his grip tightening again, fingers flexing over the thick length of himself as his cock twitched in his palm.

“…You know I do.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Heavy. Like the two of you were teetering over the edge of something dangerous, forbidden, inevitable.

“When?”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

Joel exhaled, sharp and slow, head tipping back, jaw locked so tight it ached.

“All the time, baby,” he said, sighing out the breath he'd been holding in.

He heard it then—your breathing, uneven, picking up with every inch closer you both crept to the edge. He should stop, should shut this down before it went too far.

But Joel had never been able to keep himself in check around you.

Not when Tommy had pulled him aside, voice low and pissed, telling him it wasn’t right, that you were too young, that people were talking. Not when the side-eyes and whispers started when the two of you were out together, your little hand in his, the way you’d lean into him and brush your lips against him. Those sweet, sweet lips. Like a fucking angel.

He could never say no to you.

Not when you had him wrapped around your pretty little finger. Not when you nearly begged for him every night, made those sweet noises, pleading and needy and hungry. No man is his right mind would deny you.

Oh, he was sooo fucked.

His hand flexed around his cock, the weight of it heavy, throbbing, aching in his palm.

“Was thinkin’ about you tonight too,” he admitted, voice lower now, rougher, slipping into that sweet spot where he knew exactly what he was doing. If he was going to hell, he might as well take full advantage the whole way down.

“Yeah?” you whispered.

That single word sent a shiver down his spine. He could hear it in your voice and he wondered if your body was betraying you just as his was.

“I was…” He said, hesitating a bit, fingers tightening around himself, heart thudding hard in his chest. Fuck, was he really gonna admit this?

“I saw your picture on Facebook,” he admitted, voice gruff, raw, like it physically hurt to say out loud. “Was lookin’… lookin’ through your page.”

Silence.

“You were stalkin’ me, Joel Miller?”

Joel let out a sharp breath, somewhere between a chuckle and a groan, his stomach twisting, churning, that hunger clawing at his insides. Because fuck, hearing his name on your lips again—low and teasing, all soft and sweet like it had been made for you to say—made something dark and needy snap inside of him. 

It didn’t matter how much time had passed.

Didn’t matter that you were miles away, years removed from him.

He needed you like he needed the very oxygen he breathed, like his heart had only been keeping his old ass alive long enough to get back to this.

“Only a little,” he chuckled, voice low, rough, barely there.

His hand squeezed tight at the base of himself, a groan slipping through his teeth. If he didn’t get off soon, he was going to fucking implode. He could feel it, the pressure mounting, the tension coiling so tight he thought it might break him in half.

There was still a part of him—the righteous, rational man—who told him to stop. The one who had tried so fucking hard to be better. Just end this now, hang up the phone, put on some shitty porn and get himself off like he always did. Alone. Like he was supposed to. 

But the devil—the one he was headed for either way—whispered louder.

“‘Sides, you sound like you were enjoyin’ the view too,” he said, a little breathless, picturing you with the phone in hand, looking at the photo of him from today, “What’re you doin’ now, honey?”

He could hear shuffling around on your end, like bed sheets or something soft beneath you. Settling into the bed, and Jesus, just the thought of you so pliant, so sweet and soft and in bed so innocently scrolling pictures of him…

“I’m… laying down.” Your voice had changed—softer now, lower. “In my PJs.”

His stomach flipped, fingers flexing without thought.

“You know, the little gray and white shorts—”

“And the matching little tank top,” he finished without thinking, the image flashing so damn clear in his mind, memories flashing in his mind of his own hands sliding up that tank top, underneath the fabric that was so soft and left absolutely nothing to his imagination. Except for now, he supposed.

A breathy chuckle on your end, teasing. “You remember ‘em?”

Joel gritted his teeth. “Fuck, baby.” His voice was raw now, unsteady, every nerve in his body lighting up. “Always loved how those looked on you. Made your ass look so fucking good.”

That part good man in him, the one with morals and a goddamn conscience, the one screaming at him to get off the fucking phone—was long gone. There was something about you, something that pulled at him, dragged out a part of himself he thought he’d buried.  The one who worshipped the ground you walked on, who got drunk off the way you used to look at him, the way you used to need him. That part of him had never left, never dulled, no matter how much time had passed.

His hand flexed around himself, squeezing at the base of his cock as his stomach tightened, as he let himself feel it—let himself remember. The way your body used to move beneath him, the way you’d whisper his name against his skin, the way you’d let out those sweet little whimpers, breathless and eager, begging for him. No one had ever sounded like you, felt like you, and he knew no one ever fucking would.

Joel let out a slow breath through his nose, steadying himself, his voice lower now, thick with heat and want. “Bet they still fit you real nice,” he murmured, gripping himself harder, his strokes slow, measured, his restraint hanging by a thread. “Bet you still look so damn good in ‘em, don’t ya?”

You exhaled a little laugh, breath still shaky, teasing, knowing exactly what you were doing to him. “They’re a little tight now, actually.”

And it was all he could do not to lose it right there.

Then, soft, playful, pure fucking sin, you said, “Wanna see?”

His cock twitched hard in his fist.

And his answer came out instinctive, raw, from somewhere deep in his chest: “God, yes.”

His phone buzzed against his ear seconds later. He pulled it back just long enough to glance at the screen, his hand still wrapped around himself, already knowing what it was, already aching for it.

Then he saw it. And he almost fucking came right then and there.

That damn little pair of shorts—hiked up so high on your hips, the soft, round curve of your ass spilling out the bottom, thighs pressed together, your skin looking so damn smooth, so fucking perfect.

And the way you took the picture—angled from above, like he was looking down at you, like he had you belly-down on the bed, back arched, ass up in the air—

Just like when you used to suck his cock in bed.

Begging. Pleading for him to come down your throat, to ruin you, to let you take it all because you could. Because you loved it.

His throat went dry, his cock throbbed, and his restraint snapped like a goddamn rubber band. He barely heard your voice over the rush of blood in his ears, over the sharp groan that slipped past his lips.

“Did you get it?” you asked, voice light, innocent, like you weren’t the reason he was about to lose himself in his own goddamn hand.

He grunted a rough Mhm, spit into his palm, his cock pulsing as he worked himself a little more, now slick and smooth. 

Your gasp came through the receiver, a sharp inhale, “Joel,” you whispered, breathless, “are you touching yourself?”

“Y-Yeah,” he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut, doing his best to picture it—your hand, your mouth, your sweet, clenching pussy wrapped tight around him, just like he remembered.

“What did you think about?” you asked softly, and fuck, you sounded so innocent, so needy, “When you saw the picture? Tell me, please.”

Like it wasn’t enough that he was already losing his mind imagining the way you used to beg for him—now you were actually pleading again, your voice syrupy, thick with anticipation, and he swore it was going to kill him.

His fist dragged up over the swollen tip of himself, a sharp hiss slipping past his teeth as he squeezed before sliding back down, forcing himself to hold back, to make it last. His hips jerked, instincts begging him to give in, to fuck into his palm until he lost himself completely.

But no.

He had to drag this out. Had to make you feel it, too.

His eyes flicked back to his phone, thumb hovering over the screen, looking at you. At those damn shorts squeezing each cheek, the soft curve of your ass spilling out, practically inviting his hands, his teeth, his lips.

God, the things he wanted to do to you.

To bite and slap and kiss every inch of you, just like he used to. His jaw clenched, his breath heavy, his cock twitching in his fist as he let himself sink into it.

“Was thinking that…” he trailed off, voice raw, his chest rising and falling with each slow, deliberate stroke. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to steady his breathing, forcing himself not to let this end too soon.

Your breath hitched on the other end. It felt it like a caress, like you were right here with him, like your lips were brushing against his ear instead of whispering through the receiver.

“Tell me,” you pleaded again, your voice so soft and desperate.

His eyes squeezed shut, his fist tightening around his cock, squeezing at the base, forcing himself to hold back the groan bubbling in his throat.

“Was thinkin’ about how good you look under me,” he admitted, his voice a little rougher now, slipping deeper into that place where there was no turning back. “How the angle reminded me of your sweet mouth on my cock.”

A whispered fuck came through the line, and Joel had to force his hand to slow down.

His jaw clenched, his breath heavy, his thumb teasing over the sensitive slit of his cock, spreading slick, adding just enough pressure to make his hips twitch. “Was thinkin’ about how I used to look down at you,” he murmured, words slow, like he was savoring them, like he was picturing it so clearly it hurt. “All wide-eyed, pretty little mouth stretchin’ over me—God, baby, you always took me so well.”

You let out the softest whimper, barely there, and it nearly destroyed him.

“You’d look up at me,” he continued, his strokes getting slicker, slower, teasing himself just as much as he was teasing you. “Bat those pretty lashes. Workin’ me over like you loved it. Like it was all you ever wanted.”

“I did love it,” you whispered, voice breathy, wrecked, needy, and fuck, fuck, fuck—Joel’s cock jerked in his fist, another deep groan spilling from his lips before he could stop it.

A soft, breathy moan came through the line, and Joel nearly dropped his phone again.

“Baby,” he rasped, his grip tightening, his breath heavy and uneven, “are you touching yourself too?”

“Yes, Joel, yes,” you whimpered, and fuck, it was more like a plea, an urging, just like you used to urge him to keep going, to keep fucking you, asking for it deeper, harder, more–

He was going to lose his fucking mind.

“Stop.”

His voice came sharp, commanding, cutting through the haze of slick heat between your thighs, through the desperate rhythm of your fingers teasing yourself through the tiny shorts that had long been soaked through.

Your breath hitched, your body stilling at the unexpected shift.

“…Stop?” you asked, incredulous, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths, your fingertips still resting over your folds, damp with your own arousal.

“Want you to listen to me now,” Joel heaved through the phone, like he’d realized something, like it had hit him all at once. His voice was still wrecked, still thick and husky with want, but there was something firmer now. More in control, “Gonna listen to me, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy—”

Oh, shit.

Your body froze the second the word slipped past your lips, your breath stuttering in your throat, heat flushing up the back of your neck, “I—I’m sorry,” you gasped, voice rushed, panic creeping in. “Joel, I didn’t mean—”

“Daddy wants you to play with your tits, honey,” he said, like it was nothing, like he’d just been waiting for you to slip back into your old ways, waiting for you to give into him. “Do you remember how I used to touch you?”

Every nerve lit up in your body as heat coursed through you now, nipples hardening as you looked down at them, clothed and covered, licking your lips.

“Baby?”

“Y-yes,” you shuddered, your free hand dragging up your stomach, your fingers ghosting over the neckline of your thin tank top, “I remember,”

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice thick, warm, rich with something dark and hungry through the receiver. “My sweet girl.”

Your body reacted to the praise, stomach tightening, thighs clenching. You loved it when he talked to you like that—when he made you feel cherished and filthy in the same breath.

Slowly, you pulled down your top, letting your breasts spill free, nipples pebbled against the cool air. You dragged a teasing hand over one, not kneading yet, just pressing, applying the slightest friction with your palm.

It wasn’t him.

Wasn’t his big, warm, calloused hands, the way they’d palm your breasts, squeeze, flick at your nipples just to hear you gasp. You swallowed hard, already aching.

“Are you teasing yourself?” Joel rasped, voice like honey dripping with filth. “Teasing your cute, perfect tits like I did, baby?”

“Yes,” you breathed, eyes slipping shut, imagining his hands on you instead.

“Good,” he growled. “Want you to lick your finger now, get it nice and wet, and swirl it around your little nipple, honey. Can you do that for me?”

You moaned in response, sliding two fingers past your lips, tongue swirling around them, coating them in spit before sliding them out with a wet little pop, and Joel heard it. 

A deep, wrecked sound left his throat, and you knew he was squeezing himself harder now, barely holding on.

The second your fingers flicked over your nipple—slick, sensitive, teasing—a shocked gasp escaped your lips.

“Fuck,” Joel groaned, breath heavy, thick with need.

You could hear him swallow hard, could imagine him—head tipped back, hand wrapped tight around himself, his cock slick and aching in his grip, his chest heaving with desire.

“Can you picture me there, baby?” he murmured, voice smooth, coaxing, laced with pure sin. “Picture my mouth around you?”

Oh, God, you could.

Your body tensed, your breath coming quicker as the memory flooded back—the way Joel used to hold you tight, his strong arms caging you against him, his mouth hot and wet around your breast, tongue swirling, sucking, lapping at you like he couldn’t get enough.

He’d look up at you through those thick, dark lashes, gaze heated, possessive, worshipping as he worked you over. He’d groan against your skin, his lips latched onto you, devouring you, sucking until you were whining, until your back arched, until you were begging for more.

Your hand worked over your other nipple, slick and sensitive, the ache between your legs becoming unbearable.

“Fuck, Joel,” you whimpered, voice breaking. “Feels s-so good.”

He moaned into the phone, rough and low, his breath ragged in your ear. “I know, honey,” he whispered. “Now, trail your fingers down that sweet body of yours—slow.”

The last word was a command, and you obeyed without thinking, your body responding instinctually, muscle memory kicking in. Because with Joel, you always listened. Every word he spoke—whether praise or command or plea—was like dogma, something you bowed to, something you ached to follow.

“Joel,” you whispered, desperate, needy.

“Yeah, baby?”

You swallowed hard, your breath shaky. “Can I touch myself?” A pause, then softer, whining—“Please? Please, Daddy. I need it. Need you.”

Joel let out a deep, guttural sound, and for a second, he didn’t answer. You could hear it, the way his breath hitched, the way his grip tightened around himself, could picture him—his cock slick in his palm, pulsing, aching, his free hand gripping the phone, barely holding himself together.

“Not yet,” he murmured finally, voice rough, measured, dripping with restraint. “Want you to just gently tease. Let your fingers graze over your shorts, baby. Nice and slow, like daddy would,”

Your body obeyed before your brain even processed the words, fingers drifting down, skimming over the soft skin of your stomach, tracing the curve of your hips before ghosting over your mound in your tiny, soaked-through shorts.

The breath you sucked in was sharp and Joel groaned softly in response.

“You wet for me, sweet girl?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you cooed, eyes slipping shut, your fingers teasing the edge of the damp fabric, pressing lightly against your folds but never giving yourself what you really wanted, not enough to give yourself any real relief.

“Bet you are,” he rasped, voice thick, breath heavy. “Bet you’re fuckin’ dripping, baby. Just from my voice, huh? Just from Daddy telling you what to do?”

You whimpered, shifting against the mattress, legs squeezing together, hips rolling up subtly, trying to create the smallest bit of friction. 

A low chuckle rumbled through the receiver, dark and knowing. “Getting impatient, honey?”

You whined again, your fingers twitching, your whole body begging for more, for him, for relief.

“Please,” you whispered, “I need—”

“I know what you need, baby,” he cut in, voice low, soothing, but firm. “And you’ll get it. But you listen to me, you hear?”

You nodded quickly, before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Y-yes, Daddy. I’ll listen.”

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured. “Now—” a pause, a deep inhale, like he was picturing it just as vividly as you were. “I want you to slip your fingers under your shorts, baby. Feel how wet you are for me.”

You let out a shaky exhale, obeying immediately, fingertips slipping beneath the damp fabric, grazing over the slick heat of your swollen cunt.

The second you felt it—felt how soaked you were just from him, from his voice, from the way he knew your body even from miles away—you couldn’t hold back the moan that spilled past your lips.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you pressed against yourself, skin to skin, your breath hitching, pulsing under your own touch, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t him.

“I miss you,” you murmured, voice small, breathless—then immediately corrected yourself, trying to recover, trying to keep this exactly where it needed to be. “Miss your mouth, Joel. Miss the way you made me feel so good.”

But he caught it.

His breath faltered, the sound of it shaky through the phone, followed by a long, deep exhale, like he felt those words more than he should.

“…Miss you too, baby girl,” he admitted, something rougher beneath it, something unspoken. Then, clearing his throat, pushing you right back under, owning the moment, “Gonna play with that pussy for me, right? Let her feel real good for me? I know she misses a real man’s cock.”

You groaned, your hips instinctively pushing into your hand, fingers circling over your aching clit, relief blooming in your stomach at the friction.

But it still wasn’t enough.

“Tell me,” he commanded, voice deep, firm, taunting. “Tell me what that stupid boy does for you.”

You whimpered, words incoherent, body tensing, toes curling against the sheets.

“He—he,” you swallowed, trying to collect yourself, trying to focus, but it was impossible with the way Joel’s voice had settled in your bones.

“It’s not the same—”

“Tell me.” he growled, sharp and rough and… Jealous?

He wasn’t going to let it go.

“Wanna know how he neglects you so bad you come runnin’ to Daddy for a fixin’, baby.”

Your stomach flipped, heat rushing through you, your fingers slipping lower, your body betraying you.

“Joel—”

“Go on,” he coaxed, voice thick, taunting but sweet, like honey laced with sin. “Tell me, baby. Tell me how he doesn’t take care of you.”

You shuddered.

Because fuck—he already knew.

“He…he fingers me sometimes,” you exhaled, voice barely above a whisper, breath shaky as your fingers pressed onto your aching clit.

Joel sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, but then, like he knew, “Stop playin’ with your clit, baby.”

Your body froze, instinctively obeying, thighs tensing as your hips twitched for more.

“I can tell you’re getting close,” he murmured, voice low, smooth, controlled, like he knew exactly what he was doing. “Just want you to take your time.” A beat. Then, deeper, commanding: “Slowly make circles around it—soft, teasing. Think about Daddy’s tongue on you, baby. Think about how I’d do it, yeah?”

You let out a shaky moan, pulling away from your swollen clit, dragging your fingers in slow, lazy circles instead, teasing yourself the way he would.

“Yeah,” you sighed, pleasure building, aching, the wet sounds of your slick filling the silence between you.

Joel groaned, a deep, low sound that sent a shockwave down your spine.

“Can hear that pretty pussy from here, baby,” he grunted, and you knew he was gripping himself tighter now, fucking into his fist, the slick sounds of his own hand barely muffled over the phone.

“Go on, then. Keep tellin’ me how Jack-Off Junior tries to fuck you.”

Your whole body tensed, pleasure crashing over you like a wave, a broken little moan slipping past your lips, because fuck, you shouldn’t love how filthy he was, how jealous he sounded, but God, it only made it so much worse.

So much better.

He wasn’t sure what exactly had come over him, but suddenly he was seeing red.

The thought of that stupid fucker—some kid, some boy—putting his hands on you, touching what once belonged to Joel, had his teeth clenching, his grip tightening around his cock until the pleasure almost blurred into pain.

“He, um…” you murmured, distracted, breathy, your mind clearly slipping, and fuck, he wished he could see you.

Sure, he could picture it—your body sprawled out, flushed and needy, your thighs trembling as you worked yourself open, the way you used to look when he had you like this—but it wasn’t enough.

He needed more.

Joel swallowed thickly, voice coming out lower, rougher, gritted, “Can you do me a favor, baby?”

A distracted little hum came from you, “Mmm?”

“Take a picture right now. Wanna see you.” he said suddenly.

“Only if I can have one of you.”

Oh.

So you were playing games. Joel would play. He loved to play.

“Fair enough, honey,” he muttered, flipping his camera open, angling the shot just right, careful to keep the focus exactly where he knew you wanted it.

His cock was thick in his fist, aching, flushed red at the tip, beads of precum pooling at the slit from holding back, from denying himself what he so desperately needed to release. His fingers flexed around the base, his breath shuddering as he gave himself a slow, teasing stroke.

“Sent,” he gritted out, using his thumb to smear the wetness over his tip, spreading it, slicking himself up, shuddering at the sensation.

Then, the phone buzzed and he looked down—

And fuck.

He had to take his hand off his cock completely before he fucking lost it. Because Jesus Christ, you looked like a dream. Not just any dream.

His dream. The one that had haunted him for the past 2 years. The one that had him waking up in the middle of the night, hard as a fucking rock, his cock pulsing so bad he’d have to grip himself through the sheets, the one that made him hop in a frigid cold shower to shake the thought of your little body beneath him.

In the photo, your breasts spilled over the top of your tiny tank, the hem bunched around your waist, your shorts still on, but the gusset pushed to the side, exposing just a little bit of your pretty pussy where your fingers were teasing yourself.

He let out a long, wrecked groan.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Joel,” you moaned, voice thick with sin, dripping with need. “You look so good—just like I remember, so big and perfect and fuck—”

The wet, slick sounds coming through the receiver, your fingers working yourself, the breathless way you whined— it was all going to kill him.

He needed to come. He needed to.

But not before you.

“Want you to push your fingers inside, baby,” he ordered, voice low, taut, still clinging to that last shred of control. “Two. Now.”

You whined, hesitating for just a second, and Joel could hear your breath stutter, could nearly feel the way your body tensed in anticipation.

“Won’t feel the same as that beautiful cock, Daddy,” you sighed, voice like velvet in his ear.

He smiled despite himself. Only you could make him blush like a kid again.

“Does he make you come on his cock, baby?” Joel’s voice dropped lower, thick and slow, taunting as he wrapped his hand around himself again, “The way you used to come undone all over me?”

You’re moaning, your breathy sounds like heaven in his ears, spurring him on.

He pumped himself slowly, drawing it out, torturing himself, his mind flashing with the way your pussy used to choke his cock.

“Your pussy would milk me so well, honey,” he murmured, voice almost tender, thick with longing, with ache. “Would feel so fucking perfect and warm and tight around me, sugar.”

You whimpered, breath coming quicker, shaky, like you were barely holding yourself together.

“Jesus, Joel—”

“Does he?” His voice was harder now. Tense. On edge.

He needed to know. There was a long pause, filled only with the soft, broken sounds of your moans, the slick, wet noises of your fingers pushing inside yourself.

“No.”

Joel let out a sharp breath through his nose, a knowing sound, “No, huh?”

Another pause, another stuttered breath, “I have to do it myself,” you admitted, voice softer now, small, almost embarrassed. And That fucking broke him.

“After-after he leaves.”

Oh, now Joel was pissed.

“You gotta do it yourself?” he growled, voice deeper, rougher, nearly feral. His hand fisted his cock, working himself harder, faster, his control slipping with every word out of your mouth. “You lay there all alone, stuffin’ those pretty little fingers inside yourself ‘cause he don’t know how to take care of you?”

You whined, your voice barely a breath. “Yes, Daddy.”

“That’s a goddamn shame, baby,” Joel groaned, stomach clenching tight, his hips jerking up into his palm. “Bet that boy don’t even know how to touch you right. Bet he don’t know how to make you come like I do.”

“No one does,” you gasped, voice so small, so wrecked, and he could hear it, the way you were unraveling, the way your breath was coming out in fast, sharp bursts, the way your fingers were working yourself open, “You’ve ruined me Joel,”

“Fuck,” he praised, his voice thick, dangerous, dripping with possession. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry I’ve gone and treated you so good no man can compare, huh?” His hand tightened, stroking himself harder, groaning at the wet slickness coating his palm as he spits on himself again, at the way his cock pulsed at just the thought of you—fucking yourself open, stretching yourself, thinking of him while you did it.

“But that ain’t really my fault, is it?” he rasped, voice dark, teasing, cruel in the way he knew would make you fall apart.

“No,” you whimpered, and goddamn, the way your voice shook, the way you were gasping between words, had his stomach clenching tight, pleasure searing through his spine like a live wire.

“No, Daddy,” he corrected, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“No, Daddy,” you repeated, mewling, desperate.

“That’s my girl,” he grunted, his hips thrusting even harder at the sound, at the way you still said it like it belonged to him. Like you still belonged to him, even when you both knew better, "You've ruined me too, angel. Ain't no one like you." he wasn't sure why he was admitting it, he felt so drunk off the thought of you, his mind burning up like molten lava, scorching every bit of reason he had left.

“Now, I want you to fuck yourself on those fingers for me,” he ordered, voice thick with lust, heavy, nearly slurred from how wrecked he was. “Stretch yourself real good—want you open for me. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you whined, and fuck, he could hear it, the slick wet sounds through the phone, the way you were working yourself, the way your moans were turning higher, breathier, more frantic.

Joel grinned, mean and hungry.

“Tell me, baby,” he rasped. “Can you feel how tight you still are? Hmm?” He sucked in a breath, his strokes slowing just a little, drawing it out, making himself wait, even though he was so fucking close it was painful. “Bet you can barely fit those little fingers inside, huh?”

You let out a broken whimper, voice wrecked. “S’not enough, Joel,” you gasped.

“I know, honey, I know,” he cooed through broken breaths, “Know you need something bigger, huh?”

“Need you,” you admitted, whining, voice breaking on the words.

Joel groaned, his cock jerking in his fist, his whole body tense, stomach tight with how bad he wanted to see you, touch you, fill you.

“That’s right, baby,” he muttered. “Know you need my big cock to stretch you open proper.” He sucked in a breath, squeezing himself at the base, forcing himself to hold on just a little longer, just until he could drag this out and ruin you completely.

You let out a choked little moan, and he could hear how frantic your fingers were moving now, how much you needed more, how much you were aching for something you couldn’t have.

“Bet you can still feel it,” Joel murmured, voice smooth and soaked in filth. “Bet you can still feel how deep I used to fuck you, huh? How I used to stretch that pretty little pussy wide open—fuck you slow, make you take it all.”

“Y-yes,” you panted, your breath coming in ragged, desperate bursts.

“You miss it, baby?” he pressed, his voice dark, coaxing, his grip tightening around himself as he fucked into his palm, pace rough, chasing that edge. “Miss Daddy’s big cock filling you up, ruining you for anyone else?”

“Miss it so much,” you cried, voice trembling, breath catching, and fuck—he could hear it, you were right there, teetering, about to fall apart.

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna come,” you gasped, words tumbling over each other, desperate and pleading. “Please let me—let me come, daddy, please, please—”

Joel’s breath hitched, stomach tightening brutally at the sound of your begging, his cock pulsing in his fist, but fuck, you were going first.

“Come for me, honey,” he rasped, voice wrecked, commanding, pushing you right over that edge. “Now.”

Your cry shattered the air, sharp, needy, high and desperate, and he could just barely hear the wet slick sound of your fingers fucking yourself through it, pleasure crashing through you so violently he swore he could feel it through the phone.

And fuck, fuck, fuck, he was right there, right there, 

“Joel!”

The sound of his name on your lips, the lips that always tasted so damn sweet, so soft like heaven, it made him snap, his body locking up as he turned towards the sink. His jaw went rigid as his orgasm ripped through him like a fucking storm, his cock jerking violently in his fist as thick ropes of cum spilled over his knuckles, splattering on the porcelain, hot and endless.

A deep, wrecked groan tore from his throat, his body shaking, muscles trembling as the pleasure hit him in waves, rolling over him, dragging him under.

Both of you were heaving on the line, quiet and shocked by the clarity that so often followed mind blowing orgasms like the one he’d just had. He let his head tip back, exhaling slowly. His grip loosened, warmth still coursing through him, but his mind was already catching up, already reminding him what he’d just done.

Maybe he really was going to hell.

“…Joel?”

His throat was dry. His muscles still tensed, his cock still throbbing even though he had nothing left to give.

He smiled, despite himself, “Yeah, baby?” His voice was thick and gravelly, the exhaustion warm in his tone.

A soft laugh. “I… I can’t believe we just did that.”

Joel huffed a lazy, satisfied chuckle, running a hand down his face, still catching his breath.

“Me neither, honey.” A pause spanned between you, then, softer, he added, “Hope you don’t get in too much trouble with the boyfriend,”

“I won’t." you said, and then after a moment, added, "We broke up.”

Joel’s eyes flashed open, staring at himself in the mirror now, wrecked and exhausted and flushed with red, sweat beading on his face. He stuffed his cock back in his pants, turning away from his reflection again, “Yeah?” he murmured, his tone dipping into something a little too close to hopeful. “Good to hear.” That little shit never deserved you anyway.

He ran a hand through his hair, still feeling the last ghostly pulses of his release in his spine, still a little drunk off the sound of your moans, the way you’d whimpered his name, like he was the only goddamn thing in the world.

“Yeah, he was an asshole.” you chuckled.

“And Joel?” Something in your voice shifted—careful, softer, like you were weighing your words now.

“Yeah, honey?”

“I’ll be comin’ back soon…for the holiday. To see my parents,” you said, your voice lower now, carefully, treading with caution, “If you…wanted to get coffee or somethin’,” 

Joel swallowed thickly, his jaw ticking as he stared at the floor, trying to keep his cool, trying to make sense of the sudden shift in his brain.

Because he wanted to say yes.

God, he wanted to say yes.

Wanted to say yes to you and your big, bright eyes that looked up at him, that soft skin he ached to touch again, your easy smile—the one he used to live for, the one that made everything feel lighter—pulling him back in like no time had passed at all.

But time had passed.

And he still had a girlfriend.

The woman sleeping in his bed, the woman who—what? Gave him a gift card for his birthday? Barely kissed him? Didn’t even want to touch him the way you begged to run your hands over him? It was so easy to push her out of his mind when it was you on the other end of the phone, saying his name like he was still the only man in the world for you.

And if he saw you again, he’d need to figure that out first. Because he knew how easily he slipped back into you, how fast everything fell away when you were involved, how easy it was to forget about real life. 

But you had a life now, a future he wasn’t supposed to be meddling in anymore. He’d already made peace with that—or at least, he thought he had. Until tonight. Until you moaned his name through the receiver, shattering every bit of distance time had built between you. Until he forgot...about his girlfriend, about real life, about everything but you.

And that should have been enough for him to say no. Enough for him to put an end to this, to tell you that whatever had happened tonight was a mistake, that it couldn't happen again. That you both had lives now, separate paths that weren’t meant to cross anymore.

He should have told you that. He should have hung up the phone, let this be the last time.

But instead, before he could stop himself, the words were already leaving his mouth.

“That sounds real nice, darlin’.”

when I tell you im literally so obsessed and proud of this! I hope you liked it!! Please leave your comments and thoughts if you made it through this behemoth :')

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Creepy Bunny Hybrid

After a criminal conviction, the claimed hybrid shelter responsible for sourcing most of the beloved species of hybrid is set to shut down

It’s employees pleading with the public to take in their hybrids who’d be otherwise left on the street

Enough for your parents, who you’ve come to live with, to worry

While they were undecided about the morality of owning hybrids

Humanoids with some animal features

They were determined to be helpful 

whether they truly felt such justice or enjoyed the good samaritan role they’d take in a low-maintenance hybrid

A White rabbit with crimson eyes 

In your opinion one of the more beloved species that would’ve found a home somehow but you couldn’t complain

“Welcome Hori! We hope you can find a home with us!”

“Yeah make yourself at home. Don’t mind our kids they’ll be happy to explain anything you need.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Come come I have to show you all the cool things I have!”

Your family takes to him like metals to magnets 

Hovering near him and waiting on him like he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread

But he’s just so incredibly…quiet

Not just because he doesn’t speak unless spoken to 

But because he just doesn’t move

You’ve peaked at him sitting in the living room on a chair with no book, no TV on, windows closed, no music playing

What kind of bunny sits in the dark and does nothing

His large red eyes are huge, his ears incredibly long and upright

Skin  so pale, he could pass as the undead

Hori won’t even eat like other bunny hybrids

When your parents first gushed over his photo too many evenings were spent looking up what a bunny hybrid would need

Vegetables, fruits, bunny-hybrid pellets were what they filled the cabinets and fridge with

But he ate none of that 

Barely nibbling when your brother excitedly presented the spread

“This looks…good.”

Barely a quarter of the plate was gone

Before he claimed he was stuffed

The second your family slipped up though and handed him a plate full of steak 

he left nothing on the plate

“I thought bunnies weren’t omnivores?”

“...Maybe the original animal doesn’t but I am a hybrid. Things are…different.”

“Yeah (Y/n), things are different! Stop bullying Hori!”

It oddly feels like Hori is not all he seems 

Constantly seeking out hotdogs over the fruit you offer

Or spending unusual amounts of time staring at the passing neighbors

Or coming home at unspeakably late hours

But every time you tried to bring this up your family would scorn you

Writing off your observations as you being nitpicky

Or even jealous of the newest member of the family

“Just know (Y/n) you still hold a special place in our hearts.”

“Yeah no need to whine, we won’t forget you.”

“Just don’t take it out on Hori he’s been through so much.”

So you settle to avoid him

Just let him be in his parts of the house and you in yours 

But that doesn’t seem to work with his edition

“(Y/n)...will you accompany me on the grocery run?”

“I thought my older sib was taking you?”

“Originally…but I’d like for you to take me!”

“Uh…”

“Come on (Y/n)! Take this time to bond with Hori! Maybe you’ll find something’s in common between you two.”

It’s annoying that he insists on doing things with you

But it’s just some things

And of course, because he’s so creepily quiet it almost feels like you’re by yourself

It just gets worse

“I want to sleep with you, (Y/n).”

It was way past midnight and Hori was above you 

Caging you between his arms as he practically laid above you 

There was blood around his mouth and if you had the space you’d check over you body for a wound

“W-wh-what?!”

“Hori? (Y/n)? Please?!”

“T-t-that’s not even a real sentence! Please get off me!”

Once he does reluctantly give you space

You flick on a lamp or use your phone’s light to light the room

Hori’s hair is much longer, flowing past his tail 

Which was no longer a small puff ball now bloomed into something larger

His ears were incredibly long and twitching as though it was filled with joints of its own

His teeth seemed like they had no end, just rows and rows of spiny teeth all coated with the gunk and gooey mess of a carnivore’s meal

“All that blood?!”

He licks an abnormally long tongue around his mouth

“The left-of-overs from dinner.”

“Dinner was hours ago!”

“Not your dinner my dinner.”

The implication made your stomach twist

“Uh was it good?”

“Very. Now, sleep with you?”

You hoped he’d forget but if only to get some semblance of control and maybe be able to fall back asleep 

You relent

“Fine, but I’m not going to share my blanket…you’re a lot bigger than before.”

“It's okay those covers are not the heat I am after.”

You decided not to comment on it, wrapping yourself in your comforter

Letting Hori’s much larger limbs wrap around you tightly

This creepy bunny continued to surprise you

You could only hope that you’d figure him out soon 

Or your family might be the one to pay the price

[crimsoncandy04]

Have u ever thought of Scara w tentacles😳 like he was an experiment and we are the one in charged of cater for him, then one day he escape and take us with him to breed cause' he really likes us... Idk if it's possible but might lay eggs for him. Please try writing it one day!! Tysm for those fics u feed uso(≧▽≦)o

I should really check my inbox more often than I do. This is literally such a hot idea.

(also just a heads up, I'm absolutely blasted right now while writing this so if it's not perfect I'm so sorry. Cannabis gummies are a double edged sword for me. On one hand I get the BEST ideas to write but then on the other I forget how words work)

Hope you like it;)

You had seen some weird stuff in your 25 years. It was expected though. You WERE working for the fatui and under one of the more deranged harbingers known for fucked up experimentation too.

However, being put in charge of one of the less important projects involving the sixth harbinger had proven to be more than you were prepared to handle.

A LOT more.

You had no idea why he allowed this to happen or if it was just a bizarre side effect of another failed experiment. But one thing was for certain, the sixth harbinger had been altered physical and now needed to be restrained at all costs. He had actual tentacles growing from his back. Like REAL ones. And for some reason they seemed to have minds of their own at times.

Thrashing around and hitting the thick glass of the containment room as if trying to break out while the young man at their base sat on the cold concrete ground and refused to look at you each time you went over to slide him food through a small opening in the wall that your hand could barely fit through.

You weren't important enough to know the details of what went on in your boss's lab but you had to admit that the sentient tendrils were a bit pretty to look at.

They were a deep indigo. Almost black with small barely discernable silver accents along the sides.

They appeared almost metallic in the right lighting and you had to make yourself look away and stop staring sometimes because you didn't want to be rude.

You were here to complete a job and that was all.

Until the night everything went to shit of course.

You were summoned sometime after midnight along with two other subordinates to check the lab for accidents after a security alarm was triggered for unknown reasons.

You rushed in and immediately you felt your blood go cold at the sight before you.

He had escaped.

Shattered glass lay at your feet as well as blood presumably from the guard who was now nowhere to be seen and most certainly dead.

You heard a yell from the room next to you.

"Stay here!" The other man with you insisted as he drew his gun and took off after the source of the cry.

You didn't need to be told twice.

Because right now you were confused but also rightfully scared.

What happened to the sixth harbinger? He never once gave you reason to believe he was distressed or restless before. He never even spoke to you when you fed him and checked the condition of his holding room.

Did you perhaps miss something?

What caused him to suddenly lash out and attack the guard?

And most importantly what happened to-

*PLOP*

You hear something hit the ground next to you and slowly turn your head to look.

You shriek.

On the ground next to you was the decapitated head of the subordinate who had just left to search for the other man.

You immediately tried to run but were stopped in your tracks as something wrapped around your waist and hoisted you into the air.

You tremble and go silent. Preparing for the worst when you look down and meet eyes with the sixth harbinger.

One of his many new appendages coiled around your middle and rendering you helpless as you silently prayed to every archon you could remember that if you were to die here it would be quick and painless.

He narrows his eyes up at you.

"You. You didn't want to try killing me as well?"

You struggle to answer as you shake violently.

"No sir. I see you nearly every day. I assumed something was wrong and that you were seeking help. I didn't feel like it was right to murder you."

"Are you scared?"

You felt your heart race.

Something about his tone seemed off. Different.

Did he...enjoy the fact that you were clearly terrified?

You closed your eyes and sighed.

Alright.

Every life had its end. This was surely yours.

Don't think about it. Go to your safe place Y/N.

You suddenly feel more tentacles slither around your arms and legs.

You immediately open your eyes as you feel them spread your knees apart.

What the FUCK!?

There's a chuckle from underneath you.

"I must admit... I am enjoying your terror immensely."

Obviously.

You feel an indigo tendril slowly slide up your shirt and wiggle underneath your bra. coiling around one of your breasts and squeezing it roughly as you feel your cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. It was cold and slimy but thanks to what you assumed was the natural power of the young man before you, the tentacles emitted a gentle electro current throughout their entire lengths and the sensation caused the muscles in your limbs and stomach to relax unwillingly as you were fondled.

The entire stimulation was now sending jolts of unwilling arousal through you. Scaramouche's eyes darken as he feels your nipple stiffen against one of his slick, muscular coils which had wrapped itself tightly around one of your tits and was now rubbing its head against your delicate peak. Making you struggle to stay quiet.

"Your body is betraying you. How does it feel existing in such a delicate and worthless form? I'm not even trying yet-."

Another tendril snakes up your thigh, sliding beneath your skirt, the cool slickness a shock against your bare skin as you didn't expect this so quickly. It inches higher, brushing against your clothed sex.

Scaramouche chuckles darkly at your soft whimpers then, his voice a sinful caress in your aroused mind as you're made to enjoy this against your will.

"I can still feel you with these. You're so wet already. Does it feel good being teased in such a disgraceful manner? Or were you always this much of a slut?"

He grins wickedly, a predatory gleam in his indigo eyes. The tendrils tighten their grip, squeezing and kneading your most sensitive places, stoking the fire within your core. The air crackles with his power and reeks of your excitement.

A small tentacle hooks into the waistband of your panties and suddenly rips them off completely, baring your glistening sex to the cool air. Another one quickly begins to rub against your slick folds, teasing your wet entrance.

"What a cute little hole~ hmm. I wonder what would happen if I-"

The thick tentacle at your entrance instantly rams itself inside in one painful push, stretching your tight pussy and curling in to rub against your sweet spot as it began to thrust quickly. You could only gasp and cry out as you felt another tentacle slither up your thigh and rub your clit at the same time.

Your eyes widened.

It hurt yet it felt like you had ascended to Celestia all at once.

You force yourself to cry out before you went insane.

"S-Scara! Please! It's too big! You're... stretching me!"

Scaramouche smirks up at your quivering body as he feels your tight walls clenching desperately around his invading tendril. He grinds it deeper, relishing your breathy moans and gasps, the electric current making your body shudder with every caress and thrust.

"Too big? Ha. Your greedy little cunt is taking every inch like it was made for it. Like it was made for me."

He pulls back slightly, then slams the tentacle in deeper. The wet squelching sounds of the violation fill the room, mingling with your increasingly wanton moans and whimpers.

"Listen to yourself, enjoying the feeling of being so ruthlessly defiled. You can't deny your true nature Y/N. You're a weak and disposable creature. I've seen how you go out of your way to try and care about me. How you act so..."selfless" and "considerate" when forced to tend to me knowing damn well it was all only to delude yourself into believing you were making a difference. Tell me, was it tiring?"

Tendrils squeeze your breasts harder, the electric shocks making your nipples stiffen into aching peaks. Another then pushes into your mouth, silencing your cries and leaving you gasping around the slick intrusion.

"It must have been exhausting. Pretending like you actually cared so much. Did you enjoy your little charade? Was it nice pretending like you weren't worth less than the dirt on my shoes because you were "helping "?"

Scaramouche's voice is a dark, lustful growl as he crosses his arms and continues to watch as his tentacles ruin you. The tendril pistoning into your cunt speeds up, the electric shocks growing stronger, pushing you closer and closer to a reluctant release.

"Come for me, Y/N. Come on my tentacles like the wanton slut you are. You wanted something like this right? To be seen and "loved"? Well let go then."

As Scara speaks, another tentacle snakes down to your puckered rear entrance. It teases the tight ring of muscle, the electric current making it relax. Slowly it pushes inside, stretching your virgin hole around the slick invader.

"Such a tight little asshole... I will enjoy breaking this in as well. You'll be my perfect little fuck toy, ready and eager for me at all times. How does that sound?"

The tentacle in your mouth begins fucking deeper into your throat, making you gag and choke a little. The one in your ass pushes deeper, stretching you impossibly further now as everything borders on pleasure and pain now in an overwhelming way.

"That's it, just like that. Take it all. Take every inch, every inch of my desire. You'll learn to crave this, to need this, to be nothing but a set of holes for me to fill and use. I'll give you a purpose. A reason to exist. Just like you always wanted."

Scaramouche's eyes blaze with sadistic lust as he watches you try to writhe and struggle, your body shaking with unwanted pleasure, your mind clouding with shame and need. He knows he has you now, knows that he can shape you, mold you, ruin you for all others.

And it's driving him insane.

You had caught his attention long ago but of course you were too stupid to notice. You always thought his tentacles were just being "aggressive". No. He had been trying to get you to say something to him. But every time you just stared at him, gave him a stupid little tray of food that he didn't even need. And then just left.

You couldn't blame him for getting a little frustrated and impatient. You had practically forced him to make the first move here.

A couple of minutes went by and suddenly you feel something else being stuffed into your stretched cunt alongside the enormous tentacle already buried inside.

Two smaller and practically microscopic sized tentacles wiggle in and begin to tease your cervix opening. Slowly coaxing their way into your womb as you feel yourself climaxing from the intrusion.

The tentacles writhe and squirm in your womb, painting your inner walls with their slick, tingling essence.

You suddenly feel a deep pressure as something is pumped directly into your womb. You wince and cum again as Scara begins to forcibly impregnates you with his offspring yet instead of your earlier nervousness or shame, you now feel oddly at ease. As if your new reality finally set in for you.

It was kinda enjoyable.

Scaramouche chuckles darkly as he feels your womb trying instinctively to reject his eggs. But the tendrils hold fast, forcing the small yet soft jelly-like lavender eggs deeper, stretching your most intimate space to its limits.

You had finally accepted your place it seemed. Utilizing your body's full potential from here would be far more easy with you now more willing to endure the process and transformation.

The tendrils continue their relentless assault, pumping more and more of the eggs into you, each one a cruel mockery of a seed, a promise of the countless times he will fill you after this as well. You had one purpose now. To be used, bred like a bitch in heat. All for the singular goal of birthing a new army for Scaramouche and his future plans.

You were important for this reason alone.

"Welcome to your new life, mortal. Welcome to eternity as my personal fuck toy, my breeding bitch, my eternal plaything. And you will love every moment of it. I promise."

A few hours pass and your belly swells quickly. During this short incubation period Scara manages to stretch your holes even further almost to the point of beyond recognition. Three tentacles now thrusted in and out of your ruined asshole and Scara had decided to reposition you both to keep an eye on you and to jam another thick tentacle deep into your pussy and continue to ravage it while he silently marveled at your swollen belly from where he now stood over you.

His hands roam possessively over the stretched skin of your stomach. He can feel the eggs he's planted inside you, each one a testament to his dark triumph, a promise of the future that he envisioned where he was untouchable by absolutely anyone. God or human alike.

"Look at you, already so round and full. And this is only the beginning, my dear. I will fill you again and again, until you know nothing but the feeling of carrying my offspring."

He leans down, his lips brushing against the taut skin of your stomach, his voice a dark, mocking murmur.

"Such an easy bitch to breed, so quick to take my eggs, to let them take root inside you. I knew from the moment I saw you that you were meant to be my incubator, my vessel. And now, here you are, already looking like a proper mother~"

The tentacles continue their relentless assault, stretching you impossibly further, The one now sucking on your clit pulses in time with your racing heartbeat, pushing you to yet another orgasm.

More tendrils move to your heavy, aching breasts again, squeezing and kneading the swollen flesh. They latch onto your nipples, suckling greedily, the electric currents making milk drip faster as it's quickly consumed.

More time goes by. You aren't sure how much exactly but then.

You feel movement in your belly and an uncomfortable shift as the eggs begin to hatch within you. The tentacles in your pussy immediately slide free and smaller ones seize your battered lips before rudely pulling on them to reveal your now loose and sloppy canal in its entirety.

Within seconds a small writhing indigo tentacle pushes its way out of your cervix and begins its descent.

Scaramouche's eyes widen with a fevered, manic light as he watches the first of his offspring emerge and fall to the floor with a small thud. He leans in closer, his breath coming faster as he watches the next little and writhing indigo tentacle push its way out, covered in fluids and its own natural secretions, a grotesque parody of a newborn.

"Look at that... your womb was actually able to grow these things without issue, your body has given life to my creation. I knew I made no mistake when I chose you for this."

The tentacles in your ass begins to writhe and pulse at that moment, easily pulling free from your body to make room for more of the "children " to emerge. Within seconds they start slipping out of your abused holes like nightmarish serpents and forming a horrific pile beneath your deflated body. Their movements are jerky and erratic, their beautiful flesh glistening in the dim light as they slowly start to slither up your legs in search of the warmth they once knew moments ago.

"Such a good mother, so efficient in your purpose. I knew from the moment I saw you that you were meant for this. And now, look at you... a true incubator, an ideal vessel for what is to come."

Scaramouche reaches down, his fingers brushing against the writhing mass of tentacles, stroking them like a proud parent would a newborn. They pulse and twitch at his touch, as if recognizing their creator, their master.

"They will be the first of many, the vanguard of a new age, a new era of power and dominance."

Your belly continues to churn from inside, more of the eggs hatching, more of the small tentacle creatures slipping out to join their brethren. The floor quickly fills with their jerking, twisting forms, a nightmarish scene.

Scaramouche's maniacal laughter then rings out, echoing off the walls, a sound of pure, unhinged joy at his dark triumph. He knows that he has won. Because with this plan now in action, no one would be able to oppose him for long.

And the world would be his for the taking.